"This discovery roused all the evil passions in my heart, and I determined to remove her in the same manner I had removed her father.

"Provided with the means of executing my fell purpose, I did not delay it. You were present, reverend sir, when I dropped poison, unperceived, iuto her wine, and you may remember how soon it took effect?'

"I remember she was suddenly seized with illness after drinking a glass of champagne," he replied, with a look of horror; "but I little thought the wine had been drugged-nor did any one."

"She recovered," pursued the guilty woman; "and all might have been well if I could have resisted the dreadful temptation to which I was subjected. But I yielded.

"Again I contrived to give her poison, and another seizure followed Doctor Spencer was sent for. The symptoms could not be mistaken; the terrible crime was discovered, and quickly traced to me. The poison being found in my possession, my guilt was established.”

"It may comfort you to learn that Mildred will recover, observel Mr. Massey. "The medicines given her by Doctor Spencer have produced a wonderful effect. At first I had little hope. But now I have every confidence that her life will be spared."

"'Tis well," she replied. "But my doom is sealed. Doctor Spencer took away the phial containing the poison; but I had enough left for myself." "And you have done this desperate deed?" he asked.

If I could see her, and
But I have not strength

"I could not live," she replied. "I should go mad. But that Mildred will live is the greatest possible consolation to me. obtain her forgiveness, I think I could die in peace. to go to her."

"She is here," said the chaplain.

The dying woman raised her eyes, and beheld Mildred standing before her, wrapped in a loose robe, and supported by Emmeline and Rose Hartley. Behind them was Chetwynd, who closed the door after him as he came in. Mildred's countenance was exceedingly pale; but her eyes were bright, and her looks seemed almost angelic to the despairing Teresa, who crept humbly towards her.

"I do not deserve pardon," said the penitent woman. "Yet for the sake of Him who died for us, and washed out our sins with His blood, I implore you to forgive me!"

66

"I do forgive you," rejoined Mildred. "I have come hither for that purpose. May Heaven have mercy upon you!"

"Since your repentance is sincere, daughter," said the chaplain, "may your sins be blotted out, and the guilt of your many offences be remitted." "Amen!" exclaimed Chetwynd.

"Then farewell!" said Teresa, in a faint voice. "Farewell, Emmeline ! farewell, Chetwynd! Think not of me with abhorrence; but, if you can, with pity!"

Without a word more, she sank backwards, and expired.

Chetwynd caught her before she fell, and placed her on a couch.

All those who had witnessed her death had departed, except Mr. Massey, who was still in the room when Lord Courland entered.

it.

On beholding the body, he uttered a frenzied cry, and and rushed towards

"I would have given five years of my own life to exchange a few words with her ere she breathed her last " he exclaimed, in a voice of bitterest anguish and self-reproach.

"You loved her, then, deeply, my lord ?" said Chetwynd.

"She was the only woman I ever loved," replied Lord Courland. "Farewell, Teresa!"

Bending down and kissing her brow, he quitted the room with Chetwynd.

An amusing bye-play of incidents in the lives of those with whom Chetwynd became acquainted during his days of adversity, and of the upper domestics in the houses of wealthy country people, runs through the story like an under-current, and adds considerably to the dramatic action of the whole, if not actually necessary to the development of a story which may fairly be placed as among the most striking and amusing of any penned by the popular author, when he has condescended to leave the arena of that which is historical incident to illustrate those events which are sometimes attendant upon the domestic career.

JUNE ROSES.

LITTLE lips for kissing made,
Opening like the buds of spring,

Just a year ago you said

To my eager questioning:

"Thou shall know our answer soon,
When the roses blow in June."

Little lips, that never yet

To your love have traitors been,
When a few more suns have set,

May will vanish from the scene;
"You must give your answer soon,
When the roses blow in June."

Little lips, now June is here,
Why so silent still are ye?
Why so primly pursed? I fear
Ye would only sport with me;
"Winter will be here too soon,
If all roses blow in June."

W. J. STEWART.

HORACE DRAPER.

BY J. T. W. BACOT.

Author of "Mary Burroughes," &c.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE CONSPIRACY.

SOME uneasy feeling made Florence write to Captain Draper after he conversation with Edward Chalmers. Two or three little circumstances recurred to her mind, and she felt there was a mystery somewhere. She was like a child with a dissected map, she could not put the pieces together, and yet there must be a connection if she could only find it out. Why had that young man Gregory been engaged in following Captain Draper? And why had the Doctor at Silverbeach been so curious about her mother? She made up her mind that she owed a letter to her old friend; so she sent him a long description of school life at Eichelskamp, and in the postscript a full account of the conversation she had held with Mr. Chalmers. To her great surprise she got an answer in person.

"So curious, Miss Huntingdon !" said Mrs. Schlagenweit, "Captain Draper, the very gentleman we were talking about the other day, is in the parlour, and wishes to see you. Pray ask him, while he remains at Eichelskamp, to make this house his home, and beg of him to join us at dinner."

Florence hurried off, and shook hands delightedly with her old friend.

"How are you, and how are your papa? and what made you travel down here this cold weather?" she asked, all in one breath. "My dear Florence," replied the Captain, "everybody is well, and the reason I am here is that I could not trust the post."'

Not trust the post to bring an answer to my stupid letter?" "Not the post nor the postman, my dear Florence. I don't like trusting these four walls even! The fact of the matter is, that this is a terrible business about Mr. Chalmers and his grandfather, and Horace Draper, and all the rest of them."

"You did not marry Alice Chalmers, did you, Captain Draper? Are you the right Horace Draper after all ?"

"That is the horrible part of the business, Florence,-I am Horace Draper !"'

But then, please, Captain Draper, why did you tell Mr. Fortescue that your name was Huntingdon ?"

"Well, my dear child, taken suddenly aback, as one may say, it was natural to give the name."

"Then you did know Mr. Fortescue formerly?"

my life."

'No, my dear Florence, I never saw him before in all And here poor Captain Draper became so confused that he could only gaze helplessly at Florence, while Florence sat staring at him wondering if he had gone mad.

"I don't understand it," she said.

"That was my case exactly, Florence, when Dr. Sharperdown at Greylings-called me Horace Draper, just exactly in the same manner!"

"Did you tell him too that your name was Huntingdon ?" asked the astonished girl.

"No, certainly not. Why should I? I only asked him why he called me Horace Draper."

"And did this Doctor know about Alice Chalmers ?"

Yes, I suppose so, my dear; but he thinks Alice Chalmers was married, but she was not."

"But if you can prove she died unmarried that is all that is necessary," said Florence."

"She might have been married, for anything I know, my dear; but all I insist upon is that she did not marry Horace Draper. Look here, Florence, if they found out that she did, it would simply be the ruin of your poor-poor old friend!" And Captain Draper took Florence's hand, and looked as if he was going to cry. "But it was a marriage, then ?" persisted Florence.

"No, I think not."

"Did she believe she was married? Did you tell her so?" "I never saw her in all my life, Florence; so how could I tell her anything?"

"I think you ought to take me into your confidence, Captain Draper. I don't understand what you want me to do?"

"That is exactly my case, Florence; but I suppose I ought to tell you more. I have begun and I may as well go on. Listen, Florence. When I was young I had a brother, and he was as like me as one cherry is like another. Well, my dear, his name was, let us say, George."

"Wasn't his name George, then?" asked the puzzled girl.

"Yes, of course. Let me see," mused the Captain; "this must be the way of it,-George Draper goes to New Zealand and says he is Horace Draper! How would that do?"

"It was very wrong," said Florence.

'Very, my dear, and I told your father so, and he begged my pardon."

"My father beg your pardon? No, my brother begged your pardon.'

"Then, don't you see, George marries Alice in my name! Now, Florence, if this were ever found out my brother would be in a dreadful scrape?"

Then it was your Irother Mr. Fortescue met?" asked Florence. "Yes."

"But why did he say his name was Huntingdon?"

"I don't know, my dear; but I suppose once a man begins to tell lies, he has to go on. I do really think there's no end to it. But, Florence, you understand why I want to hush this matter up. Alice Chalmers was or was not married, and it would puzzle the Danes to make it all out; but you can't expect me to help in transporting my own brother Robert?"

"I thought you said his name was George?"

"Of course I did, George Robert. I used sometimes to call him one and sometimes the other. Do promise me, Florence, that you won't interfere any more in this matter?" And the girl saw a tear in his eye as he asked her.

"I promise," she said.

"Bless you, my dear!" he exclaimed; "you have taken quite a load off my mind."

"Mrs. Schlagenweit told me to ask you to dinner. Do you mind meeting this Mr. Chalmers ?"

"Not in the least. I will just put him off the scent by telling him the truth, that I never was in New Zealand, and never saw his Aunt Alice either." At dinner the Captain was quite radiant, "I have been laughing, my dear, sir," he said, to Edward Chalmers, "at the suspicions which have attached themselves to my unfortunate name. It certainly is a curious coincidence that there should be two Horace Drapers in the world; but most certainly I am not the one who was in New Zealand, and was supposed to have married your aunt, and it is equally certain that I never knew a Mr. Fortescue."

"I must look for the other Horace Draper," replied Edward; "the only clue is that he called himself Huntingdon, and, by-thebye, I recollect now that he was walking with another gentleman whose name certainly was Huntingdon, for Mr. Fortescue told me that he met the younger man afterwards at the hotel."

"Did he ?" replied the Captain. "Ah, I think I recollect that Mr. Alfred Huntingdon once told me he had seen a man who was the very image of me, and might have been my brother."

"Have you a brother, Captain Draper?''