"I don't think he is, Sidney. He pleads poverty always something marvelous; indeed, she was rarely seen abroad at all. says we drain him. I suppose it's true." "Flam! All old paters cry that. Look at Dick-the loads of gold he must be netting. He gets his equal share, they say; goes thirds with the other two." "Who says it?'' On this morning she came out of her room at half-past eleven o'clock, dressed for a walk, and bade Ellen Adair make ready to accompany her. Ellen obeyed, silently wondering. The truth was, Mrs. Cumberland had picked up a very unpleasant doubt the previous day, and would give the whole world to lay it at rest. It was connected with her son. His assurances had partly pacified her, but not quite, and she determined to get a private word with Mr. North. "A fellow told me so yesterday. It's an awful shame that Dick should be a millionaire, and I obliged to beg for every paltry coin I want! There's not so many years between us!" "Dick has got his footing in at the works, you see," ob- Ellen, walking by her side along the road, supposed they were served madame. Let him! I'd not have you degrade your-going into Dallory. Mrs. Cumberland kept close to the hedge self to it for the world. He's fit for nothing but work-been brought up to it, and we can spend." 64 "And "Just so," complacently returned the young man. you must shell out liberally for me this afternoon, mamma." With no further ceremony of adieu or apology, Mr. Sidney North sauntered away. Madame proceeded to her favorite shaded walk, where she kept her eyes on all sides for intruders, friends or enemies. On this occasion she had the satisfaction of being gratified. for the sake of the shade; as she brushed the bench in passing, where she had sat the past night, a slight shudder took her frame. Ellen did not observe it; she was reveling in the beauty of the sweet spring day. The gates of Dallory Hall gained, Mrs. Cumberland turned in. Ellen Adair wondered more and more; but Mrs. Cumberland was not one to be questioned at will on any subject. On they came, madame watching with all her eyes. Mrs. Cumberland was in her usual black silk attire, and walked with Her arms folded over the black lace shawl she wore, its hood the slow step of an invalid. Ellen wore a morning dress of gathered on her head, alto gether very much after the fashion of a Spanish mantilla, and the gown train with its crape and jet falling in stately folds behind her, madame had been pacing this retreat for the best part of an hour, when she caught sight, through the interstices of the leaves, of two ladies slowly approaching. The one she recognized at once as Mrs. Cumberland; the other she did not recognize at all. "What a lovely face!" was her involuntary thought. A young, fair, lovely face. The face of Ellen Adair. CHAPTER VIII. MADAME'S LISTENING CLOSET. HOLDING herself, as she did, so entirely a loof from her neighbors, there was little wonder in madame's having remained unconscious of the fact that some months ago, nearly twelve now, a young lady had come to reside with Mrs. Cumberland. Part of the time Mrs. Cumberland had been away. Madame had also been away, and when at home her communication with Dallory and Dallory Ham consisted solely in being whirled through its roads in a carriage; no one in-doors spoke unnecessarily in her hearing of any gossip connected with those despised places; and to church she rarely went, for she did not get up in time. And so the sweet girl who had for some time now been making Arthur Bohun's heart's existence, had never yet been seen or heard of by his mother. For Mrs. Cumberland to be seen abroad so early was PANNEMAKER SC THE SLAIN SOLDIER. (FROM A DESIGN BY MICHAEL ANGELO.)-PAGE 271. lilac muslin. It needed not the lilac parasol she carried to reflect an additional lovely hue on that most lovely face. A stately, refined girl, as madame saw, with charming manners, the reverse of pretentious. But as madame, fascinated for once in her life, gazed outward, a certain familiarity in the face dawned upon her senses. That she had seen it before, or one very like it, became a conviction. "Who on earth is she?" murmured the lady to herself for madame was by no means stilted in her phrases at leisure moments. "Are you going to call at the Hall, Mrs. Cumberland?" inquired Ellen, venturing to ask the question at length in her increasing surprise; and every word could be heard distinctly by madame, for they were nearly close. "I think so," was the answer, given in a hesitating tone; "I-I should like to tell Mr. North that I feel for his loss." "But is it not early to do so, both in the hour of the day and after the death?" rejoined Ellen, with deprecation. "For a stranger it would be; for me, no. I and John North were as brother and sister once. Besides, I have something else to say to him." Had Miss Adair asked what the something else was-which she would not have presumed to do-Mrs. Cumberland might have replied that she wished again to enlist the Hall's influence on behalf of her son, now that Mr. Alexander was about to leave. A sure indication that it was not the real motive that was drawing her to the Hall, for she was one of those reticent women who rarely, if ever, observe open candor even to friends. Suddenly she halted. "I prefer to go on alone, Ellen. You can sit down and wait for me. There are benches about in the covered walks." Mrs. Cumberland went forward. Ellen turned back, and began to walk toward the entrance gates with the slow, lingering step of one who waits. Mrs. Cumberland had got well on, when she turned and called: whatever let it be reasonable or unreasoble, all to be done was to hear and obey. Bessy gathered her books up in her black apron and went away, madame shooting the bolt of the door after her. Then she stole across the soft Turkey carpet, and slipped into the closet already spoken of, that formed a communication— never used as such-between the dining-room and Mr. North's parlor. The door opening to the parlor was unlatched and had been ever since he put his slippers inside it an hour before. When her eyes became accustomed to the closet's darkness, madame saw them lying there; she also saw one or two of his old brown gardening coats hanging on the pegs. Against the wall was a narrow table with an unlocked desk upon it, belonging to herself. It was clever of madame to keep it there. Opening the lid silently, she pulled up a few of its valueless papers and let them stick out. Of course, if the closet were suddenly entered from the parlor-a most unlikely thing to happen, but madame was cautious-she was only getting something from her desk. In this manner she had occasionally made an unsuspected third at Richard North's interviews with his father. Letting the lace hood slip off, madame bent her ear to the crevice of the unlatched door, and stood there listening. She was under the influence of terror still; her lips were drawn back, her face wore the hue of death. Apparently the ostensible motive of the interview-Mrs. Cumberland's wish to express her sympathy for the blow that had fallen on the Hall-was over; she had probably also been asking for Mr. North's influence to push her son. The first connected words madame caught were these: "I will do what I can, Mrs. Cumberland. I wished to do it before, as you know; but Mrs. North took a dislike-I mean took a fancy to Alexander." "You mean took a dislike to Oliver," corrected Mrs. Cumberland. "In the old days, when you were John North without thought of future grandeur, and I was Fanny Gass, we spoke out freely to each other." "True," said poor Mr. North. "I've not had such good days since. Ah, what a long while it seems to look back to! I have grown into an old man, Fanny, older in feeling than in years; and you-you wasted the best days of your life in a hot and pestilential climate." "Pestilential in places and at seasons," corrected Mrs. Cumberland. My husband was stationed in the beautiful climate of the Blue Mountains, as we familiarly call the region of the Neilgherry Hills. It is pleasant there." "Ay, I've heard so-get the cool breezes, and all that.” Obedient, as it was in her nature to be, the young lady turned promptly into one of the side paths, which brought her within nearer range of madame's view. She, madame, with a face from which every atom of color had faded, leaving it white as ashes, stood still as a statue, like one confounded. "I see the likeness; it is to him," she muttered. Can he land. have come home?" Ellen Adair passed out of sight and hearing. Madame, shaking herself from her fear, turned with stealthy steps to seek the house, keeping in the private paths as long as might be, which was a more circuitous way. Madame intended, unseen, to make a third at the interview between her husband and Mrs. Cumberland. The sight of that girl's face had frightened her. There might be treason in the air. Mrs. Cumberland was already in Mr. North's parlor-strolling out amidst his flowers, he had encountered her in the garden and taken her in through the open window. Madame, arriving a little later, passed through the hall to the dining-room. Rather inopportunely, there sat Bessy, busy with her housekeeping account books. "No, he did not die there," quietly rejoined Mrs. Cumber "Was it not there? Ah, well, it does not matter. One is apt to confuse these foreign names and places together in the memory." Mrs. Cumberland made no rejoinder, and there ensued a momentary silence. Madame, who with the mention of the place, Ootacamund, bit her lip almost to bleeding, bent forward and looked through the opening of, the door. She could just see the smallest portion of the cold calm gray face, and waited in sickening apprehension of what the next words might be. They came from Mrs. Cumberland, and proved an intense relief, for the subject was changed for another. "I am about to make a request to you, John; I hope you will grant it for our old friendship's sake. Let me see the anonymous letter that proved so fatal to Edmund-little Ned"Take them elsewhere," said madame, with an imperious dums, as I and your wife used fondly to call him in his babysweep of the hand. hood. Every incident connected with this calamity is to me so She was not in the habit of giving a reason for any command full of painful interest!" she continued, as if seeking to apolo gize for her request. "As I lay awake last night, unable to sleep, it came into my mind that I would ask you to let me see the letter." "You may see it, and welcome," was Mr. North's ready reply, as he unlocked a drawer in the old secretaire-bureau he always called it-and handed the paper to her. 'I only wish I could show it to some purpose--to somebody who would recog. nize the handwriting. You won't do that." Mrs. Cumberland answered by a sickly smile. Her hands trembled as she took the letter, and Mr. North noticed how white her lips had become-as if with some inward suspense or emotion. She studied the letter well, reading it three times over, looking at it critically in all lights. Madame in the closet could have hit her for her inquisitive curiosity. "You are right, John," she said, with an unmistakable sigh of relief, as she gave the missive back; "I certainly do not recognize that handwriting. It is like no one's that I ever saw." It is a disguised hand, you see," he answered. "No question about that, and accomplished in the cleverest manner.' "Is it true that poor Edmund had been drawing bills in conjunction with Alexander?" "Which brother!" echoed Mr. North, rather in mockery. As if you need ask that. There's only one of them who could deserve the epithet, and that's Sidney-an awful scamp he is. He is but twenty years of age, and he is as deep in the ways of a bad world as though he were forty." "I am very sorry to hear you say it. Whispers go abroad about him, as I daresay you know; but I would rather not have heard them confirmed by you." 66 People can't say much too bad of him. We have got Mrs. North to thank for it; it is all owing to the way she has brought him up. When I would have corrected his faults, she stepped between us. Oftentimes have I thought of the enemy that sowed the tares amid the wheat in his neighbor's field." "The old saying comes home to many of us," observed Mrs. Cumberland, with a suppressed sigh, as she rose to leave. "When our children are young they tread upon our toes, but when they get older they tread upon our hearts." "Ay, ay! Don't go yet," added Mr. North. "It is pleasant in times of sorrow to see an old friend. I have no friends now." "I must go, John. Ellen Adair is waiting for me; she will find the time long; and I expect it would not be very agreeable to your wife to see me here-not that I know for why, or what I can have done to her." "She encourages nobody-nobody of the good old days," was the confidential rejoinder. "There's no fear of her; I saw her going off toward the shrubberies-after Master Sidney, I suppose. She takes what she calls her constitutional walks there. They last a couple of hours sometimes." As Mr. North turned to put the letter into the drawer again, he saw the scrap of poetry that had been found in Arthur Bohun's desk; this he also showed his visitor. He would have kept nothing from her; she was the only link left to him of the days when he and the world (to him) were alike young. Had Mrs. Cumberland staid there till night, he would then have thought it too soon for her to go away. nothing to prevent it--he will soon be making a large income. In that case, I suppose, he will be asking you to give him something else." "You mean Bessy. I wish to goodness he had her!" continued Mr. North, impulsively; I do heartily wish it sometimes. She has not a very happy life of it here. Well, well; I hope Oliver will get on, with all my heart; tell him so from me, Fanny. He shall have her when he does." "Shall he?" ejaculated madame from her closet, and in her most scornfully defiant tone, for the conversation had not pleased her. They went strolling away amid the parterres of flowers, madame peering after them with angry eyes. She heard her husband tell Mrs. Cumberland to come again, to come in often, whenever she would. Mr. North went on with her down the broad path, after they had lingered some minutes with the sweet flowers. In strolling back alone, who should pounce upon Mr. North from a side path but madame! "Was not that woman I saw you with the Cumberland, Mr. North!" "It was Mrs. Cumberland, my early friend. She came in to express her sympathy at my loss. I took it as very kind of her, madame." "I have seen her in the road, and in coming out of church. The first time I met them was in Dallory, one day last summer, and Mrs. Cumberland told me who she was. That is all I know of her, madame, as you seem to be curious.” "Is she living at Mrs. Cumberland's?" "Just now she is. I-I think they said she was going to be sent out to join her father," added Mr. North, whose impressions were always hazy in matters that did not immediately concern him. "Yes, I'm nearly sure, madame, to Australia." "Her father, whoever he may be, is not in Europe, then," slightingly spoke madame, stooping to root up mercilessly a handful of bluebells. "Her father lives over yonder. That's why the young lady has to go out." Madame tossed away the rifled flowers, and raised her head to its customary haughty height. The danger had passed. "Over yonder" meant, as she knew, some far-off antipodes. She flung aside the girl and the interlude from her recollections, just as ruthlessly as she had flung the bluebells. THE SLAIN SOLDIER. NEVER more those arms shall fold her, Shall that dear voice breathe her name, Gone the sun that lit her days. Still he sleeps in Death's long slumber, Slain in war for Fatherland, In her heart doth freeze the warm blood, As she clasps that lifeless hand. THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE. THE EMPRESS JOSEPHINE. JOSEPHINE, the first wife of the great Napoleon, was born at Martinique, one of the Wast India islands, in 1763. She was the daughter of the Count Tascher de la Pagerie, and was married at the age of fifteen years to the Viscount Beauharnais, by whom she had two children, Eugene and Hortense de Beauharnais. During the stormy time of the French Revolution her husband was guillotined and Josephine was imprisoned. She was fortunately released through the efforts of Tallien. In 1796 she married Napoleon Bonaparte, then a general in the Revolutionary army. She shared the high destinies of her husband, and ascended the throne with him, fulfilling her part with unexampled grace and dignity. Her daughter became the wife of Napoleon's brother, King Louis, whom the great conqueror made King of Holland, and thus became the mother of Louis Napoleon III. Josephine, having no children by Napoleon, was divorced by him, for State reasons, in 1809, when she retired to Malmaison, where she died in 1814 in the fifty-first year of her age. She lived to see her husband's fall from power, and retirement to Elba. We publish her portrait at the present time as the grandmother of Louis Napoleon, whose restless ambition has had so disquieting an effect on Europe. Although addicted to extravagance in dress and jewelry, Josephine was much esteemed, and when the Allies entered Paris in 1814 she was treated with the greatest respect by the Emperor Alexander and the King of Prussia, who visited her at her retreat at Malmaison. All who knew her bear witness to her beauty, accomplishments, and amiability. Indeed, she was equally fitted to adorn a parlor or a palace. Her daughter, Hortense, the mother of Louis Napoleon, possessed many of her mother's graces and much of her amiability. GO OUT in the spring, when the sun is yet far distant, and you can scarcely feel the influence of his beams, scattered as they are, over the wide face of creation; but collect those bems to a focus, and they kindle up a flame in an instant. So the man who squanders his talents and his strength on many things, will fail to make an impression with either; but let him draw them to a point-let him strike at a single object, and it will yield before him. |