not unkindly heart stirred by a half-remorseful compassion for the beautiful, helpless creature whose form still drooped heavily against his arm. Guilty she might be,-nay, must be, he told himself, but she was a woman, young, defenseless, and most fair to look upon; and, being a man, it was impossible for him not to pity her. He carried her over to the bed, and laid her carefully down, even roughly smoothing out the pillow for the poor, unconscious head. "Don't be any worse to her than you can help when she comes to herself again," he said bluntly to his wife, who had been among the first of those to make their way into the room.

She answered his advice with a look of cool defiance and scorn, both for it and for him, but he scarcely observed it as he hastily left the room and followed his late companions down the stairs.

They, with many others, stood about the spot where Dane had fallen, and Dr. McFarland, kneeling on the ground, was engaged in making a hurried examination of the body.

"He failed to catch the branches as he hoped to, and then must have fallen, head downwards, to account for his condition," the surgeon was saying, with professional gravity of manner, as Voorhees joined "His neck is broken with as clean a wrench as if he had

the group.

been hanged."

"Is he dead?" Voorhees questioned, horrified.

"Dead of course, dead as a stone, and must have been the instant he struck the ground. I've known men to take a good deal bigger jump, and come off with a broken bone or two, easily mended, but there is everything in the way of falling. Now, this fellow came straight down on his head, and was dead before he knew what had happened to him.”

"Dead, killed instantly!" was echoed back into the room where Bonny lay, by one of the listeners waiting at the window, and people looked into each other's faces, terrified and aghast. The death of a deserter made such a sensationally disagreeable ending for a party! The company found it hard to believe in its reality, and yet events as sensational had been lightly conned and forgotten by them, in the newspapers, perhaps that very morning past.

Mrs. Revere stood by the bedside, trembling, and pale beneath her skillful dash of rouge. "Will some one tell me what has happened here?" she questioned, gazing about her appealingly, all her innate self-possession terrified away. "That dreadful scream! It was the first I knew of anything wrong; and then I came up here to find Bonny Duane fainting, and all of you frightened to death at something, and crowding in her room! What does it mean? And now, who is it you say has been killed?"

No one found the courage to answer, at first. questioning looks upon each other's scared faces.

The women turned
Mrs. Crawford, the

pretty bride, was busily moistening Bonny's forehead and wrists with eau-de-cologne. She had entered with Mrs. Revere, but, instead of asking curious questions, had gone straight to the bed, filled with pity at what she saw there, and had then immediately and silently applied herself to the labor of restoration, which so far had proved unavailing.

"Will nobody speak? Am I not to know what has happened in my own house?" Mrs. Revere broke out once more, hysterically. "What strange, dreadful thing has come among us?"

Then Mrs. Voorhees stepped forward, having hesitated only an instant for appearance' sake. Her head was held very erect, and her face was whiter even than usual. "I will tell you, since the others seem unable or afraid to do so," she pronounced in a loud, distinct voice. "It has become a plain enough thing to our perception, although it is, I confess, rather difficult to put into words, especially in repeating it to you. I do not think, however, much as we have been shocked, that any of us are in reality surprised. The man who betrayed his companions and deserted the other day,—Dane, a soldier in your husband's battery, Mrs. Revere,-who was known by everybody in the garrison (except you, perhaps) to be an accepted admirer of Miss Duane's, escaped from the guard-house to-night, came directly here, and induced Miss Duane to conceal him in the closet of her room. There he was found a few minutes ago. The discovery seemed to cause her the most poignant despair, and she very cleverly fainted, when there was really nothing else left for her to do, upon my husband's shoulder. In the mean time, the object of her affections had left her to mourn his loss, and had precipitated himself from the window where, Romeo-like, he had probably come in. I believe he lost his life in falling, and although it is very horrid, and disgusting, and all that, his death will prove an exceedingly good thing in the end for all concerned, I should say."

Mrs. Revere had sunk into a chair while this storm of vindictiveness and sarcasm was poured into her ears, and sat gazing dazedly at Mrs. Voorhees's cold, cruelly handsome face, occasionally covering her eyes with her hands. As the other finished what she had found so wicked a pleasure in saying, Mrs. Revere burst into a storm of hysterical weeping. She was crushed with the weight of her own intense mortification. No thought of defending the unhappy girl who lay powerless to speak for herself, rose in her mind. Her heart was wrung with keenest anguish, because such a scandal had occurred beneath her roof. She wept for the unmerited disgrace that she must, so to speak, share, and for the loss of social prestige which she deemed inevitable. She wept because it had been in Mrs. Voorhees's power to tell her so cruel a truth in such a cruel manner, and she wept because she felt impotent to defend herself or her guest from the wordy sword-thrusts that fell so thick and fast about her. If Bonny and her sins could hen

and there have been together blotted out of existence, she would have offered most ardent thanks. But that, alas! could not possibly come to pass. It had all happened in just as hideous a reality as Mrs. Voorhees's words set it before her. It was quite true, and no dream. There she was in the midst of the fresh horror of it, and she must live through it and bear it, or, rather, fling it from her as best she could.

"Oh, I knew nothing of all this, nothing! I never could have suspected anything so shocking! How can it be true of her? She seemed so far above everything low or degrading! Oh, what shall I do? The disgrace, the publicity, and the scandal! I can never live it down-it has come too near me. It will surely kill me, I think!" The women gathered about her, and expended their nervous excitement in sympathy, soothing, and protestations of dismay at the depths of Bonny's dark depravity. "Who would have dreamed it? So young a girl, yet so steeped in sin!" mournfully exclaimed Mrs. Collingwood, looking askance at the still figure extended in its tumbled ball-dress on the bed. And her sentiments were duly echoed by all, or all save Mrs. Crawford.

"I think," the latter remarked, with considerable energy, "that if, instead of talking in a way you may some time have to regret very deeply, you would either try with me-some of you to bring this poor girl back to consciousness, or else make up your minds to go home, it would be a good deal wiser. As for me, I am of the opinion that this state of affairs has lasted long enough, and I am going down-stairs to bring the doctor up to her."

Having so expressed her mind, the youngest of the band left the room with a quick, impatient step, and presently succeeded in finding Dr. McFarland, who had been delivering some orders relative to the disposal of Dane's body. It was with great and evident reluctance that he consented to assume his professional capacity for the benefit of Miss Duane; but without giving vent to this reluctance in set words, he slowly and silently ascended the stairs, carrying with him a heaviness of feeling in which a strange, unwonted self-loathing and a malicious exultation mingled.

ALICE KING HAMILTON.

(To be continued.)

JACK HAULTAUT, MIDSHIPMAN UNITED STATES NAVY; OR, LIFE AT THE NAVAL ACADEMY.

(Continued from page 723, vol. xii.)

CHAPTER XIII.

CONCLUSION OF THE YEAR.

AMONG the new officers in charge who had appeared at the first of the year was one known as Jolly; he was the youngest of them, and his midshipman's days were not so far behind him that he was not up to all their dodges in getting around the regulations. The freedom from the constant personal supervision which had been exercised on board the ship was exhibited in various small infractions of discipline, to discover which, Jolly knew well how to be upon the alert; and it soon became a sort of trial of wits between himself and the youngsters : on the part of the latter, to do as much as possible to annoy him by various little irregularities, while on his part he constantly endeavored to ascertain the perpetrators. He added to his other functions that of infantry drill officer and superintendent of the grounds; in the former capacity, his delight was to stand in the centre of the drill-ground and double-quick the battalion around it, until the panting youngsters could hardly catch their breaths; and for the remainder of that day there would be no talking in the ranks, at least none that could reach his

ears.

How tiresome it was to carry a musket during those long hours of drill! and how simple was the device very largely in use by which much of the burden was transferred from the arm to the shoulder! A stout cord having at one end a hook, in which was caught the guard of the trigger, was placed inside the sleeve, and being taken over the shoulder, was secured to the trousers on the opposite side; with this assistance there was little difficulty in supporting the weight of the piece, the only drawback being that it required considerable dexterity to detach the hook when a sudden change in the position of the arms was ordered. Many of the reports of "slow on drill" undoubtedly

had their origin in this labor-saving invention. In his other capacity as superintendent of the grounds Jolly's duty was to inspect the condition of the furniture in the rooms as well as to have an eye to the condition of the exterior of the building, having broken panes of glass repaired, etc. It was his habit on entering a room on the one day in the week which he particularly devoted to this inspection to take hold of the first chair that he encountered, and shaking it vigorously, inquire if there were any repairs wanted. On one occasion the armchair which was in Jack's possession had unfortunately been broken in skylarking a few days before, the second time that it had happened within a fortnight. With the remark that "he would give him a chair that he couldn't break," Jolly departed, and in a few minutes sent to replace Jack's delightful companion a straight, high-backed wooden kitchen-chair.

"Well," said Ben, "Jolly's got ahead of you this time, sure enough; and how can we get square with him?”

Mournfully Jack gazed on and sat in the unpleasant piece of furniture, thinking that there was no relief this time, and saying as much. Nothing happened to mar even the varnish on the chair for a week, when, on his return from recitation, Jack encountered Jolly in the corridor, as he was making his rounds. He hardly had time to put his books in order on the table when he heard a knock on the door, followed by the entrance of the officer in question. The latter took hold of the back of the chair and was about to shake it in his usual vigorous style, when it became detached. A look of exultation flitted across his features, and one of dismay crossed Jack's speaking countenance, as visions of another report for "destruction of public property" came into their minds simultaneously. Without saying a word, Jolly took hold of one of the rounds of the back, when it too came adrift; his eyes snapped as, seizing the chair by its seat and giving it a good shake, the whole fabric tumbled in pieces upon the floor. Jack's amazement and astonishment were plainly depicted on his face, as in reply to Jolly's inquiry he said, "I know nothing about it, sir; the chair was whole when I went to recitation." At this juncture Ben entered the room, and as he saw the heap of kindling-wood-for such it looked to be-upon the floor, he could not repress a smile. Receiving a negative answer to his inquiry as to Ben's knowledge of the affair, Jolly departed, his wrath and disgust expressing themselves in his manner more than his words, as he said, "Good-morning, gentlemen; that chair cost one dollar and a quarter, and it must be paid for." As soon as Jolly was out of earshot peals of laughter resounded through the corridor, and half a dozen fellows came rushing into the room to inquire as to what had taken place. Of the two inhabitants of the room, Jack was entirely innocent; but Ben, though knowing nothing as to the perpetrator of the act, had not been entirely guiltless; he had been