THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
plained more of the terrible numbness and the 
Inability to move. 
“ i ue here like a log,” he said. “ I shall be glad 
when to-morrow comes.” He looked haggard and 
restless as the time wore on. “I will not ask for 
brandy," he remarked, “though I should like 
some; but I mean to give It up—1 do indeed. You 
will see, violet, how happy we shall be when I am 
well." 
It was nearly midnight when the doctors came— 
Doctor Brown, the old established pract itioner, and 
Doctor Brene, the clever youug physician from 
London, who had bought a practice In Lllford. 
They looked In wonder at the scene—the superb 
room, the pale lovely woman tn her dress of blue 
velvet and pearls, the man lying on the bed. 
Felix explained rapidly what had happened. 
“I am all right..” said sir Owen. -Theyneed 
not have troubled you, gentleman. 1 have no pain, 
no bruise, no wound. The fall stunned me—that 
is all." 
The doctors looked at each other, and then asked 
Lady Chevenlx If she would leave them with her 
husband. 
*• There Is no need,” he said Impatiently. “ Lons¬ 
dale never mind what they say; do not go.” 
“ l will not be long away," replied Felix. 
He did not like the look that had passed bet ween 
the doctors; It was not a hopeful one. lie touched 
Lady Chevenlx gently on the arm. 
“Let us retire for a few minutes," he said; and 
kissing her husband’s face, violet rose and quitted 
the room. 
They did not go far. Through the oriel window 
at the end of the corridor the summer moon was 
shining, and they both walked thlCher. She looked 
up at Felix, and he saw that she trembled. 
“I am frightened," she said. “It seeems so 
strange." 
In perfect silence they stood at the window, 
watching the moonlight on the gardens. They 
had boon there quite twenty minutes, when the 
door or sir Owen’s room was slowly opened, and 
Doctor Brene came to them. 
“ i hive bad news for you," lm said In his grave 
full voice. “ Lady Chevenlx, you must he brave. 
I have very had news.” 
She could grow no paler. She stood white, calm, 
and self-possessed before him; but. her heart was 
boating painfully, and every nerve was strained to 
the utmost, 
*• You must promise to listen quietly to what I 
have to say. Tell me, first, whether Sir Owen has 
any worldly affaire to settle." 
Lady Chevenlx looked at Felix, as though she 
hardly understood. 
“He cannot have much to do.” he said. “His 
will was made a nd signed some months since.” 
She seemed to understand nett her question nor 
answer. She looked at the doctor. 
“ What is it she asked. “ I do not understand. 
Tell me about my husband." 
“ He is very 111, Lady Chevenlx—very 111 In- 
deed 
“ But," she cried, “ he has no pain—he has no 
wound!” 
“ So much the worse. Any pain would be better 
than none. The truth is-now promise me to he 
calm. Lady Chevenlx—the truth is that Sir Owen 
has Injured his spine, and that thore Is no chance 
for his life.” 
She trembled so much that the doctor brought a 
chair and placed her In It. He asked Felix to get 
her some wine. 
“ Try," he said, “ to bear up a few hours. Your 
husband cannot live longer, and you must be with 
him. You must comfort him to the last. Try to 
bear up.” 
“ l will,"she replied. “And he does not know?” 
“ No. He knows nothing of it yet,” he answered. 
Drink tilts wine, and come back to him. Ills 
midnight now, and he cannot live until sunrise, 
coine at once, Lady Chevenlx ; you must tell him, 
if you can, that he has to die." 
“ l cannot," she said. " 1 know it Is my place— 
my duty—but l cannot do it. in some things I 
ain weaker than a woman; this Ls one of them.” 
“ Then I must tell him myself,” returned the 
doctor, as he moved away slowly ; “ hut this ls not 
as It should be.” 
Felix,” she said, “I have never seen any one die. 
1 know nothing of death. I am terrified at the 
thought of It. Do help me." 
“ l will,” he answered—“ all that I can.” 
They went back to the room and Sir Owen 
looked up as they entered. 
“ Why did you let me be tortured with doctors ?" 
he cried. “ I was getting better quickly, and they 
hive frightened me with their long faces. They 
s xy —oh, listen, Vlolet-that I am going to die!” 
He uttered the list word with a scream they 
never forgot. 
“ It Is all nonsense,” he continued. “ My back 
Is hurt with the fall-that ls all; It Is nothing 
more - nothing more, 1 assure you. Lonsdale, 
send for your father. I want to sec him; he has 
always been kind to me. in Ills way. He will see 
at once there Is nothing the matter; send for him.” 
Felix left the room at once, and sent Martin off 
for his father. He asked It the carriage had re¬ 
turned with Mrs. ltaye, and was told Unit It had 
not. He went back to Ute room, and round violet 
kneeling by b$r husband's side. Her head, with 
the golden lialr all unfastened, was on the pillow, 
and she was trying to reason with him.” 
(7b be continued.) 
- — — 1 
EDITH’S BROOCH. 
“ There, that's enough, young woman,” said the 
harsh voice of Mr, Uarnet, the Jeweler, as a young 
an l timid female still lingered near his counter. 
“ I h ive made you the olfer. If you like to take it, 
well and good; If not, you had better be off at 
once," 
still the girl hesitated. 
“Can you not do any more for me ? The brooch 
ls so very valuable. It has been prized as one 
which is extremely rare,” she pleaded. 
“Mv gnl girl, do he reasonable. I have given 
my ulilmilum I never make two prices,” said 
Mr. Garnet, sharply. “ I can waste no more time 
on you." 
And the jeweler turned from the young lady—for 
lady she was, In all her look and attitude and tone 
—to a. customer who had Just entered the shop. 
“ Is my pin finished yet?” he Inquired. 
And Mr. Garnet turned oil to a neighboring 
drawer to bring the trinket forth from Its hiding- 
place. 
“ There It is, Mr. Trevaux. I hope it will prove 
all satisfactory, sir,” was the civil reply, as the 
jeweler brought It to the counter. “ it was a tire¬ 
some Job, and we shall lie obliged to charge ac¬ 
cordingly. It will be $10, sir.” 
Mr. Trevaux drew out his purse, and paid the 
money without further comment. 
But. as he did so his glance fell on the splendid 
diamond and ruby brooch that was still reposing 
on the counter near Its shrinking mistress, and 
then it turned on the young lady herself with keen 
though not attentive observation. 
Hers was a face and figure that could well bear 
Inspection. 
Paul's gaze furtively rested on her winning 
charms, while the jeweler wrapped up the beauti¬ 
ful breast-pin that had been so costly In its repair. 
Then the young man lounged carelessly about 
the shop, examining Its precious contents, and 
nowand then asking the price of the tempting ar¬ 
ticles, while Edith Montrose once again spoke lo 
Mr. Garnet, tn a low, eager tone. 
“ The brooch Is worth $5M, 1 have often heard. 
I will be content with $300. can you not give It to 
me 7 Even then it Is a great loss," she added, 
plaintively. 
Mr. Gurnet hummed and hawed, looked again at 
the jewel, and again appeared to give way. 
“ Well, well, 1 always was rather soft where 
youth and beauty were In the ease. I expect 1 
shall lose; hut It, cannot be helped. ! will give 
you the money. There, write this receipt and 
your name and address, and It shall be a bargain." 
Edith sighed deeply, but there was no alterna¬ 
tive : a young sister and an invalid brother de¬ 
pended on her for support . 
IVas if for her to prefer a trinket, however valu¬ 
able, to their comfort and welfare ? 
The thought emboldened her to conquer femi¬ 
nine repugnance to such a sacrifice. 
The pen was seized and the acquittance given 
during the brief absence of t he Jeweler. 
But as he returned to his post with the bank¬ 
notes, another customer entered, followed by a 
large Newfoundland dog, who made up to Edith 
and fawned upon her with singular marks of 
affection, while his master began to Inquire for 
the articles that he required from the store. 
“ Can I go ? Will you please give me that sum ?” 
faltered Edith, In a low tone, as the stranger de¬ 
liberately turned over the tilings he had demanded 
to be shown. 
Mr. Garnet turned sharply round, gave the girl 
the bank-notes, and then devoted himself to fils 
more profitable customer. 
Meanwhile, Edith Montrose left the shop, and 
was followed for some instance by Paul Trevaux, 
though she was too much engaged with her own 
thoughts to observe his movements, or perhaps Ills 
very existence. 
“ What kind of brooch were you wanting. Mr. 
St. k'rolx?" asked the Jeweler of his remaining 
customer. “ I have not long since purchased one 
oi exceeding value and beauty, which 1 should like 
to show you.” 
Mr. Garnet looked round lo point, out the Jewel 
In question; but It was not visible. He searched 
the jewel-cases, the papers, and the Inkstand from 
which Edit i had taken the pen; but tn vain. 
The brooch bad vanished. No t race of It could 
he found, and Mr. Garnet's ire was both loud and 
deep. 
“ The young minx! Yes, there can be no doubt 
of It! 1 am seldom so utterly befooled. But who 
could have believed such a thing? She really 
looked like a lady. Well, she shall suffer for It, 
cost what It will. I’ll have no mercy. Mr. St. 
Croix, now' am I not Justified? You are witness. 
Look here at this receipt.” 
And he displayed tho graceful handwriting of 
his young client to Mr. St. CroLx’s stern eyes. 
«A trick, of course. You never can he up to 
them; they have as many disguises as a detec¬ 
tive,” lie returned. “However, I shall he very 
happy to bear witness In the matter. Mr. Garnet,” 
he added, pocketing the je wels which lie had Just 
purchased from Mr. Garnet's store, leaving the 
jeweler to the indulgence of his wrath. 
* + * • 
“ Young woman, we have a warrant against 
you. You must come with us,” said two ferocious- 
looking Individuals, or, at least, they bad a most 
formidable appearance in the eyes of the poor girl 
and her invalid brother, as they entered their 
humble apartment. 
“ For wii.il ? There must be some mistake,” fal¬ 
tered the girl, shrtnklngly. 
“ Not at all. We never make mistakes. Ain’t 
your name Edith Montrose?” they asked, sharply, 
i hs girl bowed her head. 
“Ah: yes; It's all right. And weren’t you lu 
the shop of Mr. Garnet, yesterday, jeweller, in Old 
Bond Street 7” was the next query. 
And again the assent was mutely given. 
“ Very well. Then you’re the right person; and 
It you don't choose to give up the brooch you stole, 
we must take you ofl at once to prison," was the 
reply. 
“I have no brooch. It Is false! 1 sold It,” ex¬ 
claimed the girl, with Hashing Indignation la her 
eyes and face. 
“ Ha, ha! W0 know what all that means. We 
must search the house If you are still obstinate, 
young lady," returned the elder man. 
*• There are hut three rooms on this iloor that 
belong to me. 1 and my brother and sister lodge 
here," she replied, sadly. “My brother ls ii one 
of the rooms. He ls 111. Please do not shock him 
by such a dreadful falsehood,” she went on, pres¬ 
ently. 
“That'syour look out; not ours. You should 
not have done It,” the man answered, gruffly. 
But the other whispered a few words to him that 
somewhat mollified his hardness; and when they 
pursued their search to the invalid’s room, they so 
far softened their ma nner as to refrain from fully 
explaining their errand to the astonished Cecil. 
“ Well—wf II; its very cleverly hidden; but you’ll 
be made to turn It out, young lady,” said the 
official. “ You must come with us; and If you 
choose to tell your sick lad there not to expect 
you back, It w ill, perhaps, save some trouble." 
Poor Editb shivered; hut her love for the suf¬ 
fering Cecil prevailed over her woman’s fears, 
and she quietly told him she might have to give 
some evidence about a lost brooch, and that the 
younger sister Mabel would take her place In his 
room. And with tills last brave attempt to con¬ 
ceal her suffering, she departed with her rough 
escort to the degrading destination of the po¬ 
lice court. 
The ordeal there was brief enough. There was 
no defence; but still only presumptive proor of her 
guilt. So a remand and a humane permission to 
occupy a room uuder surveillance instead of going 
to a common prison, was given by t he indulgence of 
the bewildered and doubting magistrate. 
“ Miss Montrose, 1 have obtained leave to see 
you. 1 trust you will pardon the liberty I am tak¬ 
ing In this self-introduction, and In obtaining per¬ 
mission to take up your case,” said a gentleman, 
who had Just been announced to the young pris¬ 
oner In the rough and ready style of her jailor. 
And Paul Trevaux stood before her, with a 
frank yet respectful air that was adapted to win 
at once her confidence and her respect. 
“ You are very kind, but I do not know you," 
she sakl, timidly. “ I have no friends to help me 
to prove my innocence, and It ls unfair to expect 
a stranger to believe when proof Is so strong 
against me." 
“Never mind whether It Is fair or not,” he re¬ 
plied, smiling. “ It ls enough that l do trust you 
as I would myself, and that, being a budding 
barrister, I Intend to win laurels in vlmllcatlng 
you triumphantly as an Innocent lady. Mill you 
allow such presumption ? 
Edith s eyes filled with tears ror the first time 
since her misfortunes. 
“ you are Indeed good and kind,” she said, “ and 
I do assure you troni my very heart that. I am inno¬ 
cent—quite guiltless of the theft;” and her color 
rose Indignantly at the degrading word. “ No; I 
sold the brooch In question to Mr. Garnet, and re¬ 
ceived the money, and left the jewel, while he was 
engaged with another gentleman—the one with a 
large dog, I mean." 
*• Aud you are sure the brooch was on the coun¬ 
ter then ?” he asked. 
“ finite sure,” she replied, and then the subject 
dropped, and the conversation turned on other top¬ 
ics, and Paul heard, without much difficulty, the 
sad story of the young girl’s early troubles, how 
she and her brother and sister had been left 
orphans, and that all her energies had been taxed 
to the utmost to meet the demands on her corn-age 
and her time by such a burden. 
And though she only distantly alluded to any 
pecuntavy dltfljultles, tlm very fact of parting 
with so valuable, a family jewel, was enough to 
prove the straits In which they had fallen. 
Paul lingered till the last moment of his t ime, 
and then departed more than before convinced of 
tne Innocence of his fair client, and equally con¬ 
scious that she appeared to him most lovely and 
fascinating. 
««««««• 
“ Pray, Mr. Trevaux, what witnesses have you 
to call tn defence of the prisoner?” asked the mag¬ 
istrate, In an accent of severity that perhaps cov¬ 
ered the dangerous yearnings of Indulgence In Ills 
heart. 
“ Simply Mr. St. Croix and Ills dog,” replied the 
young man, calmly. “ I believe they are both in 
court, and if I can extract no information from 
them, I can only plead absence of any real proof 
for my client.” 
There was a general buzz as the large Newfound¬ 
land appeared by the side of his master, and look¬ 
ed round the crowded court with dignified Inquisi¬ 
tiveness. But when his eyes fell on Edith, the 
creat ure could scarcely be restrained Irorn rushing 
to her to display the strange regard he had con¬ 
ceived tor her. 
•• Mr. St. Croix,” said Paul, calmly, “may I ask 
If you have examined your dress, as you wore It on 
the day when the brooch was lost—I mean, so as 
to make It absolutely certain it. cannot have been 
carried off by you in ignorance. Of course, 1 dis¬ 
tinctly mean that the trinket might have clung to 
some part of your garment while you were utterly 
unconscious of Its very existence, and l am sure, 
for this youug lady’s sake, you will pardon the 
question.” 
“ It ls impossible. 1 have worn them ever since 
the day. I must have detected such an involun¬ 
tary theft had it been committed,” replied Mr. St. 
Croix, gravely. 
“And your dog? May 1 venture—or will you 
kindly undertake to pass this comb through his 
hair?” resumed the barrister. 
There was a general laugh m court; but Paul 
was not to be turned from his purpose. 
He came forward, and passed the large comb he 
held again and again through Neptune’s thick 
coat of hair without, effect. But Just when a cry 
of derisive contempt was uttered by Mr. Garnet, 
there was a sharp, light sound on the floor of the 
court. 
The missing brooch had become entangled In the 
Innermost recesses of the shaggy mane, just below 
his broad leathern collar, and Neptune stood con¬ 
victed of lelony. 
But hs was not only freely shielded from pun- 
Isement by a pardon, but some lew months after¬ 
wards he was made u wedding present lo Mrs. 
Paul Trevaux, w Edith Mont rose. 
- 
NEW YORK EXCHANGE FOR WOMAN’S 
WORK. 
Considering the success of this social and 
charitable enterprise, we may expect to see 
similar Institutions follow- Its example In all our 
leading cities. The Woman’s Society of Decora¬ 
tive Art gave a powerful stimulus to every depart¬ 
ment. of female Industry, but from the necessity of 
Its adherence to the most rigid standards, and Its 
requirements not only of exquisite nicety, but of 
genuine artistic excellence, in tho work admitted 
to Its rooms, this society could afford opportunity 
to none except the most skillful -- those trained to 
reai'li the perfection so many were willing and 
anxious tn labor tor. 
The Woman's Exchange, on Lhe other hand, 
while demanding that everything accepted shall be 
good in Its way, recognizes the importance of af¬ 
fording a market for a thousand articles, pretty, 
useful aud indispensable, which may be made by 
women In reduced circumstances to eke out a nar¬ 
row income. The undertaking lias been so suc¬ 
cessful that It is no longer necessary to aigue 
about Its raison (V etre. It has supplied a double 
need: It has not only aided a multitude at women 
In poverty w-ho are precluded from the more active 
industries, but it has offered to buyers of hollday 
presents the best and pleasantest salesroom in the 
city. 
’tills society was organized in the spring of ISIS 
by a number of leading ladles In New York. It 
has been simply aud admirably managed. The 
rooms at 4 East Twentieth street recently vacated 
by Hie society of Decorative Art were taken, and 
arrangements made for carrying on a quiet and, 
probably a losing, business until the autumn, 
when the summer travelers should return to town. 
Some time before Christmas the three rooms at 
first deemed sufficient proved too small, and the 
quarters were considerably enlarged. The place 
was full of goods of all sorts—some beautiful and 
claiming real consideration as works of a high 
order of decorative art. The sales In a single day 
frequently amounted to hundreds of dollars during 
the fortnight preceding the holidays. 
The plan and methods of the managers might 
well be distinctly stated. The society will rely 
upou a permanent Income resulting H orn the sub¬ 
scriptions of the members and of the subscribers. 
Anyone subscribing five dollars a year not only 
helps an excellent charity, but at the same time 
becomes entitled to all the privileges of the Ex¬ 
change, and can Introduce the w ork of any one 
whom It Is wished to help toward self-supporting 
Industry. Articles can be entered only through 
the medium oi a manager or a subscriber. All 
work is or course subject to the approval of a com¬ 
petent committee. It would be difficult to define 
or fix a lltntt lo the kind of work received. Any¬ 
thing that u woman may do—from the painting of 
water color pictures on fire-screens to the making 
of tidies and dressing oi dolls, from embroidering 
In Kensington stitch to the making of Jellies and 
cakes—will be accepted. Nothing, in fact, has 
lound a readier sale than the excellent preserves, 
spiced fruits, Jellies, pickles and delicious cake 
which have been furnished. Ladles who have 
found It necessary to part with old valuables, such 
as laces, rare china, even pictures, have been able 
to do so with advantage. 
’Hie society receives only ten per cent, of the 
price: thus, the person who makes or offers the 
commodities Is not despoiled. This small com¬ 
mission renders the exchange a distinctly charita¬ 
ble enterprise, as of course the proceeds of even 
the largest sales are too slight to defray more than 
a fraction ol the necessary expenses. 
Each article is registered and numbered without 
any delay and not lee of each sale ls at once sent 
by mall to the person Interested, and she ls re¬ 
quested to call ami receive the money. There are 
but two salaried officers, the general superinten¬ 
dent and tiie secretary. Each lady-manager Is ex¬ 
pected to spend one morning of each week at the 
rooms, and co-operate if necessary. During the 
brisk traffic before Christmas, when the place 
was thronged with buyers, a dozen or fifteen of the 
graceful, accomplished lady-managers were fre¬ 
quently to be seen acting as saleswomen, u. n. 
[ Ltpptnoott’S Magazine. 
THE PICTURESQUE ASPECTS OF SUGAR¬ 
MAKING. 
W. I. CHAMBERLAIN. 
Much of picturesqueness will always cling to the 
sugar camp. The romps of children through the 
“ bush" on pleasant Saturdays, when “ school 
don’t keep,” chasing wltn bows and arrows the 
squirrels just emerging “from out their winter 
home;” floating their little boats on the swollen, 
gurgling brook; boiling sap In a liltle pan, arch 
and shanty all their own, and making “maple 
wax" on drifts of still unmelted snow; hunting 
for “baby calico," that hardy pioneer of all the 
wild flowers, that thrusts Us tiny clustered buds 
above the dead leaves only to be buried In the next, 
snow-storm; racing and romping till rosy cheeked 
and tired they go to bed and “ sleep like logs” till 
sunduy morning. Then there ate the troops of 
villagers who come to “ see tho folks and get some 
sugar”-so neighborly and social you know. In 
sugar time aud peach-harvest! Then there Is the 
night boiling with tho lurid blaze leaping from the 
chimney top, and the red light flashing from open 
arch door, flooding with light the (lark wood-piles 
and the trees beyond. There Is your Jolly com¬ 
panion who helps you enliven the ’evening with 
song and story, and Lhcn “turns In” on the rude 
bunk to sleep while you “fire up," aud who lu 
t urn “ bolls” while you sleep. Or there ls the lone¬ 
ly tramp through the “ bush,” for home, with the 
bright tin buckets Hashing the moonbeams Into 
your startled eyes from, every quarter as their 
angles change with your advancing slops, tiff you 
half fancy you are hemmed In by Gideon’s army, 
with pitchers broken and lamps all ablaze; and 
almost expect their trumpets to blow, and Jeri¬ 
cho's walls to fall! 
The fairies of the picturesque and the romantic 
have been driven from almost every corner of our 
modern, hum-drum farms by the demons of avarice 
and haste. The power mowers have chased them 
from our meadows, tho reapers from the grain 
fields, and the whirring, smoking threshers from 
