"no i am sure it never answers at least not in most cases and in ours it would not i am convinced; but i had a pretty hard battle about it i assure you ada."

"i had no idea until now that they wished it" returned ada. "but i am very glad you did not agree to it."

(the matter under consideration was, if it were desirable that young couples should reside with the parents of either; but charles ashton knew his mother's disposition too well, to subject his wife to it, though he was a very good son and loved his mother. he had no wish, nor did he consider himself at liberty to place his wife in a position that he knew might make her very unhappy. nor did he think that such an arrangement would promote domestic bliss. he was a particularly quiet easy going fellow, very averse to exertion of any kind and seldom troubled himself to oppose any arrangements, usually agreeing to any proposition for the sake of peace and quietness. but for all that he had a will of his own, and when he had once made up his mind, nothing on earth could move him. before he married he gave the matter careful considertion, and came to the conclusion that it must never be--never ada would be his wife, and no mortal should breathe a word against her in his hearing--therefore it must never be. having come to this conclusion he waited until the subject should be broached by either of his parents, knowing very well that when that topic should be discussed, then would come the tug of war, and he was not at all anxious for it. it soon came however, his father proposed that he should bring his bride there, saying, "there is plenty of room for all." but charles was not so sure of that, and feared that the house might possibly become too hot to hold them, but merely stated quietly that he had decided otherwise. then arose a perfect storm, but he was firm. his mother asked with her handkerchief to her eyes, if she was to lose her boy altogether. while lord ashton requested to be informed what his plans might be.

"to live in england" he answered.

"what might be his objection to ashton park."

he had nothing to say against ashton park, but he wished to reside in england.

very well, they would go to england, and all live together, that would be charming lady ashton said.

"he should like them to live in england, but as to living together, that was out of the question," charles replied.

"whereupon lady ashton was highly offended and very angry. charles was quiet, but firm, all they could urge was useless, he would not hear of it.) "it might answer in arthur's case" he returned, by the way ada is it not strange we have never heard anything of them, poor louisa, i suppose boarding school did not answer her expectations, as she left it so soon."

"can you wonder at it, situated as she was."

"it was natural no doubt, and arthur could be so winning, he always was a favourite with the ladies."

"oh well, he is a nice fellow you must admit."

"i don't deny it, i always liked him very much, but still i think that sort of thing, is not right, but he always was impetuous, never considered anything, but just acted on the spur of the moment, and he is very soft hearted" he added laughing. "i wonder if the old gentleman knows it."

"your mother was always ambitious for him, don't you remember how afraid she was about isabel" asked ada.

"yes, and the daughter of his tutor does not come up to the mark."

"i should think her own daughter's child might at all events."

"but she never regards her in that light, never will i fear."

"somebody wishes to see you sir, very particularly please," said thomson.

"who is it? thomson."

"don't know i'm sure sir, she would not give any name, but is very anxious to see you, i said you were engaged, but she replied i that she must see you to-night, it was very important."

"what sort of a person is she?" asked ada.

"a lady madam, quite a lady i should say, only in trouble, she says she knew master in america."

"i must see her, i suppose, where is she."

"in the study, sir."

the stranger was standing by the fire-place, as he entered she made an impatient gesture for him to close the door, then threw herself at his feet passionately imploring him to help and protect her, and throwing aside her thick vail, disclosed the features of louisa, but so altered that he was perfectly shocked and amazed. he could scarcely believe that the haggered emaciated being before him, was indeed the pretty, impulsive, fiery, louisa, but such was the case, and anger, compassion and indignation filled his heart, as he listened to the recital of her misfortunes.

as the reader is already acquainted with a portion of louisa's story, we will not repeat it here, but only record such circumstances as have not appeared in these pages. on arriving at her grandfather's she encountered a storm of angry abuse, and was driven from the door with a stern command never to return, as she had forfeited all claims upon him, and might die in a ditch for all he cared. she managed to get about a mile from the house, and then overcome with fatigue and misery she sank down exhausted.

how long she remained there she had no idea, when she recovered she was among strangers, who were very kind. she had had a brain fever, and was in the hospital when asked for the address of her friends, she replied that she had none. but afterward she remembered that her uncle charles had always been kind to her, and had occasionally procured her little indulgences from her stern, cold-hearted, grand-mother, and that it had been mainly through his interference that she had been sent to school. she therefore determined to seek his aid, and accept a small loan from the doctor, to enable her to do so, long and weary had the journey been, and she implored charles not to send her away. she knew she said that it would not be for long, and entreated him to let her die in peace.

charles assured her that she should want for nothing, and commended her for coming to him, and expressed in no measured terms his disapprobation of his father's cruel conduct, but was abruptly silenced by louisa falling senseless on the floor. his violent ringing of the bell, brought not only the servants, but ada also, to his assistance; medical aid was quickly procured. that night her child was born, and when morning dawned, louisa lay still and cold in that last long sleep from which no mortal could awake her. sleep in thy marble beauty, poor little louisa, and perhaps that sad fate may soften the hearts of thy cruel grandparent. oh not as it has been fulfilled did the dying evangeline understand the promise made with regard to the little louisa. oh how often was the stillness of the night broken by the bitter sobs of the desolate little orphan whose aching heart sought for love in vain. then can we wonder that when this lonely one, did find one to love, that she should willingly listen to his persuasions in hopes of a happy future, rather than endure any longer such a cheerless existence.

in the early morning a violent knocking at the hall door brought thomson from his gossip with the other servants.

"is there not a lady--a widow lady, staying here?" inquired an old gentleman in an agitated voice, while the cab driver beat his arms on the pavement. "is not this mr. ashton's?" he added, as thomson hesitated. thomson answered in the affirmative, and the old gentleman continued, "is the lady here? can i see your master? answer me quickly don't be so stupid."

"a lady came last night but, but," stammered thomson "she,"

"is she here now, i say," he cried angrily.

"yes sir, but--

"say no more, just tell your master i want to see him immediately, stop, take my card, here, now be quick."

poor thomas was quite bewildered by the old gentleman's manner. i'm blest he murmured if i know what we're coming to next, lord barrington, what does he want i should like to know.

"why ada, it is lord barrington," exclaimed charles.

"how very fortunate," returned ada "of course he will take charge of the baby, i confess i was in a quandary for i do not relish the idea of having the care of it, poor little thing."

"nor i either, but i am not so sure that he will take it, it is much more likely he has come to row me about the whole affair."

"you! why, what had you to do with it?"

"no more than you had; but i must see him at once, i suppose."

"shall i go, too?" asked ada, timidly.

"not at present: if there is to be a storm, i do not see why you should be in it."

"he is such a dreadful old man, is he not?"

"not usually; he was always very, very kind to arthur."

"not to his wife," she replied, vainly endeavoring to repress her tears.

"no, very cruel; but you must not grieve so much about it, dearest ada."

"i cannot help it, it is so terribly shocking."

"but it is past, now: she is at rest, she is happy; even her lifeless remains look calm--the weary, weary look exchanged for one of peace."

"true, but it is so dreadful; if we had only known before," she sobbed.

"i wish we had, with all my soul," returned charles, "but you really must not distress yourself so, or i shall have to keep the poor old gent waiting."

"go to him, charley; i shall feel better presently."

he found his lordship impatiently pacing the room. "i am seeking my daughter-in-law; she is here, i believe," he said, after the first salutations were over.

"she is here," charles answered gravely, "at least her remains; she died last night."

"dead! dead!" repeated lord barrington, putting his hand to his head. "then i have nothing left."

"but the child," interposed charles.

"the child--what child?"

"the babe born last night."

"he did not heed the answer, but seemed overpowered by the news of louisa's death. "let me see arthur's wife," he said, after a few minutes had elapsed. charles conducted him to the darkened apartment, where he gazed in agony upon the worn, but calm features of poor louisa. and as he thought of his harshness, and arthur's words, "make not her coming alone harder by one word or look," his grief became so violent and excessive that charles was quite nonplussed, and went to consult ada as to what should be done. in accordance with their plan, ada took the frail little piece of humanity, and, approaching lord barrington, as he bent in sorrow over the corpse, said softly, "you have lost arthur, and arthur's wife, but you still have arthur's child," and she laid the babe in his arms.

his tears fell on its tiny face, but the sight of it, and its helplessness, did him good. "oh, arthur! arthur!" he moaned, why did you doubt your old father? how would i have welcomed your wife if you had brought her home at first! aye, as i now welcome this child--arthur's child," he added, looking at it fondly.

he had the corpse conveyed to barrington, and placed in the family vault, and erected a monument--very beautiful, indeed--beside the one he had already placed there in memory of his son, inscribed:

to

louisa,

the beloved wife of arthur,

only son of

lord barrington of barrington,

aged 16 years.

he also placed another in the little burying-place at z----:

in memory of

arthur,

only son of lord barrington, of barrington park, england,

aged 23 years,

who was suddenly attacked with a fatal fever,

in a foreign land,

when on his way home.

when lady ashton arrived, shortly afterwards, and heard what had taken place, she was in a terrible fume. "oh! my dear, what a misfortune. how unlucky for her to come here: why did you let her stay, charles?"

"why did i let her stay? say, rather, why did you send her away?"

"yes, why did you let her stay?" she repeated, angrily. "why did you not let her go to the hospital?"

"or die in the street," added charles, scarcely able to keep his temper, for he was angry and hurt to think how louisa had been treated.

"goodness knows what people will say: no doubt all kinds of strange stories will be circulated. i feel for you, ada, my dear; i do, indeed."

"don't be alarmed, my dear mother, as to rumors and strange stories," said charles, handing her a newspaper, and pointing out the following:

died.--at the residence of charles ashton, esq. louisa, wife of the late hon. arthur barrington, and grand-daughter of sir edward ashton of brierley.

"charles, how dared you?" cried his mother, reddening with anger, "your father will be excessively angry."

"i cannot help that: it is the truth, is it not?"

"true? of course you know it is; but, for all that, you need not have published it in that absurd manner."

"i thought it best."

"and you are simple enough to think that that notice will prevent absurd stories getting abroad."

"as to who she might be, yes; and, as to the circumstances that brought her here, i presume you would prefer any, rather than the right ones, should be assigned."

lady ashton was for once abashed, and her eye dropped beneath the severity of her son's gaze; but, recovering quickly, she answered, "you, at least, have nothing to do with that."

"i am thankful to say i have not," he returned, "i cannot forget it, it makes me perfectly wretched; and, but that i know that ada has her own home to go to, if anything happened to me i don't know what i should do. i shall insure my life this very day, that she may be independent. if a daughter's child could be so treated, why not a son's wife."

for goodness' sake stop, charles!" cried his mother, "don't talk so dreadfully."

"i feel it bitterly, mother; indeed i do," he replied, and hastily left the room. he would not have done so, however, had he known the storm he had left ada to be the unhappy recipient of. she was perfectly terrified at the violence of lady ashton's wrath, and lady ashton was, too, when she saw ada lay back in her chair, pale as marble and panting for breath. "what is the matter?--speak, child," she cried, shaking her violently; but this only alarmed her the more, and she called loudly for charles, and then remained gazing at lady ashton in speechless terror.

"ada! dearest ada! what is the matter?" asked charles, coming to the rescue; but ada had fainted.