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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. TIL 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 be, anxiously. "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 most be. "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 bravely. "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 email reward. "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 regret" "Do not forget me quite," murmurs he brokenly. 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' Slave."" 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 ableadmirable. " "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" She starts. "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 to come." 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 vytues." '"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 heard it?" "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 desire." "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." "With you?" 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 succeed." "You are ruining yourself, as it seems to me." "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. VIIL The sky is changedl And such a change! O, night And storm and darkness! ye are wondrous strong. 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 Lord Baring. 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 his hands! 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 distinctly suspicious. "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 high. "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 shortly. 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 streets. 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 brougham. "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 sive fashion. "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 who-" "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." "Mine?" "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 never shall." "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. "Yes." "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. . I 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 failing lamentably. "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" IX 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 toward her. "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 heart" A dry sob checks her. "Say it, then," says Lady Carysfort, anxiously. "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 her bosom. "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 and" "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, an I" "You mean that I am exaggerating?" says Bhoda, a little sharply, her beautiful face growing dark. "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 best." 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 she. "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 leelingl "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 were " '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 'Pommy.' " "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 mean!" "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 heart "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 be unhappy?" "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 gesture. "You know of her?" "Nothing. Nothing personally. Her name is public property, so is her photo graph. The latter was sent to me. "By whom?" "Lady Bettv!" "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 Lady Carysfort "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 everywhere 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 seienlt). 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 God. 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 lose It 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 sorenltjt 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 ness. "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 good. 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 highest good. 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 God. 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 Was Furnished lYIth a Itfotto. Manchester Times. 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 their business. DWARFS AND GIANTS. The Little Trees and the Big Wrest lers That One Sees in Japan. PINES TWO CENTURIES OP AGE. i the Food of tha Athletes Wha Some times Weigh 400 Pounds. Bica 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 say: "It is 200 years old. Great-great-grandfather planted the seed. It keeps oft tha earthquake." 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 ' down." My courier said: "This wrestler is the Sullivan of Japan. No one can throw him." "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 chins. "They very good," they said. "See, big eye long ear litte nose. "What you givei?" "How ranch ask?" 'Tiltydolla." "Give you five." "Can have." "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. Come!" 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 chin." "What do you mean by 'can chin?' " I asked. "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 petted. "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 San: The "He ra, he ra, he," she dances every day In an elegant kimono and an obi: If you go out to Japan, you must see Kohana San, 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 citizens. 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" Eli PEEKIH3. 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. , iiiiiB