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SYNOPSIS.
-11
In the New York home of James Brood,
his son, Frederic, tells Lydia Desmond.
his fiancee, of a message announcing his
father's marriage. Brood and his bride
arrive. She wins Frederic's liking at first
meeting. Brood shows dislike and veiled
hostility ta his son Lydia and Mrs. Brood
met in the jade-room, where Lydia works
as Brood's secretary. Mrs. Brood makes
changes In the household and gains her
husband's consent to send Mrs. Iesmond
and Lydia away. She fascinates Frederic.
She begins to fear Ranjab, Brood's Hin
du servant, in his uncanny appearances
and disappearances, and Frederic, re
membering his father's East Indian sto
ries and firm belief in magic, fears un
known evil. Brood tells the story of Ran
Jab's life to his guests. "He killed a wom
an," who was unfaithful to him. Yvonne
plays with Brood. Frederic and Lydia as
with figures on a chess board. Brood,
madly jealous, tells Lydia thi.t Frederic
it not his son, and that he has brought
him up to kill his happiness at the proper
time with this knowledge. Lydia goes to
beg Brood not to ten Frederic of his un
happy parentage, but is turned from her
purpoee. Frederic, at dinner with Dawes
and Riggs, is seised with an impulse of
filial duty, and under a queer Impression
that he is Influenced by Ranjab's will.
hunts up his father, who gives him the
cut direct Brood tells Frederic the story
of his dead wife and the music master.
CHAPTER XVI-Continued.
"It was made In Vienna," interrupted
Frederick, not without a strange thrill
of satisfaction in his soul, "and befd'e
you were married, I'd say. On the
back of it is written: 'To my own
sweetheart'-in Hungarian, Yvonne
says. There! Look at her. She was
like that when you married her. God,
how adorable she must have been. "To
my own sweetheart!' Ho ho!"
A hoarse cry of rage and pain bust
from Brood's lips. The world went red
before his eyes.
"'To my own sweetheart!'" be cried
aout. He sprang forward and struck
the photograph from Frederic's hand.
It fell to the floor at his feet Before
the young man could recover from his
eurprisa Brood's foot was upon the
bit of cardboard. "Don't raise your
1hand to me! Don't you dare to strike
me! Now I shall tell you who that
sweetheart was!"
Half an hour later James Brood de
scended the stairs alone. He went
straight to the library where he knew
that he could find Yvonne. RanJab,
standing in the hall, peered into his
rhite. drawn face as he passed, and
started forward as if to speak to him.
,But' Brood did not see him. He did
not lift his gase from the floor. The
Hindu went swiftly up the stairs, a
'deep dread in his souL
The shades were down. Brood
stopped inside the door and looked
,dully about the library. He was on
the point of retiring when Yvonne
spoke to him out of the shadowy cor
ner beyond the fireplace.
"Close the door," she said huskily.
Then she emerged slowly, almost like
a specter, from the dark background
formed by the huge mahogany book
cases that lined the walls, from floor
to eialing. "You were a long time
,p there," she went on.
"Why is it so dark in here, YvonneT"
The asked lifelessly.
"So that it would not be possible for
,me to see the shame in your eyes,
(James."
He leaned heavily against the long
table. She came up and stood across
the table from him, and he felt that
er eyes were searching his very souL
"I have hurt him beyond all chance
for recovery," he said hoarsely.
"Oh, you coward!" she cried, lean
lgt over the table, her eyes blazing.
!"I can understand it in you. You have
no soul of your own. What have you
edone to your son, James Brood?"
He drew back as if from the Impact
pt a blow. "Coward? If I have crushed
his soul, it was done in time, Yvonne,
!to deprive you of the glory of doing it."
"What did he say to you about me?"
"You have had your fears for noth
lag. He did not put you in Jeopardy,"
!be said scornfully.
"I know. He is not a coward," she
said calmly.
"In your heart you are reviling me.
YoUa judgt me as one guillty soul
judges another. SuBpoee that I were
Sconfess to you that I left him up
bere with all the hope, all the lfe
blated out of his eyes-with a wo td
5n his heart that will never stop bleed.
Itg-that i left him because I was
esorry for what I had done and could
sot stand by and look upom the wreck
I had created. 8uppose-"
"1 am still thnkikng of you as a cow
i. What is It to me that you are
sorry nowt What have you done to
that wretched, unhappy boy?"
"Be will tell you soon enough. Then
you will despise me even more than 1I
despise myself. God! He - he
looked at me with his mother's eyes
when I kept on striking blows at hls
very souL Her eyes-eyes that were
always plemading with me! But, curse
them-aways scofg at me! For a
moment I ftaltered. There was a wave
of lov-yes, love, not pity, for him
as I saw him go down before the
words I hurled at him. It was as If II
land hurt the only thing In all the
world that I love. Then it passed. He
was not meant for me to love. He was
born for me to despise. He was born
to torture me as I have tortured him."
"You poor fool!" she cried, her eyes
glittertni!
'"Sometimes I have doubted my own
reason." be went on as if he had not
COMERCIAL IDEA IN FICTION
America Possibly Too Much Under
the Influence of the "Best
seller" Tyranny.
The dogma persitently put forward
in Americes under innumerable guises
that the thinker and the literary art
ist must eater to the tastes. i4eas and
sentiments. moral and emotleual, of
the at majorilty, uder pain of be
Int Igored or oestraclzed, was neoted
ab aDe Tee.r.ls thre e n....
heard her scathing remark. "Some
times I have felt a queer gripping of
the heart when I was harshest toward
him. Sometimes his eyes-her eyes
have melted the steel that was driven
into my heart long ago, his voice and
the touch of his hand gently have
checked my bitterest thoughts. Are
you listening?"
"Yes."
"You ask what I have done to him.
It is nothing in comparison to what
he would have done to me. It isn't
necessary to explain. You know the
thing he has had in his heart to do. I
have known it from the beginning. It
is the treacherous heart of his mother
that propels that boy's blood along its
craven way. She was an evil thing
as evil as God ever put life into."
"Go on."
"I loved her as no woman ever was
loved before-or since. I thought she
loved me-God. I believe she did. He
Frederic had her portrait up there to
flash in my face. She was beautiful
she was as lovely as- But no more!
I was not the man, She loved another.
Her lover was that boy's father."
Dead silence reigned in the room.
save for the heavy breathing of the
man. Yvonne was as still as death
itself. Her hands were clenched
against her breast.
"That was years ago," resumed the
man, hoarseij.
"You-you told him this?" she cried,
aghast.
"He said she must have loathed me
as no man was ever loathed before.
Then I told him."
"You told him because you knew she
did not loathe you! And you opvgd
Matilde-God pity your poor soul! For
no more than I have done you drove
her out of your house. You accuse me
in your heart when you vent your rage
on that poor boy. Oh, I know! You
suspect me! And you suspected the
other one. Before God, I swear to
you that you have more cause to sus
pect me than Matilde. She was not
untrue to you. She could not have
loved anyone else but you. I know-
God help me, I know! Don't come
near me! Not now! I tell you that
Frederic is your son. I tell you that
Matilde loved no one but you. You
drove her out You drove Frederic
out. And you will drive me out."
She stood over him like an accusing
angel, her arms extended. He shrank
back, glaring.
"Why do you say these things to
me? You cannot know-you have no
right to say-"
"I am sorry for you, James Brood,"
she murmured, suddenly relaxing. Her
body swayed against the table, and
then she sank limply into the ohalr
He Sprang Forward and Struck the
Photograph From Frederic s Hand.
alongside. "You will never forget that
you struck a man who was uasleep,
absolutely asleep. That's why I am
sorry for you."
"Asleep!" he murmured, putting his
hand to his eyes. "Yes, yea-be was
asleep! Yvonne, I-I have never been
so near to loving him as I am now.
I-I-,"
"I am going up to him. Don't try
to stop me. But first let me ask you
a question. What did Frederic say
when you told him his mother wa
was what you claim?"
Brood lowered his head. "He said
that I was a cowardly liar."
"And it was then that you began
to feel that you loved him. Ah, I see
You are a great, strong man-a won
derful man in spite of all this. You
have a beart-a heart that still needs
breaking before you can ever hope to
be happy."
He gasped. "As it my heart hasn't
already been broken," he roaed.
"Your head has been hurt, that's all.
There is a vast difference. Are you
going out?"
He looked at her in dull amazement.
Slowly he began to puall himself to
gether.
"Yes. I think you should go to him.
I-I gave him an hour to--to--"
"To get out?"
"Yes. He must go. you see. See
ago, but this dogma, bred in the
American bone seems to have been re
enforced by the latterday tyranny of
the commercial ideal. The commercial
man who says, "Rtead this book be
cause it is the best seller," is seeking
to hypnotise the Individual's Judg.
meat and taste. If there be a notice.
able dearth of originality of feeling
and outlook in iatterday Amerlcan
fction, it must be because the iadi
vidual is subjected from the start to
the insistent presure of social ideals
t eamfsrmtw which pmralys o erua
him, if you will. I shall not oppose
you. Find out what he-expects to
do."
She passed swiftly by him as be
started toward the door. In the hall,
which was bright with the sunlight
from the upper windows, she turned
to face him. To his astonishment, her
cheeks were aglow and her eyes bright
with eagerness. She seemed almost
radiant.
"Yes; it needs breaking. James," she
said, and went up the stairs, leaving
him standing there dumfounded. Near
the top she began to hum a blithe
tune. It came down to him distinctly
the weird little air that had haunted
him for years-Feverelli's!
CHAPTER XVII.
Foul Weather.
To Brood's surprise, she came half
way down the steps again, and, lean
ing over the railing, spoke to him with
a voice full of irony.
"Will you be good enough to call off
your spy, James?"
"What do you mean?" He had start
ed to put on his light overcoat.
"I think you know," she said, briefly.
"Do you consider me so mean, so
infamous as-" he began hotly.
"Nevertheless, I feel happier when
I know he is out of the house. Call
off your dog, James."
He smothered an execration and
then called out harshly to Jones. "Ask
Ranjab to attend me here, Jones. He
is to go out with me," he said to the
butler a moment later. Yvonne was
still leaning over the banister, a
scornful smile on her lips.
"I shall wait until you are gone. I
intend to see Frederic alone," he said,
with marked emphasis on the final
word.
"As you like," said he, coldly.
She crossed the upper hall and dis
appeared from view down the corridor
leading to her own room. Her lips
were set with decision; a wild, reck
less light filled her eyes, and thy smile
of scorn had given way to one of ex
altation. Her breath came fast and
tremulously through quivering nos
trils as she closed her door and hur
ried across to the little vine-covered
balcony.
"The time has come-the time has
come, thank God," she was saying to
herself, over and over again.
She turned her attention to the win
dow across the court and two floors
above her-the heavily curtained win
dow in Brood's "retreat." There was
no sign of life there, so she hurried to
the front of the house to wait for the
departure of James Brood and his man.
The two were going down the front
steps. At the bottom Brood spoke to
Ranjab and the latter, as imperturb
able as a rock, bowed low and moved
off in an opposite direction to that
taken by his master. She watched
until both were out of sight. Then she
rapidly mounted the stairs to the top
floor.
Frederic was lying on the couch
near the jade-room door. She was
able to distinguish his long, dark fig
ure after peering intently about the
shadowy interior in what seemed at
first to be a vain search for him. She
shrank back, her eyes fixed in horror
upon the prostrate shadow. Suddenly
he stirred and then half raised himself
on one elbow to stare at the figure
in the doorway.
"Is it you?" he whispered, hoarsely,
and dropped back with a great sigh on
his lips.
Her heart leaped. The blood rushed
back to her face. Quickly closing the
door, she advanced into the room, her
tread as swift and as soft as a cat's.
"He has gone out. We are quite
alone," she said, stopping to lean
against the table, suddenly faint with
excitement.
He laughed, a bitter, mirthless,
snarling laugh.
"Get up Frederic. Be a man! I
know what has happened. Get up!
I want to talk it over with you. We
must plan. We must decide now-at
one-before~he returns." The words
broke from her lips with sharp, stac
catolike emphasis.
He came to a sitting posture slowly,
all the while staring at her with a dull
wonder in his heavy eyes.
"Pull yourself together," she cried,
hurriedly. "We cannot talk here. 1
am afraid in this room. It ha ears,
I know. That awful Hindu Is always
here, even thoeugh he may seem to be
elsewhere. We will go down to my
boudoir."
He slowly shook his head and then
allowed his chin to sink dejectedly into
his hands. With his elbows on his
knees he watched her movements in a
state of increaslng Interest and bewil
derment. She turned abruptly to the
Buddha, whose placid, smirking coun
tenance seemed to be alive to the situ
ation in all of its aspects. Standing
close, her hands behind her back, her
figure very erect and theatric, she pro
ceeded to address the image in a voice
full of mockery.
"Well, my chatterbox friend, I have
pierced his armor, haven't I? He will
creep up here and ask you, his won
derful god, to tell him what to do
about it, ai--e? His wits are tangled.
He doubts his senses. And when he
comes to you, my friend, and whines
his secret doubts into your excellent
and trustworthy ear, do me the kind
ness to keep the secret I shall now
whisper to yeaou, for I trust you, too,
you amiable fraud." Standing on tip
toe, she put her lips to the idol's ear
and whispered. Frederic, across the
room, roused from his lethargy by the
strange words and still stranger ac
tion, rose to his feet and took several
steps toward her. "There! Now you
know everything. You know more
than James Brood knows, for you
know what his charming wife is about
to do next." She drew back asd
regarded the image through hal.
out the finer, rarer, more sensitive
individual talents. I do not say that
English writers are not vexed in a
minor degree by Mrs. Grundy's at
tempts to boycott or crush novels that
offend the taste of "the villa public,"
but I believe that our social atmosc
phe favors the writer of true indl
viduality.-Atlanti.
Poor Monday.
Monday, er-m-mr-r-rh! Wash day
auds and stean--plcked-up dinner faor
the mean folk, and at a~ht a "thiamk
closed, smoldering eyes. "But he will
know before long-before long."
"What are you doing, Yvonne?" do
manded Frederic, unsteadily.
She whirled about and came toward
him, her hands still clasped behind her
back.
"Come with me," she said, ignoring
his question.
"He-he thinks I am in love with
you," said he, shaking his head.
"And are you not in love with me?"
He was startled. "Good Lord,
Yvonne!"
She came quite close to him. He
could feel the warmth that traveled
from her body across the short space
that separated them. The intoxicat
ing perfume filled his nostrils; he
drew a deep breath, his eyes closing
slowly as his senses prepared to suc
cumb to the delicious spell that came
over him. When he opened them an
instant later, she was still facing him,
ms me
li
She Watched Until Both Were Out
of Sight.
as straight and fearless as a soldier,
and the light of victory was in her
dark, compelling eyes.
"Well," she said, deliberately, "I am
ready to go away with you."
He fell back stunned beyond the
power of speech. His brain was filled
with a thousand clattering noises.
"He has turned you out," she went
on rapidly. "He djsowns you. Very
well; the time has come for me to
exact payment from him for that and
for all that has gone before. I shall
go away with you. I-"
"Impossible!" he cried, finding his
tongue and drawing still farther away
from her.
"Are you not in love with me?" she
whispered softly.
He put his hands to his eyes to shut
out the alluring vision.
"For God's sake, Yvonne-leave me.
Let me go my way. Let me-"
"He cursed your mother! He curses
you! He damns you-as he damned
her. You can pay him up for every
thing. You owe nothing to him. He
has killed every-"
Frederic straightened up suddenly,
and with a loud cry of exultation
raised his clenched hands above his
head.
"By heaven, I will break him! I
will make him pay! Do you know
what he has done to me? Listen to
this: he boasts of having reared me
to manhood, as one might bring up a
prise beast, that he might make me
pay for the wrong that my poor
mother did a quarter of a century
ago. All these years he has had in
mind this thing that he has done to
day. All my life has been spent in
preparation for the sacrifice that came
an hour ago. I have suffered all these
years in ignorance of-"
"Not so loud!" she whispered,
alarmed by the vehemence of his re
awakened fury.
"Oh, I'm not afraid!" he cried, say
agely. "Can you imagine anything
more diabolical than the scheme he
has had in mind all these years? To
pay out my mother-whom he loved
and still loves-yes, by heaven, he still
loves her!-he works to this beastly
end. He made her suffer the agonies
of the damned up to the day of her
death by refusing her the right to
have the child that he swears is no
child of his. Oh, you don't know the
story-you don't know the kind of
man you have for a husband-you
don't-"
"Yes, yes, I do know," she cried, vlc
lently, beating her breast with clinched
hands. "I do know! I know that he
still loves the poor girl who went out
of this house with his curses ringing
in her ears a score of years ago, and
who died still hearing them. And I
had almost come to the point of pity
ing him-I was falling-I was weaken- ,
ing. He is a wonderful man. I--I
was losing myself. But that is all
over. Three months ago I could have
left him without a pang-yesterday I
was afraid that it would never be pos
stble. Today he makes it easy for me.
He has hurt you beyond all reason, not
because he hates you but because he
loved your mother."
"But you do love him," cried Fred
eric, in stark wonder. "You don't care
the snap of your finger for me. What (
is all this yon are saying, rYveoate?
You must be mad. Think! Think
what you are saying."
"I have thought-I am always think
ing. I know my own mind well enough.
It is settled; I am going away and I 1
am going with you."
"I cannot listen to you, Yvonne,"
cried Frederic, aghast His heart was
pounding so fiercely that the blood I
surged to his head in great waves, al
goodness-lt's.over, feelin. That onght
to be about enough for Monday. But
the worst about anything is never told 4
until a scientific commission or a so I
ciololgst tells it. Monday has never I
been a really popular day. It's much
worse than that, however. According
to the Ohio Industrial Commission, 1
which has been making a study of J
Monday. it is the most unlucky day of
the week. More asocidents happen on
that day than on any other, sad fewer
people work than on say other day
ae t sAunday. And n he 5ima*l.L
most stunning him with its velocity
"We go tomorrow." she cried out,
in an ecstasy of triumph. She was
convinced that he would go! "La
Provence!"
"Good God in heaven!" he gasped,
dropping suddenly into a chair and
burying his face in his shaking hands.
"What will this mean to Lydia-what
will she do-what will become of her?"
A quiver of pain crossed the wom
an's face, her eyelids fell as if to shut
out something that shamed her in
spite of all her vainglorious protesta
tions. Then the spirit of exaltation re
sumed its sway.
"You cannot marry Lydia now," she
said, affecting a sharpness of tone that
caused him to shrink involuntarily. "It
is your duty to write her a letter to
night, explaining all that has hap
pened today. She would sacrifice her
self for you today, but there is-to
morrow! A thousand tomorrows, Fred
eric. Don't forget them, my dear.
They would be ugly after all, and she
is too good, too fine to be dragged
into-"
"You are right!" he exclaimed. leap
ing to his feet. "It would be the vilest
act that a man could perpetrate.
Why-why it would be proof of what
he says of me-it would stamp me
forever the bastard he-No, no, I could
never lift my head again if I were ,to
do this utterly vile thing to Lydia. He
said to me here-not an hour ago
that he expected me to go ahead and
blight that loyal girl's life, that I
would consider it a noble means of
self-justification! What do you think
of that? He- But wait! What is
this that we are proposing to do?
Give me time to think! Why-why,
I can't take you away from him,
Yvonne! God in heaven, what am I
thinking of? Have I no sense of
honor? Am I-"
"You are not his son," she said,
significantly.
"But that is no reason why I should
stoop to a foul trick like this. Do
do you know what you are suggmt
ing?" He drew back from her with a
look of disgust in his eyes. "No! I'm
not that vile! I-"
"Frederic, you must let me-"
"I don't want to hear anything
more, Yvonne. What manner of wom
an are you? He is your husband, he
loves you, he trusts you-oh, yes, he
does! And you would leave him like
this? You would-"
"Hush! Not so loud!" she cried, in
great agitation.
"And let me tell you something
more. Although I can never marry
Lydia, by heaven, I shall love her to
the end of my life. I will not betray
that love. To the end of time she shall
know that my love for her is real and
true and-"
"Wait! Give me time to think." she
pleaded. He shook his head reso
lutely. "Do not judge me too harshly.
Hear what I have to say before you
condemn me. I am not the vile crea
ture you think. Frederic. Walt! Let
me think!"
He stared at her for a moment in
deep perplexity, and then slowly drew
near. "I do not believe you mean to
do wrong-I do not believe it of you.
You have been carried away by some
horrible-"
"Listen to me," she broke in, fierce
ly. "I would have sacrifced you--y,
sacrificed you, poor boy-for the joy
it would give me to see fames Brood
grovel in misery for the rest of his
life. Oh!" She uttered a groan of
despair and self-loathing so deep and
full of pain that his heart was chilled.
"Good Lord. Yvonne!" he gasped,
dumfounded.
"Do not come near me," she cried
out, covering her face with her hands.
For a full minute she stood before him,
straight and rigid as a statue, a tragie
figure he was never to forget. Sud
denly she lowered her hands. To his
surprise, a smile was on her lips. "You
would never have gone away witth me.
I know it now. All these months I
have been counting on you for this
very hour-this calminating bour-end
now I realise how little hope I have
really had, even from the begnnins
You are honorable. There have been
times when my influence over you was
such that you resisted only because
you were loyal to yourself-not to
Lydia, not to my husband-but to
yourself. I came to this house with
but one purpose in mind. I came here
to take you away from the man who
has always stood as your father. I
would not have become youear mistres
-pah! how loathsome it soundsl But
I would have enticed you away, be
lieving myself to be laJustifiled. I would
have struck James Brood that blow.
He would have gone to his grave be
lieving himself to have been paid in
full by the son of the woman he had
degraded, by the boy be had reared
for the slaughter, by the blood-"
"In God's name, Yvonne, what is
this yo are sayingt What have you
against my-easainst him?"
"What! I shall come to that. I
did not stop to consider all that I
should have to overcome. First, there
was your soul, your honor, your in
tgrityl to consider. I could see nothb
ing else but triumph over James
Brood. To gain my end it was necee
sary that I should be his wife. I be
came his wife-tI deliberately took that
step In order to make complete my
trulamph over him. I became the wife
of the man I hated with all my soul,
Frederic. So you can see how far I
was willing to go to--h, it was a hard
thing to do! But I did not shrlnk. I
went into it without falterlng, without
a single thought of the coat to myself.
He was to pay for all that, too, in the
end. Look into my eyes, Frederi. I
want to ask you a question. Will you
go away with me? Will you take me?"
He returned her look steadily. "No!"
"That is all I want to hear you say.
It means the end. I have done all
that could be done and 1 have failed.
Thank God, I have tailed!" She ease
ly aecurate and specifc, moat of the
forenoon accidents happen at ten
o'clock and the afternoon accildents
group around three o'clock Now you
know the worst about eMonday, until
another investigatlon.
We publish these findings for what
they may be worth, without malice and
in falrness to poor old Frlday.-Della
eater.
Causes of Spasms.
Although the muscles which aiect
the actin o the Jaws are easpecially
swiftly to him and, before be was
aware of her intention, clutched hls
hand and pressed it to her lips He
was shocked to find that a sudden
gush of tears was wetting his hand.
"Oh, Yvonne!" he cried miserably.
She was sobbing convulsively. He
looked down upon her dark. bowed
head and again felt the masterlng de
sire to crush her slender. beautiful
body in his arms. The spell of
was upon him asain, but now he real
ised that the appeal was to his spirit
and not to his flesh-as it had been all
along, he was bestinning to suspect
"Don't pity me," she choked out
"This will pass, as everything else
has passed. I am proud of you now,
Frederlc. You are splendid. Not many
men could have resisted in this hour
of despair. You have been cast of,
despised, degraded, humiliated. You
were offered the means to retaliate.
You-"
"And I was tempted!" he cried bit.
terly. "For the moment I was-"
"And now what is to become of
me?" she walled.
His heart went cold. "You-you
will leave him? You will go back to
Paris? Good Lord, Yvonne, It will be
a blow to him. He has had one fear.
ful slash in the buck. This will break
him."
"At least, I may have that consolea
tion," she cried, straightening up In
an effort to revive her waning par
pose. "Yes, I shall go. I cannot stay
here now. I-" She paused and shud
dered.
"What, in heaven's name, have you
against my-against him? What does
it all mean? How you must have hated
him to-"
Hated him? Oh, how feeble the word
Is! Hate! There should be a word
that strikes more terror to the soul
than that one. But wait! You shall
know everything. You shall have the
story from the beginning. There is
much to tell and there will be consols
tion-sy, triumph for you in the story
I shall tell. First, let me say this to
you: When I came here I did not know
that there was a Lydia Desmond. I
would have hurt that poor girl, but it
would not have been a lasting pain.
In my plans, after I came to know her,
there grew a beautiful alternative
through whicts she should know great
happiness. Oh, I have planned well
and carefully, but I was' ruthless. I
would have crushed her with him rath
er than to have failed. But it is all a
dream that has passed and l am awake.
It was the most cruel but the most
magnificent dream--h, but I dare not
think of It. As I stand here before
you now, Frederic, I am shorn of all
my power. I could not strike him as I
might have done a month ago. Even
as I was cursing him but a moment
ago I realised that I could not have
gone on with the game. Even as I
begged you to take your revenge, I
knew that it was not myself who
urged, but the thing that was having
its death struggle within me."
"Go on. Tell me. Why do you
stop?"
She was glancin fearfully toward
the Hindu's door. "There is one man
in this house who knows. He reads
my every thought. He does not know
all, but he knows me. He has known
from the beginning that I was not to
be trusted. That man is never out of
my thoughts. I fear him, Frederic-I
fear him as I fear death. If he had not
been here I-I believe I should have
"Ah, It Wan a Hard Thing to Del'
dared anything. I could have takn
you away with me, moaths a But
he worked his spell uand I was afraid.
I faltered. He knew that I was sraid,
for he spoke to me one day O the
beautitful serpents in his lad that
were cowards In spite of the death
they could deal with one flash o their
fans. You were lintc ted. I am a
thing of beauty. I ean ebharm a
th.-"
"God knows that is truea" he sM
houarsely.
"But enough of that! I was striek
with my own poison. Go to the doer
See if he is there. I fear--"
"No one is near," said he, after str.
ing swiftly to both doors, liste at
one and peering out through the ether.
"You will have to go away. Freder.
I shall have to go. But we shall at
go tosether. In my room I have kept
hidden the sam of ten thouasad doe
lars, waiting for the day to come when
I should use it to complete the game
I have played. I knew that you would
have no money of yaour own. I was
prepared even for that. Look aganl
See if anyone is there? I feel-I fel
that someone is near s. Look. I say",
(TO BE CONTINUED.) n
ander the control of the brain the
chatterin of the teeth is rally a
spasm caused by chill or fear, and all
spasms act inndpendently of the will.
The muscles which operate the Jaw
act in a series of Involtutary little
contractions which pull tbe Jaw up
and permit it to fall of its own weight
This action is quick, and the chatter
it ocuears from frequet repeUtiti.
Cold has a similar effect n the Jaw
muscles to that which some poisons
have in eansinag spasmodic actio is
other parts of the body
REMARKABLE
CASE of Mrs.HAM
chres Lydia Pl HMm'.
Vegetable Compound
Saved Her Life
and Sanity.
Smhamek, Mo- -"I feel it my duty
to tll the public the condition of my
eth before sing
yournmlet. I-ha
falling, infamma
tion and congestion,
female weakness,
la both sides~
Ing down pains, was
bshort of memory,
nervous, impatient,
passed sleepless
nights, and had
neither strength nor
energy. There was always a fear and
dread in my mind, I had cold, nervous,
weak spells, hot Sashes over my body.
I had a place in my right side that was
so sore that I could hardly beaer the
weight of my elothes. I triedmedicines
and doctot, but they did me little good,
and I never expected to get out again.
I got Lydias . Piakham's Vegetable
Compound and Blood Purler, and I cer.
tainly would havebeen n grave or in an
anlum if your medicines had not saved
me. But now I an work all day, sdeep
well at night, eat anything I want, have
no hot gashes or weak, nervous spells.
All pains, aches, fears and dreds are
gone, my house, children and husband
are no longer neglected, as I am almost
entirely free of thebed symptoms I had
before taking your remodis, and all i
pmeore and happiness In my home."
r JOm M . ID 1, Bon 2,
Shannmok, Mio . 1
If yo want speela edvles wrft
Lydia E.Pinklbam Medleine Co.,
(conademtial) Lynn, ss.
I YOU HAVE
Truf's Pills
last wht s saed. The Mr ee th we
temach end besw se the sese emsss.
Four baye In a Well.
In Georgia a colored man employed
by a doctor to do general chores has
a habit of going off hunting for a few
days without giving any notice of his
intention, so the other day when he
did not show up, no inquiries were
made. But this time he was hunting
for help. While passing through a
field at night he tell into an old un
covered well, forty feet deep. He
could not climb out, so he passed the
night yelling for help. The next day
he yelled some more, but no help
came. Fortunately the well was dry.
so he got sleep, but his situation was
suefficiently desperate. It was on the
afternoon of the fourth day that some
laborers heard a faint "Hello," sa
tracing the sound rescued the man
from his queer prison. He looked
weak, but was not bodily Injured, and
a hearty meal set him all right again.
Thought for the Future.
The universities of Oxford and Cam.
bridge have contributed about one
half of the men who have given Mag
land leadership in government science
and letters. Now two-thirds of their
students have enlisted in the war;
Trinity college has been converted
into a military hospital. Could we
not select from those who would not
otherwise have the opportunity men
of ability equal to the students who
have attended the English unvalr
ties sad prepare them for work
equally important? And could we not
give opportunity to foreign mn ad
women of abillty to contlnuo here
work from which they will be ode
barred by the condltions follo~tng the
wart-Popular Sclaece Monthly.
Teaching the ~m
It was never a happy day for Sam
my's painstakins ifather when his
young hopeful's scll report arriveod
at his Boston home. -
As for Sammy himself-well, he was
a philosopher.
The awful day had comeonce more
and father was in the lowbet depths
oflmisery.
"'ammy-Sammy," he grosned.
"why is it that you are at the bottom
of your class again?"
"What does it matter, father, wheth
er I am at the top or the bottomr
querled that wise youth. "They tek
the same at both ends, you know."
Passing it Along,
"Why did you let the oBee boy ot"
"Said his grdtfther was dead."
"You swallow that old exeusye?"
'"I may not swnallow it, but I a-.ept
it. My bos usedtohoor tit whse
was a kid."
A growing femilni tindustry: Bj
iug money on old letters.
Grape-Nuts
Thsr~. a Remse
ig ~ ~ I'r ·d- ~'
