Year: 1876

pose, walking the floor till then, hardly
knowing what he did or what he
thought, but intent upon conquering
himself. He would give the world for
Rosa Mercier's love, but he would not
give his pride. To him that pride meant
self-respect; to marry her, the child of
opulence, meant either to sell himself
for price, or to reduce her to trouble
and weariness in which her love might
soon wear out. he did not doubt that
1--we now; without syllable's speech,
he felt sure of it. While it thrilled him
wildly and deeply, it cast sudden sha-
dow of regret; he only hoped, and
cursed his fate that forced him to hope
such thing, that presently the love
would pass, and some one who would
make her happier would claim her. At
length, with maledictions in the act, he
emptied his pockets of the gloves,
handkerchief, and triles there, and
went to bed, with the sun coming
through the curtains, and, worn out in
body and mind, slept to the blessed and
thorough oblivion Of all the world.


When he awoke it was late in the
day. All his trouble rushed over him,
but in q moment all his will to repel it
rose too. He dressed himself leisurely;
he meant to call that night on Miss
Mercier, restore her handkerchief that
he had forgotten to give back after the
dance, and in some indirect way let her
know that he intended never to marry,
and 80 seal his doom beyond hope. He
went into the next room when he had
completed his toilet, and, after attend.
ing to one or two other affairs, looked
for the handkerchief that he remember
ed to have taken from his pocket and to
have tossed upon the table there. It
was not on the table; it was nowhere in
the room. In a panic, he rung the
bell; and when it was answered, insti.
tuted an inquiry concerning the thing
Yes, indeed, Susan had seen it, and
thought it was so yellow and soiled she
would take it down and wash it. "Lors,
sir, it was the dirtiest little rag" she
said. "Just straw color. And I thought
I'd give its run through the tub and
the bluing and make it fit to be seen."


"Good heavens!" he cried, with o
Mortified flash of remembrance that the
yeilower lace was the more precious was
it, and that it never was washed on any
account except by people who did
nothing else. "Let me have it at once. !"
And in five minutes afterward S1san
stood before him holding up the little
limp rag, and with pang as from a
blow of something unknown and dread,
full, the conversation that he had heard
over the transom of the hotel door, o
year or two ago, swept back upon his
recollection.


Five hundred dollars And gone to
grief in q moment And he could no
more replace it than he could fly, with
out what was the same. to him as abso-
lutte ruin. OF course he must replace
it.; he could not be indebted, through
the stupidity of his servant, or through
any other means, to Miss Mercier in that
sum. Without any doubt, she valued
such bit Of lace; and if anything were
needed to demonstrate to him the wis
dom of the course he had decided on,
and tho utter absurdity of having dared
for single moment to look with love on
one of. these darlings of fortune, it was
the fact thather handkerchiefs alone were
items of five hundred dollars. What q
shamel what wickednenessl what
preposterous folly! How could young
man marry9 He burned with indigna-
ton then. , '..'' .".


But to replace it; one-third of the
sum he was saving to redeem his little
property from mortgage the money
he really had in the world beyond that
for his daily ye1penses TWAS the ruin
of his hopes, his ambitions, his pride,
that scorned 80 to be anybody's debtor !;
it threw him back in the race, how long!
But it must be done. He had trife
over five hundred dollars in the bank.
He drew his check for the necessary
sum and folded it away in his pocket
book, and then went about his business
till nightfall, when he came back to his
ireary rooms, and made himself ready
for call at Mrs. Barnetta's. .il(G.3


The night had never seemed so beau
tiful, the stars so large and keen aud far
above the earth, 80 remote and cold
they typiHed all the dear and happy
things of life forever removed from him.
His heart was chilled and his face was
white when he stood at last in Mrs.
Baruettas drawing room, and she Aoated
forward to meet him. He had not asked
for Miss Mercier.


cit is q delicate errand, Mrs. Bar
netta, said he, with o dreary attempt
at smiling. "But the truth is that my
maid, in her officious kindness, has done
such damage to bit of Miss Mercier's
property that I must replace it. And I
have come to beg you, out of your
friendship for me, to transact the affair,
if such au article can be replaced here.
believe these little triaes are rather
costly, and if you will procure, one" -
and he laid the check, he had drawn that
morning and the little limp rag in Mrs.
Barnetta's: hand" as like the original
as possible, T. '..l


"My dear MIR. Malvin, what in the
worlds are You talking Off" cried Mrs.
Barnetta. "Have you money to throw
about in..this way9 Five hundred dol
lars-what is it fora"


"To replace Miss Mercier's handker-
chief, if you will be 80 good as to make
the purchase"


"Like this?" said Mrs. Barnetta,
holding up the little limp rag by one
corner.


"Like that" said Lucian.


"Oh, that is too good I" cried Mrs.
Barnetta, with peal OF laughter. cit
is too good, it is too absurd2 What crea-
lures men are Did you imagine that
this bit of finery was worth all that p
this little scrid of grass cloth and Ger
man lace2 No wonder the young men
don't marry, thenl My dear MIR. Nal.
vim, this miserable handkerchief cost ex-
actly two dollars and 6 half, and was
nearly worn out at that. Did you imag-
inc, too, that my poor i&t!e Rosa could
wear rfive-hundred-dollar Eandkerchiefs,
without cent to her namea"


"Without a cent to her name2" cried
Lucien, springing to his feet.


EXACTLY. Ahal Is that the trouble :
Now why didn't you come and talk it all
over with me in the way you used to do,
and save yourself all this vexation, and
save my little Rosa, too2 What an ab-
surd boy you are Another would have
waited to hear that she was an heiress ;
you wait to hear that she is penniless.
Well, she is, if that satisfies you, except
for what I shall leave my little god
daughter when I die-which will not be
at present, D. v. And there she is in
the next room now. But, bless me-
Lucien had not waited for the rest of