THE AFTERGLOW.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 44, 31 October 1891, Page 543

THE AFTERGLOW.

A STORY IN FOUR CHAPTERS. BY KALEIDOSCOPE. CHAPTER I. ARGARET DUNLEIGH, let me see

your eyes. ’ The speaker was Jennie Merrivale, a bright, keen-witted little maiden of nineteen, and she to whom the request was addressed was a tall, pale girl of twenty; not beautiful, in the ordinary sense of the term, but who had yet what was perhaps the most attractive face in the room, so instinct was it with all that graces true womanhood. “Your reason, Jennie ?’ she asked, smiling down on the face of her friend. • Let me see them first; then I’ll tell von.’ np.rsißted Jennie.

ten you, persisted .Jennie. With an amused smile Margaret offered the required eyes for inspection. Beautiful eyes they were—large, grey, deep, and filled with a sort of limpid light, they imparted to the whole face a subtle charm. Careless critics called Margaret Dunleigh plain, but she had unconsciously taught more than one man what love meant already. Jennie’s brown eyes rested for some moments on the grey ones ; then nodding her head she sank back in her chair. ‘ Well, are you satisfied ?’ asked Margaret. ‘ I am, and I am not.’ * Explain, dear.’ ‘lt isn’t easy ; you are so provokingly unconscious. But I’ll try. I wanted to see whether you were blind.’ • I don’t understand.’

• I know you don’t, or rather won’t, and the reason is that you are so absurdly trustful. Look over there.’ The‘over there,’indicated by a nod of Jennie’s pretty head, was an ottoman at the opposite side of the drawingroom. Upon it was seated a girl of about Jennie’s own age ; a blonde of remarkable beauty, but whose every feature and every movement betrayed overweening vanity and self-con-

Beside her, of rather bending over her in an attitude that was almost caressing, was a tall, handsome man of perhaps twenty-five. From the look on his face at the moment it was plain that, if his admiration for his companion was not sincere, he was an exceptionally good actor. Margaret’s eyes rested on the two for a space, then returned to the face of Jennie.

‘ I see nothing unusual,’ she said. ‘ That’s what made me think you blind ; makes me think so still,’ replied Jennie, impatiently. * What do you mean, dear?’ ‘ Just this,’ said Jennie, in her direct way, ‘ that if a lover of mine were to go on with Ada Milner in the way that one of yours is doing, I’d let him understand what I thought of it. It’s a shame !’ concluded fiery little Jennie, flushing hotly as she spoke. A smile inexpressibly sweet in its perfection of love and faith passed over Margaret’s face. She laid her hand affectionately on her companion’s arm. ‘ You silly little Jennie,’ she said, • how can you talk so ? They are good friends—have been always. Ada likes to be admired, and why should I object to Charlie Trevor’s admiring her when—when I know that he loves me.’

She spoke with perfect simplicity—a simplicity that doubled the womanly grace of the blush on her cheek, and the love-light in her eyes. ‘ Yes,’ said Jennie, under her breath, ‘he loves you because you have five thousand pounds. If she had twenty, he’d love her three times better.’

Then seeing that no good end would be attained by the utterance of further warnings, she skilfully turned the conversation into another channel, and the subject was dropped. But there was another among the guests assembled on that July evening in the drawing-room of Huntly Villa, the seaside residence of Major Dunleigh, and one of the handsomest in the town in which it stood—Helensburgh, whose vision was as keen as pretty Jennie Merrivale’s. This was Captain John Niven, of the —th Foot, a particular favourite of the old Major’s, as indeed he well deserved to be. He was a well-built—soldierly young man of thirty, with a dark, rugged face and keen, grey eyes. His manner was quiet, even to the point of reserve, but those who knew him best knew too that a warmer and kinder heart never beat in a man’s breast. For the rest, it may be said that, without being exactly poor, his independent resources were so limited as to render his pay a consideration, and matrimony something approaching a forlorn hope—hope of attainment in his case, that is. •

For the case in question was that he loved Margaret Dunleigh—loved her as only such deep, reserved natures can love. He had known her from the time when they were boy and girl together, and the passion that now held him, awaking imperceptibly, had grown with years till it had become the dominant one of his life.

At one time he had cherished a hope of success ; a hope that might have reached fruition had not Charles Trevor come on the scene. The latter was the youngest son of a successful Glasgow merchant, and was, in the circle in which he moved, a general favourite—with the women, that is ; as, for some reason or other the men looked at him askance, in spite of his handsome face and winning manners. And here a word to every girl who reads this. If you are reduced to a choice between a woman’s man and a man’s man, take the latter. Every mother’s son of us is more or less a hypocrite in the presence of women, but we see each other as we are. There’s something wrong with the man ■who is only liked by women. It may be no worse than

that he is a tame cat, but even that is bad enough. A tame cat is a sorry champion in the battle of life. To return. With Charles Trevor’s advent Niven’s last hope died. It had never been very bright, but yet its quenching darkened the strong, true soul as with the darkness of death. Nobody knew or guessed how it was with him. He made no sign, and when the engagement was announced, joined in the general good wishes expressed. He even tried to like Trevor, but that task would have been beyond him, even if he had not known that rumour had Trevor at odds with his relatives, whose patience he had exhausted, and heavily in debt as well. Thus it was that as he stood watching the two on the ottoman, he felt his heart grow hard and bitter beneath its burden of anger, apprehension, and despair. What was his darling’s future to be, linked to one who could almost slight her already ? —and why had heaven denied this priceless gift to one who would have prized and cherished it so dearly ’ ‘Captain Niven.’ He turned with a start and saw Margaret at his side ‘I beg your pardon,’ he said, confusediv. ‘ I was dreaming, I think.’ ‘So I saw,’ she replied, with a smile ; ‘ but are apologies required in this case ? I thought we were more than strangers.’ Strangers ! How his heart ached under the unconscious mockery of her words ! His burning eyes rested on her face for a moment, then, forcing a smile, he said—- ‘ I should be sorry to think it could be otherwise, Miss Dunleigh, but one must be polite, even at the risk of being commonplace.’ ‘ The danger is slight,’ she said, ‘ in this instance at least. But I see you are watching Ada. Is she not beautiful ?’ ‘ I don’t know,’ he replied, honestly. ‘ Every man to his taste, but I must frankly admit that I don’t, can’t rather, admire Miss Milner’s style of beauty. I hope you don’t think me rude.’ ‘ Why should I?’ she asked, simply. ‘ One has a right to one’s opinion. At the same time, I must have you converted by introducing you to Ada, shortly. You will like her, I am sure.’ She passed on with a smile. The captain’s eyes followed her graceful form for a moment, then flashed across the room to the ottoman. . ‘ Yes,’he muttered, grimly ; ‘l’m sure to like her, you say. Perhaps ; but I’d have liked her better if she had encountered that ead a year ago—before he met you.’ ‘ Why, Niven,’ said a boyish young fellow, strolling up, ‘ you seem to be quite interested in the progress of that little flirtation.’ ‘ls it a flirtation, Semple?’ asked Niven. ‘ It can’t be anything else,’ was the prompt reply, ‘ for she hasn’t a brass farthing, and he isn’t the man to many a girl without money. He’s too much of a selfish muff for that. ’ Niven turned away sick at heart, feeling within him all the wrath and despair of a chained giant. It must go on ; he could not stop it —and what would the end be ? What the years and years lying before the woman to ensure whose happiness he would have risked—ay, and lost—his life ten times over ? That night, with the kiss of her lover burning on her lips, and with his loving words yet lingering in her ear, Margaret laid her head on her pillow, and with a whispered prayer for him, sank into happy sleep. And even as she slept the message was on the way to the home of the Milners —the message that declared Ada an heiress. CHAPTER 11. A MONTH later the hospitable Major had again gathered a gay party under the roof of Huntly Villa. Among the resident guests—to coin a phrase—were Ada and her mother, and among the evening visitors were Niven and Trevor. If the change in Ada’s fortunes had affected the latter’s designs, he succeeded in biding the signs very well, and not even the watchful eyes of Jennie or Niven could detect in him any evidence of wavering allegiance to Margaret. Was it possible that they had misjudged the man, after all ? that he was better than they thought him ? Towards the close of the evening, tired of the buzz in the drawing-room, where a dozen enthusiasts of both sexes were discussing the chances of the next day’s regatta, Niven sought the solitude of the villa grounds, with the double object of smoking a cigar and calming his fevered thoughts into quiet. Strolling absently along the paths in the misty moonlight, he reached a point where the shrubbery was unusually dense. As he approached it he chanced to look up, and to his utter surprise beheld a shadowy female form approaching. In the uncertainty of the moment he stopped, and at nearly the same instant the figure, as if startled, left the walk and ran swiftly towards the house. While he was still staring in the direction in which it had gone, a voice quite close to him said : ‘ Hillo, Niven ! moonstruck, eh ? Why, you must be falling in love.’ Niven looked down, and saw,what had previously escaped his notice—that on a low garden bench, almost at his feet, a man was seated—Trevor. Swift as a Hash the truth broke upon him ; he had stumbled on an assignation. Trevor was one—no need to ask who the other was—he knew. In the sudden rush of anger that swept over him he had almost forgotten himself. ‘ Scarcely,’ he said, answering the other’s question, and retaining his calmness with a visible effort. ‘AsI am alone that feat would be somewhat difficult to accomplish. I might follow your example certainly.’ Trevor raised his eyebrows. ‘ How ?’ he asked. ‘ By falling in love with myself.’ His hearer laughed indolently. ‘ You might do worse,’ he said. ‘ But Ido not think that you are face to face with that necessity—yet.’ ‘ Indeed ? And the ground of your belief?’ ‘ la that there are quite a number of petticoats about.’ Theie was a touch of anxiety in the speaker’s voice, in spite of his ail of indifference. Niven smiled as he heard it.

‘ Oh, that,* he said, coolly. ‘ I saw the lady a minute ago.’

‘You have lost no time in making her acquaintance,’said the other, with a covert-sneer. ‘Shows my good sense,’returned Niven, calmly. ‘l’m picking up the ways of the world fast, my dear sir, and with a few teachers like the lady in question and yourself, have no doubt but that ’ ‘ But that you’ll make a mistake,’ interrupted the other, hotly. ‘ Miss Milner and myself may be fastidious in our choice of pupils.’ ‘ In that case,’ rejoined Niven, slowly, ‘ I shall be more than happy to teach you both. Well, good-night. Thank you for identifying the Lady of the Shadows. 1 had not done so.’ Trevor muttered an oath as the other left him, ami his eyes gleamed as they followed the tall figure receding down the walk. ‘ Curse the meddling fool,’ he growled, savagely. ‘ What brought him here, of all places, at this time ? I wish I had risked keeping quiet; but then he’d have been sure to discover me—so it was best. Hang it all ! the murder’s out now, and I had better bring Ada to the point at once, or I may lose them both.’ He rose and strolled slowly back to the house. Entering the drawing-room, he found to his inexpressible relief that Niven had gone. He was safe for the night at least ; the morrow could be dealt with when it came. And so, dismissing the subject from his mind, he attached himself to Ada’s side for the rest of the evening, and was rewarded by obtaining permission to regard her as his future wife. But for very shame Ada stipulated that he was to appear no more at Huntly Villa till she had gone ; the departure of her mother and herself being intended some three days later. And perhaps, too, the sense of shame was stirring in Trevor’s own heart, callous as it was ; for he could not meet Margaret’s eyes, and the kiss he gave her at parting was chill as ice. Yet the loving eyes saw nothing, the trusting heart dreaded nothing of the evil that was coining—nay, that had come already. But when day after day passed without bringing Trevor to Huntly Villa, Margaret felt for the first time her heart sink. She knew he was not ill through fiery little Jennie, whose indignation was now at white heat, but who kept her lips sealed tor her friend’s sake. She knew it, too, through her father, who had met him in the town, and who irritably, and with a blindness exceeding the irritation, made growl ing comments on the general idiocy of lovers’ quarrels. And with the knowledge, pride rose in revolt against pain, and though the sun of love began to sink in a night of doubt, yet the sky of womanhood was clear and serene, as it is ever in natures such as hers.

On the evening of the day upon which Ada and her mother left the villa, Margaret, Jennie, and Niven were in the garden behind the house. Margaret was paler than usual, but save for that was all her sweet, gentle self. Her companions, although their hearts were hot with anger, assumed a cheerfulness that cost them both an effort to maintain, and laughed and jested merrily enough under the old trees. By common consent, the names of Ada and Trevor were not once mentioned.

After a while they grew silent, watching the sunset. When the last roses of the West had faded, and the reign of the grey twilight had begun, they turned to go in. Suddenly, into the dim blue-grey of the zenith there stole a lovely light, faint at first as the dawn of love on the cheek of maidenhood, but growing and spreading until all the sky was filled with its softened splendour. It touched the clouds into blushing crimson ; it purpled the darkening hills with a radiance that had all the beauty, without the strength, of the dawn ; it showered down upon the sea, upon the fields and woods and moors, till all the landscape seemed to melt and glow through the rosy air. ‘lt is the after-glow,’said Niven, ‘the promise and remembrancer of morning.’ Jennie glanced quickly at him, and saw that he was watching Margaret. The latter was standing with her hands clasped before her, and her face upraised to the sky. In the wondrous light she seemed more than earthly, so pathetic was the gentle patience of her face, so steadfast, and yet so sad, the look in her heavy eyes. Then, as softly as it came, the fairy illuminations passed away, and the eve was left to await the coming of the moon and stars. The three left the darkened garden and sought the house in silence.

Two days later it was known that the engagement between Margaret Dunleigh and Charles Trevor was broken off. Folks wondered and talked; the kindly pitied Margaret, the malicious spoke of her as jilted. It did not matter to her what folks thought or said ; nothing mattered, she felt, in that hour of utter anguish and misery, when she knew that the sun of love hail gone down and the night was drawing on—nay, there were even times when she wished that there might be no morning for her again. But through it all, silent and making no sign, with a breast torn and bleeding for her pain, one man stood beside her worthy of the name ; one man who, with high heart and unshaken faith, awaited in the darkness the coming of the afterglow. 111. l Of all the provoking girls ! Do you really mean to sit there and tell me, me, that you won’t go to that concert—and after all the trouble I had, or rather papa had, in securing tickets? What do you mean by it, Miss Hermit, in Petticoats ?’ ‘ I am sorry, Jennie, dear, for your disappointment ; but I have a reason.’ ‘ Out with it then. If it is a good one, I’ll forgive you ; if not, then your condemnation will be all the greater.’ ‘I am not afraid, even in the latter case,' returned Margaret, smiling; ‘Jennie’s condemnation of her friends is never very strong.’ ‘Yes, and, knowing that, you and they take advantage of my weakness,’ said Jennie, severely. ‘ But now for your reason. ’

The two girls were sitting by the open window, through which the light of the early autumn afternoon streamed in from the cloudless day without. More than a year had passed away since they two, with Niven, had watched the sunset in the villa garden, and with Hying time had come his younger sister, change. It had touched all the actors in our drama—some heavily, some lightly, anil there were some whom it seemed to have scaicely touched at all. Among the latter was Margaret. The fiery trial through which she had passed had left on her no trace, or at least none

for evil. She was quieter and more womanly, perhaps, and the sweet, low laugh they all loved to hear came less seldom ; but in all she was still their Margaret, her friends said ; and in the knowledge of their added love she was content. No slight portion of happiness had become hers through sympathy with that of her friend, impulsive, warm hearted little Jennie, whose wilful personality had been at last captured by a young and rising journalist in Glasgow. They were to be married in the spring, and meanwhile, in the shy Hush of her new happiness, Jennie drew instinctively closer to the one friend to whose loving eyes she could reveal all her girlish heart. Trevor and Ada were married ; had been, indeed, witbin three months of the latter’s accession to fortune. If report spoke truly the old proverb—• Marry in haste, and repent at leisure,’ bade fair to receive a more than fitting illustration in their case. It was only what might have been expected in the nature of things Selfishness against generosity may have a chance, but selfishness against selfishness has none. To return. Meeting Jennie’s expectant eyes, a slight tinge of colour crept into Margaret’s pale cheek, and she paused for a moment before answering. When she did there was a note in her voice that Jennie had never heard before. ‘ An old friend is coming to-night,’ she said. ‘ Do I know her or him or, or it ?’ asked Jennie, with calm impertinence. Margaret laughed, and nodded. *An old friend,’ repeated Jennie, reflectively. ‘An old ——Oh, is it Captain Niven?’ she suddenly broke off, jumping up in her excitement. ‘ Yes,’ replied Margaret, the colour deepening on her face. * I’m so glad ! It will be such a pleasure to see him again ! I’d have thought of him at first if you hadn’t implied a friend of yours, yours exclusively—and he's one of mine as well. And he is coming here to night ?’ * Yes ; papa waited in London to meet him, and they are coming together.’ She was looking from the window as she said it, and Jennie’s eyes rested on her unconscious face for some moments in keen but kindly scrutiny. What she read thereon appeared to afford her the liveliest satisfaction, for she involuntarily went through the motion of clapping her hands, and was nearly caught in the act. * I was waiting till you had finished lawn-gazing, in order to ask a question,’ she said, in answer to her companion’s questioning look. * What is it, Jennie ?’ ‘ Could you make room for me here to-night ?’ ‘ And what of the concert ?’ asked Margaret, with a touch of mischief.

‘ Oh, bother the concert,’ was the prompt reply. ‘ I’ll give the tickets to somebody else. I want to be with you.’ Margaret understood her, and bending forward, kissed her cheek. Motherless and alone, Jennie’s presence would be to her added strength in the meeting from the very joy of which she shrank. When Niven left her, six months before, she had divined his secret; and although her heart had been cold as ice then, yet the thought and knowledge that he loved her had crept into it hour by hour, until, perhaps unconsciously, love had awakened love. More and more frequently, as time passed, had her thoughts turned towards far-off Cyprus, seeing always and centring round one soldierly form, with its dark rugged face and deep, tender eyes. And now he was coming home, and for a time at least they would be together. ‘ And now,’ said Jennie, rising, ‘ I shall leave you. You may expect me back at seven.’ * Don’t be later, dear,’ said Margaret, with a touch of wistfulness in her tone.

‘Do not fear,’ said Jennie, confidently. • Punctuality is one of my pet virtues.’ As they approached the door, Jennie looked doubtfully at the pale, calm face of her companion, and after a momentary hesitation, appeared to take a sudden resolution. ‘ By the way,’ she said, with the air of one recalling a comparatively trifling fact, ‘ the Trevors are here. They’re staying down at Ardencaple.’ She was buttoning, or pretending to button her glove, as she said it, and did not dare to look up. Margaret was silent for a moment, but her face did not change. • Indeed,’she said. ‘ Then, in that case, we may meet them. I feel as if I should almost like to see Ada again.’ Jennie’s heart gave a great bound of relief. The eyes that met hers were serenity itself ; and a« she left the room she knew that the shadow of the past had lifted wholly from the life of her friend, and could trouble no more. Margaret’s wish tomeet Ada again was tobegratified sooner than she expected. She accompanied Jennie to the villa gate, and while they stood there talking, a lady and gentleman came along the street. On nearer approach they revealed themselves to be no other than Ada and her husband. It was an awkward meeting, and all four felt it to be so. Jennie’s pretty brown face showed aversion through the very thinnest of disguises. Ada flushed slightly, and Trevor looked the very essence of embarrassed discomfort. Only Margaret kept her serene calm, and returned the somewhat effusive advances of Ada with an expression of quiet interest in her and her affairs that doubled the sting of a conscience already ill enough at ease. Of Trevor she took no further notice than a quiet bow, and the utterance of a few smiling commonplaces ; a proceeding which Jennie, the vindictive, seconded by one or two shafts of veiled contempt that made their recipient wince. All the while, too, the latter was keenly observing both, and it did not escape her that Ada’s face wore a hard, reckless look, and that Trevor's erstwhile handsome features were already bloated by the traces of habitual intemperance. A tentative proposal of Ada’s to call being quietly ignored by Margaret, husband and wife passed on. As they disappeared, Jennie drew a long breath, then took her companion’s face between her hands and kissed her. • You did not lose anything, dear,’ she said. • If I did, the loss has proved a gain,’ was the reply. ‘ Poor Ada !’ • Poor fiddlesticks ! She’s as bad as he is,’ replied remorseless Jennie, and turning, tripped off up the street. As the hour appointed for the return of the travellers drew near, Margaret grew restless and excited. She wandered aimlessly about the rooms, and it seemed to her that time had never moved so slowly. She eagerly awaited Jennie's reappearance, wishful to have the latter beside her when the expected meeting took place.

Her wish was not to be realised. She was in her own room when she heard footsteps, and then voices in the hall below. Listening, she could distinguish her father’s cheery tones as he replied to the greetings of the housekeeper. Then came the sound of another voice, and as it fell on her ears the blood rushed in a torrent to her face, and then ebbed as swiftly, leaving her pale as marble. An instant later, her lather’s foot was in the passage, and he had entered the room. ‘ Why, Madge ; why, child,’ he said, as he took her in his arms and kissed her. * What sort of welcome is this to give us? You silly thing, you ought to have been first at the door.’ ‘ I did not expect you quite so soon, papa,’ she said, confusedly. • Has Captain Niven come ?’ • Yes ; he’s ih tne drawing-room. Run down and welcome him while I see to that baggage.’ Her heart beat very fast as she descended the stairs. At the drawing-room door she paused for a moment as if to summon up courage, then opened it and went in. A tall, erect figure standing by the hearth and staring into the depths of the fire turned hastily as she entered, and Niven, his eyes lighting up with love and longing unutterable, advanced to meet her. I'nder the spell of that look she stretched out her hands to him, her face flushing rosy red. He caught them in his own and bent towards her, his dark features glowing in the light of an almost incredulous joy. In that one moment, that one meeting of eyes, doubt and concealment were swept away, and soul met soul in the rapture of assured truth. ‘ Margaret, my Margaret,’ he whispered, in an agony of entreaty, ‘welcome me home.’ She bent to him till her face was hidden on his breast. Then his arms closed round her, and her woman’s heart knew that it had found its home at last. IV. ‘ Madge, Madge, cried Jennie, on the following afternoon, * you dear, lovable Madge, I’m so glad—so glad that I really must dance !’ And, with the words, Jennie floated away in a waltz that lasted till she had gone quite round the room. * There,’ she said, as she came back, laughing and breathless, to where Margaret stood watching her ; ‘ there, I’ve got it out, and now can listen and talk like a sane woman. Oh, Madge, I’m so happy !’ ‘ Because I am ?’ queried Margaret, the tears creeping into her eyes.

‘ Yes,’ replied Jennie, seating herself on a couch and drawing Margaret down beside her. • Yes, and because a good, true man is happy too. But do tell me how it all came about. It seems almost too good news to be true.’ Leaving the two girls to exchange confidences, we must now seek Niven, as he strode along the sunlit street on his way to Huntly Villa. Although named street, drive would have been a more fitting word to apply to the broad, treebordered avenue upon which the beams of the setting sun shone so redly. Suddenly a man came round the corner of an intersecting street and advanced rapidly towards him. The new-comer’s dress was disordered, his manner wild, and he wrung his hands as he walked. As he came close to Niven, he looked up and stopped with the air of one awaking from sleep. * Jack Niven !’ he exclaimed, with a sort of excited gasp. Niven had stopped too, and was looking steadily at the other. The soldier saw that the man confronting him was more than partially intoxicated. Pity disarmed wrath in his breast at the sight.

‘ Why, Trevor,’ he said, kindly, ‘ what in the world is the matter ?’

• Matter enough,’ replied Trevor, swaying unsteadily to and fro, but yet with a face whose ghastly pallor and fearful earnestness contrasted frightfully with his general air of drunkenness ; ‘ matter enough ; enough and to spare. Ada has gone, flown, left me, and with a thing I wouldn’t have brushed my boots with.’ ‘ Nonsense, man ; you’re raving,’ said Niven,sharply,convinced that the other’s terrible idea was no more than the outcome of a brain distraught by alcohol. ‘ I know Mrs Trevor, and know her better than that. Shame on you, man, to even think of such a thing !’ * It’s right,’ persisted the other. * She calls him her cousin, but he isn't. He’s been with her, off and on, for weeks, and last night in the King-street Hall, he sat beside her all the night, and when I was absent left the hall with her. I’ve been home to Ardencaple Lodge twice since, and she’s not there —and—’ He broke off in a series of inarticulate cries and curses, in delivering which he seemed to lose altogether what little reason he had previously possessed. Niven at once resolved upon prompt action, and peremptorily told the madman, for such the other was at the moment, that he must at once go home.

Surprised by the tone into something like submissive stupidity, Trevor assented, and they at once proceeded to Ardencaple Lodge. Here they found Ada and her cousin George, a frank, manly fellow of twenty-six or seven, whose appearance at once impressed Niven favourably. Ada’s face flushed scarlet as she saw Niven and her husband ; then the colour faded, and in its place came a look of fierce contempt that was less than womanly. • So you’ve come back,’ burst out Trevor, before any one else could speak. ‘ Where have you been since last night ?’ Niven, to whom the scene was inexpressibly painful, was about to withdraw when Ada stopped him. ‘ Kindly remain for a moment,’ she said, bitterly ; ‘you can see no worse in this model household.’ Then she turned to her husband. ‘ I answer you, in Captain Niven’s presence,’ she said, * that when you shamed yourself and me before the people in that hall last night, you did so for the last time. I determined to leave you, and with my cousin drove to Glasgow, to my father's house. He is acting for me in this matter, and within an hour will be here to take me away, for the power of man shall not compel me to bear this a day longer. ’ * Why did you come back at all ?’ asked Trevor, whom the shock of her communication seemed to have almost sobered.

‘ I came for my jewels,’ was the reply. * And brought him with you,’ indicating George, with a nod and sneer. ‘ There would have been less trouble if he had been less about the house and you.’

* I had to be,’ put in the young man, bluntly. * You might have murdered her in one of your insane fits.’ Trevor rose. ‘ All right,’ he said, defiantly. * I won’t grieve over this —am rather glad of it, in fact. I'm tired of you and your temper both ; and so good-bye, my most affectionate wife. I’ll be found in my room when your father comes, if wanted. If not, I have no wish to see any of you again.’ With a nod to Niven, he left them. They heard him enter his room and close the door behind him. The ill-as-sorted pair had been overtaken by the inevitable Nemesis at last. That night saw them parted for ever. Before he left the house, Niven learned enough to convince him that Trevor’s wild suspicions were utterly without foundation, and that it was in her despairing efforts to hide the domestic skeleton from her friends, and more especially her pareats, that Ada had invoked the aid of George, who, in spite of Trevor’s words, was really her cousin. The confession was made with an indescribable blending of recklessness and suffering that touched the honest soldier to the heart. Whatever her faults had been, she had paid a fearful penalty in the wreck of her life. It was with a feeling of inexpressible relief that he at last found himself in the street, on nis way to Huntly Villa, and more than once he thanked the God who had saved his darling from the fate that had once threatened her. Going up the avenue in the gathering dusk, he met Jennie. She stopped and extended both her hands. ‘ May I say I am glad. Captain Niven ?’ she said. ‘ Yes,’ he replied, smiling down in the pretty brown face, •if you will let me thank you. When did you learn ?’ ‘An hour ago,’answered Jennie. ‘ But I can’t wait now. Madge is in the garden.’ With which specially interesting communication Jennie hurried away. Niven at once sought the garden, and as he entered it saw a graceful, shadowy figure advancing to meet him. Remembering the scene he had lately witnessed, it was with a heart almost too full for utterance that he drew her to him, and held her close. * Thank heaven for this,’ he said almost in a whisper, and then for a little there was silence between them.

‘ See, dearest,’ he said, suddenly. Margaret looked up and—Was the thing prophetic of their future ?

Again ! Stealing into the dim sky above them, came the old remembered glory of the afterglow. ‘Do you remember what you said,’ whispered Margaret ; ‘ the promise and remembrancer of morning ?’ He bent his head and kissed her. * God grant,’ he said, * that it may be so.’

Exchange.