A CRADLE MYSTERY.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXVII, Issue 8306, 12 July 1890, Page 3 (Supplement)

A CRADLE MYSTERY.

BY MRS. GBORGIK SHELDON. Author of "Queen Boss," "The Forsaken Bride, " Brownie's Triumph," etc. CHAPTER XXVlll.— {Continued.) MRS. REMINGTON IS STARTLED BY A STRANGE CRY. But Mr. Archibald and Max were doomed to disappointment, for the detectives had not been able to get the slightest clue to Agnes' whereabouts, and Mr. Archibald was greatly disheartened. "I began to think I was going to have somebody to caro a little for me in my old age," he said, in a quavering voice, as Max and he retraced their steps uptown, "she was always so sweet and kind. I'm all alone, in the world, a sort of crusty old codger at that, and most young people shun and dislike mo. But she didn't, sho was always ready to run her pretty little feet off for me if I'd lot her. I had the rheumatiz for a week, early in the fall, and you'd have thought I was doing her a favour when I asked her to do anything for me, she was so cheery over it. I'm afraid, youngster— I'm awfully afraid we shall never see her again," and two big tears rolled down his wrinkled cheeks. " Oh, my dear sir, don't givo up like this," Max tried to say, encouragingly, though he was very anxious and alarmed himself ; " wo shall find her—we must find her. I am obliged to leave town this afternoon for a few days, but when 1 return I will devote myself to the work of learning what has become of her, unless, as I hope you will, you hear something definite before that." "If money can rind her she shall be found," Mr. Archibald said ; then he added, with tremulous lips, " but I'm afraid it's a case money won't reach." " Don't look on the dark side, sir: come around and sec us, and my mother will cheer you up. You will find us in rather humbler circumstances than when you honoured us in tho fall, but wo will give you just as warm a welcome." Max's tone was cordial, but his face was clouded as he said this. "Eh !" exclaimed Mr. Archibald, looking astonished, "you said you'd had trouble, but 1 was too much taken up with my own to pay much heed. What's the matter? Been losing money ?" " Every dollar of it," returned the young man, briefly. "Sho ! that's too bad ! How did it happen ?" "It is a long story, sir, and I have not time to tell it now. but come and see us when I return. I forgot, to tell you we have moved ; you will find us at No. 5, street, and 1 will give you all the details," Max returned. "1 will, thank you, I will. Bless my crown I I'm sorry for you and your lady mother; she is a lady, too," Mr. Archibald .sympathetically* responded, as he shook Max heartily by the hand. The two men then separated, the elder feeling somewhat lightened of his burden, but Max was very heavy hearted as he went to the otliee of Nash and Pike to got his orders for another trip, and he felt bitterly rebellious that plenty of money and his time were not at his own disposal, as of yore, so that ho could at once devote himself to search for Agnes. lie was to be away from home for the next three days—seventy-two long hours; and the time seemed endless as ho reckoned it up. Mrs. Remington, of course, remained in ignorance of all that he had learned, for he did not return to the house before starting upon his trip ; and all day long, while busied about her duties, Agnes was upon her mind. She longed for Mr. Archibald's return, so that she might learn where the young girl was staying; her warm, motherly heart went, out to her in tendereefc sympathy in her bereavement, and she yearned to fold her in her arms and try to comfort her. " Dear child ! it is so hard to lose hor only relative and be left, alone," she said, tears starting to her kind eyes. "Poor Max, too ! it is rather hard that he cannot have an opportunity to explain himself ; I will make one for him it I can only find her." Late in the afternoon of that same day, she sat sowing by a window in her pretty parlour, when the sun suddenly burst from a cloud —was it an omen of good?—and fell upon her work, almost blinding her by its brightness. .She arose and opened the window to close one-half the blind. But it resisted her efforts, and she was obliged to lean far out of the casement to see what, was the matter with the fastening. It was very quiet in that neighbourhood, and while engaged in examining the catch to the blind, Mrs. Remington was suddenly startled by the sound of a voice crying out as if in fear and distress : " Max ! Max ! —oh, save me !" " Why," she exclaimed, stopping in her work and looking all about her, " where did that cry come from ?—what can it mean ?" Her attention was just hen attracted to a window in a largo building, which was separated from the house she occupied only by a narrow court and a clothes-yard beyond. This window had been let down at the top, and the cry had seemed to come from that direction, and while she stood looking at it a turn, rather pretty servant, in cap and apron, came and closed it, drawing down the shade also. Forgetting all about the obstinate fastening of the blind, and full of interest and curiosity over tin; singular incident, Mrs. Remington closed her own window and resumed her work, with that stnuigo cry still ringing in her ears. . " How very remarkable," she mused, "that there .should he someone in that building calling upon ' Max' fur help ! It cannot possibly bo my Max ; it must be someone el.-o by the same name, and the voice certainly belonged to a woman. She scorned to bo in distress, too—l cannot understand it. Perhaps it was some insane person." .She grew restless and nervous thinking of it, and throwing down her work, tried to forget the circumstance by reading ; but still that cry of distress continued to ring in her ears, and those live appealing words, "Max! Max! oil, save me!" seemed to stare up at her from every line. " How foolish I am to allow myself to get 50 excited over a simple circumstance like that," she murmured, feeling impatient and annoyed that she had no bettor control over her nerves. " I wish Max was coming homo to-night, and I would ask him to try and find out what it all means." Suddenly a bright idea occurred to her. " Servants are always finding out things," she mused. " I will ask Jane if she knows who lives over yonder." Calling the girl, she ordered her to replenish tho fire in the grate, and while she was doing this Mrs. Remington asked, in a casual way, if she knew whether the large building opposite their windows was also an apartment-house. "And indeed it isn't,- mum," Jane promptly responded ; " it's the Hotel, and a kind of upper-crust house, and the cook, mum, be a portick'lar friend of mine." "Ah !" said .Mrs. Remington, smiling at the air of importance with which tin.-* latter piece of information was delivered. " I wonder if any one is ill there—l heard a very distressful cry from one of the rooms this afternoon." " I don't, know, mum ; but I can find out for yo if ye like," tho girl obligingly returned. Never mind, Jane," Mrs. Remington replied, feeling sensitive about betraying undue curiosity regarding other people's affairs, and the girl departed. This conversation seemed to break tho spell, however, for Mrs. Remington was troubled no more about the cry. When her tea was served she sat down to it, feeling rather lonely without Max, and wishing ho could be there to spend the evening with her ; bub she had an entertaining book, and as soon as her hunger was appeased, she took it up and read uninterruptedly until after ten o'clock. Before retiring she raised her curtain and looked over at the window whence that strange cry had proceeded that afternoon.

A subdued light- shone in the room, and she was almost sure that she could distinguish upon the curtain the shadows of bottles and also a cup with a spoon laid across it. "Somebody is .sick there," she said as she turned away, " and probably that was a delirious cry that I heard this afternoon." She retired thinking no more about it and was soon sleeping soundly, never suspecting the strange tidings that were to come to her on the morrow. CHAPTER XXIX. MRS. REMINGTON MAKES A STRANOE DISCOVERY. The next morning,'when Mrs. Remington went down to her breakfast, she found her young servant, Jane, more smiling and affable than usual. " 1 war over to the Hotel last night, mum, to gee my frind," she began, with a wise look. " Ah ! you said your friend was the cook there, I believe,"Mrs. Remington remarked, eager to learn more, yet not wishing to appear curious regarding the visit. "Ye?, mum—Mollie O'Hara's her name. She have been cook there going on six yoars." " I should say that was a good recommendation for her efficiency," the lady quietly returned. "Yes, mum, she bee/ a first-rate cook ; and, mum, Mollie says there beez somebody sick in the house." Indeed !" " Yes, mum—a young leddy ; she have been there threo weeks or more, and she beez all alone."he have no frinds—only a stranare nurse to take care of her." "That is very sad,"said Mrs. Remington, sympathetically. " Do you know what her name is '!" "Faith, thin, I forgib to rcmimber if Mollie towld it to me at all," replied the girl. " But she have been crazy ever since she wur took sick, and kapes shouting for her mother and somebody named ' Max'— like the young gintleman, mum—to come and pave-her. They can't get a word more out of her to tell who she is nor where she came from : and." in a solemn whisper, " they say she ain't going to live long." "Poor child !" Mr«. Remington said, tears starling to her eyes : and then as Jane, having emptied hor budget of news, retired to the kitchen, she foil to musing upon the sad circumstance of the young stranger's illness in a great hotel without any friends around her. " F. wonder," she murmured, " if it would do for me to go and make porno inquiries about her. Somehow I fool deeply interested and yet I do not wish to appear oflicious. It certainly cannot do any harm for me to go to the proprietor, tell him what I have heard, and indicate my interest in this forlorn young girl. 1 am going to do ho, officious or otherwise," she resolutely concluded, ns she arose from the table. Accordingly, about ten o'clock, she dressed herself for the street and repaired at once to the hotel where Acnes—for the sick girl was no other—lay ill. The unfortunate girl had had a terrible attack. The fever had run a long and tedious course, and she had boon delirious every moment of tho time. The physician, whom Mr. Harwood had summoned to attend her, seemed to grow more grave every time he came, while the nurse daily affirmed that she " did not see how the pretty dear could possibly pull through." " The frenzy is enough to wear her out, lot alone, the fever." she paid; and it certainly scorned a* if Agnes' strength must soon be exhausted, for, when not under the influence of powerful opiates, she raved incessantly for Max—for her mother, begging piteously of some imaginary too to be allowed to go home and not have to stay nut in such a dreadfui storm so late at night then, at times she would burst forth into that fir«t wild cry : " Don't let him come in—don't ! don't!" Mrs. Remington, upon reaching the reception room of the hotel, summoned a servant and sent her card to the proprietor, requesting that she midlife have a few moments' private conversation with him. Mr. Harwood soon mado his appearance before her, greeting her with his habitual courtesy. She related what she had learned about the young invalid in his house, saying that sho had been impelled by sympathy for her friendless condition bo come and inquire if she could be of any service in the sick room. " I have a son whoso name is ' Max,' " she said, with a slight smile, after telling him how she had been startled by hearing tin? sick girl call his name, " and when I heard her agonised cry it almost seemed as if a direct appeal had been made to me through it." " You are very kind, madam," Mr. Harwood replied, in his friendliest tone. " I appreciate your interest and sympathy, but wo are doing all we can for her ; I have secured a competent nurse and physician, and I do not believe she could have had better care even had been among her own friends. Dr. Raymond is considered very skilful, but I can see that he fears the worst. She came here under very peculiar circumstance?;, and sho has never recovered from the shock sho experienced upon realising her unfortunate posit ion." Tho proprietor related all that he know regarding Agnes' trying (Experience with the man calling himself " A. Herbert." "All this has served to aggravate and prolong her fever, which, but for this constant fear and dread, might have been controlled lun',' before this, the doctor says. He think-?," the gentleman concluded, "if we could only discover her friend;*—if she could even see a. familiar face, it might have a quieting client upon her." " I'oor child ! 'What is her name?" Mrs, Remington a.-:keil. " f am not Mi!;' that wo know even that — at least her true name,' Mr. Harwood gravely replied, " There was one day when the nurse, thought, that she seemed a little more rational than usual, and she asked liar name. 'Agnes,' she replied, regarding her wonderingly. ' Agnes what V inquired the. woman, whereupon she a**sumed grout dignity. a-, if .-'oinemio hod addressed her too familiarly, and said, haughtily, ' I am Miss Walton, sir, if you please.'" A startled cry came from Mrs. Remington. "Agnes Walton!" she repeated, rising to her feet, and betraying great agitation. " Why, Mr. Harwood ! then it is no wonder that she called for ' Max.' I know the girl well—she is a. very dear friend ; you must lot metro to see her immediately. Why, I cannot, comprehend tho strange story that you have just told mo." She appeared greatly distressed, and was pale to the lips. Mr. ITarwood was no less surprised, but. lie was also intensely relieved by the. -words of his visitor. He had feared that, Agnes would die there on his hands, and her friends never learn what had become of her, and his burden of anxiety on this account, was almost unendurable. "Sit down, madam, if you please," lie said, with great, kindness, and he gently seated her in the chair from which she had just risen. " Let me tell you that you have lifted a great, burden from any mind. If, as you say, this Miss Walton a friend of yours, I cannot bo too thankf.nl to yon for coming hero this morning. Is she —a relative ''.'' "No," replied Mrs. R/eminglKiii, leaning weakly back in her chair, for the shock of this discovery had almost un;n«»rved her; —flushing slightly—"l 'will toll you, in confidence, that 1 hone .'-■ ho may be some time." "Ah !" said Mr. Harwood. smiling and brightening, " I understand ; and that explains why she has oa,H<:<,i so piteously upon that one name, ' Max.' But who is this A. Herbert who broue;! it her here in such a dastardly way?" "lam sure I do not know ; the whole matter seems an inexplicable mystery to me, for Miss Walton is a. young lady of irreproachable character —modest and pure as it is possible for any girf to be. Did she not explain to this girl, wb o you pay passed the night with her, how she happened to come here at that time of the night?" " Nothing beyond the fact that there had been a railway accident which prevented her reaching tho city earlier. She did not tell whence she had com«j, nor whither she was going. She appear to be very weary, and foil asleep almost immediately after retiring." " You have told me that she had some spirited words in the> morning with the man who brought her hero," Mrs. Remingreflectively remarked. " Yes, the chambermaid overheard just enough to prove that s omethirig was wrong ; that she indignantly resented something that, he had said or .clone ; then she rushed

back into the chamber and fainted. She has not known a really rational moment since. I interviewed the young man, but could get no satisfaction from him, beyond the fact that the girl was not his wife, as he had represented by a false registration. But of course, if she recovors, all this mystery will be cleared ; if she does not, we shall be obliged to remain in ignorance of the scampV identity—for I have no idea that he gave his true name—and he will doubtless go unpunished. Now, Mrs. Remington, if the nurse will allow it, I am going to take you directly to our invalid ; perhaps the sight of your familiar face may quiet her, as the physician predicted. I sincerely hope that your coining here may be ominous of good." Mrs. Remington was yearning for the lovely girl, and she arose with alacrity to accompany the proprietor upstairs. Upon reaching No. 10 he knocked gently upon the door, whicli was soon noiselessly opened by tho nurse, while Mrs. Remington's ears caught the sound of a wailing voico, that pierced her to the heart as it cried : " Don't let him come in-—don't! don't !" Mr. Harwopd beckoned the woman out into tho hall, and then briefly explained Mrs. Remington's presence there. _ The nurse's tired, anxious face brightened. " I am glad," she said, turning to her, "for the sight of a familiar face will bo better than medicine, though sho is so very low I fear that it is too late for any permanent good to result from it." Mrs. Remington's heart sank. "Can it be possible there is no hope?" she asked. "I do nob believe she can live three days longer, unless there isxome immediate change for the better," Mrs. Dunne replied. " But come," she added, and quietly drew Mrs. Remington within the room, while Mr. Harwood went sadly downstairs again. Agnes had appeared to regard the door connecting hor room with the private parlour with such nervous dread, as if sho constantly expected someone to enter byib, that Doctor Raymond had ordered her bed to bo moved close up against ifc, consequently as Mrs. Remington entered the room, the sick girl lay in the corner on her loft, and with her face turned to the wall, so that neither could see tho other. The nurse beckoned her companion to seat herself by the bedside. She did so without making a sound. Mrs. Dunne then bent over her patient. " Dearie, it is time for the drops again," she said, in a kind, motherly tone, a.s she put the spoon to her lips. Agnes took the medicino without any opposition, then sho moaned as .she tossed her hot head on tho pillow. " Why doesn't Max come? Ib snows so hard and is so cold—so cold !" " Max is coming, dearie ; he lias sent somebody to toll you so," the woman replied, soothingly, and smoothing her tangled hair with a gentle touch. Then she gathered her emaciated form in- her strong arms, as if sho had been a little child, and turned hor toward the front of the bed. This done, she stepped back and motioned Mrs. Remington to show herself. Tho girl's eyes were clo.sod, but Mrs. Remington knolt beside the bed and clasped Agnes' hot, wasted hands in hers, though her heart sank heavier than ever at their burning touch and at, tho wreck she looked upon. Could this bo the happy, beautiful girl who so recently had been a guest in her home ? She was wasted to a more shadow of herself ; her eyes were sunken, her cheeks hollow, her lips dry and parched, all the lustre gone from her golden hair. She feared that sho was indeed too late. "Speak to hor," whispered the nurse. " Agnes," breathed her friend, in a low, fond tone. There was a slight start perceptible in tho sick girl, and she scorned to listen for her name to bo repeated, though she did nob unclose her eyes. If, seemed almost as if she thought she was dreaming that help had come at last, and she could not bear to break the spell. "Agnes," Mrs. Remington repeated; then added, " Max is coming, dear." Tho great, dark-blue eyes slowly unclosed at this, and the sick girl looked up into the friendly face bending over her. An expression of wonder overspread her features as sho looked, bub she did not move or speak. Evidently this familiar presence seemed like some blessed vision, which she feared would vanish from her sight if she stirred. Mrs. Remington softly kissed one of the hands she was holding. "Aren't you going to say that you are glad to see me, dear?" sho asked, with a loving smile. A long, long sigh, during which it seemed as if t.hc'soul of tho lovely girl was being released from some terrible bondage, heaved her chest: then a Man little smile curved hor fevered lips. "Mamma ! mamma !" she murmured, in such a tone of relief that, it brought tears to the eyes of both women, though tho mistake betrayed that her mind was still clouded. " Sho thinks you are her mother ; let her think so," the nurse breathed in Mrs. Remington's ear. " Yes, dear," she said, gently ; '' now go to sleep, and 1 will sit beside you and hold your hand." .Agnes continued to gaze at her wotuleringly, but sho was evidently assured that a friendly presence was beside her, even though it did not seem quite real or natural ; then her eyes began to droop heavily. All at once she gave a frightened start; her lids flow open, revealing the old look of terror in her eyes. " Don't lot him come in !" she began, when Mrs. Remington suddenly checked her, while she clasped hor burning hand more firmly. '• Hush !" she said ; " he shall never come near you again." This assurance appeared to pacify her : her white lids slowly drooped again, the tense look about hor mouth relaxed, and in three minutes she was sleeping- quietly, restfully. Meibher woman moved for a quarter of an hour. Then, as Agnes' slumber continued unbroken, the nureo bent forward and removed Mrs. Remington's bonnet and unfastened her cloak, slipping it back from her shoulders. " Have you strength to sib there until she awakes ?" sho whispered ; "if you lot go hor hands .she will awake." Mrs. Remington nodded atid smiled ; then sho glanced from the woman to a couch on the opposite side of tho room, indicating that sho wanted her to improve the time to rest herself. The weary, faithful nurse understood, and wi',ii an answering look of gratitude, went ab once to lie down. In los.s than five minutes she, too, was sleeping, while Mrs. Remington sat by the bed, watching the sweet, wan face on the pillow besido her, and prayed that the precious life might be spared, for Max's sake as well as her own. The two hours that followed were tho longest that the beautiful woman ever knew. It was a terrible vigil —terrible, for mind as well as body. She dared nob move lest sho should wake Agnes, for even in her sleep hor frail hands clasped hers, as if she feared she might suddenly vanish if she should let go her hold. Her position was not a comfortable one, and sho became weary and cramped with the strain of sitting so long motionless. But, so much was at stake sho would nob have moved for worlds, and as time went on she began to gather hope that the long slumber would prove restful and refreshing. Already she believed she could perceive a slight moisture gathering upon tho hands sho held, though it might have been produced, she knew, by her own clasp; and yet, sho knew that tho fever flush on the beautiful face was not quite so vivid. "Spare—oh, spare this precious life!" she prayed, again and again. She had never realised before how dear Asrnes had become to her ; during her recent visit to her she had a good opportunity to perceive tho beauty of her character, and she had been well pleased to sees that, Max was learning to regard her with a sentiment that was hbronger than more friendship, and now as she sab beside hor, she herself was conscious of a peculiar tenderness I welling up in her heart for her. jl How hor cry of " Mamma ! mamma !" had thrilied her ! Tears started to her eyes, and rolled down her cheeks as her thoughts wenb back to her own little girl—her lovely Adele—who would have been about Agnes' age, if she had lived. How she would have loved a beautiful daughter like this ! How companionable she would have been ! Ah ! ib was a bitter blow that had deprived her of her own darling, years ago ! But Agnes, if her life could bo spared, as Max's wife, would fill this longing,

this vacant place in her heart, as no other could ; and, sitting there, with those small hands clasped in here, she prayed often, until faith began to take root in her soul, and she began to build up a fair fabric of hope and to lay fond plans, almost forgetting, fit times, her cramped position, and thai; dull ache in her every bone and joint. It was over at lust ; that long ordeal, like everything else, had its end, and Agnes began to stir feebly, and sighed heavily. The faithful nurse, whoso quick eye had never failed to catch the slightest irovetnent, was beside her in a moment. " M mil ma !" murmured the sick girl. " Yes, dearie ; .she is here,' ' replied the nurse, cheerily. Agnes opened her eye?, and, as they rested upon the face of her friend, both women saw, with a thrill of joy, the light of reason gleaming in them. " Oh ! i dreamed that mamma was here," she murmured, weakly : " I forgot that she was gone. Dear Mrs. Remington ! it was you instead. , ' Tears were in her eyes as she spoke of her mother, but those last word.-? were uttered as if she were almost as content to find this kind friend beside her. " Yes, dear," that lady replied, speaking as if it were a matter of course for her to be there ; " you have had a nice long sleep, and I have watched beside you all through it." After one look at her patient, Mrs. Dunne, with a strange expression on her face, had crossed the room to a table, on which there stood a. small gas stove with something simmering upon it. Presently, however, she returned to the bedside, with a cup in her hand, from which a delicionsly appetising steam was arising. She fed Agnes, a few drops at a time, from its contents, until she had taken perhaps half a dozen spoonfuls. "That, is nice," the sick girl whispered. " Yes ; but you've had enough for this time, dearie. Now, go to sleep again, if you can." Agnes lifted an appealing glance to Mrs. Remington. "I am going to sib just; where I am, Agnes, until you awake," she responded, understanding the mute appeal. Agnes slowly turned her head and looked at the door behind her bed, as if noticing for the first time that it would be impossible for anyone to enter there ; then her glance wandered back to her friend, a satisfied expression overspreading her features, and presently she had dropped off in another restful slumber. CHAPTER XXX. AfiNKS BEGINS TO HKCOVKR. When Agnes awoke again she was in a gentle perspiration, and every vestige of fever had disappeared. She was of cour.se exceedingly weak, and could scarcely move hand or foot, for all her false strength had vanished with the fever. " Do not try, dearie," said the nurse, as she feebly attempted to wipe the moisture from her forehead with a hand that trembled like a leaf, and, bringing a line handkerchief which she had dipped in perfumed water, she bathed her face and hands as tenderly as if she were her own mother. Then she fed her again with a few .spoonfuls of beef-tea. " More," Agnes begged, as she stopped, but the wise woman .--hook her head with a pleased laugh. " No, you can't have any more just now," she said., " though its music to my ears to hear you ask for it. I. must be a little stingy with you to begin with ; but in half an hour you shall have more." Agnes smiled as she glanced at the clock on the mantel to see when the time would be up. Then she weakly put out her hand again to Mrs. Remington, who clasped it and bent to kiss her white forehead ac the same time. " Agnes," she said, " would you like me to stay with yon for a few days V The poor little white fingers closed over her friend's hand almost convulsively, and she whispered : " , lease do—if—you can." "If nurse says I may!" replied Mrs. Remington, glancing inquiringly at the woman. Mrs. Dunne gave a satisfied and decided nod. " It'll be the very best medicine she can have," she said, in a tone that betrayed how well she liked the suggestion. That settled the matter, and Mrs. Remington resolved that she would not leave her until she was able to be moved, for she believed she would now get well with proper care, and then she would take her to her own home. j But it would be necessary for her to return to explain matters to her servant, provide herself with a change of apparel, and leave I a note for Max*. " That sounds encouraging, doesn't it, dear sho remarked, smiling, "but there are a few things that I shall need, if I remain 1 away from home for several days, so I shall be obliged to leave you for a little while, to go and get them. You will not mind that, will you? I promise I will not be gone over an hour." " 1 shall be glad—when you—get back," Agnes said, with a furtive glance at the door behind the bed. Her recent vagaries had taken such a strong hold upon her that, even now, she could not quite dispossess herself of them. " I will return just as soon as possible, bub I must make some arrangements for Max during my absence, and let him know where I am." Mrs. Remington had purposely mentioned her son, hoping that Agnes would betray some sign of her feelings toward him. At the sound of his name a slight tinge of colour passed over her white face, her lids drooped until their golden lashes rested upon her cheek, but she made no reply. Mrs. Remington smiled. She knew well enough that the fair girl loved Max. and she meant to tell her, just as soon as she was able to bear it, all about that wretched mistake regarding the box of flowers. She kissed her a'_'ain, fondly, and then softly left the room. Hastening home, she partook of r, light lunch, and informed Jane that for a few days she was going to assist in the care of the young lady who was ill in the neighbouring hotel ; then she sat down to her desk and penned the following brief note to Max :— " Peak Max,—Such n strange thing lias happened ! By the merest chance 1 discovered to-day that Agnes is lying very ill at the lintel. I went at once to her and found her indeed exceedingly low, imt the fever turned while 1 whs with her, and I believe that, with proper care, she will now recover. I shall remain with her for the present. Ms she seems to cling to me. If you return before I do, come to me there and I will explain everything to you.—Affectionately, MOTHER." (lathering a few necessary articles together, Mrs. Remington returned at once to the hotel, arriving in the sick room before her hour had expired, and was amply rewarded for her haste by the glad look with which Agnes welcomed her. The next, few days were very trying ones to both this kind friend and the faithful nurse, for Agnes was so very weak that she needed the closest attention. Her vitality had been so much reduced by the exhaustive fever that her physician said it would take but little, even now, to snap the slender thread of her life. Mrs. Remington and the nurse divided the wearisome vigils between them for the next three days, and at the end of that time both women were satisfied that there had really been a gain on the part of their patient. On the morning of the fourth day, after a very comfortable night, there was a decided improvement, and when Doctor Raymond made his visit at the usual hour, he remarked, in his bright, cheery way, and with a note of extreme satisfaction in his tone : " Well, my young lady, I feel safe now in promising you a new lease of life." " Have 1 been so very sick?" she asked, wondering!}-. Three weeks of her illness, as we know, had been a blank to her, while during the last few. days she had been too weak to realise much save that her dear friend, Mrs. Remington, was with her, and she was therefore safe, and she had nothing more to fear from her ruthless persecutor, Herbert Abbot, The doctor smiled at her question, while he replied, with great gentleness : "My dear, I don't believe you will ever get as near heaven again without going in beyond its gates of pearl." Tears started to the eyes of the sick girl. She was young to die, she thought, but she wondered if it would not have been better for her if she could have slipped within those portals whither her mother had so recently gone. She believed that poor, lonely Mr. Archibald would have missed her, and thai, doubtless, kind Mrs. Remington would have beou sorry for her ; but, aside from these two, she knew of no one who would grieve for her, whilo the future did nob seem to hold much of promise to her, now that she had lost Max. iXo be continued.]