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ALASS OF ARRAN
AMELIA E. BARR. [Copyright. IS!><>. by The International Literary and News Service.] SYNOPSIS. Helen Brodick, the daughter of nn Ar ran fisherman, has two suitors. Hoy and Will Anderson. The men are cousins. Roy has a despicable nature, while Will is a manly, great-hearted fellow, beloved by all. But Helen loves Roy. liroilick wants his daughter fo marry the minister, who is In love with the girl and h:is pros pects of a Glasgow parish, but Helen wHI not listen to this: she knows that she Is unlit to be the wife of a city minister. The rivalry of Roy and Will Anderson leads to petty doings. Will has a new boat, the •■Helen Brodick," and one night the name nn her It smirched with black paint. Roy is suspected. Every one un derstands his true character but Helen. She soon has an inkling of it. An Impor tant letter address, d to will is delivered by mistake to Roy. lie opens and reads It and brings It after a week to Helen It concerns a share in a North Sea traw ler in which Will is negotiating. Helen Is indignant at Roy's action. She insists thai Hoy return tbe letter at once and make amends to win or she will give bim up. Roy sullenly promises lo do this. PART 11. And Helen was wretched. She had satisfied her conscience, but her heart bled. And for three days Roy made no sign, and she wns tormented by two alternate fears—either that be had not returned the letter. In which case she WOUld feel compelled to herself tell Will of the wrong done him. or else that he had obeyed her instructions, but afterward set down against her the humiliation of the confession. Alas! (luring these days she had many hours of that cold temptation which comes to the noblest hearts when virtue has failed to reward, and they are half-in clined to regret having served her. when they say with the great seer singer. "In vain have I washed my hands in innocency." On the third night, however, when the elder had gone to Loch-Ranza on some business. Roy stepped softly into the cottage. He saw the swift change in Helen's face, the splendid wave of color that came like sunlight over her pale cheeks, the smile that changed her as the sea is changed by the day spring, and he know that this added splendor of beauty had been called forth by bis presence. "Weel, Helen." ho said. "My dear lad!" "Will you give your 'dear lad' a wel come to-night? You sent him away In a fine blaze o' temper." Her soul was Instantly on guard, The beating of her heart she could almost hear, but she was not to be betrayed by its entreaties. Yet Roy saw In her outstretched hands, her eager looks, her tender eyes the great affection with Which he had inspired her, as she an swered : "You are dearly welcome, welcome ns life to me, for I know you would not j be here if you hadn't put tbe wrong right, and come to tell me so." "Of course." "What did Will say?" I "He just made a laugh o' the whole business. I told you be would. He said I wasn't to speak o' the matter. He does not want his plans made free to the rest o' the lads, and I said I hadn't named It to a creature but you." "Well, then?" "He said that words were as safe •with you as If tiny were a stone dropped in the sea." "And. Roy. Roy. my dear lad, you are far happier for telling Willie?" "Of course I am happier, because It puts you and me all right. The letter didn't trouble me, but I could not thole your feeling about it." Then she went to him and lifted the cap from his bend, and ho took her to his breast, and their reconciliation was complete. "We will never name the unlucky blt o' paper again," he said, and Helen wns willing it should pass Into ob livion. A sweet content followed her anxiety, and she told herself that her "There Was Like to Be Red Murder Dene." Influence for good on Hoy's character , was proved and certain. An exceed ingly happy evening followed. Never bad Roy been so charming and lov ing, and never had Helen been so beautiful and affectionate, For throe hours they sat looking into the future together, and seeing there only life long happiness and love everlasting. The next afternoon the elder re turned, nnd Helen noticed even before he reached the bouse nn angry air nnd Attitude about bim. Tho man's mas sive form seemed instinct with wrath, his staff struck out of his way the lit tle stones nnd weeds ns if they were troubling bim: anil when he came close to her, she saw plainly the stormy look In his eyes and the suppressed passion in his compressed lips, and lowering brow. He looked at her with an angry pity, and passed through the door without a word. She turned In nfter bim. her heart suddenly sick with fear, ami looked in his face with a silence full Of inquiry. Hut as it produced no answer, she asked: "Have I done aught to anger you. father? Why don't you speak to me?" "Sit down. Helen," he replied. "I have some bad news for you. lam not angry ri you In particular, but I am angry at you In the general. For you have brought this sorrow on yoursel' by your aln free choice nnd will, and against tbe choice and will of a father that was wiser than you, nnd who loved you with a love that had no sel fishness in it." "I'm thinking all these words mean something against poor Roy. Folks won't let the lad alone." "He won't let alone what be has naething to do with. Let me tell you that there is more trouble in tbe vil lage than words can sort. I have had to put my aln body between Will and Hoy Anderson, or Will would have thrashed bis cousin withlp an inch o' his life—and weel he deserves it." Helen did not uttter a word. Her eyes were dropped, she seated herself in n chair beside the table, and her father noticed that she grasped the edge for further support. He watched her a moment, nnd then continued: "What do you think o' a man who opens a letter that is not his nnd keeps it a' of ten days without saying word or wltten about it? That is what Roy Anderson has done." "How does anybody know the like o' thnt?" "Lucky Hlslop gave It to him. It was from the Mcßrines n' Glasgow, and was closed wJ' their big seal, with a ship in full sail on it. Lucky knew that Hoy bad once been in their ser vice. And she saw the name Ander son, and Hoy happened in on the min ute and she gave it to him. and he sab". 'Thank you. Lucky, that is all right,' and so went awa' with it. And it was a' wrong, for the letter wns Will's let ter, and Roy must have known that ns soon ns he opened It—lf not before. Hut he never said a word to Will, and so Will has lost the tradp he was seek ing, and it is a big loss, to his think ing." "How did Will find It out?" For a moment the elder did not an swer. His eyes were fixed on his child, whose face was white as death. In deed tbe few worels that formed her ' question were shivered from between ! her lips, rath'-r than spoken. He laid ! his hand on the trembling one, which | had fallen from its grasp of the table, and asked. "Do you want me to stop telling you, Helen?" • "No. no!" sho cried, with a sudden passionate sob; "let me hear the last o' It and the worst o' It." "Weel. then, Willie got a letter from Mi Urine this morning saying that as be had not closed wi' the trade on no- I tice, they had made it elsewhere, ami the like o' that. And Willie went in a passion to Lucky, and she told him she had gi'en that very letter to Hoy ten days syne: and just then Roy came by, and she called him in and minded bim o' it. Hut Roy would not remember aught o' the circumstance, and the lads got to Words, and the-n to blows, and there was like to be red I murder done when Providence sent me , that way. and I put myseV between | them and got a blow on my bead that i lias given me a salr pain. The vil lage is just boiling like th.- lea with a school o" herring fry, and some say Will has been o'er hasty, an 1 others say he did what was well and right." "Do you tell me that Will did nut LOS ANGELES HERALD. SUNDAY MOPNING, 1898, know about the letter till this after noon?" "Not until an hour ago." Then Helen's face flushed scarlet. Shaken, confused, lifted off her feet by this revelation of her lover's lying treachery, she did not shrink or com promise or slide away from the truth. A moment or two she hesitated, while she looked unswervingly on the shame- ful fact. Then she asked her father If he thought that Roy had been guilty of taking and keeping his cousin's let ter. "You may give him the benefit of the doubt, if you wish to," he answered; "but I am most sure the lad is guilty." "I have no doubt," she said. "Ho told me that he took the letter. He told me last night that he had given It to Willie, and that Willie said it was of no consequence. He lied to me. The man is as bad us you think him, and I am a sorrowful woman this day. Maybe I do deserve the sorrow—l don't lust rightly know—but I do know that I have a bitter, shameful heartache," and she laid her head upon her arms and wept ns only youth can weep. Her father bent tenderly over her. "My dear lass." he said, "my dear lass! The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms. If Moses could rise to this helghth, surely thou, with Christ to help thee, can also reach it." With these words he left her—left her alone In one of those dreary wastes made by the loved who have deceived, or deserted us: vacant places, watered by the bitterest tears human creatures ever shed. She felt then that all was over. All had been. Her love had turned to ashes, and the wind had car ried it away. Tip and down the past her soul wandered, finding little com fort, for in this hour her conscience told her plainly that she had been de ceived, because she wished to be de ceived. The next day It was known that Roy Anderson bad gone away In the night; no one knew where to; nnd within a month bis boat was sold to pay the obligations he had left. Then the buyer put the name of his own sweet heart on her. and that was the ond of "The Bonnie Helen." Very sorrowfully, to Helen Brodick, the summer and autumn passed away. She hoped against hope for some word from her lover, but none came. At first her father showed a wonderfully lelleate sympathy; ho respected her leslre for solitude, and took pains to <cop from her the numerous instances of Roy's want of honesty and princi ple, which every day. for some time nfter his flight, came to public dis cussion. But when tbe herring season was over, and his few wheat and bar ley fields reaped, and tbe winter was closing upon them, he became irritat ed at her nursing grief for a man so unworthy. Her pale face, her eyes red with weejdng. and her listless, melan choly manner, were a wrong that he felt it hard to bear. About the end of November tbe min ister received "the "call" to Glasgow he had been expecting: and Robert Bro dick went to the city to witness his in stallation. He came back much de lighted with his visit. The big kirk, the handsome manse, the great congre gation, the minister's mother and her fine cooking, were constantly referred to. Helen believed he was now trying to induce her to marry this man of his particular choice, and with all a wo man's contradiction she set her heart against him. She refused to show any pleasure in the Rev. Alexander Sharp's kirk, or manse, or mother, and though she really did enjoy her father's de scriptions of tbe fine dining room and the minister's study and the great peo ple whose worship he directed, she did not suffer her white handsome face to show the least interest in such conver sation. More and more frequently Brodick wont to Glasgow, and on his return from one of these visits he paid to Helen: "The minister going to be married, and you are bid to the wed ding." She wns certainly a little annoyed. She had been for three years so sure of this man's affection, and perhaps there was deep in her consciousness a thought that some day she might lis ten to his wooing. And he had for gotten her! She laughed a little scorn fully, and asked: "What kind of a lassie is to wear my old shoes?" "I have not seen her," answered Bro dick; "but his mother was saying to me that she was fair and bonnle enough. She is but a young thing, not eighteen years auld. anc her father has given her five thousand pounds as a set off. They are to be married in three weeks, and if you are going to the wedding, you be to have a dress suitable." "I am not going. My heart Is too heavy for a bride-guest in any house." There was a moment's pause, and then Brodick said with some stern ness: "Helen! Week after week, and month after month. I have seen you making yoursel' sick and auld looking, for a worthless, wicked man. I am not liking it." "He was my promised husband. I have a right to make myself sick and ugly for him, if 1 want to." "You havo not. The laws of the body, its health and happiness, are as much God's laws as any other. Forbye, If you even had the right to Injure and make yoursel* miserable, you hive not the right to injure and make me mis erable. And you have turned my hap py home into a house of tears and mourning, and all for a man reprobate, and not worth a good woman's thought or care." "I loved Roy; I love him yet." "Then you had better be praying for him than crying after him. I loved your mother. We lived twenty-two years together in peace and joy, but when It pleased God to take her from me I did not make the house a valley o' tears und gloom and never-ending repining. I Will have no mote o' it! Put the man out o' your mind. It !s a shame to give such a scoundrel heart-room." "Father, there are many that think Roy was prejudged, and the evidence against him was—" "He was his aln accuser to you." "Ay, about that weary letter. But he told me positive and offered to swear to it that hee did not black our name on his cousin Will's boat. And I believe ;hat he spoke the truth." "1 know that he lied; and it seems, then, that he was ready to swear to the lie. I have the most positive evi dence that he- did black the name i,' Helen Brodick. I did not. tell you o' it. for you were weeping enough; and, (bid knows, my dear bairn, I would not add a straw's weight to your trou ble." "Ay, but having said so much, you be to tell mo all you know, father." "Very weel. Maybe it is right to do 1 so. There is little 'good in saying smooth, gentle words, when it ia the I surgeon's knife that is required. This, then. Is the very truth, Helen. One day last autumn I met the widow For syth coming to the house for me. She said her little Andrew was dying, and could not win away until he saw me. The poor lad you ken was an 'Inno cent,' one p' God's bairns, and though he had little sense, everybody loved him. I went Wi* his mother to his bed side. He said he had done n great sin —the poor sinless laddie —and he want ed to put it right, then he wouldn't be feared that God would be angry Wl' him. And when I asked him what the sin was he confessed that he had watched Roy Anderson black his cous in's boat-name, and had taken a big siller penny from Roy not to tell any one about It. He said, too, that he was feared of Roy, who had threatened him with many awful deaths If he said a word. Ho then told where the big sil ler penny was hid, nnd asked me to put it ln the kirk plate the next Sab bath for the poor. So his mother went for the money. It was hid awa' in il wee box in the thatch o' the cottage, and she brought It to the dying lad, and he put it in my hand wi' fingers that were almost clay. And I prom side bim all be asked and prayed wi' him, and he went awa' smiling. Then I looked at the big siller penny, and saw that It was a false crown pieo !, not worth a bodle, and when I got home I threw it in the fire, and the next Sabbath I put a true, honest crown in the kirk plate for the laddie that was then in heaven. Hut I told you naething at all, for you were but a bruised reed, and I did not want to bang your head still lower. Do you now believe that Roy is innocent?" "Alas! Alasl I must just believe the very worst. I know well that wee Andrew would not lie on his death bed." "Then, why. on God's earth, are you crying for such a man. Helen?" "I am crying, father, because he does deserve tears." This was a refinement of grief, hnrd for Brodick to understand. He an swered with some anger: "The man is dead and buried, as far as you are con cerned. Let the dead bury the dead: as for you. follow Him that died and is alive, and living forever. Then you will get not only peace, but happiness." After this conversation Brodick went more and more frecjuently to Glasgow, and showed an unusual attention to his dress and appearance. "He is that set up with the minister and the big folk he meets with him," thought lb-lon, a little scornfully; "one would think there had never been a minis ter's wedding before, and never would be another while the world lasted. I'm fairly weary of hearing tell o' it." However, after little Andrew's con fession Helen gradually got the mas tery of herself. Every possible excuse for her sentimental sorrow was taken away, and whether we will it or not, time—appointed of God for the conso lation of all grief—does obliterate and heal. And as soon as Helen knowing ly and consciously turned her face to "the hills from which cometh our help," she wns comforted —comforted in prayer, in sleep, !n work, in all her household ways, until her sorrow was very nearly a tale of old unhappy, far-off things. Then she realized how foolish it had been, and how utterly useless, since all her tears could never make "the grass to grow, "fin the trampled meadows of long ago." Some change also that she could not define had come into her home. Her father, though affectionate as ever, was not the same. His comings and goings had lost their regularity. He was always wearying for post time; he who had scarce ever before either writ ten or received a letter. He was evi dently happy, and yet he had hardly a word to say to her. She understood, when too late, that she had lost some of her Influence over him; he came no longer to her with his little troubles, and hole's and plans; and she asked herself sadly if Boy's love bad been worth what she had lost for it. One night in the following spring, as she sat knitting by the open door, her father said to her: "Helen, my dear lassie, you be to have some new dresses. There is going to be a wed ding in the family." She looked nt him sharply, and he nodded his head, nnd c ontinued: "I am going to be married myscd' next month." "Father! Never! Never!" "Why not?" "How will I bear the like o' that?" "What?" "A strange woman In the house— mistress you ken—and where will I bet it is a sair trial, father. I'm not able to face it. However could you think 0* sue h a thing?" "It was you put the thought, and the need, in my mind yoursel', Helen. You taught me, with Hoy Anderson, that I must give you up, and live my lane, or else have a strange man whom I disliked and distrusted always at my fireside. If it please God, I may live a quarter o' a century yet, and I want a friend and companion. Because you love, must I be without love?" "I am always your daughter." "Till you are married. Then you are some man's wife, first of all. I am not complaining. I am only looking for ward a bit to the years that may come to me." "Who are you going to marry?" "The Reverend Mr. Sharp's mother— a douce, sensible woman, not very much younger than mysel'. Her hus band was my first captain. She minds him speaking o' me." "Well, father, I have naethlng to say. You be to do your own pleas ure." "She is a good woman, and you will be the better o' some one to talk with. I make no question but that we shall all o' us be tho happier for her In the • I Know That He Lied" house. It has bpen very sad nnd lone ly the past year.'' That was all. In three weeks tbe new wife came homo, and proved herself to be more than had been promised. Helen did not find it hard to give her respect, then to love and make a confidant of her. She had all a good woman's sym pathies, and she encouraged Helen to talk away her trouble about Roy to Its very last thought. And in these con versations many a pleasant word was incidentally said for Will Anderson— for his patient love—his forbearance— and the injustice done him by those who still persisted In believing Roy badly used and convicted on the barest circumstantial evidence. Mrs. Brodick, however, was too wise a woman to be obviously Will's cham pion. Her tactics were in a line far more natural, and far less auspicious. She provided Helen with some new and very pretty dresses, nnd in one of them —a dark blue merino with trimmings of blue velvet—th" girl looked so ab solutely lovely that she would have been less than a woman if she had not desired to give others the joy of her beauty. So she was pleased to go with her step-mother to one of those musi cal reunions Brodick declared to bo "incredible misery" and wonderfully pleased to hear Will—who was uncon scious of her presence, and therefore nt his ease—sing in a voice clear and sweet as a silver bell— "I learnt to walk to the sound of the waves, The shingly beach along; The suit spray dashed against the That was my cradle song. The sea bird's cry was far before The thrushes' song to me; O, my heart still longs and listens for The music of the sea? To drag nets full of gleaming fish Under the silver moon; To watch ships on the far blue line Grow nearer in the noon; To make friends with the storm, in stead Of a city's din, for me; My heart still longs and listens for The music of the sea!" These words, sung as Will could sing them, went straight to Helen's heart, and it was worth .something to see his wonder and delight when she stood in all her l.eauty and with sweet smiles praised his singing. It was Just In rredible joy to one heart, that musical reunion, and perhaps to more than one. Thin happy experience was not dif ficult to renew, and so gradually the intimacy grew, for us the elder pre ferred liis almanac and his pipe to the kirk sociables and readings and prae tieings in the little village hall, Will had many opportunities of convoying his wife and daughter home, and of lingering afterward fur the exercise and the bit of supper. But he was far too shy to make the advances he longed to make, and Helen was not only shy, but also proud and retiring. The humiliation of Boy's desertion was still unforgotten, and she surrounded herself with an atmosphere which re pelled the Jokes and the sympathy she feared, and which the elemental race around her were always ready to ex press. "Will la a good man," said Mrs. Bro dick to her husband ono night In the ir confidential chat by the fireside, after Will had left and Hcden had gone to her room: "a good man, but he hasn't the spunk to ask Helen. Shy, both of them, wonderful shyl I can't, with all my planning and forbearing, bring them to question and answer. A pity! A pity! He Is such a brave, true hearted lad." "Good to the core," said Brodick. "He ought to hao been a minister." "Naelhlng o' the kind," answered the elder's wife, with some warmth. "He Is far better ln a boat; a pulpit would soon spoil the lad. You ken yoursel', good fnan, that my Alexan der is just a miracle o' vanity since he got to talking to people from above their heads. It is an unbelievable temptation to have the power o' lay ing down the law to a crowd o' men and women, who cannot and dare not talk back to him. Ministers get be yond everything ond everybody, nnd their mothers, and wives, and bairns, should hae prayers offered up for them. I am uncommon glad Will isn't a minister—one in a family is enough —and a good sailor, or fisher, makes the best o' husbands. I ought to know," and 'she sent the words home with a smile that went like sunshine to the elder's heart. "I wish you could think o' any way whatever, elder, to make the lad and lassie happy. The leust little thing might do It." "It will take the whole o" an enrth qualce, I am thinking," said the elder; "special. If anyone interferes. I will tell you this, Mnttle. They who nre to be man nnd wife get to be man and wife, some-way, some-day; nnd they who are not to be man and wife never are man und wife; no, not even if the minister ties them together." It was not nn earthquake, but it was a great storm that, after many months of silent courtship, finally broke down the wall of separation between Will and Helen, tine cold, blowy night, ln January, Will pushed open the elder's door, and said: "There Is a boat on the reef outside. I can hear the men calling for help; and, oh, that is r>. fearfu' sound In the dark, and tho storm! I am going to them. Are you ready, cider?" "No, no, Will!" cried the elder. "There's nae use whatever. You could not get nearby, and saying you could, how in Ood's name could you help them, nnd It black as Tophet? Walt till mornlnr; and I will go wi' you then." "Elder, It Is In my very soul to go now. I know not why. but I bo to go." He said the words with a clear, posi tive voice, and Helen looked nt him with a new admiration. His lion-like fnce, firm as a rock, his steady, gleaming eyes, his great form, clad In Its storm clothing, his voice, nt once so gentle nnd so firm, all about the man had the semblance nnd tho reality of everything that appeals to a woman's best nature—power, beauty, strength, nobility of character, heroism facing death —not recklessly—but with gran deur of purpose, and confidence of re sult. Brodick rose ns Will spoke, put on his oils nnd boots, and the two men went out together. And the two wo men watched and prayed all through the dark, cold, stormy night, talking a little, adding fuel to the fire, nnd trem bling nt the blasts of wind that ramo thundering down the wide chimney. "And this is what the men must do, Who work In wind and foam; And this Is what the women bear. Who watch for them at home." When the cold dawning broke they went to the door nnd stood looking over the moaning, tossing wnters. Sea and sky were ghostly and terrible; tho sky. full of snaky tints of yellow and livid gray; the sea, saturnine, passion ate, dark with fate; and the gale still whistling loud and shrill, with that pc- "Wait Till Morning an<f I WUI Go With You," euliar Iron ring that moanß mischief. Hut they could see the lifeboat com ing to the shore, with short plunges; she was often hid behind the great wall of waves, or else out of sight in the trough of the sea; but yet advanc ing and advancing*, until the measured beat of her oars was audible. It was soon evident that some one was dead or injured; nnd as the men approached with their burden Helen said with a gasp of pain: "It is Will! It Is Will!" They brought him into Brodick's house, and while one man ran for a doctor, the cider himself applied such rude surgery as his long experience of sealife had taught him. Will was in sensible, nnd bleeding from the nose and mouth, but in a few hours he had regained his consciousness and was sleeping off the fatigue of his gigantic efforts. Then Mrs. Brodick rested a little from her labors over him, and asked the cider how he had been so badly hurt? "We should all o' us have been but dead men 11 tho Great Ftsherof the lake 0' Galilee had not been wdth us," said Brodick, reverently. "Will did won ders with his help. We found the lit tle craft on the reef, but we did not dare to go close to her ln the black night. She had foundered, but her top-mast was above the water line, though often washed by the big waves, and on this mast there were two men and a wee laddie o' twelve years old. They had tied the poor balm to the cage, and were gripping hard them selves, and we stood by them all night long. And so, whenever there was a bit lull In the wind, then Will called out —and you ken what a voice he has, loud and clear as a trumpet: "Hold on! Hold on till morning!' And at the ilrst peep o' light we went to them, but we could not get close, and It was Will that swam off and brought them all to * the boat, and the third time he was at the last pinch o' strength, for the waves throttled him and beat him con stant, and we had to lift him and his burden out o' the water —baltb o' them senseless, and poor 'Will bleeding salr and the very imnge o' death. But he'll be a' right ln a day or two, and ns long ns he lives he may take the joy of them three Uvea for his guerdon. He Is a brave man." "And a good man, Robert." "Ay, or he would not be hrnve." So Will remained four days at Bro dick's, and during that time was ten derly cared for by the women of tho house. It wns a good time for him— a new, delicious torpor, full of the presence of Helen, filled him with rest nnd happiness. And to have this no ble, unselfish giant as dependent on her mercy and kindness ns a baby, brought the love in Helen's heart to a rich nnd sudden ripeness. On the afternoon of the fourth day Mrs. Brodick opened the door of Will's room. He was sit ting in a big chair by the fire, but he never saw her, for Helen's arms were around his neck, nnd her face against his face, and the whole world was In their embrace. Then the good woman softly closed the door, and went on tip toes Into the house plate. There was a radiant smile on her face, and she roused the elder from his afternoon nap, saying: "Wnke up, Robert! I bae good news for you. It is a' right! It Is a' right, in yonder!" "I kent It would bo." "And they shall have a big wedding. You shall gle them the cottage on the brae-head, and I will planish it. Man Robert! Just to think o* the plonsure they will be to us—they and their bairns—little lads and lassies, called by our names, and running in nnd out 0" the bouse—and maybe a minister among them—lf there Is a big family we might spare one o' the lads." "The very best O* the lot, Mottle." "To be sure. By the time ho gets through the theology college he will bo wnrldllke enough. Let us go and speak to the balms. They are awfu' shy to tell their own tale, I have nao doubt." And they went ln together, and Just looked nt the lovers, nnd the tale was told. And then there was hand-grips, and kisses, nnd the good mother could not keep her projects for their happi ness, nnd would have Helen sit down with her, nnd "talk o'er the napery and crockery." And Will and the elder spoke of the house, and the boat, and of Will's final purpose to Join tbe great North Sea traw ling fleet, and to all this pleasant planning and talk the exer cise came at length us a solemn peaco and blessing. After it thi- two women wont away together fur a last five minutes' talk, and the mother said, "You arc very happy, Helen, nnd you are going to bo far hnppler, my dear lassie." "I believe so, mother." "Love is tbe great thing ln life, Helen." "I am sure o' It, nnd yet, mother—" "What, dearie?" "It Is not the greatest thing. I thought once that It was, but 1 found out, through many weariful, sorrow ful days, that honor and truth and courage are still greater things, and thnt love Is not worth a penny bit un less it grows out o' the same stem with them. That 11 why I love Will. I can not separate his love from his honor, and truth and courage, and so my heart rests surely on him." Thus, these simple, truthful, unlet tered women, had come naturally to tho same faith as the poet-lover of two hundred yearß before them—the faith Inherent in every true love; the faith apprehended by every truo lover— "I could not love thee, dear, so much. Loved I not honor more." THE END. The Largest Diamond Ever Known, The largest diamond ever known came from Brazil, where it was found In 1741. It weighed 1,(180 carats, or four teen ounces, and was sent to tbe Court of Portugal, where it became known as the Bragunza diamond. It was never cut. Romeo de l'lsle valued it at $1,120,000,000; others at $250,000,000, and still others at $17,500,000. Its true value (not being brilliant) was $2,000,000. The Koh-i-noor weighed nearly 800 carats when It was taken out of the mines of Oolconda, ond the sum of $10,000,000 has been mentioned as a Justlflabla price for it, on the scale employed in the trade. Hortenslo Borghese reduced It ln cutting to 27!) carats, and it had to be again cut to 102%. Milk in any form, sweet or sour, ia greatly relished by birds of all agpes. Buttermilk 1b very acceptable and highly nutritious.