Daily Wabash Express, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 14 November 1886 — Page 3

I-1

LEFT.

'On (avaiy road aim* railway trams To tarn tfeeir wheal* began, At every station 70a will ees

A solitary man. Si« btu la damp with beaded sweet, Hh heart with woe 1» oleft H'jst earnestly he wants to go,

The aaa that's alwaj left.

If the train dae at 3 p. m. Should wait till hn!f-pa»t 8, There'd

be

one man nms dawn to go

Jnat thirty secimdd late. [Railway Mag-sine.

iSQ IE':

NQVBlx

By CHAP.LOTTB BBABME,

Ai,. "i.'JR or "rO*A THOKKK."

CHAPTER LXIV. "THE SECBET."

Xiord Damer did not raise hi* wife ft horrible fear came over him. Was this how innocent women met so ahameful a charge? He had believed she would tower above himjn her indignant pride. Sej had expected an outburst of fxiry,tand she la* crouching on the ground at his feet.

He looked at Hope, and the two who loved that prostrate woman BO dearly stoed'gazing helplessly at each other. "Hope, my sister," said Lord Damer, at last, "can yoa explain this to me?" lot she, too shrank frem him. "But," said Lady Damar, "I—I am not guilty. My hands are free from the stain •of murder as^your own. I am not guilty but, on the night he died, I was there at the little gate with him." "Oh, Florence—with him ''Yes," she replied, "on that night, when you perhaps believed me sleeping, I atole from the house, and met him at the coppice-g«te, at the end of the limetrees." "I cannat believe it 1" cried Lord Damer. "You, my wife, to meet a young man, a stranger! Florence, you are either mad er dreaming." "I am neither, Oh, Hope!" she wailed, "my sistei, tell him I was really

"Florence caver epoke falsely she is not dreaming," said Miss Charteris, sadly. *•1—1 went to meet him, Karl he wanted to see me, and wrote to rne to oame. I meant no harm, had r.o thought of murder or of death. I waa talking to him, and I remember seeing that bracelet on my arm as I steed by the gate," on," said Lord Danser "keep •othing from me, Florence." "I cannot tell you how long I was there, for the time passed like a terrible dream, and I was speaking of some one —some one I love, when, Karl, through the silence of the starlit night, there came the sound of a shot fired close to at. Before I had time to look round to cry for helo—oh, Karl, the horror of it! —the warm blood seemed to cover me,, and he fell againgt me, dead! If I realize that moment, in all its terror, I shall die, too." "And then?" said Lord Damer. "Then," she continued, "I knelt down ty his side, and raised his head. I saw by his face what had happened he was even then dead." "And yen heard nothing? Yeu have ao elewf Yon saw no one?" "No," she replied. "Before the shot mi fired I was wrapped in the horror of what he was saying after, I thought of nothing." "The bracelet fell "from your arm •then?" said Lord Damer. "I Bhonld imagine so," she replied, •with the calmness of utter despair "I do not remember I did not notice it I have not missed it. When I saw that he was dead, I believe that, between fear -and drfad, I went mad. I can rememW (tying through the lime grove with the dreadful fancy that the dead man was running after me I can remember, too, ringing for hot water to wash those terribl" stains from my hands. Karl, I never thought of these things rising as proofs against mo I only thought of the raorror of the stains." •"My poor Florence," he said, gently, "it is terrible!" "I am sure I was mad," (he continued. "All the long night after was a blank horror the only idea that came clearly to my mind was that my hands must be freed from the terrible stain. can tell you no more,Karl. Ihavenc er missed the jewel—I had. not thought of the dress—who did that terrible deed—who wrought that cruel murder on the threshold of our home—I am as ignorant as jou." "Why did you not trust me, Florence? "When yon came back to the house, knowing the murder was done, why did you not come to me at once? Why not trust sue? I should have known what to do. 3 could have saved you the agany of this cruel suspicion. Why did you not ti ust me?" "I dare not," she moaned "I was mad,

Xarl, iuid I dare not There was a secret, indif I had told you of my meeting VithhinaTT must have told you why." "And because you conld not trust me, Florence, with yonr secret, now all England will kno»-it. To clear yourself, you will have to tell how you stole from my roof to meet this man and, to verify yonr story, you must tell way you so went. Oh, my wife! why not have trusted me?"

Her only answer was an outburst of such weeping that his heart was broken to hear it. "Florence," he said, raising her tenderly in his arms, aad kissing away the tears that fell lifee rain, "I know your secret! Yo* area heroine. You area heroine, my darling—a true-hearted heroine. You w*nt to meet that young man to screen and save your sister. Look up, sweet wife! there is no need far tears, no need for shame. Yeu have sacrificed yourself for your sister, and she haa accepted the sacrifice."

He held his wife in his arms, he clasped her tightly to him, he kissed her face, •ad then turned, with glowing eyes, to Hope Charteris. "Mop*," he said, gravely, "I will not reproach you, but was it well or kindly dene to let the whole burden of vonr girlish folly fall on this beloved head I know your secret, Hope! It has been tld to ma by these who hate tried to hnnt down my wife. I know that years ago—alas! that I should have to say such words to yen, whom I honored among women—yean ago you became the mother of the young man we know as Vomer Elster. Nay, Florence, do not tremble, sweet. You have never failed in love or duty to your sister the has failed in allowing this. the«burden of her secret, to fall on you.'

A low ery from Lady Damer, and Hone Charteris looked np, with the light of imiia in her face. "Hnsh, Florence," she said "your hnsband has the right to blame me do not interfere, let him speak to me as he will." "It is no secret now," said Lord Damer "at least, to me. I can understand the whole of it. That unhappy man had found ont the secret, and he naturally

tried to make the meat he conld of it Perhaps he did not succeed with yon, Hope, eo resolved trying upon your sister. Florence will never betray yon, I know but you could not look me in the face ant deny that it was for this she went ont to meet him."

There was hardly a struggle in that noble soul, save such as ever takes place between honor and truth, when tbey come into contact with falsehood.

She had given her life's care to this sister it seemed little to add, as she had dona before, her fair fame and womanly repute. .,

She looked at Lord Damer with pathos he must bave been blind not to see. "I do not deny it, Lord Damer," she 3aid, gravely. "I own to you that it was about this meet unhappy secret that Florence, my sister, went out to meet Robert Eister."

CHAPTER LXV. GOABED TO B«TBATAL. Damer was exceedingly dis­

Lord

pleased. He was so far angry as to for get to notice that the figure in his arms had become a mere dead-weight, and that the face his lips still touched 1 cold as death ifrelf—too angry to notice that the idilizad wife had fainted when the smart of her pain became too great to be borne. "You should have trusted me, Hope,1 he said, gravely. "As a matter of coarse, I-have no rights, either of relationship or influence, over you hut you did wrong to keep this secret from me."

He did not understand the quiet dignity of her attitude as she replied: "Ye?, I have done wrong, Lord Warner no one feels it more bitterly than mj self. See! Florence has fainted. Lay her down. She is not strong enough for such eceneB as these."

But he drew his wife aside as though that loving, sisterly touch had something of contamination in it. He laid her down, and drew back the golden hair from the white face. "I will not reproach you, Hope bat she did believe in you so entirely, to lose her faith must be like losing her Ife."

So answer from patient-Hope. She was thanking Heaven inher heart, and hoping that she might bear the brunt and blame of her sister's sin as loDg as she lived, for Lord Damer himself had no suspicion of his wife—she saw that very plainly. He quite believed in the mistake made by the clever detestives, that Yerner was her son.

Oh! if that mistake could but lost, and Florence live the jest of her life free from sorrow and blame. "I would so gladly bear it, she said to herself, "if heaven, in its mercy, will only fhield Florence, I have, no hnsband, no childred, and she has both.'

Yet no woman living cared more for hei fair name than Hope Charteris, who for her sister's sake, would so gladly have laid it cown.

It was a scene for an artist the beautiful jman lying in that dead swoon, the drooping figure of her sister, BO full of kindliness, of pathos and of heroism and the tall, stately husband by her side, who would fain have ordered, even from her unconscious presenee, the sister he no lenger believed worthy of her love.

When Hope would have touched her, would have kissed her white lips into something like life, he waved her half impatiently away. "Hope," he said, gravely, "considering I am you sister's husband, that you have lived under my roof as one of my own, that the honor of my name and race has been, in some measure, intrusted to you, I have a right to ask you to tell me the truth of this stoey."

She bowed her head with a meek dignity that touched him. "You have every right," she repeated, humbly, "to ask me what you will." "Then tell me," he said, "is this story true Are you the mother of this yonng man whose coming among us has heen like a cuise?-' "I cannot answer you," she replied.

His face flushed and hia lips quivered. "My wife is the purest of women," he said "my daughter a young and stainless child. Hope Charteris, are you orthy to associate with toem? If you will answer ljo other question, at least answer this: have you betnmarried?"

Perhaps he mistook the deep flush that crimsoned her face for guilt he looked at her sternly. E"L-ord Damer," she said, humbly, "you have every right to question me I must implore your pardon in that 1 cannot answer you Ah believe me, I would if I could. "That is answer sufficient," said Lord Damer, sadly. "Oh, Hope! Hope! I would rather," far rather, have seen yeu dead than thus! Oh, Hope! you must leave my wife and children! I cauld never bear to see you with them again! You must go from the home where you have been honored as woman never was before!'' "You are right," she said, gently "I will go, Karl." "I have no wish to pry into your secrets," he said "but Hope, I should, for TOUT own sake, like to know how it was. Did you marry unhappily? Did you marry beneath you Were you deceived, ill-treated, or fiightened? #r was it worse—were you betrayed? Trust me, at least, so far."

But thopgh the kindness of his words touched her, and brought the tears into her eyes, the had no answer for him. "You Aill not trust me, then, even so far, Hope?" •'I cannot," she replied next to FIOBence, you are dearer to me than anyofle else in the whole world, but even to you I cannot breathe one word of the secret." "It is to me," he said, slowly, "as though one of the brightest stars had fallen from heaven. I cannot believe it. I could rather hare balieved all creatien false than you."

They heard a low voice saying: "Hope, mother and sister, ceme to me."

Karl," she said, "Wo have been true brother and sister. You have cared for me, and I have loved you. You have sent me to-day from your house forever see, I, who never knelt to mortal before, kneel to you now, and pray you leave me five minutes, ten minutes, alone with Florence before I go. You will not say to me that I, who have been sister and other to her all her life, cannot be trusted with her now. You would not insult me so far."

No, he could not he tried to resist, he tried to say that women with guilty secrets should hold no communion with honorable women but as he looked at her the cruel words died on his lips.

He could not tell how it was—she locked in that moment more like a heroine than a guiity woman whose life's secret had just come to light. "If Floience wishes it," he said, "I will go I will give you ten minutes—no longer."

And Lord Damer left the sisters together, with no less of pain than if he Had just laid Hope in her grave and bur ied her,

Once mora alone, it was Hope who knelt by her sistei's side. "Florence—Florence I" she cried, wildly, "try to understand me. Oh! my darling, do not look, do not tremble so try to "follow what I am going to say ta you. I did deceive you, Floy I told you that your little baby was dead. It was for your own sake, love, not mine it was to give you, in yonr fair young life, another chance it was to hide your weakness from all men, and let you live beautiful and beloved. I had no other motive. That baby boy did not die, Florence be has lived to be aa yon see

him, beautiful and gifted. Floy, my darling, can yon forgive me! Will Tpu pardon me It was for you I did it! "I do forgive you," whispered a sweet voiced "You were always kindest and wisest, but I did not know he, Verner, was my son." "You have never told me your secret,

-since mystery but let knew, Florence, there was no hope or chance of your h^ppy settlement Ufa if it wtreknosra that you, so young ana beautiful, were the mother of_ a living child. That you might retrieve your lost position, darling, I took upon myse.f the charge of the child. I placed hi in where I knew he would be well nursed, and the seerot of his parentage most faithfully kept. From a distance I have watched over him, and have done all_thftt I could for him, still for your sake and DOW, my darling, your 8©crefc issfifc fitili, owing to what I have told you, everyone believes that I am Verner's mother, aid yon are osfe."

But Florence was looking at her wi'.n vague, dreamy eyes. "You-cannot hear the burden, Hops Am I so mean or so base as to let yon suffer for me?'' "Bat, Floy, you must. Oh, damn? be reasonable if the trsth be told, J*" an honored wife, a mother blessed and revered, a lady looked up to anu

wor"

shiped—you will lose all. Your husband must curse the dav he saw you your children lose uot only their love and faith, but the world'3 e3teem. Would you break Hcse's heart, and how Charlie's head in bitterest thame? Ob, my sister, because I am aloce iu the world, because I am strong and hive nothing to lose, let us keep the secret still, and let Verner pass as my son aad not yours. Will you grant my prayer?''

CHAPTER LX1V. "YOU ARB HIS MOTHER

Lady Damer looked up in surprise at seeing her hnsband accompanied by a strange woman. It must be remembered that she herself had never seen Jane Bister. Jane had spoken of his mother, R«b had done the same, but she had never felt any great interestin the woman whom the had heard only as the mother of two sons utterly dissimilar. msthing in the tragical aspect of this woman atrtck her at once—the white, rigid face, the dark lines round the eyes, the Compressed lips, the yearning sorrow, the unutlei able wee—a frca Each as must have been seen among the women ef Egypt lamenting thfir first born.

Hepo Charteris looked up also, and from her white lips there came a cry of terror and surprise.

She would fain bave clutched he hand that sorrowful mother, and offered ker all she had 011 earth to keep tier from sayisg the words that vreie trc-uiblirg on her lips.

Bat Jane Eister looked neither to the right nor the left thera was in lu-r manner such majesty of woe, that, DO matter bat the had clone, no oue would have interfered wiih her.

She went np to Lady Damer. "What have I done to you," she asked, "that you should make me this cruel return? I have nursed your child, and you have laid my home bate, waste, and desolato. I have worked for yonr honor and your safety. You have slain my son, robbed me of the only love the only love, Heaven help me!—that I had on earth. Why have you done this cruel deed?"

Lord Damer listened in horror and amaze his wife looked up with clear eyes into the tortured face. "Dou are quite mistaken," she said.

I declare before Heaven, that I never wronged your son, never injured him in thought, word, or deed." "You did!" cried the hapless mother. "You have slain him between you, because he discovered your secret. You have slain him, that you may preserve a fair name and high standing, that men may honor you when you do not deserve honor. Fcf this yau have slain my on'ly son."

The two sisters looked hopelessly at eaeh other. "My heart tells me I am speaking truthfully," continued the poor mother. "Who should slay him? who has any interest in his death, save you His death preserves your secret, and so you have let iiim die."

[iT

"Oh, no?" cried Lady Damer, "I would rather the world should have known than that you should have lost your son."

Then Hope laid her sister's head on the pillow and kissed her pale, sad face. She went up to Jane Elster and laid laid her firm, cool hand on the bursing, trembling hands af the mother. "Jane, you will regret Bome day what you are saying now. You are beside yourself with sorrow, your grief has deprived you of all reason. Why should my sister harm your son "To keep your secret, to prevent him from batraying her. I have always heard that to a fine lad^ human life is but so much dross."

But," interrupted Lord Damer, speaking for the first time, "vou are quite is error, Mrs. Elster everything must be pardoned to one who has such sorrows as your#. My wife, Lady Damer, has no secret except her sister's. It is of Miss Charteris you are speaking. She is, I believe," the mother of the youDg man who has always passed as your son."

Then the three women looked at each other, and Florence, Lady Damer, hid her face in het hands, with a low moan. "Hor»e," she whispered faintly, "'it has come."

Jane Eister laughed bitterly. "They have deceived you my lord you are rich, and yon are noble they have deceived you. The lady you call your wife—this cruel, beautiful, false woman, who slew my sen—is the mother of Verner Elster. You may believe me

I have no object in deceiving you." Those who saw him in that iro raent never forgot the expression of his face, the horror that seemed to fall like a chill over him—a stately tree struck by lightning and blighted in an instant, "Impossible!" he Baid at length, with trembling lips. "You are raving—you do not know what you are saying." '•I am speaking the truth. Lady Damer, who slew my son, is Verner's mother."

Lord Damer looked from one to another. His wife, the fair woman, so peerless, and of whom he was so proud, crouched far from him, her face hidden in her hands. Jane Elster stood there, like some accusing spirit Hope, with the light of heroism and self-sacrifice on her face, stepped forward. "Karl" she said, "you must not heed that woman's words I tell you sorrow has driven her mad. I plead guilty to you—Verner is my child."

Even as she spoke the lie that she hoped would save her sister, Hope's kindly face lushed with deepest shame. "Blame me," she continued, "blame no one else blnme me for keeping my secret from you. Blame me for the young man's death, only spare my sister—spare Florence!" "What am I to believe?" cried Lord Damer. "It seems to me that I am involved in a web of treachery and deceit." "Believegme," said Hope, qnickly, •'vou will repent through yeur whole life if you give eredit to any other words than mine."

Jane Bister's voice sounded clear and grave. "Believe me my lord I have no object in deceiving you. If they had not •lain son I would rather have been

torn into a thousand pieces than hare betrayed them. When I Hf Lady Da-

Hope attempted to apeak, hat Lord Damer

Baid,

gravely:

"•o en let me hear alL" "I took the little babe, aad my heart warmed to him. I looked at his mother. She was bnta irl—slmoet a child—lying dying there, aad I took the little hake to lier I laid it for half a miakte ia her arms, but she was qalta aaceMCioua. She moaned all the time that her haby, her little baby, was dead, and I said to her sister:

How young she ia to have been married and left,' fer they told me, my lord, that her husband was gone abroad. "I took that littl9 child home, and he hss been to me as my own ever sit ce. My lord, in return they have slain my son." ., "Karl," said Hope, "she is raving. Ah for Heaven's sake, kindly Mad her away she will poison your mind, and them my Florence will die. Send her away, ©ive her men :y—give her all she needs but do not, for the mercy of Heaven, keep her here. Then blame me. curse me, :f you will, when she is gone."

But the voice ef Jane Eleter seunaed clear and distinct. "I have spoken truthfully. If there reBts the least doubt on nay word Beod to Eiversmoad and summon Dr. West. He what the world calls a gentleman no one will doubt his truth. Send for him." "Karl," whisneted Hope, "send her away. I have the first claim en you tejitve me, for heaven's sake."

Her voice grew hoarse and faint. She stood before him, her hands clasped in supplication, her stately figure bent, her f3cs so full of the agony of entreaty, he was at a loss what to say.

I mus1 know the trath^ Hope. Heaven koows I would fain] believe yon I would fain believe this peor, bsreavad mother to be mad. But, Hope, Hope, there is 6uch method ,in her madness— here is somsthing that savers of truth. No woman would dare to come forward and tell me such a tale ef my wife aaless there were some foundation, even though that very foundation were a mistake. Let me know the trath now, at least." "Send for Doctor West," Mid Jane Elster, gravely. "Nay, I will go to one who may have kept a secret from me,t bat who has never, I will swear, deceived memto one who loves and trusts me. Florence, my wife, I come to you."

He crossed the room tojwhere ihesteod, her face still hidden, har stately figure trembling like the leaf of aa aspen tree. He removed her hands^ fraai her faea, then clasped them ia his own. "Florence," he said, "I will aot take another's testimony on what concern* yeu I will listen neither to those whe accuse or those wko d#fe®d you. I WK you simply for the truth. Is what this woman ssjs true? Are you Ve?nei mother?"

There was a moment of hushed silence, PO intense, so deep, that he could hear his heart beat, then slowly the sunk on her knees at his fs8t, and laid her face oa his ands. «ut is true, Karl—heaven help me!—I am Verner's mother, and not Hope, as you have heard!"

CHAPTER LXVII. LADY DAMElt's SECRET.

The wordn sounded clearly and distinctly in (he deep silence—they were a death-knell to Lord Damer. He had kept his faith iu her until the last he would have utterly rejected any other testimony, save that of her own word. His last hope died within him as he saw the kneeling figure at his feet.

A sudden sense cf what she had done came over Jane Elster. In the madness of her grief, and thirst for revenge, Bhe had not thought of this the kneeling wife and heart-broken husband seemed to give her a shock that restored her calmer and better feeling. "My lady," sho cried out, "what have I done?" "That which you could not undo if yon lived forever!" said Miss Charteris. "Stand aside! I grieve for yonr grief, but you have betrayed ns, and 1 leave you to vour fate. Ofi, Florence, my siser! for whom I have lived, for whom I have sacrificed the dearest wish of my heart, look up, I am near you.'.'

For she saw the golden head drooping lower and lower. She hastened to her 8is'er, and took her in her arms. 'Just as I did years ago," she murmurmy darling, when you were left to a motheiless babe—when you wera .Ule, loving child. What have I ever liired as I love you, Florence?"

N1 mother trying to console a child con Id have been more tender, more loving while Lord Damer stood by with a look on his face no one had ever seen there before. "I am a man," he said, "and men must not complain but my heart is broken!" "Karl," said his wife, "send her away— that woman who has betrayed us—send her away, and I will tell you my story perhops you will not hate me when 1 have told it, for I have not wronged you I have never loved anyone as I love you, Karl—you wili believe this "I fcill believe anything you tell me, Florence."

But something had gone from his manner ,at she had never missed before— something like warmth from the sunbeams—and the change fell upon her with a chill worse than death. She turned to Hope and hid her face, like a tired child, on that true breast "Tell him, Hope," she whispered, '[to send her away. I cannot speak to hi while she stands there gloating over nsover the ruin she has made. Let her be sent away."

Lord Ditner had heard the whispered words. "You have acted for the best," he said, "yon have done what you thought right, and this is the result. You mnst let your vengeance end here. My wife may have kept a secret from me in that respect you are right but she has never injured your son in that respect you are quite wrong—time will solve the mystery must ask you again, let yoflr revenge end here. Do no more harm to these unhappy ladies. Do not make the story of their sorrow public. Will you leave us, and remember what I say T"

There was something i& hei face as she turned away, that showed her heart was softened. She would have fain gone' then to those unhappy lb^ies, and asked pardon, that she had betrayed them— pardon for her madness, her suspicion Bnt they seemed to have forgotten her, and Jane Elster passed out of the room with the bitterness of death in her heart. "She is gone," said Hope Charteris "thank Heaven for that." "And now, my wife, now that we are alone, will you tell me what yoa have to say

But Lady Damer was weeping as he had never seen her Weep before—a passionate torrent of tears that had in tnem no healing, no hope. Her slender figure shook with long-drawn, violent seba. "Hush, my darling," said Hope.

But, at the sound of her sister's voice Lady Damer only wept the more. "Florence," said her husband's grave, kind voice, "I do not wish to hurry you, but time is pTecioija— will you teil me what you have to say

She flung her arms round her sister. "Kiss me, Hope," she cried "that will be your farewell to me. Yon have hew

T'

mother aad frkad—you have been everytkiag to«e. After I have told what

mer fint she lay ill. atthevwf tetoii, yoa wiH love me no more." Tether story was told with Hope's laving arms aronnd bar with Hop-'s loving lip* eareaung her and. though she broke the heart that had been her safe shelter, Hope did not turn from her. "How am I to begin?" she cried, wildly, looking fiaaa her hnsband to her sister "what am I to say?—what words will tell yon most fully of my cowardice, my—my treachery I can only plead to you, for heaven's lake, be merciful to me, for I was very young, easily influenced, and he laved me so dearly. "Ah, Mape! Karl may forgive me yon never can. Never was sister so devoted, so loving, so self-sacrificing as yon never were lore and devotion so cruelly repaid. "Years ago, sister, ifhen I was left a child to yonr charge, yen had a lover— the only man yon ever cared for, a handsome man—who afterward became one of the leading statesmen in England, and, for my sake, yon refused to marry him, that yoa might the bet'er devote yourself to the motherless child left with yoa. It was so was it not, Hope "Yes," was the quiet reply. "I loved him, Floy, very dearly but it seemed to me that you needed me most" "Listen how I repaid you, Hope," she continued. When Thornton Marchmonat was first yonr lover, he was then only eateriag the arena of politics he loved yon very mnch, and, in despair at losing you, threw himself, with the whole energy of his soul, into the struggle." "Yes," said Hope, quietly, "and I was so proud of him. 1 nsed to read his speeches, to follow his career with such interest but I would never see him,

death. Doctor Wert, if Aiverimead, was by her side, and Miss OhKteris g*va her little child to me to

Floy I mistrusted myself I thought the old love would master me. When he wrote, after we had parted, and asked me if we shonld befriends, I told him it was better for my parpose, better for my happiness, that we shonld be apart."

Her face grew sof as she said the words a light they had never seen there came upon it. "He was my hero, Floy," she whispered, "and, now, I may say I worshipped him." "When I was just sixteen, Hope'-' continned Lady Damer, "I remember going one day to a drawer where you kept private papers. There I saw a portrait, the portrait of a handsome, fair-haired man, with a frank, debonair face—a face that looked as thongh it were made purposely to .be loved. The eyes seemed to smile into mine as though we had a seerei in common, and the lips looked as thoagh they would speak to me. "I looked at the back of the picture there was the name—Thornton Marchount. I went to yea and asked yeu who he was. Yen only turned sadly from me, dear, and said a friand whom yen had lost and should never see again. After that, Hope, I read his name in the papers, I re-.d his speeches, nnrt knew that of all the master-minds in England, his was the grandest. "ih, sister! can you ever forgive me what I have to tell?"

The loving arms were not withdrawn from her but over Hope's face there came a deep, passionate sorrow. "Floy," she said, "it is not of Lim your story. Sav, dear, it cannot be of him?"

But Lady Damer clung more closely to her. I know yoa will cease to love me," she cried "bat it is—my story is all of him. Oh, Hope 1 how I have deceived vou! Looking back, it seems to me that have beea mad."

There was silence for a few minutes. Hope Charteris, with white face, knelt, holding the trembling figure to her heart. Lord Damer looked from one to the other, not knowing what to say. "Do you remember once, Hope," continned the pleading voice, "that I went with Mrs. Standish to Brighton?" We were there for a whole month. Yeu always said, dear, that I was strangely silent over that journey, and the reason was because at Brighton I met him. "Forgive me, Hope, if every word I say mast stab your true and tender heart. I would die with my story untold, bnt that, for Karl's sake, I must tell it. "I met him one evening when we had all gone on the pier. I did not recognise him at first, though the fair, handsome face was strangely familiar to me. All that evening, Hope, he spent by my side he never left me his eyes never wandered from my face. I had not distinctly heard the the name, and it was not nntil the evening was over that I knew he was vour lover, Thornton

Ma^phmount, and then—then he said the mischief was done." 'fo bt Oniinutd in the Sunday^Exprets.

LIFE AT A GERMAN BATH.

Health Seekcra at the Homburg Writs— In the Concert Boom. Fortnightl Review.

Life at a German bath begins early. At 6 a.m., or 7 a.m. at latest, themajoriy of health seekers walk down to Homburg wells to take their prescribed quantity of rater. The scene then in this cnarming valley is interesting and lively. The long alley leading from the Kaiser to the Elizabeth spriag is thronged with people of every age and nationality, all slowly parading up and down, listening to the music of an excellent band near the principal well, thus shortening the intervals necessary between the single doses of water. At 9 o'clock the environs of the springs are nearly empty every one has hurried home for breakfast. After a pause of pleasant rest the remainder of the forenoon is generally employed in the ase of the baths, which are crowded, often overcrowded, in fact, from 11 to 1, at which time lunch again empties the streets and calls visitors to the different hotels aad restaurants.

The afternoon is employed in different ways. English visitors flock in large numbers to the lawn tennis ground, one of the finest in Germany, splendidly sitna ted ia the middle of the park, and carefully kept in order by the administra tion. Others prefer excursions to the mountains, where there is much to interest and amuse and no one will omit a visit to the rainB of the Saalburg, an ancient Soman "castellum." Between 4 and 5 o'clock the neighborhood of the springs again grows lively many patients now take the:r afternoon dose of water, and now, just as the Elisabeth well was the most frequented in the early morniug, the greater number of visitors are gathered aronnd the Ludwigs-brun-nen, or the iron waters, the Luisen and Stahlbrnnnen.

After dinner, which takes places generally at 6 or 8:30, the kursaal forms the center of attraction. It is a splendid building, the survival of days when the demon of play held high rebels in its gilded chambers,all of which are spacious, the diaing room especially, which is remarkable not only by its size, bgfcjorthe artistic and tsstelul decoration. Music enlivens tho scene: there aro constant performances by military bands in the kursaal gardens, er, if the weather is nnpropitious, in the concert rooms. Balls and dances are of frequent occurrence, an opera company givea special perform aneee in the theater, and all but the com plaining chronic invalid may be as joyous as they please. Only the hours are early: »t 11 or soon afterward, certainly before midnight^ all Hamburg has retired to rest.

Layer cake ought never to be set away on a plate, but on something with a flit surface. If you bave nothing better, turn one of the tin jelly-cake tins bottom side up and put a white psper over it put the c»ke On it until you wish to cat it

1

WOMAN AND HOME.

"Why do

MOB WOMB

t"

An English writer has propounded the above question, aad has given aa answer, which, at list glance, appears to proTe that there are grounds sufficient. He admits that poets have said flaer thiags about women than about anything else that woman is toasted at banquets (where they regard the festivities from a asfa distance) with enthusiastic cheers that the days of coartship are the sweetest in a man's life. Aad yet beneath all he perceives a fierce, implaeable and lasting hatred. He qualifies this, however, by explaining that it is paseible fer men to *hate women and still have espe eial regard for some exceptional representative of the sex. Business men and railway conductors, it seems, most dislike and suffer most at the hands of the better half of humanity. According to their verdict, from wlich, apparently, there is no appeal, the faults of women are not intemperance, dishonesty, immorality, or a tendency to gamble these a/a the harmless idyncrasies of the lords of creation. Their offense is the annoyance they cause through inability to valae time: their habit of fretting over trifles and their failure to comprehend plain statements after repeated instruction. No court condemns a criminal without giving him a hearing, nor can the prejudiced Englishman pass sentence upon women withoat first giving them an opportunity to defend themselves. In the first place, since the beginning of time, the whole method of training and educating women has been radically wrong. The tendency has been to surround them on every side with restrio* tions calculated to crash every instinct of independence and self-reliance. Their speech, manners, oondact and mental training have all been cultivated to one end, and that is, to the development of eSeminacy, which is another name for weakness and inefficiency. They have never been taught, as a class, to value money, which they ate iacapableof earning to value time which is its equivalent. Yet the same women, within their own domain, the one which they have been trained to fill, are prompt, efficient, patient and industrious. The power to do things and do them well, where there is ordinary intelligence, is latent in Ike nature of every woman. This has been demonstrated a theasaad times when worthless husbands are providentially removed, and it devolves upon the widow to straighten out his tangled affairs, and maintain the children fer whom he failed to provide. There is aohesitaaey, no dilly-dallying, and no blundering. I can call t9 mind a doaen sach in«Hic?s, women who are, today, carrying on the business of Ui ir bn?bands, who are mana in shops, an ms, are teaching, writi- g, b-.ok !.-ppin -, ing with an earnestness that has bill -d ii the noblest of all virtues, that of se!f 10rificing faithfulness. If womcr have been thrown upon their c* sources aie timid and embarrass' nd do foolish things in their timiui and embarassment, it is because the\ have not learned wisdom through experience, the only way in which can be attained. The future is full of promise. Within fifty years the world will utilize feminine ability, which it has always scorned, or accepted under protect, and we shall hear no more about men hating those who are as clear-headod and as steady of nerve as themselves.

MART H. KEODT.

Personal.

Mary Anderson says her entire fortune is invested in America. Bosa Bonheur has received a wild mustang as the latest addition to her Fontainebleau menagerie.

Baroness Burdett-Coatts is to accompany her husband on his tear to this country, planned for next Spring.

Mrs. Black, widow of the late Jeremiah Black, is to spend the winter months with Mrs. Hornsby in Washington.

Mrs. Parnell says she will probably never return to America. The fatigues of an ocean voyage are too mnc'i for her.

Mrs. Sherwood and Miss Kate Field are said to be two of the very few literary women of America who drefs well and with taste.

Miss Alice J. Sanborn, formerly of Freeport, 111., has been elected superintendent of the schools of Brule county, in Dakota Territory. In 1883 Miss Sanborn graduated from the Wisconsin university with high honors.

Mary Eanis, who died in Philadelphia recently, was 101 years old, and uniil juBt before death maintained her mental faculties remarkably.

At Queen Victoria's table, there are three servants to every six guests. When the meal is finished, her majesty is the first to leave the room.

Mrs. Folsom, the president's mother-in-law, will reside iu the White House, it is said, as long as Mr. Cleveland is piesident. She has no other home.

The late Baroness de Rothschild's legacy of §120,000 to the poor of Paris has been increased by a further contribution from her relatives of $130,000.

Ada Sweet, of Chicago pension office fame, appears to have taken several foreign editors in, as they speak of her as "the leading poetess in America.

Mrs. Lillie Davereux Blake considers it "delightfully inconsistent that a statue of liberty embodied as a woman in a land where no woman has political liberty."

A call wa* issued for a meeting of southern newspaper women ct Greens boro. N.C„ on November 3, for the purpose of organizing a Southern Women's Press association.

It is denied that Mrs. Grant, the wife of the late general, has been impaired in health since his death. She is said to be contented and cheerful, and takes an active interest in everything that is going on about her.

The death of Miss Mary Cecil Hay re moves one of the most active and industrious women cf letters from the ranks, Her pen was never idle, and, though her novels were not in the first flight by any means, yet tbey pleased a large circle of readers. She was one of the brightest and most sympathetic ef women, with a keen, kind eye. She belonged to family of sisters, who regarded her with tender admiiation and studied her com fort and convenience in every "possible way, so that 6he bad advantages in her daily life for her work in the freedom from domestic cares &uch as most literary men, but few literary woxen, enjoy, One of her little pecnli .riiies was that she did not care to bs 1« "M'ss." She requested her friends i-vn to ad dress their letters simply to "M Cecil Hay." New, Prttl and Styllah Ad ramcnts of the Season.

Eucalyptus is the most artistic shade of green new in favor. The fashionable tone of yellow known as the Cleopatra.

Jewel flowers attached to dark velvet leaves will be effectively worn in the coiffure at evening entertainments.

The linen chemiset will be superseded in cold weather by those of erepe and thicker materials. These will have very high collars.

Fashion shows a decided preference for either all black or white, or a com binatiOn of these in the handsome evening toilets for the winter.

The old-fashioned veila adjusted to the bonnets with springs have keen ravivod

this fall. Thiy are -.'1'i] the Princess veil, and are like those u? by enr grandmothers.

Plain skirts without trioiG'ing around the bottom are still gaining favor. These are generally of a heavier rraterial than the drapery and boiico. Velvets and corduroys are much rued fc.* underskirts.

A decided departuie in tho combinations of colors is noticeable ia tho new goods. Heliotrope mouse, terra cotta and Rold, nsiv! tores ami brilliant yellow, are a^tn jnic'cup together in the no^t fashiosable COJ!nines.

Light gloves for not only full dress entertain mer. if. but si fer tl street costumes, aie dcci.!«-d!y li.u new thirp this season. The cf wearier white or pale earl glows to '.lie Ihea er will bo otie of tho nex departures thi* winter. tl!rtadyt»om-: cf the nl'rfs h.\v intaoduccd them on the reet.

The all-imporWci subject at i-nrent the "fill bonnet.To le a in i.i- cci mnst be of velvet, as this to ie'.iit fashionable uiaferial of the The newest way to trin the bri :i hats or bonnets is with graduated b?.l s* 1 feath crs, matching in •. 1 theft a e-s on the main part, wlr'c' *re mos iy s-'iff wirjs intermingled with osprey,

J?jas will be the r.cme of fdihion in furs thrs winter. These were a!*rar» gaceful and doshy, and their return will be hailed with dviight. A new feature •f them is to have the muf attached to them at the waist line. One very nobby set to match a b!ue velvet costusae was of blue fox fur, with the muff attached, and on the latter a spray of bine buds was secured like those on the bonnet.

Some of the newest bonnets have soft crowns of velvet gathered to the centre like a German student's cap. Wings, high and Etiff, are all the rage, piled immediately in front of the bonnets. Nearly all the new hats and bonnets ate literally covered with ostrich feathrs. Some are entirely made of them, aui have pieces of fur to represent the breasts of birds. Others have nine or a dozen tips, with an aigret of esprey.

Hoaceboid Hints.

In using cloves for pickles or preserves, the blossom end should be removed, as this darkens the liquid with which it is cooked.

A little bag of mustard laid on the top of the pickle jar will prevent the vinegar from becoming moldy, if the pickles have been put up in vinegar that has not been boiled.

Catnip pillows are now considered moie soporific than pine needles, and young ladies embroider appropriate mottoes on the covering of this new fad for norvoas people.

French Mustard.—Put an onion to soak in a cap of vinegar, let stand three *v, strain nnd add ono teaspoor.ful each "s.iit, sugar, and cayenne pepp^, mustard to thicken, and boil five minutes.

Pillow shams, window curtains and even bed ppreads are made of the Japanpaper napkins for use in summer cottages. Gummed lightly together they make a fabric which is pretty and airy looking for these purposes, and which is eo cheap that it may very well be thrown away if slightly soiled at the end of the season.

Tea Cakes.—Mix for fifteen minutes four egg? with half a pound of sugar, half a grated nutmeg, and as much powdered cloves as will lie on the tip of a dinner knife. Then add half a pound of dry and sifted flour and mix thoroughly, have a greased or waxed tin, drop a tablespoonfal of dough at intervals upon it, and bake a pale brown in a moderate •ven.

Lemon Pudding—Line a deep dish with sponge-cake baked in thin sheete as for jelly-cak&or, if not convenient, with pie-crast rolIeS"very thin. Fill with a mixtare made by thickening one quart •f boiling water with tour tablesponfuls of lice fiour. Add to this the grated rind of one lemon and the juice of three, quarters of a pound of butter, and sugar to taste.

Scalloped Codfish with Cheese.—loak a pound of salt codfish in tepid water, theu boil it. When cold, pick into flakes with a fork and seavon with pepper. Heat a cup of milk to a boil, stir into it a tablespoonful of butter rolled into a prepared flour mix with the picked fish, and pour into a bakedisb. Stew grated cheese thickly on top, and bake in a quick oven to a delicate brown. It is yet nicer if you add a raw egg to the mixture before cooking it.

Mrs. Claveland's Social Assistants. Minneapolis lvening Journal. Mrs. Cleveland will have some lovely young ladies inside the cabinet circle to assist her in her reception this winter. The Misses Bayard will appear very seldom in public, but their places will be filled by the Misses Manning, Endi cott, Vilas and Lamar. Miss Yilas is hardly a debutante yet, but will be allowed to take part in the festivities in

a limited degree. Miss Manning, the secretary's daughter, who is "just out," is quite attractive. She assisted her stepmother at her receptions last seasoD, and was quite popular. Miss Endicott is a full flown society lady now, and is verj elegant nnd stately ia her manner and movement.

The prettiest une of them all is Miss Jennie Lamar, the debutante daughter of the Mississippi secretary. Her mother died over two years ago, and she has been living with her married sister in Memphis, Tenn., until this fall.

She is 18, tall, graceful and bright. Her hair is golden and her eyes riclihued hfizel. Sho has the gentle ways and tender, poetic expression cf the eunnj south. She will be the belle this winter, and will present a charming contrast in blonde points to Mrs. Cleveland as they stand in line-to receive their fellow citizens. ____

What aa Egg Will Do.

For burns and scalds nothing is moie soothing than the white of an egg, which may be poured over the wound. It is softer as a varnish for burns than collodion, and, being always at hand, caa be applied. It is aleo more cooling than sweet oil and cotton, which were foimerly supposed to be the surest application to allay smarting pain. It is the contact with the air which gives the extreme discomfort experienced from the ordinary accident of this kind, and anything that excludes the air and prevents inflammation is the thin| which should be at once applied. The egg is considered one of the best remedies for dysentery. Beaten up slightly, with or without sugar, and swallowed at a gulp, it tends, by its emollient qualities, to lessen the inflammation of the stomach and intestines, and by forming a transient coating on these organs, to enable nature to resume her healthful sway over a diseased body. Two, or at most three eggs per dav would he all that is required in ordinary ejuss and since eggj are not merely a medicine, but food as well, the lighter the diet otherud the quieter the patient is kept, the more oertaia and rapid the reeover

Drjlic Table Lines.

Always take tablecloths from the line while still damp, repeating the shaking aad snapping process as long as the time and strength will'permit. II allowed to become entirely dry on the line there will be wrinkles in table linen that it will be difficult if not impossible to iron ont. Caie must be taken as to how they are hung up in the first place. Do no let them be dragged all out of shapj bv hanging from a single clothespin or being thrown over the clothes post, making

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a projectirg corner that it will trc next to irD( -Mb!e to get out withonl wetting the 'oth all over. When they have been ih' ronshly shaken join thtflg, evenly on straight, firm line. Tatr# care that the pics clean, anl the lifcff as well. T!y fci-.onid never be allow 4 to whip or lisp in very high wic4a Fine linen is o/uy suiousfy injured l.p this. A quiet' day n»d a r:ght

SUE it

the best time for 'oii'B np fins goods af this sort. Never ory tiiem ii Jn-rs or l-T the fire if it- can be avoided, i'iiey caa 1 not 6mell fS r'«n and have "thee*quisifo odor 1f clean clolht that famous knight of old prcferi.-J to el! other perfumes.

Timely Suggestions

Philadelphia Sunday News. 'l Literature, the world around, see nr. a it be a fair field for women—if th'y woiil:i co:.Unt to enter before the ci t(, vork iheir way up irrespective of theu -ex.or cf any special domestic tror.tdi, 'hat w:s iu be annoying them. In h?* sort's, if tfcey wish to stand shoulder tc .'.or.ld with their brothers, receive man's pay for a man's work, they shou'd b? con er also to take the risks and expect the hazards, precisely as theii brothers are compelled to. So that, af tev all, it seemB to me the first thing our gi'U should be taught is the necessity of selfreliance for their own support, the necessity of a training 1o some special end, precisely as a boy is trained for a special end, and then go ahead with the under* standing that their vork is a life's worh, into which matrimony, if it comes at all, comes as a divertant, an aid, a help.

Mors l'ocket* lor Women.

A Dressmaker's Tnik. Why should fashion dictate tha' a woaian should have one tiny pocket hid somewhere in tl.c 1 laits of the dress, SJ that she often has to ask the dressmaker to find it, and carries her purse in he« hand rather th?.u bother herself to look for it? A man may allow himself twelve pockets. He knows where to find, his watch, his purse, cr tickets, handkerchief, cigars, ticket?, and can even stow away an opera glass, a box of confectionery and a pocket pistol. There should be a more evet^distribution in this matter, and the women allowed six good sized pockets at least.

SURPRISING THE ENGLISHMAN

Banker IS ale ton's Hospitable Efforts to Make the Young Fellow's Visit PtfSSaut. Ban Franeleca Post.

In the Kalston days, when Belmont was ia its glory, and its profuse hospitality was the talk of the country, a a young Englishman of title called upon the banker with letters of introduction from the American minister in London, an old.friend of Kalston. Of course he was invited to Belmont. "Rather a flue place, you know," he remarked to Ralston, as his host toted him down to Belmont "but some of our fellows who were out here have told the most outrageous stories, you know, about California—your bears and immense regattas, and ail that sort of thing—sol imagine, you know, that they have been hoaxed. By gad, Mr. Ralston, I have been all over the world, and it would take a pretty wideawake fellow to hoax me, don't you know?"

During this conversation Mr. Ralston registered a mental oath thatr if money or influence could produce that widawake fellow, he would be forthcoming before the termination of that nobleman's visit. At Belmr nt were assembled a few choice spirits. Leaving his g'jest in charge of one of them, Ralston at once cfJled a council of war.

This Englishman must be fooled," he said. "Now let us put our heads together and give him romething to talk about when he returns to the London clubs.."

The private wire was busy that evening, and a close carriage was seen to meet the next train. No expense was ppared to make the Britisher's stay in every sense delightful.

Wb^n Ralston and hisgusets snuntered into the dining room the Englishman opened h'seyes and stared in bewildered astonishruent at the table service. And well he might. The bottles were of that coliossal size, holding half-gallons, which ihe beer and wine men use for advertising purpwee. liovf, by Jove, you Callfornians mnst be a thirsty lot," eaid tte Englishman.

I never saw such bottles in my life." •'Oh, nonsense," said Ralston "don't vou have that etze in England? used to have them when I lived many years ago." "That siza! great heavens, no.' "Well, here gees, anyhow. some champagne:" and the butler, with impassive face, opened a half gallon bottie of fizz, the cork going off like ihe explosion of a rifle. As the dinner progressed tbe^ guests plied the Britisher with the most marvelous tales of the lawlessness of the country the bears, lions and antelopes that roamed the neighboring hills, and everything, in fine, that the most fantastic imagination could invent. It was arrauged to have he hou'.e attacked that night by outlaws, hut they feared the lord might get suspicious, so that scheme was abandoned. A deer hunt was decided upon for the next morniog, and a fishing party for the afternoon.

1 hey there,

Teter,

The party were out before daybreak, and the lord was stationed near a mile

ranch,

and instructed not to stir un il

one of the hunters came to fetch him. When be wes proparly planted the others returned to the house, for the hunting grounds were not a mile away, anil a loosed themselves until noon with layinc new pluns for tl© delectation of their victim. Meanwhile, though the poor foreigner did not 86© & d©€r( hs shots about him at intervals, and wheu he was informed that the run was over, aad that there would be no more shoeing that day, he was taken back to the hause. ,. "J am awfully sorrv you did not hare better luck," said Ralston when th» ingusted Britisher appeared. "Our fell did fairly, vou see," and he pointed to the carcasses of half a dozen deer Iving on the piazza, which had arrived from tbj market by the morning train. "Didn't you really get a shot? Confess, now, you blazed away at a stag or two and missed." "Stag! I assure you, my dear U'Uow 1 didu't see a single beast," protest kI Ibe 'mortified nobleman. ., "Well, never mind, never mind, i:«l his host "we'll rte how the fishing ians out."

The fishiafs took place in a poni ii"Sr thehcuse. Bat whila every in tl.-e pulled out trout, salmon, and "-u rock cod, not a fish came near the Eng uhnan's hook, thongh he angled wiih the most indastrious persistence. 'f .urfo the San Francisco fish market had '"i .-n guttad to permit the supplj, and ao claverly wars th* fish attached iu i! haoksand h»nled into the boa's with shoats and s•'•*' ine* that his lordship had »ot the faintest idea that he wai t. ing most unmercifully hoaxes. T.e rock cod staggered hi a little, but Sals ton explained this I'r statemeat tht the lake waa conne .i 1

ocean

by a subterranean strvn. VU.ea every" fantastical hoax hal IVJII e:hHlisted Ralston accompaniel hU victim to the city and saw bim h-otcwa.J bound. "By jove, Mr. Ralston, hiu a/e a wonderful country," raid the RriHs ier he bade his host good by. "I tell you it will open the eyes of those fellows at home whan I give them a history of this visit." —.

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