They rode slowly down the slope to the bridge. The water splashed beneath the archway, and the horses’ hoofs sounded hollow on the road; Hugh listened happily, while his thoughts sped back to the last time he had crossed the bridge, a friendless little runaway. On the thought he turned in his saddle and gazed back at the church that now showed black against the sunset sky. Did the mother who lay buried there, he wondered, know that at last he had found Alan Gwyeth? He faced slowly to the front again, and as he faced he met the captain’s eyes; there were no words between them, but each guessed something of the other’s thoughts. Hugh tightened his hold on Bayard’s bridle and drew close, so he rode knee to knee with his father. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ “ANOTHER BEWITCHING ROMANCE” —_The Times_, New York -------------- THE PRIDE OF JENNICO BEING A MEMOIR OF CAPTAIN BASIL JENNICO BY AGNES and EGERTON CASTLE 16mo. Cloth. $1.50 -------------- “Picturesque in literary style, rich in local color, rising at times almost to tragic intentness, and bristling throughout with dramatic interest.”—_The Record_, Philadelphia. "There is a wealth of historic detail which lends an interest to the story apart from the romantic love affair between Captain Jennico and the Princess Marie Ottilie of Lausitz. The hero’s great-uncle had been one of those lucky English adventurers whose Catholic religion and Jacobite leanings had debarred him from promotion at home, and who had found advancement in the service of Austria, and wealth with the hand of a Bohemian heiress. Such chances were not uncommon with ‘Soldiers of Fortune’ in the times of Queen Anne and the early Georges. At his uncle’s death, Captain Basil Jennico became the possessor of many millions (reckoned by the florins of that land), besides the great property of Tollendahl—fertile plains as well as wild forests, and of the isolated frowning castle of Tollendahl with its fathom-thick walls, its odd pictures of half-savage dead and gone Woschutzkis, its antique clumsy furniture, tapestries, trophies of chase and war. He became master, moreover, of endless tribes of dependents, heiducks and foresters; females of all ages whose bare feet in summer pattered oddly on the floors like the tread of animals, whose high boots in winter clattered perpetually on the stone flags of stairs and corridors; serf peasants, factors, overseers, the strangest mixture of races that can be imagined; Slovacks, Bohemians, Poles, to labor on the glebe; Saxons or Austrians to rule over them and cipher out rosters and returns; Magyars who condescended to manage his horse-flesh and watch over his safety if