self," was the cool rejoinder, and she moved hastily away, as if anxious to avoid further enquiries. But Max was not to be put off so easily now that his curiosity was aroused. Springing after her he clutched her cloak with a strong grasp. "I cannot let you go until you tell me all you know," he exclaimed with subdued vehe mence. "If you keep me here till Doomsday you'll get nothing more out of me," Dinah said, with cool determination. "But I will compel you to speak out." Max was getting angry now, and spoke with unusual excitement. "A purty timper you have for a parson, to be sure," Dinah observed, with cutting irony. "But ye are all alike, priest and parson, firing up, and ready to snap the head off one on the least provocation. Can't you spake aisy to a body ?" The clergyman calmed down at this sarcastic remark. "Tell me what you know of Josephine and her parents," he pleaded. "I didn't say I knew anything about them. What put that in your head? And even if I did where's the use of telling it. Such stories are betther hid nor brought to the fore." Max seemed to think she was right, for he suddenly released her from his detaining grasp, and walked thoughtfully back to the summer-house, while Dinah, chuckling at having evaded his importunity, strode down the cliff-path and took the road to Carragh passed between him and the singular-looking woman who called herself Dinah Blake. After tea, she followed her nephew to the summer-house, whither he had retired to think the matter over, and abruptly introduced the subject by inquiring why he looked troubled and thoughtful. He gladly confided to her what had been said relative to Josephine, anxious to see whether the same suspicion which had pained him would flash upon her mind. She heard him with deep interest, and he saw by her face that she thought as he did on the subject. "Josephine must be the daughter of Major Barrington-her likeness to his legitimate child is, as you say, remarkable," Mrs. Dormer observed in tones of deep regret. The thought seemed a very painful one. "I think we must come to that conclusion, unpleasant as it is," rejoined Max, moodily, "but who is her mother? Can it be the relative of whom Dinah spoke, the girl she called Nora, who sleeps in a dishonoured grave? Good Heavens, how painfully humiliating to think our Josephine is connected by the ties of blood with that woman!-her granddaughter, perhaps !" he added contemptuously. "That is not the worst feature in the case," said Mrs. Dormer, quietly, "the illegitimacy of her birth is more to be regretted, and yet the discovery of that should not really surprise us; it is only what we might expect to learn, knowing what we do, that she is a foundling deserted by her parents." "Still, I did hope that the mystery of her birth might be cleared up some day more to our satisfaction. It is dreadful to learn she is so base-born as to have to connect one like her with sin and dishonour." "She need never know it, Max, and, of course, this painful discovery will make no change in our feelings towards her," said his aunt earnestly. "She must never know it!" exclaimed Max, vehemently, "the discovery would render her wretched, and darken her bright young life. To one of her pure, refined nature, the knowledge of her parents' sin and her mother's shame would shut out the light of earthly happiness forever." "Dinah Blake evidently wishes to keep the secret," resumed Mrs. Dormer, "therefore the unpleasant revelation is not likely to come from her." "I suppose not. She is a woman, it seems, who can keep a secret. But what can the evil act be which she is so unwilling to disclose, and which she said embittered the last moments of Major Barrington's life?" “Did she tell you that?" asked Mrs. Dormer, with a look of intense surprise, as a strange thought flashed through her mind. "She certainly said so," and Max now related the rest of the conversation between him and Dinah Blake. child. Really, you have thrown considerable light on this strange affair, aunt," and the clouded face of Max Butler brightened as he saw the dark shadows of a shameful birth roll away from Josephine's horizon. "If Dinah Blake said that, the thing is plain enough in my opinion," remarked Mrs. Dormer confidently. "I wonder that idea did not strike me," said Max thoughtfully. "It takes the acuter feminine mind to grasp it though. And now what is to be done in the matter? What steps can we take?” "We can do nothing at present. I think Dinah's awakened conscience will make her do all that is necessary. We can only wait and watch, and hope that our dear Josephine will some day regain her own." "And that poor girl, Miss Barrington, how I pity her!" resumed Max, sympathetically. "To think of the disgrace hanging over her head, ready to descend and envel It seemed to strengthen the startling sus-ope her in its mantle of shame! I do not picion which had seized upon his aunt. "It could not surely be that!" she said, as if speaking to herself, in a bewildered way. "Could not be what?" he asked eagerly. “A change of children," she replied. "Bless me, I never thought of that!" burst from Max, excitedly. "Really, that is jumping at an absurd conclusion, Aunt Amy." "I don't think it is absurd, Max. When we think of Dinah's assertion that the evil act was committed through revenge on Major Barrington, and that it was only revealed to him on his death-bed, suspicion points to that solution of the mystery." "And you think Josephine is the legitimate daughter, and the true heiress of Barrington Height, Aunt Amy?" "That is my supposition, Max, and I believe I am right. Did not Dinah speak of righting some one, and, in doing so, of bringing disgrace on an innocent person?" "Yes, that was her chief difficulty-she felt unwilling to bring disgrace on Nora's wonder at the woman hanging back, unwilling to crush her with the heavy blow she has it in her power to give. And she will feel it keenly, too, in her intense pride of birth and station. Really, aunt, I have no wish that this shameful secret should be made public." Max continued, in his great sympathy with the beautiful heiress, “Josephine is quite happy and perfectly contented in her present sphere, believing herself your daughter. Why then should she be exalted to a higher station at the expense of an innocent girl's happiness, and by bringing her down to the depths of a bitter we should regret it, or throw any obstacles in the way from motives of compassion to one who is a perfect stranger to us. You seem to have taken quite a fancy to this haughty heiress, Max," Mrs. Dormer added with an arch smile. "I admire her exceedingly, but admiration is not love, aunt,” and Max gave a little embarrassed laugh. in the power of preaching, hoped he had made the desired impression; but on glancing towards her near the conclusion of his sermon, this illusion was dispelled, for he detected a gleam, half scornful, half defiant, in the brilliant eyes fixed on him so intently. The sermon, like most others, did no good. The demon of pride retained possession of Eva Barrington; there was the same chilling hauteur in her manner, the same imperious look in her dark, handsome face, and Max felt that his oratorical display was in vain. However, in all his plans for doing good in "But it may become love, Max, and I fear the poor parson of Carraghmore would have little chance of winning the proud mistress of Barrington Height." "She may not always be the heiress, the parish, she was his able supporter, her aunt." "No," she said, coldly, "but, in that case, what a stain would rest upon her birth!" The Rev. Max winced at this, but made no reply, and Josephine now joining them, the subject was dropped. purse was ever open to the claims of charity, for, with all her pride, she was kind to the poor. It was about a month after the arrival of the Dormers at Carraghmore that Josephine received an invitation one morning to spend the evening at Barrington House, and take part in some tableaux vivants got up by Sir Gerard Trevor and his cousin. was a great event in the quiet life of Josephine, and the evening was looked forward to with intense excitement, in which Max This invited guest. The pony carriage was kindly sent by Miss Barrington for the clergyman and his cousin, and as it drove slowly up the steep approach to the house, they had leisure to admire the magnificent view its elevated situation commanded. At the pillared entrance stood Lady Trevor and her son, looking seaward through a tel Some weeks passed on very pleasantly for the Dormers, especially for Josephine, before whom a bright new path in life had opened. At the request of Sir Gerard Trevor, Max had introduced him to his aunt and cousin, and he became a frequent visi-participated not a little, for he, too, was an tor at the cottage. Lady Trevor and Miss Barrington made a formal call on the clergyman's family, and this acquaintance with the heiress was extremely gratifying to Josephine and particularly pleasing to Max. In their intercourse, however, the proud girl was often too supercilious, making them feel her condescension in noticing them, and the difference in their positions. This was rath-escope, watching some outward-bound veser exasperating to Max-suspecting what he did-in spite of all his admiration for the haughty beauty, and he prepared to exorcise the demon which had taken possession of her. Therefore one Sunday morning he preached an eloquent sermon on the sin of pride, describing in forcible language its sinfulness in the sight of Heaven. Eva Barrington listened with profound attention, as she always did, to the handsome clergyman's clever discourses, and he, in his simple faith sels gliding in full sail over the calm ocean. Lady Trevor's reception of the Rev. Maxwell Butler and Miss Dormer was very courteous. She seemed much struck with the singular beauty of Josephine, and Max observed that her eyes dwelt frequently on her with a wondering expression. Once he heard her whisper to Sir Gerard: "The likeness is certainly striking, but she is handsomer than Eva." Among the guests was a young lady who, as well as Josephine, had only lately arrived in the neighbourhood. She was the daughter of Mr. Crofton, the agent of Miss Barrington's estate. He also had other agencies in the county, and one of a very large property belonging to Lord Arranmore, an Irish absentee, who resided chiefly on the continent, travelling from one European city to the other in quest of pleasure, living in a constant whirl of gaiety and excitement. Miss Crofton had been residing with an aunt in Dublin for the benefit of her education. That was now said to be completed, and she had recently returned to her father's handsome home-situated a few miles from Carraghmore-highly accomplished, report said, and certainly very attractive, graceful and lady-like. She was about the same age as Josephine and Eva Barrington, but her style of beauty was different from either. Her hair was of the palest gold, her eyes a grayish blue, clear and brilliant, lighting up with every change of feeling; her complexion was clear, white and red, but the features were not regular, the nose was a little retroussé, and the mouth rather large, the lips well-shaped, disclosing, however, when she laughed, teeth of glittering whiteness. Her laugh, too, was very pleasing, its ring so merry yet so musical. The bright joyous nature of the girl had not yet been depressed by sad influences. To her "life's bitterness was still untried," and the happiness she felt showed itself on her fair young face. She was tall, with a lithe grace of movement, her rich costume-the work of a Dublin modiste-showing off her fine figure to advantage. This was Miss Crofton's first appearance in public since her return home, and she attracted considerable admiration. The Rev. Maxwell Butler was quite taken with this new face; though it had not the statuesque beauty of Josephine, or the haughty loveliness of Miss Barrington, still it possessed an indescribable charm for him. He was rather impressionable, this young clergyHe had been very near falling in man. love with the Juno-like heiress, but had been repelled by the chilling hauteur of her manner, which told him as plainly as words could do, that she was only to be worshipped at a distance, and he had too much good sense to pour out his homage before an unattainable idol. As there was no chance of winning the affections of the proud mistress of Barrington House, he turned his attention towards this new and less radiant star which had just risen upon the confined horizon of the little world of Carraghmore. Miss Crofton, unlike the heiress, seemed quite flattered by the attentions of the handsome parson. The evening passed pleasantly, the tableaux vivants were a great success, and Miss Barrington and Josephine looked peerless in the characters they respectively selected. But Max was not permitted to see the close of the entertainment. A summons to attend the bed of a dying parishioner obliged him to leave rather early, and he bade a reluctant adieu to the festive scene, thinking solemn thoughts as he walked along quickly in the summer moonlight, for the painful contrast between that scene of gaiety and the house of mourning he was about to enter struck him forcibly. Sir Gerard Trevor escorted Miss Dormer home, secretly rejoicing at the absence of Max, which gave him this opportunity of enjoying a tête-à-tête with Josephine. The night was one of summer beauty. A cloudless moon was flinging its brilliant light on wooded steeps and secluded glens and wild seacoast, while the restless ocean shimmered beneath the radiant beams. Slowly the baronet drove the pony phaeton in order to prolong this delightful tête-à-tête. His attentions to Josephine during the evening had been marked. There was a charm in Josephine's naïve conversation to this young man accustomed to the society of fashionable young ladies. She had cast a spell around him by the witchery of her manner as well as by her singular beauty, and forgetting her want of birth or fortune, forget. He ting everything except his own passionate love, he was ready to lay himself and title at her feet, withheld only by the wish first to gain her pure, innocent affections. wanted to be loved for himself alone-not accepted simply on account of the rank or station in society which a marriage with him would confer. On reaching the cottage they met Max, just returned from fulfilling his painful duty at the death-bed to which he had been so hastily summoned, his manner completely sobered by the solemnity of the scene he had recently left, and his mind full of perplexing thoughts whether he had done right in being present at the gaieties at Barrington House in the previous part of the evening. Surely the life of a clergyman should be one of greater self-denial, he told himself repeatedly. Had he not felt how unprepared his mind was to face death, when called suddenly from a place of amusement to administer a solemn rite to the dying. It was the first time that anything of the kind had occurred, and Max determined it should be the last. He would accept no more invitations to scenes even of innocent recreation, but would come out from the world and devote himself to the sacred duties of his profession. Only in that way could he hope to serve God and win souls; for what influence for good can a clergyman have whose life is not unworldly and full of selfdenial? ing of the waves along the shore. The sun was setting, and lighting up with crimson glory the broad expanse of ocean, and touching with golden lustre the rugged summits of the tall grey cliffs. "It's a beautiful evening, ma'am, glory be to God!" The sudden salutation, and steps crunching the pebbly shore, made Winny turn eagerly round. A woman of respectable appearance stood near her.. Winny recognized her as one of the servants from Barrington House, Nurse Lynch as she was called. Having been Eva's nurse, she was now her most privileged domestic, as the nurse is in most Irish families. On the preceding evening, Nurse Lynch had assisted at the toilet of her young mistress and Miss Dormer when preparing for the tableaux vivants. Josephine's necklace having be come unclasped, she had asked this woman to fasten it for her. As she did so, the peculiar mark behind the girl's shell-like ear caught the nurse's attention. A low exclamation of astonishment escaped her, and her hands trembled so she could with difficulty render the little service required of her. She, as well as others, had noticed the striking resemblance between Miss Dormer and Eva Barrington, and this little discovery had given that resemblance a strange importance in her eyes. A deep feeling of curiosity was awakened in the woman's mind, and it was with the hope of having it gratified, and her suspicions either confirmed or removed, that she sought this interview with Mrs. Dormer's servant. "It's mighty pleasant by the sea-side this warm evening," she continued, taking a seat beside Winny. "Thrue for you, ma'am," was the laconic answer. "They had fine doings up at the house last night; and your young lady was the belle of the party." This was said in Nurse Lynch's most insinuating tones. "Sure there's nothing sthrange in that, |