home, you know, so I might as well be there as anywhere else."

left. I do not think I meant to be hard-hearted, but I really could not feel the repentance I suppose I ought. I cut the paragraph out, and put it away, then went calmly on with my

"Thrue enough; but they say it's a rough place. But so far as that goes I don't see but what the wurrld's pretty much alike anny-packing, curiously wondering whether he had wheres. An' it wouldn't be so bad for ye neither, for yer youth an' appealin' eyes 'd help ye out mightily."

"I wish you would let me stay and work for you this winter, Mrs. Riley. I can work, for all I look so small. And then in the spring I'd sell the things I've got for what they'd bring only a little, perhaps but it would help, and I would be so glad to go with you."

Perhaps she saw the passionate eagerness in my eyes; she reached her hand across the table and patted mine, with the cheery, half promise that she would see John about it, and he could tell me what to do. But my petition was not denied, and from that time I was included in their calculations, and I helped Mrs. Riley with such grateful zeal that she declared I left her nothing to do. The winter passed very slowly to my impatient heart, but monotonous as some of the hours were they never carried one regret for those that preceded them. I was happier than I had ever been since the time when my girlhood had been so sadly merged into wife- | hood.

With the first signs of opening spring the Rileys began to make preparation for the eventful and hazardous journey. The bargain for the farm was completed, and a white, canvas-covered wagon, drawn by two stout yoke of oxen, was purchased. Into this wagon was stowed all our necessary equipments. One day, being employed in rolling some small articles into a newspaper, preparatory to packing them, my eyes fell upon the following paragraph:

"By the collision on the Turin and Cairo Railroad yesterday morning, our respected townsman, Ralph Harding, Esq., lost his life. He was returning home from a trip to Cairo, whither he had been to make inquiries concerning his missing wife, whose mysterious disappearance several weeks ago has excited much comment. The body will be brought home to-morrow, for interment."

I looked at the heading of the paper. It was one published at my former home, and bore date of November 20th. I really think my first conscious feeling was one of relief that I could not be pursued and taken back by force. Ralph Harding was dead. With the realization of that fact came also the thought that I was a widow, and free to lead a new existence, if I chose. I would not alter my plans-it was too late, and I had no desire to do so. Neither would I fetter my soul with one cent of the money he had

been very angry when he found me gone, and wishing he had not met his death in searching for me.

In the last of April there came one bright day when we stored away in the big wagon our few remaining necessaries, and, climbing in, started forth on our long journey. We looked our last on the humble cottage with wet eyes, for it had been a home for all of us. After a few days' travel we found ourselves in line with a dozen other wagons, all journeying the same way, and we settled down to make the best of our circumstances. I do not like to remember the latter half of that journey. The hot, arid plains, bounded only by the eternal expanse of sky, which grew brazen with heat at the horizon, the scarcity of water, and the plenitude of dust, are a nightmare on my memory. When, at last, the welcome mountains were reached, we revived, and took a new hold on life. We camped under the wind-rocked pines at night, and gathered strength from the resinous balm of the pure atmosphere. By early winter we had reached a mining camp in the Sierra, where we decided to make our home for a while. Mr. Riley bought in with a hydraulic mining company, and his spare capital being thus invested, his wife eked out their income by starting a boarding-house. Of the two investments the latter threatened to pay the better, for "Mother Riley," as the cheery old soul was called, was a most indulgent landlady. I made it my business to gather the few children of The Forks together in a deserted miner's cabin, made habitable by the disinterested efforts of Mother Riley's boarders, and established a flourishing school. Miss Gray and her small flock were objects of eminent interest to the stalwart miners. Even to a person of my small consciousness, the curiosity with which I was regarded was very apparent. There was not, at that time, another unmarried woman in the whole settlement. Those who were willing to brave the hardships of a new country were women who had husbands and children, from whom they were not willing to be separated. But I was an anomaly, and to none, perhaps, more than to myself. I became used to the chivalrous speeches of the red and blue-shirted miners. They treated me very much as if I were a child, but with a protecting manliness which was far from being unpleasant. I felt an interest in them all, for the type was of that rude order of nobility with which new and dangerous

countries are peopled. I was content, and, for | exclamation, he came to my side, and put his

arm around me hastily.

"Come, Helen. George is at rest."

It was true. His spirit had passed away so quietly that I had not known it, and only the

the most part, tranquil, though called upon to pass through some strange experiences. I cannot tell why, but The Forks came to regard me somewhat as grateful patients might a hospital nurse, and many were the summonses I receiv-pale clay was before me. I withdrew my hand ed to visit the dying beds of those whose loved ones were so far away that only the touch of a woman's hand could bring them nearer in imagination. I never refused, and usually set off provided with some delicacy from Mother Riley's store of invalid comforts.

One bleak afternoon in March there was a knock at Mrs. Riley's sitting-room door. She❘ bustled to open it, and confronted a young man, whose anxiety was plainly evident in his face. He held his cap in his hand, and the boots into which his trousers were tucked were splashed with mud.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Riley, but I'm afraid Hamilton's going, and he wants Miss Helen to come down. It's awful weather for a lady to be out in, though."

"That is nothing, Mr. Stuart," said I, coming forward. "I'll go willingly, if he wants to see me. I can wrap up warmly, and wear overshoes. I'll be ready in a minute."

Henry Stuart's brown eyes looked down at me encouragingly as I clung to his strong arm and toiled along. We soon reached the cabin. Hamilton lay in the inner room, with his face turned to the door, and his hollow eyes brightened visibly as we came in. A tall miner rose up from the foot of the bed, and silently put another log on the fire. I sat down by the bed, in a wooden chair of rude manufacture, and took one of Hamilton's wasted hands in mine.

"What can I do for you, George? Mrs. Riley sent you down some of her precious blackberry cordial. Will you try it?"

"Good Mother Riley. I'm afraid it's too late. I thought I'd like to have you read and sing to me. It's hard to die, Miss Helen, without some good Christian comfort."

"I'll do anything you wish, George."

from his stiffening fingers, and Henry led me into the next room, making a sign to the tall miner standing at the window.

"There's lights a-comin'," he said, moving toward the death chamber.

"Poor little girl, these scenes are too hard for you to witness," murmured Henry, pityingly, standing beside my chair, and stroking my hair with the gentlest of touches. I choked back my sobs as steps sounded outside.

"It's Big Ben and Riley. You will go back with him now, in time for a good night's rest.” They came in silently, swinging their lanterns ahead.

"Gone, is he? Poor boy!"

"He was a good chap. The boys'll turn out well to his send-off to-morrow, storm or no storm. He's always been a favorite o' the The Forks, an' we'll give him a first-class funeral," said Big Ben, solemnly, extinguishing his lantern.

"I don't s'pose I can do anny good by stayin', Stuart. There'll be more down presently. An', besides, my ould woman sent me afther the girl. Yer as well off widout her, now he's gone."

Together we started back through the storm and darkness, but I was absorbed in my own thoughts, and did not find the way long, though glad when the light in the window shone across our watery path. I went to rest that night, but sleep would not come to me. I was beset by a great temptation, and, alas! it gained the mastery over me. I knew I could not but know -that Henry Stuart loved me. And I? What happiness had I known in my life that I should throw that chance away? I had only to put out my hand and take it. My life needed the completeness which his love would give. There was one thing tempted me. Once, in some

"Then read to me first-the old story, you light talk about futurity, he said a fortune-teller know."

I turned the leaves of the pocket Bible to the divine chapters of the Crucifixion and the Resurrection. A peaceful smile hovered round his mouth when I had ended. Understanding the faint pressure of his fingers against mine, I sang some sacred songs for him. Henry Stuart sat silently at the window, and gazed out into the gathering gloom, while the shadows of night and of death folded the room in darkness, broken only by the fitful flickering of the fire. I do not know how long we sat thus. Henry rose at length, and lit the lamp. Then, with a slight

had predicted that he would marry a widow, and he had fought shy of widows ever since, for he had no mind that the prophecy should come true. The remark had recurred to me frequently, at different times, till it assumed more significance than he ever intended. But I hesitated to tell him of my past history while we were only friends, and I did not like to think of the effect the revelation might have on him. I could not bear that anything should come between us. He was so honorable and high-spirited, could he love a woman who had left her husband? There was no absolute necessity for

his knowing. It was not in the remotest de- | gree probable that he would ever find my secret out, and if I was not the innocent girl I seemed, God alone knows how passionately I wished I had been. It was my cruel fate to know more of life than I seemed to know, and infinitely more than I ever desired. How earnestly I longed to be pure, for the sake of his love; how degraded I felt myself to be as the hated memory of my husband rose up before me, brutal even in my dreams; how I wished that I might drink of the waters of Lethe, for my true love's sake, no one but myself can ever know. Next to being pure was to be thought so, and so I yielded to the tempter, and buried my secret in my own heart, resolving to keep it from Henry Stuart forever. Having put the past out of my sight, my spirits rose perceptibly. By the beginning of April I was able to resume my school duties, which the inclemency of the weather had for a few weeks interrupted. As I came home one evening, I heard Mrs. Riley's cheery laugh in the dining-room.

"What's the matter?" I asked, putting my head in at the door. Henry Stuart, in his sprucest attire, was standing by the window.

clothes were a misfit. So was I, for the matter of that, but, being a woman, had more adroitness in concealing it. He lounged about from one window to another, displaying his six feet of superb manhood to the most unconscious advantage. The first bell rang for supper. He gave a start, and turned his brown eyes on me appealingly.

"Helen," said he, helplessly drumming on the window-pane with the fingers of his right hand.

"Well?"

"Come over here a minute, won't you?"

I shook my head, with a mischievous smile. "Too proud, are you? Then I'll come to you."

He crossed the room, and knelt by my chair, putting both arms around me.

"Helen, I know I'm not half good enough, but I love you very dearly. Could you ever care for me, little girl-even a little?" "I'll try, Henry."

"My dearest! Will you be my wife-the only woman I have ever asked, or ever loved?"

my lips.

Even in that supreme moment a sharp pang darted through my heart, as Memory held her "Is that you, Helen? I was just afther tellin' mirror before me. I put it aside, as he gathHenry here what throuble I've been havin' widered me in his arms and took his answer from them confounded grocery scales. I wint down to Bennet's two days ago, an' John persuaded me to git weighed. I knew he'd poke fun at me if I didn't, so I stheps on to the little table, an' brought the old thing down wid a whack. I weighed wan hundred and eighty-six pounds, if ye'll believe me! Well, I was jist mad, an' | that's the thruth. Says I, 'Ye don't weigh fair, anyhow.' I come home, an' the more I thought about it the madder I got. So this mornin' says I, 'John, them scales lied. I don't weigh no sech amount. I'll not belave it till I go across to Gibson's an' thry his scales.' Well, John went wid me, and, as thrue as I'm sthandin' here, I weighed wan hundred an' ninety-seven! An' John, he says, 'Yer doin' well, Kate'leven pounds in two days.' An' I come home madder nor I went away. Them grocers is cheats, that's my belafe. What d'ye think, Helen?"

To say that I was blessed beyond anticipation in Henry's love would but faintly express the depth of my happiness. What if I did live in a house with three rooms, and not a single closet, and had my own work to do after we were married-was it not a home of love? We had a general wedding-it could not very well be helped, Henry was so popular. Harmony and jollity prevailed; toasts were drunk and speeches made, the only flag in town was strung across the street, and an anvil did duty for cannon. We were escorted to our domicile in triumph. It had been improved and enlarged since the bachelor days of Stuart and Hamilton, and nearly every miner in camp had contributed some article of furnishing, which collectively made a creditable bric-à-brac.

Five happy years rolled away, during which I had been steadily growing in womanly strength

I could not speak for laughter, in which she and independence. I was my husband's helper, joined with hearty good will.

"Ye wouldn't think it was so funny if 'twas yerself, now, I'll be bound. Come, take Henry intil the sitting-room. Yer in my way here, an' them b'ys'll be chargin' in here fer their grub d'rectly."

Shrewd Mother Riley. Did she divine anything unusual from Henry's spruce attire? I led the way into the front room, shyly and silently. Henry was as ill at ease as if his new

no his slave. In the third year of our marriage our baby was born-a brown-eyed boy, whom I named Henry, also. The last gift of the God had come to make my life complete. Our boy was the image of his handsome father, and his small graces brightened every hour for us. We began to care more for riches-to lay them by for the time when our boy would need education. The mine paid a comfortable income, and by and by would sell for enough to

"You said once you would never marry a "What do you mean, sir?" asked Henry, in- | widow, and I loved you so, Henry," I moaned, censed at the form of his expression.

"And you wished so, too, no doubt," said knowing what I did, I sprang to the cradle, Harding.

JOHN A. SUTTER.

Captain Sutter was the California pioneer par | in 1841, and Commodore Jones in 1842; to fraexcellence; he led the way for all the others. He pushed his course over the plains and deserts in 1838, and after prospecting Oregon, the Sandwich Islands, and Alaska, settled in California in 1839. He was here to welcome Wilkes