Year: 1877

But though months went by there
. were no symptoms that "the minister /"


was looking elsewhere fora a wife, nor did


Ada bestow any particular favor ON any


of the village beaux.


A year passed-two. The clergyman


still lived alone in his parsonage, and


Ada Romer kept house for her grandfath-
or in the old mission at the edge OF the
village. Now and then she would go


down to the margin of Laughing brook
and sit watching the water, that had


swept away her ring, with very grave


face.


But he took long detours to avoid the


spot. and when the wind, setting that


way, brought the voiceof Laughing brook


to the parsonage study, he would rise


and shut the windows and shut it out.


He had done this the very day when,


waking suddenly in the middle of the


night, he was aware of strange, flicker


ing, vermillion glow across his ceiling,


and, jumping out of his bed, saw from


his window that the Romer mansion on


the hill beyond was one great sheet of


flame, and only he seemed to be aware of


the fact.


All the village slumbered, and about
the house itself no figures moved. They
were being burnt in their beds or
smothered. They? Nay! She, his
Ada, MS he called her at that moment, ut
tering her name for the first time in two
years.


Hastily clothing himself, he rushed
out of the house and over the hill, crying


"Firc" as he ran. Windows opened at
the cry. He heard voices uttering
screams of amazement. The alarm was
given. But was it now of any avail 2 He
stood before the house, and saw every
window fast shut but one upon the sec
ond floor. This the flames had not yet
reached. Under great pear tree stood
ladder. 1t was very heavy one. AT
ordinary times his hands, unused to every
thing heavier than the pen, could not
have stirred it. Now he found no diff
Guilty in carrying it to the window, and
placing it so that he could ascend by it.
This done, up he went and in at the case
ment Great clouds of binding smoke
greeted him rs he entered; but he groped
his way on, shouting as he went. The
flames were bursting through the parti-
tions, the paper shrivelling into scrolls.
There was an old picture in the pas
sage with wreath of fire for frame
and rs he turned glance upon it red
tongue licked out the face, and powdered
hair, and white rutfles, and there was
nothing left.


This room with red door posts was
hers. He knew it. He stood on the
threshold and saw at first only leaden
smoke and scarlet blaze. Then, low
down on the floor, something the flames
had not touched yet IA figure in white.


"Ada y he cried, and seized it in his
arms.


A little worsted shawl had been about
her shoulders He wrapped it over the
face and head and lifted the senseless
form in his arms.


Then he sped back again, not know
ing whether what he held was living
woman or lifeless FORM His way was
now through fire as well as through
smoke; but he reached the window ut
last and the crowd below welcomed him
with cries and shouts rs he appeared
upon the ladder, his hair burned, his |
lashes scorched, his clothing burning
upon him.


The next instant he stood upon the
grass, and laid his burden down and I'M
covered its face. The fire had not !
touched it, and it was the face of living !
woman. But rs the eyes opened he saw
that it was not Ada. He had saved the {
life of young servant girl, who had re-
Gently come to take service W. tn the Ko- i
mers. |


She-Ada-was still in the burning,
house. 8


With wild cry he dashed toward the ]
door, which had, at last, been battered '
down. A sheet of flame rushed out to 8
meet him, and he fell senseless upon the I
ground. |


The next morning the Romer mansion a
lay in ashes.


The poor girl who had been saved lay
raving in delirium, and unable to give L
any account of the origin of the fire. |


And in the darkened room of the par I
poHot3S piio iiiiAiotSI IuS
and disfgured upon what the doctors a
had little doubt would be bed of l.
death.


Three weeks had passed since the T
fire. There had been close search among a
and his granddaughter had not been
found. G


There it lay, an unsightly heap, which a
r T I Il. I. L
see as he sat in his invalid chair by the 6
window.


The young clergyman was getting bet 6
ter, and one day he would be quite well,
but at present he was simply wreck of S
his former self. He was unable to take y
a step alone, and his eyes had been so Y
injured that it would be months before :
he could read or write. Even the faces n
of those about him were dim and inds-
tinct to his vision. AS for his heart, it
would never know peace again, it seemed O
to him, as he kept saying over and over 81
to himself: l


eff had not quarreled with Ada she p
would have been here beside me safe and o
we'll. She would not have been in the "
old house when the flames destroyed it, Il
for she would have been my wife, W


He was dreadfully miserable, and with =
the irritability of convalescent came e.
detestation of those kind, gossipy ma h
irons who had nursed him so tenderly h
and faithfully. He wished them away b
with all their inquiries and sick room II
talk, their camphor, and cologne, and 81
jellies, and good looks. And one day he k
confided to his friend and fellow clergy k
man, old Mr.. Ormsby, that man to Il
wait upon him would be great relief. Al


1.-THE ladies are $3.50 oppressively ii
kind, you know" he said. il
The other understood. C,
A few days after little note was d
brought to him by Mr.. Arlington's wife,
who was then presiding over the sick 81
room, and who, since he could not read 81
it himself. read it to him. 60
"DEAR EpEN-I think you will find the o
bearer of this letter very good nurse A
and attendant. The e mission brought
r L IN