For minutes she looked down on that bowed head in silence. All the love and pride, all the good and evil in her nature are warring against each other. Shall she let the cruel past go by, or shall she--and then, between her and these tumultuous thoughts, rises the face of one who is an angel in heaven--her lips part to speak, and close mutely; she smiles, then slowly falling like the perfuming petals of a great white rose, her white robes waver to the floor, and her small hand flutters down on his shoulder, and she is kneeling beside him. He looks up with an unspoken prayer of thanksgiving on his mobile features, and twines strong, loving arms about the form that has fallen unconscious against his breast. * * * * * General Winans takes his wife abroad to escape the "nine days wonder." Norah goes with them, in charge of little Earle, her face glowing like a miniature sun with delight at the way that "things," in her homely phraseology "have turned out." They visit the adopted grandparents of little Earle, and are _feted_ and flattered by them, until sweet Grace in the fullness of her own happiness and her compassion for them, promises them an annual visit. _Deo volent_, from the small idol of her heart and theirs. And, "by the way," in Paris--"dear, delightful Paris"--where they sojourn awhile, they meet--who else but Major Frank Fontenay, U. S. A., "doing the honeymoon" in most approved style with the "fair Cordelia, the banker's heiress." And thus has the susceptible major consoled himself for Lulu's rejection. It is needless to say that these two couples uniting, "do" the tour of Europe in the most leisurely and pleasant manner, and are duly favored with honors and attentions. Latest advises from Norfolk report the Winans and Conway families as on the happiest terms. Rumor says, indeed, that the two young mothers have prospectively betrothed the fragile little brown-eyed Grace Willard to the handsome young Earle Willoughby, the hopeful heir of two fortunes. "However these things be," we leave them to the future, which takes care of itself. * * * * * And far down a shady path in one of Norfolk's lovely cemeteries there rises a low green grave, over which a costly white marble shaft, never without its daily wreath of fresh white roses through all of summer's golden days, tapers sadly against the blue sky, telling all who care to know that WILLARD CLENDENON, AGED 36, RESTS HERE. "Nature doth mourn for thee. There is no need For man to strike his plaintive lyre and fail, As fail he must if he attempts thy praise." [THE END] [Illustration: Chesapeake & Ohio Ry.] "THE RHINE, THE ALPS, And the BATTLEFIELD LINE." The Famous F.F.V. Limited FAST FLYING VIRGINIAN HAS NO EQUAL BETWEEN CINCINNATI AND NEW YORK,