ter's obedience was in strict
command. Countess Manon wept in vain. They went back to France. I stayed
on. My brothers married and went away. My mother died, and then my
father, he commanding me on his death-bed not to marry Chevalier de
Rosseau. The latter, hearing of my father's death, came once more to
America, and sought again to woo me. What was the need of obeying the
dead? Why should we not be happy? He urged in vain. Dead, as living, my
father's word was law. I was very young still; and I was lonely in the
old house, from whence all joy had fled. The chevalier went back to
France. I never heard of him again but once, and then of his death.
Countess Manon was married, and came with her husband to America; here
she stayed four years, and we often saw each other. We might have been
sisters, and we loved each other as such. Ah, what narrow ways we have
to walk! Is it well in the end? God knows. Manon and her husband
returned to their own land in time, and once more I was left alone. I
had many suitors, but I cared for none; my love had not died, nor will
it ever. Perhaps, somewhere, some time, the life I could not have on
earth will be given in another world. I wait in patience. It will not be
long. The other day I heard of the death of Countess Manon. My brothers
are gone. I alone am left. Why is it so?--I ask myself over and over, I
have not cried for years; but the tears will come to-night as I think of
the past, and of beautiful Countess Manon lying cold and still in death
under the sunny skies of far-off Southern France. She may not have been
beautiful these later years. I forgot she was older even than I, and I
am very old; but to me she always was, and always will be, beautiful.
She was the last link of the old bygone years. What is the use of
remembering them? If Harold had only lived I could have been happy; but
I have not long to wait now. They will come for me. O Harry,
Harry!--across the long space of years the newer love has never dimmed
the older. Eternity waits. I shall see and know you again."

* * * * *

Is it much, after all is told? I have repeated it just as Marjory
Vincent said it, half to me, yet more to herself, for she scarcely
heeded my presence; it was better so. Poor Mistress Marjory! There is
nothing left now; even the old manor is gone. And Mistress Marjory is at
rest.

JUDICIAL FALSIFICATIONS OF HISTORY.[7]

BY CHARLES COWLEY, LL.D.

Historic