Mrs. Langford gave up in mute despair; and Brant was beginning to fear that his errand would have to go undone; but at that moment the “cub” rescued the vanishing opportunity by rushing off to begin his preparations. Thus the mother and her visitor were left alone together, and Brant seized his courage with both hands: “Mrs. Langford, one moment, if you please. You know why I came here to-night, and what I meant to ask. My happiness, which you may justly ignore, and that of your daughter, which is of far greater moment, depend upon your answer. Will you give it me now? or must I wait till I have earned a better right to it?” He spoke hurriedly as the occasion compelled, and she heard him through without interrupting. When he paused she took his arm a little stiffly and led him toward the door. “You will find the family in the drawing-room, Mr. Brant; and I hope you will excuse me if I go upstairs to help William. And, as I may not come down before you go, I will bid you good-bye now. I hope you will do well, and--and that you will succeed in whatever you undertake.” They had reached the hall, and she turned and held out her hand. Brant took it and bowed low over it. “Then I am to understand----” “This: that I am willing to be neutral, and to wait.” “It is all I ask,” he said gratefully, quelling a sudden and mighty insurrection of joy that threatened to unseat his self-control. “It is all I can promise, now. Be lenient with me, Mr. Brant, as I shall try to be with you. You know my views, and you also know whether they are unsupported by reason and justice. I will say frankly that I came down a few moments ago to urge you to spare me; to tell you that I could not reconcile myself to this thing that you and my daughter have set your hearts upon. But while I delayed, you forestalled me with my son. He is my hostage, and I surrender him to you because I can not help myself; but when you return I shall require him at your hands. Deal gently with him, I beg of you--for his sister’s sake, if not for mine.” She turned to go upstairs, and he stood aside to let her pass. “God do so to me, and more, if I do not regard him as the son of my own mother,” he said solemnly, and the promise touched her. “I believe you--and trust you,” she added, pausing on the step above him. “Now go and join the others in the drawing-room. They will all be glad to welcome you.” And they were; but Dorothy the most of all. For in his eyes she read the promise of the future, and ran to be the first to greet him. And though the others pressed upon him with kindly words and hearty hand-grips, he saw but one--the woman for whose love he lived, and would have died. THE END “A FRESH AND CHARMING NOVEL.” =The Last Lady of Mulberry.= A Story of Italian New York. By HENRY WILTON THOMAS. Illustrated by Emil Pollak. 12mo. Cloth, $1.50.