HFPITTSBUE(rr-'DlSTGHrBUND'f:' 'DECEMBER '25, y -1892.
synopsis or rKi:viou5 ch vpteex
Xord Gaston Verner is a handsome, but unscrnpulous member of society. Ha ha s
tired of his vonns and beautiful wlio. To rid lilmsnir rf ii-i,n i. mnMi..K n .i...
Into Iier company Lord Wyvis. a man of his
illuuitti ttuu utibiuiiuu Luatuiu yuuiiv srauuftl at Hliy COSC. At II J
""uj "".! - -- ..vi ufvo mjiu ii j iauuu juiiiMiiie3 tier iiusuaua s i
U iimtniiiiMttnfrniWflr. irnAiitiirilin. tl nmmla o. .I.-!.. .... ...
W yvis kiss L id eroer's hand. He ets to qunrrelins with her. tlion-h 1
iiunroi uepanurv ii.isiiiiig ginca pnssoa, ana lie n:is inana:rod so the cmnp.inv
meeting vttn uuunyvis. ijjiir uailna'mlnu Is poisoned against lady 1
treats tier verv coolly. O.i the wavho'iic Loid Vt-rnnr stnnjnr Mc !,,ii ,
Justend of Roins home, coes toLndy Carystort's homenud tells her of li'er trouble, disclos'
inc tint Lord orner has sent a diamond tiara to a woman hose name she dors not know.
cue uclioics mil n umtr in marry uui winiian mat ixnu verner wishes to fet lid
pi her. Lartj Verner then decides to leave her husband's homo diirtmr his temporary ab
sence. Herlriends wish to have her with them, but she Insists on carnin- her own liveli
hood. On tlieiccomme.idatiou ofhor aunt sho seeks fie post of housekeeper for an un
known but pi esumably old man. It is a quiet shod: to her to dUcover th.it lie i com-p,iratiolvyonn5a:iddecidedlvhand-ome.
Lndv Verner accepts the place though she
meets wltti many embarrassments In rnanatl-ii; Mr. Dra ton's household. In the mean
time Ixnd Vemerendcnvors to spread the report tint his wire has eloped, and has a vio
lent q u au el with her cousin Jtreuda. Mr. Drayton is coon convinced that his new house
keeper is not an ordinary person, and finds himself falling in love with her.
CHAPTER XXYL
Let us rise mi and part: she will not know,
Let us 20 seaward a the great winds go,
Full of blown sand and foam. What help is
there?
There is no help, for all these things are so,
jn J all the world is bitter as a tear.
And how these tilings are, though, j e strove
to show.
She would not know.
Evening has fallen upon the earth. A
dewy August evening, rich in beauty. The
light is still with ui, but tempered gener
ously by a soft shadin; that fills from the
darkening heavens. Ithoda standing be
neath the clump of elms in the old quiet
garden giarces with a touch of rapture to
ward the still glowing horizon.
The guests had arrive' in due course by
the 6:40 train, and had fonti'l everything in
readiness for them. After that crowning
act of lolly of hers (that perhaps would not
have been such folly after all, it e:ie had
not been discovered) Bhoda had torn off
her finery, now hatclul to her (for had it
not brought her cold and questioning looks
from him''), and given her -whole mind to
the business before Iier.s The result was un
qualified success! Dinner is now over, and
there has been no flaw, no fault anywhere.
Once assured on tins point, she has gladly
caught up a white shawl and escaped to the
light shadows ol the garden, there to think,
and think, and think.
Tne sun is not yet quite dead though his
glory has departed and there is a wonder
lul foe-red light in the western sky. The
Mimet is gorgeous, glowing like a hre-opal,
and even now, "at sliutot evening flowers,"
it seems to cast a splendid heat upon the
earth. Ithoda, throning hex wrap upon au
old bench near her, litts her head as if to
draw in the sweetness of that lovely light.
Even here over her head the clouds
though grav are tinged with brilliant pink:
and over there, behind her, there are crim
son streaks that look like stains of blood.
What an evening! Beautiful as heaven
itself. As heaven might be, if one could
dream of it. A sense of delight, of joy,
possesses llhoda's soul. Xerer perhaps in
all her young lite hitherto bas she felt so
entirely, eo spiritually happy. Xot a sus
picion, not a thought of evil to come, mars
the brightness of her thoughts.
Hut now she must return to the house,
'though
The air was a long sweet dream
" Jind the earth was a siteet nldo smile.
for other duties lie before her. Her joy,
the curious glad uplifting ot her spirit,
mil remains iwth her, howcTer, as with
light, but lingering loottep, she moves
over the mossy sward ot the garden toward
that old door, that has grown to be her
usual means ot exit and entrance.
She goes slowly, feeling safe from the
thought ot meeting anyone. Mr. Drayton
and his guests must still be in the dining
room, or, il they wish to smoke in the open
tiir, would certaiulv wove out to the bal
conj. And here, where she is, at the back
ot the house, there is no lear of her being
seen.
She has reached the door dear to her the
little door that leads to the armory. Prom
it runs up a long stone passage, at the end
or which is another passage that leads to
her own sitting room. As she reaches the
angle that divides the first passage from the
second, the sound ot coming leet hastens
her own steps. Hurriedly turnitig the
corner, she steps into tne shadow of a door
way (always with that fear upon her that
someone out ot her own life may see, and
recognize a'ld denounce her), and so stands
lost in the growing darkness waiting until
the guests mav go bv.
She has hardly time to so hide herself
when the come round the corner laughing
and talking. Certainly she would not have
had time to reach her own door a little
further on, so it was well she hid stopped
here here in this safe seclusion. Sne is
congratulating herselt upon -this, whilst
blaming herself lor never haing asked old
Peter the names of the expected guests
(though indeed he would not have known,
so hurried had been the manner of their
com-ng) when when all at once
Great Heaven! Hot this! She staggers
back, an awful icv touch, the touch of
death, upon her ieart. Oh, worse than
death! Gladly would she have welcomed
that grim fiend at this moment!
Fear! Inghtful, overpowering, seizes upon
her, and holds her in its grip." Struggling
with herself, she clutches the lintels of the
door and bends forward a lace, so leadeu
hued, so devoid ot all the brightness and
youth that but a second ago made it so
oely. that a beholder seeing it would
scarcely have known her.
les yes. It is he. Gaston! Gaston
here! She watches him lrom her shadow
like one stricken into stone. He is gone
now, but his face lives so in her memory
that almost her burning eyes still seem to
ee him. She gazes blindly toward the
spot where he had b;en!
As she thus gazes, someone else sees her.
Drayt&ri! He had been the last to Jollow
his guests into the garden, and he alone
had seen that slight figure, leaning forward
in the passage at his right. Perhaps he
alone had thought ot looking in that direc
, fion. He had staj ed behind to get a box of
cigarettes, and was hurrying alter the men
who had gone on before him, when he saw
her.
. And seeing her, he comes to a standstill.
Even in the gloom the agony ot her lace,
the strained the rigid attitude of her, be
comes known to him. He cau hear no
the wild sigh that is almost a sob with
which, like a wounded thing, she steps
from the threshold of that darkened door,
ai.d drags herself to the safer shelter of
her own room.
He casts one glauce in the direction of
his friends. They are now iu the open air
and the sound ot their gay laughter comes
back to him they can wait. He turns and
walks deliberately to the door of Mrs.
Clarke's sitting room.
It is open! She has perhaps had no
power to close it behind her. With a
feeling at his heart that he scarcely analyz s
then, but that he knows is the worst pain
lie ever lelt in hit life, and that really
means despair, he pushes the door a little
farther open and goes in.
Ye. She is here. But is this she? This
crouching figure iu the corner with uown
bent hed. and body descriptive of nothing
less than abject terror? What terrible eil
own unscrupulous set. Lady Vevnet discover
eceptlon Riven by
jeusrminatinn.
iiu bcci.,ijiiru
lie knows tho
knew or her
renter and she
I I .ssYl it Vpnat
has fallen 'across this boar, dividing light
from dark?"
She is leaning against the wait her face
covered with her hands. She seems dead
to hisapproach; it is as though the powers
of seeing, of hearing, have deserted her
but alas! not the power of feeling. To her
very heart's core she i feeling now, poor
soul, and bitterly!
As he lavs nis hand upon her arm, she
springs suddenly into an erect attitude and
a stifled cry breaks lrom her. Slice looks
at him wildly. What, or whom, she had
expected to see, is as yet unknown to him.
but the expression on'her face he never for
gets to his dying day. And her cry, too !
Low as it is, it is almost as terrible as the
expression of horror in her large eyes.
"Don't look like that,"' said he," shaking
her slightlv. It is the gentlest of all shakes
perhaps, but afterward well, he never
quite forgave himself for it. "Think!"
savs he, bending over her. "Collect your
self! What is it' What has happened?"
'That man!" says she. Her voice is a
mere gasp. She lays her hand on his arm
and clings to him as one might to the rock
when the raging seas are round him. "For
God's sake hide me. Hide rue!" says she.
He loosens her hand from his arm.
"What man?"
"He was there. I saw him." Her (treat
frightened eyes are gazing into his; the
poor hands he has repulsed are clinging at-
irmnieuiy to eacn otner.
"Who was it you saw?" asks he, his tone
devoid of all kindliness. "Pray remem
ber," says lie courteously, but w'ith a cer
tain nauteur, -mat in tnis house no one
shall harm you. Speak freely then. Let
me help you it X can."
"Who can help me?" says she. She looks
towards the open door. " "Oh, shut it!"
cries she: "shut it quickly! Did he "
she looks noi at him and her voice falls to
a whisper a terrified whisper, "did he see
me? Did he? Do you think he saw me?
Oh, if he die!" She gizes at him, and see
ing him so deadly silent, her face grows
stronger. "Speak!" cries she; "why don't
you speak? Do you think he saw me?"
Once again she lays her hand npon his
arm, and once again he repulses her, nar,
recoils from her but so slightly so more
in thought than deed, that she in her dis
tracted state does not notice it
"He! Give me his name!" exclaims he,
harshly.
"Gaston!" says she. "You must have
seen him? You why," with sudden return
of agonizing thought, "you asked him herel
Oh, why why did vou ask him here? He
of all men!"
Something seems to break within her,
and she falls to weeping, not loudly, not
aggressivelv, bnt in a most sad fashion,
heavily, pitffullv. But in Drayton's heart
there is no pity tor her. His face grows'
mid.
"Gaston Vernerl"
He feels choked. He thrnsts her from
him. The sickening doubt, the hateful fear
of thisjsiternonn is on him once a;ain, and
this time past a'.laving. How easy it all
seems now; how clear is the explanation.
What a mad fool he was to let her beauty
dupe him, a few hours ago, into a beliel in
her innocence.
Even then he had known! That word
guilt he had shrunk from it then, he had
deliberately put it behind him, but now it
cries aloud, it will not be silenced. Guilt!
Disgrace!
The whole thing is so plain. It is hardly
nec:ssary to go ipto it. Verner! Verner
of all men! And those diamonds! And
her fear her horror! To ask even a ques
tion seems superfluous and yet
A very passion of desire to' hear her
speak, to get the truth if possible from her
false lips, possesses him. He turns fiercely
upon her.
'What is this man to you?" demands he,
in a low, but terrible tone.
Her tears cease, but she begins to
tremble.
"Oh! don't speak to me like that," says
she. "Have pity on me. He" looking at
him with eves dull with remembered griefs
"he had no pity!"
"He! be!" repeats he, furiously. The
word has maddened him. And then, sub
duing himself by a violent effort, "An
swer me," says he, coldlv, austerely.
"I cannot," faintlv.
"You shall!" His tone is almost tyran
nical It is sharp, decishe. "1 will have
the truth," says he, "whatever it may cost
either yon or me. Remain here. I shall be
back in half au hour." He goes toward the
door, and she, a sudden fresh fear occur
ring to her, runs alter him.
"You," says she-panting, "vou you are
not going to tell him?"
"What men vou have known!" kits hi.
his lips curling, his voice vibrating with
contempt. "No! I go to make certain ar
rangements. Jest," bitterly, "anything
should make him suspect your presence
here."
"You will come back?" asks she, fever
ishly. "Come back ? Do you wish me back ?"
A strange look of surprise, of djsgust, grows
within his miserable eves. Was ever
woman so dead to honest ieeling? "I have
told you I shall come back in halt an hour,
to learn the truth !"
"Oh ! hurry, hurry, hurry !" cries she
vehemently. She has forgotten evervthlng,
save the fear of being alone, while Gaston
is in the house. Dravton gives licr a part
ing glance. What a g'lance it is ! She does
not see it, having shrunk back into the
gloom of the room, and it is well she does
not
As he hurries toward the garden to ar
range the movements of his guests so as to
leave himself tree tor the interview he has
not only sought, bnt commanded, he tells
himselt that probably she will be gone
when next he seeks her. Thirty minutes is
a long time there are many possibilities in
it when one is flying lrom from shame I
CHAPTER XXV1X
I am weary of days amftiours,
Jtlown buds of Darren flowers.
Desires and dreams nn i power
And everytnlns but sleep.
She is not gone, however. Insomuch,
he has to admit, he wronged her. She is
here, and there is even something in the
eager manner iu which she goes to him as
he enters her room, that tells him she has
been waiting, not only waiting, but longing
for his return. '
I. "Well?" said she, quickly. It Is a ques
tion. She has stopped, about a yard, lrom
him, and is lbolrfng at him anxiously. She
lias'-evidently been tutoring herself into
calm during these last interminable 30
minutes, and her lovely eyes, tear-saddened,
are fastened upon his.
Dark shadows lie beneath those eyes
sad, bitter shades that speak of grief, too
great to be subdued.
"Well?" repeats he sternly. He is in no
whit moved by her most moving face.
"You have seen him?"
"If by 'him' you mean Sir Gaston Verner,
yes."
"Yes, I mean him," says she, growing
very white again all the serenity, the
strength, she had been praying for during
the past dreadful half hour (and she had
prryed very liard), now forsaking her. "It
was he then!" she says, in a despairing
tone. AH at once she seems to grow ten
vears older God knows what wild hopes
had held her up during his absence ! The
hope, for one, she might have been mis
taken. That her eyes deceived her I "Ah,
ves; it was. Why "did you ask him here ?
Were there, ""lifting piteous eyes to his,
"not enough men in all this miserable
world that you should choose him among
them for your guest?"
"Why bhould I not choose him ?" asks
he.
"True, true I" Her lovely meekness
touolies liim In no wise. "But," she gazes
at him imploringly, all her heart in her
beauteous eyes, "he cannot be of any use
to you, in any way. It is impossible that
you and,he can have one thought in com
mon, and, therefore, I entreat ot vou to get
rid of Mra. Do," rising and coming nearer
to him,t"do get ridot him I And at once.
Promise me," with a touch of passion,
"that yon will send him away to-night.
To-night I Oh, if not to-n'ght, to-morrow.
It," with a wild sob, "dill be so easy for
you to do this, while lor me" her voice
tails into a sad whisper, "lor me, it he
stavs, it will mean ruin 1"
"Kuinl" The word falls like a fresh con
firmation of his fears upon his heart. He
turns from her, leaving her standing there,
alone, crushed, outlawed as it were, aud
crosses the room to the window. He seems
to breathe more freely or so he tells him
self when the whole length of the room
lies between him and her.
Some horrible sounds are beating against
his brain Those old ones guilt, disgrace,
and now this one, "ruin," and with all
these a newer one still befooled.
No. She shall not befool him, though
she w ere though she is the loveliest thing
On earth she shall not befool him.
Vernerl If It had been anyone but he a
man with a reputation so vile, even among
men, that many of his own class give him
the cold shoulder. A man who, if he (Dray
ton) had a sister or mother staying with
him, he would never have asked'inside his
doors!
Somebody bad suggested Verner to him
as a good shot, and he asked him down to
Kingslands, no arnere pensee in his mind.
He had met Verner7 in town some months
ago, but had kuon nothing of him, being
anything in the world bpt a society mau.
But he had heard a great deal since and
that she she should
Once again be sees her, a he saw her an
hour ago crouching in the corner, her large
eyes wild with fear; of such fear come tlidis
honor. She had entreated him to hide her
to hide her from what? And those dia
monds! Great heavens! How slow be was
to read the truth.
And how she had seemed to delight in
them. The very wearing of them had
seemed to lend her a special light, a new
spiritual brilliance. She had sparkled, she
and those cursed diamonds, together; she
had even
His thoughts break off, her voice dispels
them.
"You will send him away?" savs she.
She has not moved. She ha? not attempted
to go to him. Her sad request comes to
him from the other end of the room.
M1E STAGGERS BACK, AN AtVFUL
"No," says he, with decision.
"No?" repeats she, as if hardly believing.
She lifts her hand suddenly to'her throat.
"And yet'you said vou were my friend?"
"Then!" coldly. ""Now"
"Yes, and now?" It is she who is ques
tioning him this time.
"Now, I am not that I don't know what
I am now. I can only recollect what I
wa."
"My friend I" she puts in, quicklr. "Ah,
if you recollect that, you will do this thing
forme."
He makes her no reply. To tell her that
he had loved her that "he had, in his own
mind, called Jiimselt her lover to what end
would it be? Let her believe he meant
onlv friendship.
, He is so lost in his sad, miserable, angry
thoughts, that when her voice breaks on his
ear -again, he starts violently. She bas
crossed the room, and as he turns he finds
himself face to face with her.
"You ire angry with me," says she
tremulously.
Her eyes are reading his, with so evident
a desire to understand how it is with him
to propitiate him to gain him over if pos
sible to grant her request that he, misjudg
ing all this sorrowful entreaty, still further
hardens his heart against her.
"Whv should I be angry with you?" says
he, coldly. "By what right should I pre
sume to ferl any sentiment toward you
whatsoever?"
- "Don't speak so coldly to me," says she.
"Do not Not now, w"hcn 1 want h'elp so
badly. Be kind to me," pressing her hands
against lier breast, "for this one little time.
It is so much to me, so small a thing to
you. I can leave here, of course. I know
that but this is such a safe harbor for me;
and to face the world ncain to lace him!"
She stops. Her eyes fill with tears; such
lustrous eyes, in such a piteous face.
Drayton's soul sickens within him. Was
ever beauty so deceptive? Surely to look
at her, one might well believe
There's nothing ill can dwell in such a
temple.
Her face that so, many fools have called
the index, of the mind shines pnre as pure
as truth itself. Her eyes are full of hon
esty; her mouth, how innoccntl And vet,
to believe in her!
What? Would'at thou have a serpent
sting theo twice?
He turns his eyes away.
"I am atraid I can be" of no use to vou
here," says he, in a frozen tone. "Sir Gas
ton is my guest; whilst vou "What are
you to me?"-
"Notniagr Nothing!" says she hastilv.'-
Bntshe whitens to the link as she sars it.
She falls back shfl turns aside. Aloofcofthe,
mosi. poignant anguish covers her lace. She
moves slowly, li.tlessly awav, to where she
bad first stood, at the farthest end of the
room. There she stands with head up
lifted it is true, but with her eyes staring
blindly at the opposite wall, and her hands,
loosely clasped, hauging Ijelore her a pic
ture of Despair.
It would be impossible to describe Dray
ton's feelings at this moment AIf he has up
to this been cursing her in his mind, he is
now cursing himself a thousand fold more.
Great heaven! What a Ijrute he is what a
brute, to bnug such a look as that to any
woman's face. And to bring it to hersl
He crosses the room. He catches her
arm. No, now he will learn the truth. He
will have it placed before him in plain lan
guage that there will be no disputing. Ho
knows at this moment that he would go
through death itself to learn it
"Tell me!" says he; and now his tone is
altogether changed it is stern still, but
pasiionatelv imploring. "Tell me, I en
treat you, the truth ot all this."
"Don't ask me that," says she. She
shrinks lrom. him, but he holds her firmly,
with a firmness ot the strength of which he
is perhaps hardly aware. She is trembling
in every limb.
"I must," says he. "I cannot live unless
I know it. Answer me, I beseech you."
"It it my own secret," says she piti
fully. "Ah! It has gone beyond that," says he.
"I have kept it all -this time; will you
now compel me to reveal it?"
"Yes," says he remorselessly. "If you
refuse to tell me"
"Then "
"Then I shall know what I now -suspect!"
"Suspect! you suspect?"
"The worst And even if the worst lies
before me, still I uoul 1 hear it."
Something in his eyes warns her that now
she must betray hersecret or lose his esteem
for ever. The choice rests with herself.
The blood mounts 'to her brow; she under
stands iu a vague sort ot way that every
thing must be made clear to him, though
she never quite knows what were his real
thoughts about her at that time.
"What are yon thinking?" eries she sud
denly. "What? Must I speak then?
Well, I will, and you shall judge between
us. But," she hesitates, and draws back
from him. "Oh! you will not forgive me,"
says she.
"I know that," returns he, slowly.
"Already you condemn me. And you,"
mournfully, "are right, t have deceived
you. I " she breaks off, as though it is
impossible for her to go on. "Must I tell
you?" whispers she in a tone that is scarcely
audible.
"You must go on, until I get an answer
to the first question I have put to you,"
says he, sternly. "If you do not remem
ber it, I will repeat it This man Giston
Verner what is he to you?"
Her head falls upon her breast "My
husbandl" said she faintly.
CHAPTER -XXVIII.
When first we met we did not guess
Tnac love would prove so hard u master.
There is a dead silence! A silence well
named, for it carries death with it Death
to so many hopes. And yet, not an un
kindly death, for from it springs a goodly
resurrection. Marriage, although it blocks
for ever the way to her, has destroyed that
worst of all terms, dishonor. Tnough all
his life -be laid iu ashes at her feet, still
this sweet Pnronix, 'Hofcor,' rising from
them, restores a faint touch of beat to his
dead heart
In the first moment Drayton hardly
knows whether it be joy or grief he feels.
Both, perhaps but surely joy joy gre at
and imperishable rises above all the grief
and despair.
Married! She is married to him 1
"Your husband?" stammers he.
"Yes-'
"You are his wife?"
She bows herhead.
"You'are Lidy Verner?"
ICY TOTJCH UPON HER HBABT.
She makes a little vehement gesture. "I
had put that name behind me," she says.
But he lie had not put it behind him.
Now, indeed, a fresh wave of memory re
minds him that he has been hearing a good
deal of Vomer's wife of late. And for the
last time he distrusts her.
"That is impossible," savs lie. "I have
beard something of Lady Verner."
"What things?"
"That she ran away with Lord Wvvis."
"Did she?" She has recovered h'erself
now; her tone is haughty in the extreme as
she replies to him. "I know nothing of
the Lady Verner to whom you refer. I
am here."
"I big your pardon," savs he humbly.
Then, and forever, his doubts of her die,
though it cannot be said that he has any
thing to kill these doubts, save her own
word. "If," says he, "you have hard
thoughts of me, as of course you must have,
remember how strange, how improbable all
things seemed to me; and that," with a
melancholy smile, "a man whose one hope
in life is blotted out forever, may well be
forgiven by even his dearest enemy."
"I am not your enemy," says she, in a
low voice.
Lower and lower falls the light; through
the open window the last faint sleeping
song of the birds comes drowsily. Over
there in the east a great, pale star is shin
ing. A little wind coming in makes shiver
the leaves of the roses resting on the rose
wood table in the corner.
"So you are not a widow," says Drayton.
She makes a little imploring gesture.
"I knew it all along, I think," says he.
"Though I tried to believe otherwise. You
should have told me "
"I know that," she lifts her head and
looks steadfastly at him. "That is why I
said I had deceived you that I feared vou
would not forgive mt. Yes I should have
told you. You condemn me about that
but," fitmly, 'Sou shall condemn me about
nothing else."
"There is nothing else. It is all over,"
says he.
""No; there is this. About this matter of
Lord Wyvis. There shall be no more con
cealments. You shall hear alL Listen to
me," says she, quietly. "I wish you to
know, to understand everything. You can
believe me or not, as you" will; it is only
my own word."
"1 shall believe you," gravely.
"Lord Wyvis, who was nothing to me,
but who, I think imagined he was in love
with me, happened to leave town, almost as
1 decided on leaving Gaston! I knew Lord
Wyvis was going, and it was madness on
my part, but I had suffered suf
fered so much that that
I thought of nothing, but how to lay the
whole wide world between me and Sir
Gaston. It was majuess, of course, but I
thought ot nothing then exeept how to get
away, to hide mvself to never see him
again. A great cnance just then came in
my way. I took it, 1 came here. You," a
littlo miserable laugh breaks, from her,
"you can compare dates, if if "
""I want no dates," says he.
"Other people will," however, if 1
should appear again; but I shall not You
have refused to send Sir Gaston away, and
if he should chance to see me Well,"
with a long, heavy sigh, "even if he should,
I shall not go back to tho old life. I shall
not appear again with him."
"Verner shall go," says he.
"Ah!" She smiles a little; but it is a
most joyless smile.
"Well let me finish," says she, with a
sigh. , "Both Lord Wyvis and I disap
peared from town almost at the same time.
That fact gave him my Sir Gaston a
chance of destroring my good nam He
did not lose that chance. He made the
most rf it Tnis is all," says she. "This,"
her eyes beginning to burn feverishly, her
lips trembling, "this is the truth. As I
told you before, there is only my word
mine only."
"It is enough," says he.
"It is true it is true it is truel" cries
she, suddenly and then she bur.ts out cry
ing. "You av that," she sobs, "bnt you
will be like all the rest you will not be
lieve." "Not believe? I believe in you with all
my soul," says Drayton, who is very pale.
"Are you sure?" cries she. "When did
you begin to helieve? You did not believe
In me just now. Bnt in this case you must
believe. I can find out the exact dav Lord
Wyvis left England, and I am sure I came
down here a day or two before that I can
verify every word. I "
"Don't," says he, as if hurt "Do yon
think I want erification? Are you bent
on punishing me? Have I not been pun
ished enough alreadv? Have Tone good
thine on earth to look forward to?"
"You have no doubt, then?" She smiles
as if iu a measure satisfied, bnt her smile is
heartbrokeu; she looks white and ex
hausted. "Not one," says he. "I would to heaven
I had!"
Yes. This is the end of it, he tells him
self. He would now, so strange is human
nature, have gladly grasped the doubt that
would once more have made her free to
give herself to him. But that is all over!
Thou shalt foir
Waklne, and sleeping mourn upon thy bed;
Trul v there seonn no comtort anywhme.
"Well there Is no more to say." Bis
voice is very low, aud fraught with dull
despair.
"No. No more. There is no more, at
all" She lifts dejected eyes and looks
around the pleasant little room where she
had refuge found, and sighs. "I shall
leave this to-morrow."
There is a long pause.
"I have another, a better plan," says he.
"Why should you leave? Why should you
abandou the spot that has so far sheltered
yoa that I like to think has grown pleas
ant to yon. No, you shall stay here, and 1
shall go away."
"Oh, no, no, no."
"I pray you not to deny me in this mat
ter," entreats he, carnestlv. "I," looking
at her, "shall like to think of your being
here, when I am" He pauses."
"Where?" She draws nearer to him,
gazing at him with pallid lips.
"I shall go back to my old work," says
he with a rather forlorn smile. 'You know
how dear the delights of travel are to me.
I shall get up an exploring party. I shall
find great pleasure in it I "
"Oh!" She checks him by a gesture, and
then covers her face with her hands. Poor
hands that tremble so miserably. "It is
not true," cries she. "There is no pleasure
henceforth, for you or for me."
And, so saying, the tears of her eyes
Foil without noise.
Thev dron silently on bv oris ttirnnirTi
her slender fingers, but not oue sob escapes
her. The near approach of death renders
all meu silent, and is not this like death?
"Pleasure no," says he. "But I would
have you take comfort. There are other
things besides pleasure. Bhoda. will you
add to my bitterness? Do you think your
tears are nothing to me? "For the short
time we still have together before I go "
"A short time!" Her hand drops, she
looks at him fearfully. 'You cannot go,"
says she. "There are" your guests you can
no't forsake them, though" She flushes
deeply and makes a deprecatory gesture.
"Oh, no, I did not mean that," says she.
"I know it." He is answering that un
spoken apology of hers. If he is forsaking
her. it is not for her good, and to his own
undoing? "As for my guests, I can arrange
for them. I did not think Of them, indeed;
I" be hesitates, and lays one hand against
his forehead. "This is the end P' says lie
suddenly.
"The end!" His tone has startled her.
She lays a little white hand with a nervous
clutch upon her bosom. "The end!"
"Yes. It is our last moment together."
He has crown deadly white, but his tone is
firm. "We part now, lihoda. Now ! We
shall never meet agaiu.
"Never?" She looks at him and sud
denly breaks into a most pitiable little
laugh. "Oh, no," says she, "you forget.
you torgct J.nere win be to-morrow.
"There will be co to-morrow for us; we
part now here; I shall not tee you again."
"Not once again? Not in the" morning?"
A look of terror is growing in her wide
gray eyes.
"You don't know what you are saying,"
says she. "Do yon mean that you are
going away now now, forever ! Ob, no,
j ou cannot mean that; you," with an at
tempt at a confident smile, "you are only
trying to frighten me ! To-morrow to
morrow I shall see you again " here,
gazing at him all the time, she sees some
thing in the anguish of his eyes that bids
her despair: "to-morrow, for the last time."
she breathes faintly, desperately. She is
now clinging to him.
"Are you mad?"sav he, hoarselv. "Why
will you' tempt me like this? Is it for
my sake tor mine that I go? Khodn! my
soul! my beloved! Have pity oa mc, and
on yourself."
"Ah! how can you talk of pity?" says
she. "What pity is there in vou?" Her
voice gives way, "You will go?" asks she,
in a dving tone.
"Yes; I shall go." If ever she had
doubted his love for her, it is not now. 11 is
voice, his haggard face betrav him. "I
shall go," repeats he mechanically. "We
part here for ever."
"Do you know what that means?"
His onlv answer is a long, long look into
her tear-dimmed eyes those eyes to be so
soon only a recollection.
"-h! you do not know," cries she.
-wnen you go, wnat snail be lert me
then?"
"Memory," Bays he, sadly, "and the
knowledge that you trusted me, and that I
did not betrav that trustl"
"Is that all?" asks she. "Oh! how poor
a thing is knowledge! Where is the conso
lation in it? You," looking at him, with
ineffable reproach in her lusttous eyes,
"you will, then, go?"
"Bhoda!" He grows suddenly verv
white. "Ask me to stay and I will' slay!"
And then, womanlike, her object "at
tained, she shrinks from the consequences
of it
"Oh, no," says she, with a smile sadder
than any tear.', "I shall not ask you to
stay. Go, go! Yes; I see it You must
go."
"For your sake," says he, unsteadily.
"For yours alone!"
"Well, go!" says she. But even as she
gives the fatal command her hands closet
upon his sleeve. "A minute!" says she,
attrightedlv.
He lays bis hands over hers.
"You will not forget me," entreats he in
a whisper, alive with passionate fondness.
"Forget you!" Her glance is eloquent
"Then goodby!" He removes her hands
from his arm, and holds them with a wild
clasp iu both of his, "Goodby my love!"
For a second thev look into each other's
eyes, and then how is it? They have
swayed toward each other. He has caught
her to him; she has throwu her arms
around his neck. ,
There is a last sad embrace; a mad cljng
ing a little smothered heartbroken crv.
Alone indeed! The lonliest creature the
earth holds at this moment
2b tit continmd next Sunday.
Uopyrl(tht,.lS3:, by tne author.
A GOOD BOY'S REWARD
Howard Fielding 1 ells of a Clirislmas
lie Can iNever Forget.
HE PLAYKD THE LITTLE AKGEL
Mh'Io a rig-, lubberly l.iar Got All
I rcaeuts in . Ight
the
CHURCH RIVALRY IK GOOSE FALLS
IWWTTKf FOR TIIR DISPATCn.l
About a dozen distinguished people, in
cluding myself, were invited by a publisher
to write the stories of our most memorable
Christmas days for use on the present festal
occasion. I accented the invitation and at
once began work on a story left over from
last Fourth of July. I took out the fire
crackers and substituted snowballs, and
was engaged in changing the character of
George Washington into that of Santa
Clans when I received this note:
Never mind your Christmas story. Have
decided to have them all strictly truthful.
Can j ou surest a man. who can tell the
truth, to take your placa in the symposium?
Will you hunt around for a day or twi mid
find a man! We can afford to pay him $10
more than wo oirered you. if ho amounts to
anything, and won't taice less S.irry that
there's nothing la it for you, but another
time, etc., etc.
This came by messenger, 55 cents, collect;
and I knew by that and bythe'handwritlng,
and by the modest, kind aud charitable
nature of the sentiment, that it must be
from the publisher. I do not think that
even the loss of the 35 cents which I paid
in the belief that the note contained a check
hurt me worse than the assault upon my
veracity. It was very unjust; and, to prove
that it was, I sat down and wrote the follow
ing yarn which bears the stamp of truth
upon its face.
The itlches or Lite.
, The events which I shall describe were
driven into mv memory particularly bar I
because they were of the sort that children
are supposed to forget immediately. In the
days ol which I write the care of me, as is
usual with orphans, had devolved upon that
one of mv relations who was least able to
bear it My Aunt Martha had seven chil
dren of her own to provide for, and the
eighth was a child of calamity, the writer
of these lines. I didn't mind poverty much
in those dayi. Most of the things I wanted
were free. The essentials of life.as they appear
to a
ueauuy uoy, are nun ice and frozen
snowballs in the winter, a pond with deep
holes in it as a place to acquire the art of
swimming in the summer and another boy
to fight with all the year around. I had
these simple necessaries, and seldom craved
the luxuries ot life. True, at Christmas
time I would have been glad to get more
presents, but as some of my more fortuna'e
companions were mnch smaller and weaker
than myself I was able to use their toys
almost as much ns they could.
But I grieved along with the other chil
dren, when, in bleak November, it began
to be whispered about that there would be
no Christmas trees in Goose Falls. The
churchei had sworn off. But as Christmas
approached there was a general feeling" of
uneasiness lest somebody should break the
boycott, tor, of course, it any church bad a
tree all would be forced to do it There
were rumors of tree plots immediately after
Thanksgiving, and every society suspected
the others ot tecret preparations with the
design of capturing for its Sunday school
those children whose love of religious in
struction could be awakened onlv by the
hope of spoils. However, nothing definite
was done, and the young Goose Fallcrs
viewed the cheerless prospect with dismay.
A Genins for the Emergency.
At this point Providence raised up lor us
(i ptujiuei. in me mrra oi William Jennings.
He was 14 vears old, as big as the side of a
house and as awkward as a young calf.
When he sat down he looked as if he had
been poured from some gigantic receptacle
over all the neighboring furniture. This
peculiarity ha) earned him the name of
"Sloppy." He was a bov to be envied at
Christmas time, for he held more candy
than any ten of the others. But he was the
only one of us who showed no sorrowat the
prospect of Christmas without trees, and we
couldn't understand it. Urged to explain
his calmness in misfortune, he uttered, on
the 15th of December, these memorable
Something Kiel for Howdy.
words: "Fellers, there'll be more Christ
mas trees in Goose Falls this year than ever
you see before. You leave it to me."
We lelt it to him because we couldn't do
otherwise; and he showed himself not un
worthy of our confidence. His plan was
very simple. He went to Aunt Sally
Clarke, who was, perhaps, the most influ
ential person in the Unitarian Church.
"Aunt Sally," said he, "I saw Deacon
Huduut Uown at the Head to-day."
Beacon Hudnut was Orthodox, and the
Head was a point heavily wooded with
spruce trees with Christmas trees, in lact.
"Did vou, Willie?" said Aunt Sally.
"What was he doing there?"
Sloppy Worked It Smoothlr.
"Dunno.'' replied Slopuv. "He had an
ar, an' he chopped down a tree, abont the
size o' the one they had at their church last
Christmas. But lie, le.'t it layin' there. I
guess he only chopped it down lor fun."
"Fun!" exclaimed Aunt Sally. "Well,
yon are a stupid boy. Those Orthodox are
sly, but I'm a match for 'em. They're goin'
to have a tree. Very well, so are we; an
it'll bat theirs out o' siiht."
:Tm thinkiu' o' comin' bact to your
Sunday school cla Aunt Sally." 'said
Sloppy, "but, somehow, I think I'm most
too big."
"Don't you worry about that," replied
Aunt Sally promptly; "the bigger the boy
thefhiggcr'the present he gets at Christmas.
That's my way o' thinkin'."
"Aunt" Sally," said the gigantic young
humbug, "you're my idea ot a Christian
woiran, aud Solomon wa'n't wiser nor more
Juit than yru are."
It i, perbjpf, needless to say that the
story of Deacon Hntnut and the spruce
tree was as trne as "Jack nnd the Bean
stalk." It is also unnecessaay to state that
everybody in town had heard of it inside
of twenty-four hours. The Methodists
instantly decided to have a tree, and
they let it be ccncrallv known, as an in
ducement to early piety that candy bigs
would be larger that year, and that the con
tents would have more "chaw" to it than
ever before.
Mora Traps Than Ever before
This news gave great satisfaction to the
rising ceneration; and the feeling rose to
wihl enthusiasm when it became known
that the Epworth Leagne had decided to
have a tree, and that its decision had lorced
the Christian Endeavors, the Kl.ig's Dan-h-trs,
the Unity Club, the Masons, the Old
Fellows and the Sons of Temperance to
take similar action. As Sloppy had said,
we were to have more Christmas trees than
had ever been seen before in Goose Fall?.
Most of my dearlittle playmates promptly
joined all three of the Sunday school! I
did not. Jnt at this point in my career, I
was attacked by one of those better im
pulses which have so frequently prevented
me from enjoying things. I determined to
remain true to my convictions and stand by
the Unitarians for better or for worse.
Other boys might violate the dictates of
their consciences for the sake of a lev bags
of mere transitory candy, but not L This
resolution wis highly applauded bv my
Sunday school teacher,' and I figured that
the state-of her teelingt ought to be worth
at least a new pair of skates to me. It was
given out openly that every scholar should
have something'on the tree, and that the
traditional bag of candy, consisting Iareely
or musty popcorn, snould not count as a
present
The iree festivities began in the morning
of the day before Christmas, and lor 36
hours there were at least three in simul
taneous operation iu various parts of the
town. Children passed through the streets
laden with Methodist prenents on their war
to get some out of the King's Daughters.
Orthodox children who thought that it was
wicked to go in the Unitarian Church werit
in just the same, and the prospect of eter
nal punishment Jent an added zest to their
enjoyment of the exercises.
How the Genius Fared.
Our friend Sloppy, after visiting all the
tree-mentioned hitherto, d'scovered that the
Conking Club was entertaining the very
smallest children in the attic of !h village
school building. The stairs groaned under
his enormous weight, nngmented bv vast
quantities of candy ot three different
creeds and he was so exhausted with the
ascent that they hadn't the heart to turn
him away, and they used him as the recep
tacle for all the delicacies contributed bv
unskillful members, nnd judged by the
more judicious to be fatal to the little ones
for whom the entertainment was originally
intended. ..
Meanwhile I had centered my virtupns
mind upon one tree. I had run errands,
and, in short, had done a week's work, to
make the Unitarian tree a success. I, ex
pected that about four of the largest boughs
ol the tree would be required to hold the
reward; of my virtne. I did not know the
actual state of the case: that it had been de-
ItiNiM- I
5flWU
jA'2fsl -ft J&& J, , ,
3 fie Keuard of the tTicled.
cided to give educational presents to those
boys who had nobody to buy them anything
worth having; that "garrets had been ran
sacked lor old books, and that mine had
been selected by an.otd .lady who had left
her glasses at home and knew no more than
that the book bad pictures in it.
"He won't care What it is, "she said,"he'il
like one thing just as well as another at his
age."
And so it happened that I waited till
Santa Claus had nearly stripped the tree,
ana mat j. snea some tears oi uisajpoint
ment as skates, trumpets, tin swords and
other glitterintr treasures went to boys who
were already laden, with tributes from- the
other churches.
At Z.ast the Beward of Virtue.
But at last a package was put into my
hands. Its shape made me fear the worst.
It must be a boot. Well, even so. It might
be an Indian fignting story, or a sea yarn
full of lee-shores and topsails taken aback;
I opened it with trembling hands. There
was a picture on the enter. It represented
the sacred bird of Chicago, and above was
the title, the promise of an enthralling
narrative to stir a boy's heart and make
him dream: "Harris on the Pig;"
That was all. Even mv bag of candy
missed me. But I was too young
to mind it, and it I cried it " must
have been from natural perver
sity. I did not read "Harrison the Pig."
I have since learned that it is an exhaustive.
technical treatise, containing almost every
thing which anybody would care to know
about the pig, except the motive which led
some individuals ot tbat species to treat me
so, on that old Christmas Day.
As for Sloppy, he has never had so good a
time in his lite before, and the day alter
Christmas he obtained permissou to strip
all three of the trees of their popcorn
streamers, and as a reward for his work, he
was allowed to eat 780 yards of thepoporn,
including the woolen twine on which it was
strung. Howam) Fielding.
BEEAKIKG AN IHFAHIBY EQTABZ.
The French In Dahomey .t Urged to Uavo
Used a Kcw Method.
London Truth.
A discussion seems to be going on as to
whether an infantry square can be broken
by a charge of men on loot or on horseback.
To the non-military turn ot mind this would
seem impossible, provided that the square
is properly formed. But I read the other
day that theFrench in Dahomey cast melinite
bombs into an intrenebment of the enemy,
with the result that the assailants them
selves had to fall back in or..er not to be
destroyed bv the sufibcating fumes.
Is this a fact or an effort of the journal
istic imagination? If the former, what is to
prevent melinite being fired into any deuse
mass oi men ou a battlefield, whether in
square or in any other lorniation, and emit
ting such lumes that the square would cease
to exist? Admitting the truth of the state
ment it seems to me likelv to render war so
exceedingly dangerous a pastime tbat few
sane human beiugs will be -Killing to engage
in it
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i-HOSFHODi-SE: line oners
Mime worthless medicine In place of this, learo his
dishonest store. lnrloe Price In letter, and we wm
end hv retnrn milL Trice, one package, f 1; Ix,
. One iM jtltas: six will cure. Pamphlet la
plain sealed n1nn. ?stimn Adrtres
tit:e "WOOD CUESIICAI. CO.,
Ill Woodward avenue, Detroit. Uca.
JS-SoId In Plttsburr br
JOS. FLEMING & SOX,
17-Sl-codwIc 413. Market street,
WEAK MEN. yoTJB attentio
IS CALLED TO THS
TSJCC UAK TUS3 MM
CHEAT UtCLtSII SZUEDT.
Gray's Specific Medicine
IFYOVISIIPFEIt front
imaum una inn . . N i r-
vous Dehllltr. Weakness of liodr and Mind
Spermatorrhea, and Impoteucr. and all dlseais
Inat arise from orer-lnduljrcnce and self-abnse, a
l.on of Memory and 1'ower. Dimness or Vision
premature Old Ate, and many oilier diseases tha
lead to Insanltr or Consumption and aa early
grave, write for ourpamphlet,
Address UKAY MEDICINE CO.. BmTalo. N. T.
TheSpecinc Medicine Is sold by all druggists at
fl CO per package, or nz packages for S3 00, or sent
or mall on reecelpt or money, and with
VIVLPJP fl" W t G V A It A K T E K
a ,UI, v, IUVUOJ H
iciuaucu.
3On account of counterfeits, we hare adopted
the Yellow Wrapper,
the onlv cenulne. bold la
I en
narantees Issued by S. 9. ilollaad.
cor. Smlthdeld and Liberty su.
j uudii Tirana
JylS-7-Hwreo3a
FREE TO WEN.
We have a positive cure for tho effects of self
abuse. Early Eiceises, Emissions. Nervous De
bility. Lou of Sexual rower. Impotcncr. Ac. S
great Is our fnlth In our speciOc we will send on
nil month's medicine and much valuable tnfor
mitlonfc'JIEE. Address
G. M. Co. 835 11 roadway, Xew York.
mra-sitea
OR. SASDEX'S
ELECTRIC BELT
With Electro-Magnetic Suspensory
2M
latest Patents: Pest TmPeoT.m.nhr:
Wm cure without medlein. n Weakness resmtint
frrm over-taxation of brain, nerve forces, excess
or Indiscretion, as exhaustion, nervous debtllt
sleeplessness, languor, rheumatism, kidney, lire,
and bladder complaints, lame bark. Inmbago, sci
atica, general 111-beilth. etc This Electric Belt
contains wonderful Improvements over all others
auu Kit rs n current lnai la Instautiy lelt h weer
or we forfeit s.i.cw, snd will care all or tbe abora
dlseasea or no pay. Thoisands have been cured by
this mirrelons Invention after all other remedler
lalied. and we give hundreds of testimonials la U
ana erery other Mate.
nnr Powerful I MTKOYED ELECTBICSUSP
SORV, the greatest boon erer offered weak
FKKE with ALL, UKI.TS. Health and rlt
strentthKUAKANTKKDlnftOtoMdaTS. &
Illustrated oamphlets, mailed, scaled. Ire
areas.
&AXDKX IXECTIUC
, il Broadway, N.
fe,
rV'BHMl & w'