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"I believe not," he answered, with some asperity.

"Oh, please don't be cross with me, Monsieur le Baron," pouted the child, regaining her sauciness; "I only wanted to know if he had got safely across that great, ugly ocean."

Dassel muttered something to himself; then, regaining his good-temper, pinched Susie's rosy cheek, whispering,

"What interest have you in the matter, little lady?"

"Oh, not any. Only he's a neighbor, you know, and I-promised not to forget to inquire."

"Exactly. Well, I will keep you informed. As soon as a letter arrives you shall hear of it. Probably there will be one for you also."

"No, there will not," regretfully. "Robbie wouldn't promise to correspond with me, though I asked him to."

"Unkind and ungallant! positively rude!" said the man of the world, with an amused smile. "To refuse a lady!

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"I think Robbie Cameron is very gentlemanly," replied Susie, with some indignation. "I should not have asked him. I should have waited for him to ask me.

That is what women must always do-wait, and be silent,"-with a little sigh.

"I've been proposing to her, madame, and she runs away, in anger."

"If she was a few years older, Baron, but you'll not wait. We're not all blind at Rose Villa. We know what's about to happen. How curious it would turn out if we should all become one family, as it were,—wouldn't it, now?”

The baron bowed and smiled, glancing at poor blushing Sammy.

That afternoon, when Grizzle, senior, came home to dinner, he brought a note from Miss Bayles to his wife, which said that she could spare Saturday to put the finishing touches to that lady's portrait, if the diamonds were home and ready to be painted.

It seems Mrs. Grizzle's jewels had been at Ball & Black's for some alterations in the setting, and had not been, as yet, transferred, in all their costly splendor, to the portrait.

"Why, yes," said the matron, reading the note over aloud at the table, “I can spare Saturday. You mustn't forget to call for them dimonds to-morrow, Grizzle, and do be careful of 'em. They cost too much money to lose,-twelve thousand dollars in all, Mr. Dassel. You know you looked at 'em one day."

"You'll want them Monday, also, for Miss Bulbous' soirée dansante, will you not?" asked Mr. Dassel.

"To be sure. I forgot to tell you,

"Who taught you that, Miss Griz- Grizzle, about the party. Miss Bulbous zle?"

"My own observation, Monsieur le Baron."

"Ah! but warm-hearted little ladies like you cannot always be so discreet. You made love to Robbie."

"Who told you so?" her cheeks flaming up.

"Who but Robbie? I'm afraid he laughed at you, my dear. If I were you I would have my revenge. Marry me, now, and show him that you do not care for him."

Susie did not hear this last consolatory advice; her breast was choked with rage and grief; to hide her tears, she jumped from her chair and ran out of the room.

"What's the matter with Susie?"

gives one before she goes back to town. She said it was to be a small affair; but she never does things by halves. The whole neighborhood will be there, at least. Yes, I shall want my dimonds, and don't you forget 'em, Grizzle. Look-a-here, Sam, what are you going off before the desert for, I'd like to know?"

"Oh, I ain't," said that young gentleman, coming back to his chair. "I was just looking out to see if it was fairly dark yet."

"Time enough, and to spare," said his mother, winking at Mr. Dassel. "The Camerons hain't finished their dinner yet. You mustn't go over before eight o'clock. Are you intending to spend the evening there, Mr. Dassel?"

"No, I think I'll take the next train to the city. Don't wait up for me, as I expect to stay all night. I've business early in the morning."

"Hurry up the fixings, then," said the lady of the house to the elegant headwaiter, "or Mr. Dassel will have to go without his coffee."

The profuse and rich dessert was brought on; the aroma of mocha floated through the brilliantly-lighted room, whose windows, looking on the lawn which lay betwixt the house and Mr. Cameron's grounds, were so private that the servants had not thought worth while to drop the blinds.

In the meantime, a solitary watcher was looking across into the cheerful gorgeousness of those windows. Lissa Cameron had stolen from their dinner before the courses were half served, to the darkness and loneliness of the library, which had not yet been lighted, and stood within the curtains of a window which overlooked Rose Villa. She was enduring the severest struggle of her life, save one. One other wretched afternoon she had been in a wilder tumult of conflicting feeling than now. As she thought of that afternoon, of all she had suffered since, of the future, she wrung her hands together in a silent passion of misery.

The moonless darkness deepened, and Rose Villa shone out brightly.

"They are warm-hearted," she murmured," and they will give me money to do as I please. I can change many things about the house,-soften down their vulgarity, after a time-and they will be very kind to me. I can relieve my father of my support, so that he can do more for Milla and Robbie. Milla can remain at home under mother's care, and that will please Louis, who has always seemed so happy in our family-circle.

"I shall never marry any one for love, and why not this good-natured simpleton, and show Louis how I despise love, and can live without it? We will have a diamond-wedding, we will patronize him and Milla,-I will always be able to dress superbly. I believe with dress,

and a little more experience, I could shine in society. He would see it!he-" but why follow the wild thoughts of a heart, which, in its misery, strove to gain a grain of comfort from unprofitable sources.

The moonless darkness deepened about the world; it was cloudy-no stars were in the sky; look where she would, there was nothing bright but Rose Villa, nearly all of whose windows flashed with light. She leaned her cold forehead against the colder glass, staring out with eyes, which, if the hopeful lover over there could have seen, would have startled him. Suddenly the door, opening upon a side-porch, was thrown wide by a servant, and Dassel stood one moment on the threshold, the full blaze of a hall-chandelier falling upon him, revealing the graceful outline of his tall figure, the floating, golden hair and tawny beard, the smiling, handsome face; then the door closed, and all was dark; but she heard the echo of his step on the gravelled paths.

"I shall die," moaned Elizabeth; "he has killed me."

She sank on her knees, because strength failed her, looking out into the night with strained, burning eyes; the echo of his step died away; she heard the shriek and uproar of an approaching train, thundering over the road, which lay, out of sight, along the river, below the lawn; then, again, all was silence and darkness, save the glaring windows of Rose Villa, which, like bold eyes, seemed to laugh at her agony.

She knelt there in the shadow until the door again opened, and the halllamp, this time, beamed upon Sam Grizzle, coming forth, she well knew upon what errand. Oh, where should she go? what should she do to escape? There was no escape for her. What mattered it? To get away-only to get away from this house, where he came, where Milla's happy contentment mocked her!-yes, to get away from these maddening things, she would fly even into Sam Grizzle's arms.

That calmness which is of despair settled down upon the storms which

had tossed her nature. Presently she heard the door-bell, and Sam's voice asking for her. If she had placed her finger on her wrist then, her pulse would have flowed evenly beneath its touch. She did not wait to be summoned, but glided out of the library into the parlor, and said good-evening to Sam with a grave smile, which turned him beetcolor instantly. He would have dropped down on his knees, at meeting this smile, had not Mr. and Mrs. Cameron entered in time to prevent such an oldfashioned proceeding.

Lissa had said nothing to her mother of the proposal she had received. She felt that her mother would disapprove of it, because she could not blind those loving eyes to the impulses which alone could urge her to accept it. So the parents, unaware of the fervor of Sam's wish that they were otherwise engaged, and seeking to assist their daughter in the task of entertaining their stupid but well-meaning young visitor, exerted themselves to have him feel at ease.

It was a dull evening. Milla came in for a few moments, but Mr. Dassel was not coming, and she had sat so long at the piano during the day that she was very tired and glad to slip out and give herself up to the care of old Sabrina. Sam was difficult to entertain. His mood was a mingled one, light and dark, like that new-fashioned triumph of cookery called marble-cake, and like that, on the whole, sweet. He answered with a broad smile to each and every remark, even when Mrs. Cameron asked him if he had noticed, in the evening papers, the death of a young gentleman, at Yonkers, by drowning, while bathing. Yet, while his face beamed like a sun-flower, he evidently was ill at ease. Whenever Lissa's eye by any chance met his, he made mysterious signs of distress, which, unstrung as were her nerves by the ordeal through which she had passed, struck upon them with the force of something intensely ludicrous. She laughed so much that her serene, gentle mother looked at her in surprise with reproof in her eyes.

Thus do tragedy and comedy play side by side in the drama of life.

In the midst of her wretchedness, Lissa's hysterical humor was caught by every trifle. Her father, with a man's ignorance of a woman's nature, was delighted to see his favorite so bright and well. Not that she looked as she did during those happy summer-weeks, when such a roseate atmosphere of joy hovered about her; but to have her playful and mirthful was a gain. He did not wonder at her being amused with Sam Grizzle, who might have made the Sphinx laugh with some of his agreeabilities.

At last the silvery voice of the libraryclock called ten. Sam cast a side-look of despair at Miss Cameron, and remarked,

"Don't let me keep you up beyond your common time, Mr. Cameron. Somehow, I don't feel sleepy, and if Miss 'Lizabeth would favor me with a little music, I could get along without your troubling yourselves."

The look which her father turned upon the guilty parties caused Lissa to beat a retreat to the piano. Her face was red, and her voice choked as she said,

"I will give you one song, and then you must go, Mr. Grizzle."

Sam smiled as usual, and came forward to turn the music.

"Now, Miss Lissa, you don't treat me fair,” in a voice which he thought was as low as it was reproachful. "I shan't sleep a wink to-night, if you don't do as you promised.”

Her hands ran over the keys, bending her head as if to read the notes before her, as she answered,

"Excuse me, Mr. Grizzle, the time has been so very brief. I have not talked with my mother. I cannot answer you to-night. Please go home, for I have thought so much my head aches."

"But when?" persisted the suitor. "Come, now, I'm in an awful way-"

"Well, why not say Monday evening. at the party? If I wear a camelia in my hair, it will mean 'yes.'"

"I'll send one over," said Sam, eagerly; "we've got lots of 'em in the hot-house."

"I shall find the flower if I need it."

"But that's three more days! I shan't know whether I'm standing on my head or my heels by that time. Why not say-" but Miss Cameron had burst into full song, and his plea was unheeded.

As soon as she had concluded, she arose and remained standing, and Sam had nothing to do but to bow himself

into the hall, which he did with a reproachful smile, fixed, unhappily, full upon Mr. Cameron, instead of his daughter, but in his confusion he was unaware of the difference.

"Why, Elizabeth, what's the matter with Mr. Grizzle? Does he mean that he has commenced an old-fashioned course of 'sparking,' by giving your parents permission to retire ?"

Mr. Cameron was laughing heartily. Lissa kissed him and her mother quickly, and ran up-stairs to avoid further questioning.

(To be continued.)

THE ROMANCE OF THE GREAT GAINES CASE.

A LIFE-TIME LAWSUIT.

"WHEN, hereafter, some distinguished American lawyer shall retire from his practice to write the history of his country's jurisprudence, this case will be registered by him as the most remarkable in the records of its courts."

So said the Supreme Court of the United States, speaking in the person of Associate-Justice Wayne, when in 1860, for the sixth time, it decided upon an issue in the famous case of Myra Clark Gaines.

Justice Wayne's language was judicially careful. The subject of his reference justified him in terming it the "most remarkable" in all the records of American courts. When he thus spoke, it had been for twenty-six years threading the tortuous path of the law. Commenced in 1834, it had been in every Court of Louisiana, and six times in the Supreme Court of the United States. It had at times been represented by the ablest counsel in the country, and at other times by no counsel at all. It had enlisted on one side romantic and sympathetic enthusiasm, and on the other had incurred the opposition of most immense and perfectly honest private interests. It had divided the Court in the most irreconcilable and

antagonistic opinions. It had been decided upon the same issues of fact, by the same bench of judges, in the light of substantially the same testimony, in precisely opposite directions.

One woman had been the moving spirit of all this litigation.

Her suit was a most audacious one. She attacked that most sensitive, most carefully-guarded interest, the possession of real property, and threatened in her efforts the overthrow of all that was stable in the ideas of law and custom, in respect to it. Her claim was for houses, lands, and human property, which had passed into the hands of hundreds of different owners. Their title could be traced back for years previous to the commencement of this suit, without a blemish of irregularity. It had come through dozens of hands, all of whom had bought and sold in perfect good faith, and without the shadow of suspicion.

It was the one woman against five hundred men.

It was one resolute claim for Abstract Justice against five hundred apparent Rights, fortified in every tradition of law, and every selfish interest of organized society.

The evidence to support the claim was as remarkable as the demand itself. At the end of twenty-six years of law, when Justice Wayne pronounced his decision, he passed in review upon allegations of fact running back into the last century. He inquired into the most private life of individuals, and analyzed their most intimate relations, in the earliest five years of the present century. Upon the view which the Court took of the occurrence or otherwise of circumstances alleged to have happened in those years, depended the result of this case. And finally, they being determined favorably to the claims of Mrs. Gaines, her fortunes turned upon the established existence of a will, which even she did not pretend ever had an existence after the decease of the testator, and the purport of which had no other proof than the recollections, after the lapse of more than forty years, of aged and infirm persons who remembered hearing it read.

Such were some of the features which the learned justice pronounced "most remarkable."

Let us draw from this tangled skein of real life, the thread of romance, whose remote end, silvered by Time, has its origin seventy years ago in an atmosphere of society and under a system of government so foreign that we can now scarcely realize them.

We must go back to the commencement of the present century, and imagine ourselves in New Orleans, under the Spanish rule. The laws were a curious mixture of weak civil authority and decaying ecclesiastical control. The Spanish possessions, in America, were but an extra pawn upon the chessboard of European politics. New Orleans was a true tropical city; its population amalgamated from a dozen different races; its morals corrupted from as many different sources. Already it was the seat of luxury, for the great Mississippi rolled past its levées, then as now. Rich princes of landed estates, wealthy merchants and extensive traders, as well as proud grandees of an ancien régime, sipped sherbets under the magnolias.

Among the rich men of the city in this stage of its existence, whose ships were on many seas, and whose interests were recorded in the counting-houses of many cities, was Daniel Clark, a shipping-merchant and a politician. He stood at the head of his rank, a prince among a class whose luxurious and elegant life has seldom been surpassed. Born at Sligo, in Ireland, an uncle in New Orleans, a bachelor-as all the merchants of the city were—had invited him to come to the New World, engage with him in business, and become his heir. The estate thus inherited had been boldly and skilfully managed. Fortunate ventures had added to it, and illegitimate as well as strictly proper means had probably gone to swell the grand aggregate.

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This merchant-prince was a man of strong character, restless and far-reaching ambition, whose imperious will little brooked opposition, and knew no control except the code which a society composed of such as himself rudely organized and often violently maintained. Justice Wayne, in delivering the opinion of the Supreme Court, at the term of 1847, described him as a man of no ordinary character, or influence on those who were about him. His natural fitness to control became habitual, as his wealth and standing increased, and it was exercised, and involuntarily yielded to by all who associated or were in business with him. He was a man of high qualities, but of no rigor of virtue or self-control; energetic, enterprising, courageous, affectionate, and generous, but with a pride which had yielded to no mortification until his affection subdued it to a sense of justice in behalf of his child."

Such a character filled a prominent place in the political and social life of New Orleans. In 1798 he had acted as consul on behalf of the interests of the United States. When, in 1802, he vis ited Paris, he was treated with marked respect by the French Government, which, having obtained the cession of Louisiana from Spain by the secret treaty of St. Ildefonso, was desirous of

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