JULY 40 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
484 
fitearp HUstfllani). 
LITTLE FEET. 
BY FLORENCE PERCY. 
Two little feet, so small that both may nestle 
In one caressing band— 
Two tender feet, upon the Untried border 
Of life’s mysterious land. 
Dimpled and soft, and pink as peach tree blossoms 
Id April’s fragrant, days. 
How can they walk among the briery tangles 
Edging the world’s rough ways ? 
These rose-white feet along the doubtful future. 
Must bear a woman's load; 
Alas! since woman has the heaviest burden, 
And walks the hardest road. 
Love for a while, will make the path before them 
All dainty, smooth and fair— 
Will cull away the brambles, letting only 
The roses blossom there. 
But when the mother’s watchful eyes are shrouded 
Away from the light of morning. 
And these dear feet are left without her guide, 
tVho shall direct them then ? 
How will they be allured, betrayed, deluded. 
Poor little untaught feet! 
Into what dreary mazea will they wander. 
What dangers will they meet ? 
Will they go stumbling blindly in the darkness 
Of sorrow’s tearful shades ? 
Or find the upland slopes of peace and beauty, 
W hose sunlight never fades ? 
Will they go tolling up ambition's summit. 
The common world above ? 
Or in some nameless vale, securely sheltered, 
Watk side by sido with Love ? 
Somefcet there he which walk life’s track unwounded. 
Which find bat pleasant ways; 
Some hearts there he to which this life is only 
A round of happy days. 
But they are few. Far more there are to wander 
Without a hope or friend, 
Who find their journey full of paius and losses. 
And long to reach the end. 
How shall It be with her, that tender Btranger; 
Fair-faced and gentle-eyed, 
Before whose unstained feet the world’s rudo highway 
Stretches so strange and wide! 
Ah! who may read the future 1 For my darling 
We crave all blesBlugs sweet. 
And pray that He who feeds the crying ravens 
Will guide the baby’s feet. 
LAVw Orleans Times. 
AN UGLY GIEL. 
(Continued from page 415.) 
CHAPTER XXXII, 
THE HEIRESS AND BKK CONFIDANT. 
From the window or her favorite sitting-room 
Miss Carlsforde watched the departure of her 
kinsman; she was still leaning against the win¬ 
dow-frame, her eyes half-closed, her attitude ex¬ 
pressive of the greatest despondency, when clem¬ 
ent Dunforth entered the room and eagerly ap¬ 
proached her. 
“Then you have routed the enemy, my dear 
Miss Carlsforde'.’” he exclaimed. “Accept my 
congratulations on the firmness with which yon 
have behaved.” 
“Routed an enemy, did you say?" she responded, 
bitterly. “ I feel as If I had driven from me my 
best friend. Oh! Mr. Dunforth, may Heaven for¬ 
give you, for I never-never can. If you have In¬ 
duced me to wrong my cousin !” 
The young man raised Ills eyebrows and took an 
Injured tone directly. 
“Miss Carisforde. this Is a strange speech to 
address to me, the friend of Noel. Have I not 
pleaded for lilm? nave I not striven to palliate 
his conduct ? Did I not refuse to believe that he 
could have intentionally acted with such treach¬ 
ery, till you grew augry at tny obstluuey ? When 
I spoke of Noel as I did just now, it was more In 
pity than In scorn, for 1 shall always maintain 
that he has been bis own enemy more than yours.” 
“If he would but have cleared himself!'’ she 
murmured. 
“ And he could uot ? I feared as much. Why, 
then, do you not try and dismiss hint from your 
thoughts?” 
“ Is It so easy to forget those we have liked?” 
“Yes," was the reply. “ It ought to he, when 
we have convinced ourselves of their umvorthl- 
ness. Were 1 In your place, It would drive me 
mad If I heard Noel Carlsforde boast that, he could 
have won me If he had thought the game worth 
the trouble.” 
“ lie dare not do this!” exclaimed Hllllan, grow¬ 
ing pale with anger. 
“I hope he will not, for his own sake,” hissed 
Clement Dunforth through Ids teeth; “but we 
must not forget t hat he can take terrible advan¬ 
tage of the unguarded manner In which you, my 
poor friend, have behaved. Your keeping him 
here—your waiting on him lu the character of an 
upper servant — your secluding yourself from 
everyone else, will all give food for his Insinua¬ 
tions, and the world Is always so ready to believe 
any tale that reflects upon your sex." 
Before he had finished speaking, Hllllan had 
slid down to the nearest chair, and was hiding 
tier face In her folded aims Every word he said 
was spoken deliberately and with telling effect, 
since she had known Noel and Ills sister—since 
she had discovered tliai she was uot as repulsive 
In appearance as her father's exaggerated remarks 
on her ugliness had led her to think, she had felt 
many yearnings to bo known and loved, aud to be 
able to take part In society and Its pleasures she 
had also learned to value the opinion of her rellow 
creatures; to comprehend that sho must, not aln 
against, the convenances, aud the hints that, lu her 
seclusion, she could have afforded to despise, now 
humiliated her terribly. 
At last, In her desperation, she started up and 
turned upon the hand that stung her. 
“JWhy do you tell me these things? Was I 
not unhappy enough? Have I ever known any 
peace of mind since your revelations taught me 
that Noel Carlsforde was not what he seemed ?’’ 
“ Did I make those revelations willingly?” asked 
Clement Dunforth. “ Did I not entreat you not to 
question me? Have l not offended my friends, 
thrown up my situation, and risked my prospects, 
that I might be near you, and aid you to the best 
of my ability?” 
“ Yes, you have been very kind,” sighed Hllllan; 
“and I am not unthankful, though 1 sometimes 
wish you had left me In ignorance of the truth.” 
“ Why would you not let me do so? You saw 
how It grieved me to be compelled to denounce 
my friend. But no; 1 cannot call him by that 
name now I see that he meditates such cruel re¬ 
prisals." 
“ What do you mean7" Hllliau breathlessly de¬ 
manded. 
“ Do not a.sk me. It would pain you too much to 
hear It. Why are you so lonely ? Why Is there no 
one to protect you from the shame—the scandal— 
the newspaper paragraphs, with which your fair 
fame will be assailed ?” 
Miss Carlsforde wrung ber hands. 
“Ah! why. Indeed, am I so friendless ? Why 
cannot I die, and so escape the misery I am 
enduring — the torture with which 1 am threat¬ 
ened ?” 
Clement Dunforth suddenly threw himself at her 
feet. 
“ Miss Carlsforde—Ada—you shall not be left to 
the cruel mercies of the base and heartless. There 
is one who has not only pitied, but loved you from 
the first moment of our acquaintance—one who 
would laydown his very existence to shield you 
from sorrow. Clive me the. right to be your pro¬ 
tector, and 1 will take you out of reach of all these 
petty troubles and annoyances. As my wife you 
will be safe; not a word will anyone presume to 
say to your discredit; and In the smiling scenes of 
Southern France or Italy 1 will teach you to forget 
all that now grieves you.” 
••Impossible!” cried Hllllan, the color sweeping 
over her face and brow. “ You cannot know what 
you are saying, Mr. Dunforth. 1 ’ 
“ Not know that I am asking you to he mine? Is 
It not to rescue you from your present unhappiness 
that I have broken the bonds 1 had Imposed on 
myself ?” 
“ Hush! sir. You are affianced to another!" 
“To Irene Estcourt! No; my letter annulling 
an engagement too hastily entered Into Is now In 
her hands. Ada, you and l were made for each 
other. Fate has destined that we should be united. 
I alone can save from the machinations of Noel 
Carlsforde, and the disgrace with which he thinks 
to blight you. One word from your Ups—only say. 
‘ Clement, I consent,’ and your enemies are mine. 
I will not only defy, but defeat them.” 
“ I shall never many," faltered Hllllan; “and 
If It can be true—and I know not how to believe 
It—that Lord Carlsforde will use me thus, I will 
defeat such malice by going away, and ending my 
days In some obscure corner of the world where 
no one can And me.” 
“ You will not be permitted to do so. Your 
wealth renders you of too much consequence. Ah! 
why do you hesitate ? Must 1 tell you the worst ? 
What win you do if Lord Carlsforde construes 
your eccentricity, as he called It when speaking to 
me, into something worse, and you are seized— 
confined in an asylum 7” 
Hllllan screamed faintly, aud recoiled, but quick¬ 
ly recovered herself; for now the treacherous 
Clement had overshot the mark. 
“lie will not attempt this. Do you know that 
the more 1 dwell upon his manners as well as his 
words during our last Interview, the more 1 feel 
convinced that there has been some strange mis¬ 
take—that he Is still the noble, upright man 1 
thought him, till you came to Caristorde.” 
Clement, rose, and. with folded arms and threat¬ 
ening brow, asked If it was his fault that she had 
changed her opinion of her kinsman. 
*• I don’t know; I hope not. I am not feeling well. 
If you would kindly leave me, Mr. Dunforth, 1 
shall be obliged. 
“ With the question on which the whole future 
of my life depends still unanswered. Do you ask 
me to do this 7” he demanded. 
"Then l must, at all risk of giving you pain, 
tell you once again that it is impossible," she 
Amity replied. ■* 1 cannot, be your wife. Had I 
tmagiued that you would ever have thought of 
our union, 1 should have put an end to our ac¬ 
quaintance long since. I have always regarded 
you as the be thro riied of Irene my friend !” 
The last words were spoken so deliberately that 
Clement bit ins Up. But he caught her dress as 
she would have slid past, and, compelling her to 
listen, he urged his request till she was fainting 
with agitation. 
But even then he pleaded in vain. 
“I will never marry; i could not love you. I 
dread the shame with which you say I am threat¬ 
ened ; but I will never consent to Involve another 
In it,” was all she would say. 
At last, Clement Dunforth was obliged to see 
that the gentle, yielding girl, over whom he 
Imagined that he had obtained unbounded lnAu- 
ence, could be firm enough when It was necessary. 
He could make her weep and wring her hands, 
and long tor death rather than encmuiter the 
Doubles he predicted; but he could not extort 
from her the little •• Yes " he sought to obtain. 
At last Ills patience gave way, and, grasping her 
arm, he said, In menacing tones: 
“Ada carlsforde, 1 would have spared you the 
last arrow In my quiver, but you will not let me. 
You must be mine—you have no alternative; for I 
have a secret of yours In my keeping which will 
ruin you, unless you seal my lips with tills little 
hand.” 
Hhe looked at him wildly. What did lie mean ? 
“Do uot compel me to tell you. Only say, 
‘Clement, I am yours—to you 1 coufide my tuture,’ 
aud uo one shall ever know or even suspect the 
truth-” 
“Vou terrify me!” she gasped, “But I do not 
value my life well enough to care how It passes 
and T should he as unhappy if I were your wife as 
I am now. Pray cease, Mr. Dunforth; you shock 
me. If 1 must be frank with you, sir, you are be¬ 
ginning to disgust me. There is no disinterested 
love for me In your looks or words. I thank you for 
not feigning any; but Is It possible that you are 
deliberately pursuing the line of conduct which 
you Induced me to think Lord Carlsforde was 
taking?—seeking to marry me for my wealth, and 
to cast shame on me, that I may be repudiated as 
soon as It can be done with decency ?” 
“Itlsnotinmy nature to ill-treat a woman.” 
said clement, coldly. 
“ Then cease to persecute so helpless a one as I 
am," Miss Carlsterd retorted. “If you have been 
truly my friend, I will And some way of proving 
my sense of It; but not as you propose.” 
“ But It you must, if there Is no other course 
open to you ?” 
seeing that she looked Incredulous, he stooped 
and whispered something that made her spring up, 
and demand, as well as her chattering teeth 
would let her: 
“ Is It true ?” 
“ It Is,” he answered; and would have, pur, hls 
arm around her. for she seemed about to tall; but. 
pushing bhn aside with resistless force, she Aed 
from the room. 
Clement waited awhile, then pencilled a few 
lines on the hack of a card, entreating her to 
return to him, or say when she would see him 
again. 
“ To-morrow morning, at eleven.” was the reply 
brought to him; and, satisfied that Hllllan ac¬ 
knowledged hls power at last, he went away. 
Long before the appointed hour he made hls ap¬ 
pearance, and bade .Jephson tell hls young lady 
that he awaited her. But the man lingered. 
“ It was Mrs. Hurst sent you that message yes¬ 
terday. Mr. Dunforth. 1 don’t think Miss caris¬ 
forde knew anything about It. She had shut her¬ 
self in her room, and the old lady did not like to 
disturb her.” 
“ It does not signify; tell her I am here.” 
“ But I can’t, sir,” was the disconcerting reply ; 
“for she left the Park yesterday evening; and 
where she’s gone to Is more than I or anyone in 
the house can say.” 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
AT HOME AGAIN. 
Noei. safely reached London, and was welcomed 
with such unfeigned joy by bis half-sister, that for 
a time he forgot the gloomy thoughts that had 
made his Journey a mo3t depressing one. Mrs. 
Estcourt, whose many fancied aliments had been 
set aside by a really dangerous Illness, from which 
she was hut just recovering, was more subdued, 
more affectionate than he had ever seen her be¬ 
fore ; and Irene, though worn to a shadow by ra- 
tlgue and anxiety, struck him as being greatly im¬ 
proved by the time of trial, she had passed 
through, almost unaided. 
D was not till all Mrs. Eatoourt's Inquiries about 
Cansforde Park had been answered, or evaded, 
and the Children persuaded to believe that Noel 
was not strong enough to endure their boisterous 
caresses any longer, tUat Irene was able to have 
Mm to herself for the long confidential talk on 
which she was building. Yet, when there was 
nothing to hinder it, both the brother and the sis¬ 
ter were strangely silent. Irene could not bring 
herself to speak of clement Dunforth, and Noel 
shrank from the painful task of revealing II Allan's 
Identity with Miss Caristorde, and the distrust 
with vi hlch she had been taught to regard him. 
The Ice was broken, however, by hls Inquiry af¬ 
ter Irene's much admired friend, Allas Jenkins. 
" I quarrelled with her," was the reply, “ just 
after 1 came hack to mamma, because she bluntly 
told me that her cousin would never have asked 
me to be hls wife. If he had not learned at the 
office, In which he is employed, that you were heir 
to the dying Lord Carlsforde, and that there was 
every prospect of my being well dowered- I said 
It was false, that 1 could not believe it of him.” 
“ But I can,” responded her brother, bitterly. 
“ Forgive me. if 1 pain you, dear, but clement 
Dunforth is not worthy your companionship.” 
Irene sighed, and let her head droop on hls 
shoulder. 
“ 1 have no light to be angry with him, If he has 
found out that 1 am too silly and Ignorant to make 
him a good wife,” 
“ My dear Uttle sister, Heaven forbid that you 
should throw yourself away on a teUow, to whom 
In all good and right feeling you are so immeasur¬ 
ably superior!” 
“ We’U not talk of him," said Irene, dashing 
away a few tears. •* I feel as If I were five years 
older than when I Jumped at the Idea of being a 
married lady, and having a dear little home or my 
own. Since I came from carlsforde, L have thought j 
a great deal, and it has made me wonder at myself 
that I could have been so selfish as to wish to leave 
poor mamma and the children. If she—well. 1 
may be frank with you—If she were wise, and could 
manage tor herself, of course I could be spared; 
but with her helpless ways, and the little ones 
looking to me for everything, it would be cruel to 
go away from them." 
“ But, on the other hand, my poor child. It wUl 
never do to lot all your youth be wasted in strug¬ 
gling with cares that ought uot devolve on your 
shoulders!" 
And now Noel began to ask himself how he 
could quit England while hls young sister was 
thus over-burdened. It would vex him very much 
to renounce hls plans, for hi change of scene he 
hoped to forget Hllliau, as he still called Miss caris¬ 
forde ; hut he was not one who lived for hlmselt. 
and another glance at the thin and pensive face 
of Irene made him resolve, no matter wliat the 
cost to ins mv a heart., that, he would share her tri¬ 
als. To this resolve ho determined to adhere—at 
all events, until Airs, Esteourt’s health was re¬ 
established, the little boys placed at some well- 
conducted boarding-school, and the companion¬ 
ship secured tor Irene of some well-informed mid¬ 
dle-aged woman who would undertake the educa¬ 
tion of Afaggle. 
On the morrow Irene took him Into her room to 
proudly display the pretty cherry-wood wardrobe, 
with cheval-glass fitted Into one of the doors, th?' 
had been sent to her shortly after her return 
home. On opening It, she had discovered that 
every 3helf was full, and that for the Arst time in 
her life she was the proud and happy possessor of 
an excellent assortment of all those articles of 
clothing a young lady requires. In the neat dress¬ 
ing-case that accompanied this costly and yet use¬ 
ful gift, there was a note from Ada Carisforde, en¬ 
treating her little cousin to accept what It had 
given her unspeakable gratlAcatlon to select. 
“ Hllllan Cray never spoke very kindly of Ada 
Carisforde," said Irene; “ but for my own part I 
think she must bo the most generous as weA as 
the most considerate creature living. Who else 
would have thought of me at aA ?” 
“ Might it not be UAUan Gray herself to whom 
you are Indebted for them ?” asked Noel;but, when 
she laughed Incredulously, he said no more. 
He could not make up hls mind yet to tell her 
that it was for the very person of whom they spoke 
that Clement Dunforth had deserted her. 
Dr. Monson matte a journey to town a day or 
two after Noel left Carisforde, to ascertain bow hls 
patient, had borne hls journey, and upon hls heels 
came Herr Kudolsheim, whom the death of a rela¬ 
tive was recalling to hls native land. 
“ You will not go with me?" he queried. “ Is the 
notice too short ? Then you shaA foUow me when 
It Is more convenient. I leave with you my ad¬ 
dress, and there shall be a welcome for you In the 
Uttle house at Darmstadt, where I dwell with my 
good mother, whenever your plans admit of your 
journeylng there.” 
“ You left Alias Carlsforde well, I hope.” Noel 
observed, as they were saying their adleux. 
The Herr threw up hls hands with an expressive 
gesture. 
"She has gone — disappeared, carrying Mrs. 
Hurst with her ; and the household is under mili¬ 
tary discipline, with Jeph3on acting as comp¬ 
troller-general. That wonderful young man, Dun¬ 
forth, Is annihilated by a defeat so total. He bas 
accused me of being In the young lady's conAdence, 
of being cognizant of her movements; but 1 assure 
him upon mine honor that it. Is not so." 
Noel was both surprised and sorry to hear that 
Hllllan had taken this step ; but as It was plain 
that the Herr was as much In the dark as he de¬ 
clared himself. It was useless Interrogating h im . 
There was, however, another subject to which he 
could not resist alluding, 
“ There is one thing I should like to know. Mein 
Herr. When you professed to raise spirits, was 
there no collusion between Miss Carlsforde and 
yourself ?" 
" Must 1 be candid, and say • Yes?’ In some 
measure there was. I will tell you all. I came 
upon her In the library one day ; I had penetrated 
her secret: she was the daughter of my friend. I 
contrive to make her believe that I would be hers 
too. I discover In our long conversations that she 
had been taught, to doubt you, and In my wish to 
make you understand each other better, I propose 
that 1 shall throw you into a mesmeric trance, In 
which you Shall truly answer whatever she asked. 
Once brought together, l thought 1 should have 
wit euough to effect my friendly purpose; but, un¬ 
fortunately, the few drops or an opiate I Infused 
in the wine you swallowed acted too powerfully. 
You were A1; the jYnulnn was terrtAed, and I re¬ 
solve In my heart, to scheme no more.” 
Then they were Hllllan'? tears that had fallen 
upon hls face; It was slip who had shrieked so 
wUdly In her fears that he was dying! Ah I she 
had loved him a Attle. Yet why did he rejoice to 
know rids ? Even It Clement Dunforth had not In¬ 
terfered, she would still be the heiress whom he 
was too poor and too proud to woo. 
The Herr's visit, and the tidings he brought, ef¬ 
fectually banished all the resignation on which 
Noel had beenpridlng himself. For the remainder 
of the day. the Image of Hllllan, pale and tearful, 
her eyes reproaching him for deceiving her, 
haunted him. In vain he tried to shake off these 
recollections by plunging into business ; going to 
the city, and seeking some occupation wherewith 
to supplement the smaU sum Inherited from the 
late viscount; tor when, wearied as much by want 
of success as tbe long walk, he turned hls steps 
homeward at dusk, he was more disheartened and 
dejected than lie ever remembered to have felt be¬ 
fore. 
Irene's voice reached hls ear as soon as be en¬ 
tered the house ; she was talking cheerfully to the 
hungry children, whose wants she was supplying, 
as they sat round her at the tea-table. Feeling 
that Ids depressed look would be a cheek upon 
the Uttle party, Noel turned Into the front parlor, 
which was generally unoccupied at mistime of the 
day. 
It was not till he had reached the hearth, and 
stirred the tiro into a blaze, that he discovered he 
was uot alone. A female figure was hovertug In 
the shadow, and at hls start and exclamation, Ada 
Carlsforde came slowly forward, and stood before 
him. 
“ My lord.” she said, hoarsely and rapidly, as If 
the strength sho summoned for the task she had 
set herself was ebbing so fust that she must be 
quick or break down— 1 “ my lord. I bring you news, 
which perhaps ought to have been communicated 
through the lawyers; but they are slow, and I felt 
that you ought not to be kept In ignorance a mo¬ 
ment after l had assured myself that they are cor¬ 
rect. The. Carisforde estates are yours, not mine ; I 
have no right to them. Aly father was laboring 
under a grievous error when he made that wUl. I 
have left the Park, and you can take possession 
whenever you think proper.” 
A no then, gathering her veil over her face, she 
turned away, sue had aecompUshed her errand- 
ay t and she had looked once more ui the race of 
the man she loved. Here bail been the exquisite 
pleasure ot relinquishing in hls favor the wealth, 
that, unless he wotAd have shared It, she could 
never have ehjoyed; as for what would become of 
