• f 9 WHAT they mean 1 m 1 tyf* - Their Flower Emblem, Sentiment, Famous People j That Bore The Name, The /V/ m Name In History, Litera J T C* JJl C kF ture, Ftc. BY HENRY W. FISCHER. (Copyright by Henry W. Fischer.] -. ^Johanna." jonanna is tne same in English and rinan. The Scotch drop the "h," phich spelling is also permissible In Polish. Agrimony is the name's emblem. •'Gratitude" its Bentiment. “Grace of 8od” Is the biblical meaning. The moat popular English abbrevia tion has been dealt with in the paper *n Jane. Others frequently used here tnd abroad are Joan, Jone, Jenny, leanette and Jeanetta. The Scotch Javo all these abbreviations, besides ean, but Jessie is their own partieu ar. The name of Joanna appears in the ■ rospel as that of a holy woman, but he was never canonized. A St, Jane frances, however, achieved that dis inctlon. She was the Baroness de rha ntal and the founder of the House f the Visitation of St. Mary. The french history of St. Chantal ascribes nany miracles to'her. She was a dls *lple of St. Francis de Sales. Jeanne de Valois, the discarded wife ft Ixnuls Xn„ founded another relig ious order. That an English woman, named Johanna, in 855, ascended the papal throne, succeeding Leo IV., and as sumed the name of John, Is now gener ally regarded as a myth. There Is a largo literature dealing with the sub ject and two years ago a drama called "Papa Johanna" was performed In Rome. Most of the other historical Johannas have been mentioned In the paper on Jane. Burns, the loving and lovable poet, addressed a number of poems to "Jes sie." One of them was Jessie Stalg, daughter of the Provost of Dumfries. It Is sung to the tune of "Bonnie Dundee." Two more poems headed Jessie were written In honor of Jessie Lewars. Whether Jessica, Shapespeare's "most beautiful pagan, most sweet Jew," whom Shylock accuses of a fondness for "clambering up the case ments and thrusting her head Into the public street," was the Italian for Jessie In the bard's mind, It Is Impos sible to decide. There Is an old Jewish name, Jeska or Iscah (she who looks out), from which Jessica may have been derived. At any rate, Jessica has become a fixture, particularly In high class English comedy. 'AUGUSTA. 3 Augusta signifies grandeur. The dah Et Is her emblem and dignity her sen ment. St. Augustine, the missionary of the •axons, introduced the name In Eng land, but It never became really pop ular therfe until the House of Han »ver ascended the throne. Augusta of Sax Gotha was the con tort of Prince Frederick, of Wales. After the ascension of her son, George III., she became extremely unpopular, •veil though she paid her deceased hus band's debts. In Spain the name Augusta is synon ■tnou.s with undaunted courage. The t fEngllsh speaking world knows the "Muid of Saratoga" from Dord Byron's fttrring verses, yet only her given name bnd the records of her deed have come •own to us. During the. siege of the French, In |80!>, Augusta was one of the hundreds *f Spanish wofnen assisting In the me fciorable defense. One noonday she was •aiT.vlng refreshments to the gate at the moment of her ar rival at the battery of Portillo, the en tire gun crew was wiped out by a hall of bullets. There was nobody to re man the guns. Then Augusta rushed "with Minerva's step, where Mars might quake to tread" over the bodies of the wounded and dead, snatched a match from the hand of a dead ar tillerist and Ilred oft a 26-pounder. Straddling the gun, she made a solemn vow novcr to quit It alive during the siege. Her courage and determination •stimulated the garrison to new efforts and the battery held out under her command to the last day of the siege. Augusta lived an honored patriot un til 1868. The first empress of the new Ger man empire was named Augusta. She was a Weimar princess, highly Intel lectual and devoted to French litera ture: "Unsor Fritz" was her only son. She wrote the music for the ballet, "The Masqueraders." Auguste Victoria Is the name of the present German empress. Augusta, Countess of Stolberg. was one of the fulr ones to whom the poet Goethe paid pressing attention before Charlotte von Stein exerted her great Influence over him. Juliana is an ornamental form ol Jhe classical Julia, but seems to bf •early as old as that, for we find e faint of this name suffering martydom ft the end of the third century. Ir iho annals of the church she lives us "Juliana of Nlcomedla, more than Con gueror." Juliana lies burled at Brussels and The i Netherlands of which Belgium ♦pee was part, claim her as patron. Probably on that account Queen Wil fielrnitm gave the unusual name to her only daughter and heiress, breaking With a royal tradition that ostracised It, since it proved 111 omened for the princesses und empresses of Rome, b Records mention a Princess Julienne, Whom the first Henry of England made 4ho object of atrocious revenge. But fine new name proved too long, like fthe older discarded one and Gllllen and #111 were substituted, the later becom *a|ng ee common us to serve for wife or Spired girl. , , There Is an old English proverb say ling: "A good Jack makes a rfood Gill," ftoeanlng that a good husband makes a i wood wife, or a good master makes a S«*ed £ejran{, Jack being the generic Bailie for men. On this the well known Bursoty rhyme is founded. > Sultana, the Breton variant, was the Wttme of a sister of the famous con stable of France, Duguesclin, whom the English remember to their sorrow. Though a nun she proved a worthy fighter. Julyan Bernes was famous as a hunt ress toward the end of the 14th cen tury, though she, too, was connected with holy orders, being abbess of Sop well nunnery, She wrote a tract in verse on hunting, known as the "Boke of St. Albans." William Shakespere was not the first writer to pen the name Juliet abbre viating that of his Italian heroine Gutl ietta Capellett (Capulet), since become a household word for lady love. That merit belongs to an Indifferent poet named Arthur Brooks, the first to Anglicize the Romanesque story told successfully by Masuccio, Da Porta and Bandello. i Shakespere drew a second Juliet in ills dark and tragic comedy, "Measure for Measure,” the beloved of Claudio, but where 10,000 contemplate the verses ' of Romeo's Juliet, Claudio’s has be* few readers. 1 Juliette Dronet, an artist's model and ] actress, was the second great passion of Victor Hugo’s life. She helped hlim to escape from France when proscribed, and was his life long consoler, compan ion, adviser and helpmates,, neither did Bile ever rouse to be his sweetheart. She was tho model of the flnmous statu- - ue of Strasbrarg on the Pla**te de la Con corde in Pasts. The vogue of Julie (pronounced JuSe, with a soft “J,") in France was due to Rousseauis Nouvelle Helotse, She heroine hearting that form of the name Julia. JULIA. TheBurguiiay none juimn ' »»» t>lem. Simplicity and beauty are her (Sentiment. Julia, Is, of course, the feminine of the older name Julius, this being llrst Applied as a title of honor to Aseinlus, * when, n very young man, he had con quered Italy. , . , lrtto Great Britain it was Introduced t»y the famous Julius himself, and the introduction of the calendar, bringing in the J .ilian Era, no doubt likewise helped so popularize the name, as Is •evident from the fact that the British called the iiower blooming In the •eventh month of the year, July, Gilly flower. in France Glrodee. The early popularity of Julia is fur ther .attested by the fact that there are qo Jess than 10 female saints so called, the majority of whom suffered martyr dom . „ One of the most famous of Roman women was Julia, the duughter of the Emperor Augustus, a princess admired for beauty, education and kindness. Her father banished her to the desert where “Junta's House” 5s still shown, hike herself, her oldest daughter died an exile. Julia, Kmperor Septimus Severus’ second vttt, died an unfortunate. like the princess mentioned. Though a philosopher and writer, she committed suicide. Julia, the daughter of Julius Caesar and Cornelia, was the beautiful wife of POmpey the Great, amt died In the flower of her youth. Julia, the mother of Anthony, was noted for her courage. .1. Sheridan Knowles Introduced In "The Hunchback” a character named Julia which Is the tyne of common place sentiment. The Julia of Shake speare’s "Two Gentlemen of Verona,” is certainly an engaging damsel and as | a passionate lover rivals his Tltania I and Helena. There Is an engaging Julia In Ben Johnson's "The Poet and Poetaster.” while the Julia In Sheridan’s comedy, "The Rivals." Is commiserated with by all wives suffering from jealous hus bands. -. •? -,'U-' , GEORGIA. . _____ beorglu stands for "farmer’s wife.” I t The tulip Is her emblem and "rurul v life a virtuous life," the sentiment. f Georgiana is the correct English „ •tyle, Georgina is the contraction of the I name, but Georgle, the diminutive of i the male names, is most often used. Both religious and secular books are ( full of the deeds of St. George, but of l St. Georgia we have but scant news. ] She was a maid of Clermont, France, t renowned for her virtue. f * Of the noted Georgias the fame I of the Duchess of Devonshire will prob- i eb!\ endure longest. She was the first ' wife of the fifth duke and the lord i ■easurer of Ireland. He maiden name «1S Georgians Cavendish. Georgia Cayvan, affectionately called eorgie, was one of the best beloved nd successful comediennes of the old .yceum Theater company under Datt >1 Frohman. Mile. Georgia was the name of the air cliantress who held the great Na oleon captive for two years, in May, 808, she abandoned her engagements s a member of the Theater Francals nd went to Russia but nothing could uduce her to join In any Intrigues .gainst the emperor. Napoleon after card restored her to her position on he first dramatic stage of France. — V- . .4*. w ESTHER AND ESTELLE. ^ ;j The rnlxup ill the names or Esther. Hester, Estelle. Hetty begun In remote periods, continues to this day. few Knowing that all have the same root and meaning. : The Persian name Esther means star. The original Esther had many pages devoted to her in scripture. She must have been beautiful., since Ahasuerus “set the royal crown upon her homl and made her queen instead of Vashtl.” The yellow cowslip is Esther's em blem, "my Divinity" her signification. The Roman ladies liked the name so well as to adopt it bodily, adding only d linal "a,” Esthera. This during the .* rj *, »■ fk,'."' - - P9BE> Roman invasion of Britain naturally became Hostera, owing to the habit of Ironing anti adding 'Hs," which brings uk a little nearer to present day form of the word. Our English forefathers, it seems, abbreviated Hostera Into Hester and that into Hetty, hut not to be outdone by the adders of “Hs," the droppers of them turned Esthers back into its Hebrew form and subsequently Into Easy. The Germans stopped using the name after Martin I.uther declared against the Book of Esther. The present french form of Estelle is derived from the literal translation of the Persian name .Jtolle, meaning star. The Span iards and Portuguese also translated the Persian name and made it Stella until the appearance of the famous Spanish pastoral, when Estrella be came popular. It has continued so in ! all Latin speaking countries. Racine wrote "Esther,” a play of great lyric beauty, ranking among his finest. The success of the play made the old blhllcal name popular as "Etollc.” The vogue of Estelle was awakened by another poet, the French romancer and fabulist Florian, who created the shepherdeos type of Estelle. Racine's Esther was adopted for an oratorio by Handel, but Is now seldom performed. Esther Johnson was the much sinned against consort of Johanthan Swift, and Esther Vanhornrigh was her much sinned against rival for the affection of the Dean. * , EMILIA. Emilia Is a Greek word that means "the flatterer.” Amalia Is Latin, mean ing the Industrious, yet the learned agree that they are one and the same. Evergreen box holly Is Emilia's emblem and "Constancy” her motto. The most popular Amerlcan-Engllsh form Is Emily, but many English girls prefer to sign their name Amelia. In his "Knight’s Tale,” Chaucer re cords the temporary spelling of Emily as follows: "Up roos the sun and up roos Em elye.” Lady Emily Eden was the author of “Portraits of the People and the Prin cess of India,” which was one of the famous books of the first half of the past century. She was a sister of the Earl of Auckland, Governor-General of India, and did the honors of govern ment house at Calcutta. Emilia Is the wife of Iago In "Othel lo," a character that ■has been assumed by many famous actresses and prima donnas. In Smollett's novel, “Peregrine Pickle," the sweetheart Is called Emilia. Amelia Sedley Is the foolish antithesis of Becky Sharp In “Vanity Fair.” A daughter of George II. tried to In troduce Amelia Into England, but the English people persisted In calling her "Princess Emily.” She was the fifteenth and youngest child of George. Amalia, Landgravine of Hesse and regent of that small country, served the cause of Protestanlsm at the peace of Westphalia by Insisting on freedom of worship. All through the 30 years’ war she maintained an army of 20, 000 men and allied herself with France and Sweden. Amalia, duchess of Weimar, was the friend and adviser of Goethe and a composer of agreeablo light music. Rer "Poets’ Round Table” was celebrated. Marla Amalia, duchess of Saxony, was a playwright and composer of light music, who without a title would hardly have attracted attention. Queen Marie Amalia of France died 1S66 In Claremont, near London. The first queen of Greece of modern times was Amalia of Oldenburg, con sort of the unhappy Otto. She tried vainly to encourage that weakling, and personally was very popular in Greece. She never lived with her husband after :ho latter was driven from his throne. Amallenborg Is the name of the royal Kilace In Copenhagen, where the fath ulnlaw of Europe, King Christian IX. tsed to reside. The palace forms a ilrcle around a public square, complete jut for the wide avenue that leads to It. n that respect It is a most singular jullding. AGNES. Agnes should cultivate a. gentle and ■etlring disposition, lest she belles her lame, which, literally translated, neans “lamb.” As in ancient Rome the- lamb was •onsecrated to sacred purposes, It is lot surprising that the ni ne was ap jUed to the gentle girl famed in the jlstory of the church as one of the •arly Christian martyrs. "Agnes the •epresentative, the triumph of Inno •ence." The Church of StL Agnes In lie Eternal City stands cm the very ipot where the lamb-Uke creature Is laid to have suffered. ,St. Agnes' name-day is January 20, trod on its eve Si girl Is supposed to tee the face of her future husband brough certain forms of divination, is told in Keatsf poem, "The Eve of St. Agnes.” The white vioilet is Agrees emblem; modesty tier sentiment. Agnes de Poitou was til* empress of Henry III of Germany and mother of Henry IV. By his marriage wlt'A Agnes of Vleran. King Philip Augustus Off •’ranee brought down ahe papal in enllct upon Ids land and subjects and •vas forced to. take back his first wits, [ngeborg, whom he liadl divorced. Agnes, Countess of Oriamunda, klllsd ter two clrildren In a mistaken ld*a [liat her lover demanded this sacri fice. She was a relatit* of the Hoh»n tollerns, and, according to the legend, taunts t’iuui as the “White Ladjy of ;he Berlin Schloss.” Queen. Agnes of .'Hungary was the Jaughtcsr of the tnuraiered German. Em peror Albrecht I. Stse took bloody re venge an the murderers of her sire. Nor was the royal favorite Ines more fortunate. The beloved of Pedro of Castro, she was murdered by Al phowso of Portugal because Castro had secretly married her. There Is a suggestive Agm-s In Mo 1 lore's “School far Women,” on which “The Country Wife" by Wycherly Is rounded. The Agnes of Lllio's play. “Fatal Curiosity," is as unfortunate as many of the royal women bearing the Blaine. If! From the Christian Register. Three scientific men from an eastern college visited a certain Montana mine. On the ascent by means of the usual bucket one professor thought he per ceived signs of weakness In the rope by which the bucket was suspended. “How often.” he Inquired of the at tendant, "do you change these ropes?” “Every three months," carelessly re plied tile other. Then he added, thoughtfully. “This must have been forgotten. We must change it today— It we get up." Demand and Supply. From the Cleveland Reader. First Doctor—I've discovered a sure cure fer a rare disease. Second Doctor—Great! Now, how can we make the rare disease preva | lent? Song. I Give me back my heart, fair child: ! To you as yet twere worth but little; ! Halt beguller. half beguiled. Bo you warned, your own is brittle. I know it In vour redd'nlng cheeks. | 1 know it bv those two black streaks Arching up your pearly brows In a momentary laughter. Stretched in long and dark repose 1 With a sigh the moment after. "Hid it; dropt It on the nioore! I.ost it. and you can not fln< It" — Mv own heart 1 want, not yours; You have bound and must unbind lv ! Set It free then from your net. We will love sweet—but not yet' i Fling It from you—we are strong) Rove is trouble, love is folly: Rove, that makes an old heart young. Makes a young heart melancholy. —Aubrey de vere. TAVERNAY A Tale of the Red Terror BY BURTON E. STEVENSON. . Author of "THa Marathon Mystary ” "The Holladay Caaa^ “A SoMiar of Virginia,” etc. Copyrighted, 1909, by Burton\JB. Stevenaaas. CHAPTER XXVI—(Continued.) I When I awoke the second time, it i was night, and I lay for a long time I ■taring up through the darkness and piecing together the adventures w-hich had befallen me since that moment when Duboq had halted me on the highway from Tours. My heart quick ened as I recalled that evening in the garden, as I rebuilt it, as I lived it over again, second by second.. Ah that had been the one hour of my life! And'yet, even in the shadow of the perils which followed, I had not been unhappy, for she had been beeide me, with her clear eyes and smiling lips; and if she chose to smite me now and then, why, certainly, I had Invited the blows and even, in a way, deserved : them. Then, at the end, I had won. That t final disaster had driven her straight , Into my arms, as a storm drives, the boats to harbor. She had laid her i head upon m.v shoulder and whisper- ] *d that she loved me! My pulses Quickened at thought of it. She loved! ; me—that Buperb, matchless woman, loved me! What did all the rest mat- i ter—the world’s opinion, my plighted ( word? I would take her—I would ) never give her up! She loved me! i That should be my Justification. And i, gripping that thought tight against 3 my heart, I dropped away to sleep. The sun was shining brightly at the 1 open window when I awakened for t the third time, and again I saw that kindly face bending above me. "You are better, monsieur?” she x asked, and again her cool hand touched my forehead. "Yes—your a fever is almost gone.” t “I am quite well,” I assured her, “ex- t cept for a little soreness of the head, t Where are my clothes?” “You will not need them for some c gays yet, monsieur,” she said, smiling j at my eagerness, h "Nonsense!” I protested “I must s get up at once,” and I made a move- x tnent to throw back the covers, but she s held my hands and I found with sur- s prise that she was- stronger than I. X "You see,” she added still smiling; a “you are weaker than you thought.” j, "Bat I cannot lie here,” I cried, half- I( angrily. ”1 must got up. I have many things to do." v I shranfc. somehow from asking her outright where my love was waiting, a Why she did not come to me. And sud #en fear sprang to life in my heart; „ perhaps she-was ill and could not come! s Only that, only a- desperate illness, Bould have kept hen fio-m me. p “I must get up,” I' repeatedly dog- ,, gedly, but again she held me back, her kindly eyes reading- the trouble in my ,, lace. „ "If you will lie still,” she said. “I will bring you someone who will tell << »ou all you wish to know—and who, ( besides, I think you1 will be very glad n to see.” “Thank you 1” I- answered, my heart {] Ben ting madly. "I will! do as you say.” 3 She nodded, went to the door and a •poke a word’ to someone in the room Beyond. ti Then my heart chilled for it was not tie dear faca I nad hoped1 to see which k ippcared In answer to the summons. 0 But an ugly bearded! countenance, set bji gigantic shoulders. Ami yet, at a , lecond glance, I saw that the counten mce, though ugly, w-ae not repulsive, ind that the-eyes were kindly and that t die lips could smile wthnimgly. “M. de Ttivernay,” said! my nurse, , Bringing him to my bedside, "this is M. n le Marignyd' He bent and pressed one «f my hands n a his great palm, then sat down be tide, me, while I gazecEwltife Interest at f Berhaps the most famous among the ,*aders of the Bocage. h “And very pleased I ami to find you r' lolng so well, monsieur)'- he- said, in a P tolce singularly rich. ' Era faith, I thought fo • a-time that we had rescued c. roil from the rope merely to condemn h rou to tne Dungeon. s "Even that would have- been a serv- s ice, monsieur,” I answered; smiling in t! response tjo him, “But .fc seems I am r to get well again. ’ "Yes; you had youth and health to v light for you. Alas, they j,re not always »n one’s side!” ' p "But tl»e rescue, monsieur?” I asked, b “How came it sc, pat ten tihe moment ?” ”1 must confess that that was an accident." he laughed! "My spies v brought- me word that- this regiment ti was marching to Thouars. I deter mined to strike one more blow be- t tore lEaster, s » I called my men to- t tether and we waited behind our hedg «. When night fell,, we turned our a theep skin coats and' mingling with t tile dock upon the hillside, gradual ly (Descended upon taur enemy’s pick ! •ts. It was then that a sudden com- -t motion in tAe camp below attracted - our attention: we saw a fracas, « from which emerge.* that little pro,- !e cession of which you were the cen-i's teal figure. We saw them prepare-.« for the execution-, and supposing them to he about can hang some cut throat ot their own. waited unert . they should accomplish it. Tllera suddenly you cried T,ong live the t king’ and brought Us headlong to I your rescue In fact, I had not; asren t to give the word to lire." i "It was fortunate that 1 cltoae- to make a theatric exit,” 1 commented. s laughing. t "Permit me to say it was she act < of a brave man. monsieur, f trust 1 that I shall meet my end as bravely." 1 Poor, gallant gentleman: He met 1 It more bravely still—the victim of ! a treacherous envy, he fa.-ed the ’ muskets erect, with eyes unbaiulageil. 1 and himself spoke the word which 1 loosed the messengers of death. 1 "Tell me more,” I urged. “You 1 won?” ’’Oh. yes; we cut them to pieces, and seized n store of arms and am munition which will stand us in good I stead. But we captured something; : else, a thousand times more wel ■ come.” “What was that. monsieur?" I ' asked "That was Citizen Goujon.” he an swered, ami Ills eyes grew cold as steel. “We found him writhing in his tent-" "Yes—l planted one good blow." I said. «vt)d told him the story. ‘ -What did you do with him?” "We brought him forth screaming with terror, begging for mercy, offer ing to divulge I know not what se crets, and hanged him with the rope whicli had been prepared fo.i you. It was a pretty vengeance—even you could not des’t-e a better." “No," I murmured "No.” His face softened into a smile. “It has n certain resen^lance to « famous bible story, hadn’t It?" he asked. "I did not then know the full tale of Goujon’s, iniquities," he added, “or I might have chosen a different death fur him. It was Mademoiselle de^ Chambray who told me of tlie assa,uit upon the chateau and the death of mv dear friend. Permit me tci-Vay that in that affair also, M. de Tavenmay, you proved yourself a gallant man.’’1 “Thank yaa, monsieur,” 1 answered. "I but did what any gentle,man would to. You fund Mademoiselle* de Chain bray, then?” i tried to ask It carelessly, dout I fear "Y burning fates betrayed me. At as»y ra™ *aughed as he looked At me. ' t es,” he said, “we found her lying senseless on tba floor of Goujon’s' ten*, “it first we thought her dead1, bu£ she sooni opened -her eyes. Can you gfiestr vhat her first word was, monsieur? 3ut perhaps I ought not to tell you!" "Tel* me!” I murmured, striving to strata the leaping of my heart. je“’' * think you deserves seme re vard. Her first word wan- ‘Taver lay!' ’’ "Yes,!’ I said, my eyes euddendly nisty; “pho had just* seen me-dragged i,way to- be hanged.” “And when we told her what had tefallen you, she raw to whore you ay—” nep ankle, ’ I Stroke i®? "Did 'ou know—’” “Yes. but she had forgotten itl She an to whore you lay; she washed and Iressed your wound; she had you ‘orne hither on a litter;, and sh« re minded beside you until yesterday— ntil, in a word, it wan- certain- that ou would recover.” "Then she has gone?” Basked. “She as gone?” and my heart) seemed- to top in my bosom. “Yes, she has gone.” “But her ankle!” I pro bested. "Ohr cw she must have suffered)!” “I do not think she suffered at all;” aid Marigny. “When she at last had, ioe to remember her injury, she found liat it no longer existed. She attrib ted its cure to you.” I lay a moment silent, striving to. anceal my suffering—striving to ay ear composed* She had gone—she ad been brave enough to go; she had' ought to spare me the agonyi of that trowell which must, in any event, be token. She had been wise, perhaps; rie knew my weakness; but I ffelt that, would give my., whole life to see her Bain, to hoid her hand, to look Into er> yes, to hear her say once more "I < >ve.- you.” Marigny sat looking down at me' ith a queer smile upon his lipe. “She left no word, for me?” I asked, t last. “She left a note;, but I am rot to Ive. it to you untik you are ready to rt. out for Poitiers;” “Eos Poitiers?” i repeated, tram ling, “Did she horself name Poi ers-V;* "Most assuredly. But why do you row. so pale, my friend? Is it not ear. Poitiers that her home is?” “Yea, monsieur," I groaned; "but my lurney ends two leagues this side of, hunibray. Those two leagues I shall - aver, cover.” “What nonense! Take my advice— le ;i.l.vice of a man* who knows more lan you of women. Don’t so much i draw rein at Poitiers. Press on > the* end of the jo-urney. You will nd-a< fair prize awaiting you.” I shook my head—he may have nowni other w omen* but not this le. “N'SrtTtheless, I . should like to ive. the note, Mti die Marigny,” I lid. “It tvll! conifort me some h;iti- And, besideus, I am to start imoroDW.” “Tcunorrow!” he. cri®d. “A week. ;noei. perhaps, If ail .goes well.” I s smiled and contiaued to hold outi y band. ’’Lotl me have the. note, monsieur,!’ repeated. Hde hesitated a. moment, still look* ig idi me. then wenti to the other' ions and brought the note and acetJ It in my hand®, M; i fingers were trembling so I; >uldl scarcely break the seal; a rrifwk opei possessed me. that she had ah* )ive»t me from my. vow; that she imsnoned me to., hiss. As I opened te viper, a little heap of withered.' )sse heaves fell upon- my breast. “Ali. you see!” cried Marigny, “li as< right, thee!” I rouid not answer; but I held out' ifti tsote for him, to road. It contained ns; one word: “tfourage!" Well,” he saido “that Is good ad* low. That is, precisely what you. in this affair, M. de Tavernay.” Yes,” I agreed bitterly; “courage ii give her up; courage never again, i. see her. You see she has gonad’ 'Stu‘ cou A not well remain,If he sitd drily, “after listening to -you. tree days in, a lililiiSimi.” “My delitium?” “Oh. I d.■ ac ount?” I muemured. "I t< fl you she did not suffer In he least,' repeated Marigny. “Tou ermitrd hew to, see to the very b©t om iof your soul and sl ev :;a-w no mage there except her own," "She knew that from tils fll-st,"* I, aid sadly, "that does not alter mat-i ers. No: there is no way out, M. ,e Marlgny. 1: can never hope ten mar s’ Iter—honor forbids it—an oath not, 0 he broken: She herself has- pointed has out to me- in the clearest way. ill: has shown me what a coward X etas whe*>. for a momenft I iiennitted , njt love for her to blind1 rrw to my luty: a»d’ l know mm she hates a owurd. That is the real meaning of ais message:, monsieur-, she- is afraiUP, rven >et; tihit I may- not be bravaj ■nougl*." Mangey kad risen and stood look-* ng d««vn at me with: a. queer littkb anile. ‘*A>v. de Tavercuy/*' he said, -at ast. "f unuferstand now why that Irtow m the hrad failed to, kill you." With which cryptic utterance, IWlieft hr nootv*. CHAPTMt XXVII. / I Wi« My attle. At dawn, two, days later. I took horse for Poitiers, with eMJies and equipage furnfclwd me by M, de Mar tpy, who hak no man nor woman in the face., I had kept my honor. As for that scar in my heart, ho eye except my own should ever contemplate it. —I I, What a different creature fhfs w&W from that careless, heart-free boy who bad pricked forth from Beaufort little more than a week before! Since . then I had lived my whole lifts; 1 hath * sprung from youth to manhood; I had faced death, tasted of the world, gazed into a woman's eyes. I had lakera, blows and given them; I had walked in the black depths of despair, and stood transfigured on the uttermost peaks of Joy. Love had touched sne and left me changed. I had lived—tor" a week I had lived!—nething couSd! take that from me. After much thought I had formed! ray plan of action. It was quite pos-i tdble, as Mdlle. de Chambray had said, that Mdlle. de Itenseval desired me as little as I deslrsd her. In case this: wa» true—and I flattered myself that It would require no great penetration on my part to discern It—I would offer her her freedom. Should she refuse It, should she feel boneld by our Path as I did,. I would marry her, then filing: my.sett Into the war In La Vandee, trusting; that some kindly bullet Would release us both from sur unhappy fate. But If, on tbs contrary, she looked on. me will favor. If I saw that I might win her heart, I would, play a man's* part ancV as fond a lover ao it is possi ble to bo by taking tho-jght. At least; oho should never suspect the exist ence of that scar. So, having arrived at this conclvi— siPm, 1 put it behind me for the my— meat and pricked forward along the. road more cheerfully than I had1 th; tight possible, Such is-the virtue" of facing one’s duty squarely, of malftog up one's mind—even if it is uniy so accept- manfully the worst that fate may offer. My! road at first Jay through;, the nar row valleys andbetween the high hedg es oft the Booage. Everywhere the peasants were-working in their fields; their flocks were grazing peac-fully in the pastures, and out would nwjr have suspected that it was in this quiet coun try the* first effective stand had. been made against the bloody torrent of the revolution. At last I passed Air vault and came out Into the move- level country of the Plain. I had planned to reach Neuvilleby noon, so I pressed on at a good pace; .secure in tho knowl edge that- here to the south I should, encounter uo republican force ar-i con-, sequently mo delay, I reached Neuville in good season, without adventure of any kind,, and asked to bwdirected to the Bon Vivant, an inn to which I had- been recommend ed by M. da Marigny as the only de cent one in the village. 1 found It with out difficulty and sat down at a table on a little vlneclad tevrace, overlook ing a pleasant valley, Here my lunch was presently brough to me, and here, soon after the landlord sought me i out and leaned deferentially above sny chair. “Is there ary thing more monsieuirae quires?” he asked. “No, thank you, E am thoroughly content," I answered. “I have to thank a friend for advising, me to stop here.” “Have I the honor of addressing.M. de Tavernay?” he - questioned, bending still lower. “That Is Indeed my, name,” I said, glancing at him in surprise. “I did not know It had penetrated: to these pa-rts.” "Oh, monsieur is too modest!" he re turned with a flattering smile. ”T'»re is- a person here who wishes to speak with monsieur, when.he is at leisures” “To speak with me?-' I repeated, mere and more astounded. "Who is it?” "I do not know his name but he* is most anxious not to- miss monsieur. He has been awaiting monsieur since yesterday.” The thought flashed through my r:Vid that It was some emissary of the re public sent to arrest me, but a moment’s reflection showed me the absurdidlt--. of such a suspicion-. HOw should the’re public know that I would pass this way, that I would stop at this Inn? Be sides, I was too small a bird . to trouble the republic,—though, small as I was, I added to myself a smile, the task of arresting me would scarcely have been entrusted to a single man. No-; since he approached me alor.i In this manner, he could:not be an enemy. Ai sudden trembling, seised me. Per haps—■ "Bring him hare ata once.” I said, and my host, who- had been patiently awaiting the end of my perplexity, bowed and hurried, away. He re-appeared In a moment fcltow ed by a man dressed- decently In -alack and showing all:the marks of the serv ant. A glance at :hd» face told ma.that E had never before- seen him. “This Is M. de Tavernay," saitU my hoot to him. and hawing again to- me, withdrew. Evidently I had become In ills eyes a }der mooita at memory— {Mocfes and murmurs soiftly, “Diueamner, . name with me.” ! ‘-lavender, 8W6«t: la-vender,M ver>3er, you should calV uPmrpie, perfujmed packages with mem ories for all:” lavender, sweet, lavender, f*td tired souls an* sent Drifting down* th© Dream ps£h to th© Country, of Content. Subtile scenAa of lavender thref the buajt street. Vague, elusive-m-eaiories, haurrting, haunts lng swoot. Stealing soft on perfumed wiags thro’ tit© moving mass. White and* tired faces brighten as th©y pas**. And th© crowded city slowly drifts away, Hushedi th© noise and clamor of th© busy