Greenfield Republican, Greenfield, Hancock County, 10 April 1891 — Page 2

^STEL OF TBFE MINE.

By KobCii r.acliauftu.

fPTER XXX—cdNCLUDED.

i® his first supprisc was over,

pointed out to her the utter /ability of any such attempt 'ter a good deal more crying, saw the force of his argument fielded. Yes, the fatal step had taken—it was too late to think burning now the only thing to

was to make the best of matand go right on. So Annie again

011

her cloak and bonnet, and anunced herself road}' to go. "You had bettor put on a veil," ^eaid the practical Johnson. "We may be seen, and that would be awkward for me. Haven't got one!

Well, upon my word, you are a little simpleton but we must make the best of it, I suppose. Here, take my arm and hang your head a bit we'll get on board" as quick as possible, .and perhaps will escape scott free."

They passed down the stairs, entered a closed cab which stood at the dbor, and

were

rapidly driven away.

CHAPTER XXXI. ANNIE'S

STOKV

(concluded).

At 7 o'clock that same evening the two arrived in London, Johnson tolerably contented with himself for the neatness and despatch with which he had managed the journey, little

uessing that he had been detected the keen eyes of John Rucld. Arrived at Euston, a four-wheeler was summoned, and the two got into it and were driven away. Then Johnson turned to Annie: ''My deai*," he said, "I may as well make you acquainted with our plans now. The fact is, the master won't be able to join you for a week, and I •am going to stop and take care of you till he comes. 1 have taken some «apartments for that week in an hotel and, in order to simplify matters, I -have given our names as Mr. and Miss Johnson. Therefore, for the time being, you are my sister, Miss

Annie Johnson. Do you understand?"' Annie nodded. She quite understood though she was beginning to feel alarmed as well as puzzled at the strangeness of the whole proceedings. She was still more alarmed at the subsequent manner in which Johnson conducted himself. True, he had taken rooms in the hotel, as he had said—private rooms, which they occupied in common. She was apparently allowed to go and and come at will yet she soon found that she was as much a prisoner as if she had been enclosed by iron bars. Whatever she •M. Johnson knew of and once or ee when she attempted to write to rds he quietly but firmly refused $ailow any such thing. ^Tjook here," he said, "don't you '^ak this here game is to my taste 11. 'cause you'd be wrong. I've 4 a gopdish many things in my

Running away wi' girls, and caged up like birds, ain't iver. I gave my word Redruth as I'd jkeep ye re till he came,/and I'm going to my word but precious glad I be when these six days are

in due time the six days me to an end, and Annie xjeived from Johnson the glad intelgence that on the afternoon of the ixth da}r her lover would be with "ier. Trembling with excitement and •joy, she obeyed her woman's instinct, and hastened to make herself look her very best. She arrayed herself' in the pretty gr^y dross which she had brought.with her from her home, and put some flowers at her throat so that when, a few hours later, young Redruth arrived, he clasped her to him again and again, and, lookinginto her tear-dimmed eyes, said lie had .._wer seen her looking so pretty in ?r life, ycfu will never go away from •ain?" said Annie, and she clung, kig, to him "you will always •with me?" always, my darling."

Vnd we—shall—be married This very night. Though I have away, I have not been unmind-'i-of my duty to you, my pet.' I ive arranged for our marriage I ave taken a house where we will ive. We will go straight from here, after dinner, and get the ceremony .-over. It will be a quiet marriage, and, to you. a strange one, I fear. It will not be solemnized in a church, with all the brightness and beauty that should have surrounded my darling. We shall go before a registrer and be married quietly—this is another sacrifice which my love demands.

But this was no sacrifice to Annie jeo long as she was married, and knew her love to be no sin. that was all she asked so she cried a little on his shoulder but it was for joy, not sorrow. Everything seemed changed •now the young master had come. A charming little dinner was ordered and served in the handsome sitting-

ViJ

rOom,

which during the past week

'Aad been occupied by Johnson and

,f^nie.

The little party of three sat to it—Redruth making the most il of hosts after the dinner was JLliv ohnson took his leave, and the atvers were alone. There was no time just then for billing and cooing: if anything was to be done it must be idone quickly, for the day was well•Uigh spent. George told Annie to -get on her bonnet and cloak she did

and the two got into a hansom and were driven away. How strange it all seemed to her— -to be speeding thus through the streets of London with her future Ausband by her side. She was on her to be married, dressed in an old bonnet and cloak which she had often

*rorn

at St Ghrlott's, with no wed-

SiWSi®

ding favours, no jovial faces about her. Looking back upon this episode in later years, she saw in it the dreadful foreshadowing of all that was to follow—the misery, the degradation, the shame. But at the time she saw nothing of this the sordidness was illuminated to her by the fact that she had beside her the one man, whom, above all others, she loved—and who loved her.

The memory of that episode had faded somewhat away. She remembered only faintly that the hansom set them down at the door of a dingy office in some back slum of London, that before the two men the marriage ceremony was gone through, and that when she re-entered the cab she wore a wedding-ring on the third linger of her left hand, and firmly believed herself to be Mrs. Geo. Redruth.

The house which he had taken for her, and to which he conducted her immediately after the eeremomy, was situated in a London suburb. It was an elegant little mansion, furnished and fitted in a style which completely dazzled poor Annie. But in those early days of their union he certainly loved her as much as it was in his power to love, and Annie was happy. Besides, he was always with her. During the day they drove together, and in the evening they went to the theater or opera—Annie clad in silks and satins like some great lady of the land. But things could not be expected to go on so forever, and after awhile Redruth began to leave her, for short periods at first and afterward for longer, and his manner, at first so ardent and overflowing, gradually cooled. At first Annie

Avas

heartbroken, and dur

ing his absences cried bitterly in the secrecy of her own room. Then she brought reason to her aid, and acknowledged to herself that it was the lot of every happy bi-ide to pass through the experience which was coming to her. After a man had become a husband it was impossible for him to remain a lover—at least, she had been told that was the common belief, so she must try to be content. But at times, try as she would, she could not help grieving. Thus it was that George Redruth found her very sad one evening, when he returned to her after an absence of several days. He came in jovial enough, for he had been dining at the club with some friends. He took her in his arms and kissed her then he looked into her eyes. "Why, Annie, what's this?" he said. "You've been crying." "Just a little, because I felt so lonely. It is so dreary here when you are away, and you are away so much now." "If I am it is no fault of mine,my pet. Important business, which you would not understand, occupies nearly all my time affairs are getting so complicated that unless I do something, and quickly, I shall be a beggar. But come it's only for a little while when things are put straight, as I hope they will be soon, we will go abroad and be constantly together. Now, dry your eyes,, darling, and see what I have brought you."

He produced a little packet, opened it, and showed her a gold bracelet. "Isn't it pretty?" he asked. "Yes, it is pretty, but—" "Well, my pet?" "There is something I would rather have than all the bracelets in the world." "What is that, Annie?" "The sight of my home, and of my dear father and mother. Oh, George, why cannot I write to them and tell them that I am your wife?" "You are foolish, and don't know what you are saying. A little while ago, when you first came here, you said if you could let them know that you were well and happy it would content you. I allowed you to write, yet you are unhappy and complaining to me again. I have told you repeated^ that I have most important reasons for wishing to keep our union secret." "Yes, I know, but it seems so unkind, so strange." "Annie, can you not be patient for a little while? If you loved me as you say, you would obey and trust me." "I do trust you," she returned, "with all my heart and soul! For your love I have forsaken everything —home, kindred, frinds—but when we came away together you promised that in a little time I should return with you to those, who are dear to me. I have waited very patiently but to live on here alone in London, to feel that they think ill of me and are mourning for me far away—oh! I cannot bear it it breaks my heart!" "They know that you are alive and well. Surely that is enough." "Ah, if you knew how dear I am to them! Since I was a child, until the day I came away with you, 1 had never left my home. It seems so dreary in London after my happy home! Often when you are gone I sit at the window there and look out on the great city and when I hear the murmur of the folk it seems like the sound o' the sea." "My darling, this is mere sentiment," whi/h you will forget. Surely London, with all its life and gaity, is merrier than that dreary place where I first found you like a flower in desert unworthy of such beautya Come, kiss me, and try to confide in me a little while yet. I wish to make you happy. I love you truly, and dearly but I have much upon my mind'of which I cannot as yet speak freely. Try to be contented here a little longer then, perhaps, the mystery will end. You will try, won't vou "Yes, George I will try."

So the discussion ended, and for a time things went on as they had done

before. His absences became more and more frequent and more prolonged but Annie, since that last talk with him, had learned to look with different eyes upon her lot, and bore all without a murmur. She could not blame him, she loved him too well for that and after all, she thought, she could not rationally blame him for anything. He had done all that he could do. He had made her his wife, he had given her a home fit for the greatest lady, he had even allowed her to write to her friends, saying that she was happy. He could do no more.

But this blissful state of things was not destined to last. Redruth came to her one day and told her that the house in which she had lived had become too expensive for his means that he had taken rooms for her, and that she must remove to them with all possible speed. Annie was quite content to do as he wished. She had never had much taste for splendid surroundings, and the house, without her husband, was dreary enough. Accordingly she was removed to the apartments in which I afterwards found her living in the Strand. "Very little happened to me worth telling," said Annie, continuing her narrative, "until that day when I met you, Hugh. Ah! I shall never forget that day. After you had met me, being dragged away by those men who accused you of murder, I remained in that room stunned and stupified, utterly incapable of realizing what had happened. Then it all came back to me. I seemed to see again your reproachful look—to hear again the dreadful words you uttered when you left me. "When the time comes," you said, "may you be as well able to answer for your deeds as I shall answer for mine. The ti'ouble began with you. If murder has been done, it is your doing also—remember that!"

(''Take

"Those were the words, Hugh. Night and day they have never left me, and I think they never will until I die. Oh! if I only had died then. But it is just that 1 should live on— it is part of my punishment to live on and see those that I love best in all the world droop and suffer day by day for the wrongs that I have done. "Well, Hugh, I was stunned, as I tell you then suddenly I recovered myself, and rushed, screaming, to the door, with some wild idea of saving you, and bringing you back, when I was met at the door by my husband. Whether or not he knew anything of what- had taken place, I don't know. I was too much agitated myself to think of him. But in a wild "fit of excitement and terror I clung to liirn and told him all. When I had finished my tale, he looked at me with such a calm, cold gaze, it nearly drove me mad." "It's a very bad job," he said "but really I don't see what I can do?" "Then I will tell you," I answered. "You can take me back to St. Gurlott's, and help me to prove my in innocent—as he is, God lcnoj!

you hack to St/GurlSJw

lie said. "In what capacity as Annie Pendragon, or as my wife?" 'As your wife,'' I replied "Oh, Hugh, I shall never forget the look that came into his eyes. He smiled as he replied: "1 can not do that, because you are not my wife!" "Not your wife!" I repeated, scarcely believing that I heard aright but having once begun, it seemed easy for him to continue. "No," he replied, "you are not my wife. If you hadn't been a little fool you would have known it long ago." "But we were married," I persisted. "We went through a marriage ceremony, "he i-eplied, "because I wanted to guard against long faces and reproachful looks., After the ceremony you were perfectly contented, but I knew that we were no more man and wife than we had been before. The ceremony was a mock one, the registrar was an impostor, whose services I had bought! if he hadn't been he would never have performed the ceremony in the evening if you hadn't been a fool you would have known that a marriage is no marriage if performed after twelve o'clock in the day." ''Again I looked at him in petrified amazement then, realizing what all this meant to me, I fell sobbing at his feet." "'George,' I cried, 'tell me you are not in earnest—say it is not true!" but all his love for me seemed to have died away without a look he turned from me. "It is true," he said. 'Ah! don't say so,' I cried, clinging helplessly to him. 'Say that I am your wife it is the only comfort I have had left to me during all these weary months since I left my home! Do not take that from.me! In Heaven's name have pity! Ah, you would have me think ill of you but I will not. You would never be so base as to deceive me so! You, whom I loved and trusted so much, would never wreck my life and break my heart. I'll not believe but you are my husband still!' "I covered my face with my hands, and cried bitterly. After awhile he came to me and raised me from the ground. 'Annie,' he said, 'my poor little girl, be comforted. I have told you the truth—you are not my wife! You can never be that the difference in our stations is so great that a marriage with you would be my ruin. I have deceived you cruelly but my heart is still yours, and till death comes I shall love and protect you. We will leave this place we will leave England together. Then, far away, in some freer, brighter land, where these disti notions do no

exist, we shall dwell in happiness and peace." But I shrank from him. "Do not touch me!" I cried "do not speak to me like that!" "What is it you regret?" he asked. "A mere form! Love is still love, dispite the world!" "Love is not love," I replied, "till sanctified and proved. You have profaned it! You have broken my heart and destroyed my peace for ever." "You talk wildty, Annie," he returned. "I tell you I will atone. All I have is yours and I will devote it to your happiness. Can you not forgive me?" "Forgive you?" I replied. "Yes, God heip me, I forgive you. Goodbye." "Why, where are you going?" "Back to my home." "Before I could say more, the expression of his face changed." "I see," he said "you wish to ruin me To publish all over the village the story of what I have done. You will not stand alone disgraced—you would disgrace me, too. But I am not such a fool as to let you. You are with me now: you will remain with me until I choose to let you go." "At the time, I did not know of anything that had happened at St. Gurlott's since I had left it. I know now he dreaded to be exposed before Madeline Graham. He kept me a prisoner in these rooms for several days but at last I managed to make my escape. You know what happened after that, Hugh. I made my way to Falmouth: and there you found me, when I was almost starving. If you had not discovered me I should have died." [To be continued.]

A Matter of Figures.

Chicago Tribune.

"No, sir," said the barkeeper, "you don't get anymore here this time. You've had enough whiskey for one evening." "All right, sir," replied the customer, somewhat thickly. 'My trade doesn't amount to much. I pose, it's about a couple dollars a week, mebbe, but I've got friends. Bet yer life none o' them'll ever come here again. Say!" he continued, pointing his finger impressively at the man behind the bar. "do you know what this thing's going to cost you? I'll knock you out of just $6 a week. That's over $300 a year, and that's the, interest on $(j,000. It costs you $6,000 b'gosh!" "That's all right, my friend," responded the barkeeper, "if you and your friends drop out it will bring me about $2 a week in better trade. Say!"—and he pointed his finger straight at the man in front of the bar—"do you know what $12 a week is? It's over $600 a year. That's the interest on $12,000, and I'd give $10,000 to have you stay away from here, b'gosh! You light out!"

Use of cat's whiskers.—The long hairs on the side of a cat's face are organs of touch. They are attached to abed of fine glands under the skin, and each of these long hairs is connected with the nerves of the lip, says the South Boston News. The slightest contact of these whiskers with any surrounding object is thus felt most distinctly by the animal, although the hairs themselves are insensible. They stand out on each side of the lion as well as on the common cat. From point to point they are equal to the width of the animals body. If we imagine, therefore, a lion stealing through a covet of wood in an imperfect light we shall at once see the use of those long hairs. They indicate to him through the nicest feeling any obstacle which may present itself to the passage of his body they prevent the rustling of boughs and leaves which would give warning to his prey if he were to attempt to pass too close to a bush, and thus in conjunction with the soft cushions of his feet and the fur upon which lie treads—the claws never coming in contact with the ground—they enable him to move towards his victim with a stillness eaual to that of of a snake.

Twenty-live Shoeless Passengers. St. Paul Globe. An amusing contretemps, though an awkward one for the persons principally interested, occurred on the Milwaukee train to Chicago one day last week. It was the regular train leaving St. Paul at 8 p. in., and arriving in Chicago on the following morning. One sleeping carleaves St Paul with the train and goes clear through to Chicago. Another is added at La Crosse and dropped off at Milwaukee.

It had become a habit with the porters of the two cars to take the shoes that were to be cleaned from the forward car to the rear one, where they would converse while putting on the necessary polish. On the particular night referred to both the porters had been regaled rather, freely with drinks from traveling flasks. They fell asleep over the shoes, and when the car was dropped off at Milwaukee two porters and all the shoes belonging to the people in the forward car were dropped off, too.

The spectacle presented at the Milwaukee depot in Chicago when the train arrived was, 'to say the least an unusual one. Twenty-live shoeless passengers kicked vigorously for their brogans, and a big crowd had fun with them. The railway management was equal to the occasion. A shoe clerk was promptly on the spot every man, woman and child was rapidly measured, and in less time than it would seem possible all those passengers were newly shod at the expense of the Milwaukeee' Railway Company.

The greatest improvement in

Corsets during the past twenty

years is the use of Coraline in

the place of horn or whalebone.

It is used in all of Dr. Warners

Corsets and in

no others.

-The advantages of Coraline

over horn or whalebone are that

it does not become set like

whalebone, and it is more flexi

ble and more durable.

Dr. Warner's Coraline Corsets

are made in twenty-four differ

ent styles, fitting every variety of

figures—thin, medium, stout,

long waists and short waists.

Sold everywhere. WARNER BROS., Mfrs., New York and Chicago.

if/iwaa

6.K

For sale by

O faJr ij fye baijk Where the Wild ifyynje

^AiydjWeet afeifye Mo^om^of ljea%r:

Eut atjotljer fAlR-BANK.^s?

!?DR

in favor &nd rMk

Beats the hea%r* arid %n?e & boti? together 'W* SANTA CLAUS SGAP.^

===——'C£=—

IMS III

vr*HEBRA'S

m/m

made only by N.K.FAIRBANK&CO. chicagq.

IWiOLACREAM

IIIS preparation, with-

f-v av out injurv, removes

COUAP

Freckles, Liver-Moles,

Pimples, Black-Heads, Sunburn aiid Tan. A few applications will render the most stubbornly red skin soft, smooth and white. Viola Cream is not a paint or powder to cover defects, but a remedy to cure. It is superior to all other preparations, and is guaranteed to give satisfaction. At druggists or mailed ior 50 cents. Prepared by Toledo, Ohio. G. €. BITTXEK A €€?,

M. C. Qii^ley,

Greentte

NO MORE OF THIS!

{Rubber Slioea unless worn uncomfortably tight, will often slip off the feet. To remedy this evil tho

COLCHESTER" RUBBER GO.

offer shoe v.-1th tlie inside of the heel, lined with rubler. This clings to the shoe and'prevents the Rubber from slipping ofT.

CaH for tlio Colchester"

"ADHESIVE COUNTERS" juid you can walk, rua or jmqp iu them.

$3090

A. YKAR I undertake to briefly teach imy fairly intelligent person of eitlnT sex, who can read and write, and who, after instruction, will work industriously, how to earn Three Thoutrmd Dollari f.

Tear in theh*own loealitieM,wherever they llve.I will also furnish tho Mtimtion or employment,ut which you can earn thatumount. No money for me unlrHa Mueoessftil on above, Ktisfty and quick)y learned. I d«?*uv but mie worker frum each district or county. 1 have already taught and provided with employment htrp* number, who are making over a j^'nr.each. it's IVJC

MONEY!

'can he earned at our NE1V line of work, rapidly and honorably, hy thoao of either m»x, yontifr or old, and in their own localities,wherever they live. Any do the work. Kntty to learn.

Wo furnish everything. We start you. No risk. You can your spare moment*, or all

yomr

time to the ^vork.

TIiLdevote,air1hh

entirely nuw lead,and brhiRa wonderful suevess to every worker, ltcpimiera are eavuinp from $fift to #50 per week and upwarda, unci more alter a little cxpe-rienou. Wo can furninh you the emplovniciit and tcuch vou KlfKH. No spnooto explain hero. Pull Information l-'UKK. I'lfcU E3 cfc UO-, Attll'SYA, UAINK*

POWO. 00 a vpfir In loinp imitl'' by John R. Go'.'lu in.'l ruy,N.Y.,u' wink Cor ii.-i. Ki-uilfV, yon tnov not lnuk'- its liuinli. but o«n icuoli you illicitly h»vv tin nvn from to #10 Hay ut tliu si it, it nil mom lis yoa ijk 11- llolh M'XI'S, nil «[.-!«. ill oily purl ol !\ini'iicii. vou mil coiiiiiiouen nt liuiiu-, riv•iiiK ft" your thnu,uv momenta only to tliu work. All Is in'«. |my SCUK f«

OVITV worker. Wo utiut

ovciytliintri UAS1I.Y, SVHeDILY VAKTIUUI-Allfl 1'lUilK. Address ut OIKU,

to., IUI1TLUV, WAl.Mi.

Losa! Time TABLL

In BffMl JljUU 13) eolid Trains Bosoms

3ANDU3C and P5SORU

on*

DURKCT cniw UOM t* nd from ail points is t]M

United 8t»Uw and Oaute

Trains arrive and depart from tfianapolis Union Station as follow*

DEPART—No. 10 pajHeneer, T-15 a. m. So. passenger, *1:20 p. m. No. passenger, m. No. lfi express, til: 10 p. m. Trains not marked run daily except Saiwtay. ARKIVE—No. 9 passenger, *10-90 a. m. No. passenger, *!fcj0 p. in. No. 13 (itsKiigst, tfSO p. m. No. 17 express, t&10 •Dally. fD&ily except Saturday,

No. 12, via Tipton, arrive Bloomlncton at

Lit

m., making direct connection with C. A, train arriving at Kanaaa City &30 matt .morning, connecting direct at Kanata City lot Denver, San Francisco and alt points Wes4 ,Frae reclining chair care between Tipton aa4

Missouri river lor all passenger*. Nos. 9,10,12 and 13 connect at Tipton vtt main Una trains for Sandusky. JBioomingto* all points Kastand West. 'Trains 16 and 17 have elegant wellnin* ehate •an tree to all passenGers, a«fl ®ake alrem connection at Peru with the Wabash fast train* tor Ft. Wayne, Toledo, Chiooa*. Detroit aa4 Kew York.

For farther information In regard to rate* routes, etc., call on A H. Sell are, City FasiWger Agant, 46 S Illinois St., or address, Sb O- PARKEII, Truffle Manager, C. I, nAT.V, Ass*. Gen'l Pass. :»ni Tkt. Agt.

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When I say CtTBB I do not mean merely to istop them fur a time, and then have them retarn again.

1 MEAN'

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ti.C. ROOT, M.C., 123 PEARL ST.,NEWYO&K

ITrUINHDIl FC

III unintl

HAH*

lire Intennn Itching and Htlngkiic mo*£tt night worne bi scratching. If alBlowed to continua tumor* form and.

protrude,whlcli often

IILCWIIIM. _Hni

IlTC

[Hbecoming very

ulcoj'jiue.

|IVT

WPC.

OINT-

MKftT stops the Itching and bleeding, heal* ulceration, and In inoMtvuMCA remove* the MOttu SWAYNK'S

OISITMKKT IS Bold by druggist*, or NIMLEIITFR

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WIN leases afllin SWAYNE'S

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The *iir»rlc application of

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withort

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tar

SOLO BY DRUGGISTS

AIM O

GENERAL STOREKEEPERS.

PREPARED OMW BY

RQOJA CHEMIC'Al-CO. CINCINNATI.OMIO.

Kor Sale by '. L. harlj and T. H. Salui*u, dald- Wt

and NOE*ID»1'*uU particulars FR£R* Address at once K2. C, ISox 430, Maine.

FOUTZ'S

HORSE AND CATTLE POWDER8

Ho HOBSS will die of COLIC, Bora or Luxe F» TIB, If Foutz1* Powders ire used In time. Foatx'a Powders will cure and prevent Hoe Cnot

Poutzt Powd'srs will pre rent GAPBB

Fowl

Fonts'* Powders wilt increase the quantity of ml and creun twenty per cenU and (nuke tbe butter and sweet

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ioM-aTarywuere.

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