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LKKI13 WillIE GEORGei L DAR ICUTCI1EON U$TRAN5f RAY WALTERS AD ACd2, '1P4 / ws (TAmrI CHAPTER XIX-Continued. -13 Brood stopped him with an impa tient gesture. "I must ask you not to discuss Mrs. Brood, Joe-or you, Dan." "I was just going to say, Jim, that if I was you I'd thank the Lord that she's going to do it," substituted Mr. Riggs, somewhat hastily. "She's a wonder ful nurse. She told me a bit ago that she was going to save his life in spite of the doctor." "What does Doctor Hodder say?" de manded Brood, pausing in his restless pacing of the floor. "He says the poor boy is as good as dead," said Mr. Riggs. "Ain't got a chance in a million," said Mr. Dawes. They were surprised to see Brood winae. He hadn't been so thin-skinned In the olden days. His nerve was go lag back on him, that's what it was, poor Jim! Twenty years ago he would have stiffeed his back and taken it like a man. It did not occur to them that they might have broken the news to him with tact and consideration. "But you can depend on us, Jim, to pull him through." said Mr. Riggs quickly. "Remember how we saved you back there in Calcutta when all the foul doctors said you hadn't a chance? Well, sir, well still-" "If any feller can get well with a bullet through his-" began Mr. Dawes eaouragingly, but stopped abruptly when he saw Brood put his hands over his eye sand sink dejectedly into a chair, a deep groan on his lips. "I gues we'd better go," whispered Mr. Riggs, after a moment of tnde' edbos and then, inspired by a certain fear for his friend, struck the gong re soundingly. Silently they made their way out of the room, encoantering RanJsb just outside the door. "You most stick to it, Ranjab," said Mr. Riggs sternly. "With your dying breath," added Mr. Dawes, and the Hindu. understandlng, nsmrly nodded his head. "Well?" said Brood, long afterward, uisnlag his haggard face to meet the gss of the motionless brown man who had ben standing in his presence for many minutes. "Mis Lydia ask permission of sahib to be noear him until the end," said the alnde, "She will not go away. I have bIars the words she sa to the so hash, sad the ashibab as silent as the tomb. She say no word for herself, les it and look at the loor sad never ame, Then she accuse the sakibah o beas the ems. of the young master's Jsath, sad the sahibah only nod her ead to that, and go out of the room, and up to the pine where the young mate is. and they cannot keep her from going In. She just look at the woman Ia the white cap and the wom a step aide. The sahibah is now 'wit the yues master and the doctors. She ti not of this world, sahib, but of eaether." "And Miss Dsmoad ? Whore is heo "She wait in the hball outside his door. Raasb have speech with her. She daes not believe Ranjab. She look Onto his we and his eye is not honest he see it all. She say the young aster shoot himself and-" "I shall tell her the truth, Ranjab," esd reeod solidly. "She must know -ohs and her mother. Tonight I shall see them, but ot now. Suicide! Poor, 'oee Lydial" f "MIss Lydia say she blame herself r everythting. She is a coward, ie sa, and ReaJab he understand. She eame yesterday and went away. Ran lab tell her the sahib no can see her." "esterdayl I know. She came to yea with me. I know," grmaned Bret Mtrly. "She will not speak her thoughts to the weor, ahib," asserted Ran ab. "Thy servant have spoken his words md se will not deny him. It is for St yount master's sake. But she say sh know he shoot htmself because he no eaU bear the disgraoe-" "aough. Ranjab." interrupted the master. "Tonight I shall tell her every thig. Oo now and fetch me the latest word." The Hindu emained motionless jut hads the door. His eyes were closed. "BDaab talk to the winds, sahib. The winds speak to him. The young masteis altre. The great doctor he search for the bullet. Itis bad. But thbe shibeh stand between him and dth. She hold back death. She lagh at death, he say itt no can be anih knew her now. Hmere in this room-k he m' the two woman in her, and he ao more will be blind She stnad thmr before Ranjab, who would kil, and out of the air came a new spirit to shield her. Her eyes are the eye of another who does not live in the fles, and Ranjab bends the knee. He seethe tinside. Itis not black. It s fall of Ight- great big light, sahib. T-y ervant would kill his master's wife-beut, Allah defend! He cannot kill the wife who is already dead. His aster's wive stand before him-two ot oneo-ad his hand is stop." Brood was regarding him through wide-opea, tieredlousi eyes. "Yo- you saw it too?" he gasped. "Tano sepnt is deadly. Many time anib haveo take the poison from Its tgs and It becomes his slave He wmauid have take the poisen tfrom the SCULPTOR TALKS OF POPE lan Wie Made mronw Suet of Head e Chere Imprmessed With His Appearanoe. teadle Romagnoll, thm llouutie eitmr, vh was summoed frm Pa -geadd to Rome to make a best in m u a Puop Benedui t, tgive an tE : mesnt. of his work iL the S . re fsettd to sit more than : -m@ anes thg thi alk serpent in his master's house, but the serpent change before his eye and he become the slave. She speak to him on the voice of the wind and he obey. It is the law. Kismet! His master r have of wives two. Two, sahib-the living and the dead. They speak with Ranjab today and he obey." There was dead silence in the room t for many minutes after the remarkable utterances of the mystic. The two men, master and man, looked into each other's eyes and spoke no more, yet i something passed between them. "The sahlbah has sent Roberts for a I priest." said the Hindu at last. "A priest? But I am not a Cathollo -nor Frederic." "Madam is. The servants are say I Ing that the priest will be here too I late. They are wondering why you have not already killed me, sahib." "Killed you too?" "They are now saying that the last stroke of the gong, sahib, was the death sentence for Ranjab. It called me here to be slain by you. I have told them all that I fired the-" "Go down at once, my friend," said Brood, laying his hand on the man's shoulder. "Let them see that I do not blame you, even though we permit them to believe this lie of ours. Go, my friend!" The man bent his head and turned away. Near the door he stopped stock still and listened intently. "The sahibah comes." "Ay, she said she would come to me here," said Brood, and his jaw hard ened. "Hodder sent for me, Ranjab, an hour ago, but-he was conscious then. His eyes were open. I-I could not look into them. There would have been hatred in them-hatred for me and I-I could not go. I was a coward. Yes, a coward after all. She would have been there to watch me as I cringed. I was afraid of what I might do to her then." "He is not consclous now, sahib," said the Hindu slowly. "Still," said the other, compressing his lips, "I am afraid-I am afraid. God, Ranjab, you do not know what it means to be a coward! You-" "And yet, sahib, you are brave enough to stand on the spot where he fell-where his blood flowed-and that is not what a coward would do." The door opened and closed swiftly and he was gone. Brood allowed his dull, wondering gase to sink to his feet. He was standing on the spot where Frederic had fallen. There was no blood there now. The rug had been removed and before his own eyes, the swift-moving Hindu had washed the floor and table and put the room in or der. All this' seemed ages ago. Since Brood Allowed His Dull, Wondering Game to Sink to His Feet. that time he had bared his soul to the smirking Buddha and, receiving no consolation from the smag image, had violently cursed the thing. Bince then he had wailted-he had waited for many things to happen. He knew all that took place below stairs. He knew when Lydia came and he denied him self to her. The coming of the police, the nurses and the anesthetician, and later on, Mrs. John Desmond and the reporters-all this he had known, for he had listened at a crack in the open door. And he had heard his wife's calm, authoritative voice in the hall be low, glving directions. Now for the first time he looked about him and felt himself attended by ghosts. In that instant he came to hate this once-loved room, this cherishel retreat, and all that it contained. He would never set his foot inside of its tour walls again. It was filled with ghosts! On the corner of the table lay a great heap of manuscript-the story of his life up to the escape from Lhasa! The sheets of paper had been scat tered over the floor by the ruthless hand of the surgeon, bet now they were back in perfect order, replaced by another hand. He thought of the fnal chapter that would have to be written if he went on with the journal It would have to be written, for it was the tree story of his life He strode tings were short When the east was shown him the pontir expressed him self well pleased, gave the artist an! auntograph portrait and aid: "I thank God that I am now done with all painters and sculptors. Yoo are the only one who has had three sittintgs. Now, gea Tou have my Romagnol describes the pope's t, tures thus: lila hoaltes has a meet tnust' l a head-lere owhee ad meid o um ehurgetmeriste o a uors wfs swiftly to the table. In another in stant the work of many months would have been torn to bits of waste paper. But his hand was stayed. Someone had stopped outside his door. He could not hear a sound and yet he knew that a hand was on the heavy latch. He sud denly recalled his remark to the old men. He would have to write the final chapter after all. He waited. He knew that she was out there, collecting all of her strength for the coming interview. She was fortifying 'herself against the crisis that was so near at hand. To his own surprise and distress of mind, he found himself trembling and suddenly de prived of the fierce energy that he had stored up for the encounter. He won dered whether he would command the situation after all, notwithstanding his righteous charge against her. She had wantonly sought to entice Frederic she had planned to dishonor her hus band-she had proved herself unwhole some and false and her heart was evil! And yet he wondered whether he would be able to stand his ground against her. So far she had ruled. At the outset he had attempted to assert his au thority as the master of the house in this trying, heart-breaking hour, and she had calmly waved him aside. His first thought had been to take his proper place at the bedside of his vio tim and there to remain until the end, but she had said: "You are not to go in. You have done enough for one day. If he must die, let it be in peace and not in fear. You are not to go in," and he had crept away to hide! He re membered her words later on when Hodder sent for him to come down. "Not in fear," she had said. On the edge of the table, where it had reposed since Doctor Hodder dropped it there, was the small photo graph of Matilde. He had not touched it, but he had bent over it for many minutes at a time, studying the sweet, never-to-be-forgotten, and yet curiously unfamiliar features of that long-ago loved one. He looked at it now as he waited for the door to open. and his thoughts leaped back to the last glimpse he had ever had of that ador able face. Then it was white with de spair and misery-here it looked up at him with smiling eyes and the languor of unbroken tranquillity. He clenched his strong, lean hands to keep them from shaking. A new wonder filled him as he allowed his eyes to measure the distance to the floor and to sweep the strong, powerful frame that trembled and was cold. He was a giant in strength and yet he trembled at the approach of this slen der; frail creature who paused at his gates to gather courage for the attack! He was sorely afraid and he could not understand his fear. With one of his sinewy hands he could crush the life out of her slim, white throat-and yet he was afraid of her-physically afraid of her. Suddenly he realised that the room was quite dark. He dashed to the win dow and threw aside the broad, thick curtains. A stream of afternoon sun shine rushed into the room. He would have light this time; he would not be deceived by the darkness, as he had been once before. This time he would see her face plainly. There should be no sickening illusion. He straightened his tall figure and waited for the door to open. CHAPTER XX. A Sister's 8tory. If she hesitated outside the room to summon the courage to face the man who would demand so much of her, there was nothing in her manner now to indicate that such had been the case. She approached him without a symptom of nervousness or irresolu tion. Her dark eyes met his without wavering and there was purpose in them. She devoted a single glance of sur prise to the uncurtained window on en tering the door and an instant later scrutinized the floor with unmistakable interest as if expecting to find some thing there to account for his motive in admitting the glare of light-some thing to confound and accuse her. But there was no fear or apprehensiveness in the look. She was not afraid. Brood remained standing, a little be yond the broad ray of light, expecting her to advance into its full, revealing glare. She stopped, however, in the shadow opposite. It was he who moved forward into the light, and there was a deep searching look In his eye. In an 1 Instant it was gone; he had satisfied himself. The cuarlous experience of the morning had been a phantasm, an iI lusion, a mockery. There was noth ing in this woman's amoldering eyes to suggest the soft,. luminous loveli ness of Matilde's. He drew a long, deep breath of rellef. She had put on a rather plain white blouse, open at the nectk. The cuffs I were rolled up nearly to the elbows. I evidence that she had been uasing her hands in some active employment and had either forgotten or neglected to re store the sleeves to their proper posl tion. A chic black walking-skirt lent to her trim, erect figure a suggestion I of girlishness. Her arms hung straight down at her sides, limply it would have seemed at first glance, but in reality they were rigid. "I have come, as I said I wouald." she said, after a long, tense silence. Her I voice was low, huskier than ever, but I without a tremor of excitement "You I did not say you waould wait for me here, but I knew you would do so. The hour of reckoning has come. We must pay, both of us. I am not fright- I ened by your silenace, James, nor am I afraid of what you may say or do. I First of all, it is expected that Frederlo i will die. Doctor Hodder has proclaimed it. He is a great eaurgeon. Heoughtl to know. But he doesn't know-do you I saced mind. The aquiline noese anad deepet eyes show force of character and intelligece; the eyes, though short-sighted, gleam with intelligence. The lare, well-shaped mouth shows constancy of purpose. The chin is prominent, of the classical shape of Julius Caesar's c Napolsom's"' His Itent t "8Se how that dog s lck~na r y aeUr wai hLi um.. rtt kbi salr hear? He does not kno*. I shall not I let him die." "One moment, if you please," said her husband coldly. "You may spare I me the theatries. Moreover, we will t not discuss Frederic. What we have to say to each other has little to do I with that poor wretch downstairs. This I is your hour of reckoning, not his. Bear that-" "You are very much mistaken," she I interrupted, her gase growing more Sfixed than before. "He is a part of our I reckoning. He is the one great char I acter in this miserable, unlooked-for tragedy. Will you be so kind as to draw those curtains? And do me the honor to allow me to sit in your pres ence." There was infinite scorn in her voice. "I am very tired. I have not been idle. Every minute of my waking hours belongs to your son, James Brood-but I owe this half-hour to you. You shall know the truth about me, as I know it about you. I did not count on this hour ever being a part of my life, but it has to be, and I shall face It without weeping over what might have been. Will you draw the cur tatns?" He hesitated a moment and then Jerked the curtains together, shutting out the pitiless glare. "Will you be seated-there?" he said quietly, pointing to a chair at the end of the table. She switched on the light in the big lamp but instead of taking the chair indicated, sank into one on the oppo m_ "Do You Remember When You First Saw Me, James Brood?" site side of the table, with the mellow light full upon her lovely, serious face. "Sit there," she said, signifying the chair he had requested her to take. "Please sit down," she went on impa tiently, as he continued to regard her forbiddingly from his position near the window. "I shall be better able to say what I have to say standing," he said signal cantly. "Do you expect me to plead with you for forgiveness?" she inquired, with an unmistakable look of surprise. "You may save yourself the humllia tion of such-" "But you are very gravely mistaken," she interrupted. "I shall ask nothing of you." "Then we need not prolong the--" "I have come to explain, not to plead," she went on resolutely. "I want to tell you why I married you. You will not find it a pleasant story, nor will you be proud of your conquest. It will not be necessary for you to turn me out of your house. I entered it with the determination to leave it in my own good time. I think you would better sit down." He looked at her fixedly for a me ment. as if striving to materialize a thought that lay somewhere in the back of his mind. He was vaguely conscious of an impression that he could unravel all this seeming mystery without a suggestion from her if given the time to concentrate his mind on the vague, hazy suggestion that tor mented his memory. He sat down opposite her, and rest ed his arms on the table. The lines about his mouth were rigid, uncompro mising, but there was a look of wonder in his eyes. She leaned forward in her chair, the better to watch the changing expres sion in his eyes as she progressed with her story. Her hands were clenched tightly under the table's edge. "You are looking into my eyes-as you have looked a hundred times," she said after a moment "There is some thing in them that has puzzled you since the night when you looked into them across that great ballroom in London. You have always felt that they were not new to you, that you have had them .constantly in front of you for ages Do you remember when you first saw me, James Broodt" He stared, and his eyes widened. "I1 never saw you in my life antil that night in landon, I-" "Look closely. Isn't there something more than doubt in your mind as you look into them now ?" "I confess that I have always been puzzaled by-by somethling I cannot un derstand in- But all this leads to nothing," he broke off harshly. "We 1 are not here to mystify each other but to-" "To explain imysterles,. that's it, ofi course. You are looking. What do you see? Are you not sure that you I looked into my eyes long, long age? I Are there not moments when my voce I is familiar to you, when it speaks to you out of-" He sat up, rigid as a block of stao ae "Yes, by heaven, I have felt it all along. Today I was convinced that IS GREAT PATRIOTIC POEM! Deborah's Song of Victory Has e.ke I Put by Many at the Head of the List. Every element of patriotism 1 h i Deborah's sons of victory: "PraIs ye the Lord for the avenging of Iset"- it the triumphant onset die down to a I bekntiful lament for the forakes high d ways, the rained vllags, the oeewrnu Ic of the past, t 1lS uses the ea Wp .sr pg he I the unbelievable had happened. I saw something that-" He stopped short. I his lips parted. She waved her band in the direction I of the Buddha. "Have you never peti tioned your too solid friend over there to unravel the mystery for you? lb i the quiet of certain lonely, speculative hours have you not wondered where you had seen me before-long, long before the night in London? In all the years that you have been trying to convince yourself that Frederic Is not your son, has there not been the vision of-" "What are you saying to me? Are you trying to tell me that you are Ma tilde?" "If not Matilde, then who am I, pray ?" she demanded. He sank back, frowning. "It cannot i be possible. I would know her a thou sand years from now. You cannot i trick me into believing- But, tn God's name, who are you?" He leaned forward again, clutching the edge of p the table. "By heaven, I sometimes think you are a ghost come to haunt me, to torture me. What trick, what mage is behind all this? Has her soul, her spirit, her actual being found a lodging place in you, and have you been sent to curse me for-" She rose half-way out of her chair, leaning farther across the table. "Yes, James Brood, I represent the spirit of Matilde Valeska, if you will have it so. Not sent to curse you, but to love you. That's the pity of It all. I swear to you that it is the spirit of Matilde that urges me to love you and to spare you now. It is the spirit of Matilde that stands between her son and death. But it is not Matilde who confronts you here and now, you may be sure of that. Matilde loved you. She loves you now, even in her grave. You will never be able to escape from that wonderful love of hers. If'there have been times -and heaven knows there were many, I know-when I appeared to love you for lmyself I swear to you that I was moved by the spirit of Matilda. I-I am as much mystifed, as greatly pus sled as yourselft I came here to hate you, and I have loved you-yes, there were moments when I actually loved you." Her voice died away Into a whisper. For many seconds they sat looking into each other's eyes, neither pos sessing the power to break the strange spell of silence that had fallen upon them. "No, it Is not Matilde who coefronts you now, but one who would not spare you as she did up to the hour of her death. You are quite saoe frol ghosts from this hour on. my frisend You will never see Matilde again, though you look into my eyes till the end of time. Frederic may see, may feel the spirit of his mother, but you-ak, aol You have seen the last at her. Her blood is in my veins, her wrongs are i my heart. It was she with whom you fell in love and It was she you married six months ago, but now the curtain is lifted. Don't you know me now, James? Can your memory carry you ackh twenty-three years and deliver you from doubt and peasleity? Leek closely, I say. I was s years old then and-" Brood was glaring at her as one stupefied. Suddenly he cried out In a loud voice: "Heaven help me, you are-you are the little sister The little Therese?" She was standlag now, leasing far over the table, for he bad shrunk down ; into his chair. "The little Therese. yes! Now do you begin to see? Now do you begin to realise what I came here to do? Now do you know why I married yaou In't it clear to you? Well, I have tried ( to do all these things so that 1 might I break your heart as you broke hers. I came to make you pay!" She was p speaking rapidly, excitedly now. Her I voice was high-pithed and unnatural. 4 Her eyes seemed to he driving him deeper and dpeper ainto the absir, fosa I ing him down a though with a glant'u I hand. "The little, timid, heart-brokea Therese who wouald not speak to youa, I nor kiss you, or smy good-by to yo Iu when you took her dearling sister away 1 trom the Bristol tin the Kartnerrlns more than twenty years ago. Ah, hbow I I loved her-how I loved her! Ad I how I hated you for takntg her away from me, Shall I ever forget that wed I ding nithtT Shall I ever forget th I grief, the loneltness, the hatred that dwelt in my poor little heart that I nightT Everyone was happy-the ' whole world was happy-but was IT I I was crushed with rief. You were taking her away across the awful -and you were to make her happy, so I they sa~ld--al--e, so said my beldoved, Joyous sister. You stood before the t altar In 8t Stephena's with her and prsedprod-romised-promised every- I thia. I heard you. I sat with my I mother and turned to Ice, but I heard I you. All Vienna, all Budapest said that U you promised nausht but happinaes to ' each other. She was twoenty-oe She t was lovely--a, tar lovelier tha that I wretched photograph lying there in a front of you. It was made when she t was eighteen. bShe did not write thse I words on the back of the card. I wrote I them-not more than a month a, he i fore I glave it to Prederic. To this house she eame twenty-three yerls d ago. You broutbt her hera, the hap.i eat gtrl in all the world. How did you I send her awayT Bow" He stired in the chair. A spursm of pain croseed his face. "And I was the I happlest ma in n all the world," bhe said a hoarsely. "You are tforgettlang eao thing Theres." He fell into the way i oif callintg her Therese as If he had 1 known her by no oLther name. "Yaour sister was not content to preserve the happines that-" "Stopl" she commanded. "You are not to speak evil of her now. YouT will never think evil of her after what I am s about to tell you. Tou will aurse your. self. Somehow, I am lad that my l awakening-the gatheriag together of s the loyal prces and overnw~ ors, yes and of penmae, scorn for the ftat hearted, curses for the treacheros- t Ashern,Rebe, Meros From thee the so lames up ags ain into Imaglative spleador, with its stars and praelna, narrows its view I to the tent of Jae, to the mother of a Sisera hearkealg it vaa at her wril I dew for the soud of the chariot d ,wheel ad the a tLhat wil aever E tar, ad stke lIke the peao td aee . .ng to ts ede: "S~ letr l thine e pla hs have gone awry. It gives me ?ah opportunity to see you curse yourself." "Her sister!" uttered the man nabs a levingly. "I have married the chli Therese. I have held her sister in my e arms all these months and never knew. a It is a dream. I-" "Ah. but you have felt even though I He struck the table violently with Shis fist. His eyes were blasing. "What > manner of woman are you? What were you planning to do to that eau I happy boy-her son? Are you a send to-" "In "lood time, James, you will know what manner of woman I am," she int terrupted quietly. Sinking bach in the chair she resumed the broken strain. all the time watching him through half-closed eyes. "She died ten years ago. Her boy was twelve years old. She never saw him after the night you I turned her away from this house. On her deathbed, as she was releasing her pure, undefiled soul to God's keeping. I she repeated to the priest who went through the unnecessary form of ab solving her--she repeated her solemn declaration that she had never wronged you by thought or deed. I had always believed her, the holy priest believed her, God believed her. You would have believed her, too, James Brood. She was a good woman. Do you hear? And you put a curse upon her and drove her out into the night. That was not all You persecuted her to the end of her unhappy life. You did that to my sister!" "And yet you married me," he mub tered thickly. "Not because I loved yoo-oh, not 8he loved you to the day of her death, after all the misery and sufering you had heaped upon her. No woman ever endured the anguish that she sufered throughout those hungry years. Yo kept her child from her. You deanied him to her, even though you denied him to yourself. Why did you bhep him from her? She was his mother. She had borne him, he was all hers. But not It was your revenge to de' prive her ot the child she had brought Into the world. You worked deliberate ly in this 'plan to crush what little there was left Ina life for her. You kept him with you, though you branded him with a name I cannot utter; you guard ed him as if he were your mroeet precious possession and not a curse to your pride; you did this because you knew that you could drive the barb more deeply into her tortured heart. You allowed her to die, after years oe pleading. after years of vain eadevr, without one glimpse of her baoy with. out ever having heard the werd mother on his ips. That s what you did to my sister. For twelve long years you gloated over her misery. Oh, God, man, how I hated you when I married youl" She paused breathless. "You are creating an exo for youar devilish conduct," he exclaimed harsh. ly. "You are like Matilde, false to the core. You married me for the luxury I could provide notwithstadm the curse I had put upon your sister I don't believe a word of what you are saying to-" "Don't you believe that I am her dlo, ter?' "You-yes, by heaven, I must believe that. Why have I been so blind? You are the little There, and yeou hated me in those other days. I remember well the-" "A child's despairing hatred because you were taking away the being she loved best of all. Will you believe mo when I say that my hatred did not ena. dare for long? When her happy, Joy aou letters came back to as filled with accounts of your goodness. your deve tion, I-I allowed my hatred to die, I forgot that you had robbed me. I eame to look upon you as the fairy primer, after all. It was not until she eame all the way cross the oeean and began to die before our eyes-she was years in dyftn-It was not until the that I be. gan to hate yeu with a real, undyig hatred." "And yet yoa ave yourself to me," he cried. "Yaou put yourself in her place. In heaven's name, what was to b galned by such a at as that" "I wanted to take Matilde's boy away ftrom you," she hurried eon, and fort the I rst time her eyes began to waver. I 'The ida susested itself to ame the night I met youa at the conmtese's di. 4 naer. It was a wonderul, a tremendous I thought that entered my brain. At I rst my reat lself revolted bht as tlmae went on the idea became an obseeslo. I married you. James Broad, or the 1I sole purpos of hurtintg you in tho worst possible way; by hraving M 1 tilde's son strike youa where the pa n weold be the ratest. A, yu are I thinkla that waould have peimitte I myslf to have ehoome his mlstress, but you are mistaken. I am not that bad. I would not have dsmed his ( soul in that way. I worald not have betrayed my ss r in that way., ar more subtle wasy desl.gn I eeonfes that it was my plan to make lhim hil Itn love with me ad In the end to run away with him, leaving you to think that the very worest had happeed. But I it would not have been a yoa tuhin. He would have been protected, my 1 triend, amply protected. Be-" "But you waould have wrerad bi- I don't youa see that youa would have 4 wrecked the life you soeght to protatt? How utterly blind and unfeel ta you were. Youa y that he was my m and Matlde's, honestly born. What was your object, may I inquire, In strUikig me at such eaost to him? You i waouid have made a souandreei im for the sake of a peran al vegance A're you forgetting that he regarded himself as my sonT" 4 (TO B3 CONTINUED.) 4 Their Us. "Why do youa advocate blaket street-.pavin bllst" "To cover the beds ot the straee, aoonrse." 1 ales perish, ~ Lord; bt let them that love him be as the san wen h Peth forth nla his miSht" There is no pa triotlde poem to compae with it. Reeatiotrdo Sale of Weaps. ( hibMt the importation, maneetoroe I and sale of ertat n weapoa, eld. ag satIettos, daggars sad spring or dale-aded pocket helvem The ah. I portalte of derum at alB 'Isd wS. out venament permssons is Sth -le thd i WINTERSMITH's CHILL TONIC a eay no eOl s a m -me FOR MALARIA IM: Perchldlireaarwellesadin. Sefisr arst. 8Oc amd is bsmes M den senus. Dr. Sal 's Epye Lotlo. OIIA E'SOnly from L dme .mqpeear DAISY FII. KILLER YOM ia r., um, a, sea ss &nw. Smoen.. V.0 Making War Imposelsle. "I shall yet succeed," sMd thi In ventor, "an prsdueng a wapon so "I shouldn't be H rpsrised." orece4 Miss Cayenne. "A tow more eaSlno of destrection may kill ofpeople usn tl there won't be enough to conduct a battle. The arightr Side. Mr. asbbn.s. S"I'd like to know what It Is," s Mr. 8nooasedort. "It is lmaoesible for eooe of my wealthier nseshbors to aso saddln abot Europe this year d the re turn home and make pe fel as if I hadn't bhaen anywhere beuse I men ly went to Colorado." SHANDS LUKE VELVET Idept 0o by Dally Use of o utleM, Seep aad Olntmesit. Trial Pree. On retiring seak heands In ht Ctrl eaur Musopuds, dry mad rub the Oin meIt anto the hands som mtents. Wear bsandge or old goves earang nigdh This is a "eno nisht tspa kin Book. Mdresu COuca, Dew, 2XT Boete. loMd ever-whe -Adv. Harmless. Thoe om cmutr was plaly y," ted. "I' pouded theo seat ushion In .ro ot him s he spoke, and his vom e ose high above the rmttle i the wheedl. "No matter whet my earlier views woar" ho exslaimes. "I've chage radicllym. Fm for the Rees ano agadn't all eemers." A tinmd little ma~ amoes the aisle edd quletly lut of as seat se su ret the oe edutor. "It's an outrdage" drhe e la me. " avewed ansarhit uke that seiew ought net to be allowed to rMie nl publie eeanrane" o "He's no sarehist," said the ea-. soreL. Just now be's pesolasn his views en th merits of the aRbod Island BRea, the best lttle layers. seven states." TallHe Get Evn h The Central 1mw Joernal says that a Philadelpha talloer was vholkoe over th obon the e of thedere by a law late when the lawyer b ht a suit ot clothes the taloer rtalst"Ie brl e rIs him a b a bl the Ronlosw legal terms: "To mesurins snd takiag o der for oe sait. $4.t; warrnt and In "str'tlons to foremas for execiut"g the samt te, ; o twle to oeth merchant, $.35; fs to cloth mea chast, Ss; euttns the cloth, usady; materils for workig *S ; su~a s fo work ia, $; tryld of the o'd $3.75; alteatons and s4.50; enteran s transte lao beok, $S; postins mme in eagreolas same, $2..0; " wri bttonm dealer, $1.5: ign his degh. suit by ertIorari to yoer redimcse, 2.5; writing reoeot, $1.7; f ag sme, $12.J ; service eo same, ld0; ditt $1.0; total, $10.t2.a GET POWER The Suply Coems PFes Feed. If we et power from fool why net strive to set all the powe we eca. That "Not kowig how to slet the right bed to ilt my needs, I sufto* grier asly or a lang time from stomeck trole," writes lad from a little Western town. "It seemed as Ift wold never be alde to fid out the ert of food that was baest for me. Hardly aythitn that I eoltd eat would stay en my stomfah. very attempt gave me heartb ur ad flled my stomach with g. I got thin. we and thinner uantl I lterally be eame a livias keleton ta ttme was eompelled to keep to my bed. "A few months ag I was pe aed to try GrapeNute foed, san It had suec good efect from the vry beginning that I kept up its m I was trprisem at the ease with whek I digested tt. It prve to be raust what I noeeded. "All my unpleseant symptms, the heartbeur, the nsflted feena s which gwa m so much asi, adispeared. My weight gradualy nleresd fhwomt to 116 l., my fsure roeded out, my streagt ame back, sad I am now amedd to do my housework and enjoy It. A tea days trialwl show y noa Name d s by Potta Co., Battle Creek, Mich. Rend, "The Reend t Weadlville," to pks. "Thre a Reast wer red a *a aeese hl e s Ap rn-vo 6 #