Year: 1870

, one night Paul was aroused from his
= sleep by hearing some commotiOn III
: the house.


e "What is it," he called out "What
= Is the matter"


r travellers lost in the SNOW, sir;
- we are bringing them in"
= "Right," he replied, II shall be
e down directly" And in IA few mo-
= ments he was standing among his
f men in the long dark passage, where
= 10y the dim light OF candle a wom-
= ans body was being borne into the


house, followed by u man carrying Il
e child. The boy was living, there was
D no doubt of that, but the woman's
] fate was doubtful. When he saw that
: it was woman Paul approached no
G nearer.


1 "Prepare "A warm bedroom at once"
he commanded. "Hand her over To
the female servants, and let me know
E if she be alive or dead. For all resto-
/; Tatives come to me. You, my brave
] fellows" he said, addressing the res
{ cuers, "come in here and drink some
thing hot"


This invitation they were not slow


to obey, and while drinking they told
r how they had been belated at their
]
: moaning at their feet, and how they
3 had found this couple half buried in


the snow. Presently a woman serv-
[ ant came in and reported that the
2 mother was alive but very ill, and


Paul ordered that if it were possible
| some one should go over to Andreas-


burg next day TO fetch the doctor.


Meanwhile they should take the usual
: precautions for her and her child; for
| the care of people rescued from the
SNOW was not a new experience at
: Oderbruck Had the unfortunate
; wanderer been a man, Paul would
, have been the first al his bedside; but
a woman, such case had not occurred


before, and he avoided women. For


weeks this woman lay in his house


half dead. Daily he inquired after
, her, allowed his two servants to de


vote their entire attention to her and
the child, but in no other way al


lowed this incident to interfere with


his life. The child, which had once
run in his way and stood i'll mute adj
, miratiOn of the splendid man in grey


and green, he sternly ordered To be


kent out of sight. "Feed and keep


the boy well, let him have all he


needs, but do not let him run in my
path" he said; and it never occurred


again.


After months of illness, weeks of
convalescence, the sick woman was


restored to health, and with complete


restoration Spring had also set in, and


she was anxious TO proceed upon her


way. But though warned and dis


suaded by all the servants, she could


not be induced to leave the house


without seeking its master and


thanking him in person for his kind


ness.


SO one evening i'm the twilight,


when she heard his firm, heavy tread
along the gravel, had heard him close
the outer door behind him, and when
he was about TO enter his parlOr, she
ran down from her room and encOun-
tered him in the dark passage.


"WhO is it?' he asked; he seeing |
still less than she, for he had come |
from out of the light.


''The woman whom you have shell |
tered for so long, sir May / not speak |
a few words to your she asked, for |
he seemed inclined to enter the room |
and leave her standing without.


"What is il? Do you want to know |
your way? My men can tell yOu-or
money? You can have some"


"Neither," she said, taken aback 10y |
the hardness of his address. al want |
to thank YOU" As she spoke she fol- |
lowed him into the room.
He stood with his back TO the win !
dow and disembarrassed himself of |
his gun; she was opposite to him and |
the falling light fell full upon her face. !


al do not love thanks. | have done |
no more than common humanity de- |
manded." He looked up pat her with
a mien that said, you can go now. |
But when he saw her he stood SPELL
bound. A wild glare came into his |
eyes, and he seized her fiercely by the |
hand.


Beatrice, is it you?"


1t was her turn to he amazed; she |
had not seen him clearly before; |
now he had turned more toward the |
light.


"My God" she stammered, 80, no,
it cannot be Paul Smitt.


at is" he said, dropping her hand. |
The wild look had faded, the face had |
gained its hardness. 'I am glad" he
went on stiffly, "that chance has |
thrown you in my way. | can now
deliver the message your dead father |
gave me for you"


"My father deadIr she screamed.
go, heaven, this alsOw She fell down
fainting at his feet.


COOlly and with seeming mcOncern
Paul rang for servant, told him to
remove the fainting woman, said that
| if she asked for q message from him,
they should give her letter he would
presently write, ordered that she
should be sped OH her way with every
comfort, but commanded sternly that
she should be brought no more into
his presence.


Her father dead, the father to whom
she was now about to go, to fall down
at his feet and entreat his forgiveness,
to pray him to grant home, if not to
herself, at least to her child. Led
away by childish vanity, Beatrice had
trusted the promises of the young
Squire of V, that he would make
her lady-elevate her to his own
rank. She had firmly believed until
some few years since, that he had
married her, that the paper he had
given her to sign was true document,
and that she had been basely deserted
by her husband. When he left her
she had settled down quietly and So
berly i'm busy little eAndreasburg, where
neither her name nor her history were
known. There she had lived respect
ed and beloved, working her way
steadily, keeping herself and educa-
ting her child, and even her own keen
shame was beginning to deaden some
what in feeling, from its having no
nOurishment from without, till one
day, as she was walking through the
market place to take some work home,
she met the man who had played her
false. He was arm in arm with an
other gentleman, smoking and laugh
ing. She flew toward him, stammer-
I ing she knew not what. He turned
upon her fiercely, and muttered, ''yOu
shall suffer for this, woman" Then,
with some light laughing remark to
his companion, of which she could
only distinguish, "SOme mistaken re-
semblance-mustb he mad" they pass
ed along.


From that day Andreasburg was no
refuge for her. Her story, mutilated
and aggravated, was in every ones
mouth, and one day, gOaded to despair
and frenzy, she determined to run
from the town and seek her fathers
house once more. AT least he could
not be harder than the world. An an
gry visit from the Squire, whom she
had crossed efiectually in Il plan of
marriage, caused her to pack her few
valuables about herself, take up her
child, and fly from him into The dark
cold night with the show lying thick
ly on the ground. She had gone on
and on in condition of half dream,
with only sense enough to cover her
child from the cold; she felt how the
chill air was numbing her, how the
snow clOgged her footsteps, and at last
knew no more till she found herself at
the forester's house. From the wrath
of the deceiver to the wrath Of the
deceived.


Beatrice threw herself on the floor
in an agOnyo of grief. AS she lay thus,
the snrN-nnt Anna l.amn- in