Daily Wabash Express, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 29 May 1887 — Page 3

ROYALTY.

Oat from the dut of MM, Oat from the wrack

at

hours.

yeen,

fronting tha work *f sages, Vronthig tha waste of tears, Bediant, swift, immortal, •scth flings tha aoal of MM,

iid

shuts tha radiant portal That bids* orsation'i plan.

•era, with the gate behind him, Here in the narrow path, Frorting the anna that blind hiaa,

Froc ting the wind* of wrath, Man, with hia head uplifted, if^«i) with hif hair outbloWBj •irila and strong, and gifted,

Builds for himself a throne.

lay that tha grave i« waiting, Bay that the ihroud ie white, gay that tha strength of bating

Owneth no victor's might Karth, from the cvolss golden, Holds for the life coJiptota Bloeeoma and sunlight golden,

Bed lips and kisses sweat.

Whose are the ohains that fetter! Whose are the awords that bite* Masters, and yet no better

Than men who braTe the fight. Barih hath no royal raoea Crowns, yea. and swords most brsek When in the hidden faoaa

Death finds the hearts that qoake.

Why fear the pain that passes?

lio

1 birds will always sing

Yea, and the vernal grasses Waka with eaoh waking Spring And from the ailent sleeping

Strong crow the weary eysa. Bra oomta the upward sweeping. Far through the distant skies.

Fronting the years that lengthen Like Gome recurring ohain, Boole in life's oombat strengthen,

Conquering death and pain Battling in Ood-like fashion Through waya that none have trod, Biae they, by nobl» passion,

Up to the hights of Qnd.' [Thomas 8. Collier in Cleveland Monthly.

TMalwotaSii

Br CHARLOTTE M. BRAHMS,

Author of "Dora Thome."

CHAPTER XVIH.

She was roused from her heavy trance of exhaustion and grief byaknock at her dr.or. It was one of the housemaids bearing in bar hand a boquet of beauti* ful flowers—"From Mr. Daroy." Tba girl looked in wonder at her young lady'j pale faoe and heavy eyea. "Tou do not seem well this morning, miss," ahe said. "I have not slept," returned Hyacinth.

Bnt the few words put her on her guard. She bathed her face, rearranged her hair, and changed her dress, though the weight of misery lay like a weight of lead upon her. Then Lady Vaughan, thinking that sto waB tired from tha •motion and shock' of the previous evening,,sent word thav Miss Vaughan had betw,r

wni|lin

i" her

*wn

room

The

*or 'ew

hapeleas *lrl was thankful

for the resputeShe looked SO terriWf ill, so ghastly pale, that, wheil Pincc»ft brought her breakfast, she started is BLV*1"There ifl nothing tbe ma. tter, said Hyacinth, "butthat I did notsk *P well. Pinoott went away only half satit fl«d.

Hyacinth managed to obtain v1

k.

1

r®"'

'rain w"**1''

1d"

secure a passage and cross. She could take the mail train from Dover, and reach Loadstone so as to be in time for the trial.

Wlf

u,

At ten that night she must go. She had run away from home once before. Then she had been blinded, tempted and persuaded-then she had believed herself going straight into the fairyland of love and happiness but now it was all chanced. She was running away once mote bnt this time she iraB leaving all the hope, all the happiness of her life be-

wss'well for her that the the dull stupor of exhaustion fell over hej, or the pain she was suffering must have nn£ her. She did not know how the time passed. It was like one long, cruel dream of anguish, until the summons came for luncheon. Then she went down stairs. Adrian was not there— that was some consolation. She looked auickly around the room. "How could I look on his face and live, knowing that I shall see it no more7" she said to newelf.

It was like a horrible travesty—the movements of the servants, the changing of the dishts, Lady Vaughan anxiety about the cold chicken, Sir Arthur complaint about the wine,

while

her heart

was breaking, and Claude lay_ in the prison from which she must free mm. Lady Vaughan was very kind jo her. She expressed great concern at ttemg her look so ill—tried to induce her W eat some grapes—told htr ihat Adrian wss coming to dinner, and would bring soae friends with him, then said a few worA' about Claude, pitied his mother, y« blamed her for not bringing him np better, end the ordeal was over.

Hyacinth went away from the diningroom with a faint, low moan. "How ah all I bear itT" she said—' how shall I live through UT" It was two o'clock then. How were the long hours to be passed 7 How wss she to taw the torture of her own thoughts? Whither could the go for refuge? Suddenly it occuned toner thut she had no money. How was ahe to travel in Sngland without some?

She did not give herself time for thought if she had, her courage would have failed her. She went to Sir Arthur's room and tapped at the door. The tremulous, feble voloe bade her en ter. Sir Arthur was writing some letters. She went up to him. "Grandpa, I have no money—and 1 want some. Will you give »e a lltt e,

^HtTlooked at her in surprise- she had never made such a request to him before. "Money, ohild," he repeated—"of course you Bball have some. You want to boy seme trinkete—eomething for Adrian. What shall I give you-^ten—twenty pounds?" "Twenty, you a

He drew a smalt cash box near to him, and counted twenty bright sovereigns into her hand. "Five more, for luck!" he said with a smile. "Alwsjs come to me when you want money, Hyacinth."

She ki£*ed him—he was eo kind, and she had to lesve him eo soon. "Good girl," he Baid. "You will be very happy. Hyacinth, Adrian Darcy is the noblest man in the wide world."

She turned aside with a groan. Alas! Adrian Dsrcy wss to be nothing to her— in this terrible future that was coming he would have no place. Then she went to her own room, and sat there mute and still. Pincott came to drees ber, and tbe girl went thrcugh her toilet mechanically. She n'ver remembered vhat drees she wore. The maid asked •emething about it, and Hyacinth looked np with a vague, dreamy expression. "It does not matter—anything will Ao," she said, almost wondering that people could think of such trifles when life and death were in the balance. ''There has been a lover's qttawel,'

«9«wnc:.•»*«.'tr**»*

--A: »•«'•»*w V^»fvp-ryw^rr*Wr*K?.r

thought Plneott, "and my young lady doea not care how hs lows. When the bell rang Hyaeinth went down. How ahe suffered when she Wad in her lover's faoe and listened to his voles, kimwing it was ier the last tims I She did not even hear the name of friends, when they were introdVtoed her. She sat wondering whether any one living had ever gone through Buch torture oefone—'wondering why It did not kill her said then it seemed to her but two or tbcee minutes before dinner was over. Mr, and Mrs. Vernon-*-two of the visitors—suggested that they should go into the groands and Adrian, delighted at the chance of a tete-s-fcrte with Hyacinth, gladly consented.' In after vears she liked to recall this last interview. "Let us walk to the waterfall," said Adrian. "I shall have a phcrfegraph taken of it. Cynth, because it reminds me much of vou."

She said to herself he wtoutd not when he knew all—that he WonTd hate it, and would think of the place. They sat down ,in the old favorite resort. Suddenly she turned to bim, and clasped his hand with one of her. "Adrian," she askad, "do you love me very much?"

Tbe faoe bent over h«r afforded answer sufficient „T "Love you be replied. "I do not think, Hyacinth, that could love you more to me it dees not seem possible." "If you were to loose me» then, it would be a great sorrow." "Lose yoe t" h« cried. "Why, Cynth, I would ratter ten thousand times ewer lose my own life."

She liked to remember afterward how he drew her head upon her breast—how he caressed her and murmured sweet words of tenderness to her—how he told her of his lore in such ardent words that the fervor of them lasted with her until she died. It Vtn for the last time. A great solemn cstfm of despair fell over her! To-morrow she would *e far away his arm would never enfold her, his eyes never linger on ber, his lips never touch her more. It wrs for the last time, and she loved him batter than her life but for her sin and folly, she would now have been the happiest girl in the wide world. "My darling," he murmured, "as though weak woris could tell how dear you are to me."

He kissed her trembling lips and then she broke from him with a great cry. She could bear no more. She fled through the pine grove, crying to herself with bitter tears: "If I conld but die! Ob, heaven, be merciful to me, and let me diet". .vrY-'T

CHAPTER XII.

"Good-night, Hyacinth," Lady Vaughan said, whan, half an hour afterward, the girl went to her with a white face and cold rigid lips "good-nigbt. I hope to see you something like yourself to-morrow—^ou do not seem well."

And for the last time Hyacinth Vaughan kissed the fair, stately old face. "To-morrow—ah, where would she be tomorrow "Yon have been very kind to me," she murmured, "and I am not ungrateful."

Afterward Lady Vaughan understood why the girl lingered near her, why she kissed the withered, wrinkled hands with such passionate tenderness, why her lips opened as if she would fain speak, and then closed mutely. She thought of Hyacinth's strange manner for several minutes after the young girl had quitted the room. "That terrible news shocked her. She

is very sensitive and very tender-hearted

Hyacinth leave /lerg- —the Vaughans are all the same. I am

B?B"ff?a3ft2caift

night,

fissstt

more anxiety about the child.1 0 tn Hyacinth had looked her last on them, nnd had spoken to them for the last time. She stood in her room now waiting nntil there should be a chance of leaving the hotel unnoticed, then it suddenly struck her how great would be the consternation on the morrow, when she wasmirjsed. What would Adrian do or say—he who loved her so dearly? She went to her little desk and wrote a note to him. She addressed it and left it on the toilet table of her room.

Then she went quietly down tairs. No one was about. 8he opened the great hall door and went out. Some few people still lingered in the grounds she was not noticed. She walked down the long carriage thrive, and then stood in the street of tha little town, alone. She found her way to the station. A great, despairing cry was rising from her neart to her lips, but she stifled it, a faint, strange sensation, as though life were leaving her, came over her. She nerved herself. "I must live until he is free," sbe said, with stern determination—"the death will be welcome!"

They were no idle words that she spoke all that life held brightest, dear-* est, and best, was past for her. Her only hope wss that she might reach Loadstone in time to save Claude. She knew how soon she would be missed, and how easi'y she might be tracked. Suppose that they sent or went to her room and found it empty, and than made inquiries and learned that shehad taken a ticket for Ostend? They oould not overtake the train, but they could telegraph to Ostend and stop her. fn that case she would be too late to aavt' Claude. The station was full of paopie. She saw a lad among them—ha seemed to be about fifteen—and she went I np to him. "Are you going to Ostend she asked.

He doffed his cap and bowed. "I am going by this train,he replied.. "Can I be of any service to the Frauleinf' "I am always nervoos in a crowd, She said—"will you buy my ticket?"

He took the monev. He could not •ee her face( for it was veiled, but he could distinguish its white, rigid mystery, and, full of wonder, he complied with her request. In a short time he returned with the tloket. "Can I do nothing else for yom, Franlein?" he asked. "No," she replied, thanking him and all the way to Ostend, the iad mused over the half hidden baauty of that £ace, and the dreary tones of the sad young voice. "There is some mystery," he said and afterward, when he had read the papers, he knew what the mystery was.

She was softW seated in the furthest corner of a second-class carriage at last, her heart beating so that each throb seemed to send a thrill of fiery pain through her. Would she be in time? The train was an express, and was considered an unusually fast one, but it teemed slow to her—ao slow. Her heart beat fast and her pulse throbbed quickly. Her face burned as with a flaming fire. "What shall I do," die thought, with a terrified face, "if I fall ill, and can not save him? Suppose—my brain is on fire now—suppose it becomes worse, and when the train stops I have no sense left to speak They will trv him—they will sentence him to death before I arrive. He will perhape be dead when I am able to apeak. What shall I do?" And the dread so overpowered her that she cried aloud in her anguish. "Ate you ill tasked tollow* traveler kindly. "No, I was dreaming," she replied, hurriedly.

She pressed her hand on her brow— ahe tried to still the quiek nervous beating of her heart but all was in vain.

.-jr. "f A ^r-*-!-xAEs^tgKk.-..-'

The night was hot the atmosphere seemed overcharged with electricity there was not a breath of air stirring the noisy clang of the wheels seemed to pierce her brain a sound as of rushing torrents filled her ears. She tried to calm herself—to steady those quivering nerves—to remember what she would have to say in a short time, when she would be standing before a tribunal of justice to save Claude's life. She tried and failed to the effort she broke down and laughed a strange, unnaturs! laugh. The noise of the train drowned

:t

the monotonous

clangor of the wheels dulled all other sounds. The next minute the overstrained nerves—tbe over-taxed brain— had given away, and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The train drew near to Ostend, and thoee who loved hertiad not yet discovered Hyacinth's flight Lady Vaughan wondered she did not come down as usual to breakfast. Pincott went to see if she was up. She tapped at the door there was no answer, and the maid went to tell her lady. "1 am almost glad," said Lady Vaughan "she looked very ill last night. She is sleeping do not awaken her, Pincott."

But when noon came, and Hyacinth had not rung, Pincott went to her room again. She opened the door this time and walked in. The room was empty, the bed had not been slept in, and there was not trace of Miss Vaughan. The woman turned quite white, and sunk, half fainting, on a chair. She was frightened. Presently, recovering herself a little, she looked round. "How foolish 1 am!" she thought. "Miss Vaughan must have gone down unknown to me and her room has been arranged." Still she trembled with a strange presentment of dread. Suddenly her eyes fell upon the note addressed to Mr. Dare/—it was sealed. "There can be no barm in my giving him this," she said.

She went djwn stairs and made inquiries about Miss Vaughan. No one had seen her—she could hear nothing of her. Then rlncott went to her lady. It so happened that Mr. Darcy was ohattiug with her. "What do you say interrupted Lsdy Vaughan, sharply. You cannot find Miss Vaughan? Pray use your common sense, Pincott do not say such absurd things."

But Adrian had eaught sight of the note in the maid's hand. "What is this?" he asked. "I found it in Miss Vaughan's room, sir," said Pincott "it is addressed to you."

He took It from her and opened it. As he read it a deadly pallor came over his face. "Great heaven 1'' he cried. "What can this mean?"

Lady Vaughan asked what had happened. He passed to her and she read: "I have looked at you and spoken to rou for the last time, Adrian. I am going away and I shall never see any of you again. You will try to ctmfort Lady Vaughan. Pray heaven my sin and my disgrace may not kill her. "You will find out from the newspapers what I have gone to do and oh, my lost dear love, when you read this, he merciful to me 1 I never loved him and, as you will see, I repented—ah, me so sorely!—before half the journey was accomplished. I have never loved any oae but you—and that I have lost yon is more better than death. "Many people have diid from less

Buf­

fering than that which I am nndergoing now, Oh, Adrian, I do not think I deserved this terriqle punishment! I did nat mean to do any thins wrong. I do not ask you to forgive me! I know you never cnn. You will fling off all thought of me as of one unworthy. I told you was ^unworthy, but I—oh, Adriag—I .shall Ilove you till I die! All my Ihoughts will be of you and I pray to heaven that I may die when I have achieved what I am going to do. Living you must loathe me aead, you will pity me. "Adrian, I have written your name here. I have wept hot, bitter tears over it I have kissed it and now I must part from you, my heart's own love! Farewell for ever and ever!

HYACINTH."

"Whatdoes it all mean?" he cried, drops of anguish gathering on his brow. "Where is the child? What has she done?" "I do not know," said Lady Vaughan —"I can not understand it, Adrian. She has done nothing. What can she have done? All her life has been passed with me." "I shall see in the newspapers what she has done, she says. Wnht can she mean?"

A sudden light saemed to break in upon him he turned to Lady Vaughan. "Rely upon it," he said, "it is some fancy of hers about that murder. I shall not lose a moment. I shall go in search of her.

-N CHAPTER XX. ,'Z'i The court at Loadssone was crowded to excess. Since the town was built there had never been so great a sensation. The terrible murder at Oaktoa had. been a subject of discussion over all Bngland. The colonel was one of the most prominent men in the county he had always been very proad and very exolusive, and tbe county had grown proud of the old aristoerat. It was a terrible blow to him when his nephew was qb&rged with willful murder.

All the elite of tbe country had crowded to the trial. Loadstone had never been so full the hotels could not hold half the number who flocked to hear Claude Lennox tried. There were no more lodgings to be had for love or money. It was not only the county people who teetified their interest. Claude Lennox was well known, and had been courted, popular, and eagerly feted in London drawing-rooms. Many of his old friends, members of his club, came to see him Med.

It was an unusual case because of the rank, wealth and position of the accused —Claude Lennox, the idol of London ootories, the Adonis of the clubs, the heir of grand, exclusive Colonel L«onox. Then the murder seemed so utterly mo tiveless. The young man swore most solemnly that he knew nothing of the deceased—that she was a stranger whom he had relieved. The handkerchief found upon her he said was was his, and that it had been given from motivee of charity, to bind her bruised hand. The address on the scrap of paper he admitted was in his own writing—he had given it to her, hoping that either Lis mother or his aunt would be able to find her work. More than that he refused to say. He refused to account for his time —to say where he had been that night— to make any attempt to prove an alibi. He was asked who was his companion at Oakton station, and he refused to answer. His lawyer was in despair. The able counsel whom his distracted mother had sent to his assistance declared themselves completely nonplused. "Tell us how you passed the night." tbey had said, "se that we may know what line of defense to adopt." "I can not," he replied. "I swear most solemnly that I know nothing of the murder. More than that lean not say." "It is probable you may pay for your obstinacy with your life," said Sergeant Burton, on* of the shrewdest lawera in

England. "There are things more painful than death," Clande replied calmly and then the sergeant clapped his hands. "There is a woman in the ease," he said—"I am sure of it."

Sergeant Barton and Mr. Baadoh wen

retained as counsel for Clande bat never were oounsel more helpless about their case than they. They could call no witness in Claude's favor—they did not know whom to call. "He will lose hia life," said Mr. Land on, with a froan. "What infatuation! What folly!_ It strikes me he could clear himself if he would."

But the twenty-third of July had come around, and as yet Claude had made no effort to clear or defend himself. The morning of his trial had dawned at last. It was a warm, beautiful summer day, the sun shone bright and warm. Loadstone streets were filled, and loadstone aasise court was crowded. There was quie a solemn hush when "The Cirown vs. Lennox" came on. Most of those present knew Clande Lennox—some intimately, others by si.ht. They looked curiously at him, as he stood in the dock the rir of aristocratic ease and elegance tha) had always distinguished him was there still, but. the handsome face had lost its debonair expression there were deep lines upon it—lines of thought and care. "How do you plead, prisoner at the ba —guilty, or not guilty?" The silence was profound. "Not guilty, iny lord," replied the clear voice aDd in some vague way a thrill of conviction shot through each one that the words were true.

Tben the business of the trial began. All present noticed the depresafd air of the prisoner's counsel and the confident look of the counsel, for the prosecution. "No rebuttidg evidenc i," seemed to bs the mysterious whisper circulating thrugh the court.

Then (he connsel for tbe prosecution stated his case. It seemed clear and conclusive against the accused yet the dauntless face and upright figure were hardly those of a murderer. The prisoner was absent from home the whole of the night on which the murder was committed be was seen at Leybridge station with a woman he was observed to walk with her toward the meadow where the body was found his handkerchief was found tightly olinched in her hands, and his London address in her pocket witnesses would swear to having seen him return alone to Oakton Park, looking terribly agitated. At the same time the counsel for the crown admitted that there had been no witnesses to the deed that no possible motive could be ascribed for tha murder that against the moral character of Mr. Lennox there was not one word to say that no weapon had been found near the scene of the murder that on tha clothes worn by Mr. Lennox at the time there was not the least stain of human blood. Thess were points, the couneel admitted, that were in favor of the accused.

At this juncture, just as people were remarking how depressed the prisoner's counsel were lsoking, there was a slight commotion in the erowded court. A note, written in pencil, was handed to Sargesnt Burton .as he read it a sudden light came over his face, and he hastily quitted his seat, first handing the note to the junior counsel, who read: "I have evidence to give that will save Mr. Lennox's life. Can you spare a f6W minutes to hear what I have to say? "HYACINTH VAUOHAW.

Sergeant Burton was absent for a little while but he returned in time to hear the concluding part of the opposing counsel's speech. It told hard against the accused, but the learned sergeant only smiled aa he listened. He seemed to have grown wonderfully composed. Then the witnesses for the prosecution were called, and gave their evidence clearly enough. Some in court, who had felt sure of Claude's innocence, began to waver now. Who was with him at Leybridge? That was the point. There was no cross-examination of the witnesses. "I have no questions to ask," said the counsel. "My client admits the perfect truth of all the evidence." "This is my case, gentlemen of the jury," concluded the counsel for the prosecution, as he sat down. "And it is a strong one too," thought most of the people present. "How can all these facts be explained away

Then Sergeant Burton rose. "Gentlemen of the jury," he said, "this is the most painful case I ever conducted a more grievous mistake than this accusation of murder against an innocent gentlemen has never been made. I will prove to you not only that he is quite innocent of the crime, but that, in his chivalrous generosity, he would rather have ferfeiU a his life than utter one word in his own defense which would shadow, even in the slightest, a woman's honor. I will prove to you that, although the accused was at Leybridge with a lady, and not only Epoke to, but relieved the oecessed, yet that he is entirely innocent of the crime laid to his charge."

The silence that followed was profound. For the first time Claude's face grew anxious and he looked hurriedly around. "The first witness I shall call,"6aid the learned counsel, "is one who will tell you where Mr. Lennox spent his time on the night of the murder will tell you how he relieved the poor woman will, in short, give Buch evidence as shall entirely free him of the most foul charge. Call Miss Hyacinth Vaughan."

At the mention of the name, thi prisoner stait^i and bis face flushed crimson. "Why did she come?" some one near beard him murmur. "I would have cied for her."

Then, amidst profound and breathless silence, there entered the witness-box a graceful girlish figure, on which all eyes were immediately bent. She raised her veil, and a thrill of admiration went through that thronged assembly as the beautiful, coloress face, so lovely, so pure, so full of earnest purpose, was turned to the judge. She did not seem to notice the hundreds of admiring, wondering eyes—it was as though she stood before the judge alone. "Do not speak, Hyacinth,'' said the prisoner, vehemently and in a low voice he added, "I can bear it all—do not speak." "Silence!" spoke the judge, sternly "This is a court of justice we must have no suppression of the truth." "Your name is Hyrcinth Vaughan?" was the first question ask. "My name is Hyacinth Vaughan," was the reply and the voice that spoke was so sweet, so sad, so musical, that people bent forward to listen more eagerly. Sergeant Burton looked at the beautiful, pallid, high-bred face. "You were in the company of the ao cused on the night of Wednesdsy, the 12th of June?" "Yes," she said. "Will you state what happened?" asked the sergeant, blandly.

Hyacinth lorked at the judge her lips opened, and then^ closed, as though she would fain speak but conld not It was an interval of intense excitement court. "Will yon tell us why you were in his company, Miss Vaughan, and whither you went?" said the sergeant. "My lord," she said—-for it was at the judge she looked always—of the presence of the jury she seemed totally ignorant —"I will tell yon all about it. I went away with Mr. Lennox—to go to London —to be married there." "Unknown to your hiends?" asked the '°^.i

Jnknown to any one." Here Hyacinth paused, and the lips that had been speaking turned deathly white. "Tell us all about it in your own way. Miss •aughan," said the judge—the sight-of that tortnred young face moved

PRIM. TEKRE HAUTE, gUWDAY, MAY 39, 1SB7.

Mm to deepest pity: "do not be afraid." Tben the fear seemed to die away from her in all that vast assembly she saw no face but that of the judge looking stead ily and intently on her own. "My lord," she said, "I was very dull at home every one wa? kind to me, but there was no one there of my own age, and I was very dull. I made Mr. Lennox's acquaintance, and liked hin very much—I thought I loved him—and when he asked me to run away from home and marry him I was quite willing." "But what need wss there to run away?" asked the ju.dge, kindly. He knew the question pained her, for her lips quivered and her whole face changed. "In our folly there were reasons txiat seemed to us to make it imperative," she replied. "My friends bad other views for me, and I was to start for tha Continent on Friday, the fourteenth of June. It seemed certain to ns thai unlesf we were married at once we should nt-vtr bs married at all." "I understand," put in the jud^e, kindly "go on with your story." "I did not think much about it, my loid," continued Hyacinth —"that is, about the right and wrong of it—I thought only cf tba romauce aod we agreed to go up to »od by tb? tr-iin that passed Oakton eiHjn af'er midnight. I left nw home and met Mr. Lennox at the end of my grandparents' grounds we went to *he station together. 1 k«?!t out of sight while he took tickets f.-r both of us at the hooking effice "The clerk al Oskton station will prove that the accused purchased two ticket interrupted Sergeant Burton. The j'ldge nodded, and the younegir! conlitiuad: "We got into the train and went as far as Leybridge. There tbe trai» was stopped. Mr. Lennox 'told me that the ma«l train we were to meet had been delayed by an accident, and that, we should have to wait some hours at the station. The morning was breaking then, and we were alarmed lest some one should come to the station who might recognize me. Mr. Lennox suggested that, as the morn ing was bright and pleasant, we should go through the fields, and I gladly consented."

All this time the clear, sweet young voice sounded like music in the warmth and silence of the summer air. "We reached the field called Lime Meadow, and stood there, leaning over tbe stile, when I thonght I saw something under a hedge. We went to see. It was a woman who had been sleeping there. My lord, she looked yery faint very wild and weak. We spoke to her. She told ns that her name was Anna Barratt, and that she was married, but that she was very unhappy. She was going with her husband to Liverpool. She told us her story, my lord, and it frightened me. Sbe told us that sbe had once been a bright, happy girl at home, and that against her mother's advice she had eloped with the man who had sought her hand, and married him. Her words struck me like a sham blow. She said it was better to-break one's heart at home than to run away from it. Mr. Lennox was very sorry for her and, when I saw her poor hru'sed hand lying on the grass, I bound it up. My lord, I asked Mr. Lennox for his handkerchief, and I wrapped it around her hand."

There was such a murmur ot excite mint in the court that the speaker was obliged to pause. "Go on, Miss Vaughan," said the judge. Still looking at him. and him only, she continued: "Mr. Lennox gave her some money. She told us that her husband had beat her that he had bruised her hand, and that she was quite sure he would come back to murder her. That Mr. Lennox told her that if she feared that, to get up and come away he gave her two sovereigns and told her to go to London. He wrote down his address on a piece of folded paper, and told her if she would either come or write to that address, his mother would befriend her. She asked heaven to bless us, my lord, and turned away her head, as though she was tired. We walked on and did not see her again."

And again Hyacinth paused, while those in court seemed to hang upon the words that came from her lips. "Then, my lord," she continued, "I began to think of what she had said— that it was better to break one's heart at home than to run away from it. All at once the folly and wickedness of what I was about to do appeared to me. I beg to cry, and begged of Mr. Lennox to take me home." "A very common termination to an elopement," observed the judge. "Mr. Lennox was very kind to me," continued the oarneBt voice. "When he saw that I really wanted to go home, he took me back to Oakton, and left me in the grounds where we had met aojahort a time before. My lord, I swear to you most solemnly that this is the whole truth." "Will you explain to us," inquired the prosecution, "why, knowing all this you have allowed matters to proceed so far against the accused Why did you not come forward earlier, and reveal the truth?" "My lord," she said, still looking at the' quiet face of the judge, "I knew nothing of the case until twenty-four hours ago. I started with my grandparents on the Friday morning for the continent, and have been living at Bsrgheim since. I knew of the trial only the night before last, and I came hither at once." "You came alone and immediately?" "Yes," she replied. "I have lost everything by so coming. I can never go back among my kindred ag-in. 1 shall never be forgiven."

There was a brief pause, 'i he foreman of the jury gave a written paper to the usher to be handed to the judge—a paper which intimated that the jury did not think it necessary to go on with the case, feeling convinced, from the evi dence of Miss Vaughan, that Mr. Lennox was perfectly innocent of the crime imputed to his charge. The judge read the paper carefully, and then, looking at the witness, said: "Miss Vaughan, you committed a great error—an error perhaps in some degree excusable from your youth. But you have atoned for it more nobly than error was ever atoned for before. At the risk of losing all most dear to you, and of exposing yourself to the comments of the world, you have come forward to save Mr. Lennox. I, for one, must express my admiration bf your conduct. Your evidence has acquitted the prisoner —the jury have intimated that there is no need to proceed with the case."

Then arose cheers that could not be silenced. In vain tbe judge held up his hand in warning and the usher cried "Silence!" "Heaven bless her," cried the women, with weeping eyes. "She is a heroine," the men said, with flushed faces.

There was a general commotion and, when it had subsided, she had disappeared. Those who had watched her to the last said that when the judge, in his stately manner praised her, her face flushod and her lips quivered then it grew deathly pale again, and sbe glided away. [To be Continued in the Sunday Express.]

Smokeless Fuel.

Petroleum refuse is now successfully used for fuel on Russian steamers and torpedo boats. It is demonstrated that one pound of petrolouu refuse evaporated IS 6 pcunds of water, or two and a half times more than coal. During the consumption of the liquid fuel a sheet of white paper was held at a height of fourteen inches above the funnel, and at the end was neither diseoloTod nor marked

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with traces of soot.

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THE SPARS ROOM.

Mow to Comfort the Stranger Wttkla tbe Ottee.

In these days of small houses and high rents, says tbe Brooklyn citiaen, many of us cannot afford the luxury of a span room for visitors, fot it is a luxury, asall housekeepers know. An unexpected guest comes late in the evening, perhaps, to remain over night The consciousness of a room all ready for the stranger's reception lends a cordiality to out greeting that would be palpably absent if the thought where the guest would be put to woo the drowsy god was racking' our brain. If the visit should extend over any length of time, it will be much more comfortable for both hostess and guest if there can be a room given over entirely to the visitor. In the morning when the hostess is buBy with the various household duties that claim her attention, the visiter can entertain herself in er own room, either reading or attending to her correspondent or doing some fancy work, which we all think it our duty to take away 'with us, though we generally bring it back in its pristine condition. The busy housewife's mind is thus relieved as to the entertainment of her guest, and she can attend to her domestic cares with a clear conscience. In the furnishing of this room we can indulge to the fullest extent our love for fancy things. In the rooms that are in use every day this love has often to be restrained, else we would have to sacrifice too much time to it, and unless we did sacrifice the time the effect would be far from pleasing but in this room the articles are not often disarranged, and as it is not used except when we have company, no time is wasted. Try by all means to have a lounge in the room, even if you have to strain a point. After you and yoor friend have been shopping and sight-seeing the entire day, and perhaps have an engagement for the evening, if it is possible for your guest to lie down for ten or fifteen minutes, it will refresh her exceedingly but, if the bed is all dressed up in pillow shams and sheet shams and spotless counterpane, no matter how longingly she may look at the bed, nor how mach her weary limbs may desire the repose, she will hesitate long before she disturbs the bed, and in many casts she will forego the desired rest. Just think when you are visiting what affection you bestow on a louoge, and how much it has added to the enjoyment of your visit. Human nature is the same the world over, and what has added to your comfort and enjoyment when away from home will have the same effect on your guest. If the size of the room will not peimit a lounge, well, then, retire the pillow and sheet shams throw a nice brightafghan, either knit or crocheted, over the foot of the bed, so that when your friend wants to take her forty winks she can draw it up over her and not disturbed the bed. A table with a work-basket, well supplied with cotton, needles, a thimble and scissors, is also a necessity. The visitor's traveling bag ought to contain these things, but sometimes, in the hurry of packing, they are overlooked, and when it is necessary to repair some damage to the toilet, unless the careful hostess has supplied the omission, the guest is oftfn put to considerable inconvenience. If you have stored anything away in the drawers of the dressing bureau, remove them all and leave the drawers empty, and also the closet. If you cannot conveniently give her the whole closet, leave at least half the hooks free. No one likes to keep her dresses or wraps or countless small "fixins" with which your guest, to do you honor, tries to make herself look beautiful, in a trunk or sach'l. A little wicker rocker would also meet with general approbation, and would more than repay for ita outlay by the home-like look it would give the room. Little halfcurtains of dotted Swiss, or scrim edged with lac, are pretty for the windows, and Madras long curtains are very artijticr Which would be preferable depends on the size and situation of the room. The washstand should be sup plied with plenty of towels and at least ono Turkish towel. These are so generally used now that they seem almost indispensable. The match-box .also should be seen to, and a receptacle for burnt matches supplied. A few books that one can pick np nt any time and open anywhere should adorn the table. A little care and forethought is all that is neces sary to make a pleasant abiding place to your friend, and, you may be sure it will iot be expended in vain. This is one of the things in this world that your triends will take cognizance of and will publish abroad. Your eftorts, too, may be a spur to thoee who make their visitors "one of the family" in its most disagreeable sense. It is only right to make your guest feel thoroughly at home but there are times when being regarded as one of the family has its disadvantages.

"JIMMIE" FLOOD.

diving His Papa a Good Deal of Trouble -Grief in the Family. There is, according to my California correspondent, Bays a writer in New York Topics, a peck of trouble in the Flood family just now. It is all along of "Jimmy" Flood, whose recent row in the Hoffman house bar has been in all the papers. Tbe scion of a strong bank account, some years ago, lost bis heart to a young woman whose public estimation may be gauged by the fact that she was generally known in San Francisco as "Pete," He established her in apartments on an allowance of $1,000 a month. Familj pressure was brought to bear, and he was induced to break with her, she being given $20,000 to leave town. A year tater she came back and got $25,000. Eighteen months sgo she again returned this time from Hong Kong where she had been leading a merry life, and Papa Flood is said to have paid her $50,000, with the compact that she was to remain absent for good. But al8s! women's words are made of wind, and a few weeks ago the perjured "Pete" once more returned. Her fascinations had the same old spell for yount Flood, and he fell under them again. As his father refused to give up any more money she married the son, it is averred, and he brought her East en route for Europe, whither they departed recently. This so preyed on the sensitive soul of Papa Flood that he went on a protracted spree, and has Bince been pendulating between death and delirium tremens. He has *worn with mighty oaths to cut his graceless heir off without even a shilling, but as "Jimmie" and^his sister Jennie have each several millions settled on themselves this threat is not likely to frighten him much.

blaaas far holding oaly a plat. Ths simple solution of us whole thing is that my friari, the colonel, was not intended to comprehend the universe. He is bailt upon the pint order. There is no absolute necessity for his comprehending it. It can jog along very well without"

WAS SHE A PRISONER OF WAR?

Colon

Varied With Three Thons SoMtere. On a small headstone of marble that stands in the cemetery for federal soldiers at Florence, S. C., is the following:

IfU* *480' riABCNA BUDW1K

Who is the woman who liss there among the dead soldiers, and how came she there? The record of her case on the books of the cemetery is very brief, and gives but little information. It is to tha effect that Florena Budwin, of Philadelphia, died at Florence, S. C., January 23, 1864, aged 30, and she was the wife of Captain Budwin, who was killed at Andersonville, Oa. Nothing more. Persons living at Florence say that she was a prisoner of war the time of her death that, disguised in the uniform of a private soldier, she enlisted and followed her husband into the army, and was captnred by the confederates that she died in childbirth, and that up to the time of being taken sick her sex was not suspected by her captors, nor, as far as was known, by her comrades in prison. She is assigned to no regiment in the record book, and nothing seems to be known of Ciptain Budwin except the facts of his rank and death, and these were probably obtained from the poor woman herself before she died. It would be interesting to have some account of him, to what command he belonged, where he was from and what were the circumstances of his unfortunate wife's enlistment in the army and her subsequent career therein. vn- in thi' gs that would seem to corroborate what is told of Mrs. Bud win. About a mile distant from the soldiers' cemetery, where she is buried, ths re was during the lata civil war a stockade in whira federal prisoners of war were confined and guarded. Its site and the earthworks about are still well defined. In this stockade Mrs. Budwin was imprisoned, and the date of her death shows that she died some time before the war was ended. When Sherman was advancing through South Carolina the confederate records of this prison were sent to Richmond for safekeeping, and are believed to have been destroyed in that city in the conflagration that ensued upon the evacuation by the confederates. Mrs. Bad win's story rests for the present apon the testimony of persons, some, at least, of who were residents of and on duty in Florence when she died there.

The cemetery wherein is her lonely grave—lonely from the sad circumstances of her death, and as being that of one woman among so many mea—is well laid out and neatly kept, as is charac teristic of the resting places of the Union dead, and in it are tbe remains of about three thousand soldiers, many of whom, like the poor woman, the subject of this sketch, died while prisoners in the stockade hard by. Some little children sleep there, too, in the shade of the pretty trees, sons and daughters of the soldiers of former garrisons of Charleston and Columbia, and there is something very pathetic in the sight of their tiny graves, far, far away from home and friends side by side with those of the soldiers, perhaps their father's comrades.

USED ONLY HALF THE CHECKS.

A Chicago Woman's Experience with an Individual Bank Account. A Chicago bank man who has a lovely wi told a pretty good story at his club the other day by way of illustrating the proverbial ways of women. She had said to him: "Dear, now I'm not going to ask you for an allowance that is vulgar. You put a couple of thousand in bank to my credit, give me a check-book, and I'll run the house, clothe myself, of course, pay the servants, and relieve you of so much care."

The gentleman was struck with the idea. "After all," he said to himself, "this marriage scrape I've got mys*lf into promises to pan out. Dear, good little woman! How thoughtful of her. Why, of nonrse!" So he drew a check on his own bank, deposited it in another bank to his wife's individual credit, and gave her a seperate bank and check book. Womanlike, she tossed the bank book into a drawer, but held religiously to the check-book. Long before the month had expired she cot a notice from the bank that her account was exhausted, and the last check had overdrawn it $1.79. "Would she kindly make anew deposit?"

The lady was in a furious fume. There must be something wrong she knew. She pored over ber check-book counted the rtubs and the blank checks, and then she knew that the bank had made a blunder. She donned her new Esster bonnet and her spring wrap, and full of the spirit of the occasion and the outrage of the bank's insnlt Bailed into the cashier at his Window. "What doea this notice mean?" she asked in a voice quivering with passion. "It means that your account is overdrawn, madam, that's all." "It is not, sir. My husband gave me this check-book, and you see yourself that oat of the hundred checks in it I haven't used fifty. There's the book, sir see Jfor yourself. Of course you'll have to explain this to Mr. I never was so |insulted!" "But, my dear madam, don't you

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Ingersoll's Small Measure. In bis reply to Ingersoll at Chicago, among other things, Gentral Sheridan said: "He wants to know it all, and right off. He wants to know it all in this life, for he knows that whtn he is dead he is so dead that he can't know anything. He asks: 'If the Infinite God has made this universe, and I have not reason enough to comprehend it, whose fault is it?' I don't think it is anybody's fanlt. It certainly is not God's fault He has no fault It is not tbe fault of the universe. That is all •round my friend, and he can set his comprehender to work and let it run until it runs down and blows up. It is not his fanlt. He is like the man wlo was told by his doctor that he would die if he did not at once drink a quart of champagne. The poor fellow said: Then I most die, doctor, for I don't hold but a pint.' The poor man was not to

Bee

you have drawn out all the money to your credit and $1.79 besides?" "I jmt don't care anything about that. My husband gave me a check book, and here less than half of them are used. Do you mean to sav I am going to lose all of those checks? Well, I'll go and see my husband about it. He'll settle

you, dear sir, and if I have any influence with him, and I think I have, both his account and mine shall go out of this bank!"

Chinese Superstition. Chinese laborers will not work in the big canon through which the Cascades division of the Northern Pacific road runs, because several Chinamen have been killed there. They think it is inhabited by devils with strong antiChinese sentiments. Nine Chinamen were killed there some time ago by falling trees, and ten coffins were sent up. This was looked npon ass bad omen by the Chinese, and they were very uneasy as long as tba spare coffin lay around camp. It was not long till a rumpus occurred and a Chinaman was shot. The Chinese thought that this death had been brought about in order that the old coAn might be filled, and they concluded to leave the place, and can not be in duced to go back.

Raising Coooanuta in Florids. Cocoanut raising is a growing industry in southern Florida. Pine apples and cocoannts pay very well. Ten thousand pine applea can be raised, it is said, to as acre, and the same amount of space will support fifty cocoanut trees. The latter require very little cultivation. They begin to bear at from nine to twelve years of age, and produce from eighty to 160 nuts to the tree. They bring about five cents apiece to the grower. Many groves have been planted within a few years. One New Jersey gentleman has 330,000 trees.

CURRENT NOTB8.

The best way for women to get n» taches off their upper lips is to fst selves to a nunnery and lock tie —[Somerville Journal. "When I was first married I used to love my wife so that I could have salsa her alive I" "And now?" "I am sony I didn't do it"—[Freeh Fun. "Ah! the lines show, Mr. Blank," remarked the fair pal mister at the chaieli social the other evening, "that yon area slave to the fair sex." Mr. Blank, with bitter domestic memories—"Humph, the top of my head began showing that ten years ago."—[Elmira Qasette. "My dad knows more'n George Washington." "Why?" "Cos George Washington couldn't tell a lie, but mv dad kin, for when I told him I hadn't bean: a-flsbin' he said he knewed better, and' thumped me for lyin'. He kin tell a lie the minute he sees one, you bet."—[Danville Breeze.

Wealthy husband.—"Money Why, my dear, you said you drew $1,000 of your own from the bank this morning." Petted wife (who had bought a few thing* and invested the rest in real estate)— "Well, I stopped in at Mrs. Do Ribbon's and bought a bonnet and "Here's my puree, dear."—[Omaha World.

Chicago husband—I hear that Mr. Lard, the eminent expert in pork, will shortly lead to the altar the beautiful Miss Sparerib of Wabash avenue. Mr. Lard, you know, was divorced six weeks ago. Chicago wife—And intends to wed again so soon He couldn't have thought much of bis first wife.—[New York Sun.

When a young man asks a yonng woman what piece of music she likes best, and she confesses, with a shy blush, that she hss a fond preference for Mendelssohn's "Wedding Match," it is tisM for that young man to do something that, will make him sorry that he hadn'tdoae it long before.— [Journal of Education.

Dobson—I understand that Patti is not coming back to America. Bobbs (who had just paid $10 for a seat)—I aa surprised at that. I saw in^ the papers yesterday that a man inherited $4,006,000 and brought $2,000,000 of it to this city with him the other day. She surely hasn't been able to get her share of that this early.—[New York Mail. "Somebody were readin' out uv the newspaper whar dey done med a law stoppin of free passes on de railroad. Now you reckermembers dat de mule road arfter dey done kill my huaban'gia me a free pas 'slorg.es I was a widder. Ef dat de way dey gwine do, taken trv folks passes away, I gwin git married agin ef jest to spite 'em."—[Harpers Bazar.

Fashion Notes.

New' York San. There is a rage for checked and barred wools.

Sailor suits are immensely popular for little boys. Matching the varous parts of toilets is in high favor.

Lace and tulle bonnets are having a run in popular favor. Fichus of plaid silk are worn with plain silk and stuff dresses.

Full sleeves, mutton-leg of bishop, are de rigueur with full waists. Plaid silki are used as underskirts for lace frocks by Parisian dressmakers.

Palstrons, draped diagonally from right to left, are coming into general favor.

When a dress is composed of stuffs of two colors the bonnet and parasol must be also ef two colors, to be strictly correct.

An admirable combination for a summer frock is of white-and-tan colored veiling, with cuffs, collars and belt ef wide gold galloon.

New silk Btockings in all the new shades of absinthe, verdigris, dull ross, lilac and Gobelin blue are teen on Denning's hosiery counters.

Summer frocks are made of gauses, canvas woven stuffs, crepeline, India Rilks, challies, bereges and old-fashioned printed and plain l:iwns.

Black silk and black lisle-thread stockings remain the favorite hosiery for all occasions where stocking matching the toilet is not demanded.

All bodices of light summer fabrics are made with full soft drapings in one form or another over the bust and shoulders, or from the neck to the waist line.

Some of the new ribbons used by French dressmakers are in lovely shades of dull rose, violet, pea-green or verdigris, Gobelin blue and carnation, with pilot edges purple tinted.

Little girls wear hats with big crowns and medium width brims, trimmed with huge bunches of flowers knotted to tbe crowns with loops of ribbon that match the colors of the flowers.

Black point d'esprit lace makes a lovely dressy frock with a collar, belt and cuffs of cut jet galloon and taswlei agraffes on the shoulders for epaulettes matching similar ornaments on the overskirt loopings.

Jackets, in rough cloths, ecru, cream or sand colored, are lined with satin te match, and trimmed with dull gold braid or cord, whichever you choose, and buttons to match. Bright red linings are preferred by some.

Bishop sleeves are finished with deep cuffs reaching half way or all the wav to the elbow, and the cuffs are frequently of velvet, while the upper part of the sleeve is of the soft, light material of the drvs. The collar of the drsss then. is also of velvet. Odd Effects of an Earthquake.

During the recent earthquake in the province of Sonora fissures were opened in the bed of an old stream in the Sulphur Springs valley and water spurted out in considerable quantity. Many of these streams, save two, dried awaj within a day, but two are still flowing ass promise to be permanent. In less than an hour after they broke out they wore taken up and located under the water laws of the United States.

One ludicrous incident was that of a man who, while driving along a moua tain road, noticed large-sized bowlders begin to start'down the mountain toward him. Ho became much excited, took his rifle, and alighted with the intention of seeking vengeance on the perpetrators ef the outrage. The falling of some immense bowlders weighing hundreds of tons just then changed his mind he wilL not now bunt tbe author.

Men working at depth of 600 feet felt the vibrations severely. Some said they became sick, and all said that the bottom of the drift seemed to rise.

Easy Work For an Angel. "It seems to me," observed DeCarp, "that the recording angel must have a pretty easy time of it nowadays." "Why so?'' asked his wife. "Simply because if a man does anything good or bad it gets into the newspapers." "Well, what of that?" "Why, all the angel has to do is to g* over bis exchangee with a pair of shears.''

Fruits vs. Flowers.

Fruit perfumes are the fashion in Paris just now, instead of floral scents Hsn4ksrchief and glove sa^hri* are scented with essence of pears, plum, eg apricots, while "apple paste" to palish the arms, "strawberry toilet water," "pear soap," and "eheny tooth-powder" are found on overy belle's drseslng ta* ble,