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> %® a ' -f 'Porwriyht * l Tave you never set your Joys ana ■row? to the music of an old tune? e there no songs which have made smseives part of your personal his •j ? Of course there are. You hug the iiembranee of a melody that belongs some particular incident or period of ur life. When you hear It, although u are occupied with friends, or in ciety, dining at your club, perhaps, assisting at one of my Lady Diana s aste receptions, your mind is far ray, busy with a pleasant or painful emory of which the people around u know nothing. Sometimes the very ords of the ballad fits your special tse. When you have had much sor iw your heart quickly responds to alntive lays and sad. And thereby hangs a tale. fv friendship with Tom Ernstone of long standing. Some of my ac lalntanoes have suggested that the tlmacy has not been to my advant ;e. He is much older than I. His !e Is more or less errat'c. He has a ittled income, which makes him in ipendent of the world. I have no tiled Income. I have to work for my ling: but I succeed In making a fair come, and there an end. If It Is isocd somewhat by my devotion to Dm that Is my business. He likes to t up o’nights. So do I. His career as a mystery In it. Mine has not. crhaps that is one of the links that Ind us. He is proud and I am not crhaps this Is another. When 1 say Colonel Ernstone is roud, 1 speak of him as he is spoken f Th.ie is a pride which is laudable, nd there is something like it which i snobbism. My friend Tom was ticpnt and reserved. Soma people link that is pride. Perhaps it was In om's ease, perhaps not. 1 have known shyness and modesty llstakcn for pride. Tom Ernstone generally regarded as a proud man. [e may have attired himself in a kind f moral armor in fear of attack. Or is reserve, his patent leather boots, is closely buttoned frock coat, and his pmewhat stiff military manners may ave be,- n misinterpreted. He is proud f his country 1 know that, proud of tie army, proud of his daughter and er beauty. There are friends of his and mine, tho for a long time thought the link etween him and me was Terese. She i wonderfully pretty, but years ounger than 1 am. At the outset of his narrative, I have more than once een entrusted with the care of her (tie business in the way of shopping, tut Tom has always been at one end r Die other of our expedition. He I*h<-r started with us or waited at lonic • i receive us. Not that he would lot trust Terese with me under all cir- Sumstances, hut he "hated” as he con fessed. "to have her out of his sight." Terese is t wenty—sweet and twenty 1 can say and swear to it. She looks somewhat foreign. In keeping with her name. Her hair is black, her eyes a lovely rontrast in blue; she is fair but pal'-. She has the sweetest manner Imaginable. Her voice is soft and Musical. There Is a touch of pathos In the expression of her face which sug ;ests a certain melancholy that shad iws Tom’s own features. Toro Is a lolonel on half pay. He lives in a quiet farming house on the borders of lampstead Heath. We ofter meet, Tom and I. at the acthenon Club, where Sir Christopher Hallam passes a good deal of his time. Hallam Is a young Yorkshire baronet, rich, popular, and of trank kindly dis position. His family and Tom’s have lor generations had adjacent territor ial rights not only In the same county Put In the same parish. Tom knew Hallam's father, and from the earliest days of the young fellow's boyhood, had always taken an Interest In him; was hls proposer at the Club: Ind the cottage at Hampstead had •een him there at luncheon on most Bundays for a year and upwards. We had a ehat, Hallam and I, one day •bout our host whom we both love, it was in reference to hls strange mar ruige. and hls daughter’s somewhat lonely girlhood. The Colonel, It was •*ld, had made an eccentric marriage •broad. Hls wife died almost immed i after the birth of Terese. Hal *m aald nobody whom he had ever Fsi* had * ,en the mother of Terese. , * facl was topic of engrossing In erest in certain country circles of the Worth. He remembered when he was a ltt<s hnw hls father had horse *hlpp*.<j * neighbor for having public s' east sonn- aspersion upon Terese b rough a slighting remark about her fiotlifr. thi ® we fe>l ,nto expressions of wmlratlon of the girl’s beauty, her unonces, her grace and thoughtfulness the head of her father’s little house |o‘d; and we said nothing of the vlc -0,18 gossip which both of us had heard rom time to time, In one Instance go ng so far as to Imply that Terese was lot the Colonel’s daughter at all. Happily this had not come to Era tone’s ears. He had never once dream d that In all of the wickedness of the Hull wor,<, > there was anything so ricked as the shadow of a suspicion xpressed or Implied as to the relation - , tween him and hls accompllsh • little housekeeper. Colonel Ernstone, although hls gal ,ieJrv,c* ‘n India, and other Im f * battle-grounds of Imperial Eng- K ' ’ Wer * well-known and recognized, ■ one of the social mysteries of Lon uo.i, and hls selection of Hallam and me as his most intimate companions was not thought to be altogether to his credit, only for the reason that he kept us up at nights, liked a game of nap or pokar, rarely missed a popular race meeting, on which occasions he would drive us to the course, or we would go there In Hallam’s drag, Furthermore, he liked the play, and was Inariably seen at first nights with his daughter Terese. whose beauty attrasted attention, and in attendance upon whom, besides her father, would be either myself or Hallam. And yet there was no better managed house in London than the cottage at Hampstead. If it kept rather late hours they were neither of a boisterous nor questionable character; It went regularly to church on Sundays, and took its share In all the charities and benevolent responsibilities of the local ity. As Bret Harte loves certain of hls real flesh and blood characters; and similarly as Trollope carried several of his best creations through many of his novels, 1 lind myself turning again to Colonel Tom Ernstone, who, however, Is only known to a very limited number of my readers, having made hls -p --pearanee In a low and somewhat com plicated novel, the thinly associated sections of which I have long ago de tached Into their original short studies; and from which I now take up the last remaining episode for reconstruction and completion on Its original and true basis; and this Is the romantic story of my dear friend. Col. Tom Ernstone. If any of my present readers should In times past have come upon (which I doubt) a stray suggestion of my dear friend's so-called eccentric marriage and its consequences, they will thank me, I feel sure, for this present ex plana tion of the reason for the mourn ful shadow which sometimes clouded his handsome face, and also perhaps for the pathos that no one could fall to detect In the blue depths of the ex pressive eyes.ar" hls daughter Terese. Whether they have or not, they may now read for the first time a complete defense of Tom Ernstone's character, the true story of hls passion and pen ance, and the moral thereof, which shows that while man suffers In this world for the wrong he does, true peni tence can make reparation If not to the dead at least to the living. Tom’s confession to me came about in this way. A member 'of the Parthenon Club, who had heard some malicious, If fool ish whisper against the social position of Torn Ernstone, invited him and his daughter to his house, to meet a very select and distinguished company, and had made It a point of friendship and club camaraderie that he should accept It. I and Hallam were among the guests. I only knew the next day that twenty four hours previously, Hallam had pro posed for Terese. He had told me In confidence that he had Intended to do so. It was very delicate and considerate to hint that ho hoped In regard to this determination, he was not coming be tween me and any ambition I had In that direction. “My dear fellow,” I said, "Terese Is ten years younger than I; she Is twenty; I am over thirty; furthermore to use a common-place phrase, my heart Is otherwise engaged; go In and win.” He did so. I was not aware, however, when we all met at the reception ir question, that Hallam had obtained Tom’s consent to offer himself tr Terese. Hallam was. however, unusually at tentlve to Terqpe, and this was noticed by more than one of the guests. Het father’s eyet, too, seemed to follow hot about with a special solicitude. Ton knew that Hallam had proposed i Terese, and with hls consent. Teres had accepted him, subject to her fa ti er’s approval. I only knew afterwards how Joy and sorrow battled In my old friend’s min on that night. There was a mysteiq touching the b'rth of Terese which I • had made up hls mind not to revea The thought of it had exercised him severely, and he had resisted doing what, before we left the reception, he had resolved to carry out on the mor row, even at the risk of breaking nfl the engagement between hls daughter and Hallam. Terese was a delightful vocalist—not In the grand sense of oratorio or con cert singing. She had a singularly sweet and sympathetic voice, and In u drawing-room was. I think, the most delightful and finished ballad singer I ever heard. On this night of all others, she had a surprise for her father. In a new song, only Just published, Malloy's "Clang of the Wooden Bhoon.” which, as far as I remember, tells the story of a forlorn Normandy maiden whose lost love Is the pathetic background of the merry song and dance. Hallam had given Terese this pathetic ballad, and she had tried It privately. Knowing somethSag of her father’s love of Nor- | mandy, she thought It would be a | sweet surprise for him. It was Indeed a surprise for him. It half-broke hls heart afresh. The story of the Normandy maiden, sitting *ll forlorn, waiting for her lover that never returned from sea, rose up against him In the brilliant throng, Ilk# a rebuke from Heaves, fre&erirfe tfitim t FREDERICK CITY. MD.. FRIDAY MORNING, FEBRUARY 22 1895. "I can’t stand this any longer," he said, pressing my hand, "you and Hal lam will bring Terese home; I will sit up for her: don’t tell her I am not well; but when she discovers that I am gone, bring her away; say I am tired.” He wiped his eyes as he spoke, and seemed much distressed. "Stay with us to-night |t you can,” he said. "I shall leave the carriage, and drive home In a cab. I want to talk to you In the morning. Hallam will go to his hotel. I shall be up to re ceive you.” He pressed my hand again. I ac companied him to the door. Half an hour afterwards Terese left In company with her lover and next best friend, the narrator of this over true story. “You noticed my emotion last night.” said the colonel, when he had closed the door of his snuggery, as he called his library at the cottage. “When, Tom?” I asked, recalling his somewhat strange eoduct while Terese was singing for the first time as it seemed, a new song, the music of which •he had taken with her. “Don't say when, you know that if 1 had not found you watching me. I should have made a fool of myself.” “You were greatly moved." "Moved! A defeat on the field of bat tle could not have disturbed me more,” he said, pacing the room. "It is rather a pathetic ballad.” I said, wondering what the dear old chap had to say to me, for he seemed both excited and distressed. "Old fellow," he said, pausing to lay his hand affectionately on my shoulder, "I have deceived you. You are young enough almost to be my son. I love you as If you were. And I hope you will not cease to respect me when you have heard my confession. People say I am a proud man. Perhaps I am. My fath er was; and my grandfather was fam ous In court and In the field. But that Is neither here nor there. Pride goeth before a fall. The humblest man need not envy me.” I sat down and looked at him, as much as to say you are exaggerating some Indiscretion. "Not at all,” he said, as If he read my thoughts, ”1 have sinned, and be fore Heaven, as the psalmist has It, but I have tried to atone, and I want to put myself right with you and Hallam. First with you, I have known you long est. You know that Hallam has pro posed for Terese. I gave my consent that he should propose to,her; but withdrew my final approval until I learnt her answer. Of course, her yes or no would have been equally sacred In my eyes. She has said yes. I am to conclude the matter to-day. In an hour I shall do so. To-day is In con sequence one of confidence and penance —mostly penance. And I begin with you.” He took up the poker and stirred up the fire, not that it required stirring, but as If he were arranging his thoughts; and he looked round at me as he laid his unlighted cigar upon the table. I have known army men who have seen him, at the head of his cavalry, ride straight up to the enemy's guns and—. But that Is not the question. To the world as I have already intimat ed, he Is proud and cynical; but bitter epigram and an occasional sneer st sentiment represent the cloak which hides a tender heart and a life-long regret. "That song!" he exclaimed, "I saw you noticed how it affected me,” he said, as he sat down again, looking Into the fire. ”1 have always felt that muslo has the power to lead one back to the past, and revive events that one tries to forget. Fate or Providence must have moved Terese to sing that song last night:— Oh! the clang of the wooden shoon; Oh! the dance and the merry tune! Happy sound of a bygone day. It rings in my heart for aye! “My God! If she had only known. It is strange that I had not heard her try it over at home before we went out. As she sang, I could see the suffering hero ine, In her Normandy cap and sabots, Eittlng alone on that old wooden pier waiting, waiting, with the sound of the merry tune, turned to a dirge In her heart." He swept his hand over his eyes, and spoke as If he had forgotten me. "My dear friend,” he went on after a pause, "I want to confess. Let me show you the picture that song showed me. the picture which It still shows me In the fire. An old Normandy pier. A soft summer night. An English yacht moored at the Jetty. A company of villagers regaled by Lord Templer, the owner; myself and companion. A fid dler pressed Into the service. My com panion as lovely a girl as the eyes of a villain ever rested upon; an olive com plexion; and the head of a Normandy aristocrat on the shoulders of a peas ant; the strength of a flsherwoman. with the grace of an Egyptian water carrier. fihe was the most perfect type of Normsn beauty that mind of man could Imagine, or brain of poet Invent. I was a young, reckless, fellow on a yaughttng cruise, putting In at the fishing station for letters. My dis patches came within twenty-four hours. I was ordered to join my troop In India at once. Lord Templer sailed the next day, leaving me to g on to Paris and London for the outfit and necessaries. I d£ not go on to Paris that day, nor the *.’Xt; I stayed to make love to Julie. I called it making love. She thought It was love, poor little Norman dy maiden! The next thing there was a wedding In the village; a friend of Julie’s was married to an Etretat fish erman. We danced until morning. The clang of the wooden shoon and the merry laughter of young and old came back to me last night like a blight bb that song with its sad merriment took hold of my heart and memory. I stay ed in the village for two weeks. It Was a happy dream, but the dream of a fiend who had stolen Into paradise. I promised to return. I never meant to do so. Her hot tears fell on my hand at parting. I went to India. I dis covered that I loved her. She was In my mind always. I hated other wo men. I shunned Intrigues that some of "Ours” would have given everything to be In. I was In love. I Wrote to her. No reply ever came. Perhaps she could not write. Perhaps her letters mis carried; for we were worried about from post to post, as you know. Her face, her black eyes, her pouting lips, j her wooden shoes,—by the Lord, from | head to foot the pretty little woman ( sank deep Into my heart. She was the one creature In all the world of whom I was continually thinking; always with a vow to go back to her, and to do her the Justice that my selfish love had only prompted when I was far away from her.” He paused, rose from bis chair, and walked about the room. I encouraged him with some friendly words. "Five years had gone when I sto™ once more on the Normandy Jetty. The sleepy old fishing smacks were there, the peasant women in their wooden shoes, the sailors and fishermen, the flapping sails, the sea creeping laxity along the coast. Where was Julie? Our hot work and my bruised heart had changed me out of knowledge. I looked for Julie, I enquired for Julie. People shook their heads. At last an old woman, as she sat knitting In the sun, told me how five years ago a yacht had anchored there; how the noble English had generously treated the vil lage; how the brutal English had ruin ed Julie Perreyve, the prettiest girl on aB the coast; how she had trusted the English honor; how she had waited for Milford's return: how she had sat on the Jetty's edge looking out to sea: how at every village dance and festival she had sat a silent spectator: how she had faded out—how she had died.” My old friend's voice trembled with emotion, but he poked the fire again; and, looking into the smouldering em bers he went on with the story that had burnt its memory into his heart. "No Indian bullet could havd hit me so hard or so cruelly as that story of Julie's sorrow and death; and when Terese sang those words last night It seemed to me like an accusing voice from the grave. “But they are gone, a weary while, ah me! | And he, my own. came home no more from sea. The sea looks black, the waves havs all a moan. And I am left to sit and dream alone.” As If to hide his emotion, he had opened his desk and brought out the song as he spoke, lying the familiar printed copy before me. “By heavens! old friend, it needs no hell In a future state to punish a man for the wrong he does in this!" he said, flinging himself into a chair. "A man must be a good fellow to feel that,” I said. "It is kind of you to say so,” he re plied, “but think of the ruffian he is to begin with! Well, when I heard the story of Julie’s sorrow and death I did not speak for some minutes. Then I put money Into the old woman’s hand. 'Take me to the place in which they have burled her,' I said. I looked down upon the poor little green mound and the wooden cross. It seemed as if my heart split in two.” "God help you, my poor friend!” I •aid; and took his hand In mine. "You may well say so,” he answered, "you may well. There is a streak of light In the tragedy. I went back to the old dame's cottage. 1 sat down to talk to her of Julie. I wanted to learn everything about her. It was now a welcome penance to hear of her devo tion, her sorrow, her martyrdom. A clatter of wooden shoes rattled across the floor of the adjoining room. Then a childish voice called out 'Grand mere.' The next moment a fairy In wooden shoes came bounding in, an in fant rising five. The old woman took her up and kissed her. 'This Is her 1 child,' she said, turning to me.” " 'Whose,' I asked, with a Joyous 1 fearlessness." ” 'Julie's,* she said. 'We call her Terese, the little English lady.’ “ 'My child,' I said, trembling like a woman; 'my child!' And even that hard Normandy grandmother pitied me when she guessed how much I had suffered.” He sighed, and then facing me said— " That Is the bar slnster on the escutcheon of Terese Ernstone. I ought to have confessed this to Hallam before I permitted him to speak to Terese. It was In my mind to say something to j him about It. when he should have had the answer he expected from Terese. But what I meant to say was politic, not the whole truth, a sort of half-con fidence, intended to speak of the hum ble origin of Terose's mother; no more; hut now I am going to confess all—to show him the entire blemish on the birth of the girl he wishes to marry, to share with me the bitter secret. What will he say? What will he do?” "Admire and love you, as I do, for your big heart, your manliness, and your honor.” I said. “Ah, I don’t say honor, my friend, but repentance, and the desire and In tention to atone for a wrong are good. Hallam must make me a solemn prom ise that whatever happens he will never let Terese know what I shall tell him. He Is master of himself. What will he do?” "Whst his true heart dictates,” ] said. "He is coming here In an hour. I shall tell him this story of Terese as his secret and mine. You and I share it first. It is not our only confidence." "You know you may trust and com mand me.” I said “I know," he replied. "The priest of the little village was very good to me. I have tried to de serve and to reward his kindness. The tombstone bears our names. Julie's and mine, as man and wife, the date of our marriage, the day of her companion's wedding at Etretat.” "You will tell Hallam all this?" "All!” he replied, resolutely. "You are right.” I said, "whatever may be the result." “If you can spare me this evening, dear friend, do; come to the club at half-past slx:want to talk to you; dine at seven. Always yours, Hallam." This telegram was awaiting me when I reached my chambers at five o'clock on the day of my serious and Interest ing conversation with Colonel Ernstone. Father and prospective son-in-law had had their meeting. That was clear. Hallam wished to see me on the result. Had the lover proved as self-denying as I predicted? I read his telegram over again It seemed a cold message after what I knew must have occured. "Come and dine and congratulate me," would have been more In keeping with a dinner to discuss a young man's forthcoming marriage. "Come to the club, I want to talk to you." suggested, "I am In a difficulty and want your advice." It Hallam. even at the sacrifice of his own happlntess, had declined to taint the bright history of his race by an alliance with Tom Ernstone's lovely and Innocent daughter, no high moral ist would blame him; nor could Ern stone complain. While I dressed, sauntering deliber ately over the operation, I found my self defying morals, social authorities, and all the world In the Immediate In terests of Hallam and Terese. Tnen I wondered If In having due re gard to the happiness of bis child. Era-1 •tons had not yet been wrong In mak- / Ing his confession to Hallam. His i penanoe now presented Itself In n Be* j light to me. Was It not a selfish hing? Had not Ernstone discovered that it was necessary to his own peace >f mind? Was his confession not as much a matter of personal comforl and religious concession as an act of honor and honpsty towards Christo pher Hallam? And would It not be a noble act of self-denial on the part of Hallam for family reasons to forego the happiness of making Terese his wife? Between these speculations and my own anxiety for my peace of mind and of Ernstone and the future of his daughter, I went to the club in a more or less melancholy frame of mind The famous street was crowded with carriages coming and going from the Row. The sun, travelling down to the west, was flashing with silver harness and shining equipages. On the pavements there were many Idle pedestrians "on pleasure bent," as well as people on varied missions of business. The shops were gay with their dain tiest wares; and yet the sad refrain of the Normandy ballad was in my mind, and my thoughts were with my two dear friends at Hampstead. It was a calm night in April. The London season had set in with great promise of gaiety and distinc tion. I walked down Piccadilly and real ized for the thousandth time the de lights of Its sunny side. Was Tom Ernstone's one of those secrets that it were best not to dis close? Or If disclosed left only for the information of posterity? It is no good thinking of arguing any question on a logical or moral basis, if your feelings are deeply engaged In the controversy. I found Hallam sitting In a corner of the Parthenon library, near the great window that looks upon Picadilly. He was watching the long lines of carriages that flashed past. In bright and showy colors, with pretty women and gallant men, ehjoying the leisurely recreation of the afternoon drive. He did not see me as I entered the room. I thought he looked more than un usually handsome. He was in evening dress; hut he also wore a loose, light overcoat, and his crush hat was in his hand. He had evidently walked to the club and gone straight Into the library. He was a stalwart, well-built young fellow, with dark-brown hair and a silky brown mustache. His mouth came within the physiognom ical description of generous; but he had a strong jaw and a close, well-knit forehead. His eyes were grey and full, and his countenance frank, open, an l of a fresh healthy comolexlon. "Ah, Joe,” he said, smiling, and rising to his feet the moment he saw me, “it Is very kind of you to come. I felt sure you would. What a superb day. I have ordered Just the dinner I think you will like; we two. I have a great deal to say to you. Sit down." He gave me his seat and took one close by; then he drew the great club •curtain so that It partly screened us from the sun and shut out a section of the picturesque traffic of the street, leaving the budding tops of the trees In a kind of stipple of green against the warm evening sky. "Congratulate me,” he said, taking my hand. "I am the happiest fellow In London.” I felt a load suddenly lifted from my mind. I breathed freely once more. “Terese has accepted me; Ernstone has to-day given his final consent, and we are to be married In June.” "I congratulate you with all my heart. Tom Ernstone Is as worthy a fellow as his daughter Is beautiful." “And good," said Hallam. "I don’t think It is itosslble for a girl to be more desirably endowed—beautiful, ac complished, clever, modest, and with n strain of that Normandy race in her pedigree of which we English folk so often boast. I wanted to say this much to you, old fellow, before wr dined, so that we can talk freely h! table without worry, or what you clever writing fellows call emotion." "You are always thoughtful for others,” I replied. “I didn’t want to bother you over dinner with my feelings, to spring a sort of lovo-confession upon you; not good for digestion; so I simply remark that, the world to me just now Is the happiest invention imaginable; that I am going to marry the loveliest girl In It; that I know this will delight you as my friend, and hers, and these points of enthusiasm out of the way I want to ask you to be my best man; and over dinner to consult you about my plans and the programme whien Ernstone has laid down for me and Terese. more particularly as regards the wedding Itself.” The remark about Norman blood set me wondering whether Ernstone had really told Hallam all he had told me. Over dinner I found myself somewhat harrassed more than once by doubts and fears In this direction. “We are to be married In the little village of St. Valerie, In the valley of Les Ifs, that runs down from the sea from the Pays de C'aux; and our break fast and other ceremonials and festiv ities are to take place at Etretat. I)o you know the country?” "Not well,” I replied; "I have been to Etretat and Trouvllle; but I only know the prominent places along the coast.” "I know the whole country and the people,” he said; "have yachted In those waters; I remember at Etretat they would not let us bathe In the deep sea without a boat In attendance. A fine primitive race the flsherfolk. There Is a quaint old Jetty at St. Valerie: and a cluster of red-tiled houses that remind me of some of our bits of coast towns in Yorkshire. Our friend, the Colonel was married there and Terese’s mother lies In the little churchyard. Don't care for churchyards much, or I should no doubt have seen her tomb. Ern stone has placed a memorial window In the little chapel. I like the Idea of the wedding being out there Immenaely. What do you say?" “Oh, yes,” I replied, "It is delightful; almost romantic.” "Almost!” exclaimed Hallam." I think It Is like the best chapter out of a good story; we shall go out In Horace Sin nett's yacht. He wants to sell It; I havs wired him that I will buy It, and asked him to send hls captain to me at once. Terese did not say much, nut she was more than pleased with this Ides. She has not been in Normandy since the left It an Infant Ernstone says the priest of St. Valerie and the good father at Etretat are both hls friends; and that he le Indeed In away Lord of the manor of St. Valerie, owns most of ths little place In fact and that both church and people will take part In the L general rejoicing.” , "Ernstone told you all about bis . marriage then?" \ “Yea. in the transit way." "A certain division or Yorkshire \v rather jealous of his foreign allien said, interrogatively. "Jealous is not the word for it. Th made a mystery of it: even went so far as to suggest a scandlc; hut Ernstone settled that in his own manly way; he knocked Lord Trlnder down and called him out. My dear friend. Terese brings no shadow uron the Hallam escutch eon; and in her sweet Innocence, hv Jove, if she did, it would make no dif ference in my love for her and the honor i should feel In giving her my name and associating the family of Hallam with the fighting house of Ernstone.” After dinner we went Into the smok ing room, and as we were continuing our discussion of the arrangements for June, which comtemplated my vis iting St. Valerie and Eiretnt, in walked Tom Ernstone himself with a rose in his button-hole and happiness In every line of his manly face. “I have Just left Terese at the opera," he said, shaking hands with Hallam “In Lady Tremont’s box. Said X wou'd tell you. Thought I should find you here. If you would like to go. X will Join you later; I want to have a chat with Joe.” “My dear Colonel, you are too good," said Hallam. "If I would like to go! Will you excuse me?” Of course I would. “A fine fellow,” said Ernstone, when Hallam had left us. "You can’t Imag ine how well he behaved this mornig." "You told him all?” "All!" he said. “All that you told me? But of course you did. The question occurred to me really for the pleasure of hearing you say so. and saving you the trouble of telling me what you had said.” "In telling him the story, if I exten uated anything It was not my own villainy. But I wished to add for your own information—for I want to make .vou a trustee under the marriage set tlements—that In ease of the possibility of any question arising in the future, I have left my property in such away that there can never be a doubt of any kind about Terese's Inheritance; and It was with the advice and consent of the church, that I inscribed upon the tomh-stone at St. Valerie. "Julie, the beloved wife of Colonel Ernstone,” and before Heaven she was my wife; for t had had no other; nor could have de sired one more unselfish or true. So now, dear friend, you and Hallam know the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, and the village of St. Valerie is part of Terese's mar riage portion.” From that night to June seemed a long time to the lovers, hut to those who had charge of the chief arrangements for the wedding, and the home-coming in Yorkshire, the days flew all to rapid ly The happy month came in due course. "It was the time of roses." How Tom and Terese and I first sailed in the yacht "Julie” to St. Valerie, where the bride was to be married from her father's house near the Jetty; how the vessel lay off the quaint old pier, and the fishermen were welcomed aboard her by the trim English eaplaln; how I returned home to meet HallHin nnd accompany him to Normandy; how the wedding morning dawned soft and sunny; how Terese had for her brides maids a troop of Normandy maidens; how Etretat and St. Valerie had never seen such rejoicing, such dancing, may be better imagined than described. I sit In my lonely chambers In London trying to realize It all over again for the puaposes of this story, and have to regret Prat the pictures are already be ginning to fade, the music to die out, the merry making from first to last I drifting back Into a past but pleasant memory. I remember how we sailed away with our happy bride for the Yorkshire roast: and with what de monstrations of honor and affection she was received by Sir Christopher's tenantry in the tender north, and how she bore the honors of her position with true nobility, and the sweet mod esty that was ever one of her most delightful attractions. To-day. neither in Yorkshire, London, nor across the sea "In fair Normandie" there is no happier couple and none more honored than Sir Christopher and Lady Hallam.—Joseph Hatton. With he I'umiv People. 'Turned down again!" exclaimed the gas, when the lx-st young man called. —'Philadelphia, ltecorder. • • • • "Blamed If I see any fun In having to put up at a hotel," muttered Blinker, to himself, ns he handed his watch and chain over to the clerk as security for his board. —Buffalo Courier. • • • • A girl Isn't going to be married soon If a number of g, ntlemen call on her on a Sunday afternoon. When any thing serious is in prospect, all the men except the one who is in earnest drop oft.—Atchison Globe. • • • • No matter how good the deacon Is, he will always look wise and pleased If anybody suggests that he was a pretty lively young fellow when he was a boy.—Somerville Journal. He—l could believe that this was one of mother’s own pies, dear. She—could you really, darling? He—Yes; It tastes as if It had been made about ten years ago.—Chicago Inter-Ocean. • • • • He—How does It happen that none of you women have come forward with a new currency plan? She—Oh, we have • perfect one. When we want currency, we Just sit down and cry for It.—Wash ington Star. • • • • Despite tbolr defeats the Chinese seem to be preparing to celebrate. A despatch from Shanghai says they are "ready to treat."—Burlington Hawk- Eye. • • • • He—l never smoke a cigarette with out Shirking what a fool I am. She— And I didn't know before that there was any virtue In el garottes, at all."—De troit Free Press •• • • ‘Talk is cheap,” observed rhe man who believes in proverbs. "Humph!” replied the man who doesn't. "That remark shows that you never hired g lawyer or rented a telephone."—' Wash- Inton Star. •• • • Pupil— ls not the word "together” tl the phraae "banded together" superflu ous ? Instructor—Not at all. A per son's leg*, for tnstance, are sometimes bandied emit. You Kt the difference? —Boston Transcript. •• • • Cholly—l trust, Mies Sharpe, that Shaft you don’t think that when I met that dog I ran away because—aw-bk oauae I was afraid T lflss Sharps (gen erously)—Oh, no indeed. If any on* was scared It should have baas Uu dog.—CtofWfco Record. Arrival and D partnre of Trains. LEAVE FREDERICK 5:16 A. M., dally, for lia I Philadelphia and New l ora mill except Sun ay for Lexington „... . ‘T. ) er - '"'own and way stalk ns. lf:W A. M., dally, lor WH-hhutnii and wk uta- Ilona, riillHdelpliluaml N-w York. M„except Sunday,for Baltimore end principal way stations, Philadelphia and New York. y IfcPi A. M. except Sunday, for Washington. Philadelphia, New York, Keyser, la-xing ton, 11 age• stown and way stations, Chicago ami Piili-biiig. 1:15 I'. M„except Sunday, for Baltimore and O ,ehuloni., Kin adelphia and New York, *• M • fkcept ■ inula\, lor Harper s Kerry. Mar lushing, Culm eriand, i inriiinati ana M ImiiH, Washington, Philadelphia and IWu i ork 4.00 P. M , Sunday only, for Washington and Ht I touts Chicago and lh* 4:3U I*. M„ dally, for Baltimore and way at*> . tioiiK ri.iladeinh.a and New York P. Mexcept Sunday, for Washington, Ha- \\ IncheMer and way Mationa. Plttohnrg. i'liicagt , Philadelphia and New i ork. AKRIVR AT FREDERICK 6:50 A. M.o except Sunday, from Baltimore ax* way HtatioiiK. B*6 .a. M„ exceptHunday, from Winchester Hagerstown, Martim burg. IMUaburg. ttt. Loulh Cincinnati anc the West. 1 M., except Hunday, from Baltimore. Philadelphia. 11::I0 a. M.. Sunday onl>, fiom Washington and way stations, HI. lx)uit,ihicagoand the eat. 12:20 P. M„Sunday only, from Baltimore and wh' stations. !:50K M„ except Sunday, from Philadelphia, Washington, 1 ledmont, Hagerstown, Lex and way stations, Clncln uati, Ht. Louis and t hicugo. 3:45 P M , Sunday only, from Waahlngtoa and Way stations. * 8:51 P. M„ except Sunday, from Baltimore and way stations. :45 P. M., except Sunday, from Washlngtoa and wa\ stations, Plilla- elphla and New „ “ rh i. p * ,l burgand ( hleago. j. n i It** 1 11’ 1 Monday, from Baltimore, I ifiladclphia and New York. :!. P. M.,except tsuudhy from Cuinberlan 1, Marih shmg, Lexington, Huge slown, a.in h M J way Hat lona and Washington! °- siatii if " la - v - ibon Baltimore and way WESTERN MARYLAND RAILROAD. Taking etloet Sunday, November! Alh 1890. Leave Hlllen Station as follows: ’ DAILY. 4.10 A. M.—Fast Mall for Shenandoah Valley and Southern and Southwestern points, also Ulyndon. Westminster, New wind? aor, Union Bridge, Mechanlcstown, lilus Ridge, HightlcTd, Hagerstown, am. ex cept Sunday, Chambcrsburg, Wayne* boro , points on B. ami C. V. li. R Mar tinshnrg, \l. Va.,aml Winchester, Va. DAILY EXCEPT SUNDAY. 7.15 A M•—Accommodation for Uettysbun aiid all points on B. and H. Illv. and Ma n Line east of Emory Grove, Ml. „ Holl'Springs and Carlisle. 9t A. M.-Mail for Williamsport, Hager* t wu.Sli ppensburg and is.lnts on Main i *" M,l<l .?• and C. V. R. !., also Fred -1 erick an Emmllsborg. 11.00 A M—Accommodationfor, Union Bridge. Mt. Holly Springs and Ca? i 12-00 A. M.—Accommodation for Arlington. . • for Emory Grove J-U > M.—Express for Arlington. Howards vllle. Owlngs s Mills. Ulyndon and al points on B. and H. Division 4.00 P. M.-Kxpress for Arlington Mt. Hope, Plkesvllle, Green Spring Ji notion, (lw ingssMills,St. George's, Ulyndon, Glen balls, Unksburg, Patopsco, Carrollton, Westminster, Avondale, Met ford, New Wimlsorniid Main Line Stations West also Kmmttsburg and B. ami C. V. R R ' Shenandoah Valley It. R. and points South. JJ® !’• M.—Accommodation for Emory On.ve Jr® J,- M.—Accommodation for Union Bridge lr P. M.—Accommodation Air Emory Drove. SUNDAYS ONLY. Accommodation.—BXo AM. for Union Bridge and Hanover. 2.30 P. M.—Accommodation for Union Bridge, 2.00 P. M.—Accommodation for Emory Qrovo, 10.05 P. M.—Accommodation for Emory Grove TRAINS ARRIVE AT HILLEN. Dally—6.2B P. M.—Daily (except Sunday) #.SU. 7.40j8.42, 11.10 A. M. 12.12, 2.10,5.10,6J0, 7jj Sundays 0n1y—0.07,10.20 A. M. and #.15 and 0.10 P. M. Ticket and Baggage Offlee 20,5 East Baltimore street. All trains stop at Union Station, Pennsylvania Avenue and Fulton Stations. PEN NS YL V A NIA RAI LIBIA If— KKKDER ICK DIVISION. Schkdi-lk in Kmcr Novkmiikh 20th, 1894. "f” Slops only on notlee to conductor at agent, or on signal. Foil Pllll.XDEl.ri] 1A ANI) TIIK EART. , WEEK DAYS - ~ Lillies Him Coin soßTiiWAKi). York tt.wn • ver nibla Exp. acco. Mall. Arc Exp. u. in. a. m. . m. p. m p. m. Frederick, .../aj 7.00 „ 800 Walkersvllle 7 IH 8 15 Woodsboro I.'/1....... 8 21 BrucevDle 744 ..... 845 Tneytown 767 ..... 35g Llttleslown #.lO 815 4.17 Hanoi er #.25 8.35: 210 485 Inin Ridge f B.4#!i 247 f 4,42 Spring Gmve... #BB 8. 8 2.56! 4.5 M est Y0rk...... #6B 016 815 f 6 If York 7.05 7.50 0.251 3.25 | 516 Hievund. f 750 f 088 f 8.38 f 604 Campliell ! f 8.05 f 988 fß3lt 630 Helium I 808 041 8.42 6.8* gtonr r If Sl2 f 0.43 f 3 4# f 5.57 Wright-vllle 7.271 8.20 9.51 8 651 6.45 Columbia ...Ar 7.80| 880 10H0 4.05 1 656 Lam-a Mer 8.! 9.08 10.25 4 36, 6.4| Philadelphia.... 10 20| 11.45 12.17 V6o| 9.45 1 ~ a m.l in. p. m ip. m'p. m WEEK DAYR. . I Han- I 1 litis SOUTHWARD. News over i York town, Exp. Ace. Malll Ace. Exp. a. m. a. in p. m |> in. p. in. I . ■ Phlladeli lila,Li> 430 8..'0 12 25 2.44 440 Isi muster #.35 11(8) 2.85 #:) #4O < nlumbla 7.10 |i.HO 3.05 #lB 7.00 ! Wiigntßvllie 7.20 ll.Ssi 8.13, 0.2# 7.1* , Stoner f 728 f 11.48 f# 20 f # :*l 11 el am... 7.32 114# 8.24 #42 1 Campbell f 7.34 f 11.48 1 8.27 f #44 Hlesland r7.871M1.63r3.831r #SO York 7.58, 12.00 8.45 700 7.16 West York 8.03 12.06 8.50 7.40 Spring Grove... 8.2• 12.25 4 10i..._ got Inm Ridge I 8.321(12.52 14 18 ........... f B.la Hanover.. 8.48 1 12.44 4.82[ 82D Littles tow 11. 9.0: ! 4 52: 8.5* Taneytown 9.26! S.!6i ......... BruceV' lie 9 40 5.4 n W isslslsiro 9 :’8 66# Walkersvllle,... 10.08 805. Frederick Ar 10.25 H.;0l ■ a. m. p. m. p. mi p m p Trains leave Hanover lor Gettysburg al 9.4* a. m., 12.45 and 6 43 p. n. week days; returning arrive at Hanover from Gettysburg at 9.20 a. 111., aud 4.22 p. in week-days. TKAHfS I.EAVB YORK VoB THE NORTH. r I*B6lllo and Northern Express, dally I#4a. m. . News Express, dally .lOAI a. m - Niagara ► xpiessand Mall,week davslo...xa. in. I Chicago Ex press and Fsst Line, dally ISA p. aa. Chicago and St. I onls Express, dally 0.20 p. m. Western aud Southwestern Ex p.dally 10.38 p.m. For time tables and further Information ap ply to ticket agent at the auttlon. • 8. M. PREVOST, J. K. WOOD, General Manager. General Passenger Agt A Rare Opportunity! Tuseaanra Farm’s great trio of B'aUbms SKA KING (Hire of Loul* Victor. 2:2SM.and o*ll M. 2:28)i); MONO ACY,record 2 IkW.and KitfTO. neon 1 2:;'(fe, will 11 ake the season of 1896. at •26.00 each, thus meeting the time* and all purses. For Catalogue apply to C. U. DxGAKMENDIA, Jan.K-U Do°^,M --• NO.