friend of her family; but this gentleman,
although wishing her well, found himself
obliged to repeat the proceedings of Königsberg.
She left the Prussian empire for Dresden,
where she found pupils; but there came
a telegraphic dispatch from Berlin, and she
was ordered by the police of Saxony to leave
Dresden in twenty-eight hours. To fill the
chalice of sorrow to the brim, she received a
letter from the abbess of the Barth-foundation,
telling her to give up all expectation of
a canonesse-place, if she adhered to the
dissenters. Thus she lost home, existence—even
the only hope left her for old age—for her
faith.

THE AMPHLETT LOVE-MATCH.
I.

"FORGIVENESS, Arthur? You surely need
not ask for that!" said the lady, with a cold
smile. "You were of age, and free to choose
as you would; and, if by that choice you have
disappointed my hopes and frustrated my
intentions, it is scarcely a matter for which
to ask my forgiveness—my recognition, if
you will; and that I have granted."

"I wish you would say that in a more
cordial tone, mother," said Arthur, earnestly;
"in spite of your kind words my heart feels
chilled and heavy."

"Do you re-assure your husband, then,
since his mother's words have no longer any
power over him," said Mrs. Amphlett, still
with the same strange, hard smile on her
face, turning to a pretty, young girl who
stood timidly in the background, and taking
her stiffly by the hand.

"It is only his love for you that makes
him doubtful," stammered the girl, looking
appealingly to her husband.

"I asked you to combat the effect—not
to explain to me the cause," replied Mrs.
Amphlett. "I am afraid you do not understand
very quickly. You are embarrassed,
and want self-possession, I see; you blush,
too, and lose your grace of outline in the
awkward angularity of confession. We shall
have some training to go through, before you
will be fit for the drawing-rooms of my
friends and your husband's associates."

She laughed;—a low, forced, contemptuous
laugh, that completed poor Geraldine's
dismay. Turning to her husband she retreated
into his arms; and, burying her face in his
bosom, exclaimed piteously:

"Oh, Arthur! take me away—take me
away!" then burst into tears.

Mrs. Amphlett quietly rang the bell.

"A glass of cold water, Jones; and ask
Gryce for the sal-volatile, which is in my
room," she said, when the man entered.
"This young lady is hysterical."

The lady's tone and manner of unutterable
contempt roused Geraldine from her
weakness more than cold water or sal-volatile.
She felt, too, Arthur's heart throb
under her hand; and though he passed his
arm round her and pressed her kindly to
him, as if mutely assuring her of his protection,
she feared she had annoyed him, more
because she felt she had been silly, than
because he showed displeasure.

"No, never mind now," she said, trying to
laugh, and shaking back the bright, brown
hair which had fallen in disorder over her
face. "I am quite well now—it is nothing—
I am very sorry," she added, with a running
accompaniment of small sobs.

"Are you often hysterical?" asked Mrs.
Amphlett, her light hazel eyes fixed sternly
on her. "It must be very inconvenient to
you, I should think, and scarcely befitting
Mrs. Arthur Amphlett. You may take it
away again, Jones," she said to the footman
who bustled in with the cold water and a
small phial on a silver stand; "or—no, stay,
—you had better leave them. You may be
attacked again," she added, to Geraldine.

"I assure you, mother, I never before saw
my wife so nervous," exclaimed Arthur. "In
general, she is both brave and cheerful. I
never knew her so shaken."

"Indeed? It is unfortunate then, that she
should have selected me, and our first interview,
for the display of a weakness which
some, I believe, call interesting; but which
to me is puerile; which, in fact, I regard as
temporary insanity. Come!" she added,
arranging herself in her easy-chair, and speaking
with a little less pitiless deliberation; "we
have now got through the first meeting; which,
as you were the delinquents, I presume, you
dreaded more than I. Understand then, that
I overlook all the personal disrespect there
has been in your secret marriage, Arthur:
all the disappointment, and wounded pride I
have had in your marrying so far beneath
you. I am a woman of plain words, Geraldine.
Your name is Geraldine, is it not?
I thought you started and looked surprised
when I called you so. No matter!—and I
invite you both to remain with me as long as
it suits you to make Thornivale your home.
Now let the subject be dropped. Gryce
will show you to your room, young lady,
if you ring the bell twice; and, I dare say,
in time, we shall become tolerably well
acquainted."

"Arthur! dear Arthur! what will become
of me if your mother does not soften towards
me!" cried poor Geraldine, when she was
alone with her husband.

"Be patient, love, for a few days," said
Arthur, soothingly. "She has had much
sorrow in her life, and that has made her
harder than she was by nature. But I cannot
believe she will be always so strange as she
is to-day. I cannot believe but that my
Geraldine's sweetness and goodness will
soften her, and lead her to love and value one
who cannot be known without being loved."

"Oh, Arthur! I never prized your dear
words so much as to-day," exclaimed the