It is very strange, when we come to think about it, on what small cogs and pivots the wheels of fate turn, and what a slight jar will do toward changing the whole machinery, and set it to turning in an entirely different direction. It was a geranium-leaf that altered the whole course of my life; but for the trivial leaf, picked by a young girl in a thoughtless mood, I should not be sitting here to-day in this pleasant dining-room, where the sun comes in through the vinewreathed windows and falls upon the geranium-pots inside; and this little girl would not be upon my knee, nor yonder redcheeked maiden on the veranda with young Smithers; and neither would that very handsome matron who just passed into the parlor have been in her present situation. If you will listen an hour or so I will tell you my story. It was just twenty years ago this summer that I fell in love with Carrie Dean. She was twenty-one and I twenty-seven-both old enough to know what we meant and what we were about; at least I was, but Carrie VOL. XXVII., No. 1-3 was such a little coquette that I used to think she had no mind of her own. Oh, but she was lovely!-all rose-colored, and white, and brown-tressed, and pearly-teethed, with the roundest, plumpest figure, as graceful as a fairy in every movement, and with beautiful shapely hands that were a constant delight to the eyes. I was just home from college, and she was on a visit to my stepmother, her aunt, and my half-sister, Lilla, and her cousin. I had seen a good many girls in my seven years at college, and some of the belles of the land; but I had never yet had my heart stirred by any woman's eyes as Carrie Dean stirred it when her glance met mine in greeting; and the touch of her soft fingers completely set me afloat on the sea of love. I was her slave from that hour-not her slave either, but her passionate lover and worshiper. And, of course, she knew itand, of course, being a finished little flirt, she queened it over me right royally. There was Fred Town, the country physician, and Tom Delano, the handsome young farmer, both as badly off as I was; and a pretty time we had of it. Fred and I-old chums in former days-were at swords' points now, and hated each other splendidly for a few weeks. And Tom I held in the utmost contempt, and railed at them both whenever opportunity presented itself, for Carrie's edification, after the manner of men, and was repaid by seeing her bestow her sweetest smiles and glances upon them the next time they met. Fred drove a splendid span of bays, and almost every day they dashed up the avenue, and dashed out again with Miss Carrie's added weight. And Tom was on hand nearly every evening, and she was just as sweet to one as the other, and just the same to me, and that was what maddened me. I was not to be satisfied with a "widow's thirds" by any means, and I told her so at last, and asked her how the matter was to be settled. "I love you better than those brainless fops know how to love," I said, hotly; "and now decide between us." She had listened to my love-confession with blushing cheeks and downcast eyes; but when I said this she turned defiantly on me. "They are no more fops than you are," she said, "even if they have not spent seven years in college. They are gentlemen, and I can't say that for every man of my acquaintance." And here she shut the door between us with a slam, and left me to my pleasant meditations; and half an hour later I met her at the gate with Fred, going out for a ride, which was very aggravating, I must confess. I thought over my conduct that night, and concluded that I had been a brute. The next morning I found Carrie at the dining-room window, alone, and sought her side. She had her hand among the leaves of a sweet-scented geranium, and just as I approached, she plucked a leaf and twined it among her braids. I remember just how bright and green it looked among the dark locks. "Carrie," I began, "I fear I was very rude yesterday." "I know you were," she said, looking indifferently out of the window. This was a bad beginning, but I went on: "But, Carrie, I love you so, and when I see you with that sat together. Fred-" But here Miss Carrie turned on her heel. "I am not going to listen to you while you slander my friends," she said. "When you can speak respectfully of Mr. Town I will return," and here she left me again. I left the house then, and did not return till afternoon. As I came up the path, I met Tom Delano. Poor fellow! he looked like the last rose of summer after a rain. 46 'Given her heart to another!" I repeated, with a great pain in my chest somewhere. "Well, it is evident that I am not that other, and that Fred is. Poor Tom !-poor me! The best thing I can do is to follow suit, and leave too. I can never see her the wife of another, and the sooner I am off the better." So I went moodily up to my room, and packed a satchel, and got all things in readiness for a speedy departure. On my way up I met Carrie, just emerging from her room, arrayed in her jaunty riding-habit, and I could hear Fred's deep tones shoutsing "whoa" down in the yard below. I watched her trip down the stairs and out of sight, thinking it was the last time I should see her for years, perhaps for ever. When I had strapped the last buckle on my satchel, and all was in readiness, I went down to say good-by to father, mother, and Lilla. Lilla was not indoors, and my parents looked at me in amazement. "But, Allan, my son," pleaded father, "I had thought you would enter into business with me. There is a grand opening tfor you, and I have held the position in reserve.' "I thank you for all that, but I want to travel a year or two before going into business," was all I could answer, and my ffather gave up in despair. Lilla was still absent; but it was quite dark, and the train would leave in half an hour, so I left a "good-by" for her, and 'passed out into the hall. It was a long narrow hall, reaching the whole length of the house, and with several rooms opening into it, but as yet it was unlighted, and as dark as Egypt. About half way through it, I heard the street-door open and shut, and a moment later ran full against some one who was «entering. "It is Lilla," I thought, and reaching out my arms, caught her between them. "Is it you, Lilla?" I said, but she did not answer, only twined her two arms about my neck. Why, little sister," I said, softly, "do you love me so much?" for Lilla was not demonstrative, as a usual thing, and I was surprised at her movement. "Oh! better than all the world beside, Allan," she said, in a whisper; and then as I lifted the face to my lips, the sweet odor "By the geranium-leaf that I saw you put in your hair this morning." "And but for that you would have gone away and not come back for years?'' "Yes; perhaps never come back, but for that tell-tale leaf." "Then we will keep this leaf always," she said, taking it from her hair. And so we have. I procured a little golden box, and there it is to-day, one of our dearest treasures. Of course, I married Carrie; and, of course, that blooming matron is she. Tom Delano didn't die of a broken heart, but married a lovely girl out West a few months after his departure; and Fred Town is our family physician, and has a pretty wife of his own. THE MYSTERY OF INGLEDEW HOUSE. CHAPTER III. Waiting sad, dejected, weary, Spring goes by with wasted mornings, HOSE are beautiful words, and I had "I wonder," she said, at last, "if there will be any May for me." "Yes," I replied, rising, and placing her suddenly on the music-stool. "In the meantime I am going to give you your first music-lesson, so that when your May comes you will be able to carol as gayly as a bird." I never, if I could avoid it, allowed her to talk in a melancholy strain. Too much taken by surprise to refuse, she followed my instructions. I made her sing the scale. I was not surprised at the depth and richness of her voice-it was a magnificent contralto; and I knew that, with a little steady practice and cultivation, it would be superior to any I had ever heard. "Blanche," I said, "you have a wonderful gift. Why did you never think of trying to sing before?" "I used to sing when my mother was alive," she replied. "She taught me many little Italian songs." "Do you speak Italian?" I said, in some surprise. "Yes, much better than I do English or French," she replied. "So much the better for your singing," I said, feeling a strange satisfaction in the knowledge of her accomplishments. I made her practice well for about an hour. I was charmed by every rich, beautiful note that came from her lips. When she had finished, I said: I took her to my little room; it was what I had been longing for weeks to do. I took from her the heavy shapeless black dress she wore, and robed her in a new one that I had never worn, a soft, flowing pink barège. I lifted the dark hair from her brow, and dressed it after the well-known fashion of the “Blanche, you have in that voice a gift that, if exercised, French empress. The white neck and shoulders, the rounded would bring all the musical world to your fect." "How do you mean, Miss Linden?" she asked. arms and exquisite hands were perfection. But how can I describe the face? Blanche never was a pink-and-white beauty. "Why, if you were to go into society, you would find your-She resembled one of the sunny daughters of Spain more than self eagerly sought after by every one of note," I replied. "If you were to go upon the stage, you would, as I have said, soon see all the world at your feet." "Is a good voice so much thought of, then, Miss Linden?'' "Such a one as yours," I replied. "I have never in my life heard one so beautiful or musical." the cold, calm English belles. Her clear complexion, now that it wore the glow of health, was charming; it was of the most beautiful tint, the crimson as it were shining through. The rich red lips had lost all their gloom; they were sweet and mobile now. The fair, queenly brow, so well defined by the raven-black hair, the arched brows, and the dark lustrous eyes, completed a beauty that was as charming and piquant as it was and fastened them in the waving masses of her hair. I stood She stood for some moments lost in deep thought. "Would it make people like me?" she asked. "I mean, fascinating. I took from my little jewel-box a spray of pearls would it make any one feel inclined to love me?" "I believe every one who heard you sing would want to know positively entranced with my own handiwork. and love you," I replied. "Now, Blanche," I said, when my labors were ended, "look Then, Miss Linden, I will learn." she said. "I have an and tell me if you know this lady." object in view." 6 The young girl stood before the mirror as one charmed. From that time she studied music with a kind of passion. I "Miss Linden," she said, breathlessly, "is that me? That have watched her sometimes at the piano, her splendid eyes girl is beautiful; I was an ugly, brown little thing.' and beautiful face so eloquent and so full of the melody she was “Look for yourself," I answered. "I knew as soon as I saw playing, that she looked as I could imagine St. Cecelia to have you that some day you would be a lovely woman, although you done. We sent to London for the best music we could get. I were then a very plain girl. You must let me order you what have never seen anything like the rapidity with which she addresses and ornaments I like. Will you, Blanche?”' vanced in her favorite study. She spent several hours every "Yes," she replied; "do as you will, Miss Linden. Tell day at the piano. There was no more languor or listlessness. me," she added, studying her face intently the while, " do I Whatever her object was, she was thoroughly in earnest. No look like a lovable girl?—could any one be very fond of me?" more long, dreary, weary hours in the gloomy library; no more singing the old refrain, "I am a-weary. I would that I were dead." "Indeed they could," I said, warmly kissing for the first time her fair, flushed cheek. She seemed lost in wonder and gratitude. "I am very thankful to you, Miss Linden," she said. "I am more glad than I can express that I am not stupid and ugly." I really thought when we went down to dinner that Mrs. Dean would have lost her senses. "My lady," she cried, "how well you look!" So three months passed. One evening Blanche was playing ; she had chosen some dreary old German melodies, and was making sweet music with them, when she suddenly changed the key, and began the first song I had ever sung to her-"The Land o' the Leal." I listened, and wept as I did so. The beautiful rich voice had an indescribable sadness in it; the On the following day I sent a large order to one of the best pathos and tenderness were too much for any one to hear un-West End milliners for everything I thought Blanche could removed. She turned to me when she had finished, and saw the tears upon my cheek. quire. I am afraid to say what the bill amounted to; but that was of little moment. I like to see beauty adorned, in spite of "Miss Linden," she said, "does my song make you feel un- the poet's assertion that unadorned it appears to the greatest happy?" advantage, and I took good care she had everything a lady could desire or wish for. "No, Blanche," I replied; "it makes me happy with a sweet, sad pain, which I cannot describe. You sing my heart away from me. You would charm the very rocks and trees with such music." "Ah," she sighed, "I can sing. If I were but beautiful, or even ordinarily good-looking, I might succeed in what I wish to do." This altered state of things went on for a few weeks, and it was difficult to imagine that the beautiful, graceful girl, clad in rich silk, and singing with the voice of a syren, was the same dull, gloomy, listless creature I had first seen a year ago. She was bright and winning in her manner, and though at times a cloud of pain seemed to overshadow her, the old languor had "And who says you are not beautiful?" I asked, in great quite disappeared. Ingledew was no longer gloomy; we had surprise. "I know I am not, Miss Linden," she replied. "I am an 'ugly, brown little thing.' I know it only too well." I laughed merrily as I answered: "If you will excuse me, I will tell you the plain truth about your looks, as I did about your singing. If you were better dressed, and your quantity of hair made an ornament instead of a disfigurement, you would be a most beautiful woman. I assure you it is the truth." music and flowers to enliven us. One balmy, beautiful evening in spring we sat together, Blanche and I, watching the tide. I do not know why, but all that day my thoughts had been with my aunt and Lionel. Something prompted me to tell my story to Blanche. I thought it would interest her, and I had grown to love and admire her honorable nature so much, that I would freely have intrusted her with a secret that involved even my life. As I had thought, she was deeply interested. Suddenly a look of great "Oh, Miss Linden," she cried, clasping her hands, while a alarm passed over her fair young face. glow of delight colored her face, "do you think so?" "I do indeed," I replied; "and as we are speaking of the subject, let me ask you to come into my room. When I show you yourself in a glass you will own you are beautiful." "Miss Linden," she said, "you have not, I hope, told me this because you think of leaving me." "No, I have no intention of the kind," I replied. "I dislike all concealment, and am glad that I have told you about "People will love me then," she said, as though lost in de- myself." light. "A lovely face charms every one," I said; "but to be loved one must have more than that. Rest assured, Blanche, you have qualities for which any one may love you, independently of music and beauty." Why have you taken your first name?" she asked. “I think Erlecote much prettier than Linden." "Simply for this reason." I replied, “that if my aunt and I become reconciled, and I am her heiress, as she says she always intended me to be, I think she would not like me to be recog "How glad I am you came here!" was the reply. "I seem nized as a ci-divant companion or governess; another thing is, I to have found new life with you." do not wish her to know anything of my whereabouts yet." "Why?" she said, "if you will allow that question." Because, to speak frankly, I am warmly attached to you, and do not wish to leave you until I see something that promises happiness for you-some change in your present monotonous life," I replied. "I fear that will never be," she said, with a sigh; and suddenly raising her head she looked in my face. "I would give much," she continued, "to trust you to let you know the somewhat strange history of my life, and ask your advice." "You can do so, Blanche," I replied. "I have told you my secret; yours will be as safe with me." 66 "I had made a vow to myself that I would be for the future as one dead to the world," she said; "that no human interest, feeling, or emotion should enter my heart again. Slowly but surely, I hardly know by what means, Miss Linden, you have broken up the frozen deep of my life. I can never return to the past. I could not now shut myself up in that library as I did two years ago, only hoping to die. The current of my thoughts is changed. I cannot feel again the same apathy and despair; there is now some beauty in life. I can plainly see it, but I know not what to do with the years before me. I am tied, yet free; bound, yet no fetters chain me. I love, yet try to hate. There never was a sadder fate than mine." Her head drooped upon her hands; the far-away yearning look that had once grieved me, came back to those dark, beautiful eyes. "You have been very kind to me, Miss Linden," she continued, "like a sister would have been. It cannot be wrong to break a resolve such as I made." "It will not," I answered. "The wrong was committed when you made it. I am anxious to help you, but I cannot do so while this thick vail of mystery hangs over you." Then, while the murmur of the waves sounded like soothing music, I heard the following story: "I have never assumed another name, Miss Linden, simply because I had no need. I am Blanche, or more strictly speaking, Lady Blanche Carleon, the only child of the late Lord Carleon, and the wife of Lord Carleon, of Carleon." "Is it possible," I cried, "that you are married?" "Yes, I have been married three years," she said. "I was sixteen before my wedding-day. I have never seen my husband since. I have been trying to learn how to hate him, but I cannot." The child, for she was hardly anything else, clasped her hands. I verily believe she was praying. "I must tell you my story from the very beginning," she said. "My father, Lord Carleon, was a very strange man; he held a high position in England, and was generally supposed to be an unmarried man. I do not know anything of my mother's family. Where and how my father met her I cannot say. She was a lady by birth and education, but I should imagine poor, and far beneath the rich and powerful Lord Carleon in rank and position. All I know is that they were married in the little church of San Giacomo, in Naples. I have seen a copy of their marriage deed. My mother's name was Bianci Falerni. The marriage was kept quite secret, none of my father's friends or relations were apprised of it. I do not know if my mother was surprised at that. She never came to England, she never saw the old family mansion where the Carleons have lived for generations. Soon after their wedding, my father bought a beautiful little villa on the prettiest part of the shore of the lake of Como. I was born there, and it was my mother's home and mine until I was ten years old. We saw little of my father. During the summer he resided with us for some months, and then went back to England on business. He said my mother had better not encounter the cold and damp of the English climate, and made that a pretext for never taking her there. But (ah me!) I know the real truth now. Lord Carleon was a proud man. Carried away by a sudden and violent fancy, 1 cannot call it love, for my beautiful young mother, he married her and repented it, I believe, all the rest of his life. He might have aspired to the hand of the noblest ladies in England, and he had married a poor Italian, simply for her wondrous beauty, of which he soon tired. "Our villa was a solitary one. Ah, Marian, I have been solitary all my life! In compliance with my father's request, my mother formed no acquaintances. We lived alone; our servants were all Italians, who took but little interest in the family they served. There was but one exception, and that was Mrs. Dean, my housekeeper; when I was born, my father sent her from England to be my nurse, and she has never left me since. Our life was quiet in the extreme; the beautiful sunny lake itself was not more calm or bright. The only change was the occasional coming and going of my father. Oh, Marian, how wildly, how passionately I loved my beautiful mother! I "I know him," I cried, breathlessly. "I have met him cannot name her or think of her without my heart half breakseveral times in London." ing. If she had lived, how different my fate would have been! "You know him-you have seen him!" she cried, springing No one else ever loved me or cared for me until you came." up from her seat. "Yes, I met him once at a flower-show, and at two or three balls," I replied; "he is one of the handsomest men I ever saw. I should have continued my sentence, but she suddenly leaned forward and kissed me passionately. 66 Bitter sobs shook her delicate frame. I was almost alarmed at her passion of grief. "Do not me any more, Lady Blanche, if it distresses you so much," "I said. "I will tell you all," she replied; "but, Marian, if you love me, call me Blanche; if you knew the empty mockery of that That is because I have gazed upon him, I suppose," was my title, you would never use it when addressing me." laughing comment. "Yes," she said, a burning blush overspreading her face and neck; "I have loved him so much, young as I am, that to win one kind look from him I would almost be glad to die." "But, Blanche," I said, a recollection of some London gossip coming to my mind, "I heard Lord Carleon was devoted to that beautiful Gabriel d'Este, an Italian lady, who was all the rage a year or two since." "Ah," she said, "that 'golden-haired Gabriel.' What have I not suffered through her! Did you ever see her, Miss Linden ?" 66 Yes, one evening at the opera," I replied. "I remember her very well. My aunt, who went everywhere, and seemed to know every one, pointed Gabriel d'Este out to me." "I will not do so again if it does not please you," I said, half smiling to think how many fine ladies would give all they hold dear to possess the title poor Blanche shrank from hearing. "I do not know whether my mother repented her marriage," she resumed. "She was very unhappy, she never complained or murmured, but her sweet face grew sad, and she would sit for days together gazing on the sunny lake with a wistful look in her eyes which I could not bear to see. I used to sit on her knee, content if I could but lay my little head on her breast. She would clasp me tightly in her arms and kiss me while my face was wet with her tears. Oh, Marian, I cannot linger on it; it kills me to talk of my mother. She pined away, and died of a broken heart. She is buried on the beautiful shores of Como, "She is very lovely, I suppose," said Lady Carleon, in a where the wind and rippling waves alone chant her requiem. melancholy voice. "I must not forget to tell you that once, when my father "Yes, but hers is a most peculiar style," I replied; "she has came from England, he brought with him a picture; it lay caregolden hair and dark eyes." "Marian," said my companion, eagerly, "tell me truthfully, is she very much more beautiful than-than you said I was?" "Indeed she is not," I replied; "in another year's time, if you have health and strength, you will, I believe, far excel Gabriel d'Este; besides, she has not a voice like yours." lessly on the table of his dressing-room. My mother took it up and asked him what it was. 'It is the portrait of my nephew, Allan Douglas,' was my father's reply. I remember how he patted my head, and said, half laughingly, Ah, if this little lady had only belonged to the nobler sex, Allan would never have been Lord Carleon, as I suppose he will be now." 44 My mother made no comment. Perhaps a pang of some- | how startled my dear mother was once. thing sharper than sorrow shot through her heart. She took me in her arms, and kissed me passionately, 'If you had been a boy, my darling,' she murmured, he would have taken me to his proud home for the sake of its heir.' "To my great delight, my father left the portrait behind him. It was a source of many pleasures to me. I knew no little children; the few who lived in the neighboring villas were all strangers to me, and I made a companion of the beau I had placed the pic ture on a chair, and began, in my childish way, to speak to it. 46 6 "Only to Allan Douglas, mamma,' I replied. 'What can you mean?' she said, hastening into the nursery where I was. She smiled when she saw the picture on the chair. tiful picture. It represented a young man, or ratner boy, about fifteen. The face was charming, so open and frank, so noble and thoughtful, the bright large blue eyes and chestnut curls were so different from the dark-haired children I had seen, so different to myself, that I thought them the most beautiful in the world. I have the portrait now, Marian. I will show it to you when we return home. Seeing that no one claimed it, or seemed to notice it, I took possession of it, and made it my own. I used to talk to it as though it were alive. I remember "I often talk to Allan, mamma,' I said; 'but he never speaks, because, you know, he is a picture.' "Blanche,' said my dear mother, 'I wish you were not so fond of it; it gives me a shivering foreboding to see you kiss it so. Will you give it to me?' "Please let me keep it, dear mamma?' I asked. "She said no more, and I retained my treasure; but, ah me, how true was my mother's foreboding! I wonder if she knows it all. |