and that fad was old historic houses, of which Miss Teresa had made a large number of photographs. If Miss Beecher had a fad, it was the adornment of her own stylish person, especially with jewels, of which she had a rare collection.

The two cousins did not find themselves very congenial, and Maud soon tired of wheeling through the historic parts of Massachusetts in search of the most tumble-down houses there. She got on better with Tom Holland, and often begged him to take her wheeling with the other "fellows." Tom was seventeen, and he found his cousin very amusing.

At last Tom and the other fellows went to the Maine woods for a hunting trip, Mrs. Holland and the younger children left for their seaside home, and Maud and Teresa were left alone in the great city house. Teresa had almost finished an article on historic houses," and Maud generously offered to remain with her till it was completed.

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She repeated her rash offer as the hot summer days came on, but Teresa protested that it was cooler in the library of the big city house than on the piazza of the beach house, where the glaring sand reflected in one's face, or in the Maine woods, where mosquitoes and black-flies made life miserable.

Maud curled up in a big leather chair and read till her head ached, then she spent long hours doing her hair different ways, and trying on different costumes, to see if one might not be a trifle cooler than the others.

When Teresa announced that she had decided to write an article on photographic art studies before going away Maud walked out of the room without a word.

Teresa was surprised an hour later when Maud appeared with her traveling bag in her hand. She wore a covert cloth skirt and a silk shirt-waist. She had fastened a costly diamond pin in her hair, and another in her breast, to hold in her watch with its jeweled pendant. On her fingers

were many rare gems.

"Well," exclaimed Teresa. "where now?"

"To the Maine woods to see Tom," Maud replied gayly. Teresa dropped her pen in dismay.

"Going to see Tom," she ejaculated, "and wearing all those jewels! Really, Maud, I shall have to telegraph mamma if you insist on this wild prank. Come, I will give up this article and go with you to the beach if you wish. I thought you were quite contented."

"No, Teresa, I will not let you sacrifice your precious article. I am quite determined to go fishing with the boys. Don't be a goose, Teresa, let me go. Mrs. Bur

ridge is up there cooking for the boys. I

shall be chaperoned all right. It's no worse than wheeling with them all over Massachusetts."

Teresa gave it up and went back to her article after remarking that at least Mand ought to have sense enough to take off her jewelry if she didn't want to get robbed.

Maud protested that it was safer on her person than anywhere else, and that she had a chamois bag around her neck with all her stones in it. Then she started off down the street and Teresa soon forgot all about her, remaining absorbed in her work till the dinner bell rang. Then she remembered with a pang that her cousin had done a very uncircumspect thing, and felt bound to write Mrs. Holland about it.

Maud enjoyed her journey immensely, and was not at all alarmed to find she must spend the night in Portland, and leave at an unseasonable hour in the morning. She accomplished all her arrangements without difficulty, and was treated with respectful courtesy by all the railroad and hotel officials.

As the train bowled along northward in the early morning, she was congratulating herself and thinking with scorn of timid young maidens who never traveled alone, when she became conscious of a pair of eyes riveted on her face. Wheeling in her chair she encountered them. They were gray, unpleasant eyes, and they did not drop before hers, but their owner smiled boldly.

She turned quickly away and buried herself in a newspaper. The eyes still followed her, and she ventured to turn towards them again, and pretended to fall asleep, thus gaining an opportunity to study the offender through half shut eyes. He was a well dressed man, though Maud's mental comment was that he was "cheap.

"Probably wants to flirt," she thought angrily. "Well, I'm not that kind,” and she involuntarily tossed her head again. Again the man smiled.

Just then an older man with a smooth, hard face joined him, and both began to talk earnestly, frequently glancing across at Maud as though she were the subject of their talk. At last she could endure it no longer and beckoned to the conductor.

"Those men," pointing directly to them, "are annoying me very much by their boldness."

"I am very sorry," returned the polite conductor. "I will see that it does not happen again." And he moved toward the young man.

The elder man rose as the conductor crossed the car and engaged him in a conversation, which Maud could not hear, but the conductor glanced back at her several times, and she knew there was

some mystery. She would have shrieked aloud could she have heard what the cool stranger was saying about her.

"The young lady is my sister," he said, "and this young man's sister. She has been insane for some months, though quite harmless and quiet. At last her mind became so deranged that we decided to take her to a quiet little camp in the woods. Her mother is there already waiting for her. She likes to fancy herself traveling alone, so we humored her by getting seats over here and letting her pay for her seat. It is one of her fancies to pretend not to know us. Her brother has smiled at her several times, hoping to get some sign of recognition. Poor fellow! He is very fond of her. I suppose we ought to have told you when we got on, but we hoped she would take the journey quietly. I assure you we will get off if she is troublesome," and he sighed deeply.

"Sad case!" murmured the conductor, and moved away.

Dr. Herman Aldrich was in the smoker at the time of the above interview, but when the conductor came through he stopped sociably and told him of the case. Dr. Aldrich was a warm friend of the Hollands, but had never met Teresa's cousin Maud. Had he dreamed who she was his interest would have been more than professional. As it was, he hurried his cigar and went back to his seat, which was next Maud's. He looked long at the girl's regular profile, and at last she turned her clear eyes full upon him.

commanded him to let her pass. She swore her name was not Mattie, and glaring wildly round the car, besought them all to save her from these wretches. She begged to know if an American lady could not travel alone without being attacked by ruffians.

"Will nobody help me?" she cried, and looking about saw everyone gazing pityingly at her, but not one started to her assistance. One woman fainted, another had hysterics, and the little conductor bustled up officiously, and said quite loud enough for Maud to hear: "She seems to be getting violent. We are near Green Pond station, and I think you will have to get off here."

"What!" she cried, "do you think I am crazy? Oh, my God!" And sinking into her chair, she buried her face in her hands.

In some way, known best by the man who professed to be her uncle, nearly all the people in the car had become acquainted with the story of the insane lady, and wherever she turned she met curious or pitying glances. She grew more and more nervous, and at last her composure gave way. Rising, she was about to pass down the car to the ladies' room, where she could be free from these annoyances, and think what was best to be done.

She had taken only a step or two when the elder man was by her side. He laid his hand firmly on her arm.

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"Mattie," he said, you had better sit right down."

At that moment there is no doubt but what Maud Beecher acted insane. She tore herself away from the man, and

As the train slowed up the two men took her by the arm, and commenced dragging her down the aisle. She fought them inch by inch, but they were strong men, and she a slight girl of twenty; so they had her at the door when the train stopped. Suddenly her face brightened.

"Oh, there's Tom Holland-Tom! Tom!" she cried, struggling with renewed energy. At that Dr. Aldrich's athletic form blocked the stairway. "If you know Tom Holland," he said, "I demand of these gentlemen proof that they have any right to coerce you in this way."

Before he reached the end of his sentence, he and the young girl occupied the platform alone. Both men took to their

heels, and have not been heard of since. The young lady swayed forward, and would have fallen but for the doctor's strong arm. He lifted her down from the train, and looked about for Tom Holland, who had been on the platform three minutes before.

The doctor had seen him at the same instant Maud had cried out to him, and seizing his grip, had made a rush for the door. He, too, was on the way to Tom's camping place, and decided, on seeing him, that Tom had driven down to Green Pond to intercept him. Here was the doctor with an unconscious lady in his arms, and no one in sight. His professional training made him quite equal to the occasion, but nevertheless it was awkward, and he swore softly under his breath as he carried Maud's limp form into the little station house.

The station master brought him a mug with some whisky in it, and he succeeded in bringing Maud back to consciousness. She sat up crying and looking wildly about her. Finding her dress loosened at her throat, she clutched wildly at her jewels, and finding all safe she looked in the faces of the doctor and station master. "Who are you?" she cried. not the ones who carried me off."

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'You are

Then she called for Tom repeatedly, and sobbed out that if she had taken Teresa's advice she would never have come to this.

The doctor tried to reassure her, but she would not be comforted. So he sent the station master to find someone who was willing to drive them to Tom's camp.

The doctor was far from comfortable. No doubt this girl knew the Hollands, but she might be crazy, nevertheless. Her actions were suspicious enough. Perhaps Tom Holland would not thank him for bringing this girl to the camp.

settled

Two hours later the question was for him. They overtook Tom driving in, and surprised him greatly. He had never received the doctor's letter saying he was coming, and of course Maud's advent was a surprise. Explanations passed on both sides, and Maud's shaken nerves began to quiet down. Mrs. Burridge put her to bed as soon as they reached the camp, and the doctor sent up a dose of bromide.

Two days later Miss Teresa Holland arrived. Her mother's advice had been, "Go up to camp and look after Maud yourself." Teresa found Maud very well taken care of when she arrived. She was swinging in Tom's hammock, while Dr. Aldrich read aloud.

The girls stayed two weeks and brought a new and happy change into camp. Teresa finding plenty to admire in old trees and rocks, developed into a very pleasant companion, and she could out-tramp any of them.

Maud was a good deal changed by her unhappy experience. She started quickly if any unexpected sound was heard, and she never went out of sight of some of the campers. This being her condition, Dr. Aldrich found it necessary to look after her very carefully.

One night, near the end of their stay, Maud and the doctor were strolling on the shore not far from the cabin, and both were strangely silent. Finally Maud spoke in a low and intense voice:

Supposing, doctor, you hadn't been there? Tom never would have heard me. He wasn't watching the train at all.” It was the first time he had let her talk of her fright, for it agitated her. "I was thinking of another supposi tion," he said. Supposing you should go back to Chicago, as you have planned to do next month, what a blank you would leave behind you! Then, again, suppose you should let me join you there in the fall, and suppose you should come back with me and let me take care of you always. I love you, Maud," he finished simply.

Well," she answered, "supposing I should."-Cleveland Leader.

Spring Fever.

When Dame Nature gets spring fever,
Then Dame Nature gets to work,
And that bird or bud would grieve her
That would e'er its duty shirk.
So she goes abroad and hustles,
Clothes the trees, makes birds to sing;
Aye, she strenuously tussles

With her fever in the spring,

When a woman gets spring fever,
She will take the carpets up,
Hubby dams like any beaver;
On the porch he has to sup.
When the carpets say, "Come, tack me!"'
Then he swears like anything,
For he knows he's reached the acme
Of her fever in the spring.

When a fellow has spring fever,

Love to nature he will make;
In his heart he will receive her,
And the woman gets the shake.
With the daffodil and daisy

He'd fain loaf a while and sing,
For it makes him very lazy,
Does the fever in the spring.

-Pittsburg Dispatch.

Saved From Herself.

"Can I trust you, Maudie?" "Trust me-in what way, Gerald? I am afraid I have not been paying much attention to all that you were saying."

She turned her beautiful flower-like face toward him with a mocking move, her blue eyes sparkling under their dark

lashes with a mischievous light in their depths, and with a coquettish lifting of the finely-marked eyebrows which distracted and unnerved him from the task he had set himself. Would she ever be serious-ever see that life held deeper interest than the whims and amusements of the passing hour?

His wife-this bewitching, lovely, irresponsible being! He went over to where she was lying in a long chair in the shadiest, coolest corner of the veranda, and taking her two slim, white hands in his strong, brown ones, he knelt beside her and said: " Maudie, I have to leave you here with Mrs. Tailyour, and I want to feel sure that you will be prudent and do nothing foolish or unsuited to your station as my wife, for afterward you would be sorry or ashamed-"

"Gerald!" she interrupted, with petulant indignation.

"Yes, darling, I must speak plainly. You remember last winter-it was unintentional on your part, I know-but still, how unhappy you were made by all the wretched talk and gossip that followed."

"That was three months ago, Gerald. I am older now, and more experienced. I am sure you need not remind me of that miserable affair-it is unkind of you."

She withdrew her hands from his clasp with a reproachful gesture and added, pouting:

"After all, it is not my fault that I am pretty, and I cannot help it if your friends will admire me and pay me attention!"

"But you will be careful,

A look of helpless and baffled anxiety passed over Major Jocelyn's handsome, careworn face. Without glancing at him nis wife continued coldly: "I consider it very ungenerous of you to attack Lord Perceval in the way you have done lately, hinting at things against him, throwing out insinuations as to his character, but with nothing really definite that you can state against him. You know I like him, that he is my friend. I call it mean of you, Gerald, positively mean."

"There are plenty of things I could state against him if I felt so inclined, but there is no need to particularize. It ought to be enough for you that I tell you that I distrust and dislike the man. Lord Perceval has brought a slur on the names of too many women for any honest man to care for his wife to call him friend."

He spoke with angry emphasis, and afterward there was an ominous silence between them for some moments. It was

my darling; promise me-this fellow Perceval

"Oh! now you are going to abuse Lord Perceval again, I suppose; I am so tired of that topic; I shall not listen to a word against him, Gerald; I have known him all my life; he is my oldest and greatest friend, and I do not intend to give him up for any one; no, not for any one, not even for you, Gerald-so there!"

She sprang to her feet and walked quickly to the edge of the veranda, where she leaned over the balustrade with her head averted from nim in an attitude of mutinous defiance. So small and childlike a creature, and yet possessed of such potentialities to wound and hurt the man who loved her with all the passionate intensity of his strong and sensitive nature. Such a slim, fragile-looking being, and yet so powerful in wielding an influence over the hearts of those around her.

at last broken by the girl saying with passionate reproach:

"Oh, it is cruel of you, Gerald, to speak to me like this, to want to quarrel with me in these our last moments together; to leave me with angry words upon your lips, making me so unhappy." Her voice trembled and broke, and her hands went up to cover the tear-laden eyes. In a moment he was at her side, all the severity had vanished from his face, and with his arms around her he was murmuring in pleading accents the words of penitence and love which made his peace for him before he left her.

A week had passed since Gerald Jocelyn had bidden farewell to his young wife and started on his journey through the desert to join the troops in advance. The still, blue heat of an Egyptian day brooded over the quiet villa, which from its lack of sign or sound of life seemed to be

prolonging its midday siesta into the evening hours. The clatter of hoofs outside aroused the attention of the solitary inhabitant of the veranda, a middle-aged woman, whose strongly marked features and keen dark eyes proclaimed her a person of intelligence and decided character. She threw aside the book she was reading, and advanced toward the flight of steps where the rider, an artillery officer, was already dismounting from his horse. As he caught sight of her the dark cloud of sorrowful anxiety which hung over his countenance was visibly lightened.

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Ah, Mrs. Tailyour, I am indeed thankful to see you! You are the very person who can help me," he cried.

Anything wrong, Captain Ferguson?" she asked, eagerly, as he joined her in the shade. Then taking in the details of his horse's heaving sides and his own heated and worn appearance, she added with increased apprehension, "You have ridden fast-no bad news, I trust."

"Yes, very bad news; the worst, as far as I am concerned! Poor Jocelyn-my greatest friend, as you know-such a good sort he was. I never was so cut up about anything in my whole life."

He sank beside her on a seat with an air of dejected melancholy, and passed his hand wearily across his brow.

"I

"Has there been a skirmish already?" Mrs. Tailyour asked, breathlessly. did not know any fighting was expected yet; the colonel reported all quiet in his last; is poor Major Jocelyn wounded?'

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He is dead, poor fellow! There has been no fighting; it was an accidentwith one of the guns, I imagine, but the telegram only said: 'Accident, Jocelyn killed; meet train tonight.' That is all I know."

"Good God!" Mrs. Tailyour exclaimed. "Gerald Jocelyn killed! How shocking! I am terribly grieved. His poor young wife! only married six months! tears rose in her eyes as she spoke.

The

"Yes, his wife." Captain Ferguson answered, anxiously. "I rode out at once hoping to find you here and that you would kindly break the news to Mrs. Jocelyn and relieve me of the painful responsibility. I have not the courage to do it, though I don't suppose she will feel it much."

He spoke with some bitterness, and Mrs. Tailyour answered him quickly:

You misunderstand her-indeed you do, Captain Ferguson. Poor child! Poor pretty child! She is but a child after all. The shock will be enough to kill her; a thoughtless, frivolous creature she may be, but I believe her love for Gerald is genuine and far deeper than any one suspected, deeper even than she herself is aware."

"She has a curious way of showing it, then, I must confess," Captain Ferguson replied with acerbity. "I never liked her, you know that, Mrs. Tailyour. A brainless, selfish coquette, without a spark of real feeling for any one but herself. I am sure I pitied poor Jocelyn for the life she led him last winter in Cairo, flirting with every man she met! And then that poor fellow Cummings shooting himself; that was a horrid business. However, this will sober her if anything will. Where is she now?"

"She is out riding with Lord Perceval; they started soon after breakfast and may return at any moment."

"That fellow Perceval! Brute! I wonder Jocelyn did not put his foot down there." Čaptain Ferguson frowned and relapsed into gloomy silence.

See that little cloud of dust. That is their party, no doubt."

Mrs. Tailyour pointed to the distant, undulating line in the desert. "I dread this business! Poor little soul, she is not of the stuff for bearing trouble well. God knows how she may take it."

Some few minutes later the little cavalcade rode up, laughing and joking, to the villa, all unconscious of the two people who awaited its arrival in sorrowful silence, dreading the moment when their sad intelligence must be made known. Maud Jocelyn sprang from her horse and ran lightly up the steps toward them with a laugh on her lips-then something in the strange expression of the two faces that confronted her froze the words of merry greeting on her tongue.

"Oh, my dear! My dear!" Mrs. Tailyour said, pitifully, taking her by the hand and drawing her away.

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'Oh, what is it, Mrs. Tailyour-what has happened? Gerald-is he ill? Tell me quickly. You have heard bad news,' Maud stammered, in terrified accents.

"Yes, dear child, there is bad news-be brave!" and the older woman led the girl quickly away to her own room.

Dead.

There, later, a voice wailed forth in anguish, "Gerald, my love! Gerald! Oh, I cannot bear it-it is not true! My dear love! Dead. Gerald, husband! Lying dead while I rode laughing and jesting across the desert!"

Then the thought of their last words together flashed across her mind; she seemed to see again the proud, handsome face, and hear again that pleading, earnest voice, "Can I trust you, Maud? Promise me."

And she had spurned his warning; had refused his last request, and set her whims in defiance of his feelings and wishes. As she rode by the side of Lord Perceval that day on the banks of the canal she had listened with pleased vanity to his whis