, 1899-03-24

cul-de-sac. If"-he pauses and looks earn
estly at his wife-"if it does prove true,
Barbara, you will be a very rich woman"
And you will be rich will me-" she
says, quickly, in an agitated tome. But,
but"
Eyes; it does seem difficult to believe"
interrupts he, slowly. what a letter.
His eyes fall on it again, and she, draw
ing close to him, reads it once more care
fully.
81 think there is some truth in it." says
she, at last. ut sound< more like being
all right, more reasonable, when read a
second time."
She steps a little bit away from him and
rests her beautiful eyes full on his.
"Have you thought says she, slowly,
that if there is truth in this story, how
much we can do for your father and moth
errI'
Monkton starts as if stung. For them.
To do anything for them. For the two
who had so wantonly offended and insult
ed her during all her married life. Is her
first thought to be for them?
Eyes, yes" says she, eagerly. 1--WE shall
be able to help them put of all their diff
culties. OH | didn't say much to you, but
their grief, their troubles, have gone to
my very heart. l couldn't bear to think
of their being obliged to give up their
houses, their comforts, and in their old
age, too: Now we shall be able to smooth
matters for them!"
Monkton had to run across to London
about the extraordinary legacy left to his
wife and Joyce. But further investiga-
ton proved the story true. The money
was, indeed, there, and they were the
only heirs. From being distinctly poor
they rose to the height of a very respeeta-
BILE income, and Monkton being in town,
where the old Monktons still were, also
was commanded by his wife to go to them
and pay off their largest liabilities-debts
contracted by the lead son, and to so ar
range that they should not be at the ne
c~essity of leaving themselves houseless.
The Manchester people who had taken
the old place in Warwickshire were now
informed that they could not have it be-
yond the term agreed on, but about this
the old people had something to say, too.
They would not take back the family
place. They had but one son now, and the
sooner he went to live there the better.
Lady Monkton, completely broken down
and melted by Barbara's generosity, went
SO far as to send her a long letter, telling
her it would be the dearest wish of hers
and Sir Georges hearts that she should
preside as mistress over the beautiful old
homestead, and that it would give them
great happiness to imagine the children
the grandchildren-running riot through
the big wainscoted rooms. Barbara was
not to wait for her-Lady Monkton's-
death to take up her position as head of
the house. She was to go to Warwick
shire at once, the moment those detesta-
BILE Manchester people were out of it; and
Lady Monkton, if Barbara would be so
good as to make her welcome, would like
to come to her for three months every
year, to see the children, and her son, and
her daughter. The last was the browning
touch. For the rest, Barbara was not to
hesitate about accepting the Warwick
shire place, as Lady Monkton and Sir
George were devoted to town life, and
never felt quite well when way from
smoky London.
This last was true. AS a fact, the old
people were thoroughly imbued with a de-
sire for the traa@siIuse itH and the
~throc rnoutns o. country IaIy fonKr6
had stipulated for were quite as much as
they desired of rustic felicity.
TO be c%ontinued.)