THE balmy south wind breathed gently through the open windows, waving the lace curtains and filling the long low parlor with the thousand perfumes of spring. The birds twittered and sang in the rose-bushes, the fountain danced and sparkled; all nature rejoiced at its own awakening. Without, all was peace.

But within, in the old Griffith homestead, there was not peace, but rather discord. One glance at Frank Leighton's frowning countenance or at Olive Griffith's determined features told that very plainly; you would hardly need to listen to their conversation to know that there was at least a vigorous dispute, if not an open rupture, between them.

"What else can I do?" Olive was saying for the fifth or sixth time. "I promised papa that I would be a sister to them."

"When you gave that promise, both you and he supposed that they had money enough to support them for a time; at least until they could make up their minds what to do for a living."

"Yes, papa said that they probably had five or six thousand dollars; but now it seems they haven't as many hundreds."

"If they had any spirit, any sense of honor, they would never expect you to do a thing for them-but there, how can one expect honor in any Lavergne !"

Frank was bitter; a Lavergne, an uncle of the two girls in question, had once.defrauded him of every dollar he possessed, and he hated the very name; he despised all who bore it.

"If you were not going abroad, we might all live together for awhile," suggested Olive.

"Indeed, we might not! Amy I could look on almost as my sister; she is very like you, and is your half-sister; but Hortense and Regina can never live under the same roof with me. And then I must go abroad; my small salary will not allow me to lose such a chance to improve my pecuniary prospects. No, there is no way, that I can see, of your being my wife and still taking care of them."

"Couldn't they board with Eva?" cried Olive, as if she had settled the difficulty.

VOL. XVI.-10

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"No!" replied Frank, angrily. "My sister doesn't take boarders; and if she did, I would not choose those girls as her first boarders." "As you please."

Frank, like most men, could not jump at a conclusion very readily; Olive could. Like a flash it had revealed itself to her that if Hortense and Regina were boarding with Mrs. Eva Corbett, Frank's widowed sister, the five or six hundred that she would receive from them would relieve him from the necessity of paying her the three hundred a year which he now did out of his moderate salary, would provide a home for the girls, and leave Olive free to join Frank.

Leighton did not understand Olive's proposal; he was disappointed and angry because she had told him that she could not carry out their plans,that she could not marry him and go abroad with him.

"If y you cared very much about me, Olive, you would find some means of keeping your promise to me as well as that to your father. Those girls have no claim on you, your step-mother's daughters by a former marriage. Rent your house, give Hortense and Regina to understand that they must shift for themselves, and come with me."

Now, if Frank had made a petition of that instead of a command, if he had put his arm tenderly around her and had uttered those last three words in the tone of a true lover, not of a stern master, the probability is that Olive would have explained her proposition that they should board with Eva, and that Frank would have approved.

But he was angry, and she was tired and unnerved; her father had been dead but three months, and since his death she had had a great deal of care, not the least of which was the thought of the future of Hortense and Regina, when she discovered that they had been allowed by their indulgent mother to squander the small property left by their father, and when she learned that they knew of her promise to her father and expected her to keep it to the fullest extent.

"What is the use of going all over it again? I cannot break my promise to papa," answered

"Say rather that you will not!" he exclaimed. She made no reply. She said to herself, "I will not argue any more now; perhaps when we have both thought it over calmly, one of us can suggest some way out of our difficulty."

"Very well," continued Frank, as he sprang to his feet; "if you will not do this for my sake, if you will not consider me as well as those girls, your love for me cannot be very deep. I am glad I have found out, before marriage, how little heart you have."

Olive was so amazed that she did not interrupt him; indeed, while he was speaking she hardly comprehended the full force of his words.

"You will not consent to give up Hortense and Regina; I will not consent to play second fiddle to them or any one else. If y you

"Why, Frank, what do you mean ?"

"That our engagement has evidently been a great mistake, and our professed love entirely onesided."

"So it would seem," answered Olive, bitterly; but to Frank's dull ears her voice sounded only indifferent; he answered:

She was kind to Olive, making no difference between her and her own children, and was sincerely mourned at her death. Had she been the traditional step mother, perhaps Olive would not have felt so much bound to Hortense and Regina.

This quarrel with Frank, though she did not believe it a serious one, set Olive thinking, and the result of her deliberations was that though she did not feel obliged to support Hortense and Regina in idleness all their lives, or until they married, they evidently expected her to do so. In justice to herself and to Frank she could not permit this; even Amy had no legal claim upon her fortune, as it had been bequeathed to her by her maternal grandfather after her mother's death. She determined to talk with Hortense, the more sensible of the two, and delicately hint to her that as she was twenty-two years old, and her sister but eighteen months her junior, she was quite old enough to take care of herself and induce Regina to do the same.

After supper that evening, as the four girls were sitting chatting in the soft twilight, Olive said: "I think, girls, that we may as well discuss our future plans now as at any other time. Do you

"What plans?" asked Hortense.

"Where do you intend to live?"

"Why, here, I suppose!" replied Hortense; and Regina, opening her big black eyes to their widest extent, asked:

"Where else can we go?"

"You have two uncles; I thought—

"Oh, it is no use to think of them, Olive,"

Olive could not believe that his anger would last long; yet while it did continue she could say or do nothing new.

The girls referred to, Hortense and Regina Lavergne, were six and five years old when their widowed mo.her became Mr. Griffith's second wife; their father, a Frenchman, was a visionary but talented man, and by no means domestic; his daughters inherited his visionary disposition, but only in a slight degree his talents. They were pleasant, good-natured, and bright, and were almost like sisters to Olive, who was just between them in age. Mrs. Griffith had died but a year before Olive's father, and left one child by her

is as poor as poverty, and Uncle Louis is traveling in Europe somewhere; besides, his wife hates us, and we hate her, don't we, Regina?"

Thoroughly! Why, are we not to live here together as we've always done?"

"You know I expect to be married soon," began Olive; but Hortense interrupted her:

"And Frank Leighton don't like us. Very well, we will think of something, and let you know our decision to-morrow. Come, Regina, let's go up-stairs and talk it over; if we have got to go away to make room for Mr. Leighton, the sooner we do so the better," cried Hortense.

"Why not?" interposed clear-headed little Amy. "This house and its furniture are Olive's,

the little money that papa left belongs to her and me, and everything else is hers. Why should she support us three ?"

"There is no law compelling her to do so," answered Hortense, coldly; "to be sure, some people (not the Leighton's, however) might think that her promise to her father would require her to give us a little out of her abundance-a shelter over our heads, at least. Come, Regina."

And the sisters sailed out of the room before Olive had a chance to say what her intentions might be. And indeed she hardly knew that herself; until after a calmer interview with Frank, she could not decide how much it would be best for her to give them, for she had never for an instant thought of turning them penniless out into the world.

The next morning she received a parcel from Frank containing her letters and gifts to him, also a brief note, saying, that as by her own decision their engagement was at an end, he returned her letters, and presumed she would destroy or return his. Instead of doing either, however, she

wrote:

"I have just received your note. As you say our engagement was canceled by my decision, I am sure you misunderstood me yesterday; if you will call this afternoon or evening, I will make myself a little better comprehended. We were both somewhat worried yesterday, and perhaps I was less patient than I should have been."

Addressing and stamping it, she herself dropped it in the post-office.

Two days passed. Hortense had not yet announced her decision as to the future, and no notice had been taken by Frank of Olive's note; when twenty-four hours had thus passed, Olive did not know what to think.

Olive, I've heard such a queer piece of news," cried Hortense, as she came in from a walk the second day.

"What is it?" asked Olive, listlessly.

"That Frank Leighton is engaged to Bertha Merrill! I think you might have told us that you had broken with Frank."

"I didn't care to discuss the matter," answered Olive, truthfully, yet evasively. "Who told you?" "His sister Eva. She is very angry; she and Bertha never were friends, and she says when Frank came and told her that you and he were 'out' she cried like a baby. She says, 'Tell Olive

I know it was every bit Frank's fault ;' she seemed to feel real bad."

That evening Olive returned Frank's letters and gifts.

Nothing more was said about the necessity for Hortense and Regina to leave her, and before the summer was over, both the girls were engaged to be married, so there was no necessity for them to speak again of earning their living.

In the meantime Leighton went abroad, but not as Benedict; Bertha Merrill had no notion of abridging her trousseau, and Frank exhibited no lover-like anxiety for her to do so. His engagement to Miss Merrill, a young" lady who had been "out" so long that she had some reason to fear that she must dress St. Catherine's hair, was as much of a surprise to him as to his sister and Olive. He called upon Bertha the evening after his quarrel with Olive, and feeling in a reckless, nervous mood, had talked all manner of nonsense; he was not accustomed to indulge in idle badinage, and perhaps Bertha thought he was in earnest when he said that she was the only woman he ever loved; perhaps she considered herself justified in dropping her eyes and faltering out that his words had made her so happy; perhaps she was not trying to pin him to her when she exclaimed to her mother (who entered the room at that important crisis), "Oh, mamma, kiss me, and don't say no to Frank!"

It was an awkward predicament for poor Frank. Mrs. Merrill was perfectly sincere (whatever Bertha had been) in pouring out her happiness, pouring it out so volubly that Frank had no chance to explain. But what could he say or do? The Merrills were not people who could be insulted with impunity, and it would have been nothing less than an insult if Frank had said, "I was in jest when I said I loved her." Such jests were not customary.

So the summer waned. Olive held her peace and grieved in secret, mourning not Frank's defection only, but the loss of her ideal, for the man to whom she had given her heart was, she believed, too true and too devoted to change so suddenly. For Bertha, wearing her honors gracefully, took good care to let no one suspect, what she well knew, that Frank Leighton did not care any more for her than for twenty other girls of his acquaintance.

But Bertha Merrill was doomed to die unwed.

Her

Early in the autumn she had a severe attack of brain-fever, from which her body recovered, but her mind relapsed into hopeless idiocy. parents wrote to Frank and begged him to hasten home, as the physicians united in saying that the only hope they had of restoring any semblance of reason was in his presence; if her lover's touch, her lover's voice, failed to rouse her dormant brain, then it was indeed a hopeless case. So in October he sailed for home; the fact that he cared nothing for Bertha did not retard his return, perhaps it facilitated it, for, having no love to give her, he felt that he owed her double service.

The second day out from Liverpool a stranger accosted him as he was quietly smoking his postprandial cigar in the room devoted to burning incense to the goddess Nicotina:

It was Olive's letter, which now reached Frank for the first time after so long a journey.

As he read it he cursed his own folly in having been so ready to judge Olive harshly. What could he do now? Nothing. He was pledged to Bertha, and was now on his way home to try his best to restore her to life. If he succeeded, as Mrs. Merrill seemed convinced he would, he would be more than ever bound to keep his word, for who could say what might be the result if he turned from her? And if she remained imbecile, how long would it be before he would feel justified in considering himself free to again woo Olive? Could he hope that Olive still loved him, and would ever be ready to listen to his apologies and explanations? These and a hundred similar questions harassed him during the voyage.

At last he was in New York. At last he entered the cars for New Hope, and there sat Olive Griffith Half her seat was empty, and he requested permission to sit beside her. He fancied that she changed color when she recognized him, but the

"Frank Page."

"Yes; Frank P. Leighton, of No. 754 King street, New Hope."

"Pray how did you know that ?"

The stranger opened a letter-case, and handed to Frank an unopened letter.

"This is for you, I think?''

Frank looked at him in amazement.

"Are you Neptune's letter-carrier ?" he asked. "For this occasion only. I don't wonder that your are surprised, so I will explain how I came by it. I have been in Russia and Sweden ever since last June, and my letters have sometimes had a hard time finding me. A few days ago, a week maybe, quite a number were sent me from Moscow; one of them, from a friend in New Hope, seemed uncommonly thick. I started to open it, and discovered that it was two instead of My friend had sealed her letter with extra care-and mucilage-and your letter had fallen. on it, face down, while the mucilage was still soft; the two letters had thus become stuck together, and got into the foreign mail-bag as one, traveled half over Europe as one, and at last were separated by me. I trust this delay will not prove of any serious consequence to you. I could not help seeing that it was from a lady."

one.

few commonplace remarks on both sides, Frank suddenly said:

"Olive, did you ever wonder why I did not reply to your last note? why I did not visit you that evening?"

"I so soon heard of your betrothal to poor Bertha, that I had little opportunity to wonder at anything else," replied Olive, trying to make her words sound indifferent, but an unintentional emphasis on the last word gave Frank courage.

"I am not surprised that you wondered at that," began he; but she interrupted him:

"I did not say that I wondered at it. Why should I have done so? I trust that your return will prove beneficial to her."

No reply. She continued, for silence now was too suggestive:

"Eva is anxiously expecting you; I saw her at the wedding last week."

"Wedding? Whose wedding?"

"A double one, that of Hortense and Regina." "We needn't have quarreled over their future, need we?" said Frank, sadly.

Again no reply. This time it was Frank to bridge the silence:

"Olive, that note of yours went to Moscow before it reached me; had I received it

sooner

will not! I will tell her”

"Nothing! You will say nothing to her, if you are the honest man I think you, until you are sure her mind is restored. Put off your marriage,

AMONG the royal palaces of England and France I found none more interesting than Fontainebleau. History has made us familiar with the many romantic and tragic scenes enacted within its walls, and fiction, with its fascinating mingling of truth and falsehood, has thrown its glamour around it; but that which gives it its greatest charm is the fact that modern improvements have been excluded from many of its chambers and not allowed to sweep away with ruthless hands the souvenirs of those who loved, laughed, suffered, or reveled beneath its roof.

After a delightful déjeuner à la fourchette at one of the cafés in the Palais Royal, we hurried to the railway station, but arrived only in time to see our train slowly moving off from the platform, leaving us to meditate, for an hour or more, upon our indiscretion in lingering at table, before the next train bore us swiftly away from Paris toward the small town of Fontainebleau. At the end of two hours we gladly exchanged the dusty car for an omnibus, which conveyed us up a pretty shaded street to the château.

Passing through an arched gateway, we entered a large, stone-paved courtyard and beheld the grand palace. It is built of glaring red brick,

with a steep roof adorned with windows, and has a broad flight of stone steps leading up to the main entrance. No statues claimed our notice and made us linger in the courtyard as at Versailles, and we entered the château with a feeling of disappointment, expecting to find the interior as modestly unpretending as the outer walls. We had only to cross the threshold and look up, to discover how glorious a mediæval palace could be even in the comparatively primitive days of Francis I. and Henry IV. Gilding in richest profusion beamed dazzlingly down upon us, and exquisitely frescoed faces laughed on the lofty ceilings at our republican ignorance and simplicity.

The first apartment which the guide showed us was about fifty feet long, with its walls entirely covered with most beautiful miniature paintings on Sèvres porcelain. Hours might have been spent in studying these petite but enchanting. creations of art, delicately copied by the fairy fingers of the wondrous fire-spirit that dwells in the furnaces of Sèvres; but we were hurried through this fascinating room with such provoking impatience, that memory had only time to photograph mentally a few of the historical scenes presented to our view. One of these was a picture