ADVERTISEMENT.—On Thursday evening last a lady arrived at the little village of Redcliffe, and took lodgings there. The same evening she fell ill of brain fever, and now is in danger of death. She is a stranger to all in the village, and no clue as to her name or friends can be found. Any one who has a missing relative or friend is requested to attend to this advertisement.

Then followed a description of the lady and of the dress she wore. Lord Atherton felt sure that it was his lost wife.

Without saying one word, he went at once to Redcliffe; he went to the address given and was referred to Mrs. Hirste\'s.

He went there, and said he had every reason to believe the lady mentioned in the advertisement was his wife. "She left home," he said, "unknown to us, delirious, without doubt, at the time, and quite unable to account for her own action."

They took him into the room where she lay; he looked at the flushed face and shining eyes.

"It is my wife," he said, quietly. "Thank God, I have found her."

But Marion did not know him; her hot lips murmured continually of Allan, who was persecuting her, and of her husband whom she loved so dearly, but who would never be willing to see her again.

"How she must have suffered!" he said to himself. Then he telegraphed to London for a physician and a nurse. They were not long in coming; by that time the whole village was in a state of excitement and consternation.

"She will recover, I have every reason to believe," said the doctor, "but she has evidently suffered long and terribly. Some domestic trouble, my lord, I suppose, that has preyed upon her?"

"Yes," replied Lord Atherton, "a domestic trouble that she has been foolish enough to keep to herself and which had preyed on her mind."

She had the best of care, the kindest and most constant attention, yet it was some time before she opened her eyes to the ordinary affairs of this life.

Lord Atherton never forgot the hour—he was sitting by her bedside. He had barely left her since her illness began, and suddenly he heard the sound of a low, faint sigh.

He looked eagerly into the worn, sweet face—once more the light of reason shone in those lovely eyes.

"Marion," he said, gently.

She gave one half-frightened glance at him, then buried her face in her hands with a moan.

"My sweet wife," he said, "do not be afraid. I know all about it, darling. I have made that villain destroy those letters. You need fear no more."

"And you are not cross?" she whispered.

"Not with you, my poor child; always trust me, Marion. I love you better than any one else in the world could love you. I am afraid even that............