present, and freedom. I went to sleep, tran- | winter?" Ashford took up, as he bent his supquil and unthinking. I awoke stronger, and ple figure. "You will come to New York, and with a dawning interest in the affairs of life. | know my sister and mother. They will be back I began to question myself. Where was that from Europe in a month." life to be spent in these present days? Then I asked for my letter. It was a deep July day; a gold sky, an ardent atmosphere, and balmy breaths of summer all about me as I read: "DEAR KATE,-You know how imperative is the necessity of my leaving you at this moment, or you will know when you awake to consciousness. I leave you free to act, to live as you think fit. Mr. Calvin will be your business man until my return. Choose your own place of residence, your own companions. Mr. Calvin will assist you faithfully, and acquaint you with the extent of your income. Good-by, and God bless you. "THORBURN AYRE." It was an odd note, I thought, for such a long good-by; but then it was written in the brief interval that intervened between the excitement of my sudden illness and the sailing of the steamer. I glowed with gratitude at the wild sense of freedom it conveyed. He was very kind, certainly; and so absorbed was I in the vista that opened before me I forgot the reserve and brevity that conveyed it, and ceased to wonder why he had not mentioned his probable time of return. "I don't know; I am so young, and Mr. Ayre away-perhaps—" Ashford smiled. "Do you fancy there are such special dangers abroad in New York that you can not escape them-roaring lions going about seeking whom they may devour?" ened in amusement as he concluded. My grandmother made no objection, as I fancied she would; she evidently had perfect faith in me, either through her faith in her own train Consulting with Mr. Calvin, I found my means far exceeded my wildest expectations. The arrangements that ensued seemed like a fairy-tale to me. I was to live in the old Langdon man-ing, or in my natural caution and worldliness. sion on the hill that lay between Exham and Rawley. Rawley was then famous for its beaches, and was the resort of the summer. winter it was the link between town and city, lying between Exham and New York. She seemed to have relinquished me entirely. I was no more to her than some distant relative. In I formed my establishment with considerable forethought for a girl of eighteen. My grandmother's prudence had been effective with me. So I wisely chose for a chaperon a middle-aged aunt who was in impoverished circumstances, for my grandmother at once declined my invitation for her to be with me. Her pride was too strong for her to give up the independence of her own home, however poor and scant. But I took Liz, as I had promised in jest long ago. In New York my life opened more fully. I found that I had many tastes, many qualities which I was before unaware of. Through the Langs I was introduced into society both fine and fashionable. I went out a great deal with Liz, who was by this time a handsome, brilliant young creature, much admired and much sought after. The winter passed rapidly, then summer again at Langdon Hill, and Mr. Ayre still away, and his coming home indefinite. His letters had begun to lengthen about the time I first went to New York, possibly from the fact that I myIt was September before we were fairly set-self, vivified and amused by my new acquainttled in our new home; but the season was not ances and plans, spoke more fully of myself. yet over in Rawley, and I very soon found my-Once I asked him when he would return. He self making many new acquaintances through answered, vaguely, "When circumstances will the Carews and the Deerhams, who held high allow me." The letters were kind; those of a festival for three months at Rawley beach every friend, not a lover or a husband. I saw no summer. There I renewed my old friendship particular want in them until one day, Ashwith Johnny Carew, and there Ashford Langford Lang and his sister calling upon me, she and his three brothers, such brilliant, elegant said: men as I had rarely met, sought our society. "I should think you would want to go out to your husband, Mrs. Ayre. When our Tom was there he was continually sending for Lou." I suddenly flushed. I had not thought of it before. My husband had never sent for me. I had always been aware that there was something rather odd in the circumstances of my married life; but so absorbed had I been in my new freedom, in following out my tastes and "You will not think of remaining here all inclinations with my ample means, that I for "When does Mr. Ayre return, Mrs. Ayre?" asked Stuart Lang one day, as we stood resting from bowling in the alley. "When ?" How could I tell? Then it first occurred to me that in his few letters my husband did not mention the subject. I never had thought to ask. I put the question aside somehow, and the thought with it. manly. got or put aside thoughts which in reality were could never come such another gallant fellow more uninteresting than any others. Words for Liz. My type for all that was noble and now and then from strangers, like these of Camilla Lang, awakened me. When she made this last remark she lifted her languid eyes with rare interest to my face. I colored, as I have said, and more vividly as I caught the searching glance from Ashford. With effort I said: "Mr. Ayre may return at any time. The complications arising from the death of Mr. Carle have kept him beyond his expectations. It would be useless for me to attempt the voyage when every thing is so unsettled. Mr.-my husband may return any day." Months passed, I asked no questions, she told me nothing, but her cheek thinned, and the look of pain broke through when her face was still. One day I found her crying in her chamber. Then I swept reserve away. "Liz, dear, what is it between you and Stuart Lang? He loves you; you love him." She turned and faced me. Never shall I forget her look. It was so deep and wise for so young a girl. "Why, what do you mean ?" "He loves me, and I love him," was the reAs I repeated this, again I caught the search-ply, "but he will never ask me to marry him." ing, incredulous look from Ashford Lang. He had noticed my hesitation. I saw him exchange glances with his sister. I felt humiliated. A sense of being neglected and forsaken came over me. "Kate, did you never find out that the ruling power through the Lang family is a passive kind of self-indulgence. They have no will to conquer, to make new conditions; they accordingly accept circumstance for fate, and it overcomes them. I am poor. Stuart Lang has no My husband! How strange it all was. How different from others. By comparisons I now began to realize my singular lot. My husband! thing by himself; living with his family he lives I said it over and over. Why did he not re-elegantly. Do you think he knows how to give turn. Was it business really, or had he repented his marriage? Why did he not send for me if it was the first? I was not sorry that, he did not, but I felt nevertheless neglected. it up? Do you think for a moment he would consider it possible for him to make his own future? He hates business, he has no interest in professions, he is not a worker any way. He can never do any thing; and he is but twentythree." Ceasing, a shadow of bitterness passed over her face, and a faint sigh fluttered forth from her lips. and overcame all else. My husband! That thin, dark, oldish man. I looked at myself that night in my mirror. I was young, fresh; not beautiful like Liz, but attractive. I had a good figure, and a fine air. I was called charming. I was conscious of this as a fact. As I looked I thought of my mate. I was overwhelmed with the truth of what The thin, dark, oldish man. Who should it she said. At once I saw that this analyzation have been? Instantly my mind shaped an an- was as true for one as for another. Where, then, swer. A man like Ashford Lang. My thought was my type of manhood that I was sure I had went no farther. I never fancied myself in love found in these brothers. Always had I cherwith Ashford. He and his three brothers mere- ished the idea of a masculine character firm and ly served me as models of brilliant, gracious gen- enduring, and strong to conquer circumstances. tlemen. They were not men to carry on intri- This was my special point, my most vivid excate flirtations with married women. They were pectation of a man's character. The one qualtoo high-souled for that. Brilliant, graciousity I considered absolutely indispensable to form gentlemen, as I have said. With them and their a rounded nature. Without it, I could not besister I learned what fine society meant. I believe in its strength. Incompleteness mastered came conversant with the best thoughts, the best books; with art and all splendid accomplishments. Standing before my mirror I thought over all this, and thought myself fit only for such a type of man as they revealed. I sighed. The next moment I heard Liz's gay voice saying good-night to Stuart Lang. There was a new tone in it. I went out and leaned over the balusters. She was standing under the gas, moveless and rapt in a dream; but her face was sad, some deep pain was breaking its girlish smoothness. Was she in love, and with Stuart Lang? Then I ran rapidly over my memory for favorable signs on his part. I felt sure that it was a mutual attachment. Why that look of pain then? A little love-cloud, I reasoned. To-morrow or the next day I should have him claiming audience of me. But to-morrow, and the next day, and the next, and the next-a month or more, and Stuart Lang claimed no audience of me. I was disappointed. There After this confession of Liz's I made up my mind to go away from New York. Her pale face haunted me. My own disappointment, and that feeling of desolation, of being adrift in our minds, cut off from all the old landmarks of belief, as it were, influenced me in this choice. We went back to Exham for a while; but there, in a few weeks, the Langs appeared upon the scene, and again resumed something of their wonted charm. Liz grew restless under it. Fever burned in her cheeks and in her eyes. Again we became birds of passage. Hither and thither we went, north, south, east, and west; pilgrims in search, one of change, the other of faith. By another year Liz had found her color, her spirits. Devoting herself to her music, for which she had developed wonderful talent, perhaps genius, she became contented, even gay. For myself, I had learned much, but I had not learned or found my faith. I put my one experience to bear upon all others. Rapid in my conclusions, I believed that I had sifted the world. I became inwardly unbelieving, cynical to a degree far beyond that of my vague girlhood's misanthropy. Outwardly, I was brighter than before; easier, because I had less interest, and so thought less of my impressions. After much wandering we came back to Langdon Hill, and made it a permanent residence. I In all this time how the years had flown! was twenty-three. Five years of my girl-marriage. Five years! I opened a daguerreotype one day that was taken when I was eighteen, the period of my engagement. As I looked I realized how I had changed. How the soft, crude look of inexperience had changed to a self-controlled womanhood. I sighed and turned away from the blue believing eyes, so full of hopes and dreams. What did life hold for me now? A long, low ring of the bell recalled me to the present. I started, and a thrill of pain darted through me. Then I smiled at my nervousness, and went down at the summons from a servant: "A gentleman to see you." There was no card sent up to me, and I thought it somebody on business. Involuntarily I put out my hand, though I was faint with feeling. He took it, and the strong firm clasp upheld me. The room swam for a moment, and I gasped for breath. voice broke through this confused state. "Is it so bad as that, Kate? Do you still hate me, that you shrink from me thus ?" "Hate you?" I murmured, "who said I hated you?" At last I asked his own question: "Why did you wish to marry me, Mr. Ayre ?" He dropped my hand, and looked at me in amazement. "Why, was I so unfortunately inexpressive, then, that you never guessed that I loved you ?" I do not know what I replied, but he seemed to get farther insight by my words, for bending his dark full gaze upon me, he said quietly, but earnestly: "You were very young, Kate." These words, too kind to sound rebuking, yet filled me with nameless regret. What was it? Had I lost any thing? "Either I missed, or itself missed me," came into my mind: and in conjunction with this came a realization of his delicacy. Meeting his gaze I asked, "And did you hate me, too, after hearing what I said there?" "Hate you? no, I did not hate you," he answered, in a curious tone, which puzzled and chilled me. It was singular how soon after this strange talk every thing seemed to resolve into an outward harmony. We occupied the same house, but I only met him at the table, and sometimes in the garden; never in the drawing-room, except in the presence of guests. There seemed no purposed avoidance. He was always so active; busy with a hundred interests I knew nothing of. With no specified arrangement of our life, he quietly took up his course, and left me mine unembarrassed. He was so much away, riding hither and thither, by horse, or rail, or boat, and always preoccupied with his own thoughts when I chanced to meet him alone; wrinkling his brows, and unconsciously indicating the bent of his mind by tapping out upon the table some intricate computations. Of mornings I used to hear his voice, commenting, suggesting, or giving orders about the grounds, and once in a while at these times he would send to ask my opinion of some garden alteration. "He is a man of wonderful executive ability," pronounced my grandmother one day, as she Still holding my hand, he replied, in an in- came up the avenue with me and overheard him tense, though controlled voice, "Five years ago, Kate, I stood in the room adjoining another, and heard a girl who had but just vowed herself to me, say in vehement accents, 'Why did I marry him? I do not love him; I hate him; and I can not go from you all with him.' So I went, Kate; do you think I would have gone without that knowledge ?" Suddenly the past appeared all plain to me. "You have been very generous," I faltered. He flung up his head with a half impatient deprecation. as he went his rounds. "Yes, that is evident," I acknowledged, and as I thought I became conscious of how this executive element was changing the character, the very atmosphere of the place. Somehow every thing seemed to be righted. The garden bloomed, the lawns grew greener, the fruit trees gave no trouble, and all my household annoyances had fled somewhere out of sight. one vast machine, house, and garden, and servant were in regulated harmony. My outward life swung as easily as a perfectly adjusted pen Like "Generous: ah, how little all the rest! Kate, dulum. But inwardly I was more restless than how could you marry me?" ever. I felt humbled as I had never felt in all my life in the presence of this active spirit of usefulness, of ability. What was it I wanted? what missed? The old city excitements of so I think my few plain words, attempting to explain my state at that time, gave him some clear understanding, for he muttered lowly once or twice, "What a grievous error, what a griev-ciety? Would that give me contentment? ous error!" As if to answer this question there came one day in the last of the summer the Langs, broth- | That climate-no," he interrupted; "it is not er and sister. climate." But, coming back, Remembering their questioning concerning my husband's absence, I was glad that they should see him at home. Then immediately followed a faint uneasiness. Ashford Lang was so cultured, so fine, and elegant-Camilla was so critical. I had never seen Mr. Ayre in such society. I had a feeling of apprehensive pride. light streamed from the library, but it was not Let A half hour later Camilla and Ashford were He came in late, finding us upon the lawn, listening to Liz's wonderful playing. Mr. Ayre waiting tea. I went through introductions me- had excused himself to "answer India letters." chanically, and turned to Camilla with voluble I waited till the player and her audience were talk about the tuberose I held—a splendid speci-absorbed in a sonata, and then stole out. The men, worth the most eloquent talk; but mine was mere words, to which she did not listen, so intently was she absorbed in regarding my husband. He caught the look, came forward, thinking we had appealed to him in our rose-breeze of the garden and the friendly dark give talk, took the flower from me, and in two or three sentences astonished me by his rare knowledge as well as by his grace of expression. In a second, however, he had found that the young lady was only politely interested, and another sentence turned the subject into a gracious pleasantry, half gallant and wholly gentlemanly-a careless, unconscious ease, which gave me much satisfaction. After, in the drawing-room, at tea or dinner, driving or walking, he was the courteous host, meeting his guests more than equally because of a force he possessed that went beneath their culture. Sometimes from some profounder talk of art or science he suddenly struck out into playful badinage with Camilla. Then I saw her eyes light, and her languor dissolve, and my pride was gratified and appeased. But I was still restless and filled with vague discontent. I had come to the worst of disbeliefs, a faithlessness of myself. All the rest were so serene, so happy. Even Liz sang with gayer freedom, and Ashford Lang grew merry as he stepped out of his stateliness. me healing and calm, I thought. I got no further than the veranda. The night was warm, and rainy winds blew round the vines and drenched my hair with balmy moisture. I leaned back for rest, and a glass door slipped its bolt and sprung inward. I was falling, when he caught me, drew me in, and secured the fastening again at a breath. "Where have you been, Kate, into the rain? You are quite wet." My husband peered into my face as he spoke with an intent expression. What I answered I do not know. I only know his expression grew kindly and troubled. "What is the matter? Are you ill, child?" he questioned. "Are you going to China?" I asked, instead of replying, in a blank, dazed way. "To China? Who has told you that I was going?" "Mr. Lang." He turned away, and began sealing a letter, his face preoccupied as he said: "Yes, we were talking about China this mornI am to take his brother Stuart with me when I return." "Shall you return to China with your hus-ing. band?" he asked me one night, with just that air he had asked before.. "To China?" I started, looking up to meet his look, which had strayed away from me across the room. My eyes followed it, and rested upon Camilla and Mr. Ayre. He was talking, brilliantly I knew, in his remarkably epigrammatic manner. She was listening, intent and vivid. "He is very handsome," remarked Ashford in a dreaming voice. The late lilies sent up all at once a load of heavy incense from their damp, dark beds without. I seemed to scent the odors of the Orient, and my heart beat hurriedly. I sighed and shivered. He glanced up, left his letters, and stood before me. "What is it, Kate-what is it you want, poor child ?" I thrilled with surprise. Handsome? A I met his look. The lips curved with pain, mist went over my eyes. Then I looked again but there was something in the darkening eyes with clearer vision. I saw a straight lithe fig- that held me, that gave me power to speak. ure, full of expressive lines. A face dark and "I want to go to China." thin, but firm and fixed with purpose and power. Youthful eyes that lighted and darkened. Bright warmth of color on the lips, and a real flush streaking either check. All these indications of freshest life, while the grayed hair and beard stood like grim sentinels of decay. "He is not old: why should his beard be so white?" Ashford mused on. "The climate? He started back. "You! Why do you want to go to China?" There was fever in my veins. I must speak. It was like an expiation; so wildly, vehemently I burst out, though low enough of tone: "Why? Because I love you, I love you! You may have ceased to love me; you may have learned to repent of your hasty marriage long ago; but I have learned out of all the world to love you; and I lay my love at your feet for atonement." "Lay it here, Kate, but never for atonement. There is nothing for you to atone. Kate, my Kate, this pays for all the pain." As he spoke he took me to his breast, and "If I go; but if I do not go, Kate?" "So Mrs. Ayre tells me that you have given up going to China, Mr. Ayre ?" "Yes; I shall send Steyne in my place. Your brother will find him a better traveling companion than myself." Speaking, his glance fell athwart mine. A light came into his eyes, a tender look of recognition dawned in the faint smile. Liz broke into a little low, sweet air, still beating her fingers on the piano case, and Camilla Lang sung a soft second; but her brother talked in undertones to my husband. My husband! I looked at them both there with clear eyes. I remembered my verdict in the past. A brilliant, gracious gentleman;' and that thin, dark, oldish man. It was still there. A brill and my husband was thin and dark and oldish. But did Thorburn Ayre lack any grace or charm as he stood beside the other? Yes, I understood: all the delicacy, the generous reserve, the tender pain. All the cross and passion of that strong still nature. For my love he could stay. Without it he would ban-iant, gracious gentleman was Ashford Lang; ish himself, uncomplaining, unreproachful, from home, from native land, and social civilization. Tears came to my eyes. Ah, God was very good to bring me out of the dark into such light as this. Ashford Lang was talking fine talk, and critical about a beautiful woman as we went into the parlor. Liz had shut the piano, but drummed her fingers on the rosewood as she listened absently to Ashford. Camilla, yawning, brightened as we entered. I went over to Ashford. "Mr. Ayre is not going to China, Mr. Lang." He looked at me searchingly. Liz wheeled round and exclaimed, softly, "How bright your eyes are, Kate!" "Not going to China. He has changed his mind since this morning, Mrs. Ayre?" Mr. Lang kept on. "Yes, since this morning, Mr. Lang." All the time Camilla was talking volubly with Mr. Ayre, drowning our words. Presently they joined us. Not one. Ashford Lang had recognized his power; Camilla had roused from her languor into appreciation; and I-I had realized more than my ideal in this thin, dark, oldish man. Johnny Carew's Chinaman was my first, my only love. "You will never care to go to China now," said Ashford Lang, in a low tone, to me as we said good-night. 'Never-why?" "Because you have found your world. I congratulate you, Mrs. Ayre." He bent over my hand, and his glance was expressive but no longer searching. He had read my life correctly from page to page, the last as clearly as the first. "He is what I hoped to be years ago," he went on, with a melancholy wistfulness—" a man to conquer circumstance. Good-night, Mrs. Ayre." PARSON RUSSELL'S SECRET. Pet the pursonage door was open to few; And a mystery profound, yet guessed at by some, |