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"There's Mr. Ferguson-she might flirt with him," suggested speaker number three.

"O Mattie, hush!" said the others, in horrified whispers. Then there was a chorus of giggles, a rustle of dresses, and the trio left the neighborhood of the window.

"How edified Miss Mildmay would have been if she had chanced to overhear that conversation!" observed Hester, with a slight smile, after they had departed.

There was an increase of color and an odd look on Ferguson's face as he answered, "Isn't it rather a pity that she could not have done so?"

The young lady did not answer for an instant. She arranged a fern to her satisfaction, looked at it with her head on one side, and then said, "Why?"

The gentleman answered without hesitation "Because I think if women of that stamp could know how they are really regarded-what altogether unlovely characters they possess-they might perhaps think less of personal appearance and more of moral qualities; less of winning admiration and more of securing respect."

"But don't you think," she suggested, "that it is a little unjust to condemn Miss Mildmay on the testimony of a woman who confessed that she did not know her?"

"It would be unjust if I did not know that every word the woman uttered is true."

Hester looked up from her mosses. you know it?" she asked, quietly.

me her friend's picture, and, though I acknowledged its beauty, I did not- "By Jove, I have it!"

Hester gazed at him in astonishment, for, with this exclamation, he lifted himself from the position in which he had been reclining on the steps of the piazza, and stared intently at her. "What is it you have?" she asked, coloring nervously.

"A likeness that has been haunting me in your face ever since I saw you first," he answered. "Every time that I have seen your profile, I have asked myself what other face it recalled to me, and now I know. Has any one ever told you that you resemble Miss Mildmay?"

"Not any one at all."

"Then let me tell you that you do. The picture of which I speak was a photograph taken en profile, the head turned over the shoulder in one of the positions suggesting horrible discomfort, to which photographers are so partial, the hair elaborately coiffed, the complexion brilliantly painted-altogether the picture of an imperious, self-conscious beauty; and when I laid it down I said to my sister, I would travel five hundred miles to avoid meeting that woman!'" Hester's laugh rang out gayly. "What a pity that my face should recall anything so disagreeable!' she said. "I will try and remember hereafter not to turn my profile toward you."

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Pray don't misunderstand me,” he replied, eagerly. "I was about to say that, although it was im"How can possible not to admire the beauty of Miss Mildmay's face, disliked the expression exceedingly; and it is in expression that your face differs entirely from hers. The outline of feature may be similar, but the spirit that shines through and makes the countenance is absolutely unlike. Indeed, it is strange that two such opposite types of womanhood should in any respect resemble each other."

"I know the class of which she is an acknowledged type, and, although I have never seen her, I have heard so much of her that I may say that I know her. It would certainly be strange if by any chance she came to this place, for it may surprise you to hear that it is on account of Miss Mildmay that I am here."

"Yes, it is strange," said Hester, demurely, "Yes, it surprises me, after what you have just though her mouth was dimpled by irrepressible said," answered Hester.

He laughed a little, and sitting there in the cool shade, watching her pretty white hands at work, and the play of light and shadow over her graceful head, he felt inclined to become confidential.

"May I tell you about it?" he asked. "I am not one of her victims, I assure you."

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smiles.

"But you have not told me yet how Miss Mildmay sent you here."

"Very unconsciously on her part. My sister, who has a country-house which she is very fond of filling with gay company, wrote to me a month ago that she desired me to meet her friend. I replied by a calm but decided refusal, packed my valise,

"Are you sure of that?" she asked, with a smile and started for the wilderness at once." dimpling the corners of her mouth.

"Was such a desperate measure necessary? You

would join forces and descend upon you, did you?”

"I have very good reason to be sure," he an-hardly fancied that your sister and Miss Mildmay swered, decidedly. "To begin at the beginning, I have a sister who, like all women, is a born matchmaker. Miss Mildmay, is a great friend of hers, and of course it follows that she has long been anxious for me to see, fall in love with, and, if possible, marry that young lady. I have been abroad for years, but every letter from Nell has borne the same burden. Unluckily for her plan, however, I met several people in Europe who were able to enlighten me regarding Miss Mildmay's character. I heard that she was a thorough woman of the world, and an unscrupulous flirt, two things which I detest. When I came home last spring, Nell at once showed

"I am afraid I have told my story so stupidly that you think me a conceited puppy," said Ferguson, hastily-for Hester's "sweet upper lip" had curled not a little over her last words. "I fancied nothing of the kind; I did not for a moment imagine that Miss Mildmay had bestowed, or was likely to bestow, a serious thought upon me; but I did feel a great aversion to the idea of meeting her, and I was anxious to be out of Nell's reach. Besides which, a description that I heard of this place delighted me. I felt sure that if I came here, no fashionable belles would rustle their silken skirts

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these rambles, and their accidental acquaintance ripened from constant association into a very cordial camaraderie. The gentleman told himself that he had never before enjoyed the society of a woman so much-had never before seen the best qualities of the feminine mind so strikingly displayed: the grace, versatility, and appreciation, which are a woman's chief intellectual charms. There could be

"Laurie Cleveland!" A soft, bright blush sprang to Hester's face. "Do you know him?" "I have known him for years, and he is one of the best fellows-may I infer that you know him, Miss Clyde?" "Yes, quite well. Are you aware that he is no doubt that for some reason Hester exerted herreported to be engaged to Miss Mildmay?"

"What, Cleveland! I should be sorry to think it true. Such a frank, genial, generous soul deserves better luck than to marry a woman steeped to the lips in worldliness. But I may be very indiscreet in talking in this way-probably you know Miss Mildmay, perhaps she may even be a friend of yours?"

"I know her," Hester answered, with a flitting smile, "but you need not fear that I will betray your confidence, or that if I did she would resent your opinion, based altogether as it is on hearsay.”

"Does that mean that you think it unjust ?" "I do not think it very accurate-but, perhaps, some time you will meet Miss Mildmay and be able to decide on its justice yourself."

"I am constrained to hope not. Women of the order to which Miss Mildmay belongs are never attractive to me."

self to make him aware of the fact that she possessed a mind which, besides its native brightness, had received rather more than the usual desultory culture of young ladyhood, and a taste which was always delicate and refined. On her personal appearance she seemed to bestow little thought, and her dress was always remarkable for its simplicity; but day by day-as with returning health came returning color to her cheeks, and light to her eyes the consciousness grew upon Ferguson that she was a very beautiful woman.

He never felt more certain of this than on one evening when they had climbed the knob behind the house, to which Mr. Clyde had directed Hester's attention on the first night of their arrival, in order to see the sun set beyond a hundred hills. The view, always magnificent, was this evening so lighted up by the splendor of a divine sunset that it thrilled Hester like noble music. Above the

Hester did not ask what order of women were waving line of blue heights lying afar, the sky was attractive to him. She said:

"My cross is finished. What do you think of it?" He understood that the subject was put aside.

III.

all gold and crimson, with here and there a vivid, flame-like streak of scarlet. The cool, fresh winds which came to their brows seemed to blow straight out of this bed of glory, while from the landscape below no sound came up to break the stillness that

THE day after this conversation, Mr. Clyde | surrounded them. brought Hester a letter.

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'It came under cover to me," he said. "Have you given directions to that effect? I think I know who is the writer."

"Very likely you do," she answered, with a smile; and a bright tide of color came flowing into her face.

She said nothing more, and carried her letter away to read it in solitude, but, when her father saw her again, there was such a light of gladness on her face that it was his turn to smile, as he said:

"Oh, how delightful this is!" said Hester, with a soft little sigh.

"I should not mind if it lasted forever," said Ferguson.

"I am afraid we should grow tired in that case," said Hester, with a laugh. "I confess that after the sunset-glow has faded I shall not at all mind going down to supper. This air gives one a wonderful appetite. Perhaps we shall find some new arrivals, too. See! is not that the stage yonder?"

"I believe it is," answered Ferguson, looking at a speck winding along a thread far below. "Are

"Is your correspondent coming, Hester?" "“Yes, papa, he will be here by the end of the you expecting any one?" he asked, pitching a stone week," she answered, simply.

"I think he will find you improved. You are not quite the pale little shadow you were when you came."

"I improve every day, every hour, in this glorious atmosphere. I mean hereafter to spend as much time as possible in the open air, and if I am as dark as any Indian maid who ever leaped over a precipice when I go back to mamma, you need not be surprised."

"But she will be horror-struck," said Mr. Clyde. Hester did not fail to execute her resolution. As much time as possible she spent in the open air -gaining health and strength perceptibly with every hour. Ferguson was frequently her companion in

rather viciously in that direction. "For my part. there is nothing I desire less than new arrivals. I should like to draw a magic circle around this forest retreat of ours, to keep them away."

"But would not that be selfish? How do you know but that among those whom you would keep away might be a friend of your own?"

"I have no friend whom I want to see here." "Not even Mr. Cleveland, of whom you spoke the other day?"

"Not even Laurie. There comes a time in every man's life when he desires only one companion; and that companion, Miss Clyde, may I venture to say that I have found?”

A duller woman than the one whom he ad

dressed would have understood all that those words implied, but, beyond a slight increase of color, Hester betrayed not the least sign of having done so. She said, quietly: "That is a very pretty compliment, Mr. Ferguson-but you know I don't like compliments. Let us suppose that Mr. Cleveland has penetrated into your magic circle-that he is on the stage passing below there-you would not be sorry to see him, would you?"

"Yes; I should be sorry to see any one. But why do you make such a supposition? What would bring Laurie here?"

Perhaps to join you in a deer-hunt-perhaps to meet Miss Mildmay, to whom, as I told you, he is reported to be engaged."

"But how could he meet her, when she is not here? I hope you don't mean that she is really coming?"

"It is one of the laws of matter, I believe, that a body cannot be in two places at the same time. Hence Miss Mildmay cannot be coming, for the very good reason that she has already come."

Ferguson stared at the speaker, whose clear, darkly-fringed eyes met his with a light of amusement in their depths.

"You are not in earnest, Miss Clyde," he said. "I am perfectly in earnest, Mr. Ferguson," she answered. "Will you try and pardon me-will you try not to be desperately shocked-when I tell you that I am Miss Mildmay?"

"Miss Clyde !"

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'I am not Miss Clyde, except by courtesy. Mr. Clyde is only my step-father. My proper name is Hester Mildmay-but I did not come here in search of you, Mr. Ferguson. I have often heard Nelly Blake talk of her brother, but I had altogether forgotten his name-in fact, I may say his existenceuntil your story recalled it to me. She did invite me to meet a gay party at her house this summer, but, just before the time for starting, I had an attack of fever, after which papa brought me here to rest. I had no intention of deceiving any one in bearing his name. I am so much attached to him that I often call myself by it. I owe you an apology for not telling you the truth when we were discussing Miss Mildmay a week ago, but I was so much amused by your intense prejudice that I could not resist the inclination to win your liking before telling you who I was."

While she was speaking, the changes on Ferguson's face but slightly represented the tumult of his thoughts. Nothing could have been more unexpected, scarcely anything more trying, than this revelation. The blood came to his face in a burning torrent as he recalled all that he had said of Miss Mildmay to Miss Clyde. His first intelligible conclusion framed itself unconsciously into words:

"Great Heaven! what a fool I have been!"

"I don't agree with you," said Hester, unable longer to restrain a laugh. "You were not to blame for failing to suspect who I was, if that is what you mean. Apart from the fact that a photograph gives little idea of the real countenance, I had lost flesh and color by illness, and fashion had abolished the elaborate coiffure, and brought in a simple arrangement of hair. As to the silken skirts which you came here to avoid, I should never under any circumstances be guilty of the bad taste of wearing those in the forest."

You may spare me, I think," he said, in a low voice. "I am sufficiently punished."

"But you should not feel that way at all!" cried Hester, eagerly. "I was not in the least hurt or offended by your opinion—"

"Since it was altogether without value in your

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I had forgotten that," he said, hastily. "I have no right to ask, but I should like to know if it is true?"

"It is true," she answered.

The words were so decided that Ferguson rose and walked quickly away. He felt like one who had received a blow, which for the time almost stunned sensation. As a refrain to which every thought was set, the words rang through his mind, "What a fool I have been!" How long he stood looking at the wide, beautiful landscape, without seeing a feature of it, he never knew. It was Hester's voice that roused him.

"Mr. Ferguson," she said, very gently, "I am truly sorry if my foolish mystification has given you annoyance. Pray forget it. I am very willing to ignore Miss Mildmay and continue to be Miss Clyde to you until we part."

"You can never be Miss Clyde to me again," he answered, without looking round. "You talked of my learning to like you, but you must know-❞ She interrupted him ruthlessly.

"I know that you have been so kind and pleasant to me that I should be very sorry if I have in any way thoughtlessly given you pain. Will you not try to forgive, and-forget? You must for Laurie's sake, if not for mine. I have not told you yet that he is really down at the hotel. Come, will you not shake hands, and let us go to meet him as friends?"

There was a minute's longer pause. Then Ferguson turned, took the hand which she offered and kissed it once, twice, thrice.

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A SOCIETY LION.

BY ALBERT RHODES.

`WO men disembarked from the French steamer | metropolis. He had lived in handsomer, cleaner,

Te men disembarked fromeasure usual in wan- and better-governed cities across the sea, but none

derers who return to their native land. They were friends. One was a man of forty-Anson Gray; the other thirty-Dalton Dwight. Gray was stout and florid, with a beaming countenance, which told of an excellent heart, but did not say much for the head. He was effusive and suffusive in his sentiments, and had rather a higher opinion of mankind than it deserved. His appearance indicated his health, and taste for the pleasures of the table. In addition to these natural advantages, he was wealthy as well as generous.

The man of thirty-Dalton Dwight-was of a more reserved nature, as well as more intelligent. The reserve and a slight tinge of melancholy in his expression rendered him less prepossessing than his companion to a stranger; but, when people knew him, they found something winning in his calm face, | as well as in his bright words. Dwight was a physician, who had been spending a couple of years in Paris to perfect himself in his profession, and he had no other resource save that profession. In other words, he was poor.

While they were in Paris, Gray had been attended through a perilous sickness by Dwight, who, according to the patient, had rescued him from death. Here was the sense of an obligation conferred and received, which usually forms the basis of human friendship.

They were naturally acquainted with each other's affairs, expansion being one of the first privileges and consequences of friendship. As to matters of the heart, it had been communicated to Gray that his companion was engaged to be married to a young woman of twenty, named Mary Blount, of whom a personal description had been given, as well as of her mother, who for several years had been a widow. An account of the surroundings of these two women had also been given, from which Gray understood that they were people of fortune, living in affluence -Mary Blount being an only child.

Dwight spoke hopefully but calmly of his projected union with Miss Blount, but not with that enthusiasm which characterizes the lover on the eve of the consummation of his happiness-according to the opinion of Anson Gray. But the latter said to himself that it was not the way of Dwight to be expansive, which probably did not prevent him from feeling enthusiasm on the subject of his marriage, although he did not express it. Gray, however, made up for what was lacking in Dwight in this respect, and glowed with anticipations of happiness for Dwight, while the latter listened to him with his characteristic tranquillity.

As Gray's feet touched land, he was as buoyant as a lad of fifteen. His eyes moistened with affection as they passed over the familiar points of the

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were to compare with this one, which was another proof, if any were needed, showing the strength of local attachment for the native place with which most men are born. As they drove up-town he was constantly calling the attention of his somewhat indifferent companion to the familiar objects which they passed.

Soon after they arrived at their destination, Dwight left his comrade and turned his steps in the direction of the family mansion of the Blounts. As he ascended the familiar steps and pulled the bell, the old timid feeling came over him, with its many remembrances. A strange servant appeared at the door, and, in answer to the question if Mrs. Blount and her daughter were at home, said that they did not live there any more. Were they well? The man did not know anything to the contrary. He asked for their address, which was given to him. He started for the place indicated, and in a few minutes stood before a small, somewhat obscure house on one of the side-streets, very different in appearance from the mansion formerly occupied by the Blounts.

He was ushered into a plain drawing-room, which contained only here and there an object of art which belonged to the other establishment, evidently saved from a financial wreck. He turned over an album of photographic portraits, and saw Mary's likeness in the same place-opposite to his own. In another album of pensées he saw the verses which he had written, dictated by love, in which he had renewed his vows. The refrain was constancy-through all the accidents and misfortunes of life. While his memory was busy with the scenes which the words called up, and the contrast which they offered to the evidences of changed life around him, Mrs. Blount entered and extended the hand of welcome with the old-timed warmth, for she had always been his especial friend.

The tone of Mrs. Blount was sad as he was made acquainted with the toppling and final downfall of the Blount fortune. When Mary came in, he took her hand affectionately, and looked into the face he had not seen for two years. Her expression exhibited a vague look of inquiry, which he answered by another pressure of the hand. She was changed in appearance; her cheek had lost its color, and her eye its vivacity.

She still showed that independence of character, to some extent indicated by the poise of the head, which he had always known in her. And he thought as he looked at her that scarcely any circumstance could ever tame her proud spirit.

There was foundation for his apprehensions concerning Mary's health. The mother informed him that she was so ill that she had for some time been

receiving daily visits from the family physician, Dr. Stone. Again Mary looked up at him, with the vague inquiry in her eyes, when he spoke soothingly and encouragingly to both. He had felt the daughter's dry palm and her low, irrregular pulse, but he said, after the professional manner, that she would soon be restored to health, and that they would both see better days. As he took leave of them he assured them of his speedy return.

After he went away Mary said to her mother, "I am afraid I shall never quite understand Dalton, mother."

Mrs. Blount pressed her to explain what she meant, but she could not do so in a way that was plausible or clear.

"My instinct tells me sometimes, mother, that there is a want of candor in Dalton."

The mother assured her that there was no foundation for such an impression; that he had never done or said anything to justify it. She embraced her mother, and said nothing more on the subject.

On his way to his lodgings Dwight dropped in a moment on Dr. Stone, the old friend and family physician referred to by Mrs. Blount, whom he had known when he was a student in medicine. It transpired at this interview that Mary Blount was consumptive. From a recent diagnosis which he had made, Dr. Stone thought she would hardly recover, although she might linger a long time. The reverse of fortune, with the melancholy in its train, had doubtless hastened the development of the malady. "If her mind and heart were more pleasantly occupied than they are now," added the doctor, “it might do her some good. In a word, if she were made happy, there is no telling what the result might be. From present indications she seems to be doomed."

The same evening Dwight looked at Mary Blount rather as a physician than a lover, and the result of this professional scrutiny was that the diagnosis of Dr. Stone was probably correct. Gray, desiring to share in his joys, had begged to be presented at the earliest opportunity, and he had brought him with him. There were languor and sensibility in the girl, and Gray, who did not look with the eyes of a physician, thought his friend was a man to be envied. Besides, she was unlike Gray, being pale and svelte, while he was ruddy and robust; the dissimilarity between the sexes, as we know, often being the cause of mutual admiration.

The beaming optimist, Gray, was prepared to look at everything through a rose-tinted glass-prepared, in a figurative sense, to take mother and daughter to his bosom, because of Dwight. While Dwight talked in one corner with Mrs. Blount, Gray talked in another with her daughter. Gray, according to his custom, spoke with unbounded admiration of his friend, enumerating all the good qualities of which he believed him possessed.

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'Has he no little vices?" asked she, archly. "None," said the friend, with conviction. Here she changed the subject, and led him to

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speak of his travels in foreign countries, but in most of the scenes he described his friend continued to be a prominent figure. The mind of the talker was not an original one, and he went over the realms of the guide-book, where sentiments and opinions are ready made for use, and, it may be reasonably surmised, offered but a slender contribution to his listener's knowledge. He soon returned, however, to the subject which most occupied him, and said, in his beamy way:

"Miss Blount, I suppose you must look forward to the day when you shall become his wife with a lively pleasure?"

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'Do you think he does?" said she, answering his question by asking another.

"Undoubtedly," returned he, promptly. "You are his close friend-do you think he shows it?" continued she.

"Oh, it's not his way to show it, you know; it's not his way. Every man has his ways, and he has his. When he saved my life, he did it as calmly as he eats his breakfast. I once hinted to him in Paris that he did not seem to be moved at the sight of joy or suffering as men commonly are, when he explained to me that it was the result of professional training, and that in visiting the hospitals he had at length succeeded in controlling his feelings, or at least the manifestation of them, in order to become skillful in the treatment of disease, and that he was afraid he carried some of this training into the relations of private life from force of habit."

So that," added she, "when he sees a woman weeping, his mind is at once occupied with the scientific cause of her tears, and so on through all the round of emotions which he chances to see."

"Oh, I did not say that. I merely wished to convey the idea that he acquired the habit of controlling the manifestation of his feelings, but not of the feelings themselves."

Then he went over the noble qualities of his friend once more. As he did so, she placed her hand over her mouth, and he was certain he saw a suppressed yawn.

"I am sure you will be happy with Dalton," continued he.

"It is hard to tell," answered she.

"Is it possible that you do not really love him?" asked he, not able to deny himself the question, in spite of the indiscretion it involved.

"I have an ordinary friendship for him; as for loving, I have never loved any one so far except my mother."

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