Then I could not answer. She waved her
band towards me, but her guardian led her away.

All that day, I sat at the window, as though I
had fully expected her to return; but, in reality,
I had no such idea. I knew that my darling
mistress was gone—for ever, ever, gone—and had
taken with her all joy, all happiness, all desire
of life. I was conscious of a sense of hunger,
but had no heart to look for food; at the time
when we used to prepare our supper on those
happy evenings, I crept to my lady's little bed,
and lay down there. A curious rushing sound
was in my ears, and my pulse seemed rather to
give a continuous shudder, than to beat. Dreams
came, without introductory ceremony of the
sleep. I heard myself shouting and struggling.
Then, darkness ....

I awoke in my father's house. I had been
there three weeks. Though very weak, I was in
the path of recovery, and was soon in condition
to return to school. But not to Glumper's. No.

I learned that, in my delirium, I had given a
clue to my name and residence. What after-
communications I made, I cannot say: I only
know that both my mother, and my saucy little
Agnes, were as familiar with the name of Zell as
my own daily thoughts were. She was my love,
my queen, my darling only mistress. In that
faith, and in the firm assurance that I should one
blessed day see her again, I grew to manhood.

There was a grand ball at Dublin Castle,
at which I, a young lieutenant of dragoons,
chanced to be present and abetting. The
reception was more than usually crowded and
magnificent, it being the farewell of a popular
lord-lieutenant.

As the latter moved about among his smiling
guests, he halted at a group beside me.

"Well, young gentlemen," said his excellency,
"who is the successful knight? Surely this prize
is not to escape us all! Resplendent beauty—
sweetness—accomplishments—twelve thousand
a year. Shame to Ireland, if this Mexican belle
quits us to-night, her last in the land (for I hear
she returns to Mexico), a disengaged woman!"

"She will not, my lord," replied Colonel
Walsingham.

"Hah! Who wins?" asked his excellency,
hardly less interested than if he had himself been
a candidate.

"That is doubtful, still," put in young Lord
Goring. " Hawkins, Rushton, O'Rourke,
Walsingham, St. Buryans, my humble self, have all
been 'mentioned' in the race. St. Buryans for
choice."

"Why so?" asked his lordship.

"The lady has been seated this whole
evening beside St. Buryans' lady-mother," said
Goring, in a low voice. "And she's the cleverest
woman, at a finish, in Christendom—or Jewry
either."

"You said it would be decided to-night?"

"Thus. The young lady will dance but once,
the last dance. We have all solicited the honour.
She reserves her choice. It has been agreed to

accept the augury. Your lordship understands?
The unsuccessful withdraw."

His excellency nodded, smiled, and passed on.

A few minutes later, a movement in the room
drew my attention. All eyes seemed directed
towards one object. Up the centre of the room,
leaning on the arm of Lord John Loveless, now
Earl St. Buryans, was passing my beautiful
mistress! Taller—fuller, no whit lovelier, for
that could not be. She looked full in my face.
I thought she paused for a second. No, the
superb brown eyes were languidly withdrawn,
and, without recognition, she moved on.

The last dance was announced from the
orchestra. As if under a spell, I placed myself
opposite to my lady's chair, though remote from
it. I saw the rival suitors, with well- bred
self-possession, gather round, and each in turn
prefer his claim. All were declined. St.
Buryans— by whose haughty-looking mother
my lady sat— alone remained. He approached
her with confidence, his mother greeting him
with a victorious smile. Before he could open
his lips, Zell rose:

"Give me your arm. l wish to cross the room,"
she said to him haughtily.

She did cross. She came to me. Drawing
her arm away from her conductor's, she held out
both her little hands.

"Charley, Charley! Don't you know me? I
come to ask you to—to dance with me—with
your old friend, Zell."

We have more than one deer park—but it was
from the Scotch one that, on Zell's reminder (she
always pretends to be older and more thoughtful
than I), I sent my friend Jack Rogers a haunch
worthy of a king's acceptance.

V.

ANOTHER PAST LODGER RELATES
HIS OWN GHOST STORY.

The circumstances I am about to relate to
you have truth to recommend them. They
happened to myself, and my recollection of them
is as vivid as if they had taken place only yesterday.
Twenty years, however, have gone by since
that night. During those twenty years I have
told the story to but one other person. I tell
it now with a reluctance which I find it difficult
to overcome. All I entreat, meanwhile, is that
you will abstain from forcing your own conclusions
upon me. I want nothing explained away.
I desire no arguments. My mind on this subject
is quite made up, and, having the testimony of my
own senses to rely upon, I prefer to abide by it.

Well! It was just twenty years ago, and
within a day or two of the end of the grouse
season. I had been out all day with my gun,
and had had no sport to speak of. The wind was
due east; the month, December; the place, a
bleak wide moor in the far north of England.
And I had lost my way. It was not a
pleasant place in which to lose one's way,
with the first feathery flakes of a coming
snow-storm just fluttering down upon the