ALPINE'S RENEWED HOPES.

Alpine Belmont, all in a flutter of surprise and delight, was making herself beautiful, with her maid's assistance, for the eyes of a caller who was waiting for her in the drawing-room.

Ten minutes ago a card had been brought to her bearing the name of "Ralph Chainey."

"He asked for Mrs. Carew first, but I told him she was out; then he sent his card to you," said Jones.

Alpine's heart leaped with wild delight.

She was as romantically in love with the gifted and handsome young actor as was possible to one of her vain and selfish nature.

After Kathleen's death she had cherished some hope of winning him, but his coldness and indifference had been so marked, and his despair over Kathleen's loss so deep, that in angry pique she had given up her hopes, and determined to console herself with her newly acquired wealth.

The novelty of her position as a great heiress had for a time diverted her thoughts, but of late they had returned to him again, and rested longingly on her desire to win his heart.

So the sudden announcement of his presence filled her with joyful anticipations.

Her maid was hurriedly summoned to array her mistress for the coming interview.

In the servants' hall, a little later, she expressed the opinion that the gentleman must be a very particular beau, as the lady was so hard to please.

Meanwhile, Alpine, palpitating in a light-blue silk that set off very becomingly her blonde beauty, was entering the drawing-room to meet her caller.

Ralph Chainey, dark, stately, handsome, the incarnation of a romantic young girl's idea of a lover, rose and bowed with courtly grace over Miss Belmont's hand.

He had been searching vainly for Kathleen more than a week, and at last it occurred to him that perhaps she had come home. He hastened to Boston in a fever of anxiety.

Alpine could never remember afterward in what words he told his story, it came on her so suddenly, it found her so unprepared, but presently she knew it all—knew that Kathleen, whose death had so softened her heart, was alive, and that but for some strange happening of fate, she would that moment be Ralph Chainey's beloved wife.

With that knowledge, Alpine's heart grew cold as ice again; the old jealous hate revived.

She could not speak for some moments, but sat staring with burning blue eyes at the unhappy young man, who was pouring out his whole heart.

"Oh, Miss Belmont, think what an awful shock it was to me, losing her in that mysterious fashion. I have scarcely eaten or slept since, I have been so wretched, I employed detectives, but they seem to be all at sea. They even believe that I was mistaken—that it was not Kathleen Carew at all, but really Daisy Lynn, a lunatic. Miss Watts, from whom she had escaped, had been found, and she declared that the girl was her niece."

A wild hope came into Alpine's mind, and she faltered:

"I believe the detectives are right. Kathleen can not be alive. Remember we saw her in her coffin, cold and dead."

"Not dead, for I have seen her alive!" he exclaimed. "Oh, Miss Belmont, do not discourage me—do not turn unbelieving ears to my story, for I swear to you that Kathleen Carew is alive to-night—alive, but given over to some fate, perhaps, worse than death!"

Alpine's heart beat wildly as he fixed his great burning brown eyes so sorrowfully upon her face. Oh, God! she thought, what would she not give for Ralph Chainey to love her as he did Kathleen Carew, her hated step-sister!

Some burning words of the Virginia poetess, Mittie Point Davis, came into her mind:

Ralph Chainey did not dream what a wealth of love for him had blossomed into full flower in the young girl's heart. Men are blind, or they would never confide to one beautiful young girl the story of their love for another one. Few girls are noble enough to listen without being piqued and jealous.

Alpine Belmont's heart burned within her, and she said to herself that she hoped he was mistaken, and that poor Kathleen was dead. She believed it herself, and she and her mother had long ago agreed that Kathleen's body had been stolen from the doctor's cottage for purposes of dissection. She had shuddered at the thought of that beautiful body being so desecrated, but Mrs. Carew had seemed quite indifferent, and congratulated herself that she had escaped the expenses of a fashionable funeral and a costly monument.

All the sorrow she had felt for Kathleen's death died out of Alpine's heart as she beheld the trouble of the handsome young actor, and she said to herself that if Kathleen could rise from the grave and stand before her, she would be tempted to strike her dead at her feet.

While these cruel and jealous thoughts ran through Alpine's mind, Ralph Chainey was looking at her with pathetic eyes that mutely craved her sympathy. At last she began to understand this, and a clever idea came to her. Why not pretend to sympathize with him in his sorrow? It would bring them closer together, and perhaps win her some kind thoughts from him.

Following out her thought, Alpine moved to a seat beside the young actor, and laying her soft, ringed white hand lightly upon his, she gave it a sympathetic pressure, and murmured:

"No words can tell you how deeply I sympathize with you in your sorrow. I hope, for both our sakes, that your belief may prove true, and Kathleen be restored to your heart."

Her sympathy pleased him, as she knew it would, and he answered, eagerly:

"You loved her. I know. How could any one live in the house with her and not be devoted to one so sweet and lovely?"

Alpine withdrew her hand and played nervously with her many rings.

"Yes. I was fond of Kathleen," she murmured. "You did well to come to me. You have all my sympathy, and oh! how I wish I could find her and restore her to you. Is there nothing I can do? I am rich, you know, and if you wish it, I will employ a detective to find Kathleen;" but even as she breathed the tender words, the wily girl knew that she would rather employ a detective to hunt her rival down to her death.

Ralph Chainey, blind mortal that he was, looked at her gratefully, without detecting the hollow ring in her voice.

"God bless you for your noble offer, Miss Belmont, but I can not accept it," he replied. "I have detectives already employed. I, too, am rich, and my whole fortune shall be devoted to finding her, if it costs that much. All that you can do is to write to me at once if you hear from our poor lost darling. I shall be moving from one city to another, but I will keep you informed of my whereabouts."

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Chainey, and I will write you if I have the least bit of news!" exclaimed Alpine, with sparkling eyes, for she began to see a prospect of getting up a correspondence with the great actor. She would write to him often, asking if he had any news, and he would be obliged, in common courtesy, to reply.

He rose to go, and Alpine poured out eloquently her sympathy for him and her sorrow for Kathleen.

"We both love her; it is a link between us," she said. "Try to think of me as a sister, and remember I shall often be thinking of you in your sorrow."

He thanked her gratefully and hurried away, after promising to call again the first time he came to Boston.

Alpine told her mother on her return of the young man's visit, and his startling disclosure, but Mrs. Carew pooh-poohed the whole story.

"Kathleen is certainly dead," she said. "Ralph Chainey has been imposed on by a pretty lunatic, that's all. I thought he had more sense."