I advanced some steps, and then I became aware of another fact; I was certainly standing underneath trees; I could hear the wind in their branches, could feel the raindrops that dripped from them. I was pausing in doubt and new uncertainty, considering what I might infer from this, when, borne on the wind, there reached me a sound which was like the sound of voices. My heart gave a great leap, all my senses went into the sense of hearing; I listened as eagerly as if I had been catching the rarest notes of music; yes, voices were decidedly drawing nearer and nearer to me, and with the voices there approached a glimmer of light. “If we can’t get in by the glass door, we shall by the store-room window.” Such were the words that reached my ears, spoken in a man’s voice in French. “We’ll get in quick enough if we can only reach the house,” said another man’s voice, in the same language, and a very rough, harsh voice it was this time, too. “We must be very quiet and silent in our movements,” rejoined the first speaker. “Not even the old dog shall catch a sound of us—no, not even if he is sleeping with one eye open,” replied the other. “There must be a house, then, close in this neighbourhood,” I thought, “and this must be the way up to it, and surely, surely,” and now a great terror seized me, “these must be burglars who are going to break into it.” An agony of fear, worse than any by far that I had experienced on the lonely common, now took possession of me, as I heard the steps of the two men drawing nearer and nearer. I went on one side and held my breath, hoping that, in the darkness, they would pass me unnoticed; but I must have made some sound that betrayed me, for the next instant a hand was on my arm, and I heard a voice in my ear. (_To be concluded._) “SHE COULDN’T BOIL A POTATO;” OR, THE IGNORANT HOUSEKEEPER, AND HOW SHE ACQUIRED KNOWLEDGE. BY DORA HOPE. Two very happy events happened in Ella’s household at the beginning of this month; her father came to see her, and her aunt came downstairs for the first time. Mrs. Hastings had been feeling rather anxious about her daughter for some time. The young housekeeper had had a good deal of worry and anxiety, and her letters had quite unconsciously betrayed the fact that she felt in low spirits. Her depression soon disappeared, however, when her father came, and his strong common sense and masculine way of ignoring the little trials of housekeeping were as good a tonic to her mind as the sharp walks he took her were invigorating to her body.