Year: 1871

Mr.. Anesley, NJ. p, had married the
only daughter of rich surgeon. She was
pretty and lively young lady, about four
and-twenty, very fond of her husband,
who was very fond of her.


did not like Mr.. Anesley. / conceived
that he had done Cyril great wrong in
leading him to believe he would inherit his
wealth, and then in his old age forming a
new alliance. Beyond this cause of COM
plant had no reason to dislike him, and
| believe he looked upon me with great
favor; this l inferred from several kind
little attentions lie paid me before left
the Manor at the end of my brief but
eventful visit. This did one week after
Cyril Anesley's departure. Uncle Blam-
ford pressed Flora to remain few days
longer; and as one of us would suffice to
cheer my mothers loneliness, | gave my
consent to the plan; for, truth to tell,
rather wanted to return alone and tell her
all my SORROWS. How my heart achcd as
the fly had hired bore me jolting through
the familiar streets leading to our house!


Not till now had l once had time to
reflect on the events of the last fortnight.
The very thing my mother desired me to do I
had failed in accomplishing; the very thing
she desired me not to do, l had done. Look
ing at things from my present point of
view, firmly and fully believed that by
my silly man9uvring had ruined my sis
ters chance of being loved by Guy. Also,
l, who had vowed never to fall in love,
even with prince, had done so with a
person as poor as my self; and it was only
the thought of deserting my mother that
deferred me from linking my fate with his,
and boldly Drawing poverty by his side.


81 have done very wrong. l will tell
mamma, and do as she advises in every
thing"


This thought was my only comfort, ito
lay my penitent head in my mothers lap
and tell her all my tale, imploring only her
pity and forgiveness for my folly. knew
she would not withhold either; she would
not reproach me much, but try to soothe
the heartache that would be mine for many
a long day. And as for the other task,
that too would be easy. Once let that sad
letter be written, and then might know
peace, the peace which duty done always
brings.


=


was at home. The fly stopped with
jerk that nearly jolted me out of my seat,
quite three doors lower down than our
house. That did not matter. / alighted
and paid the man his fare, then walked
slowly up to the well-known door.


There was no face at the Window to note
my coming. stood with my hand on the
handle gathering for moment strength
for my task then l entered.


There was no need to knock; the door
was seldom fastened. I closed it after me,
and opened that of the little sitting room.


had expected to find my mother alone,
as she loved to sit, in the dusky
light but the sight that met my eyes was
so startling that stood as her tears were
still flowing.


A stranger sat by her side, tall man,
broad-built and bronzed. One arm was
round my mothers waist and they were
holding close converse. When her eyes
fell upon me my mother sprang up joyfully.


"Come and kiss him, Sara !; it is George.
1t is your own brother come back. Oh,
Sara, my darling"'


She fell upon my neck, weeping and I,
too overwrought to speak, stood silent.


"Have you no welcome for me, Sara ?''
asked my brother, in deep tones, with
ring of old times mingling strangely with
them; and he embraced me, still silent, for
the joy and sorrow of my life were mixed
in such confusion.


After tea we gathered round the fire
and rs we sat, something prompted me to
speak, and tell them all my trouble. told
it l hid nothing from them. Not one
whit of my folly or weakness did l attempt
to conceal and in the pause that succeeded
l wept freely. Then, laying his hand on
my head, my brother spoke kindly, ten
derly.


"Little sister," said he, "dry your tears,
for I, too, have something to tell.'


lifted my face, looking wonderingly at
him.


"Seven years ago." he continued, 81
left England with something less than ten
pounds in my pocket, and a heart full of
bright hopes concerning certain fortune,
of which was in search. Seven years is
a long time. Some who had embarked in
the same plan died at my side others, fail
ing, went home, weary and heart-sick but
worked on with good faith, and in posses
sion of sound health, never doubling but
that | should succeed, for the sake of the
dear ones i'll whose name had undertaken
the task. One of these, and here Georges
voice grew even graver,-" of these is
gone from us to a better land but for the
others, thank Heaven, there is good time
in store for them. Sara, before you re-
turned, heard from our mothers lips the
tale of your patience and labor, and of
your self-sacriiicing devotion to her. My
own heart throbbed at the story, and l said
to myself that the fruit of my toll would
be well spent in rewarding such good lit
tie sister. | did not dream there would so
soon be an opportunity. Sara, will you
take from your brothers hand dowry
sufficient to recall this needy lover of
yours?"


George, Heaven bless you but could
not take it, was all | could sob.


"And why not?' he asked, smiling
For what do you think | have been work
ing all these years, but to give pleasure to
my dear ones? Perhaps you would advise
me to endow a hospital Immediately, and
allow you to continue your pleasant recrea-
ton of bookkeeping for the rest of your
days, while this Cecil the Dauntless ;
pines in obscurity."


Still l only said, in a martyrized tone,
"Give it to mamma, George; could not
take it, But George laughed, and told
me to hold my tongue.


cried myself to sleep that night, and in
the morning woke very late to find the