, 1879-12-01

cey's, in Faith Church, New York.
This is the young fellow who now
walks up and down, turning his foot
steps to suit the pair of slippered feet
tripping beside him, and who bends
head, eyes, and ears toward Miss Les
lie, as she goes along.
1--WE are orthodox at Cliff House" t"
continued Miss Leslie, "and Miss Al
castor-well, she is not orthodox
Then her father did something fright
full in New York, a few years ago." The
voice dropped into a fear-oppressed
whispeI. "Defranded some person
there; and, oh. he Was terrible char
acter, and. of course, the disgrace ex-
tends to the daughter"
"Of course" repeated De Courcey.
"The iniquity of the fathers being Wis
tied ON the children
Miss Leslie glanced quickly up. She
could not tell exactly what De COurcey
meant.
"But you know" she went on, after
awhile, Eve can have no dealings with
such persons. From such withdraw
thyself.'
"' He receiveth publicans and sim
ners. and eateth with them,'" quoted
De Courcey, in reply. There was a
pause.
1 suppose every one remembers Cliff
House. 1t had been commenced for a
palace. and by development only too
we'll known in this age of financial
crisis, had bee n metamorphosed into q
hotel. Just now it was controlled by q
ply ysician, who had combined with its
conduct the sanitary idea. But still it
was a snowy pile OF roofs and gables,
its towers and chimneys clear-cut
against the bluest of blue skies, its
lofty rooms opening on the most spa
cious of verandas, and its shaded paths
winding through the most luxuriant of
gardens. 1t accommodated and
| the word in this case was no sarcasm
q hundred guests, and this season the
number was full. There was the usual
combination of all sorts of people. But
the majority were of the lntolerant
character, socially and otherwise, and
owing to a prejudice which had been
sufficiently indicated in Miss Leslie's
remarks, Miss Alcastor's way was made
very hard for her.
Alice Leslie was the belle of the
Cliff House. Fer this eminence she
was indebted to her crown of golden
locks and her dover of golden dollars.
AS to what of solid merit lay below the
one, and behind the other, perhaps the
less said the better. In fact, it portends
nothing to the present tale.
"Ah, there she is at the organ !" said
De Courcey to himself, early next
morning. He had stolen into the
chapel for the early prayers. which
were an idiosyncrasy Of Cliff House.
was watching the worshippers, as they
came sauntering in; men in easy morn
ing coats. women in fresh, crisp CAM
brio, white, or daintiest tints. of lilac,
green, and azure, with sundry garnish
ings of ribbon at throat and waist. A
CHEEKY. pleasant picture, altogether,
whereof, De Courcey, all unwittingly,
formed part, leaning back after his
careless fashion, the firm, lofty out
lines of his face showing with cameo
clearness against the dark panel back
ground, and wandering shaft of
golden light shifting across the masses
of his hair.
"There she is" and the organ notes
began to rise and to throb overhead,
sweet, soft notes of strain whose
plaintiveness De Courcey was all too
unlearned musically to recognize as
Mendelssohn. It was just then-just
as Alice Leslie came tripping down the
aisle, luminous in the prettiest of en-
broidered morning robes, that DR..
De Courcey turned and saw Miss Al
castor in her place as organist. Above
her window of stained glass poured
its crimson glories down, touching her
bent head. gliding to her garments
hem, and leaving her as with linger-
ing caress. But her face was in
shadow, and by daylight it was more
Whitley pallid than under the evening
lamps; darker, too, and sadder. Oh,
so much sadder, seemed the large,
glooming eyes, and by the instinct that,
in his deepest heart, never failed to as
sert at the presence of suffering, De
Courcey felt himself drawn toward
this lonely creature, in her well-kept,
but cheap black dress, who showed, in
, her very posture, her Conscientious
ness of being, as Miss Leslie had said,
"under ban."
Prayers were over. De Courcey lin
gered unmoved by the smile of invita-
ton telegraphed across to him from a
certain pair of blue eyes, fingered un
til, as Miss Alcastor turned in her
place, and proceeded to close the organ,
one of the music books fell from her
hand, and dropped upon the floor.
Then he sprang, picked it up, and Civ
ing it back to her, with some MUIR
INJURED commonplace, he met direct
glance of the young girls eyes. Never
from that moment did he forget how
the pathos of their mute appeal
thrilled through him. "It wasn't the
kind of thing to talk about" he said to