THE kitchen at Orlesmere was old-fashioned, as was everything about Orlesmere. The walls were covered with symbols of past ages: huge flagons, deep drinkinghorns, and black leathern buckets hung suspended from the side-beams, and large wooden trenchers stood in rows on the shelves, There was a little cupboard window in the wall near the door, through which it had been the custom for the cooks in the Orlesmere kitchen to pass the dishes that were ready for the table to the footman waiting with out, for it was considered an infringement on the cook's privileges that any servant unconnected with her own especial office should enter her domain. There was another window, a large one, looking out into the park, and near this stood a huge block of wood, on which meat was formerly chopped, but now its principal use was to enable shortlegged damsels to take hasty peeps at the passers-by without.

This window was the one grace to the chamber. An elm-tree threw its boughs across the diamond-shaped lattice work, and in the spaces between the branches could be seen the long line of a noble avenue of limes, the path under which was nearly opposite to the window. The poor heated eyes that watched the kitchen hearth in the early morning would be tantalized by the shimmer of dew-wet leaves playing against the lattice.

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dinates, and in respect by those from whom she took what were called orders," but which, when addressed to her, sounded very like requests.

No one at Orlesmere knew aught of Mrs. Maurice's antecedents. A bachelor is not apt to be over-scrupulous as to character, especially when the applicant for a situation possesses unusual attractions. Ere entering Lord Orlesmere's service, Mrs. Maurice had been the cordon bleu at a London club, and she boasted with truth that in those branches of her profession, to which she paid attention, she was unrivalled.

It was an evening in June, and all the western side of Orlesmere was red in the sun. The dim tapestry that hung in the corridors seemed to tremble into life at that heavenly visitation, and to be transfigured by that passionate welcome and farewell of the angel of light; the Dutchman drinking from a flagon caught bright gleams on his jolly round face and gold-wrought cup; the Spaniard kissing his mistress on a shadowed balcony, became all too visible to his jealous rival below; the quaint flowers, the alert hounds, the flying deer, the eager huntsmen; all these and many other devices, imaged by fingers that had been dust for centuries, were warmed into something resembling their old vivid outline by the sun's mellow light.

From a far-off drawing-room came the sound of a woman's sweet voice, singing to a harp. Sometimes a child's laugh, followed by the patter of little feet, broke not inharmoniously on the faint distant thrills of melody.

Sometimes came a rustle of trailing silks down the corridor, and a passing hand would pluck out the contents of the potpourri vases, sending forth the sad fragrance of dead rose-leaves, as the fair owner looked wistfully from the window at the movements of a young man, who was talking to his dogs in the courtyard below.

The cool grey vapours that clung to the elm-tops; the fresh winds that stirred the avenue in one continuous ripple all down its misty length; the sudden shadow of the bird sweeping by the narrow panes; all these pleasant sights must have seemed unkind mockeries to the poor drudges com- Lord Orlesmere (for it was he who pelled to pass the day in bending over was caressing the pointers) looked up, stewpans and pastry boards, heated by the and nodded to the occupant of the fire, and irritated by constant petty anxie- casement; he was rich, young, and handties. But there was one woman who never some, and was betrothed to this young permitted herself to be either worried or lady. Had he wished it, he might have overworked -a woman whose attire was as spent a pleasant hour in wandering with spotless as that of any lady visitor to her through his noble gardens, where red Örlesmere, and whose dainty fingers were roses drooped their heads over the grey never employed in any task more disagree- terraces, and downy-cheeked peaches nestable than that of fabricating the most ethe-led in their parent branches against the real of souffles, the most subtle of sweets, for her master's table.

This was the housekeeper and head-cook, Jane Maurice, commonly called Mrs. Maurice, for she was held in awe by her subor

long range of the dusk red walls. But such is the perversity of man that Lord Orlesmere, after acknowledging his ladylove's greeting, sauntered away out of sight of the window, and was presently standing

line.

at the kitchen door engaged in conversation this Hood; his blue eyes seemed all canwith his housekeeper, Mrs. Maurice. dour and cheeriness; his fair short curls Looking at her as she leaned against the the perfection of boyish simplicity; but he massive nail-studded door, toying with her was not quite so young as the curls indiwhite apron while she answered her mas-cated, and his face in repose showed lines ter's remarks, you would never have sus- of care which accorded ill with features alpected her of being in any way connected most infantine in their delicacy of outwith the domestic service of an English household. She resembled rather a beautiful sombre-eyed Spaniard; her eyes were large and black, their shadow being intensified by the breadth of black eyebrow and long lashes; the forehead was low, the hair which rippled over it in natural waves was as blue-black as a raven's wing, and was gathered in rich shining bands round the head.

In such a face you see at first little but the splendour of night in hair and eyes, and indeed the rest of the features were not worthy of these her salient attractions. The face was short, white, and meagre; the nose slightly turned up; the lips pale and thin: neither was her figure symmetrical; the shoulders were too high, the bust too full, the waist too small. Her hands were delicate and white - "and no wonder, when she does nothing to blacken them," her less fortunate assistants were wont to observe. It was remarkable that her dress, always of clean cotton material, looked on her more distinguished than did much richer robes worn by the noble ladies who were wont to visit Orlesmere.

As she stood on this June evening, her cotton dress falling round her in pure transparent folds, the sun full on her wondrous eyes and glossy coils of hair, Lord Orlesmere swore in his heart "that a handsomer woman never blessed man's sight." The young nobleman was lingering near her for the ostensible purpose of announcing the advent of some guests to his table that night, when he heard the clatter of a horse's hoofs behind him; and, turning round, perceived that his steward, Ambrose Hood, had entered the yard.

"And how are you to-day, Mrs. Maurice?" His tones were clownish compared to hers, even when his intention was courteous; but to the woman looking up at him from the doorway his voice seemed the sweetest music that ever thrilled her ears. Come in, Ambrose, won't you?"

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Well, I don't know. I was passing by on my way home from market, so I thought I'd just let my Lord's foreman know how the beasts sold, but I didn't count on getting off my horse, and it's getting late!"

He hesitated. She looked up eagerly, but it was not her look that prevailed with him (although she thought it was): it was the glimpse he caught of a fair-haired girl moving across the passage within.

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"I think I will come in for a bit," he decided; and giving his horse to a lad to hold, he entered the house in company with Mrs. Maurice.

"Come into my own sitting-room, Ambrose." "My own sitting-room was a pleasant little chamber. Short white muslin curtains put a shroud between the hot sun and the comfortable chintz-covered sofa that stood near the window; a bunch of roses nodded their crumpled heads together in a blue jug on the table; a fly hummed drowsily on the window ledge, and a cat curled up in the sun was watching the fly stealthily with a look of gentle languor subduing the mischief in its eyes.

Mrs. Maurice ordered tea for herself and Hood, and then brought from a cupboard a basket filled with hot-house fruit and lightly covered by vine leaves.

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"I plucked them for you myself," she said, with a look of soft exultation in her large eyes. The gardener said he'd give me anything in the world I liked-and so, what I liked was to get these for you! Hood ate the fruit with a contented ex

In this movement Lord Orlesmere lost sight of Mrs. Maurice's face. He did not see the joyous light that blazed up in the melancholy eyes. He did not see how every expressive feature-even down to the rest-pression. less hands-spoke of some strong emotion, kindled by the sight of the blue-eyed, fairhaired yeoman.

Lord Orlesmere acknowledged his steward's salutation briefly

"I wish to see you to-morrow morning, Hood!" he said. "Be here at twelve o'clock."

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Thank you, Jenny," he said. "I do think you're fond of me. I wonder what there is you wouldn't do for me!" There is nothing in the world I wouldn't and you, you know it!"

do for

Her deep voice trembling with tenderness, the yearning love in her eyes, the caressing touch of her hand in his hair, all "Very good, my Lord!" conspired to lure him away from the thought He was a handsome round-faced Saxon, of the fair woman he had seen in the pass

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"Dear me, Mr. Hood, how you flurry me!" was that damsel's remark, as Hood walked off, leaving her with flushed cheeks and cap awry.

sage and caught hold of fair-haired Marga- visage was hanging over him contorted with ret, who was passing quite accidentally," anguish. His betrothed was wasting out she said. her eyes in tears at his feet; and his brother was looking at him with a fierce yearning gaze, as though entreating the cold lips to yield up the name of him who had thus robbed them of the joy of life and love. The calm face could make no sign; there was no trace of suffering left to disturb its impassive sweetness. But for the dull red clot under the hair that waved over his left temple, you would have said that Lord Orlesmere had died a painless death, "By the visitation of God!"

As he crossed the yard he whispered to Mrs. Maurice, "Good night, darling;' then in an impressive tone, "Don't forget you are to meet him at eleven." He jumped on his horse and rode down the park without turning his head, and the black appealing eyes watched him until the red blaze of the setting sun swam like a lurid mist before them, and then wiping away the hot tears from her lids, she returned to the house, and was once more the haughty, arrogant (and in her own domain the absolute) Mrs. Maurice.

He had not been missed for several hours after he had sauntered down the lime-walk to keep his appointment with Mrs. Maurice. He had excused himself to his guests on the plea he had important letters to write, and he told his valet that he should not require his services any further that night. So the guests sang, talked, and laughed, and the servants made merry in the servants' hall,

the host and master was lying on his back in the thick grass behind one of his pleasure-houses, the death-sweat on his face and a bullet through his brain.

When it was eleven o'clock she tied a red handkerchief round her wealth of hair, and went through the cool glooms of the avenue-cach happily unconscious of the fact that towards the appointed spot. The skies were thick with stars that night; the air sweet with the scent of hay that came up from the far-off misty pastures. No sound could be heard, except the distant bark of a dog, or the plaintive cry of a deserted fawn, entreating in fawn language that its mother should cease nibbling the grass, and bring the comfort of its warm brown speckled body to its shivering offspring. There was nothing in that scene boding evil or

distress.

It had been better had the sky been red with lightning and the air thick with storm, for then perchance the appointment might have been broken, and a great crime spared.

Again it was afternoon at Orlesmere; the sun shone as hotly as yesterday on the grand old towers -the breeze rose in sighs and sank in whispers as sadly, as playfully through the lime-boughs and the stream that ran through Lord Orlesmere's woods whirled in the breeze and sparkled in the sun, as if it were enraptured by the sense of its own petulant liberty and restless grace. But within the house had fallen the hush of an awful sorrow; no echo of childish prattle, no snatches of song, came out of the black shadows of the rooms above and below, now darkened by the presence of death. Pale, awe-stricken faces passed slowly to and fro the corridors, and the tremulous pause of sobbing voices betrayed the secret of Lord Orlesmere's bedchamber. He lay there dead-his soul with its Creator-his eyes turned away for ever from the gaze of lover or friend! His mother's

He lay there the whole night, untended and unsought for - his eyes were turned upwards, but he could not see the bright stars grow pale through the fir-branches above his head; he could not hear the busy clamour of the rooks, when the grey morning dawned; could not feel the sweet fresh air that shook the dew-drops on his cheek and showered the petals of the lilacs over his motionless hands.

The air was glad with the sounds of life; but his voice might never again awake the echoes in those dim woodlands- never more give welcome, nor answer greeting. They had found him at eleven in the morning: now it was afternoon, and Mrs. Maurice was sitting alone in the little room where she had entertained her lover on the previous day. Her eyes looked more sombrous than ever, from the deadly pallor of her cheeks; she was pale at all times, but today her face was livid. She gave, however, no other outward sign of trouble; she did not wail with the noisy grief of the other women-servants she neither wept nor raved. There was that in her mind which defied the power of human lineaments to express. She sat and furtively watched the muslin curtains, as though she expected to see Lord Orlesmere's shadow again pass the blind. No one knew of her appointment with the dead man, nor was it her intention at present to enlighten Mr. Hardware on this subject; for it was that gen