immediately. First, leave this house. I shall go at once to the Globe
office."

He paused for an instant.

"My dear uncle," said Miss Courtland, quietly, "Mr. Valentine has just
told me all this himself. He only came here because I asked him to
come."

Mr. Courtland would not listen to any explanations, but only repeated
his assertion that he would report me at the Globe office. There was
nothing for me to do but to go.

I gave Miss Courtland one look of gratitude, then I left the house. I
have but two consolations: one, that Miss Courtland still trusts me;
the other, that Morton is as badly off as I am--rather worse.

My dismissal from the Globe has just come. It is a relief to be free
from this bondage, but I am as much in debt as usual, and what am I to
do in the future?

_February 24th._--A light is beginning to break on my dark horizon. I
have just received a note from Miss Courtland telling me that her
uncle has been pacified by her explanations; that as I am no longer in
the employ of the Globe, I am at liberty to come to his house; and
that she is sure I will find something better to do in the future.

I can't help thinking of Ruy Blas and the queen again. I feel like Ruy
Blas come back to life, and _my_ queen is not married.

STELLA GRAYLAND.

BY JAMES T. MCKAY.

_Scribner's Monthly, March, 1877._

"So Miss Brainard's father's gone, Doctor." It was the young
minister's clear, hearty voice that spoke. "I feel very sorry for Miss
Brainard, very sorry indeed. He has been a great care to her, and it's
a release to both, no doubt; but it leaves a great void. She's very
good and useful, and she has been a faithful daughter. She's very much
overcome; it seems to her as if she were alone in the world."

Dr. Enfield's heart smote him. He knew Cora Brainard much better than
the minister, who had not been very long in the place, but his thought
of her had not been gentle of late. The picture of her in such trouble
affected him with a remorseful tenderness. He turned his horse and
drove to her door.

He found her alone; she had been crying, and looked tremulous and
downcast, but was trim and pretty, as always. She called him Lawrence
and asked him in, then nestled herself childishly in the corner of the
sofa and dried her eyes. Enfield stood before her, remembering many
things.

"I am very sorry, Cora," he said. "Can I do anything for you?"

He spoke low and with something like contrition.