An Idyll Of Oyster Bay

Y Dkab Clara: I n accordance with my promise I um letting you into the seo re t of my whereaboiits. I must not tako too much credit to myse'f, however, for keepin; 111 y word with you, for I am vory much afraid that i f you had remainedin ïca this summer instead of gomg to Europe, I should have kept my place of refuge as muoh a secret from you as f rom the rest of our set. I am supposed to be- anywhere. I bad to coinmunicate with my banker the other day, and several letters were forwarded to me. One of my correspondents hor"d tliat I was cnjoyïng myself in Switeerland; another that my Western trip migbt not enamour me too muoh with that section of the country and lose me to New York; another liad inelosed the letter to tho banker with the request ttiat he -would direct it to my hotel in Paris. Jíobody knows just whero 1 aiu; and nolody suspecte that I have quietly sneaki-d olf here without servante, dresses or money to a littlc secluded oottago a mile or two from Oyster Hay town, and that I havo been spending a whole month with no companionsbip but that of my old nurse Harriet and her iusband, William Sayer. The day I told you I was going to 'creep out of sight of the world for a few weeks, we were so interrupted by jour preparations for going abroad, and our talk was so vague, that I feel that X owe you a great deal of explanation. You wiil remember, dear Clara, what ;a shock my father"s sudden death was ïo me. Truc, wt had nevcr been more to each other than acquaintances, and 1 arealized long ago that my chief cbarm to him was the certain showy quality I possessed, whieh made. money spent on ïne seern well invested. I had often -longed for a change, but whcn it camo :and I found myself alone in that great f ifth avenue house of ours, I grew melancholy and unhappy. I was too listless to attend to business matters, nothing roused me, and tho change which Dr. Wood recommended ?fco me as a nerve restorer af ter the shock I had sustained when my father was brought home killed by the fall from his orse, seemed too much trouble to be ■undertaken. 1 was in this morbid state when wy Jawyer called on me. "Miss Van Cortland," ho said, "it is almost the beginning of July; your tather has been dead month now: don't you think you had better attend to your -affairs and loave town?" "What is thero to attend to?" I asked. "Your father's will, for instance." "I suppose as I am the only child and heir that that is a mere matter of form." "Not quite," said the lawyer, "but I am delightei to be able to approach you at last on the subject of the will, for your continual refusal to be made aware f its contente was singularly embarras■Sing to me." "In what way?" I asked. "My father has not left me penniless, I suppose?" "Not quite," said the lawyor, dryly. I sprang to my f eet. "Teil me what you mean?" I deïnanded. "The fact is, my dear young lady, that your father did not appreciate tho solidity of your character, and he was for feeveral moutbs before his death tormented with the idea that if you once had control of your fortune, you would throw it away on somo foreign duke, or impoverished [tallan prince. It has been his one thought to find a means of controllir.g you af ter his death, as easily as during his life." I could not speak as the lawyer ceased, but sat watching him witti anxious eyes till I sbould knon' the worst. It seemed to be an interminable time before he had coughed, and wiped hisglassto, nd continued his story. ■"Under these circumstances," he said tJÊiast, "he was not long in finding a uu whereby the money and posi"cici.. oi which he was so proud, could not ersly remain in the country, but in the family." "I don't undcrstand you!" I gasped. "In other words, Miss Van Cortland, "fce found a husband for you." "For me!" I said, angrily. "You havo a oousin, a íirst cousin, the son of a brothor of your father, who was disowned and diícarded by your grandfather in consequence of his having married a very estimable and charmïng lady who had once been on the etage. Your unole was nat very sucocssful in business, but with the help ot his good wife managed to give your cousin an excellent college education, and the young man has been for some years in the employ oí a very respecta able down-town firnn, and bears a high reputation for honesty and integrity. Vour father searched out all these facts about your cousin, and thereupon decided that he would make an ideal husband for you; and, in pursuance of this idea, he has left you his entire fortune contingent on your marrying your cousin, Pryor D. Van Cortland. In the ovent of your refusing to mako the desired marriage, your father's whole property is to be divided among certain ■charities." Imagine my feelings, Clara! So bent was my father on having his own way, that if I refused to do his will he would turn me, his tenderly rearod child, 3jenniless on the streets! I am three years old, and I have never done any work in niy life - wbat is there for me to do but to marry this Pryor D. ? My father"s will further stated that if }jo died before I reached the age of twenty-five, I was to bo given three months in whioh to mourn him, and thon eithcr marry my eousin, or becomo a beggar. He did not wish his daughter to be long without proper protection. Did you ever hear of any thing so heartless and cold-blooded? During the three months of indecisión I am to be allowed a thousand dollars, and finally if I refuse to marry this Pryor D. that is every cent of my f ather's money which I will ever 886. Four weeks had already gone by before 1 knew of the fate awaiting me. "Is my cousin aware of this infamous will?" I asked. "Yes," said my lawyer, "and, to do him justice, he likes it as little as you do. He raged quite as much as you have donp, vowed that he didn't want to give up his liberty to become the husband of some rich woman, and refused to see you until the day on which you are to make your decisión, as he wishes you to make it quito uninfluenced by him. He said, openly, that but for the fact of your refusal making you poor, be heartily hoped that you would have nothing to say to him." My lawyor lef fc me, and aftor I had overeóme the first flush of my anger and despair, I began to wonder what to do. I remembered you, and hurried off to teil you, but you were so happy on the eve of your trip to Europe that I had not the heart to make you sad over my worries. As I sat and watched your trunks being packed, and realized the immensity of the distance that was about to be placed between me and the dearest friend I had in the world, a new sense of desolation took possession of me, and I longed to be going away myself- anywhere to escape my thoughts. As I sat on the edge of your trunk my resolution was formed, and before you were well out to sea, Clara, I had packod up a couple of simple gowns, told the servants that I was going to travel for the rest of the summer, and left home before they had time to speculate about me, coming to Ilarriet for ref uge as naturally now as in the old days of cuts and bruises and childish sorrows. Four weeks have already slipped by, and this is the first of the last four I shall have as a freo woman. Ah, Clara! if I had nothinjf on rey mind to worry or annoy me; how happy I could be in this deserted, lovely spot 1 I feel as though I were maligning it when I only speak of it as lovely- but our language is too poor to furnish me with other adjectives. It needs the glowing music of the Gorman tongue, or the fiorid accents of Italy, toadequately describe it. I lie sometimos on the sandy beach and think what a heaven it all would bo if I was only nobody, and had some one to love me for myself alone. I dread the future so, Clara, for I have quito determined that I have no akornativo but to marry this Pryor D., but aftor all I have said to you about a woman sacrificing her self-respect by marrying for money, the situation is doubly hard; I shall marry him, though. and after I shall spond all my fortune in helping woraen to emancipate themselves from the abject slavery which generations of meek wifedom has brought upon them. I will not talkof the future now, the present is enough. Let me teil you about this bay, Clara. It is a bay within a bay, so to speak, and unless you aporoach it from the sea, and have learnt its topography, you would suppose yoursclf on a little' inland lake. On the one sirte whero our cottage is there is a beautfful shell-covered beach. When I saw it I could not help exclaiming, for it realized the truth of the warm grays and monoch romes oí Chase. I wus at his studio this spring, and his marveloua tints and effects of light and shade were still fresh in my mind, and when I saw this beach, lo! 1 had found the spot that had taught him his triok of color. The water laps on a shelly beach, creepintf in round isolated rocks, and rising till it lays itself at the feet of a bank wooded to the water's edge. In some spots wild sweet pea is trailing down among the shells, and the long arms of the Virginia creeper reach out, and out, and out, until at high tide somo of thora are floating on the bosom of the waters. Have 1 made you lovo this shoreof my lovely bay? Ves? Then come with me to the othor, where the sedges and rushes grow down into the water, and the verdure begins at once without any hint of beach or shell, and the trees overhang darkly, and the water is deeper, stiller, and more mysterious than on the otbcr shori!. Ah. Clara! if the other bank is a Chaae, tbis is a Corot. and I often look ovoi' at it and fanry I seo the nymphs risiag f rooi the sedgy bottom to sport and play in tho moonlight. Alas! alas! ttaat 1 must soonbid farewell to this enohanting spot to Lead a lovelesa lifo with sone cold. bard business man, who will caro for me only as ono ol tho items that go to mako up the suni of his grandeur. If I could only here, and now, know what it was to lovo and bo loved, I think, Clara, 1 would glve up every thing and tako the man eren if ho were only a simple farm hand. I hate to be a mere bit of mortgageable property. We live vory simply here. Alore so than I intended to do. Ilarriet, I can see, is quito 4ptermined that I shall marry Pryor D., and loses no opportunity to gird at poverty. As tho clamming season bas not been a profitablo one to her husband, she gives me an object lesson by forcing me to live on the produce of the farm and the pickle-tub. The board money I pay her she puts away, telling me that if the coming oyster season is as bad as the past clamming, she will need that and more before tho winter is over. Good-hearted old soul, she little knows that even the prospect of an eternal pickle-tub would not scare me if I loved and was loved by him who provided the brine. On my arrival here she assumed the old masterful airs, took away my gowns, and sat up all night running up a thick flannel skirt. which she presented to me in the morning with a jersey, and instructions to wear the outfit during my stay. I laughod when I saw myself init, but I was toodispirited to carp, and took meekly the wardrobo provided for me, namoly, a pair of frightful country shoes, two severely plain gingham gowns (for best), and aPuritanical bathing suit caught with elastics at wrists and ankles. I am learning to be quite useful. I make the bread, and the pies, and the butter, and foed the animáis and chickens. and generally lead a life that to me is ideal, because it is not real. A good many yachts come in to the harbor, and 1 often see the flag of one of ourold friends floatingon thebreeze and laugb to myself at the surprise it would cause if any of them came bere and discovered me in the guiso of Harriet Sayer"s niece from Uoston. I don'tr think they would flnd me out, though, for this morning I had an opportunity of putting my disguise to a test. It was washing day. Harriet had retired to the shod where she does her washing, and I was in the kitchen making up the bread, when I heard the measured beat of oars in their rowlocks. There was something so quick and workmanlike in the stroke, that I knew in a moment it couldn't be William Sayer, nor Hans, the Danish hired man; so I peeped out of the window to see. There, making for the strip of boach on which William Sayer's oyster boat is moored, and tho little bluff above which the cottage is built, there was a young man rowinsr. How he could row, Clara! The boat fairly flew through the water, and yet he seemed to be making no effort. The oars rose, turned and feil, with a precisión that made me say to myself: "That man has been stroke of a college crew!" I ffive you my word I did not notice the man much, I was too occupied in nis rowing, until herested on his oars, and, looking up, spied and hailed me. I drew back from the window quiokly, but only behind the curtain, for I saw at a glance that the man was gently bred, and it was so long since I had seen any one belonging to my old life that I tbought I wouid like to seo how he would impress me after the rough but wholesome mannered William Sayer and Hans. What I saw was amusing. Hans, who had heard the hail, and had as evidently measured his man as I had done, had gruffly marched into the water, and, taking the stranger for a tonder-foot, bidden him jump on his shoulders, and land dry shod. The young man deraurred, but Hans, with anothor growl, wondered what use there was in getting "them" wet, and the young man yielded, the "them's" being a pair of low shocs, which were ccrtainly very despicable when compared with Hans' own knee high mastodons. The young man, having landed, proceeded to scale the bank. I rusheJ back to the tablo and thrust my hands in the dough, hoping that tho barking of the dogs would attract Harriet and prevent the young man from coming in, but in a moment I heard him patting and making friends with them, and ere I could getoutof sight he was darkening the doorway. "Can 1 get some eggs here?" he said. "I guess so," I answered. 'Til go and see." "Pray don't disturb yourself," he said, politely. 'Tb in no hurry, and I know how a housewifo bates to be disturbed while she has her hands in the bread. If you'll let me I'll sit here till you got your loaves in the oven, and may be you'll let me come back later on to try your handiwork, for we are all out of bread on board." He porched himself on the corner of the dresser and I took a good look at him. He was a dark, handsome fellow, with a kind, manly face and clear, honest eyes. I liked him and made no deimir. I went on with my bread making, and he sat watcbing me until I got nervous and I entirely forgot all Harriet's instructions. Shaping my dough into loaves, I set them in my tins and promptly put tbem in tho oven. "You're not a very expert bread maker, aro you?" he asked. "Do you genorally mako the bread here?" "No, not generally," I answered, shortly"I thought not," he said, with a laugh. "1 guess that is not the way vour mother fix.s it." "U hy. what have I don"'.'" 1 asked, alarmed, forgettinj} in my fear that I oaght to be more distan t to a stranger. "Where I come from we let the bread rise in tho pans awhile before we set in the ovon," he said. I made one movement toward tha oven, and then, remembering myself, drew back. "We do it the other way here." Ho jumped off the dresser and threw the ovon door open. "Como, noivi" he said, lau;hing, "confoss that thisisyour flrst attempt and that you havo forgotten what mol hor told you. I'vo seo.n bread made slnoe 1 was only as high as my thumb, and it's alwaya done this way," and without more ado he lifttd out the pans, placed them on the shelf above the lire, just where I had always seon Ilarriet put them. and, seizing the first cloth ho laid his hands on, placed it aeross the top just as Harriet always does, and then confronted me, still l&ughing. "I p-iioss Ivo saved you a good tongue thra.sliin.LT. Wliat are you going to give me for it?" Oh! Clara, I was frightcnod! I saw that ho had not penetrated my disguise, and took me for a farm girl, and I have heard so often how impudent men can bo to girls whom they consider beneath them, and I thought he was going to kiss me. At tho top of my lungs I screamed: "Auntie! Auntie!" Harriet canie flying in, all soap suds. 'What on earth's the matter, Nan?" she cried; "are you burnt or scalt?" Then she saw tho young man, and stopped dead. He looked foolish and Harriet futióos. I carne lamely to the rescue: "Here's a gentleman wants eggs, auntie," I stuttorod. "Well," said Harriet, "my hens don't lay in the kitchen!" "I ventured to wait here, madam,"' said he, with the humblest politeness, "while your niece wasgetting her bread in tho oven - " Harriet cut him short. She glanced over at the bread, gave an angry snortr, pounced on it, an& whisking the cloth off it, spoke: "You can't be very busy if you mean to wait for bread to raise under a wet cloth." She sniffed and looked from one to the other as Icould not restrain a little triumphant laugh, and the stranger got red in the face. "You'd bettet' come along with me," she snapped; "I'U give you tho eggs; and if you'reoneol thom fancy city sailors as comes up these waters summers, may bo yon'd better get back to your boat: there's a storm brewing, and likely it won't suit you." Harriet hustled him out of the kitehen, without givin him opportunity to so much as glanco at me, and a few seconds later the steady rhythm of his oars told me that he was gone. I heard Harriet go back to her work, saying to herself with yet one more fierce sniff: "U's my belief that young man wanted eggs as much as acat wants pockets." Good-bye, dear Clara, 111 writ to you everymailnow; the ice once broken, it is a comfort to chat with you who have always been so sympathetic to me. I shall write regularly until my fate overtakes me in the shape of Pryor D. Your Loving but Unfortunate Friend, Najjette Van Cohtland. Oh! Clara, I hardly liko to tell you, but I'vo seen that young man again; he's a splendid fellow; I liko hira immensely; his name is Douglas; he's a merchant of some kind down-town, but he must be all right for he's a member of the New York Yacht Club, and owns the yacht he's sailing - a dainty dreatu of a sloop. Let me tell yon all about it: Nearly every day I go up to Chasc's beach, as I havo christened it, rowing by myself in one oí William Sayer's safe but slow boats, and I bathe under the shadow of the great sandy cliff which divides Oyster bay frcm Cold Spring harbor, and which some tourists desecrated last year, they tell me, by planting tho name Firefly in shrub letters ten feet high all across its noblo forehead. I am glad to say that tbe wind and the weather disapproved of the fact as much as I dld of tho idta, and there isn't a ti-aoe of this vandalism left. Well, dear, as I saiü, I go ncarly every morning under the shadow of this cliff to bathe, and lio on tho sand and read. There is a great big massive rock on the shore, and I generally go whon the tido is going dovvn, tiirow my grapnellon in the sand, swim to tho rock, and lio basking on it, reading until the sun bakes me dry. The day after I wroteyou, I put on my bathing suit as usual in the house, took "Tho Toilers of the Sea" and rowed off to the rock, laid mybook upon it, rowed to shore, fastoned my boat, and swam back for a good, quiot read. I'm not a good swimmer, Clara, and whcn I go out to tho rock I take care that the water is not deeper than four or five feet, so I am not afraid. I clambered up its side and found a perfect Oilliatt's seat in which to rest and read of his adventures. I opened my book and was soon absorbed in it. I read on and on, till finally I reachod tho droad éncounter of poor Gilliatt with the octopus. Every nerve in my body waa quivering with the excitement and horror of the situation, when suddenly somcthing touched my foot. I looked ap with a start, aud oh, what a shriek I gave! I don't know whether I had been reading for hours or whether I had misealculated the time, but the water had risen until my feet Were hanging in it nearly up to my knoes. It was cloar as crystal, I could see way down to the iepths, and found, to my horror, that tho touch I had feit was a fish rubbing against me, mistaking me for a part of the rock, so still was I sitting. I drew up my foet and looked around mo. The ittlo boat I had loft dry on the beach was ñoatlng in several feetof water, the tido drawing it away from rao until it was thirt.y foct and more away from me. I wouldhave to swim to it, and swim in I didn't know what depth of water, and, oh, horror! with fish and all sorta of live thinRS about me. Perhaps there was an octopus lurking undor that very rook waiting for me. I couldn't do it! If I were to drown I couldn't jump off that rock into that foarful living water. I cast about me on every side for some way of escape. Merciful Providence! What was that black thing reaching out long arms toward me from under the rock! An octopus! An octopus, Burelyl 'With a wild, unearthly scrfiun I scrambled higher up on the rock, and, to my iniinito despair, was feelinfr myseli jradually slipping down into tho dreaded water when suddenly I heard an encouraging shout, and a moment later the stoady shock of oars in their rowlocks - then a splash, and in a moment more a man was swimming to the rock and scrambling up boside me. Need I teil yon, Clara, that it was thei young man of yesterday? "What was the matter?" he cried. "I sat reading too long, got frightened and daren'tswim backto my boat." "Frightoned! What of? Oh, I see," taking up my book, "octopuses and things!" and he laughed merrily. I couldn't be angry. I was so glad to see any one in my plight. "Will you - could you - bring my boat up here!" I asked, timidly. "If you wish, but why not swim to it. I will stay beside you, and I know you can swim, for I saw you come out here an hour and more ago." "I dare not!" I cried, shuddering. "Why?" "There is something horrible under that side of the rock," I said, nervously. Before I could control him he had dived into the water, and under the very spot of which I was so frightened. He came up laughing. "What you saw wasseaweed, that was all." I looked again at the dreaded shadow, and found that he was right. The long arms were but strands of seaweed floated by the tide. "May be I had better go!" I siid, acknowledging my stupidity with a warm flush of color and an unwilling attempt to jump in the water. "Hold on!" he cried; "Walt till I secure my boat and 111 come back and fetch you. It's pretty deep whero you are. I'm glad ifs a warm day for a swim, or I shouldn't have enjoyed jumping into the water after a young lady whose nérvea are not strong onough to read Hugo. I suppose, though, that people who don't read much are always more impressed by books than ordinary folks." "How do you know I don't iead?" it was on the tip of my tongue to say, but I remembered that be was taking me for a farmer's daughter, und I held my tongue while he swam aftcr his boat, gecured it near to mine, and roturned to the rock. He scanned my face with kindly, gentle eyes. "You've had quite a scare," he said; "don't attempt to ba too rash, put your hands on my shoulders, uso your feet, and we'll swim to your boat together." I obeyed him, and was soon seated in the yawl. He fetched my book, and stood in the shallow water holding the boat till I started. "I don't know how to thank you, sir," I began. "I don't need any thanks," was his answer. "I am (fiad I have had the portunity of seeing you again. and showing you that 1 can do something, even if I can't bake bread." I broke out into a laiígh. "That's right," he said. "I am glad you feel like laughing again. Won't you teil me your name? I am going to row near you until we get within sight of your aunt, and 1 suppose I mustn't cali you Nan all the way!" "That's my name," I answered, for I was afraid to teil hini what my other name was, lest it might give him some clue to my identity, and bring a dozen tiresome people up to seo how the fashtonable Nanette Van Cortland was spending her summer. He looked at me a little curiously. "Nan - what?" "Oh, you want my aunt's name!" I said, innocently. "IIow stupid of me! Sayer, of course." "Well, Miss Nan Sayer, teil me how it is thatyou, an oysterman'sniece, can't swim, and the right hand of such a very exemplary person as your aunt can't make bread?" I was on the eve of disoovery. I tried to speak in the clumsy manner of Harriot and her husband. "I was educated different. My folks lived near Boston." Ho laughed. "Well, my child, Boston culture has learly cost you your life. It would lave boen wiser if they had taught you ■o - why, of course - how foolish of mei You are a school teacher taking your lummer vacation, aren't yon? That accounts for overy thing. Where is your ohool?" '■Pleaso don't ask me anyquestions dbout myself," I said. "I don't think my ftunt would like it." "Very well, we'll talk of something else. When shall I see you again? Do rou como here every day? May I meet rou here to-morrow and walk along the )each with you?" "Certainly not!" I said, scandalized. and rowed off without another planee at hllll. Witli ;i i ,i."i: and a "Wo'U sec!" he leaped Lnto bia boat, and. bending to his oars. su'iil past mo and round tho poiiu tbat bid me from the cottage. I was bot to be so easily rid of hira. When I in my turn rounded the point, there ho stoud on the bcach vvith Harriet at bis sicli'. and ovldently on the most fricnclly torras vvith bim. "Oli, Xan," sho cried, "how could you doso! 1 thoufrht you were too crabbed tobo scarod of a bit of sqaweed! But you always was the foolisheat child! If it hadn't been for this kind gentleman the good saintó know what woultl have become of you! Kun in, chikl, with the lick of jour lite and get somo warm clothes on! The dinner's most re ad y , sir; if you'll come in and put up with my oíd man's Sunday suit, may be I can get your clothes ried while you're taking a bito with us." With a qulet twinklo in his eye as he looked at me the young man acceptcd the invitation, and soon we were all seated at table. "Is your name Doiiglas?" Ilarriet asked him whcn the first business of eating was over. The young man looked a little startlcd, but said it was. "I was asking you, because two men come ashore bere this morning; fellows from ayaeht, 1 took them lobc, and they asked me for soine eggs. They seemed a little uppish and saucy, so I says to them pretty sharp that I didn't keep no store for viotualltng toy boats, and what eggs I got, I got. They seemed kind of set down at that, and I board them saying one to the other that this was the house Mr. Douglas had told tliem to go to, and they was suro they was right. Putting two and two togeher, and remembering that you was the only chap this surnmer who had the nerve to land here and want eggs from nx without asking how the hens was laying nor notbing, I just ooncluded that you was Mr. Douglas. Ilowovcr, I"m inain sorry I was kinder ungiacious to them men, and you can have all the eggs you've a mind to just for the carrying; for you done a thing for me this morning I ain't going to forget. You can come here for all the eggs, and all the milk, and all the butter you want, and you'll get the best on the farm, or my name ain't IJarriet Sayer." Mr. Douglas looked over at me and smiledtriumphantly, thon, turning baik to Harriet, began to talk to her and flatter, offering her homage with as much . (rrace as if she had been a Duchess. He bad hit on Harriet's weak spot, and she was completely won over. At last she rose from the table, and went outside to the clothes-line to inspect the clothes. she wasdrying for him. She returned in a moment. "You won't be able to get away from here for a couple of hours yet, sir; I'll put down some irons and dry you off as quick as I can, and may be Nan will show you round the farm while yon are waiting." This was a taoit admission on Harriet's part that she eonsidered theyoung man quite respectable and a fit companion for roe. Determincd to keep up my ch araoter I rose meekly, with a "Yes, auntie!" fetched the sun-bonnet which is all the head-gear allowed me by Harriet, and wassoon strolling alongbeside him. As we went through field and orchard we talked, or rather he did. He talked well and eagerly oí a thousand old familiar things, hut I give you my word, Clara, I never heard these old threadbare topics so intercstingly discussed before. Ho evidently took me for a fresh, untravclod giri, and was trying to spread beforo me visions of things I had never seen, and, as he supposed, was never likely to see. The sun waa already declining when Ilarriet's voice oalled ua back, and ah, Clara! ought I to be ashained to confess it, I was glad when he whispered to me: 'Til see you to-morrow, Aan! Clara, I havo seen him for a good many tomorrows. Ho bas rowed rue uut to seo the sun set. he has fetchcd me to see it rise, he has sat in the porch in the stai-liyht teaching mo the names of the stars, he has taught me to switn in the Httle bay, he lias sut reading to me through the drowsy afternoons in the dear old kitcben while Ilari-iet gewed. Clara, if I dared I tvould lovo him- but his manner to me is notliing more than kind and friendly. and even patronizlng. Ho never soeks to t.ako me anywhere that Harriet eau not go with us, and is no moro friendly to me than to her. He simply wishes to givo the poor little Bohool-teaoher a happy holiday, and a littlo upward step to hiffher things. He is abovn all a gentleman and a man of honor. Oh, Clara, if he iLirht love me, and 1 himl 1 havo mado a. disooverj', though, which would put an inseparable bar beuveen iis, even if I had not by my own atupidity raised a still stronger one. Ho is a very poor man. The yacht does notbelong to him, but to one of his flrm who is in Europe for a few weeks, and having the boat alreaüy in commission lont it to Mr. Douglas durinf? his absenco. If I had not foolishly put a lio botween myself and his lovo it would still be impossible for me, with my extravagant notions, to become the wife of a very poor man. I could not help him, and 1 should only be a drag on him and bring him to ruin. Ko, Clara, it is better so, but ' very ünhappy, and Iess than ever Inclined t.o marry that priff, Pryor D. Your Miserable Friend, (Continued next week.)