Year: 1873

UNDER THE APPLE TREE.

 Slightly bent forward, her hands clasped in her lap and her book lying 1 unheeded on the bench beside her, Margaret Woodford sat thinking. An easier attitude would not have con- ported with the earnestness of her thought. She did not even notice that the rays of the afternoon sun had got beneath the outstretched limbs of the apple tree and were falling full upon her.

 She had come out to the orchard to read the story of the lives of those born in an authors brain, and had come in- stead upon a new scene in the real drama of her own life.

 It was certainly through no fault of hers that Alfred Carson had there sought her out and poured into her unwilling ears the passionate story of his love and begged her for ever so little in re- turn.

 She had checked him again and again told him that she had no love to give that she feared the capacity for love had died within her; been frittered away in the miserable round of firtations of fashionable society. Of course she said she felt honored by the love of so good and true man would value his friend ship, if she might still have it but, for his love, she could offer no return.

 "Do you love another?" he had eagerly asked.

 "No," she said, hesitatingly, and then more decidedly, "No, I have many friends whom love and honor as friends, but there is none to whom I could give that love which would make us both content"

 Then came youths eager and eloquent plea for hope-hope that some day the devoted love he offered might find 8 return.

 "No," she said, firmly, and Alfred felt that the answer was final, and with choking in his throat he turned and went slowly down the hill.

 And Margaret sat thinking. Now that she had spoken the irrevocable word, she queried of herself why she need have given it. Why not have said "yes as well?

 Alfred Carson loved her. He offered her homage no woman could receive unmoved. He was good and kind had wealth and social position. He could have kept her in the circles in which she had always moved, and given her the luxuries custom had made neces- saries.

 Whynot have accepted him? Simply because she could not love him, and in stinctively revolted from the idea of spending her whole life with him. l She pitied him. But she did not fear that the wound she had inflicted was beyond cure. She had lived too long in the world and society for that. She had sent other lovers away just as broken-hearted as he, and had afterward congratulated them as happy bride. grooms, while they stood beside thei1 blushing brides and wondered in theil hearts how they could ever have loved cold, heartless Margaret Woodford.

 Yet such scenes were painful. She was not oquette-simply belle Society expected of her that she would smile, and she smiled that she should be charming, and it was easy to obey that she should be brilliant, and she shone resplendent, adding mirth te beauty, and wit to mirth, and she en joyed her power.

 If some were dazzled, and would fair have come nearer, she made them fee that her brightness was that of winter sunshine, light without warmth, anG they went away with heavy hearts, bu soon comforted themselves with tht thought that they had been dazzled witt an icicle, and sought steadier thougl less brilliant warmth elsewhere: Sht knew better, but was not weak enougE to break a delusion that gave then comfort.

 This interview had stirred her deeply and annoyed her just little. She hac intended to make this country visit season of quiet and perfect rest. Wh, should Alfred Carson have remembered an old invitation of her aunt's, and fol lowed her? She did not mind Ralpl Wentworths coming. He knew th' value of rest, and would bother he with no romance. Besides, he had right there. He was like son in he aunt Wentworth's house, being he dead husbands favorite nephew.

 Ralph was a pleasanter subject fo thought than the painful interview sh' had just passed, so she let herself thinl of him. She remembered when he, too was full of romance, when he came bacl from Harvard full of bright hopes ant plans for brilliant future. He, too had bowed before her charms, and re ceived the same answer Alfred Carsol just had.

 That was when Margaret was in tn very flood of her second year in society and keenly alive to the joys of her tri umphant reign. No, indeed, she hae thought, she would not settle down to quiet, hum-drum life, with Ralph Went worth and help him carry out his odo notions of doing good and reforming society, and all that.

 Ralph had got over it. All men do she thought. But he was very differ ent man now from what he was in thos days. He was rather given to sneerint at things than trying to change them She doubted if he were changed for tn better; he was more like herself. HI had "done" society, and knew al about it. He could pay as silly compli ments to smirking misses as the nex fellow, and then langh in his sleeve t, think what fools he and the next fel low" both were. He could offer nor