silk, falls of foamy lace, and a cluster of pearls on her bosom, gave an Undine-like effect to her pure lines and clear paleness, too little relieved by vivacity and color. He found her less beautiful than he had supposed, missing the animation he saw upon her face in that stolen view under the ailanthus tree. No possible belle of the ball-room was she, with her calm face and seeming coldness of manner; yet all maidenly, not cold, was that reserve which encompassed her, "as a fountain's silver waters Clip a little marble naiad, sitting smilingly within.” It was, at any rate, only an added charm to Lander. He waltzed with Mrs. Emery, and was granted a quadrille by Miss Conway, who declined to waltz at all. Later, they joined other promenaders in pacing the veranda, breathing the seabreeze, warm, yet fresh and thrilling, passing from moonlight to shadow, out into the blaze that poured from the long windows, and bask to shadow again, while the music throbbed round them in regular pulsations. Acquaintance thrives more rapidly in such circumstances than under vulgar gas-light. Lander ventured to allude to the afternoon's reading, without, however, betraying how close a neighbor he had been, and thence they drifted into the pleasant sea of literary discussion, finding various diversities and harmonies in their opinions, but both uniting in devotion to Tennyson. The "Idyls of the King," then in their first bloom of novelty, fell under discussion. Let him use his wings, then, and that will prove he can do better than plough," said Miss Conway, smiling archly. A gentleman stepped through the window just then, to claim her for the Lancers, and Lander, not inclined to dance, stood looking after her graceful motions. He had no more tête à têtes with Helen that night, but he persistently improved his acquaintance with her party. Richard Lander, smoking his late cigar that night, and building castles in Spain, all tenanted by the fair, womanly presence from which he had just parted, might have felt his ears burn if there had been any truth in the old adage. His new acquaintances were lingering in Mrs. Emery's room for that reminiscent gossip which is often the pleasantest part of an evening's gayety, "A pretty dream of bygone virtues and heroism, not fitted for this age," said Lander, who was a devotee of Maud and its bitter philosophy. "It sounds well enough fitted for any age, I and he himself was under discussion. think," said Miss Conway: "A right good fellow, I guess," said goodnatured Alfred Emery, in answer to his wife's questions, "though he might have been a better one, if he had had anything to do, and been made to do it. He never seems in earnest about anything, you know. He is not very popular among other young men, for he don't join in so heartily in whatever is going, as some fellows do. Harry Frazer says he always seems to be saying-'I could if I would, but it's not worth trying.' Any profession, did you ask? Well, yes; he was admitted to the bar, and made one speech a first-rate maiden speech it was, too; but that's all he ever did at it." If there is anything I despise, it is a selfish, in dolent dilettante, such as Alfred describes." "Oh, Nellie! you never have any charity for a fellow that don't come up to your fancy-standard," said her brother-in-law. "Dick Lander is not a man to be despised. If he never did any great good in the world, he would scorn to do anything gross, or mean, or evil, either, and that's no small praise." "Yes, Helen; your fault is to judge people too quickly, by the piece you first happen to see of them," added Mrs. Emery. But Helen only shook her head at the reproof. Of this judgment of hers, Richard Lander, however, had no idea, neither then nor during the following week, during which he prosecuted his acquaintance with his new friends assiduously. He rode and strolled with them, and shared their quiet hours of talk and work whenever it was possible. He became a great favorite with Mrs. Emery, to whom he devoted himself much more openly than to Helen-a not unusual phenomenon in such cases-and little Lena Emery and he were the most devoted of friends, amassing treasures of shells and sea-weed together, and exchanging opinions and confidences with much affection and harmony. With Helen, his progress towards intimacy was less manifest. She did not guess that it was she who drew him to them; that day by day his first attraction towards her grew deeper and intenser; that under the languid, nonchalant manner that had become an established habit with him, an earnestness of desire and purpose never felt before was wakening to life. He interested her often. She could not but compare his conversation favorably with that of young gentlemen of the commonplace type who came and went around her; yet often, when enjoying it most, some token of his lack of sympathy with the life and work of the present, some expression of fastidious distaste for the workers of the age, who were the especial objects of her enthusiasm, would vex and repel her; a feeling seldom manifested except by a cool withdrawal from the conversation, which Lander scarcely perceived in the usual calm of her demeanor. Before a week had passed, he had ceased to question himself in regard to his own feelings, and was only anxious to elicit some expression of hers. Meditating, not unhopefully, upon this theme one morning, and softly humming to himself— "He either fears his fate too much, he sought the beach, hoping to join the ladies in their morning stroll. He soon found them, but engaged in such an animated conversation that, hesitating to break in upon it, he was passing, with a bow, when Mrs. Emery called to him-" Do come and help me make this obstinate girl hear reason, Mr. Lander! She insists on going off in this afternoon's boat, to New York, instead of waiting for Alfred, who returns here to-morrow morning, to go with her. She has had a letter from our father, which alarms her about his health, and nothing will do but she must go immediately. Ought I to let her go alone in this way, now?" 'Don't trouble about 'oughts' when you cannot help a thing, sissy, dear," said Helen, playfully and coaxingly, "and don't try to entrap Mr. Lander into the disagreeableness of taking sides;" glancing archly at him. "I must go, indeed," she added, more seriously; “and if Alfred had come to-day, even, I should not be willing to take him away again immediately, Why, what is it, after all, Susan? Just to step on board the boat and go into a quiet state-room, and waken next morning in New York, with Uncle John there to meet me. Behold the horrors of that 'journey of an unprotected female,' which daunts you so! Be a good girl, and let me go pack, now, as soon as I have said good-by to Mr. Lander;" turning and holding out her hand to him, with a frank friendliness, whose warmth was due to the moment of parting. Richard could hardly frame some awkward phrase of adieu. His silence and dismay were noticeable enough to Mrs. Emery; but Helen was less keenly observant. Lander found himself alone, with a head whirling and a heart aching in a kind of chaos of thought, soon taking shape, however, under the light of an idea that he too might have an immediate and pressing summons to New York. Nothing strange in that for any one! And then-and then-any sudden speech with Helen, would be better than to lose sight of her before he should "Put it to the touch, To win or lose it all." The ladies did not appear at the dinner-table. So much the better, he thought. A note of explanation and adieu could be left for Mrs. Emery; and he had no desire that Helen should be aware of his plan till they met on the boat. So the first intimation Miss Conway had of his presence on board, was when he found her looking out over the waters to the full moon that rose before them, as sunset burned behind, while the passengers had mostly plunged into the fearful depths below, called the diningsaloon. Her start and change of countenance, as he addressed her, might well have been misinterpreted. The fact was, it was the first moment in which she suspected his feelings for her, and the idea brought with it a feeling of dismay. But the emotion she showed, only hastened the avowal he had already determined on, and gave it a tone of self-confidence that wounded her pride. Lander started in his turn, as her cold, clear words of rejection fell on his ears. He was not meanly vain, and yet it had never really crossed his mind that she could fail to reciprocate the love that had so filled his heart for her. He spoke earnestly enough, now-"Miss Conway, is this answer indeed final? I have been too hasty. Grant me time to prove to you my love-my devotion, in which I fear you do not yet believe." "No, Mr. Lander," answered Helen, calmly, though the color rose and glowed in her cheek"a knowledge of your feelings could not alter my decision. It is based on my own." tion, and makes the best of his nature serve its lowest." "And that character you mean for me?" he inquired, with frowning brows. Your own words-your own indolent, aimless life, describe your character, not I," she answered. "I have no right, and no desire to criticize you; but you would have it. For me, I would sooner take a hand blackened with daily toil, than the soft hand that scorns to help the world one hair's breadth on its way." "Enough, Miss Conway," said Lander, bowing haughtily. "Whatever injustice your opinion does me, I shall make no effort to change so rooted a prejudice. Good evening!" And he hastily left her, with such feelings raging within him as nothing till now had given him a hint lay coiled there. For hours he sat upon the deck, with hat drawn down upon his brow, and chin resting on his clinched hand, looking far away with eyes that saw nothing. He would be revenged on this proud woman, yet. 'Selfish indolent!" How dared she use such words to him? “A hand blackened with daily toil!"-some greasy, coarse mechanic, she had in her mind's eye, perhaps. He raged over that image as Cloten over Imogen's taunt of his meanest garment." But Richard Lander was no Cloten. Through all his angered pride, a sense of truth in what The love and the pride that had run so smoothly, unchecked in their channels, rose and broke in tumultuous spray as they encountered this firm obstacle. He rose hastily, and moved a few paces from her. Passion, love, anger, she had said, pierced to his conscience. She had swelled and strove stormily within him. He turned, and strode again to her side, looking down almost in wrath at the still statuesque face looking out seaward-"At least," he said, "I may ask the reason of this strange fixity of decision, that will not allow even a chance of change." "That, sir, you have no right to ask; or at least, to demand," she answered, meeting his gaze with eyes as proud as his own. "No right!" cried he, vehemently—"No right to question a decision that must darken my whole life? I have a right, by the love I feel for you, to demand some frankness from you. To know what in me inwardly, or outwardly, you object to; or whether another" He paused, feeling that passion was carrying him too far. but given form to the vague unrest of self-accusation that had embittered for him a life for which he was indeed too good. So in the dark watches of the night, a new and strange experience opened for him. The recollection of the past scene faded away, supplanted by that wonderful state of self-revelation that sometimes descends upon one, in which you stand apart from your own self, and looking down upon the life that seemed so fair while you were its indweller, see it by some supernatural light, and seeing it, comprehend for the time the mystic words " Except a man is born again, he cannot enter the kingdom of God." Sometimes it is granted a man to look back upon an hour in which he stood thus with full knowledge at the parting of the two ways, one to be chosen and the other left forever. Helen's calm was broken up, now, and she In Helen Conway's heart, too, conscience was too spoke with rapid vehemence-"I do not not silent that night. Like many reserved people, acknowledge your right; yet I will answer you, when urged to speech, she had said more than since you force me to it. I could never feel true she intended-more than she could justify to herrespect, far less love, for a man who lives for no self. "What right had I to speak?" she murend of use-who seeks only his self-gratifica-mured, tossing sleeplessly upon her pillow-" I, who fail forever in what I see and long to be? Pharisee that I am!" She was stirred to her very heart, too, by the love that had been avowed so unexpectedly. Had she known this, would she have judged him differently all the while? Who can decide the effects of such knowledge upon a woman? ready; yet we mustn't let them think there is any danger." It would be too much to expect that an inti mation of even distant and possible danger should be received with perfect calmness and quiet by several hundred people, numbering many women and children. Some shrieks and hysterical outbursts followed the quietest and most soothing communication that could be devised. But the quieting authority of the captain, and his smiling assurances that it was "all Somewhere late in the night, Lander roused himself from his abstraction to notice that something unusual was taking, or had taken place, upon the steamer. Men passed to and fro, not noisily, but with something intense in the quiet-right-all right; only they might have to disness and rapidity with which they moved. He caught a few ominous words from two men passing near him. Rising, he moved towards a figure in whose voice, energetic, though restrained, he recognized the captain's. 'Captain," said he, "it seems to me something is the matter. Is it an accident that has occurred, or a danger threatening? Can a mere passenger be of any use to you?" The captain turned his keen little eyes, scanning the speaker by the starlight. "Ah! it's you, Mr. Lander," he said. "I didn't know there was a passenger on deck, and didn't mean there should be, yet awhile. But I may as well tell you now. Something has happened. There is fire in the hold, and gaining on us fast, too, in spite of all we are doing, or can do." 'Bad for the poor boat, but not dangerous for the passengers, within sight of land, I suppose," said Lander, in as quietly unmoved a tone as if the startling intelligence were the most trifling matter-of-course. embark short of New York, and wait for the next boat," quieted the tempest that seemed to threaten into mere fermenting and agitated murmurs, as the passengers arrayed themselves and collected their portable properties. As Lander made his way to Miss Conway's state-room, the door noiselessly opened, and Helen appeared, fully dressed. Her pale face flushed crimson as she met him thus face to face, but he was past any feeling of constraint resulting from their last interview. He gave her the captain's soothing message. She stood silent a moment. Only that?" she said. Mr. Lander, I know there is something very serious the matter; do tell me just what it is. I am not so easily frightened by what I know, as by what I am left to guess." 44 Richard looked at her, meeting the steady brightness of eyes charged with courage enough to overcome the physical shrinking of fear, strong though that might be, and rightly judged that to give her full knowledge of their situation was the truest kindness. He told her just what "I hope so," said the captain, briefly, but the captain had told him. with not the most satisfactory intonation. "Fire!" She barely whispered it, and he only saw a momentary shudder run over her; but in that one moment she saw with terrible distinctness a blazing boat, the horror of a choice between the fiery and watery destroyer, the bitterness of death that might be near. She stood with dilated eyes that saw nothing, motionless as a statue. "There will be room in the boats for all the women and children, if the worst should come," At worst, we have the boats, and life-pre- cried Lander, with quick, reassuring confidence. servers plenty." 44 Dread nothing worse than discomfort, and some trying scenes." "She looked up at him, then. Even in that moment of great mental tension, she wondered at the light in his eyes-the passing away, as of a cloud from the sky, of the old look of languor and discontent. "Thank you for telling me," she said. Her voice trembled, but was low and quiet. "And you-and all the rest," she inquired presently, "have you the same chance of escape?" "No fear of us men, but that we will find something to float us to safety, if we need it," he answered, cheerily, hastening away. Helen stood gazing after him a moment, and then, as if inspired by his example, turned to soothe and comfort a poor woman near her, who was crying pitifully in concert with the baby in ber arms, while her sick husband, too weak to stand, sat on the floor beside her, leaning against her knees. A rattling peal of thunder broke in upon her words, and the heavy roar of rain beat on the metal roof. A sudden storm broke over them. Down rushed the waters from the sky, up heaved the waves from below, as the wind lashed them from their repose, but they were vain to contend against their everlasting enemy-fire. It seethed and raged beneath, and one swift tongue of flame leaped from durance, and ran up the wood-work aft; soon repressed, but a betrayer of the worst to those who saw it. Wild shrieks, and exclamations, and tumult echoed the fearful knowledge that spread from one to another. No time to trust longer to the steamer escaping. With all haste the boats were lowered, now; with all energy and speed, the captain and his trustiest helpers, committed to them their freight of women and children; a heavy burden for the boats, but a place must be found for all. They would return as quickly as possible for the second trip. He shall go in my place," said Helen Conway, making herself heard with clear decision through the tumult. "I am quite resolved-I quite understand it all," she broke in hastily on the captain's remonstrance. 'She is right; he is sick; he must go with her. Oh, Mr. Lander!" she turned to Richard, holding out her hands appealingly, "make him understand I will not go! Don't let him lose time urging something different." The There is an expression of will that bears down all before it, and Helen's was stimulated to a pitch that made it so now. She looked down to see the sick man passed to the place beside his There was seen something more terrible than wife that should have been hers, to see the boat tempest or fire-an upheaval of selfish passions, cast off and be swallowed up in the pitchy darkthat cast concealment and restraint aside. Wo-ness of the night, and then she turned to the men forgot to care for others, and fiercely man who stood silent and rapt beside her. struggled to be first in flight. Men forgot manly lanterns shone on her face, and showed her pale courage, and abjectly implored to share this no longer. Eyes shone, cheeks glowed with the shance of safety. Not all, though. The captain feeling that comes to inspire and to reward selffound assistants, not only in his crew, but among sacrifice. the passengers; above all, in Lander, who, his indolent aimlessness all supplanted by an energy, helpfulness and unselfishness that seemed to haveing her head, as she spoke-"Mr. Lander, I am leaped to light as fire from flint at the smiting of the steel, moved through the seething mass, quieting, helping or sternly repressing, as need Was. Helen saw it all. “Not yet,” she said, with a quick, peremptory gesture of withdrawal, as he sought, among the first, to place her in the boat. Let me wait for the other. I cannot go first." There was no time to urge her, for even while she spoke, others thronged forwards, the boat | "It is not so hard," she said, and she smiled as she said it. Then, in a lower tone, and bow thinking of the words, 'If thou bringest thy gift He caught her hand with a grasp that pained |