} Mildred J*> | 1 *' *♦» «t< »*/ »*» »♦» »*« CHAPTER XIII.—(Continued.) "Mildred, what do you mean?” ho exclaimed. "The day after tomorrow you shall have tho fifteen thousand pounds,” she said; "and I—I am engaged to be mar ried to Lord Lyndon.” Her mother arose, flushed and tri umphant. Here Indeed was a match worthy of her darling. All recollec tion of the relief to be gained through the promised money faded in compari son with this wouderful piece of news. At last Mildred had made her choice, and it was a most wise one. "Oh, Mildred, is it true? How glad I am!” she began. "I think-” Hut the girl put up her hands to her ears and recoiled from her touch. “Not now—not now!" she exclaimed alm ost roughly. How could she endure congratula tions and good wishes about what seemed to her the crudest event in all her life? How submit to question ings and kindly probings, when she felt her heart was breaking? Surely in such a case congratulations were a mockery. ane lert them, ana nurrymg to nor own room, strove hard to quiet the storm that raged within her; while they, remaining behind, asked each other in whispers how it had all hap pened, and half feared to believe the welcome news was true. But Lady Caroline's heart smote her when she remembered the look in Mildred’s eyes when they had met hers —the great unhappy light that had shone in them, revealing so much that she would gladly have kept untold. But the mother's eyes had seen it, and so she followed Mildred to her room, only to find the poor child pac ing up and down, with restless, fever ish hands and face grown old with passionate care. She stopped as her mother entered, sighing heavily. Lady Caroline stretched out her hands. “Mildred, tell me what it is,” she entreated, wistfully, with sorrowful, longing sympathy in her tone. "Am I not your mother?” And Mildred cried, “Oh, mother!” and, falling on her knees, with arms round the mother's waist, and eyes hidden, sobbed a little of her grief away. All in vain. The next morning brought a letter from Lady Eagleton’s solicitor, containing the news of her ladyship’s sudden death, and stating that, on her will being opened, it was discovered that she had bequeathed to her "beautiful and well-beloved grand niece, Mildred Trevanion,” the sum of thirty-five thousand pounds. CHAPTER XIV. Christmas was at hand, and with it came Denzil Younge. “I hear you are to be congratulated,” he said to Mildred, whom he met in the grounds immediately upon his arrival —"is it true?” “Yes, it is quite true,” answered Miss Trevanion, steadily, disdaining to put off the evil hour by equivocation or pretended ignorance. “Then you are going to marry him after all?” said Denzil. "I am engaged to bo married to Lord Lyndon,” returned Miss Trevanion. Then, very abruptly, Denzil asked: "Are you happy?” “Of course, I am happy,” she an swered, with a faint accession of color —“why do you ask me such a strange question? Do I look unhappy?” “I think you do,” he said, gently; “your face seems changed to me; it does not wear its old expression; and just now, as I was passing by the vil lage church, I glanced in for a mo ment”—she raised her eyes anxiously —“and saw you. You were kneeling at the altar rails, and, as I watched— forgive me, it was but for an instant— I thought I heard—Mildred, were you crying?” An»i SO, ODaervt’u muuicu pciuou ly, giving no heed to his question, "be cause one happens to feel a little fret ted about some trifling matter, and cries a few silly tears, one is to be con sidered in the lowest depths of des pair? It is absurd. 1 will not listen to such" folly; Lord Lyndon, I am sure, would not wish me to do so, and—" “And as he is everything to you now, •while I and all the rest of the world count nothing," interrupted Denzil. bitterly—“is that so? Do you expect me to believe that? Because, if you do, I tell you plainly, that I do not be lieve it, and never shall. He Is un pulted to you in every way, having not an idea In common with you. Oh, ■Mildred"—passionately — "why have you done this thing? Why have you sacrificed your whole long, sweet life so miserably? Was there some great reason for it of which I have never heard? Could you not have waited? My love, my darling, is there nothing I can do for you?” “There Is nothing I would have done,” she answered, half angrily. “Why will you persist in thinking I have doue something worthy of repent ance? I am happy. Do you hear me? —perfectly happy. I have accepted my position willingly and of my own free choice, and 1 do not wish it altered or undone in any single way. I have quite made up my mind; and although you once told me you considered me unworthy to he the wife of any honest man, stiil I am vain enough to believe that at all events I can make this most liouest man fairly contented." “I was mad when I said that, re joined Denzil, slowly. “Many a time since have I recollected my words and felt how brutal they must have sound ed. But surely you will forgive me now—at this moment when 1 am learn ing for the first time how miserable and bare and cold a place this world is. Let me bid good-by to all my hope with the certainty that at least you bear me no lll-wil." He held out his hand as ho spoke and took hers. Mildred’s voice failed her, but she managed to whisper faintly: “Give me your forgiveness also.’’ “If you think it necessary,” he said, "you have it; but I can remember no wrong you ever did me.” They were standing with hands clasped and eyes reading each other’s hearts. Denzil drew his breath quick ly. “Good-by,” he murmured, despair ingly, and, turning away, abruptly, passed rapidly out of her sight. When all the people at King's Ab bott met to dine Denzil was among them, and very welcome he found him self. Charlie alone of all the family was absent; but even he had written word to say he would be with them for a day or two in the course of the fol lowing week. We ought to get up a party and go to the lake tomorrow," suggested Ed die, during a pause in the conversation. Lyndon, who was also dining with them, and who generally agreed with everybody, said he thought it wua a “capital plan,” and appealed to Miss Trevanion, who sat beside him. She thought she had lost her skates or mis placed them, or something; but Fran ces Sylverton overruled all such oppo sition by declaring that she had sever al pairs to lend, and that a day on the ice would be delicious. “But perhaps it will be hardly safe enough this week,” she added, some what anxiously. “Shall we wait until Tuesday next?” “Charlie said he would be down on Monday night," put in Eddie, inno cently, apropos of nothing, and with out lifting his eyes from the cream on which he was seemingly intent; whereupon Miss Sylverton blushed furiously, and declined any further in vestigation of the subject. Finally, however—chiefly through the instrumentality of Mildred—the expedition was arranged to take place on the Tuesday following, so that Frances, in her inmost heart, was sat isfied. In process of time the day arrived— as also did Charlie the night before, very much to the satisfaction of every body concerned in the excursion—and, after a considerable amount of harm less and utterly unavoidable squab bling, the party—which had become rather a large one, in consequence of numerous invitations issued later on —divided into twos and threes, as cir cumstances or inclinations dictated— Lady Caroline, Mrs. Deverill, and one other married lady occupying the first open carriage; while Charlie, Miss Syl verton, Jane Deverill, and Captain Harvey took possession of the second. Mabel, seeing Denzil looking slightly dejected, with her usual sweetness had entreated him in the prettiest manner to drive her in the dog cart; and Ed die, who, at this period was hopelessly and finally in love—for about the fif teenth time—with an extremely pretty, but decidedly idiotic little girl, stay ing with the Deverills, had managed to vanish in some mysterious way, in company with others, similarity heart bound; while Mildred, whom nobody seemed to want, and with whom none of the opposite sex in these days at tempted to interfere, fell to Lord Lyn don's lot. When fairly started the skaters made as picturesque a group as any eye could wish to rest on, the girls, in their soft, luxurious furs and brilliant satin petticoats, striking out oddly on the glassy surface of the lake. Frances and Mildred were accomplished skat ers, Mabel was not quite so good; still the latter could hold her own and cer tainly beside the Deverill girls—who were generally clumsy—looked every thing that could be desired. “You will help me, Mr. Younge,“ she had whispered to Denzil, as he assisted her down from the dog-cart. So when he had fastened her skates and pronounced her “fit," she started bravely enough on the slippery prome nade. At one end there rose a post marked “Dangerous,” of which as usual those whom it should have warn ed remained profoundly ignorant. Den zil alone had observed it; others, if they observed, attached little import ance to it. Miss Trevanion and Frances Sylver ton, with merry, gay laughter that rang through the crisp air, were trying to outdo each other in grace and agil ity, Frances decidedly having the best of it, she being one of those girls who do anything they set their heart* on “better than anybody else.” As Denzil turned from watching them, he perceived Lord Lyndon, at a distance, leisurely, but surely, making for the forbidden spot; and, as he saw this, an almost savage desire to see this man, who had robbed him of his all, humiliated before the eyes of his betrothed, took possession of him. A minute later, however, and—hav ing deposited Mabel on the bank—he was skating hurriedly toward his un suspecting lordship. "Lyndon!” he shouted, when still some way from him, and shortly after ward laid his hand upon his arm. "Hullo!” exclaimed Lyndoa, trying I to keep his balance, and succeeding ! with much difficulty. ‘‘What Is tho matter? You have nearly thrown m«! Anything wrong, eh?” "Don’t you see where you are go ing?” cried Denzil, angrily and ungra ciously, being considerably out of breath and temper. "Have you no eyes? Unless you want to be drowned, or, at all events, wet to the skin, you will get away from this place. Can't you see it marked ‘Dangerous’?” “Never saw it until this very mo ment, I give you my honor,” said Lyn don, solemnly gazing at the warning as though lost in amazement at his own want of observation. "I should have gone straight on, and in another moment-I am awfully obliged to you, Younge—indeed, more grateful than I can tell you.” Mildred had been looking on, and, having witnessed the whole scene, had understood it thoroughly—had seen her future lord and master gliding to his doom, and had half started up to call out or warn him in some way of his danger, when Denzil’s figure, flash ing before her eyes, showed her that he, too, had recognized Lyndon’s peril, and was on his way to tell him of it. As Denzil returned from his mission and cast his eyes upon her, she appear ed unconscious of everythilng but tho dainty little pair of skates she was in the act of unfastening. He stopped. "Can I help you?” he asked; and she answered promptly, without lifting her eyes: No, thank you. I am quite accus tomed to do this sort of thing for my self”—whereupon she drew off the skates, in confirmation of her words, and Denzil went on to Mabel. Au hour crept by, and then Lady Caroline, feeling that she had suffered enough for her friends for that one day, declared her intention of return ing without further delay, and forth with departed, carrying with her Ma bel, who was anxious to reach home before the post-hour arrived. The eldest Miss Deverill was afflicted with nervousness, aud, having bean driven to the lake by “Sonny" Sum merton—who was in a bad temper, and knew as much about driving as the “man in the moon"—had endured such agonies on the journey as deter mined her, whatever came of it, to drive back in different company. So, going up to her cousin, Lord Lyndon, who was au undoubted “whip," she entreated him as follows: “Promise me,” she said, “that you will drive me home.” “My dear Margaret,” said Lyndon, “do not ask me to do that. You know I have Mildred under my care.” “My dear Henry,” returned Miss Deverill, desperately, “you must drive me, or you will have my death to an swer for. I will not trust myself again to that hare-brained boy, who sulked the entire way here, and knows noth ing whatever of driving. Indeed, my nerves are at present in such a state that I can go home with nobody but you; besides, anybody can see that the horse is positively dangerous.” Lyndon glanced toward the animal in question, and saw that it was un questionably skittish, displaying an evident desire to bolt, and seeming to take particular delight in taxing the patience of the small groom who stood on tiptoe to hold him, after which he looked once more at his cousin’s dolor ous countenance and relented. “Well, somebody must take care of Mildred,’ he said, with hesitation, “and —where is Mildred?” “She went toward the wool about half an hour ago—somebody ought to find her and say that we are on the move.” responded Harvey, from be neath a horse, where he was hastily arranging a twisted strap. "Eddie, go and find her,” said his lordship, distractedly. (To be continued.) TRAVELERS’ DOG BAGS. Theatrical Teoplo 1'arry Pet Dog* from Place to rince. A novel tiling in travelers’ equipment 1b the dog bag. It is produced by a trunk and bag maker who make3 a specialty of things for theatrical peo ple, and it is used chiefly by theatrical people for the convenient carrying of pet dogs from place to place in their constant traveling when on the road. The pets carried about the country by theatrical people, mainly women, In clude dogs of various kinds and sizes. It may he that the dog owners are oil the road eight or ten months in a year and constantly moving as they are, some means of getting the dogs about easily is especially desirable. The dog bag is made In the form of what is called in the trade a cabin bag. It has a box-shaped body with vertical sides and ends and with the top sloping. Obviously the cabin bag was the most desirable for this use, because with its straight sides it afforded the most room inside, and so gave the greatest comfort to the dog. Made up as a dog bag one end of the bag is taken out entirely, and in place is set a wire screen. Sometimes both ends for greater ventilation are thus equipped. Over the grating is a leather curtain, which may be opened or closed.—Chi cago Journal. Studying Criminal Records. H. B. Irving, second son of Sir Henry Irving, is busy on a unique work, in which he has analyzed the cynicism, refined cruelty and sheer brutality shown by such criminals as I^acenaire, Troppmann, Prado and Ravachol. Mr. Irving has selected those criminals whoso individualities and misdeeds re move them from the category of ordi nary malefactors. It may be inter esting to know that long before Mr. Irving became an actor he was inter ested in the study of crime. His rooms j at Oxford were piled high with criml [ nal records. OPPOSE REVISION. f A RIF tT QUESTION MUST NOT BE REOPENED. The Italirnrk I'rsjrim for Dealing with the Iron un