Anonymous: Eveline

Almost before I could rejoin an "Amen," the voice continued, but in a tone utterly different in its respectful intonation to the strong nasal drawl in which this invocation had been whispered:

"You have saved that man eighteen months of imprisonment."

"How so? What can I have had to do with it?"

I turned. It was a tall man in a baker's fustian suit. I knew the voice-the figure. It was Dragon.

"Just this. The chief clerk advised the solicitor-the solicitor advised his client. He pleaded guilty to save the time of the Court. He enabled the magistrate to convict him instead of sending him for trial. He could certainly have had two years as a previous offender at the Old Bailey. What brings your ladyship here?"

"If you will be at D Street today at, say, six o'clock, I will tell you. I would like you to execute a confidential commission for me-for the benefit of another."

"Your ladyship honors me too much. Always at your service."

I must not allow myself to forget that these notes, written only for my own perusal and reference-which no one else will ever read or see-save him I have designated as the custodian-do not contain more than rudimentary sketches of my intimacy with many of the actors therein. I care nothing for any critic, no such will ever have access to these pages. I am equally oblivious to the opinion of the public, who only know me as what I am not.

My time came at last. All that wealth can do to minimize the agony of maternity I had in profusion. My child was born in the night. Next morning, Endover was ringing with the welcome news that there was at last a male heir to the Earldom and estates. Little Lord Chucklington-the second title had been lying dormant-lay crowing and kicking in the nurse's lap. How I took him to my bosom-how I had refused all anesthetics; how I discounted all idea of a substitute for his own mother's breast; how he thrived and waxed a big and healthy boy-all these things are matters of history now. The Earl of Endover was enraptured. I was an angel. Little Lord Chucklington was a "cupid," and the experienced nurse nearly drove my husband off his head with joy when she remarked that his infant Lordship was the "very spit of himself." Everyone followed suit-congratulations poured in. The village was illuminated that night. Bands played, drums banged, and trumpets rang out as the revelers dispersed only at a late hour, sending the faint echoes of their joy on the wings of the wind to my delighted ears in the distant castle.

Eveline had arrived at the zenith of her ambition, but at what a sacrifice! My figure-that fresh, youthful beauty which drove men mad with desire to revel in it-was gone forever. As time went on, I discovered another change-a transformation which only dawned upon me by slow degrees. What may have been its cause will ever remain a mystery-it is a fact, however, that all sexual instinct, all desire, had departed from me forever. Possibly-most probably- some derangement of nervous tissue had taken place in parturition. It must be still only a matter for conjecture. I never disclosed the fact to anyone. From that time forward I had devoted my life to my beautiful boy.

I have yet a few notes to jot down here.

Dragon has always been my true and trusty friend. He is head of a department at New Scotland Yard.

Mr. Josiah and Mrs. Hodge have emigrated to Canada. They possess a huge farm on the western prairies. They are rich in the possession of five sons, the elder of whom are the mainstay of their parents in their agricultural industry. Mr. Hodge is reported wealthy, and all they touch is said to turn to money. Once a year a letter comes-always in the constrained, illiterate handwriting of bonny Mrs. Hodge, dutifully assuring me of their happiness. This is as regularly followed by the advent of certain hams and cheese with which my household is regaled.

A certain tall and fair-haired young medical practitioner one day received a letter informing him that if he chose to make application for a valuable appointment under the Charity Commissioners he was more than likely to obtain it. He did so-he succeeded. His services justified the selection. A second stroke of good luck fell in his way. Another and even more desirable appointment followed. His keen and correct power of diagnosis was soon known and appreciated. His able treatment of his patients brought him renown.

Dr. Brooksted-Hoare did not live to obtain the Baroncy he coveted. His death left a vacancy in the ranks of those members of his profession who, as specialists, devote their talents to the treatment of the diseases of women and children. The opening was immediately taken advantage of by the same fair-haired aspirant to medical fame, Dr. A. He had found time to work for and obtain his "M.D. Lond.," and was informed in a certain mysterious manner that the lease of Dr. Brooksted-Hoare's house could be had by him for the asking at a merely nominal rent. He took the hint-also the lease. The aged Duchess of M sent for him one day. On the broad flight of stairs which led from the entrance hall, Dr. A-, as he descended, heard a visitor announced.

"The Countess of Endover. Will your ladyship please to pass this way."

A moment later a lady passed him going up. In her hand was the hand of a little boy, bright as an angel, a great favorite with her Grace. For a second, the lady's glance and that of the physician met. A civil inclination of the head, and she had gone. The doctor staggered against the wall. He seized the silken cord of the balustrade or he would have fallen. That which he divined when he reached his new home in the fashionable West had opened his eyes. He knew now, as he buried his honest, kindly face in the cushioned chair and allowed full vent to his tears of thankfulness and gratitude, who his benefactress had been and that the world was not all quite one of lust and selfishness.