"ALMA."

Wairarapa Standard, Volume XX, Issue XX, 6 May 1887, Page 1 (Supplement)

"ALMA."

A 5 Obioijial Ai-fthalia:.' Stouv BT Harold Stephen, e-<j. M.r. Of sew Fori:: waits.

(-«« n.^rrr.l.) CHAPTER XLVI.- ( C'..ntinuca ) "Good Heavens I" exclaimed the girl, with pale cheek and dilated eye—" Have 70a then committed a crime ? ’ The Prolcnor bowed bis bead aa il overecme with ihame. " We bad not a pound in the world," be began, in a broken voice. " I bad not a friend in Aqsuslh, and you were dependent npon me. That lawyer, Tbhtletbwate, failed to ecad money aa he promised; I tried to obtain work, but (ailed ; then, in a moment of weaknees, I signed Johnson’s name to a promiasor y note, and got it cashed by a billdieaonntcr. I hoped to be able to take it up before it was doe, bat failed, and so I was compelled to throw myself upon Johnson’s mercy. He behaved like a true, goodhearted gentleman—he not only forgave the oSence, but lent me money to go on with. 1 imagine, therefore, my position, when be told me, yesterday, that be loved you, and aaked tor my intercession." Alma beard and shuddered—cold and harsh she had always known her ancle to be, and latterly she had began to entertain a faint suspicion that hurt might be richt in accepting tv.r CUsrles North’s version of his character, but she ban always believed him to be, at least, incapable of a crime, and could scaredy credit h:s own statement. Let it be remembered that the girl bad known no lather nor mother ; and that Stephen Tredegar bad stood in their place to her. It was impossible for her not to feelfor him, at least, the aff-di m of habitude, and the re(pect which is rendered involuntarily to the n«ad of a household by those dependent npoa him. If she did not love her uncle, Che thought she did, and, for all practical purposes, that amounted to the same thing S 1 . sne would not a&criboe herself without a straggle. •• Iba Mr. Johnson threaten you with exp mure if 1 refused to marry him ?" she asked, • ter a moment s thought. "Certainly not," replied the Professor, promptly—it would never do to degrade ibe man in her eyes ur.nl there was absolute need lor so doing, "il 13 too much the gentleman to threaten anything—but I cannot help fearing all the time. ' “ Then all is not lost!" exclaimed Alma, ebeerfully. “ J wnl appeal to him, il he is the gentleman you say be is, he will give me that wretched bill, and vou will be cafe." "Yon can try it, rnv d-.ar," said the Protestor, “but I doubt juur success. Men in bve are not very panicuhr. Ail is (air in love and war, you know ; and Johnsou is very much in love indeed. ' Bot Alma insisted unun taking a more hopeful view of the matter, and, in compliance with her ttij K-t, iho Professor went oat to Johnson to the inici* view. Tnat gentleman seemed hr no means pleased at the pr )- ( .:ct fcvfnre him. '■ Wnat the deuce am I to say ? 1 he asked with irritation. " It stems to me have regularly pat your loot to it. If I consent to give her the promisor? note—by t ie way you had better set to work to mvnut icturc one at onee, in case ;t should be nce-.- jary to produce it—l say, il I consent to give it up, why, we may aa well tnrow up the sponge at onee. On me other hand, if I sties out for my ponud of flesh, she will look epoo me as a brute.’’ "Can’t you temporise ?’’ " How ? What the devil cm I say except * yee' or * no' ? \ ou may be precious smart, bat. this time, you have made a fool of your■elf, and no mistake. ' This was pleasant for the Professor. He, a gentleman, and, to a certain ■. itcnt, a learned man, to be called a fool by on ignorant, vulgar snob. He bit his lips, and only with difficulty kept down his wrath. “Cannot yon waive an answer ?” he said. “ Tell her yin love her so madly that you cannot at onee make up your mind to surrender the only claim you have upon her.' "I shan't do anything of the sort," said Johnson. “ I am sick of beating about the hub, and I shall bring things to a head at onee. We’ve no time to waste in 'online, as yoa know very well. I'ju’; you bother your■ell, when you see your niece iu half-an-hoot’s time the thing will be settled oneway or the other Alma received him with a melancholy •mile, and invit• i him to be sea'cd. ■■ My nnele has probably told you what passed between u ? ' she said. " He told me that be had pleaded my wow DDSueeceefully," replied Mr. Johneon." "Did be not also tell you that he had explained (0 me the history of the poster yoa had over him?" asked Alma. “ He admitted that he was fool enough to tall yon what yoa eboald never have known," mid Johnson. “Did bo tell you that I asked for this intorviaw in order that I might implore you to dartray the evidence of his crime.’ ’ Alma aaked, with a flash of shame mantling her •beak. It wm terrible to her to have to kwmhie herself before this man—to apeak, wen, el (fee shameful deed of her relative. W an, whibt the unwelcome tear*

; rushed to her eyes; " Mr. Johnson, you will not be so cruel as to refuse my request You will make me happy by giving me that 1 fatal bill?” " Will you make me happy by giving me your hand ?” asked Johnson, almost roughly; lor he loved the girl, and her emotion affected even his coarse, crime-stained heart to such an extent that he was obliged to take refuge in semi-brutality. Alma heard and sighed. It was then true —this man was determined to insist upon his pound of flesh—he would abate nothing, and she must consent to become a victim, or condemn her uncle to disgrace and punishment, After all, she thought, what did it ; matter? Life with Mr. Johnson could scarcely be mote intolerable than it would be in any case, now that Harry Lascelles had turned traitor, and was lost to her. Then she owed some return to her uncle; for if hs had not been kind, he had, at least, provided for her and her brother for many years. Yes! If Johnson insisted, she would become his wife md die as soon afterwards as God would please to let her. Johnson gazed amio;;s'y into her face, wttilst she was thinking, and wondered what her decision would be. He was not left long in doubt. " Mr. Johnson,.” she said, at last, “ am I to understand that yon will only give up that’ bill on condition that I become your wife 7’ Toe tears had left her eyes, and they glittered detUntly with a steely light entirely new to them, whilst her voice was cold and inci.-ive. She spoke, and, for the moment, looked more like a woman of thirty than a girl of seventeen. '' Ycu put it plainly, miss,” he began. Wuy would he address her as " miss,” like a servant ? Alma felt now that she began to bate the man. " I put it plainly because plain speaking is the best in matters of business," she replied. " Surely, this is not a matter of business "It is simply a question of barter. You have something to sell, which I want to buy. 1 ask you, have I lightly stated the price you demand for it ?” " Alma,” exclaimed Johnson, passionately. " Will you not remember that I love you ? Does that count for nothing in the bargain ?” " l or leas than nothing, sir, since I do not wsnt your love, and have nothing to offer in reiurn.” " You have yourself, darling.” Alma shuddered, and felt sick, as she heard this fond word from those lips. “ Spare me these protestations, if yon please," she said, "and let us come to business. You will not surrender that bill, except fer the consideration I have mentioned?’' I will not!" replied Johnson, doggedly. " Then I accept the terms. I will become your wife, as soon as you please, after that document is placed in my bands.” " You will have it when we stand at the loot of the altar together 1” said Johnson, fiercely ‘ No, my fine madam, yon have shown me your claws to-day, and I will not trust you with the biil till it is too late for j you to withdraw. Good-day—l will toll your ! uncle the result of our bargaining, and get him to make arrangements for the marriage. You will not object to it taking place at once ?” No—she would not object—why should she? She bad made up her mind to submit to the horrible surrender of herself to the man, and, as there was no hope of escape, I the sooner it was over the better. “It can be when you please, sit,” she said, without lifting her eyes, and thus, fortunately, escaping the look of exultation, blenched with desire, which illuminated the features of her prosecutor. When he had gone, Alma buried her face in her hands and wept bitterly. So this was to be the ending of the bright dream of happiness which had its beginning under the grey walls of the Schloss Kubenstein I The prince had come ; the kiss had been given ; Dorm - jehen had awakened, and—it wag horrible 1 Was this monster—this miserable snob—to take the place of the gallant, handsome Harry ? Yet-yet, was he not also a monster—a miserable snob? Gifted.it is true, and with superior personal attractions, sad more winning and gentlemanlike in his ways; but still, perhaps, even more despicable than the man she bad promised to accept as a husband ! Tbs door opened softly, and Susie entered, i Alma lifted her head, and looked up with a I wan smile. | "What is the matter? Oh, what is the I matter, miss ?” cried Susie, tunning to her mistress. " Nothing, Susie—l am out of sorts—that is ail.” " I saw Mr. Johnson going out, and ha looked so strange, that I thought something bad happened. And now I find you orying —Oh, tell me—do tell me, what is it ?” “ I have promised to become Mr. Johnson's wife,'’ said Alma, forcing herself to be calm. I “ Oh, I am so glad 1" cried Susie, clapping , her hands. i “ G,ad 1" exclaimed Alma. "Wnyareyou ! glad?” , j "Because he loves you dearly, miss, and he is not half a bad sort, neither.” j Not half a bad sort I What young lady j would like to hear her future husband thus : spoken of by her servant ? Yet Alma felt al- | most thankful to the girl for her good opinion of the man. " You like him, then?" she asked, with a faint smile. " Well, you know, miss, there ain’t nobody much to speak to here, and whilst you ?rere | tick, housed to talk to me a good bit, at I times. He is a lively sort of chap, too,when j he's not thinking too much about bis love for you, miss.’ 1 hope you will be as happy as the day’s long ’” Alma drew the girl gently to her, and kissed her on the forehead, in a strange matronly way, utterly at variance with the habits of the Alma of a few weeks ago. " thank your Susie,” she said. " I cannot say that I exgect to enjoy much happiness in this world, but your good wishes are none the less acceptable.”

CHAPTER XLVII. IHE FLIGHT. It was a warm night, and Susie could not sleep, her bed-chamber opened on to the verandah, and, indeed, formed part of it. Tne room was close and atmiy, and the window was small, so she opened the door. After another half hour of tumbling and t ssing between the sheets, she determined to p-rtially dress herself, and try the couch on the verandah. It stood immediately under tl e window of the dining-room, and, as the gentlemen had not yet retired, Susie took care not to make any noise. The window ■.■. as open, but the curtains were drawn, and ah: could heat distinctly evdry word that was spoken in the room. This she did not leal t} b; a disadvantage,as she was wakeful, and anxious to escape from the monotony of her thoughts. These waking hours, which ore so trying, even to those who mix in the world, and have memories of books and past pleasure to ncill with perhaps bright hopes of the future, must be veritable torture to the unlettered clown, who knows nothing, has read nothing, seen nothing, and for whom the future is but n continuation of the present. I have often wondered what such people find to t ilk about, when seated around the tire in tbeir bats in tbs busb, after they have ez-

' hausted the ever-engrossing topics of crops ! and stock ; but how much more difficult is it I to imagine what they think about in those 1 ione watches of the night, when sleep refuses I to come, and every nerve is twitching ? Do ; they build castles in the air ? Have they their waking dreams of fame and happiness i —of wealth—of love? Or is the gift of im- ■ agination denied them ? These be mysteries ! which never will be solved, for if one of the class were able to define his thoughts and I sensations, he would be an exception amongst | his fellows, and his experienco would be i worthless. As for hoping that a man of cdu- [ cation will ever be able to penetrate beneath the thick hide of a country bumpkin, that is simply waste of time. I have lived with such people— men and women born and bred in the bush—people who have never read a book or seen a city—l say I have lived amongst such, and passed hours of every day for months with them, and I vow, I came no nearer to their inner selves than if I bad been the Governor, whose functions they did not understand, or the Queen of whom many of them had perhaps never heard. Susie was somewhat better off than such unfortunates. She bad learned to read; she bad travelled a little, and, for some months, she had bad for companion an educated young lady. Still, even she was ill prepared to grapple with the terrors of sleeplessness, and the prospect of hearing a human voice was very pleasant to her. It was Alma’s wedding eve, aod the gentlemen had been celebrating the occasion by drinking rather more than was good for them. Johnson was decidedly more than halt drunk, and the Professor, usually a temperate man, bad taken enough to render him talkative and reckless. Presently Susie beard something which caused her to etart, and then to listen eagerly. The conversation lasted for sometime,but, at last, they separated, and retired to their rooms. Then Susie sprang hastily to her feet, and ran around the building to the window of the room in which Alma was, as she had expected, open, and moreover, a light was still burning, for the poor girl could not sleep—the prospect of the morrow banished sleep as effectually as severe physical pain would have done. “ Hist! Miss Alma 1” Susie whispered, through the window. “ For Heaven’s sake, don’t make any noise 1” Alma had arisen from the bed at the first Found of Susie’s voice, and was walking to the window. II What is the matter,” she asked, in surprise. “ Wait till I gel in." Susie, as lithe and agile as a oat, clambered on to the windowledge, and dropped lightly on the floor, “On miss,” she said, “ I have heard such terrible things I’’ Alma crept into bed again, and made Susi ß sit by her side. “ Now tell me all about it,’’ she said. “I couldn’t sleep, miss, so I went and laid down in the verandah, on the sofy. Master and Mr. Johnson was in the dining-room talking, and I could not help hearing every word they said.” Alma smiled at the naive explanation. " Could you not have moved away," she asked. 11 1 never thought of it, miss; and very soon I heerd something which made me determined to listen all I could. They were atalking about you, miss, and Mr Johnson, he say: ‘ You don’t seem much cut up at the ptospeck of losing your niece ?’—‘Curse her!’ says master, * why should I ? I wish to God that she had never been born 1’ Wasn't that awful, miss ?” Awful indeed I Could Susie have heard aright ? Was it possible that her uncle, for whom fhe was about to sacrifice herself, and who (latterly, at any rate) had displayed some affection for her, cculd he have said suoh a thing? What had she done that he should ourso her 7 All her life, she had been obedient to him, and when it became A question of choosing between him and her brother, nay, even between him and her lover, she had elected to cast in her lot with his 1 The mystery seemed inexplicable. "Are you sure you heard aright?” she asked, as these thoughts flashed across her brain. "Certain sure, miss, and I heerd also why master said it. Johnson up and asks him for the reason of his hatred for you, and he says as how your mother was engaged to be married to him, but throwed him over, and took with his brother instead. Then he says he swore he’d be revenged, and when they dies, and he can’t play off his spite on them, he makes up his mind to make you and Mr. Dart suffer for it. Did ydu ever hoar of suoh wickedness, miss ?’’ Alma listened in horror. Then it was true —he was the villain that Dart had said, and she—she was at his mercy—oven this marriage might be part of his revenge. As this thought occurred to her, the girl started up in bed, and moaned. Was there no escape ? But she had not heard all. “ But that ain’t half, miss,” continued Susie. “ When master finishes, Johnson, ha laughs and says ho thought as how something was orooked, when master seemed so pleased to write that letter from Mr. Hatty.” "What 1" exclaimed Alma, her eyes a-blaze with excitement. “What letter did he mean?” " I dunno, miss, but near as I could guess, it must have been a letter to you, which master forged it on Mr. Harry’s writing.” Susie knew nothing of the pretty housekeeper episode; but Alma had no difficulty in identifying the letter. A rush of joy flooded her heart, and her cheeks grew crimson with delight. Harry was true I That was all she thought—all she was capable of thinking at the moment. What to her mattered the malice of her cruel uncle—the attentions of his vulgar associate ? Harry was true I Sue wept for very joy and clasping her arms about Susie’s neck, kissed the little maid repeatedly. This was pleasant, but inexplicable Susie thought her mistress was going mad’ and falteringly begged her to be calm and lie down. " No, no!” exclaimed Alma, jumping out of bed. " There will be no sleep for you or me this night, Susie—before dawn tomorrow, we must be miles away from this ?’’ " I-1 suppose so," said Susie. ■ Did you think I should remain here to be wedded to that man? Please God, I will never look upon his face again, nor upon that of my wretched uncle ' Quick I help me to dress—bat stay —go first to your own ro:m ; dress yourself, and pack up a bundle of suoh things as you must take with you—no superfluities, mind, but only what you cannot do without.’ Susue promised compliance, and retreated, puzzling her mmd as to what hat mistress meant by “ superfluities,” which she finally set down as being a polite name for certain under ■ garments, which, when worn b] males, are unmentionable, and, therefore, may be considered inconceivable in connection with the other sex. Alma hastily dressed herself, and gathered up a few necessaries, which elie placed in a small portmanteau; fortunately, the balk of her clothing was packed in a trunk, which had been left in charge of the landlady of the house in which they had been lodging whilst they were in Sydney. She had scarcely finished, before Susie returned—again by way of the window fully equipped for the journey, and bearing a bundle in her band. “ I’ve been as quiok as I could, miss,” she said. " I’ve got all I want here, and I didn't take no superfluities, only the pair I’ve got ftn. M

Tha explanation which ensued .;.uacd some amusement, which cheered both the girls, and put them in a better humor for their task. “I don’t know what we shall do for money, Susie,” said Alma, “I have only a few shillings, and I’ve got no jewellery worth anything, for I gave to my uncle the presents Harry gave me, and the other things are not valuable.” “ I've got plenty of money, miss,” replied Susie, (drawing a leathern purse from her bosom, and handing it to her mistress. See—there is a sovereign and some shilling and fo ar five-pound notes. ’ ” Why, Susie you are quite a rich woman I Where did you get so much money ?” “ The notes was given to me by Mr. Harry before wo left the Mountain Hut. Ho made mo promise to keep them myself against a rainy day.” "Dear Harry 1" exclaimed Alma, longing to kiss the notes which had been hallowed by his touch, What a luxury it was to be able again to love him I “He little thought the use those notes would be put to, when he gave them to you, Susie. By the way, we shall bo saved by him after all I Only think of that I Where should we be without Harry's money ? Isn’t it nice to think we shall owe our escape to him?” “ Yes, miss,” Susie dutifully replied. “ Where do you propose to go ? ’ " We are only three miles off the main road between Sydney and Bathurst—it ie impossible to go wrong. Tney will be sure to think we have gone to Sydney, therefore I propose to goto Bathurst.” "To Bathurst I Wny, what should we do there?' asked Susie, wonderingly. “ Mr. Liscelles’ station is near there. We will apply to Harry’s father for protection”—lt must be remembered that Alma knew nothing of what had occurred recently in Melbourne. “ That’ll be fine,” said Susie. “ But we can oever get there on foot.” “ How many horses are there in the paddock ?” "Three, miss, the buggy pair, and a saddle horse—but there are no side-saddles.” “We will take the buggy pair, and throw tho other horse loose into the bush,” said Alma, with decision. 11 Come along 1” Susie gazed admiringly at her young mistress, and followed her through the window. When they had got to the shed which served as cosoh-house and harness- oom,Alma asked whether Sandy, the old convict servant, could be trusted. “ No, miss," replied Susie. “ He’s mortal afeard of Mr. Johnson,and doesn’t go against him in any way. We shall have to shift for ourselves.” The buggy was of light American build, then just coming into fashion, and the girls found no difficulty in dragging it out of the shed and down the incline into the roadway. For greater safety, they drew it still further on, until it was out of sight of the house, and then they set out to catch the horses. This was a more troublesome task, but Susie was an expert at horse-catehing, and, ere long, they had the satisfaction of beginning their journey. The moon shone brightly, and the horses were quiet, otherwise, they might, perhaps, have come to grief, as it was, they reached the main road in safety, and soon were bowling merrily along the mountain ridges towards Bathurst. Susie bad driven a single horse often enough, but Alma had never handled the reins in her life, so she was obliged to cede the place of honor to her maid. At about half-past four, at grey dawn, they came in sight of a wayside public house, and here they determined to rest for awhile, and give the horses a feed. The people of the house were just getting up as they arrived, and they were soon installed in a comfortable parlor, whilst the horses were led round to the stables. Their appearance naturally > excited soma attention, but when Alma stated that they were bound to Mr. Lance let* station, the landlord bowed and retired, satisfied—evidently tlje name of Lascelles was a power in tho land they had oome to. A breakfast of ham and eggs and some passable coffee refreshed them wonderfully, i.nd, before seven o’clock, they were off again, after having been made to pay thrice the usual rates for their accommodation. "My uncle will be just gottiug up now,” said Alma, as they drove away. “Not very likely, miss,” replied Susie " They were drinking hard last night, and, I should say, ain't nowise likely to stir for another couple of hours.” “ Sandy is sure to mins the horses and buggy, and ho gets up at daylight. Will he wake them, do you think ?” “ Not he—he duren’t. Them assigned servants never does nothing only what they is told, 'cos then they can't go wrong. Besides, how would ho know that it wasn’t the master himself as took the buggy?” “ How they will rage when they find ns gone !” said Alma, with a merry laugh. 11 1 would give anything to see their faces.” And when they find the horses gone too I' said Susie. “ They’ll have to tramp into Penrith, and then they! have tfie walk for tbfir pains—oh, its lovely 1” Alma was so full of gladness that she did nought but laugh and chatter incessantly, notwithstanding that she had had no rest since the previous night. Was she not going to Harry’s father ? And would she not very soon meet the young gentleman himself ? She could scarce keep her seat for impatience, and kept perpetually urging Susie to push on faster. It was past nine o'clock at night before they reached Bathurst, as they had been compelled to make two mote halts on the road, and both the girls were so thoroughly exhausted that they could scarcely stand. They were fortunate enough to meet with a sympathising landlady at the hotel at which they elected to stop, and, after a cup of ten and some bread and butter, they turned into bed in the same room—too tired to talk, and almost too tired to Bleep, But a long night’s rest worked wonders, and, after a hearty breakfast, they set out again ; this time accompanied by tho landlady’s son, a youth of seventeen, who. for a consideration, undertook to pilot them to Mr. Laecellca’ station, and rode by their side on a long-legged, fiddle-headed brute, which hs averred was the fastest trotter in the district, 11 How fat is it?” asked Alma when they bad got clear of the town and found themselves on tho plains which, at that point, seemed limitless in extent. “Close up forty mile,” replied the youth. “Do you see them hills yonder ? That's the range on which tha house is built— Multifelora, they calls it. I cud easy do it in tout hours, but it’ll take you nigh unto six with them hoisas—not that they're such bad’uns,” he added, eying them critically. 11 That oil 'uu, he’ got bone enough far anythin’, an’ tha other ain't no crawler, but they was drove bard yesterday, and, if you was to push ’em to-day, they’d break down. How fur did you oome ?” "Prom about fifteen miles this side of Penrith,” replied Alma. “ Close up seventy five mile, if it’s a yard,” said tho youth. “That’s a cruel long journey, not but what I’ve kuowedtbis yer hoes, as I’m a-ridin’ of, do his seventy mile a day for a week, an’ never give in—but there ain’t many like you, is there old man ?” Here ho bunt forward and patted the animal lovingly on the neck, of which evidence of affection fiddle-head showed his appreciation by throwing up his head so suddenly that his rider’s nose would infallibly have been broken had he not bent back in time.

That morning drive was very wearisome, Every topic of conversation soon became exhausted, and they travelled on in silence. It was a blazing hot day, and the monotony o! the plains was irksome in the last degree, whilst every mile or two they were enveloped in clouds of duet, as they met some coming or going team—for they were on the high way to a new diggings, and the traffic was considerable. At last they reached a point where a track branched off towards tbe mountains, now quite near, and in another halt-hour their escort reined up by the side of the buggy and pointed to a long, low, white house, which bad just came into view some distance up the mountain. " That’s Multiflora,” he said. “We shall be there in ten minutes now.” How Alma’s heart beat I She could see nothing, a mist blurred her eyes, and she was not conscious of what passed until the buggy stopped at the house-door, and somebody asked her would she please to alight. She looked up, hastily wiped her eyes, and beheld Mr. M Corkle—tall, gaunt, severe—standing bare-beaded under the rays of the blazing sun, and.offering bis hand to help her down. “ Thank you,” she said, accepting his assistance. "Is Mr. Lascelles at home ?” " No,” was the reply, " the maister’s awa’ to Europe with his son.” So terrible was the revulsidS of feeling which Alma experienced on bearing this sentence that she uttered a low cry, and then fainted. When she recovered, she found herself lying on a neat little bed in a bright, pretty room, whilst bending over her was tbe figure of a fat, motherly-looking dame, who regarded her with a look of sympathy, as she bathed her forehead with eau-de-cologne. “ What is the matter? Where ana I?” she iH<pA striving to rise, but falling back on the pillow." “ Lie stiii, my dear,” said the old lady, in a kind voice. " Y’ou have been ill, and you must not get up yet awhile. You are in bed, in Master Harry’s room. " Your maid has gone out for a moment, but she will be here directly.” Then she remembered all. “You are Mrs. MCorkle, I suppose?” she asked, with a faint smile. " Ypr, my dear. How did you know ( that?" " Harry told me—oh, I know all about you and Mr. M Corkle, and Sandy, and Duncan, and everybody 1” Mrs. .M'Corkle smiled, wolf pleased. " I am glad to hear it, my dear, for now you will not feel strange with ue.” "Of course not,” replied Alma. “But do you know who I am ?” “ Oh, yes, my dear; your maid has told us the whole story, so there is no need for you to trouble to repeat it. Master Harry and L have often talked about you— indeed, be would talk about nothing else.” “And this is bia own room 1" exclaimed Alma, looking admiringly around. "Dear Hurry 1” “ Here Susie entered, and tan to the bedside. "Are you better now, miss?” she asked anxiously. “ Mr. M'Gorkle wants to know if be may come inside to see you.” " Certainly,” replied Alma. " Ask him to come in at onoe." During the girl's absence on this errand, Mrs. M'Gorkle smoothed Alma's hair, and covered her shoulders with a shawl, bustling about evidently with tbe desire to pre vent her from thinking of her disappointment. Presently Susie returned, and ushered in Mr. M Corkle, who walked on the tips of his toes, as is tbe fashion of some people on entering a sick room, and thereby made twice as much noise as if he had maintained his usual gait. "Aweel, misey,” he began, in a hoarse whisper—another dreadful custom in a sick chamber, far more irritating to the nerves lhan,the loudest tones would be—"aweel I am glad to hear ye are better. Ya maunna fash yersell aboot things, for ye are at bame now wi’ fren’s wha wadna let a hair of yer bonny head be hurted.” “Indeed I know it, Mr. M'Gorkle,” replied Alma, with a smile. " I fed quite at home already, and I am sure I am safe here with you. I was very foolish to faint just now, but wa have had a long, tiring journey, and it was such a terrible disappointment to heat that Mr. Lascelles and Harry bad gone to England." " It's the Lord's wull,” said Mr. M'Gorkle, eententiously. " They bard that you had gone, and they jest went after ye. But we'll no talk aboot it the noo—ye maun get otrang first, and the missis shall give ye some beef tea, and parritoh, A dhiop o' whusky’s no a bad thing, whiles ye’re sao weak and ill —wull 1 bteng ye a (To I/- rioitinucil.)