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PRUNING FOR CHERRY TREES
Werk Tends to improve Color of Fruit and Adds to Appearance of Tree-Trim Every Year. Many people bold to the theory that a cherry tree qhould never be touched while the other extremists say they should be pruned as vigorously as ap ple trees. The most sensible course lies between the two. Pruning the cherry tree does not have so marked an effect in enlarging its fruit as it does on apple or the pear, but it does tend both to enhance the color of the crop as well as to im prove the tree's appearance. The bright, full-sized, well-colored cherries are the ones that sell and the cherries that are not too thick on the tree and not shut out of sunlight by too dense foliage are those which attain the nec essary color and size. Did you never notice that the big. bae, highly colored cherries are those on the topmost branches or away out ea the ends of long limbs, Qr some where where the air and the sunshine got to them? Well, in this there is i .z Wel-Pruned Cherry Trees. sumpthlag more than a mere aggra vating perversity of nature and a dis Poereah to put the best fruit out of Pine eherries must have air circula flea and sunlight. These better re 'lbs are to be obtained to a consider able extent by shaping the tree and by roperly trimming it every year. De not wait until there are great big lm)s to saw of. Cut out the smaller besaehes growing where they are not wasted. Clean out a lot of the Ittle twigs and branches which will have tl. e If any fruit om them, anyway, which will only exclude the sun d asir. CARE IN MARKETING FRUITS I Plums and Apples Reach Market In S iseed or DIrty Cenditlea They 14ng Small Prices. S' W. Q. IDLrT. Mianmeseta apesd meet s as1os.) ely a little etra time sad skil are rega*bd to market phums sad apples pmguey. I they rweach the market peirtr graded and bruaed or n dirty, beken peekages, they esanot com mad - prioe. Uvery farm paper adeties the ean, at packas esueary to show fruits advanta sk with eare Don't wait for iue to soften or apple to become mer. Thy should be well colored ad lage, but still aLrm. A soft plum wil not stay up in the market sad iMbher wll the prica Phl apples may e Peed when full ese is reached wlboht regard to eoloar, or the color may be allowed to develop if desired. at the fat must not be allowed to tersa or drop itf it is to be hamdled Discard all bruised, stuan or mis. ghapen pluem sad grade a No. 1 those of good oolor, and as No. i these in Eeror in oerlag. Sort acodng to lse, eo that everr package is uaiorm thlaghout in als of plums which it setais. The same suesetos apply to apples, speea l care boing taken to disardt those that are wormy, scabby, Sals see trail ad seat pse. age, `emabsed wis 'a mn e ad clean -- a at package, will aod greatly to the market prie* at the ruiat. Plhtig Plat Laes. The ealy waq oa Igh s the adphis or plant ise tI to cover them with an eal subase which psene their ear death by clon a the pmres of ther bedee, thereore kersem e emadl ea is eftes used as a remed for sht lies Nathing lke heavy ails sud be ud, as ther wourald destroy Stsutg Fruit Oreherd. arting a new fruat rhard mesas week bom the start. Too may have hrod while probts that were expect. ad to come In never arrived. The Msrt a mkin fruit grown a sc Saesal aae venture, is found in the werd wort. PiCk OW leseems. S PiLk e all the blossms from hewly set trewbeery beds; thuas you send all the plats' stmaenth baek into them s hwee--in r rowth. It is unawlse to ,plants fru the rst sum.er, a aryd Sheeld Lft. R t am e far one en ma e aso lis an sarchrd u from sossets. ip the h bst usem e to ad thek pet ft ma it all the hardak se che ets Unweshedy sheaM it ý-citORGr DARR LC(UTCIItON C 'LLU5TiRAIONS 1RAY ALTERS AffO CG'1P4/fYY 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 foor. "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 wince. He hadn't been so thin-skinned in the olden days. His nerve was go ing back on him, that's what it was. poor Jim! Twenty years ago he would have stiffened 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 fool 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 encouragingly, but stopped abruptly when he saw Brood put his hands over his eyes and sink dejectedly into a chair, a deep groan on his lips. "I guess we'd better go," whispered Mr. Riggs, after a moment of inde cision and then, inspired 6y a certain fear for his friend, struck the gong re soundingly. Silently they made their way out of the room, encountering RanJab Just outside the door. "You must stick to it, Raajab," said }[r. Riggs sternly. "With your dying breath." added Mr. Dawes, and the Hindu, understanding. gravely nodded his head. "Well?" said Brood, long afterward, raising hi haggard face to meet the gate of the motionless brown man who had been standing in his presence for many minutes. "Miss Lydia ask permission of sahib to be near him until the end," said the Hindu. "She will not go away. I have heard the words she say to the sa hiba, and the ashibah as silent as the tomb. She say no word for herself, just sit and look at the foor and never move. Then she accuse the sahibah of being the cause of the young master's death, and the sabibah only nod her head to that, and go out of the room, and up to the place where the young master is, and they cannot keep her from oling In. She just look at the woman in the white cap and the wom an step aside. The sahibah is now with the young master and the doctors. She is not of this world, sahib, but of another." "And Miss Desmond? Where is she?" "She wait in the hall outside his door. Ranjab have speech with her. She does not believe Ranab. She look Into his eye and his eye is not honest -she me it all. She sy the young master shoot himself and-" "I shall tell her the truth, Ranjab," mid Brood stolidly. "She must know -she and her mother. Tonight I shall am them, but net now. Suicidel Poor, poor Lydial" "Miss Lydi say she blame herself for everything. She is a coward. she say, and Ranjab he undestand. She sme yesterday and went away. Ran lab tell her the sahib no can see her." "Yesterday! I know. She came to plead with me. I know," grossaned Brood, bitterly. "She will not speak her thoughts to the world, sahib," asserted Ranjab. "Thy servant have spoken his words and she will not deny him. It is for the young master's sake But she say he know he shoot himself because he no can bear the disgrace-" "anoh, RBaJab" interrupted the master. "Tonlsht I shall tell her every thing Go now and fetch me the latest word." The Hindu remained mottooless Just onside the door. His eyes were closed. "Ranjab talk to the winds, ashib. Theo winds speak to him. The young master is alive. The great doctor he search for the bullet. It is bad. But the sahibak stand between him and dath. She hold back death. She lugh at death. She ry it no an be. Ranjab know her now. Here in this roomrn he see the two woman in her, and he no more ill be blind. She stnd there before Ranqb, who wouald ill, and oet of the air came apeow spirit to shield her. Her eyes are the yws of another who does not live in the flesh, ad Ranjab bends the knee. H·e m thie insidae. It is not black. It Is fil of IIght- great hig ligtht, sahib. hy- servant would kill his master's with--bet, Allah defend! He cannot kB the wifte who le already dead. His -aster's wvha stand before him-two at oao-end his bad is stop." Brood was reardins him thrush ideopem, inaerednulous eys. "You on saw it tool" be gasped. "Te saerpent is deadly. Many time Rajab have take the poon from its bgs, and it becomes his slav He ould have take the poisoa free the SCULPTOR TALKS OF POPE Man Wh Made kBrne mBust of Hoead of Church Impressed With His Appearance Raelle Romagnoli. the loreuttne in-lptor, who was summoned from Pa trograd to Rome to mahe a b tin bres of Pope Benedlet, gives an in utiln aeounst of his work the The pope re Ied to sit m the e be thes, d erm them Mthe i serpent in his master's house, bpt 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 mastel 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 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 something passed between them. "The sahibah has sent Roberts for a priest," said the Hindu at last. "A priest? But I am not a Catholic -nor Frederic." "Madam is. The servants are say ing that the priest will be here toc 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," sait Brood, laying his hand on the man a 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 conscious now, sahib." said the Hindu slowly. "Still," said the other, compressing his Ups, "I am afrald-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 Prederic had fallen. There was no blood there now. The rug had been removed and before his own eyes, thg swift-moving Hindu had washed the foor and table and put the room in or der. All this seemed ages ago. Since rood Allowed HIs Dull, Wondering ass to Sink to HiS Feat. that time he had bared his soul to the smirking Buddha and, receiving no consolation from the smaug imase, had violently cursed the thinlg. BSince then he had waitted-he had waited ifor many things to happen. He knew all that took place below stairs. He knew when Lydla came and he denied him self to her. The coming of the pollce, the nurses and the anesthetician, ad later on, Mrs. John Desmond and the eporters-all this he had known, for he had listened at a crack 'in the open door. And be had heard his wife's calm, authoritative volce in the hall be low, giving directions. Now for the frst time he looked about him and felt himself attended by ghdst. In that instant he came to hate this onceloved room, this cherished rstreat, and all that it containaed. He would never set his foot inside of its four walls agaui. It was filled with shots!l On the corner of the table lay a great heap of manuscript-the story 01 his life up to the escapeu from Lhaaa! The sheets of paper had been seat tered over the floor by the rathless hand of the surgeon, but now they ware back in perfect order, replseed by another hand. He thousht of the final chapter that would have to be written if he went on with the journaL It would have to be written, for it was the true story of his life He strode tins weren short When the east was shown him the pontiff expressed him_ self well pleased, gave tho artist a autograph portrait and said: "I thank God that I am now done with all painters and seulptors. You are the only one who ha had three sittings. Now, go You have my bemnedletion." Romagnoll describes the pope's fe twms thus: "His belmes bhase a meet terest itg hesd-- se abrehei ad eranlm eharauashtle e a sese, wta.. swiftly to the table. Id 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 be 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 vic 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 Hlodder 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 ee 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 Story. 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 nervossness or Irresolu. tion. Her dark eyes met bis without wavering and there was purpose in them. She devoted a single glance of our prise to the unanrtained window on en tering the door and an Instant later scrutinised 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 eyes. In an Instant it was gone; he had satisfied himself. The curious experience of the morning had been a phantasm, an l lusion, a mockery. There was noth ing in this woman's smoldering eyes to suggest the soft, luminous lovell ness of Matilde's. He drew a long, deep breath of relief. She had put on a rather plain white blouse, open at the neck. The cuffs were rolled up nearly to Lhe elbows. evidence that she had been using her hands in some active employment and bad either forgottsa or neglected to re store the sleeves to their proper posi tion. A chic black walking-skirt lent to her trim, eret figure a suggestion of girlishness. Her arms hung straight down at her sides, limply it would have seemed at first glance, but in reality they were rtigid. "1 have come, as I said I wouald." she said, after a long, tense silence. Her voice was low, hushier than ever, but without a tremor of excitement. "You did not say you would wait for me - here, but I knew you would do so. The Shour of reckonaing has come. We must pay, both of uas. I am not fright. ened by youar silence, James. nor am I afraid of what you may say or do. First of all, it is expected that Frederic will die. Doctor Hodder has proclaimed i t. He is a great surgeon. He ought to know. But he doesn't know-do you anced mind. The aquiline nose and deep-set eyes show force of character and intelligence; the eyes, though short-sighted, gleam with intelligence. The large, well-shaped mouth shows constancy of purpose. The chin is prominaent, of the classical shape of Jultus Caesar's and Napoleon's." Hi His tent "See bow that dog is licklng yor .j haud." "I sppMoe he wants to stamp me with his appralva" hear? He does not know. I shall not let him die." "One moment, if you please." said her husband coldly. "You may spare me the theatrics. Moreover, we will not discuss Frederic. What we have to say to each other has little to do with that poor wretch downstairs. This is your hour of reckoning, not his. Bear that-" "You are very much mistaken," she interrupted, her gaze growing more fixed than before. "He is a part of our reckoning. He is the one great char 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 halt-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 tains?" 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 mm "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 signil cantly. "Do you expect me to plead with you for forgiveness?" she inquired, with an unmistakable look of surprise. "You may save yourself the humilla ton 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 tura me out of your house, I entered tt 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 m. ment, as if striving to materialise a thought that lay somewhere in the back of his mind. He was vaguely conselous 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, hasy 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 Brood?" He stared, and his eyes widened. "I never saw you in my life until that night in London, I-" "Look closely. Isn't there something more than doubt in your mind as you look into them nowt?" "I confess that I have always been puzasled by-by something I cannot ua derstand in- But all this leads to nothing." he broke of harshly. "We are not here to mystify each other but to-" "To explain mysterlea, that's it, of course. You are lookingy What do you see? Ar you not sure that you looked into nf eyes long, long agot Are there not moments when my volce is familiar to you, when it speaks to you out of-" He sat up, rigid as a block of stone. "Yqa, by heaven, I have felt it all alohg. Today I was convinced that IS GREAT PATRIOTIC POEM Deborah's Song of Victory Has Been Put by Many at the Head of the List. Every element of patriotism is In Deborah's song of victory: "Praise ye the Lord for the avenging of Israel" the triumphant onset dies down to a beautiaful lament for the forsaken high ways, the ruained vtlages, the coward Ice of the puast. Then oames the can to arms, the the unbelievable had happened. I saw something that-" He stopped short. his lips parted. She waved her hand in the direction of the Buddha. "Hlave you never peti tioned your too solid friend over there to unravel the mystery for you? In 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 be possible. I would know her a thou sand years from now. You cannot trick me into believing- But, in God's name, who are you?" He leaned forward again, clutching the edge of the table. "Bly heaven, I sometimes think you are a ghost come to haunt me, to torture me. What trick, what magic 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 myself, I swear to you that I was moved by the spirit of Matilde. I-I am as much mystified, as greatly puz zled as yourself. 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 confronts you now, but one who would not spare you as she did up to the hour of her death. You are quite safe from ghosts from this hour on, my friend. 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--ah, no! You have seen the last of her. Her blood is in my veins, her wrongs are in 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 back twenty-three years and deliver you from doubt and perplexity? Look closely, I say. I was six 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 standing now, leaning far over the table, for he had shrunk down into his chair. "The little Therese, yes! Now do you begin to see? Now do you begin to realize what I came here to do? Now do you know why I married you? Isn't it clear to you? Well. I have tried to do all these things so that I might break your heart as you broke hers. I came to make you pay!" She was speaking rapidly, excitedly now. Her voice was high-pitched ad a unnatoral. Her eyes seemed to be driving him deeper and deeper into the chair, fore ing him down as though with a giant's hand. "The little, timid, bheart-broken Therese who would not speak to you, nor kiss youea, nor say good-by to you when you took her darling sister away from the Bristol in the Kartnerring more than twenty years ago. Ah, how I loved her-how I loved herl And how I hated you for takinl her away from me. Shall I ever forget that wed ding night? Shall I ever forget the grief, the lonellness, the hatred that dwelt in my poor little heart that night? Everyone was happy-the whole world was happy-but was I? I was crushed with griel You were taking her away across the awful sea -and you were to make her happy, so they said-ai-e, so said my beloved, joyoas sister. You stood before the altar in St. Stephen's with her and promised-promised-promlsed every. thing. I heard you. I sat with my mother and turned to eice, but I heard you. All Vienna, all Budapest said that you promised naught but happiness to each other. She was twentyone. She was lovely-sah, far loveller than that wretched photograph lying there in front of you. It was made when she was eighteen. She did not write those words on the back of the card. I wrote them-not more than a month ago, be fore I gave it to Frederle. To this house she came twenty-three years ago. You brought her here, the happl. eat girl In all the world. How did you send her away? How?" He stirred in the chair. A spasm of pain crossed his face. "And I was the happiest man in all the world," be said boarsely. "You are forgetting one thing. Theresae." He fell into the way of calling her Therese as if he had known her by no other name. "Your sister was not content to preserve the happiness that-" "Stop!" she commanded. "You are not to speak evil of her now. You will never think evil of her after what I am about to tell you. You will curse yourI self. Somehow, I am glad that my awakening-the gathering together of the loyal princes and governors, yes, and of penmen, scorn for the falint hearted, curses for the treacherous Asher, Reaben, Meros. From these the song flames up again into imaginative splendor, with its stars and prancings, narrows its view to the tent of Jael, to the mother of Sisera hearkening in vain at her win dow for the sound of the chariot wheels and the son that will never re turn, and sinaks like the peace of eve sal to its clos: "So let all thlin as plans have gone awry. it give4 opportunity to see you curse "Her sister!" uttered the m-an lievingly. "I have married the Therese. I have held her state arms all these months and never It is a dream. 1-" "Ah. but you have felt even lie struck the table violently his fist. His eyes were blazing manner of woman are you! were you planning to do to til happy boy-her son? Are yoa= to-" "In good time. James, you wil what manner of woman I am," M terrupted quietly. Sinking back chair she resumed the broken all the time catching him half-closed eyes. "She died tea ago. Her boy was twelve y = She never saw him after the npl turned her away from this hous her deathbed. as she was rele - pure, undefiled soul to God's she repeated to the p'riest who through the unnecessary form d solving her--she repeated her declaration that she had never you by thought or deed. I had believed her, the holy priest her, God believed her. You have believed her, too. James She was a good woman. Do yo And you put a curse upon heb drove her out into the night. was not all. You persecuted hert end of her unhappy life. You did to my sister!" "And yet you married me," he tered thickly. "Not because I loved you--., She loved you to the day of her after all the misery and sufferlag had heaped upon her. No woman endured the anguish that she throughout those hungry years. kept her child from her. You him to her, even though you him to yourself. Why did you him from her? She was his She had borne him, he was all But no! It was your revenge it prive her of the child she had into the world. You worked deli ly in this plan to crush what there was left in life for her. Yeo him with you, though you brands with a name I cannot utter; you ed him as if he were your precious possession and not a oft your pride; you did this becam knew that you could drive the more deeply into her tortured You allowed her to die, after y pleading, after years of vain without one glimpse of her boy, out ever having heard the word on his lips. That is what yoee Id my sister. For twelve long yean n gloated over her misery. Ob. Ge man, how I hated you when I amui you!" She paused breathles. "You are creating an excuse hr devilish conduct," he exclaimed ly. "You are like Matilde, falee core. You married me for the bo could provide, notwithstandl - curse I had put upon your aimtg don't believe a word of what I saying to-" "Don't you believe that I am ter?" "You-yes, by heaven, I mast that. Why have I been so iled? are the little Therese, and yea me in those other days. I well the-" "A child's despairing hatred you were taking away the bIg loved best of all. Will you when I say that my hatred did ag dure for long? When her bhg enos letters came back to us ids/ accounts of your goodness, yar tion, I-I allowed my hatred , forgot that you had robbed m. I to look upon you as the fairy after all. It was not until she the way across the ocean sad die before our eyes-sh-e was dyling-it wuas not until thee gan to hate you with a real, hatred." "And yet you gave yoarnlf 4 he cried. "You put yeoarelf $ place. In heaven's name, what be gained by such an act as tIhbe "I wanted to take Matide's hi . from you," she hurried on, alud flrst time her eyes began be "The idea suggested itself to night I met you at the coMe ner. It was a wonderful, a thought that entered my h1 frst my real self revolted, bet M went on the idea became as I married you, James Brood, hr sole purpose of hurting m - worst possible way; by hai tilde's son strike you when the would be the greatest Ah. S. thinking that I would have myself to have become is but you are mistaken. I as 5 bad. I would not have d / soul in that way. I waould sat betrayed my sister In that .W i more subtle was my deesi. I that it was my plan tmaeskedb love with me and in the eWd be away with him, leavting TM that the very worst had beWlcU Yi it would not have been as 7 He would have been psee : friend, amply protected. .""' "But you would have ~bd don't you see that youa el wrecked the life you sought b - How utterly blind and afsalh were. You say that he 5 and Matilde's, honestly hr. was your object, may I 1Sw striking me at such cost to l would have made aS .- ed ~ for the sake of a per4m.l Are you forgetting that . himself as my son ?" (TO BE CONTINh'W .CD Their Us. "Why do you advoet street-paving bills " "To cover the beds be of course." mies perisl, O Lord; but let love him be as the son wbs forth in his might." Tbe, triotic poem to compas with . Restricts Salte of W P A Greek law of July , 1. hibits the importatione . U and sale of certain weal'_ ing stilettos, Jaggers nd SrW _ double-edged pocket ailvw. l.d portation of frearms of all out government per3l - prohibited.