ii tulies floral taaiknei tint} Pictorial 
iooie 
tomimnian. 
to take his part, and to strive in every way to fulfil his 
wishes.” 
“Don’t think, Winnifred, I should have the bad taste to 
speak against your father in your presence,” said Biadley, 
with a slightly cynical smile curling his lips, “ I am sure it 
is very commendable in you to feel as you do.” 
This speech sounded patronizing and hypocritical in Win- 
nifred’s ears, but it only goaded her on to the aim she had 
in view. “ I think you ought to know,” said she, trying to 
make her voice very strong and assured, andlooking straight 
before her, “that my father had some regrets, some feel¬ 
ings of remorse, for the wrong done my uncle Harold by 
Grandfather Halcourt’s will.” 
“ Well, that is all past and gone, Winnifred. There is 
no use iu raking it up now,” returned Bradley with alac¬ 
rity ; “ I do not hold the money at a pin’s fee. As you were 
the gainer I think you ought to know this.” 
“ But nry uncle Harold did not feel so.” 
“No, his last years weie embittered by what he consid¬ 
ered an outrage, almost an act of robbery. But we young¬ 
er ones are not responsible for the irrevocable things that 
happened to our elders. We do not think or feel as they 
did. Their grudges are not ours, and we can well afford to 
let the old hatreds and heartburnings die out, and to live 
our own lives iu our own way.” 
“ Perhaps it is our duty to try and atone for some of the 
sins and errors of the past,” said Winnie, in a loud voice, 
for her daring and courage had strangely deserted her. 
Her eyes were dropped outlie ground, but in a moment she 
rallied. “Your mother, Bradley, must certainly be ambi¬ 
tious for you, if you are not for yourself. I have not seen 
her since I was a child, but then she seemed to me an in¬ 
tensely proud, high-spirited woman. Perhaps her wishes 
would coincide with my father’s.” 
A cloud swept over Bradley’s face, and there was a 
strong infusion of bitterness in his tone as he said slowly, 
“ My mother has not changed in any of her aims or pur¬ 
poses. She is far more worldly than I once supposed, 
though we have always lived together in the closest inti¬ 
macy. But what were your father’s wishes, Winnifred?” 
Winnie tried to recover from the almost overwhelming 
sense of humiliation that fell upon her now. She longed 
to call up a laugh, a saucy repartee, anything to break the 
evil spell, and give her back the old feeling of predomi¬ 
nance and self-command, by which she could do an auda¬ 
cious, almost shocking thing, in a high-spirited manner. 
But tiie power refused to come, and she said in a low, half- 
pleading voice, “I should think you might guess, Bradley, 
without forcing me to speak out; he wished to have the 
family name and estates united, It was his dying wish, 
his very last request to me, and I gave him a promise”— 
here she stopped, for it seemed difficult for her to articu¬ 
late. 
A distinct shock ran through Bradley, as if Winnifred 
had violated the sanctity of her sex. by taking the initia¬ 
tive iu a delicate matter, where man has always claimed 
tho right to lead. He unconsciously stopped quite still, 
and pressed his heel hard into the sod, forgetting, for 
two or three moments, that he had not spoken; but her 
voice, more deprecating than before, recalled him to him¬ 
self. 
“ My only aim is to keep the promise I gave my fa¬ 
ther, to—to tryandriglit the old wrong. Of course, I do not 
know how you feel. It may be very unwelcome to you. 
Perhaps you will not understand or respect my motives, 
or remember how I have been brought up.” The words 
came. with great effort, and a hot, intense blush spread 
over her face. 
Winnifred’s confusion brought a reaction in Bradley, 
and awoke his pity, which was intensified by conscious 
self-scorn for the part he had agreed to play. He was 
pale to the very lips as he turned toward her. “Winni¬ 
fred,” said he, “ I cannot misunderstand you; but it is 
right that we should not deceive each other; that all 
should be open and honest between us. You have been 
for«.jd into a painful position by your father’s dying re¬ 
quest, which now seems sacredly binding upon your con¬ 
science. But, though you are a very clever girl, you are 
young in mind; you do not know yourself; you have not 
seen the great world; and are yet incapable of appreciat¬ 
ing the immense advantages your great wealth offers. I 
should be base to make capital out of our singular relation. 
I am older than you are; it is my duty to protect you, 
and to convince you that this promise is not binding upon 
you. If you put shackles upon yourself before you have 
attained to self-knowledge, nature, passion, life, will re¬ 
venge the wrong. But what will you think of me, Win¬ 
nifred, when I confess with shame that I came here to 
marry you, if I could; that I promised my mother, whose 
influence on my life has always been overmastering, to 
marry you, if I could. I have told you that I do not care 
for the money; but I do not expect you to believe me. 
My conduct must seem to you disgustingly mercenary. 
Our fortune has nearly all been lost in bad speculations. 
We are now poor; and my mother has assured me that 
she would die in shame and misery if her luxuries were , 
curtailed, if her pride and ambition are mortified; in short, j 
if I do not marry you. I have told you this in the bold¬ 
est way; I have not tried to screen my mother; for I 
wish you to know us as we are, that you may despise 
my weakness, and reject me with scorn.” 
“I do not wish to reject you,” said Winnie, in a loud 
voice, “ I am bound by my promise to my father.” 
“ And I am bound by my promise to my mother,” said 
Bradley, “ if you will lake me after the confession I have 
made. It seems, Winnifred, we are good, obedient little 
children, with no wish hut to obey our parents. You 
know, in novels, people who are destined for each other, 
by the will of their elders, who have outlived the gener¬ 
ous instincts of human nature, and forgotten the passious 
and emotions of their youth, generally rebel and make a 
deuce of a time. But we have found out a more excel¬ 
lent way, and are bound to please papa and mamma by 
perfect submission. Look here. Winnifred,” with a strange 
softening in his voice, “nothing shall be done in haste or 
unadvisedly, and if you wish to break this bond, even when 
we are standing at the altar, with hands joined, you shall 
do it freely. I will protect you against myself and all 
other fortune hunters. You do not know yourself; you 
are a splendid creature, a magnificent young woman. I 
did not do you justice years ago. A boy seldom does jus¬ 
tice to the possibilities of a romping girl of thirteen, who 
teazes him. But you have turned into something quite 
wonderful, and you ought to be loved with passionate 
ardor, and complete consecration. You ought to love, you 
will love, with all the strength of your rich, fervid, proud 
nature; and then the bonds that policy or cold scheming 
have imposed, will snap like withes in the hand of a giant. 
But I see how it is,” he continued, taking on a light, iron¬ 
ical tone. “ A great heiress is like a queen; she sacrifices 
her inclination lor reasons of state, and offers herself in 
marriage; and the prince-consort is commonly something 
of a tame cat.” 
A hurning, blending blush had overspread Winnie’s face 
and neck; she was tingling in every fibre with a sense of 
shame—this proud, mettlesome creature, who never had 
bent her head to any yoke. Bradley’s compliments, his 
tone of talking down to her level, seemed to heap hot coals 
upon her, so that the force of the last terrible sarcasm 
was almost lost. She found relief in an angry outburst. 
“ Don't waste any of your sentiment on me, Bradley. I 
consider such speeches absolutely insulting.” 
They had approached now that part of the winding wood 
walk that skirted the head of Glenmere, near where the 
mountain road opened its long avenue. It was carpeted 
with bright leaves, and the wind was making music among 
the lofty boughs. Just at this point Bradley had met Yir- 
ginie, on the day of his arrival. As the memory came 
over him with a warm rush, he half paused in the path. 
“ Of course, I did not mean to insult you, Winnifred, 
though the joke was questionable; but there are always 
conjugal tiffs after marriage, and I suppose this is a little 
prelude. I shall write to my mother and tell her the 
arrangement is made—conditionally. Have I your con¬ 
sent ?” 
It was horrible to Winnie to say yes after what had oc¬ 
curred. Bradley had been offensive all through this 
strange interview, and had made things as hard as possi¬ 
ble, but she did speak the word in the coldest tone she 
could command. The silence that ensued as they walked 
along the road, rustling the leaves under their feet, was so 
oppressive she was feign to break it. 
“ I want to speak to you about Virginie and the search 
after her uncle, which I think had better be abandoned. 
If he should appear to claim her I would not give her up. 
She is necessary to me, and I have my own plans as to her 
future.” 
“ And what may they be ?” inquired Bradley, with 
clear, sharp emphasis. 
Something in his voice restored Winnie to herself, and 
gave her the old delightful feeling of assured power. 
“ 0, I shall always keep her near me and care for her 
like a sister, for her affection is one of the luxuries of my 
life. Sho is a little missionary and saint, and perhaps 
—who knows—sometime she may marry Mr. Swayne.” 
“ Marry Swayne! ” ejaculated Bradley, with surprise 
and scorn, as he stopped, rooted to the path. “ You must 
be very crude, Winnifred, to imagine that you can dispose 
of the lives and fortunes of human beings by a caprice. 
You must have an exaggerated idea of what mere money 
can do in the world." 
Bradley had been betrayed into emotion, a weakness of 
which Winnie took immediate advantage. 
“ 0,” said she, haughtily, “ you can sneer at me and call 
me crude. I do not mind that, or your thinking that I am 
vulgarly proud of my money aDd what I can do. There is 
nothing at all unreasonable iu the idea that Yirginie and 
Mr. Swayne may some day marry. They have the same 
tastes and interests, they are both of them given to good 
works, and love to sacrifice themselves, and of course they 
cannot help being thrown much together.” 
“Ohl” said Bradley, turning round, and digging the 
point of his stick savagely into the soft earth, with a look 
of intense disgust on his face. In a moment he had turned 
back, and was speaking almost humbly. “ What reason 
have you to suppose that Miss Duval is—is—partial to 
this pseudo parson ? ” 
“ 0, I know that she admires him, for she has told me 
so. Why, here is Mr. Swayne coming down from the 
mine.” 
Edgar was in fact mounted on horseback and proceeding 
at a good round pace over the forest road. Ho rai.-ed his 
hat with stiff civility as Bradley glared at him, and then 
wheeled his horse so that he might address himself ex¬ 
clusively to Winnie. 
“ I am glad to find you here, Miss Braithwaite. The 
engineer of the new works has met with some obstruction. 
He will be obliged to alter tho direction of tho galleries, 
which will involve additional expense. He wants to see 
you.” 
Winnie was glad to have a practical problem to grapple 
with after the unpleasantness of the morning. She 
answered with alacrity: 
“ I will go at once, and I shall like the long walk in 
this invigorating air.” 
“You will excuse me from accompanying you,” said 
Bradley, “I have letters to write, and there is just time to 
catch the afternoon mail.” 
Winnie looked at him with a sarcastic smile. 
“You are not interested iu the dull details of mining?" 
“ No,” said he coldly; “ I am well satisfied you should 
manage all that. You have a splendid head for business, 
my cousin.” 
He turned abruptly into the wooded path, and walked 
rapidly forward, for his brain seemed on fire. During the 
forepart of this trying interview a burning, smarting sense 
of injury, inflicted upon him by his mother, had filled his 
consciousness, but this was completely lost in the sugges¬ 
tion Winnie had thrown out concerning her friend. Why 
was the thought that Yirginie had formed an attachment 
to this young man so odious, so unendurable to him, at a 
moment, too, when he had irrevocably fixed his own fate? 
His heart was torn at the bare possibility, and yet she 
had been in familiar, daily intercourse with Edgar Swayne 
for months. It was natural and reasonable to suppose 
they might marry, as Winnie had said, but he was angry 
with his cousin, for the unwelcome suggestion. The young 
men had instinctively disliked each other front the first 
moment of meeting. Bradley eagerly lived over every 
look and tone, every expression of Virginie’s face siuee his 
appearance at the Hall. The memory of her coldness, her 
shyness, her marked avoidance, almost dislike, of him, 
only added to the torment of his soul. 
Ho made a long detour through the woods and fields, 
and it was hours before lie reached the Hall, where work¬ 
men were busy laying soft gray Axminster carpets on the 
drawing-room and library, and hanging rich crimson 
portieres over the old oak doors. 
“ Looks mighty like a W'eddin’, don’t it honey ?” said 
old Nattna, beaming on him in a rich, expansive glow of 
satisfaction. He pushed past her and got to his own 
room, where he wrote the following note: 
“ Dear Mother : My Cousin Winnifred has proposed to 
me, and the matter you have so much at heart is partially 
arranged. It has been conducted strictly in a commercial 
spirit. My cousin is a fine woman, with splendid business 
capacity. She hates hypocrisy as much as I do, and is 
freo from all sentimental nonsense. I hope you are satis¬ 
fied with your obedient son, Bradley Halcourt." 
At midnight Bradley was pacing up and down the oak 
avenue. The red spark had died at the end of his cigar, 
but he was keeping his promise to old Nanna to watch for 
her ghostly visitant. By the gleam of the setting moon, 
that silvered the tips of the fir trees, and made the whole 
scene sweet and solemn, ho could see Yirgiriie’s window, 
iu au angle of the old Hall. Suddenly there woko a low, 
cautious rustling among some bushes at the right. Brad¬ 
ley hid himself behind the trunk of a large tree, and 
watched and waited. The rustling continued, and some¬ 
thing larger than a dog was softly creeping forth. In¬ 
stantly he sprang upon it, clutched it, and found his hand 
buried in a head of curly wool. 
“ Who are you, prowling about this place at night?” 
“0, Lo'd! 0, Lo’d! I’se kotched. I’so no thief. 0, 
Mass’r Bradley, am dat you ? Don’t whalo me. It’s 
Steenie. ’Pears like I’se dat scart I shall jess keel up ” 
“What aro you doing at this hour?” shaking the boy 
soundly, “ are j'ou trying to frighten the young ladies, or 
to fool your old grandmother, and fill her head with ghosts 
and hobgoblins ? I’ll take that nonsense out of you, for I 
have a strong arm.” 
“ 0, mass’r, Bradley dont, dont, I knows noffun at all of 
de spook, I’se innercent as a lam’ unbo’n. I did cheat 
Gandy, for I runned away to tend a shout at Goose Creek, 
for Ise powerful pious, and it took so long for de sistern 
and de brederiu to tell dar sperience it didn’t let out till 
late, and I was gwiue to steal in and sleep in de barn. 
Don’t let on to little Miss. I’ll nebber, nebber do so no 
mo.’ ” 
(To be continued.) 
i>5ar"i 
