travagant, reckless, and dissipated, who, though only twenty-five, had run through a handsome property, inherited in his own right from his grandmother, besides making unreasonable demands upon the paternal purse-strings. The old gentleman at last remonstrated, and the young man's affairs being even worse than he had dared to represent, he became desperate and unscrupulous.

The father of Rose's husband, who, spite of the profligacy of his nephew, cherished a warm attachment for him, had willed him his property, in case of his son's death. This the young spendthrift was aware of, and when he first heard of the old gentleman's illness, he planned with three desperados to murder his cousin, and remove the only obstacle to his immediate possession of the fortune."

"How was this discovered ?" asked John.

“It was revealed by one of the gang on his deathbed, though not until after the instigator had met his own doom at the hands of a woman whom he had betrayed and deserted."

"Then," said John, after a pause, "Rose and her husband have no immediate means of support. It is happiness to know that I can be of service even now.” "But Vincent is not a man to incur such an obligation," " said his sister, "enfeebled as he is.”

"He must-he shall," said the generous John, “at least till he is stronger and better able to substantiate

his claim to what is rightfully his own; he may get even more than his own," said John, "when the old lady in New Orleans finds out that he is the father of the beautiful child she fancied so much; the family likeness must have been well handed down in Charley's face."

"That is not strange," said Gertrude; "cases have occurred in which the family likeness having been apparently wholly obliterated, has re-appeared in the third or fourth generation."

"Well, Vincent's story passes belief," said John; "truth is, indeed, stranger than fiction.”

18

CHAPTER LXIX.

HAD cousin John no war to wage with self? Could the long-hoarded hope of years be relinquished without a struggle? Could blissful days and nights, in which to breathe the same air with Rose, win even the faintest smile, were reward enough for any toil,-could such memories cease at once to thrill? Could he see that smile, in all its brightness, beaming upon another? -hear that voice ten fold more musically modulated whispering (not for him) words he would have died to hear and not feel a pang bitter as death? Tell me, ye who have made earth-idols only to see them pass away?

No-cousin John felt all this; Rose lost all was lost -nothing to toil for-nothing to hope for-nothing to live for.

Was it indeed so? He dashed the unmanly tears away. Was he, indeed, such a poor, selfish driveler that the happiness of her whom he loved was less dear to him than his own? Was it no joy to see that sweet eye brighten with hope, though kindled by another? Was it nothing to see the shadow of shame pass from

that fair brow, and see it lifted in the world's scornful face in loving pride to him who rightfully called her "wife?" Was it nothing that Charley's little heaving heart had found his own papa ?

"Shame-shame-was his manly heart powerless to bear what she, whom he so loved, had borne in all her woman's feebleness ?"

"I knew it would be so, John," said Gertrude, gazing into her brother's calm face, in which the traces of suffering still lingered. "I knew you could conquer" and tears of sympathy fell upon the hand she pressed.

CHAPTER LXX.

"SIT down," said John, a few hours after, as Vincent rapped at his room-door. "I was just wishing for you, although it were cruel to monopolize you a moment, at such a time as this. Sit down-I want to confess to you," said John, with a heightened color. "It will make my heart easier-it will be better for both of us.

"Vincent-you have taken away from me all that has made life dear to me since I first saw your since I first saw Rose; and yet"-and John reached out his hand-"I can look on your happiness and hers, and thank God for it. It has cost me a struggle-but it is all over now. Peerless as Rose is-I feel that you are worthy of her.”

1)

"I can not find words to say what I would," said Vincent; "by my gain, my dear friend, I can measure your loss,” and he grasped John's hand with unfeigned emotion. "Rose has spoken of you to me in a way this morning that, independent of this noble frankness on your part, would forever have insured you a brother's place in my heart. How can I thank you for it all?