OCT. U 
Sftterarji lltisceltong. 
EVELYN HOPE. 
BEAtrrnrui, Evelyn Hope is done); 
Sit ivud watch by her side au hour: 
That In Imr bookshelf, thin her bed: 
She plucked that piece of ffOraulum-flower, 
Beginning to die too, in the gloss: 
Little has yet been changed, I think — 
The abutters ate shut, no light ruay pans 
Save two long rays through the hinge’s chink. 
Sixteen years old when she died ! 
Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name ■. 
It was not her time to love; beside, 
Her life had many a hope and aim, 
Unties enough and little cares, 
And now was quiet, now astir; 
Till God's hand beckoned unawares, 
And the sweet white brow is all of her. 
Is it too late, then. Evelyn Hope? 
What! your soul was pure and true; 
The good stars met in your horoscope. 
Made you of spirit, lire and dew - 
And Just because I was tlirioe us old, 
Aud our paths in the world diverged bo wide. 
Each was naught to each, rnuat f be told ? 
Wc wore fellow mortals, naught beside? 
No, indeed ! for God above 
Is great to graut, as mighty to make, 
And creates the love to reword the love— 
I claim you still for niy own love's sake! 
Delayed it may be for more lives yet, 
Through worlds l shall traverse, not a few— 
Much is to learn and much to forget, 
Ere the time bo eomo lor taking you. 
But the time will come—at last it will, 
When, Evelyn Hope, what meant, I shall say 
In the lower earth, in the years long still. 
That body aud sold bo pure and gay ? 
Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, 
And your mouth of your own geranium’s red— 
And what you would do with me, in line, 
In the new life come in the old one’s stead. 
I have lived, I shall say, ho much since then. 
Given up myself so many times, 
Gained mu the gains of various men, 
llausaeked the ages, spoiled the climes; 
Yet oue thing, one, in my soul’s full scope. 
Either I missed or itself missed me— 
And I wautaml find you, Evelyn Hope ! 
What is the issue ? let us sec ! 
I loved you, Evelyn, all the while; 
My heart seciued full as it could hold— 
There was place and to spare for the frank young 
smile, 
Aud the rod young mouth, aud the hair’s young 
gold; 
So hush—I will give you this leaf to keep; 
Sec, I shut It inside the sweet cold hand ; 
There, that is our secret! go to sleep: 
You will wake, and remember, aud understand. 
[Robert Browning, 
-♦ - 
IN TOLLY'S NET. 
CHAPTER VIH, 
(Continued from page 646. > 
When she went clown to luncheon, which, in the 
absence of ces messieurs, was a slender and hasty 
repast, Jean was equipped lor her walk, and Lady 
Sholto asked her, casually, what she was going to 
do. 
“ something you will not approve of, Florence,” 
answered Jean, trilling with a chicken’s wing upon 
her plate. “ The dreadful deed 1 am going to com¬ 
mit Is a walk to Glenholme, to sketch the old 
church there/’ 
“ It Is a long walk, Jeanle dear,” said Lady 
Sholto. “Are yon sure you are equal to It? You 
will go by the mad of course?” 
“ Yea, i have orten walked further, Flo.” 
“Yes, 1 know, last year, with Archie; but you 
were in practice then, you know, and now you are 
not." 
“ Oh! yes,” said J can, laughingly, “ I shall not 
be happy unless 1 gel my sketch, and it Is a lovely 
day.” 
“ Good-bye, Florence,” she said, stooping to kiss 
her. “ Don’t be uneasy; If I am a little late, I 
shall get an escort home.” 
“ Good-bye, dear,” said her ladyship, rather lan¬ 
guidly. “ Don’t over-lire yourself, Jeanle.” 
Jean went oir gaily, sketch-book In hand, down 
the terraces, out of the grounds, on to the road be¬ 
neath, where she started lur her excursion, in what 
professionals would call " very good form,” and at 
a good sound pace. 
She gathered some heather, aeu adorned her 
deer-stalklng cup, and, putting another piece In 
her buttonhole, she said to herself: 
“ I will send that to Archie,” and then suddenly 
recollected that sho had not yet written her dally 
budget. “ How tiresome! I shall miss the mall. 
Well, It eau’t be helped.” 
But the brightness seemed clouded as she went 
on her way after that thought. Archie would be 
vexed, and disappointed, and just now that he Is 
low-splrlted about Frank Johnstone’s death, he 
would fed it now, she thoughi with angry impa¬ 
tience at her own carelessness. 
Then another thought came to her. Would 
Archie approve ot her rendezvous with Mr. Blair? 
Surely not. and Jean made up her mind that she 
would have to be a very sorrowful penitent when 
she made eonfesslou before Archie would absolve 
her from such a peccadillo. 
“ I could not help It,” she said, ruefully. “ Ho 
looked so sorry, poor fellow; aud l eau’t bear mak¬ 
ing people unhappy. There is no harm w hatever.” 
Good walker as she was, undoubtedly, Jean 
found that when she arrived at Glenholme she 
was mucb more tired than she had expected, and 
thought to herself that she could not be so strong 
now as when last year she had taken those long 
walks with Lord Ivor,during which they had learnt 
to know each other. The road had been lonely too, 
aud she had only rnet a Tew chance passengers be- 
tween Sholto and Glenholme, so that she was not 
sorry that the return walk would bo made In Mr. 
Blair’s society. 
THE RURal NEW-YORKER. 
•She w;is glad enough, too, to sit down on a 
little stone step by the old church, and rest 
awhile before she began her sketch, and leaning 
her pretty head against Its ruined walk she fell 
Into a little slumber, which lasted quite half an 
hour before she awoke to a consciousness of 
where she was. Then, hastily opening her Sketch 
book, she began to sketch, and was soon so 
absorbed In her work that she did not notice 
Mr. Blair’s approach, and he stood for some min¬ 
utes watching her as she sat there, and thinking 
what a pretty picture she made. The bright in¬ 
terested face, with her pretty brown hair slightly 
disordered from her walk, her hat thrown care¬ 
lessly at her side, the graceful llgurb In its quaint 
tweed dress, tUe diamonds flashing on the white, 
ungloved hand; the background of blue sky, and 
the solitary rained church In the foreground, sud¬ 
denly looking up with a start, Jean saw the tall 
figure in his loose shooting garments, standing 
leaning against a tree looking at her with dark 
gloomful eyes, which softened into tenderness as 
they met hers. 
“ Have you been there long?” she said, lightly. 
“ You quite startled mo. l’leasc don't move, for 
you are. Just the one thing wanting In my sketch. 
Stand Just as you are now for a few minutes.” 
“ Willingly,” he answered. “ For as loug as you 
like, Miss McLeod, It could not be too long.” 
“There,” said Jean, after a pause, “I have 
done, and you are free, Mr. Blair. I am very much 
obliged.” 
He came aud threw himself on the ground be¬ 
side her in an attitude of easy grace. 
“ May I see your pretty sketch ?” he said, put¬ 
ting out his hand. “You are an accomplished 
artist, Miss McLeod." 
“ It was always my forte,” said Jean, lightly. 
“ Have you had good sport to-day ?” 
“ I believe so, yes.” 
" Is it. time to start homewards,” she asked, after 
a moment’s silence. 
“ Ah! no, not quite yet,” he said, with quick, 
eager entreaty, looking up into her face. “ You 
can spare me a few minutes situ; see 1 have 1 The 
Wanderer’ In my pocket, and we can amuse our¬ 
selves very well for a little while.” 
“You are constant in your likings,” she said, 
glancing at the little worn edition of Meredith’s 
poems. 
“Very constant,” he said, quietly. “I never 
change." 
He was turning over the leaves idly as he spoke, 
looking up Into her face covertly. 
“ What makes yon like Owen Meredith so 
much ?” she said. 
“ Because he writes like a man who has suf¬ 
fered.” 
“ Have you suffered, then ?” 
“ Yes, lately; intensely." 
The words dropped from him as If each cost him 
an effort, and as If spoken in pain; Jean, tender 
inue neart, softened strangely, and her lip quiv¬ 
ered; he was silent for a moment, and when he 
spoke again It was In a different tone, carelessly 
and Irrelevantly. 
For half an hour they sat together under the 
walls or the old, weather-beaten, ruined church; 
he talked mostly, while she listened at Intervals, 
faselnuted and entranced by the singular charm 
of his conversation, for he Imd laid himself out to 
please her, aud could not but succeed. He talked 
of poets and poetry, of sunny southern chines, of 
that land where "love most lovely seems,” Italy, 
and Jean felt herselt carried by his Impassioned 
eloquence far from Glenholme to the magic land 
or which he spoke. 
“ By ocean bar. by woodland belt, 
Our silent course a syren led. 
Till dark in dawn began to melt; 
Through the wild wizard work o’er head, 
A murmur from the violet Balls 
A glory In the golden dell, 
There beauty all her breast unveils, 
Aud music pours out all her spell. 
We watched towards the land of dreams, 
The fair tnoon draw the murmuring main; 
A single thread of silver Im-juus 
W as made the monster’s rippling chain; 
We heard far off the syren’s song, 
We caught the gleam of sea maid’s hair. 
The glimmering isles and rocks among, 
We moved through sparkling purple air.” 
It was very pleasant to sit and listen; and when 
at last he rose from his lowly position at her feet 
with a long sigh, Jean sighed also, sottly and 
faintly—an echo of his own. 
“Time to go—so soon!” she said. “It has 
been very pleasant. We have a long walk home, 
though.” 
“ Yes, and I am afraid it Is later than I thought, 
Miss McLeod, it. Is past five!" 
“ Past five I” ejaculated Jean, m dismay. “ we 
shall never be at. home in tune tor dinner. There 
is a short cut across the moor. Do you know it, 
Mr. Blair?” 
“ 1 think 1 do. Will tt save us much ?” 
•* Yes, fully a mile; come, now,” she added, gaily, 
“we must put best foot foremost!” 
“Are you going to leave your sketch-book?” he 
said, Uftlng It from the ground. 
“ Oh! I had forgotten It!” she said, laughing. 
"You have made me forget everything this after¬ 
noon but Owen Meredith and Italy!” 
Ills face brightened as they walked rapidly on, 
talking gaily tor some time; but before they had 
walked a mile Jean’s pace flagged, and, without 
making any remark, Mr. Blair altered bis step lo 
suit here. 
They had not gone very Car when a sudden, great 
splash ot rain fell upon Jean’s cheek, and she 
starred in dismay, 
“ It Isgomg to ruin, 1 think! Oh! what a heavy, 
black cloud! Mr. Blair, here Isa complication!’> 
she exclaimed. 
He looked anxious and uneasy. 
“ 1 am afraid It Is going to be rough,” he said. 
“ I almost wish we had kept to the road. I hope 
you are uot very tired; for we must walk fast.” 
“ I am not tired,” she answered. “ How tire¬ 
some of It to rain!” 
They went on more silently now, the ram com¬ 
ing down faster; and the sky darkened rapidly as 
the evening tell. After a time a sudden stillness— 
the hush preceding a .storm—fell over the face of 
the wide-spreading moor. It was becoming diffi¬ 
cult to see the way; and Jean’s little feet were 
growing more and more weary as they plodded on. 
Mr. Blair had removed his shooting-coat, and, re¬ 
gardless or her remonstrances, wrapped It round 
her, so that she was not yet wet, and he had 
drawn her hand through hla arm to help her on ; 
but before two miles had been covered Jean's 
fatigue almost overpowered her. 
“This Is terrible for you, my poor child,” he 
said, tenderly, “ I am so sorry.” 
“ You are wet through,” said Jean, trying to 
laugh; but she was so weary and exhausted fight¬ 
ing with the wind and rain, that the effort was a 
decided failure. 
“ That does not matter. How can I help you?” 
“ I wonder how far we have to go now ?” she 
said, wearily, as they went on again; but they 
had not gone many paces when the first flash of 
lightning and a low roll ot thunder sounded the 
outbreak of the storm. 
Jean uttered a cry of terror, and turned to her 
companion, who put his arm round her aud drew 
her close to Ills side. 
“ Do not bo alarmed!” he said, In a hoarse, agi¬ 
tated voice. “ You are safe, dear child!" 
But the girl, who was the veriest coward In a 
storm, broke Into terrified sobs, and struggled In 
vain to conquer her emotion and terror. 
Very gently Mr. Blair bent over her, holding her 
within ills arm, aud trying to soothe her and to 
Induce her to go onward; but the progress was 
very slow, and by the time another mile was 
walked the storm was at its bight. Jean was 
halt dead with terror, fright and exhaustion, and 
Mr. Blair was fain to confess that he did not know 
hJs w ay. 
They were lost on the moor! 
. CHAPTER IX. 
CAUGHT IN THE NET. 
Lost on the moor 1 
“Have we lost our way?” asked Jean, Uftlng 
her head from Mr. Blair’s arm in sudden fear as he 
stopped. 
“ 1 almost think we have," he answered, speak¬ 
ing cheerfully, to give her courage. “ It Is rather 
a chapter of accidents altogether, is It not? I 
wish I could find some shelter for you, poor 
birdie 1” 
“ I think we cannot be very far from home,” she 
said, withdrawing herself a little from his support. 
“ I wonder which way we ought to go?” 
"It I could only find some shelter for you,” he 
3 ald again, “ I would push on to Sholto and bring 
a carriage.” 
“ No, no!” with a sudden terror ; “you must not 
leave me, Mr. Blair.” 
( , “Ot course not here, dear child; as If I coujl'” 
| There was no attempt at concealment of yie 
■ tenderness of Ids voice now. and, terrified though 
she was, and faint and trembling, Jean recollected 
her faith to Lord Ivor and his trust In her with a 
pang of self-reproach. 
“ Perhaps they will send to look for us," sho said 
In a moment. 
“ 1 hope so—1 hope so," he said, and at this mo¬ 
ment a flash of lightning showed a figure coming 
towards them across the moor. 
"There Is some oue coming,” said Jean, rallying 
for a moment, and if the darkness had permitted 
her to see her companion’s face she would have 
seeu that, an expression of auger and annoyance 
Hashed across It. 
The figure came nearer to them, and Mr. Blair 
called out asking tf he could put them in the way 
to .Sholto Hall, and how far It was. 
“To Sholto,” was the answer. “ Troth, man, ye 
should bae hadrlen wessel to sholto; ye’re albltns 
tea mile or rnalr awa frae Sholto.” 
Jean uttered a faint little cry of dismay, and An¬ 
drew Blair muttered something between his teeth 
which might have been a benediction or an exe¬ 
cration, or both perhaps. 
•• Ueoh! sir, but It’s a weary long gate yet to 
Sholto, and unco heavy road for the leddle,” said 
their Informant. 
“ What can we do ?” said Mr. Blair. “ It is such 
terrible weather, and this lady Is quite exhausted. 
“ 1 ketma, unless ye like to gae down with me 
to Langdule, and speer ror quarters at the bottle 
there; Pse warrant they’ll hao room for ye and 
your gold wife there.” 
“ How faris tt to Langdale ?’’ asked Mr. Blair. 
“ A gey bit, albllns twa mile and a blttock,” was 
t he reply. 
" I am afraid that that Is our only resource,” 
said Mr. Blair, bending over Jean again. “Are 
yon strong enough to walk the distance, or shall I 
carry you. Jean V” 
“ I can walk.” sho said, faintly. “ You are very 
good, Mr. Blair,” she added as they went slowly 
on. “ I am such a foolish coward.” 
" It la a terrible ordeal for^ou. poor child,” he 
so Id, tenderly. ■■ A nd you are bearing It tar better 
than most women would, if you will allow me to 
put my arm round you, l can give you more effec¬ 
tual assistance and support. There Is nothing im¬ 
proper,” he added, smiling, •• you would allow me 
to do It U we were waltzing, you know, and our 
triend here thinks we are man and wife, so he 
won’t see anything unusual In the proceeding.” 
Jean was too wear}- to make any resistance and 
she suffered him to pass his aria round her aud 
found It a great help and assistance as they went 
on; the sturdy yeoman beside them making uu 
occasional remark as to the way, the storm or the 
distance which Mr. Blair answered. 
For some Bine they proceeded thus, slowly 
enough, for Jean’s strength was falling her, and 
she leanlmore and more heavily on the strong arm 
clasped around her; she did not speak oven In 
answer to a rewcneering, helpful words which Mr. 
Blair addressed to her now aud then, she was too 
utterly weary,every limb was acbfng with fatigue, 
and her bodily prostration deadened the sense 
which had at first made her feel acutely miserable, 
that Florence would be anxious, And that when 
Lord Ivor heard ot her adventure on the moors he 
would be Berlously displeased. Tt was all her own 
fault, 3he thought, dimly, as her weary head drop- 
6d on Andrew Blair s shoulder and her little cold 
hands lay passive In his, all her own fault; but sho 
had not strength to care much even for Archie’s 
anger, 
“The pulr lassie issalr tired,” said the man once. 
“Yes,” said Andrew Blair, sortly, and Jean felt 
how the tender clasp tightened round her tremb¬ 
ling form. 
“ My ccrtlc, It’s but naltural,” was the rejoinder. 
“Your gnld wife, sir?" 
Andrew Blair hesitated for a moment, then he 
answered, quietly: 
“ Yea, my wife.” 
They went on In silence for a few minutes. Jean 
had heard the worJs, but bad not cared to contra¬ 
dict them; perhaps Mr. Blair had good reason for 
making such an assertion. 
Suddenly he bent over her and spoke In a low 
tone. 
“Jean, he said, softly, “ It, will be better for you 
to pass as tny wife at this Inn; It might lead to un¬ 
pleasant remarks otherwise. Are you willing ?” 
“ Yes,” said Jean, Languidly. “ If you like.” 
Andrew Blair’s heart throbbed quickly with 
mingled joy and triumph, his wlshed-for object 
was almost attained. Not only might he possess 
the wife he longed tor, but he might take the 
cruellest revenge upon Lord Ivor that It was In the 
power or man to take. 
Remember, they were lu Scotland—in Scotland 
“ where a man and a woman have only to declare 
themselves married, and the thing is done.” 
1‘oor, light-hearted Jean McLeod, in wbat a 
terrible net w;is she entangling herself! Was 
there no guardian angel by her side to show her 
the pitfall open at her feet ? What a terrible fu¬ 
ture of sorrow and suffering she was preparing 
for herselt, and one whose happiness was far 
dearer to her than her own. 
“ Courage,” said Mr. Blair, softly, as her foot¬ 
steps Hugged, then ceased. “ We shall soon be 
there. It la but a few yards further, dearest 
child.” 
Jean made an effort, but stumbled; and Mr. 
Blair caught her In hla arms. 
“ I cannot,” sue said feebly. “ I cannot; I am 
so tired. Help me—oh t help me!” 
Her eyes closed, and he felt her head fall heavily 
forward on his breast. 
“ I am faint,” she moaned ; then consciousness 
entirely deserted her, and she lay In his arms In 
a dead faint. 
Mr. Blah- lifted her In his strong arms lightly, 
as he might have done a sleeping child, and the 
beautiful, pallid face fell upon his shoulders white 
and still. 
“ Bhe has fainted,” he said, briefly. “Perhaps 
It Is better so. We can step out now, friend." 
And t be two men quickened their pace, the one 
apparently as little encumbered by his helpless 
burden as the other was by the bundle he carried 
slung on the end of Ills stick. 
The swtrt motion, however, soon recalled Jean 
to herselt, and In a few moments her eyes opened 
again. She looked vacantly into the darkness, 
dimly understanding what had happened, and 
lifted her head feebly from Its resting-place. 
“ T can walk,” she said, tn low faint tones; Jtrnt 
Mr. Btatr peremptorily silenced her. 
“You must not think of tt.” he said, firmly, 
but tenderly. "I wilt uot allow It. Langdale 
lights are visible now. and your discomfort will 
soon be over. Meanwhile rest still, my darling. 
1 will hold you but a few moments longer, my 
precious little wile.” 
The last words were said with an Inexpressible 
tenderness. Jean’s head rested again upon his 
breast, and two large tears forced themselves be¬ 
tween her tong lashes. 
Langdale was a wretched Uttle hamlet—a col¬ 
lection of hovels built in a tittle dell with moun¬ 
tain on one side aad moor on the other three. The 
inn, the largest house among the number, was a 
square, stoutly-built erection, which had an air of 
sturdy independence about. It. 
“ The landleddy is a Southerner,” said Mr. Blair’s 
guide, as they drew near the house; and .lean ut¬ 
tered a teeble little petition that she might walk; 
she was quite strong again. 
" Please, Mr. Blair.” 
“ Won’t you trust me to take care of you. Jean ?” 
he said, softly; and at t his moment their guide 
kuoeked at tho door of the Inn, aud Mr. Blair 
placed Jean gently upon her feet. 
She was giddy aud fal nt still, and seeing her 
weakness, he put hts ana round her again, and 
the door of the Inn being opened, a flood of light 
came streaming out, giving a ruddy welcome to 
the weary travelers; and the occupants of Hie bar- 
parlor looking up, saw on the threshold a tall man 
supporting on hts arm the slender, drooping torm 
of a young girl, whose white face lay upon his 
breast, aud whose, languid, nerveless movements 
seemed to denote illness, or the exhaustion lollow- 
Ing on extreme latigue, white behind them ap¬ 
peared a farmer-like figure, who was well known 
to some of them, aod who was greeted by one or 
two as •* David Grainger.” 
A tall, tresh-looktng woman came forward to 
meet Mr. Blair, .red looked at him inquiringly. 
“ Are you the landlady ?" he said. 
“Yes, sir,” she answered, with something of 
the same sturdy, independent air which character¬ 
ised her house. 
“ We lost our way on the moors,” said Mr. Blair, 
speskmg with slow distinctness, aud in tones audi¬ 
ble to most of the men assembled In the lighted 
bar-parlor; “arid this lady, my wife, is terribly 
tired and exhausted. Can you give us shelter 
until the storm Is well over, and a good tire, if you 
please?" 
“ Certainly, sir,” was the answer. “ You wiU 
require private rooms, of course?” 
“ Yes; and perhaps you cau give my wife a 
change of clothes; hers are wet through, as you 
perceive." 
“This way, sir," the landlady said, showing 
