could never love you, and seeing from the first what my uncle wished, hoping that I might show you that it was impossible, and so spare you pain and annoyance, I was cold and tried to avoid you; not from shyness, but because I wanted you to understand that I could never care for you."

" "You love someone else ?"

"Yes." She bowed her head, her face suffused with blushes, her voice full of emotion, " I-love-someone else."

"And you will marry soon-be happy? Then all this talk of your being ruined has been false, and I have been cheated. Led on to hope and believe-made a fool of, in fact. That old ruffian

"Hush! You have not been cheated wilfully. My uncle knows nothing-is not aware that I love anyone. I am not engaged, and will never marry till the heavy cloud that hangs over me has been removed, and my name completely cleared."

"No man worth his salt, who knew and loved you, would allow that nonsense to stand in the way of his marrying you."

Elizabeth's lips trembled, and her eyes shone.

"No. He would not. He would marry me to-day-tomorrow-if I would. But, till all suspicion is at an end, till all the world knows me innocent, nothing will induce me to be his wife."

"You are a noble girl. Pray forgive me, but your beautiful unselfishness-Oh! Miss O'Neill, I see, understand more than ever, all that I have lost. You are an angel. But I will not trouble you any longer. God bless you. He is a lucky man who has won your love."

He seized her hand, carried it quickly to his lips, and with a deep, long-drawn sob, staggered from the room.

The hall-door shut with a bang, and Elizabeth shivered from head to foot, as she suddenly heard her uncle's voice in the passage.

"Poor fellow!" she cried, her eyes full of tears. "I am sorry, and would have spared him, if I could. And now there'll be a scene. I dread meeting Uncle John. If I could only get away"

But she was too late, and the next instant, she found herself face to face with John O'Neill. He looked at her, then shot a glance beyond her.

"Alone?" he growled, purple with rage. "Where is Bevan Passmore ? Was it he who left the flat just now?" "Yes, Uncle John." Elizabeth looked at him without flinching.

"Will he return to dinner ? "

"I think not. You and Miss Lamb will have to dine alone to-night. I am going to my room."

He caught her by the wrist.

"You have insulted my friend?"

"No. Indeed, Uncle John, I have not," struggling to release herself from his tightening grasp. "Mr. Passmore asked me to marry him and I refused. I do not love him, and I told him so.'

"You" He glared at her, as he hissed his words into her ear. "You fool, you madwoman! The man is rich, and would have ended your troubles and mine. The house of O'Neill is fallen. You a suspected thief. I, all but a bankrupt. Bevan Passmore, wealthy and generous, would have set us up."

"Uncle John, pray don't dream of the impossible. I would not, could not accept any favours from Mr. Passmore. I have older and dearer friends who-"

"Then go to them," he cried hoarsely. "I will burthen myself with you no longer. Go! See how they'll treat you, welcome you, put up with you. Poor and suspected of theft, they'll fight shy-treat you as you deserve, you-you--" Words failed him and flinging her from him, he sank into a chair, shaking and choking.

"You should not speak so of my friends, Uncle John," the girl said, her eyes dark and indignant. "They love me in spite of all my troubles and only allowed me to come to you because you were that is-you said you were ill and dying. They will gladly welcome me back."

He laughed scornfully, and pointing his finger towards the door, hissed out:

"Then go to them. Go! This very night."

"It is late, too late. I could not catch the Irish Mail, Uncle John. But I will go in the morning."

"No, no. Go to night. Late or not you must leave this to-night. Go where you will-but go."

Very well. It is a cruel thing to send me out alone-a young girl in London-at such an hour; and you'll regret it." Elizabeth said with dignity and apparent calm, though her heart was throbbing to suffocation, her mind in a whirl of terror, uncertainty and alarm. But I'll go, never to darken your door again. Good-bye, Uncle John. Good-bye."

He did not more, or speak, as the girl went out. And for some time he remained as she had left him, motionless, his heavy, stertorous breathing filling the room.

Half an hour passed. Light steps came down the passage paused for a brief second, near the drawing-room mat, then

quickly passed on; the hall door opened and shut, and he staggered to his feet.

"Gone. The-fool-the silly idiot. Well, she must dree her own weird. She has ruined my hopes-destroyed my plans. If she comes to grief, so much the worse for herself. I have done all I could for her." And he rang the electric bell, making it peal and echo through the flat.

In an instant the terrified servant put in her head.

"Dinner," he cried. "At once! I am starving." And with an angry, dissatisfied grunt, he flung himself down upon a chair.

(To be continued.)

CLARA MULHOLLAND.

A WORD, A LOOK, A SMILE

ONLY a kindly smile-that's all;
It little costs in giving,

But on some heart that's sad 'twill fall

And make a life worth living.

Only a cheerful, happy face-
Ah! who can tell its power, its grace?

Only a word, a kindly word,

Sublime, and fondness flinging
Over dark hours, like happy bird
Ever its sweet course winging.
Only a word-yet its pleasant sound
In someone's ears may long resouud.

Only a look, a kindly thought
Mending a heart that's broken:
Full many a marvel it hath wrought,
Though never a word be spoken.
Often a soul 'neath a loving eye

Hath lifted its burden and ceased to sigh.

Only a thought, a word, a smile

Scatter them day by day.

Only a thought, a word, a smile

Brightening life's dreary way-.

As precious gems in your crown you'll find,
When you reach that Land where all are kind.

S. M. W.

THE

TIMSY THE FAIRY

HE idiot son of the Widow Burke was known to the inhabitants of Rossderg as Timsy the Fairy.

On moonlight nights he was wont to wander over the country-side in hopes of seeing the Fairies dance to the sound of magic music. For Pat Fagan had told him that on the stroke of twelve o'clock, when the moon is at its full, the wee people become visible to mankind.

Timsy was very credulous, and believed everything he was told, so that the children never tired of telling him the most wonderful and impossible things. He was steeped in fairy lore, and knew that a fairy was concealed in each long blossom of the foxglove. He would sit muttering incantations to the purple blossoms, endeavouring to persuade the good little people to manifest themselves. It was on this account he was known as Timsy the Fairy.

Notwithstanding his clumsy, ungainly person, his mother loved him dearly, pitying him for his helplessness. His figure was stunted, but his countenance was gentle, and his great blue eyes were pathetic in their expression of bewildered resignation and uncomplaining meekness.

The Widow Burke, Timsy, and blind Norah Flanagan, lived in a cottage on the roadside a humble little cottage, but clean and tidy. On a nail by the door hung a cage containing a thrush which belonged to blind Norah. The bird gladdened the hearts of the cottage inmates by its sweet singing.

An accident had befallen Norah when she was twenty years of age, depriving her of the sight of both eyes. She had lived with her father until his death, which had taken place when she herself was well over middle age. The Widow Burke, compassionating the blind woman's loneliness and poverty, had proffered Norah the hospitality of the roadside cottage, and this kind offer she had gratefully accepted.

Norah bore her affliction with quiet, brave endurance, contributing to her support by selling baskets, which she made by plaiting rushes which Timsy collected for her down by the river. Though the neighbours themselves were poor, the number of baskets they required was surprising. Miss Vesey -Sir Derrick Vesey's daughter-was constantly in need of baskets, as presents to her friends.

The entrance gate of Castle Vesey was but a quarter of a

mile from the Widow Burke's cottage. Timsy was a protégé of Miss Vesey, who had always a cheerful smile and a kind word for him. She never returned from London or Dublin without bringing him a present; knowing his partiality for brilliant colours, she would give him a bright-hued neck scarf, or a highly coloured picture-book.

"

The poor idiot adored her, and would sit for hours by his cottage door, hoping to see her pass, accompanied by her dog, Mademoiselle "the most frivolous of French poodles, who wore a bangle on one paw, while a collar ornamented with silver bells encircled its fat neck. There was no music as dear to Timsy as the tinkling of Mademoiselle's absurd bells.

Miss Vesey had a kind and tender heart, and had on one occasion championed Timsy when he was being tortured by rough boys. For one day he had left open the door of the cage which contained Norah's thrush. The bird, delighted at regaining his liberty, soared into the air, and disappeared from sight. Blind Norah felt the loss of her bird very keenly, and wept bitter tears. Timsy was greatly distressed, the more so as he was responsible for the flight of the thrush. In his anxiety to replace the lost songster, he had consulted Pat Fagan as to how he was to set about getting another bird.

"Catch one, to be sure," said Pat, with a grin. "How am I to catch it ?" Timsy inquired. "It's little ye know," said Pat with contempt. have got to do is to put a pinch of salt on its tail. a pinch of salt, and try."

"All ye

Just fetch

Timsy ran off in search of the salt, while Pat collected a crowd of boon companions, saying:

"Sure it's the great fun we are going to have out of Timsy the Fairy. It's the grand playboy he'll make."

When Timsy returned with the salt, a large crowd of urchins had collected, headed by their ringleader, Pat. The fun was fast and furious. Timsy rushed to the right and left in pursuit of imaginary birds. The boys pulled his coat tails in all directions, calling out:

"Quick, Timsy, quick! or you'll lose the birds!"

The play had begun innocently enough, but carried away by high spirits the boys were getting excited, and the game was developing into rough horse play. Timsy's cap was thrown into a pond, and he was deprived of both his coat tails.

When Miss Vesey came upon the scene, she saw at a glance that Timsy was really frightened, and much exhausted. In peremptory tones she bade the boys desist from teasing him. They shamefacedly obeyed her.