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1 (iCvCpyfrfic i
SYNOPSIS OF PKEVIOCS CHAPTERS.
Lord Gaston Verner Is a handsome, bnt unscrupulous member or siciety. Ha has
tired of his young and beautifnl wile. To rid himielfof Her be bas contrived to throw
Into her company Lord Wyvis. a man of his own unscrupulous set. Lady Verner discovers
his object and determines to avoid public scandal at any cost. At a reception given by
Lady Baring. Lady Verner meets Lord Wyvis and intimates her husband's determination.
Be promises to go away.
V "There Is an end of grief and mirth,
There is an end of all things born."
"And what is writ, Is writ.
Would it were worthier!"
Lord "Wyvis and Bhoda continued their
conversation in their secluded spot unmind
ful of the passing time. Lord W yvis had
consented to go away.
"Where is it you are going then?" asks
"How can that matter? What really
matters is that this is the last time you shall
see me. The last time" slowly "that I
hall see you."
"Ihe last time." She is horribly ashamed
of herself, but cannot disguise the fact that
her heart is uplilted at this news. Now
now she will be able to defy calumny defy
her husband! Ohl tad thought that this
"Yes. I shall make arrangements."
He is staring at her. He is probably
reading her thoughts correctly. At all
events he is very pale.
"For a year I shall leave England; for a
longer period perhaps for so long at all
events. Society forgets people in 12 months.
"It is very good of you," says Bhoda; it
seems a very commonplace little answer,
yet it is all she can think of. Somewhat of
the strain has relaxed and now her eyes fill
'with tears, and the hand he is holding
grows kinder and presses his in return.
Ohl if he is really going awav all will be
well. She will be able to fight her battle
"Is it?" He pauses. "What is there I
would not do lor you?" He checks him
telf. "Good niirhtl" says he. abruptly.
"Good night 1" says Bhoda. She would
have released her hand, but he still holds
't His eyes search hers. His fingers
j J"n over her slender ones.
"Hay I?" be asks, in a tone almost in
audible. She smiles tremulously. After all how
kind he has been; how good he is going to
be! And it is such a little thing, such a
"Wyvis takes that smile as it is meant,
and stooping over her slender hand presses
on it a long, lingering, passionate kiss, full
ot farewell and longing, and "wild with all
"Do not forget me quite," murmurs he
In another moment he is gone.
Bhoda, standing motionless, her eyes
upon the tesselated pavement at her feet,
listening to his departing footsteps, scarce
ly draws her breath until she assures her
self that indeed he is gone, that it is all
over. This one trouble, at all events, is
out of her life! She raises her hand to her
bos6mand sighs heavily, a sigh of relief.
Her lovely face lightens she lifts it
To see her husband watching her with a
malignant smile upen his face.
"Hearkening to the last footfall of the
dear departed?" says he, advancing leis
urely toward her. "As you stood just now
you should have been painted; I was quite
charmed with your pose; so effective.
Really you grow handsomer daily. You
might have been called 'Begret,' or, per
haps, "Love's Slave." Ah! yes, that would
be best It would suit you. You should
be painted as 'Love's "Slave." 'Wyvis'
All the color deserts her face. She opens
her lips as it to speak, but words fail her.
The terrible throbbing ancer at her heart is
stifling her. At last, as it dies away some
what, she speaks.
"And you," says she in a low tone, alive
with hatred. ""How should you be
painted?" The most bitter contempt be
trays itself in look and tone.
As Ihe Spy," " returns he, smiling. He
Is jitteJr'TSiahashei. He even looks
amuBedr "I do nofScruple to admit to you
that I have been watching" you with more
or less admiration for the past 10 minutes.
Beally your treatment of Wyvis is admir
"You deliberately watched me?"
"Deliberately and careiully,and I had my
reward. That farewell of his was a thing
well worth seeing; that last fond kiss"
"What are you saying?"
"On the hand the hand only, of course.
Is this a place lor a dearer demonstration?
Is'o, I give you credit lor perfect common
sense. That hand kiss was innocence itself
end meant only as a foretaste of keener joys
Bhoda's face undergoes a change. She
moves nearer to him, slowly, unwillingly.
At this moment, could she by a wish have
smitten bini to death at her feet, she would
have done so.
"You must be going mad," says she. The
sound of her own voice rouses h"er from her
dreadful thoughts, and with a shudder she
draws back again to the lounge where she
had been sitting.
"I am not indeed," says he, lifting his
brows, and shaking his head with all the
v;r ol.ooc idly anxious to convince someone
on a point ol utter unimportance. "Sever
did I feel more sane. It is you, perhaps,
my dear Bhoda, who might be accused of
madness. Would a sane woman deliberately
seek to escape a happy life with me?" He
laughs aloud and looks into her eyes, and
finds pleasure in the grief, and rage and
torture that lies in them. "Would a sane
woman openly and wilfully imperil her
good name and risk public censure for the
sake ol one like Wyvis?"
"He is a better man than you," says she,
Mnerouslv, but very looiuniy.
Ah. JJelend nim, cries ue. -reienu
f m, niv dear wile, as louaiy as you cau
(1 tends to the one termination. Isaturally
'on wonid detend him. He is perlection .
iselt, no doubt; the very essenee of all the
'"You can twist and turn my words as you
will to your own purposes, but "
"'Nothing ill come ot it?" He ends her
sentence with a curious promptitude. "Are
you sp sure ot that? Am I to be patient
always? When you leave open the gate for
divorce, am I not then to enter it? I should
indeed be as insane as you pretend to think
me, if I hesitated."
"At last vou sneak plainly." says she.
She raises her hand to her throat as it suffb-
eating. The silence round them is penect i
.Sot a sound comes lrom tne room oeyouu i
or the balcony outside. If she hail not
been so lost in her passion o! anger and re
gret at this clear determination to destroy
il"nossihle her vnun?. sweet life, she might
have noticed the strange stillness that reigns j
around her. Where are tne otoer guests
Where the music?
"Do IV savs Verner. his evii, uunusome .
f.nA nnranv.il mavtt litr m. hfltelul smile. '
v.n rrmt cnrxL- nlninlv sometimes. wben
iople are so dull as not to see how the j
yes of the orld are regarding them.- It '
-night reasonably be e. "ou j
would see that the course you are pursuing
must end badly, and but in one way. You
have not seen it because 'Love is blind!"
An old proverb! You," insolently, "have
"I have heard yon at all events too often,
and too long."
"And to so little purpose, vou should
add. You must acknowledge," appealing
to her in quite an airy fashion, "that I have
many a time and oft warned you as to the
follr of the way in which you are going."
"Why will yem persist in this idle accusa
tion?" says she. "What is to be gained by
it? Not what yon would gain! Gaston,
surely there is some other way. If " she
pauses, and her lovely face grows pale with
entreaty, "if it is separation you desire,
He laughs aloud he makes a gesture as
if be would spurn her from him.
"Separation !" exclaims he, and there is
imitation as well as mockery in his tone.
"Separation from you ! You, the 'toast of
all the town," the 'admired of all behold
ers !' You rate yourself even lower than
I rate you 1" He pauses to give expression
to this little bit of brutality. "No sepa
ration as you mean it is the last thing I
"A falsehood !" savs she through her dry
lips. She bas not understood him.
"Pardon me; the judicial separation from
such a loving spouse as you, would not con
tent me. A divorce pur et simple, tnough
having little of either purity or simplicity
in it, is wh'at I aim at"
"And why?" asks she. She is trembling
violently now; sne has drawn back from
him, and has laid her hand upon the chair
nearest her to steady herself. "That you
may make another woman's life a curse to
her? That you may marry again?"
"Bather that I may escape from you!"
cries he, furiouslv, stung by her words.
"From a woman who "
"Go on, Gaston!"
The defiance of her regard sobers him.
He checks himself, and bows satirically.
"Who has the bad taste to prefer another
man to her husband!"
"That at all events is a falsehood," says
she, calmly. "I prefer no man to you in
the t,ense you mean, as all men are alike in
different to me."
"Are they? And your interview just
now with Wyvis? That touching farewell?
And your attitude as he left you that last
fond lingering glance at his departing fig
ure. Did all that mean indifference?"
"You are right when you call it a fare
well," says she. "Lord Wyvis is leaving
Eugland next week for a long time."
She makes no answer tothis insult Anger
feels dead within her. Where is the good
of indignation? What is to be gained by
righteous wrath where he is concerned. Her
agony, and she, and humiliation are only
as subjects for mirth with him. She feels
lifeless, hopeless, yet she cannot altogether
kill the cruel pain at her heart; the smart
ol it burns her still, though in a dull sort
of way. Tears force themselves from be
neath her tired lids, and run slowly down
her cheeks. The torture is too great for
her courage, which indeed as a rule is high.
"Don't cry," says he, with a sneer. " He
will return; I know him welL Pray do
not waste a dramatic scene on so poor, so
unappreciative an audience. It may, per
haps, too, be as well to remember that you
have yet to bid good night to your hostess.
It will scarcely matter, I daresay, to so
emancipated a person as you are, but as a
fact all the other guests have gone by this
time, and Lady Baring has been making
tender inquiries as to your whereabouts for
the past half hour."
"Lacy Baring! Asking for me?" He
has roused her effectuallv. She looks
around her. Is it indeed so late? Has she
been so imprudent as to forget the hour?
"Actually!" says he. "She is not so
thoughtful for you as I am, I asked no
questions. Of course, under the circum
stances, vou could hardly be expected to
think about the flight of time. Time was
made tor slaves, and you, as I said just now,
are Love's Slave."
"You knew how late it was. You knew
I had lorgotten, and yet you have kept me
here all this time listening to your vile ac
cusations," cries she, vehemently. "Why
did you not tell me the other guests were
going, or goue?"
"Why should I tell you? You think me
htartlese, yet you will now see how you
wrong me. I could not bear to disturb your
tete a tcte with your friend. I ieltlwas
the km person to tell you."
"The last indeed!" bitterly. "You hope,
to ruin me with society, but you will not
"You are ruining yourself, as it seems to
"Stand aside!" says she, imperiously.
She makes a little movement with her fan
as if to brush him from her path, and
sweeps past him into the room beyond.
The sky is changedl And such a change!
And storm and darkness! ye are wondrous
The first room is absolutely empty. Bhoda
going rapidly across it to the ante-room be
yond finds that, too, without an occupant
From the landing outside the sound of
voices can be heard, but they are evidently
those of some last goers a man or two,
who had perhaps lingered to say a word to
With her heart beating almost to suffoca
tion, she turns aside, and entering one of
the smaller drawing rooms looks round for
her hostess. Lady Bariug is 'standing at
the farthest end ot it in a sort of cushioned
recess, with her back to a tall Japanese
screen. bhe is conversing in low tones with
one of her "musicians," as she loves to call
them. The present one is a marquis, but
Bhoda knows he is staying in the house
that he is visiting the Barings, and that
therefore the tact of his being still en evi
dence, helps her in no wise.
She almost grinds her teeth at her own
folly How could she have been so mad?
How could she have made so grave a mis
take? No doubt all the world had seen her
enter that conservatory with Lord Wyvis,
had timed her occupation of it. and had
drawn damnatory conclusions, helped by
sunary ninn irom ncr own nusoana. On!
what evil spirit bad possessed her that khe
shouM thus have deliberately played into
She goes quietly across the room. It is
impossible but her approaching footsteps
must be heard, yet Ladv Baring takes no
notice of her coming. She grows, indeed,
even more emphatic In her conversation
with her "musician," and thereby keeps her
back turned to Bhoda.
Whether this conduct on the part of her
hostess is a chance thing, or deliberately
meant, Bhoda cannot be sure, yet something
whispers to her that all Is not well with her.
"Dear Lady Baring," says she, and stops.
She has come quite up to her hostess, and
stond at her elbow for a full second (a long,
long time under certain circumstances), and
still Lady Baring has talked on to her
"musician" as thongh Bhoda had never
been in existence. It is indeed a gesture
from Lord Abeldore, the young musician
himself, that compels Lady Baring to turn
and speed her parting guest
"I must apologise. I had no idea it was
to late," says Bhoda in a quick, nervous
way. Her nerronsness, indeed, it to in
tense that to a tuspiciont person it might
easily look like guilt Lady Baring has
been told certain stories to-night that have
turned her lrom a kindly friend into one
"Not latel" says she with the usual
society smile. She scarcely looks at Bho la.
"Must you really go now, you and Sir
Gaston?" Is the little hesitation meant?
She smiles again, though always without
looking at Bhoda, and tnrns at once to
Abeldore who Is growing very uncomfort
ableas if Bhoda was somebody ot very
slight importance; if, indeed, of any im
portance at all. "At vou were saying,"
says she to Abeldore, "thai high 0 is-"
"I have come to bid you good night,"
breaks in .Bhoda with a touch of hauteur.
She is very white, but she holds her head
"Oh, of course," says Lady Baring, giv
ing her a very frigid hand. "Good night
Your husband? Sir Gaston? I said good
night to him quite a long time ago, I think.
He I hope he "
"He is waiting for me," said Bhoda
She' feels choking. She gives a little
mechanical bow to Lord Abeldore (who has
heard a few things here and there, and who
is pitying her with all his soul), and moves
like a young queen to the doorway.
Her heart is full of bitterness. Lady.
Baring only yesterday had been a friend of
hers; to-night she is a pronounced enemy.
And who has thus turned her friendship
from her? He who, of all men, should
have been her friend and protector. He
the man who had married her, and had
sworn to cherish and protect her till liie
did them part
All the natural loveliness of her nature
seems turned to galll Verner standing be
low in tne hall regards hsr curiously. Per
haps for once he is a little afraid of her, as
he sees the white, set face with which she
passes him, to step into her carriage.
He follows her in silence. The footman
closes the door, and presently they are
driving together these two so far apart in
heart and eeling through the gaslit
She had meant to be silent to endure all
things but this last scene with her whilom
friend, Lauy Barin;, has proved to much
for her. She had liked Lady Baring, she
had even, in a sense, loved her. See had at
least found great pleasure in her society,
and this terrble ignoring of her, this casting
aside of her as it were by the woman she so
liked, has been intolerable to her. And as
the pain of Lady Baring's renunciation of
her rankles and hurts, so does her hatred of
the begetter of that renunciation grow and
thrive. To lorgive Lady Baring hercold
abandonment ot her would be impossible,
now, or in any future, however distant Yet
it is not on Lady Baring the hot, fresh vials
of her wrath are poured forth. On him,
rather the dastard the man who, bonnd to
protect her, is ordaining his life to the de
struction of her.
She turns to him suddenly. In the dim
light he can see her only very indistinctly;
yet the flashing of her large eyes is a dis
tinct thing even in the gloom of the
"What have you been saying to Lady
Baring?" demands she.
"I to lady Baring?" He affects extreme
surprhe, and lifts his shoulders in an offen
"You to Lady Baring," firmly. "What
lies have you told her?"
"Yon are to be admired, "says he. "Yon
are better than an electric belt You are a
whole series of surprises in your own celC
I used to think you were, if er a little
extraordinary in your ways, at least a lady!
But now! Surelv something must have told
von iiy your earlier days that the word lie
is abolished from all decent dictionaries."
"Not from yours, surely," says she,
"Yours? What was vours? "Answer me?"
cries she, a little wildly.. "What have you
told Lady Baring? How have you beeu
poisoning her mind against me? She
"Is it poisoned?" He asks the question
qnickly, a little unguardedly; he is evi
dently anxious about the answer.
"Ah!" says she. "Your evil hope is ful
filled. Yes, your words have gone home;
she believes you! You against me! and
only yesterday she called me 'friend,'
vesterday, and it is all your doing yours."
"You know how she bade me good night;
yes, you do know," passionately "for as I
turned to leave her I saw your face in the
doorway. What an evil work this is of
yours! You would make all the world be
lieve me bad bad! a worthless thing!" A
thick, dry sob stops her utterance. "Mav
God lorgive you lor all this," says she. "I
"Your forgiveness!" says he with con
tempt "When I ask for it, it will be high
time to refuse it"
"And yet that time may come." Her
voice has a strange ring in it "And when
it does What do you mean by it all?"
cries she, breaking ofi suddenly. "Oh!"
sobbing, "you must have the heart of a
devil to torture me' as you do."
"Naturally," says he. "What other
heart should I hate? You know you al
ways regard me as one lost to all the'virtues
a" fit inhabitant for the lower regions. I
know vour opinion of me, and," with a
vindictive glance at her, "I shall justify it
in your case at all events."
Something in his tone and expression
dimly seen bythe light of the carriage
lamps, yet plain to her who knows him,
kills all weakness within her.
"You mean that you will gain your
divorce?" says she.
"Well," slowly, "we shall see."
"The sooner the better," he returns, bru
tally. Lady Verner leans back in the carriage,
and gives herself up to bitter thought
One thing is decided at all events. To stay
with her husband is impossible. He is
bent ou her ruin to suit his own purposes,
and from what she knows of him he is not
likely to stop at anything that would give
him what he desires. And this woman who
has prompted him to this present desire, tha
has bad a hint or two of her, but is uncon
scious ot any wish to go more deeply into
the disgraceful secret.
But to get away from himl To shake off
the dust of hit house from- herleet is be
coming an overwhelming determination.
To be free! Free! Oh! how long since she
tasted the delights of freedom! It seems to
her now that to live In a little room one
little room all by herself, with no one to
trouble her, would be bliss unspeakable.
But then, of course, she had never lived
in the "on little room."
Her quick mind casts itself abont to seek
immediate means for flight Flight is, as a
rule, a horrid word, and bears extraordi
nary meanings, but she does not shrink
from it Flight from her husband is what
her mind is bent upon. Flight, so secure,
that he shall never fiud her again.
And who will help her? From the first
moment her thoughts have rnn to Lady
Carysfort, that good kind friend who has
been all things to her during her young life.
Yes, she will help her. But how to get to
her at once without arousing suspicion in
Verner's mind. It seems to Bhoda that it
would be impossible to wait until to-morrow
to discuss this burning question with
someone. To-nicrht "to-night, late as it is,
she must see Lady Carysfort But how?
The difficulty is solved at this moment
Verner rousing himself from a sullen rev
erie desires the men to drive him to his
club, and this without demanding permis
sion or expressing regret to his wite, though
Fall Mall is considerably out of her way.
But Bhoda forgives all this nay laughs
at it in her heart He had given her her
opportunity. Having brought him to the
haven where he would be, and seen him
salely into his club, she' gives the servants
direction to take her straight to Lady
Carystort's charming house in Park lane.
It is past 2 o'clock now, and a nervous
dread ot finding Lady Carysfort in bed, and,
therefore, sleepy and unsympathetic, stirs
her, yet half mad with rage and despair as
she is, she risks all things and tells herself
that death would be preferable to a pro
longed, solitary", mental review of the
doings of this night
Lady Carysfort, however, is not in bed.
Voices, coming from the library, where the
I WAS QUITE CHAEMED WITH TOUB POSE.
footman ushers Bhoda, tell her that the
principal occupiers of the house are still
awake and cheerful very cheerful.
Indeed Brenda Bowen's merry laugh can
be distinctly heard, mingled with that of
Tom Kenrick. The ICenricks and Miss
Bowen, the latter in care of an unimpeacha
ble matron, had been at Lady Baring's "at
home." Lady Carysfort had been elsewhere
at another "at home" no doubt and now
she and her niece and nephews having re
united hare naturally quaint tales and
many to relate of their mutual acquaint
ances and friends.
There is quite a hubbub of laughter and
talk when Bhoda opens the library door and
steps into'the room. '
The table is laid for supper. Lady Carys
fort has a fancy tor having an impromptu
meal laid here, and the flowers and lights
and laughter all strike cold upon Bhoda's
heart as she enters the room. Is this a
place to find sympathy? Here, where all
is happiness and gaiety and
Well, it is here. Lady Carysfort, who
has been listening with a smile to Brenda's
account of somebody's singing, pushes the
girl from her at sight of Bhoda, and, run
ning to her, seizes her by both arms.
"Darliug girl, what is it?" cries she.
"Why It is But I disturb you!"
says Bhoda, faintly, trying to smile, and
"Me! Disturb me! Something has hap
pened, dearest" It is indeed impossible
not to see that something very considerable
has happened, after on glance at Bhoda's
drawn, white face. Lady Carysfort turns
to the others. "Now, go away like good
children," says she. "Bhoda wants me.
Bhoda is in trouble. Go Brenda, dear, and
you too you boys."
"Oh! Bhoda!" says Brenda, making a
little impulsive movement toward her, her
pretty eyes full of tears and love.
"Now Brenda to-morrow. To-morrow
you shall hear," says Lady Carysfort; she
waves the girl to the door. The young
men have disappeared at once, after a
friendly glance at Lady Verner, who does
not see it, and Breuda thus commauded,
follows them reluctantly.
When the room is empty, save for Lady
Carysfort and Bhoda, the former throws
her arms around Bhoda and kisses her.
"Not a word till I have made you com
fortable," says she. As she speaks she
takes off Bhoda's wrap, and with a gentle
persistence draws her to the table.
"A glass of champagne, darling," says
she; "and then you shall tell me everything.
That terrible man again, no doubt"
Now all good that comes or goes is
At the smell of last year's roses.
As the radiance in our eyes
Shot trom Sumner's ere he dies.
Bhoda throws up her hands 'and bursts
out laughing. This sudden change from
hatred to love has proved too much tor her.
Her laughter is a little wild.
"That man! That man!" echoes she. "Oh,
yes! Yoj have guessed it" "
' Sit down," says Ladv Carysfort, "and
drink this," pushing the glass ot champagne
"Oh, no," says Bhoda, pushing it away
again. "I want nothing, only to speak, to
speac to say to you ail that is in my
A dry sob checks her.
"Say it, then," says Lady Carysfort,
"It is this," says Ehoda "That I have
borue my life long enough. That I shall
bear it no longer."
She has sprung to her feet, her lips, are
parted, her eyes flashing. Perhaps never in
all her lite bas Bhe looked so lovely as at
this moment, when her heart is breaking
through grief and humiliation. She looks
taller, too, than usual, the heavy soft folds
of her velvet gown hanging by her sides,
giving her height while the diamonds
glitter in her hair and at her waist and in
"Bhoda, what is it?"
"Not much. Not very much more than
usual, only it has been the straw too much,
auntie. He has gone an inch too far, and
1 Well, it is all over. My married
life is ended from this hour."
"But what is it? Something has hap
pened!" "Yes; something." She lifts her hand to
her throat as if suffocating for want of air,
and throws up her beautiful head. It seems
to her at first impossible to go on and tell
the shameful story, but presently she con
quers herself, and Lady Carysfort learns
the history ot the night, and of many others.
She says a good uany things about Sir
Gaston before it happens to her to remem
ber that a wife separated trom her husband
has but a bad time of it nowadays. She has
fiven herself away a great deal no donbt,
ut now she brings herself up short, and
endeavors to retrieve the situation.
"It is shooking, intolerable. But all that
you have told me, bad as It is, darling and
really I hardly see how it could be woree
need not concern you in any way. He will
certainly not be able to make out a case.
He cannot incriminate you."
"How can one be sure? "I tell yon that
Lady Baring would hardly look at me to
night as she bade me goodbye."
"Nevertheless he will not succeed; and
Lady Baring is such a stupid woman I'm
sure. What you can see in her! dementia,
I call it rushing after all those fiddlers and
tootlers. And Bhoda, darling, as far as it
is possible one should live with one's hus
band." "So far yes."
"Well, he he has behaved abominably
"There is no past tense abont it," says
Lady Verner, smiling coldly.
"He is behaving abominably, then! I
know it, dearest, but " She pauses. She
is struggling with herself. She is indeed
acting magnanimously at this instant, be
cause she had hated the marriage of this
favorite niece with Sir Gaston and had done
her best to prevent it, only her interference
had come too late. And yet she is trying to
help him out of this difficulty. She is at all
events refusing to go against him, though,
ot course, her chief anxiety is to save her
niece's name, not his.
"Yes," says Bhoda, somewhat languidly.
"He he is not a good man," says Lady
Carysfort, her manner as inconsequent as
usual, even now perhaps a little more so.
"But I have heard nothing new abont him
of late. That is a hopetul sign, surely,
"You mean that I am exaggerating?" says
Bhoda, a little sharply, her beautiful face
"I mean only this," says her aunt, gently,
nervously, "that if you cannot prove any
thing against Sir Gaston, if he has been
running pretty straight of late, you had
better hesitate before taking any final steps
about separating from "
"Prove! I have sought to prove noth
ing. "I knew that, dearest You have been
patience itself. And latterly I have hoped
that he is improving. As I tell yon, I have
heard nothing, nothing unpleasant about
him lately, and therefore have hoped for the
Bhnda makes a little impassioned, an
almost agonized gesture of her hand, and
then suddenly bursts out laughing. Such
laughter. All the bitterness of a lifetime
lies in it; yet her life, how short it is.
There seems scarcely room in it for the
terrible mingled hatred and horror that dis
figures faer face.
Lady Carysfort grows frightened.
"You you know something," stammers
"Why just a trifle, a mere trifle," says
Bhoda, laughing still, yet clutching at the
table to steady herself. "Ohlamere every
day society trifle, I assure you. Yesterday
it happened; yesterday evening!" She
laughs afresh, and turns to her aunt more
directly. She takes a step toward her.
"The evening post came in, and it brought
me what do you think? A glorious dia
mond tiara. Such diamonds. Nearly as
good as these, I think," touching some of
her own, inherited from her mother.
"Nearly, if not quite; and the sender of
them was Gaston.
"Well, darling, and was not that a proof
of what I say I that he has reformed, and
that Surely, Bhoda, it was a touch of
awakening respect a touch of proper feel
ing his sending yon diamonds.
"Ahl" She draws a long Bigh. "A
touch of respect of proper feeling for
someone else. Such respect Such proper
"What do yon mean, Bhoda?"
"The jeweler has made a mistake, that is
all! A few lines on a card in Gaston's
handwriting, I inadvertently read. They
'Bhoda," breaks in Lady Carysfort
"It is quite true," says Lady Verner,
with a slow smile, that has deadly hatred
in it "Well, I read them. They con
vinced me that the diamonds were not
meant for me."
"For whom then?"
"The curse of Eve is on all women. I
made no inquiries. But the Christian
name of of the owner of those diamondswas
"Christian name!" cries Lady Carysfort,
indignantly. "Pommy! There is no such
name in any Christian land. Oh, my poor
girl! What is to be done? And diamonds
too. If it had been turquoises or garnets
but diamondsl What did he say when you
accused him of it?"
"I I accuse him?"
"When you spoke to him about it, I
"I did not mean to speak to him," said
Bhoda, haughtily. "If we twoj he and I,
lived a thousand" years, I would not say one
word to him on the subject" She is silent
for a moment "What is it to me?" says
she, with a contemptuous smile of her lip. ,
"Times have indeed changed," says Lady
Carysfort "If that had been my case in
my young days I should have had a good
deal to say a&out it Well, well, welt
NShe seems overwhelmed with grief, so
overwhelmed that Bhoda, who up to this
has managed herself admirably, now gives
way to a burst ot passionate tears.
Lady Carysfort goes to Her and takes her
into her arms and presses her to her kindly
"There now, darling; be comforted. Take
hope. There must be comfort somewhere,
Bhoda, and hope too. There, sit down and
let us think it over. Oh! Bhoda, don't
cry, darling child. No one is allowed to be
uuhappy foreer." Here she breaks down
in turn, and clings to this girl, who is the
dearest possession she has on earth, and
while crying over her smoothes her pretty
head with loving fingers.
"Oh! To look at you," says she, "you,
so beautiful! Why should you ot all others
"Why! Why, indeedl" cries Bhoda,
feverishly. She releases herself from her
aunt's arms, aud, going to a mirror, stares
at herself. "Yes, I am beautiful," says
she. "That is the strange part of it I am
beautiful, and she she is a little vnlgar
thing not fit to " She makes a superb
"You know of her?"
"Nothing. Nothing personally. Her
name is public property, so is her photo
graph. The latter was sent to me.
"Your friend! Your chief friend!"
"Yes," says Bhoda, in a low tone.
"Ah!" says Lady Carysfort in her idle
way, "I have always told you that friends
are expensive possessions; I can't aford
them. I know that they cost one a great
deal And so you actually have seen a por
trait of "
"The possessor of that tiara? yes."
"And ahe is plain?" (
"More than that Bepulsively ugly, to
my way of thinking. And yet she evi
dently possesses something that I lack I,
with all my vaunted beauty."
"Oh! Thank God for that, darling," says
"If I could thank him for anvthing.
But," smiling, bitterly, "I don't feel in a
thankful mood I didn't want to be born,'
you see, auntie, and yet I am born to
misery of a kind not to be endured."
"Life is one long struggle," say's Lady
Carysfort, nervously. "If if you were to
wait, Bhoda, he, Sir Gaston it seems im
possible to doubt it he may come to love
you best in time!"
Lady Verner pushes her from her.
"Ohl how can youl" she says, almost in
audibly, yet vehemently. "His love his!
Listen to me," e'enchi'ng, her hai ds. "If
such an impossible thing could happen, as
that he should love me, I should hate and
loathe him even ten thousand times more
than I do now. Enough ot that. To escape
from him is all I now desire. Help me to
that Help me, auntie!"
To be continued next Sunday.
Oopyrbrht 1&92, by Mrs. Hungerford,
SECRET OF SERENITY.
All Things Work Together for Good
to the True Christian.
THE PHILOSOPHY OP-RELIGION.
Most of the Unhfippiness of tbe World
Comes From Wronjr Thinking.
WAITING IPON THE DIVINE WILL
rwBITTIN- FOB TBI DISPATCH.!
All things woik together for good to
them that love God.
Here is a spell that will make the sun
shine every day. It will change bitter into
sweet, tears into smiles, sorrow into joy,
loss into gain. He for whom all things
work together for good will find it easy to
keep that hard counsel which St Paul
gives in this day's epistle, and to give
thanks always for all things. He has
learned the secret of serenity.
And what is it? What is the secret of
serenity? We all want to know it Beally
there is no secret about it The apostle
sneaks it out plainly enough. Everybody
can see what it is. All things work to
gether for good to them that love God. We
must have God. Absolute happiness, com
plete transformation of human life so that
the Garden of Eden comes back again, all
doubts answered, all problems solved, all
dark places lighted up, joy entire, all-embracing,
celestial, without interruption
this is the reward of loving God. Every
thing is right if we love God.
Good Money Wrongly Used.
All things, indeed, are intended to work
together for good for all people, whether
they love God or not We are all of us
members of the family of God. God is our
Father. Whether we obey Him or not,
whether we love Him or not, whether we
are good sons or prodigal sons, it makes no
difference. God's love for every child of
His continues unfailing and unchanged.
All things may work togetherfor bad, every
messing may De perverten into malediction,
and the child ot God may every day get
further from His father's house, and forget
God, and prefer the devil. But God waits.
The bad is not of the father's sending, but
of the son's making or choosing. In the
parable the father gave the son the portion
of goods that tell to him; and the money
was good money. If the son had loved his
father better than he loved the wicked
world, all that treasure would have worked
together to enrich him. But the son went
wrong, and that converted everv nennv nf
his fortune into temptation, sin, misery
and forsaken poverty. But that was the
son's fault The lather waits. Sometime
the son may think of home, and turn back,
and try if there is still a welcome for him.
He will always find a welcome.
Setting the Face to the Wind.
Sometimes the breeze blows in a man's
face and hinders him; sometimes it blows
against his back and helps him. It depends
altogether upon the direction in which he
walks. He must expect hindrance who sets
his face against the wind.
The meaning is that the quality of life
depends very much upon ourselves. The
event comes and to one it brings prosperity,
while to another it brings adversity, not on
account of any difference in the love of
God, but on account of the difference in
the hearts and minds of men. Perhaps the
book is not so dull after all; it may be the
reader who is dull. Some otherbrighter
than this one, may find the book a blessing,
full of inspiration. And as with books, so
with all life. God cannot bless us unless
we are ready and ready to be blessed. And
only they who love God are ready and re-
ceptiveio ine Dest Diessmgs or liod. That
is how it is that all things work together
for good to them that love God.
For think who they are that really love
God. They are the people of whom it is
possible to say these' three things thank
fully: That they try to do the will of God.
and that they set the same valuation upon
the interests and rewards of life that God
sets and that they are willing to wait a
good while for the complete revelation of
the meaning of God. So that the secret of
serenity is not such a simple matter. Who
ever would gain the benediction of tran
quility and look out confident without
trembling and without repining into the
midst oi all the ills of life and live in
heaven here in this uncelestialcountry.may
have his wish upon these three conditions.
A Condition of Happiness.
The first condition of perfect happiness is
the purpose and the persistant endeavor to
do the will ot God. It is plain enough that
a great proportion of all our adversities
come through the open gate of 'disobedience.
We know the will ot God well enough. It
is written plain for us in the Book of God,
and made still plainer in the life of the Son
of God. God desires us to live as close as
we can to the life that Jesus Christ lived.
That is the broad avenue to perfect happi
ness. Most ot us know by experience that
in proportion as we have followed Him we
have found happiness. And we know by
still larger experience that as we turn away
from Him the world gets dark aud life
ceases to be worth living.
Take, tor example, such a hard lot as St
Paul had. He was poor; he was unsuccess
ful; he was disliked; men laid plots again t
him; he was persecuted even to violence,
and at last to death. His life was full of all
manner of hardships. He had not even the
assisting strength of good health, but was
sick often, knew what pain meant. Take
some good Christian out of this generation
and set him down where St Paul stood; let
him nave no money, and no home, and very
few friends, and let the people of Lystra
pelt him with stones, and let the magistrates
at Phihppi beat him with many stripes and
thrust him into the inner prison, and make
his feet fast in the stocks. What a test of
the genuineness of religion! What a hard
proving of tbe secret ot serenity!
JIappy In the Faco of Persecution.
St. Paul actually enjoys it, delights in it,
glories in it After he comes to his senses
from the bruises of tbe stones, and trets his
hurt3 a little healed, he goes straight back
to Lystra and preached that same sermon
over again. In the stocks at Philippi, he
and Silas sing praises unto God, so tnnt all
the people in the prison marvel, absolutely
happy! The lettors of this man are full of
Joy and thanksgiving. He know very well
what he was talking about when he said
that wo ought to give thanks always and for
all things. Tnnt was the constant practice
of his lite. Nothing troubled him, except
his sins, and he knew tnat Christ died that
ever, the chief of sinners might be forgiven.
lie had learned, he saj s, to be contented
That was because St. Paul was trylnjr the
best he could every day to do the will of
God. Everything that came into Ins lire
was a help to him toward tills end. Tlio
harder the better. So much the finer op
portunity to show tho spirit of his Master.
A sieat deal of the unhappiness of lifo
comes upon us because no disobey what
Christ told ns about loving other people
even as ho loved us. The rest or It is selfUb
noss. Gautama Buddha was rUrht nhen ho
tound the suDiome sourco of pain in selfish
ness. In proportion as we think less about
our own comfort, our own convenience, our
own position, our own pndo, our own lights
and deserts and think moro about the serv
ice no can render to our neighbor we will
find happiness, we will attain tho secret of
Sensitiveness and Selfishness.
Sensitiveness, for example, hlcu makes
so much trouble for so many people. Is very
often only a subtlo form or selfishness. It
U the lesultof thinking too much about
ourselves. It is not Christian. So long as
we hold back from lollowiug Christ nloiu the
way of the cioss.nlong the road where ha
who makes his pilgrimage leaves self be
hind, Just so Ion i we are bound to be dis
contented, vexed, pained aud generally un
happy, i or he who loves self a great deal
loves God only a little. And all things woik
together i or good only to them that love
The second condition of perfect happiness
is the setting ora light value upon our pos
sessions. God always sympathizes In all
human sorrow, but a great many times he
may be sorry only because we are so foolish
ly Borry. The little child weeps and wails
when It Is thought best that he shall have
no more of some sweet dish. And we see
plainly enough, with our maturer wisdom,
that tho loss Is not worth half tbe tears. The
little child ha set an exaggerated value
upon this taste of honey. We are little
children in God's sight And a great many
times, no doubt, we are very foolish chil
dren. Ve grieve because God does not give
us what He sees to be not best for us, or be
cause he takes away that which is not worth
even a sigh.
Setting Other Things First
It is not possible for one who learns the
life of Jesus Christ to believe that Goa cares
very much whether we have a great deal of
money or not, whether we live in very
handsome houses or not, whether we dress
in fashionable attire or not Unless we take
it as tho meaning of His words and the les
son of His II e that it Is bettor not to have
great riches, except to hold them as God's
stewards for the good of man, and that the
less concern we take about our eating and
drinking and attiring so much the better.
Certain it is that He set the kingdom of God
and his righteousness distinctly first And
when we reverse that divine order, and set
some lesser thing first, it is not likely thai
God shares very deeply In oar grief If we
If we wonld be happy, we must unlarn
foolish grief. We must value much what
God values much, and set at a small price
what He values little. If we could but do
that, reserving our affections for those
things which are above, bow many adversi
ties might befall us without disturbing our
Most of the worries of life are connected
with that side of it which is of little value
in the sight of God. The vexations of
business, the perplexities and entangle
ments of housekeeping, the disappoint
ments and bad service of employes, the
cook, the elerk, the dress, the bargain, tbe
dinner these sugzest a great many of the
lesser griefs of life. They are fertile in
hindrances to happiness.
Causing One's Own Unhappiness.
But it Is almost always our own fault. It
is because we attach an exaggerated impor
tance to them. After all, are they worth the
worrv that they make? Would it not be
better to take them as they come, deal with
them as wisely and as patiently as we can,
and then put them out of our mindsT, Some
people actually die from the stings of gnats.
They are orned Into their graves by the
petty cares of common life. Whereas it Is
the counsel of Christ that we should not
worry. He said that more than once. The
Christian will make it a matter of principle
not to worry.
The remedy for this sort of unhappiness
is to think about great, important things,
which will dwarf these trifles into lncon
sidered insignificance. The most important
of all possessions in the sight of God is
character. And the foremost interest of
all who are really trying to do God's will
must be his kingdom aud His righteous
"There Is but one -thing needful," said
Amlel in his journal, "to possess God. All
our senses, all our powers of mind and soul,
all our external resources, are so many ways
of approaching the Dlvlmty.so many modes
of tasting and adoring God. We must learn
to detach ourselves from all tnat is capable
of being lost; to bind ourselves absolutely
only to what is absolute and eternal, and to
enjoy tne rest as a loan."
Ho who loves God sets God first And it
is to him that all things work together for
Being Willing to Walt
The third condition of Christian happiness
Is willingness to wait. A great deal of grief
springs out of misunderstanding. We do
not see the meaning of our trouble. And
very often wo hasten to attach to itthemo3t
tragic, the most hopeless of meanings. Wo
say to ourselves that it is now evident that
God does 'not care. They taught us that
God Is our loving father, in the days before
our sorrow came, and we believed it with
out thinking much about it It was easy to
believe it. But we know better now or
worse I God does not care. And so the sky
grows black. While many times perhaps
most times If we would but wait we would.
presently discover in our trouble only a
plainer evidence of the wise love of God.
God desires to lead us into richer blessings,
but the path lies throu;h hard places, and
we grow too easily discouraged.
Sometimes we suffer fiom anticipated sor
row, which never really comes, but Joy in
the place of it. All that sort of sorrow
would be banished out or life it we but loved
God enough to trust Him, and to wale We
are like the women in tho dusk of the Easter
dawn, wondering as they go who will roll
away the great stone from the door of the
sepulchre, and probably distressing them
selves greatly about it: and behold, as they
approach, the stone is rolled away! If we
love God we will cast our anxiouj care on
Him, knowing that He cares forus.
Being Mistaken In Blessings.
Sometimes we are not wise enough to
recognize the blessing when we see It. We
mistake friends for enemies. We account
helps to bo hindrances. That was the. kind
of mistake that Jacob made when the news
came from Egypt about the strange suspic
ions of the ruler of that country: the old
man lost heart. "All these things," he cried,
"are against me." Whereas all those things
were for him, not against him.- They were
hut preparations for the createst blessing he
knew how to pray for. They were manifes
tations of the watchful and abiding love of
God. The trouble with Jacob was that he
did not wait. He fell Into the error of im
patience. He lacked faith. Had he but
loved God better he would have kept a se
rene heart through all, knowing that al
things would somehow work togetherfor his
Tho truth is, that human life is like a
novel of which we know the end. Before
we get far along In it we are told how it
comes out. It comes out right at last for all
who love God. That makes the novel easlor
to read. It makes life easier to live. Yes,
there are complications enough, and bur
dens hard to bear, and obstacles high as
mountains across the path, and all things
seem to be going wrong, nothing is right.
Bnt wait. In dne time we shall see. For
we have looked into the last chapter.and it Is
written there that n.l thlnirs. even tho hard
est things, work together for them that love
Being Patient and TrnstfaL
He who loves God trusts Him. He realizes
that God knows more than he does. He
learns that God works gradually, and is
never in a hurry, and step by step brings
blessing out of what seems malediction.
And he is content to wait He tarries pa
tiently and trustfully for dawn. The night
prows blacker and blacker. The great grief
shuts out all the light of heaven. Even the
face or God is lost to sight. God seems to
hive forsaken us. Wo cannot see our way.
All this tragedy in whoso black depths we
falf seems so Insoluble, so mysterious. We
cannot find a reason for it. Why did it
come? What does it meant There is not a
ray of light In the darkness.
What thent What shall we dot In this
dread confusion, in this loss of all we love
most, in this tragio defeat and overthrow
of life, how can we keep happiness? By
keeping faith: by looking forward to the
dawn. Sometimes tbe Iteht will shine again,
all shadows fleo away, all tears change Into
teais of-Joy, all questions have satisfying an
swers, all things work together for good IT
we love God. The blessed solution and ex
planation of the tragic mystery of life may
come soon, or it may come late. Wo may
learn It here, or we may not learn it till the
light of tbe life to come shines In our laces.
We must be content to wait. This is God's
world. Our father Is the ruler of it, and
loves us. God has his wise and loving mean
ing in all that happens to us. We most wait
and trust His love. Gzoiioe Hodols.
THE BTOEY OF A CLOCZ.
How a Timepiece In Temple Hall
Furnished lYIth a Itfotto.
The following account of the origin of a
well-known motto for a timepiece, whether
true or false, is worth recording.
Some years ago a new clock was made to be
placed in the Temple Hall; when finished,
the clockmaker was desired to wait on the
Benchers of the Temple, who would think
of a suitable motto to be put under the clock.
He applied several times, but without get
ting the desired information, as they had
not determined on the inscription. Con
tinning to inportune them, he at last came,
when tbe old Benchers were met in the
Temple Hall, and had just sat down to din
ner. The workman again requested to be
informed of the mottofone of the Benchers,
who thought the application ill-timed, and
who was louder of eating and drinking than
inventing original mottoes, testily replied,
"Go about your business."
The mechanic, taking this for an answer
to his question, went home and inserted at
the bottom of the clock, "Go about your
business," and placed it on the Temple
Hall, to the great surprise of the Benchers,
who, upon considering tbe circumstances,
agreed that accident had produced a better
motto than they could think of, and ever
since the Temple clock has continued to re
mind thelawyers and the public to go about
DWARFS AND GIANTS.
The Little Trees and the Big Wrest
lers That One Sees in Japan.
PINES TWO CENTURIES OP
the Food of tha Athletes Wha Some
times Weigh 400 Pounds.
HUNTING THE ORIENTAL CHIN .BOG :
fCOERISFOSDENCE Or THE DISPATCH. J
New York, Nov. 5. I have always
wondered if the cherry trees in Japan did
really have that dwarfed and knotty look
that ' we see in picture books and on Jap
anese screens. I also wondered it the Jap
anese really had that long, silky-eared,
white and black dog with its pug nose, big
liquid eyes, broad, .brainy head and cork
screw taiL The potters and screenmaker
sent these objects to us, but I thought it
was crippled art But I now know that ths
plum tree and cherry tree do grow in that
forked, and stunted manner. The cherry
tree is not raised for fruit but for its blos
soms, aud cherry blossom tims in ths
spring, like chrysanthemum days in tha
fall, is the sweet holiday period of Japan.
The poor cherry and plum trees are trimmed
and gnarled and hacked, and then fertiliza
tion and rebellious nature do the rest
The scraggy plum and cherry trees on tha
Japanese screens and vases are true to
nature. I have often seen a pine tree with
a trunk a foot in diameter trimmed to one
little branch. It would be in a flower pot
When I asked how old it was they would
"It is 200 years old. Great-great-grandfather
planted the seed. It keeps oft tha
The Giant "Wrestlers of Japan.
While they dwarf their trees and shrub
bery the Japanese have made a race of giant
men a race of wrestlers. These wrestlers
often weigh two, three and four hundred
pounds. At the Imperial Hotel in Tokio
they brought their champion wrestler to
my room. He was prodigious in size and
as fat and fair as a baby. He was a Her
cules in strength but looked like an over
grown Cherub of Correggio.
"What do you eat?" X asked.
"Rice nothing but rice."
"Why not eat meat?"
"Meat is weakening. Beef is 70 per cent
water. Bice is 80 per cent food. I ate
lean beefsteak once and my strength left
me. The other man ate rice and threw me '
My courier said: "This wrestler is the
Sullivan of Japan. No one can throw
"We searched Japan for the little black
and white chin dog, but we did not see four
perfect dogs in the country. They have
been mixed and badly bred. It was the
Japanese chin that was taken to England
and mixed with the Blenheim spaniel to
produce the King Charles spaniel.
Taken in by a Dog Trader.
At Kobe tbe Sampan men rowed ont to
the Empress of India, bringing two pretty
"They very good," they said. "See, big
eye long ear litte nose. "What you
"How ranch ask?"
"Give you five."
"We were proud of our purchase till w
got to the hotel and saw a real chin just
brought down from Kioto by an English
man, then we gave them away. The Jap
ha I our money and we had the experience.
"When we got to Kioto we went dog hunt
ing every day. The jinriksha men got to
know what we wanted and would say:
"More chin want? I know good chin.
Bat there was alwavs something the
matter with the chins. One would have a
weak eye or a straight tail. Another
would be too big. The real chin should be
about a foot long.
One day we visited the old castle of the
Mikado where he used to live before he
went to Tokio and became an Emperor.
After we had walked through hundreds of
rooms in our stocking feet and admired
lacquer work, bronzes and embroidered
storks and chin dogv I asked the old Sam
urai if he knew of a chin dog like the one
on the embroidery.
A Pair of Trained Dogs.
"I have," he said, and then he led to the
rearot the castle.
"Here," he said, "are Foji and Meto
They can wear a kimono and waltz and
"What do you mean by 'can chin?' " I
"Tbey can talk."
Then he dressed them up and put witches'
red collars on them. They were perfect
chins tender, playful and tearfuL Speak
a cross word to them and their great eyes
fill with tears, but speak kindly and they
rush into your arms to be fondled and
"Chin, chin," said the old Samurai,
taking a wafer out of the sleeve of his
kimono and holding it up. Then Meto and
Fuji stood on their hind legs, folded their
arms around each other and waltzed as the
old Samurai whistled the tune of Kohana
The "He ra, he ra, he," she dances every
In an elegant kimono and an obi:
If you go out to Japan, you must see Kohana
She's the prettiest little Geisha girl in Kobe.
I will say here that with a little money
and a good deal of diplomacy we persuaded
the old Samurai to part with Fuji and Meto,
and we brought them to America. Captain
Marshall, ot the Empress of Idia, fell in
love with tbe little irother and sister and
kept them from the deadlv cook. The
Canadian Pacific allowed their little Japan
ese cage to ride in the Pullman, and now
they are eating mush and milk in New
York ready J.o be naturalized as American
Fun and Satire in Japan. -
The Japanese have their agnostics who
make fun of Buddha, and some ot them are
as funny as Ingernoll.
One day I asked Prof, Kishi, of tbe Kioto
University, to translate for me a Japanese
agnostic article on Buddha. The next day
he handed me a translation saying, "It
makes everybody in Japan laugh at tbe
wooden saints in the Shinto shrines." The
translation was of a fable. A priest hung
an old tea kettle over tbe fire one day when
it turned into a cat Then it turned back
into a kettle and again into a cat, keeping
up the performance otten enough to make
it a showy curiosity. A tinker made a
fortune by exhibiting it "When he died ha
gave the tea kettle back to the priest, who
put it in the temple, where it was laid up
with precious treasures and where it is now
worshiped as a saint "When people want
a saint, and they are scarce, a cat-kettle is
valuable," concludes the agnostic article.
The next day I asked the professor what
an agnostic was.
"Why, an agnostic," he said, "is a man
who don't consider our saints valuable."
"And a crank; what is he?"
"A crank," he said, thoug'htfully, "ii
man who knows all about something which
I don't care anything about"
A Remarkable French Woman.
Elise Saint-Owen is one of the most re
markable women in Prance. She travels
about alone, and at her own expense, to col
lect information of the life of women and
the rearing oj children in the regions she
visits, for the French Geographical Society.
Mdlle. Saint-Owen is 60 years of age, and
is now engaged in making the circle of ths
Southern Hemisphere. She travels with
next to no luggage.
Nxrvocs headaches promptly cured by
Bromo-Ssltzer loo a bottle.