Year: 1872




cried, with . great sob in her voice.
"Not even if I should-if I should new
er see him again"


So that was theft saw how it was.
Poor child! poor child! The next day
was Sunday. In the morning we went
to church together rs usual.


"There was person passed here last
night, as I was sweeping out the porch,
that asked me some questions about
you, SIR" said my old friend, the sex
ton, as I walked up to our pew. "He
asked me wether I knew how Miss
Alice came to be your ward, and 1
pointed him to the gravestone yonder.
That is the best answer can give you
my man, thinks ]. Least said the soon
est mended."


"What sort of person, Sim
monds I" I asked.


"Wildish look about him, and
wanted shaving in particular; had a
couple of bird cages IN his hand"
I fear I heard little of the sermon. I
was uneasy all the morning. What
was coming upon met Were these
two men, strangers both of them, con-
spring to rob me of my treasurer
In the afternoon we sung some hymns
together. Alice and felt happier. but
still restless. The dear girl made me
my tea, and as the shadows in the old
courtyard heightened I said 1 would
go across to the church to speak to Sim
monds. There had been afternoon
service, but we had none in the even
ing, so the door was closed already,
but not fastened, and it yielded to my
touch. The dusk had already begun
to settle on the dark side of the build
ing, which lay all in shadow; but
through the windows next the grave
yard there came a golden glory, that
chequered the pavement before the
altar and made a path of light
from the vestry door to the pew in
which 1 always sat-a pew near
one of the windows, through Which I
could see the grave that held the one
secret of my life. stood up to look
ct it now, as the waning light cast
tllckeriag patches on some strange OBJ
ject lying on the grave figure of q
man who, with his face hidden in his
hands, prayed or wept there. Before
could cry out, and while I held to
the oaken sill to keep myself steady,
there was sound of footsteps in tie
weed-grown path, and two other people
came upon the recumbent figure on
their way toward the church. Was it
possible2 one of them was Alice-mv
own girl-with only hood thrown
loosely over her head, as though she
had come out hurriedly, as, indeed,
she must have done; and by her side,
man, tall, stalwart, sunburnt, who
bent and whispered as he held her by
the hand.


Almost before they saw him the man
at the grave had leaped up with a great
cry, and in another moment had seized
the younger by both hands. I knew
him, though he was trimmed and
shaved, and had exchanged his sordid
dress for decent suit of black cloth.
It was the bird fancier of the day be.
fore, and with the hungry look gone
from his eyes, as though he had at last
found what he had sought. Right in
the centre of that golden elory-fainte,
now-:they stood, the three together !
and in moment I knew them-knev
both men. that is. I saw, in the elder
OF the two, the husband of the woman
had loved in the other, my own boy,
my own long-lost Alick. His arm was
round her-ronnd my girl-and his
other hand was stretched out to me as
he hurried on, and she, how she clunp
to him!


They led me home. There, in the
old room, looking over the tops of the
plane trees to the silver blue of the
summer sky, we sat far into the night,
for there was much to tell. How, in
the wild land to which he had gone
under another name, Alick had found a
friend and comrade in Richard -.
How my boy had worked and found
gold, and traded and prospered, and
was now partner in an Australian
merchants house of London city. How
the man whom was trying hard to
pardon-as if my poor pardon could
aid or mar him-had been wanderer
and fallen into terrible straits; had
gone forth from Australia to the other
golden colony in California; had lived
in lone prairies and on drear lagoons {;
had been held captive by Indians in
Mexico; had been in prison and con-
demned to death. and yet had escaped
and come home, to hear no tidings of
the wife whom he had left. How again,
and yet again, he had returned to make
new search. All this and more I lis
tened to, until the Ginning of the
clocks and silver streak far out to-
ward tho edge of dawn forced us to
part till the following evening.


AS l lay sleepless, waiting for the
morning in my little bedroom, won-
dered whether I had any further busi-
ness in the world. But yet, to tell YOU
the truth, I am no way anxious to get
out of it-at all events not till after
the wedding; and then shall take nv
approximation from the Twidlers. and
only go to the old hall now and then
because l can't quite bear to part with
it altogether. THOMAS AnCBEn.