Indiana State Sentinel, Indianapolis, Marion County, 31 October 1894 — Page 11

THE INDIANA STATE SENTINEL',' WEDNESDAY MOllNlNii, OOlUbfcll ;3i, lby.

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SISTER CORDELIA.

CHAPTER I. "We axa therefore formed Into this sisterhood," eald -the lecturer, "for the ultimate good of humanity and for the higtier development of the mental and spiritual faculties. We lose ourselves in order that -we may find our truer selves. "We glean all that is best and purest In all doctrines of all gTeat teachers. We divest our minds of all prejudice, pettiness, and, above all, of selfishness. Love, .my eisters. is our standpoint. We are to und by no oaths, we renounce no earthiy ties, and this leads us to the question of marriage marriage, my sisters. Now we are agreed that woman is, psychically speaking1, a higher development than man. The ideal man is unfortunately not at present evolved. Nor, It may be urged, is the Ideal woman. We admit it: but the esoteric yearning1 of woman for further spiritual development has at length burst forth Into open day, and is embodied to this sisterhood. We note In man a deplorable self-satisfaction, coupled with a melancholy contentment with the Inferior type of woman-, which markj his lower caliber of mind. Now, not only i3 close association with an inferior mind degrading, but there is another point to be very seriously considered. Would not this sisterhood do well to, I do not say finally renounce, but refrain from dwelling upon the desirability of marriage; since its aims are the universal gxd of mankind, and a general love of humanity which might readily be warped by concentration upn an Inferior unit? Our chief labor is for the amelioration of the lot of woman, yet I do not say that we should close our sympathies to a large section of humanity such as is constituted by man as opposed to woman. Xo! We should rather strive to lead him to a higher spiritual p'.ane; to restrain his natural brutality, to raise his aims, to purify hi. ideals; to, in .short, help to evolve the ideal man a fitting mate for the ideal woman. In doing this we shall do well to do it generally, not dwelling in thought upon any representative unit, but up."n the race." In the next room, a luxurious apartment, sat two elderly ladies. One, a plump and pleasing person, sat by the tea-table, dispensing tea, cream, muffins and cake; she was also recounting her grievances. "Th troubles of a ehapenne!" said she. "They've been sung ami groaned rf:en enough, Mary. Tlie tr ubles of the chaperone of a beautiful heiress are great, but when that heiress is a a philanthropist, they become perfect nightmare. Cordelia is very trying. This ridiculous sisterhood is comparatively harmless; but oh, my dear, her terrible "skimmings!" fh doesn't even do that like other girls; I dread to hear her announce her indention uf marrying somo socialistic tinker for the good of humanity. Why can't she marry Frank Kutherford? Such a suitable match; such a charming fellow!" "Perhaps she dies ni: lov him. But she would not marry bne.ita her." "My dear, she only looks at a man's soul; and I suppose they're of no particular set in society. Candidly, Mary, this latter-day Christianity is. not to speak profanely, very trying. I am an orthodDX persons I dislike new doetrir.es, or new developments of the o!d. Theosophy is th most comfortable of the rtw faiths; yni have, 50 far as I can Judge, to think of your next reincarnation. 0 cf course you mi:?; tak care of yourself. That's sensible. Oh. here they come! Xo, it's Krank ami Mrs. Itraiutree." There came into the room a slender, graceful woman, exquisitely dressed, with a low, pleading v iiee and rolling brown eye. She was followed by an agreeable specimen of Young England, a big, fair, well-loaking. well-dressed young man. "How are you. dear Lady Ria nd? A little pale ah! do take care of yr.ursf. Ilow d'ye do. MUs drfjix? Mr. Rutherford and 1 mt on the steps. And our darling Cord?!ia. how is. sha?" "Very well, thanks. How d'ye do. Frank? Corde'ia. will be hero directly, Mrs. Uraintree. Do you tak? sugar? Xo? Very weak, because of your nerves? We ar? ail so terribly highly strung nowadays except you, Frank; your nerves are castiron." Mr. Rutherford, who waj pulling hla must-che disconsolately, roused himself to hand Mrs. Rraintre her cup. Lady Bland abominated Mrs. Braintree. an American singer who had recently appeared to storm London, and who, by her sympathy and love for tho race, had won the heart of Misa Brevoort. Lady Bland was thankful when there was an irruption of, the sisterhood Ir.to the drawing room, and she wa. ffparei the necessity of talk with "that woman." "Dear, darling Cordelia, if you knew how grieved I was at being unavoilably prevented from singing to your deeply interesting sandwich men. I was distressed, dearest; sore distressed." "Tou could not help It, Alice; your sick friend had the first claim, Frank kindly sang another song. and duet with me." "I thought you were not able to get back In tir.ie for golf, Mr. Rutherford?' "Er no; but I gave up golf." "For the sake of ' the sandwich-men? How good, how sweet you are!" "It W3J kind of you, Frank," said Cordelia. She sighed. Signor Rumbletznte's fugue had fallen fiat; Mr. Rutherford's rendering of "Mrs. 'Enry "Awkins" had been doubly encored. These things saddened President Cordelia Brevoort. She moved to give Miss Carfax some cake; Mr. Frank Rutherf -rd followed her, and It befell, perchance because of this young man's strategical gift-:, that Corde!! i drank her own tea i:i a rpdet corner at the end of the room. -and Frank Rutherford sat there too. There w.-.s a buzz of taik. and they were virtually alone. "Frank, it was very good of you to give up your golf for those poor people." "A hc-m. yes. Cordelia, it wasn't for the men." "No?" "No; it was for you. I always meant to com but I had to get out of dining with Mrs. Braintree. I came to ploare you. to see you." "This is what I so deplore in yeu, Frank." said Cordelia sadly. "I am "but a unit; the sandwich-men are many. You place the unit before the many, and " "I do when the unit's you. Not but what I'm corry for these poor dvlN Delia." "Frank, that is not the way to speak of suffering brethren." "I'm very sorry. But. Cordelia, I shall always put you first. I'm getting on, you know, I feel T am, but you com first; you always must. Now, Delia. I feel' when I'm away from you I'm addicted to to backsliding that's the word, backsliding. If I were always with you, you know " "How couJd that be possible? But, eurely, if you really lay to heart these-, principles " "Stop, dear Delia, If you would make up your mind to to marry me! I'm far beneath you in every way. of course, but I love you dearly, and I'd be aa jjood a husband as I knew how." 'Frank, you grieve me inexpressibly." "Why, dearest? Of course, if you feel you don't care for me " "It Is not that. I have a sisterly regard; a genuine affection f:r you; but that you should introuduce this personal this ra a subjective element into our friendship, distresses me. You know I labor for the welfare of the race." "But you know how I sympathize with you; you know how I admire your views Look at it this way. Think of the incalculable good you might do the race; there are my tenants, all human beings' all going to the devil " "Frank!" "I beg your pardon. dar; I m?an that they are greatly In need of light. There are no technical ela3es, no choral societies, no dramatic clubs, no debating societies, no culture of any kind. All Tumbleton belongs to m; you could build model cottages. The village is In dreadful repair; the drainage 1j simply " iliss Brevoort cut her lover short.

"Frank! Do I understand that you are knowingly allowing your property to be In an insanitary condition?" "No, no, dear Cord?lia, not that. But there is much I should like to do, only I lack your guidance, d:n't you see?" "I can advise you; I can help you." "It would not ba th3 same thing." "I must live for humanity. Frank." "You cannot be ubiquitous, dear. My property is very large; it would be a wide sphere of action. I really think It's your duty,. Cordelia. And then there's me. I love you so, darling. .You used to say you loved me, when you were the sweetest little girl that ever wore pinafores; have you quite forgotten? I love you dearly, Cordelia." No one who heard Mr. Rutherford's usual well-bred monotone could have credited his voice with possessing that range of notes. "Xo. Frank; no, dear Frank, it cannot be. Do not pain me by referring to it." "Do you do not care for my pains." "I do. very much. Strive to fix your mind on wider thlnjrs; cast this weakness behind you, as I do, as a childish fDlly." "Never! It is not folly; it is a natural human feeling which you would deform. Cordelia, you give me no hope, but I shall never change. I never have loved another woman, and I never shall." "You grieve me; yet perhaps, that is well. In the present state of the evolution of the race, affection, concentrated upon the Individual, 13 debasing. You may become the ideal man; strive to do so." Miss Brevoort smiled sadly, but her eyes looked pleased. She swept softly awav. CHAPTER II. Six weeks later Sister Cordelia sat in the room in which she received her inmates, wrote her letters, and transacted her business generally. It was a pretty room, and she looked the better for the ple-asing background. She was not alone; Mrs. Braintree was with her. Mrs. Brain-

! tree had been lunching with her dear Cordelia; she sat in a deep cushioned chair and ate candy. "Really these candies are delicious," she said. "Tl'r-v'ro niee lint T dl not care for I sweets." i "No. dearest Cordelia, your mini is I fixed on higher things." "Mr. Rutherford in the dra winy-room, ma'am." announced the servant. Cordelia rose. "Come, Alice, let us go down stairs." "No. d?arest," said Mrs. Braintree gently. "No; you go, dear Cordelia. I will remain here." "Whv. Alice?" "I would prefer It." Miss Brevoort looked surprised. "I cannot imagine why." "Dearest," said Mrs. Braintree. as one who gives utterance to a painful admission, "since you press for an answer, it in short it Is painful to me to meet Mr. Rutherford." "Alice, you surprise me! I had thought, especially of late, that you and Mr. Rutherford were very muvh together." Miss Brevoort colored slightly. "We wore, dear; we shall not be so lo the future." Cordelia, locked nervous. "If you will not come down." she said hesitatingly, "I wjll n .t see Mr. Rutherford; Aunt Margaret will entertain him." She seated' herself. "I wish you would explain, Alice." "No, dear, I am perhaps oversensitive. You might think litt la of it."' "What is it?" "It Is simply told. I am singularly loyal to mv sex. It is a folly, a w?akness, but a fact." "pi not sav that. Loyalty a folly! never!" "Svft Cordelia, you are s sympathetic. It is thus, my dear girl. Mr. Rutherford has been excessively friendly most kind m -st attentive to m. He was two years In America, was he not?" "Yes." "I am American, as you know In writing to a very dear friend of mine. I mentioned Mr. Rutherford's name. My friend, it appears, met him in America, and wrote me a sad tale; of the result of ara idle flirtation of his nothing, of course, in his eyes. But the girl believed that he cared for her, and hc-'ng very delicate, fretted so much that she is actually dying of decline. Now, of course, dearest, this is not Mr. Rutherfrd"s fault; but I am over-sensitive; I dislike to meet him. I can trust you, dear girl; this is in strict conti dence." Cordelia was very pale. "You are not over sensitive," she said; "you are rig'ntly sensitive. Such conduct is base, solnsh, despicable all that is detestable!" "You will not mention it to him?" "No; but I, like yourself, can never again feel pleasure In Mr. Rutherford's society." Miss Brevoort was agitated, her breath came in little, quick pants. "It is shameful'." she said. "Shameful: and ho is a hypocrite; h? said he had never I m?an he professed love for the whole rac." "You will not mention it to him?" "Certainly not. I I am disappointed In him, that is all." "I must go, darling. I know you would feel with me." Mrs. Braintree kissed her friend and glided sofely away. She went home, put on a lovely pale-green tagown, and turned the pink-shaded lights low. "Just a precaution," she murmured. "No violent scandal was necessary: she is so very refined, sensitive, and highly strung. A dear girl, but in some things stupid." She rang the bell. "Lay two placja at table," said she. "I expect Mr. Rutherford to dinner." Miss Brevoort lay back in her low chair and shut her yes. Prese-nt'y a tear slid from beneath the lashes; it was sh?d for a unit, and a unit whom Fh had rejected. But thm Rh had hoped h? might ultiiateIv evolve into the ideal man. ( H llTI'll III. Cordelia lirevoirt had a district wherein she visited: th was filled with philanthropic sche:n,- for thes Melioration of the condition of the human race. It was in th's district that Lady Bland dreaded her possible encounter with a socialistic tinker, Cordelia was visiting it on a remarkable raw and chilly morning in January; she stoo.1 on the top Ftep of a. small, neat hr use, and talkr-d to a comf rtable-'.ooking dame, the landlady. "I"d take it very kindly of you. if you'd see 'im, miss," said the landlady. "I'm thinking I: u'd be as well if 'e went into the 'orspital. He ought to 'ave proper nursing, and with all my little ones, I ain't got no time, miss." "If I can be of any use." "Step in, mL-s." Cordelia stepped in, the landlady unceremoniously Hung open a door, and remarking. " 'lire, Mr. Fenton, 'ere's a lady," departed. The room was small, decently and hideously furnished, and very untidy. There were a number of sketches, chiefly crayon, littered abut it. The arii-ft, who was crcuch!ng over the fire, started and stood up nervously. "Mrs. Green told me you were ill. I visit here." "I ye.;;. I suppose I am ill. I have gt Inflammation of the lungs; that that doe make you ill." "Of course; it does. Are you sure you have it; because if so you ought not to be up?" "I am sure It Is my lungs; they are always weak." He was drawing lines on the table with hi hand; it .was a fine, delicate hand, purely artistic, but the art I of suc-h a man must necessarily be with out pun or vigor. "Do sit down." said Cordelia gently. "Is your name Fenton?" "Yes; Mark Fenton." I "Mr. Fenton. I hope you do not mind j my coming in; I mean only to help. The ' people here are used to me; they expect . me to come in. but you might think It a j liberty." "Whyshould I more than they?" ! "Because you are In rather a different position. You might resent it; but I mean to be kind." "I am sure you do. In what way am I in a different position?" "Of course, Mr. Fenton, I your won't mind me saying I see you are a gentleman. That is what I mean by a different position." "If Xo be a gentleman means to have a

banking account ar.d a gocd coat, I am afraid I am nt a gentleman." "No one thinks It mens that. Of course if a man Is onco a gentleman he is always one." "Do you think so?" he asked eagerly. "Certainly. Do not you?" "I think there are," began the man, and this was cut s-hort by his rouff.i. Cordelia caught his arm any put h'm into the leather chair by the fire; h? was panting for breath. "I shall send the doctor here. I know him quite well, and I shall tell him to send a nurse." "Stop liss Miss " . "My name is Brevoort." "I have heard of yvni. Miss Brevoort. I cannot pay the doctor for more than one visit; I cannjt pay the nurse at all." "That will be a" right. Mr. Fcr.ton. You must not worry yourself." "You mean you are going to pay. You are it is how can I accept your goodness?" "It is no goodness. If you know anything about me you also know my views about money. I d) not consider that the large sums which I inherit, through the aceident of birth, are mine. I should like to have Che bulk of my money taken away and given to its proper owners. I cannot have that done, so I think of myself as a trustee, not as an owner, riease don't talk; it makes you cough, and tire3 vou. Good-toy." She was gone, and after she had seen the doctor, who cherished a great though Platonic admiration for that -beautiful lunatic, Sister Cordelia Brevoort, s'he went home with her active brain and tender, sympathetic heart brooding on the affairs of Mark Fenton, artist in crayons. He was excedingly ill, but at leng:h he rallied, and. through Cordelia's influence, went to a convalescent home in Bournemouth. Thence he wrote ti her a long, well-expressed, grateful letter, saying that he was quite well, and should return to Lnnd-n the next week. He did return, and Cordelia went to see him. The more she studied his drawings the more struck she became with the artist's talent. It was talent, great talent, perfect technical skill, not genius. The man's gifts were thrown away; true, they supported him. but they ought to do more. Cordelia's brain gave birth t5 an idea, and an incident, carelessly thrown in by fate, shaped it. She supported an art school fjr girls; they hnd to show undeniable talent to bo eligible, and they received their artistic training absolutely free. The lady who had been their instructress entered into the holy estate of matrimony, and went to live In the north of England. Miss Brevoort pondered; it was vacation at the school. She took a cab and drove to Mark Fenton's. He was at home, sitting in the window to get a good light, and drawing a clump of daffodils, with a tiny blue tint flutteringover them. "How pretty it is!" said Cordelia "Co on drawing, pl-ase, while I talk." She drew a portfolio toward her and began turning over the sketches; suddenly she stopped. "Oh. it is very pood." she exclaitned frankly; "but it's flattering." Mark Fenton's pale faen? grew scarlet. "You do not think it a liberty?" he faltered. "It is for myself: not fir "sale, or course." "Certainly I do not." "I began to draw your face mechanically," said Fenton, in a low voice. "I was just Kitting, thinking " It was a remarkably good likeness, representing Cordelia in an attiulo into which she often fell; leaning fcrw?.rd, the hands crossed, the lips apart, th eyes luminous with feeling, the air of .cader listening, of absorption in another, lighting the whole face. Ther? was something written beneath the portrait. Cor.lelia read It, flushed a little, as an humbl unselfish nature does flush at praise, and made "no comment. The lir.s were: "Half angel and half bird. And all a wonder and wild dsire. Yet human at the red ripe of the heart." Sh laid the sketch softly away and spoke. "Mr. Fentm. I come to see you on business. There is an appointment in connection with the art school which I can obtain" (seeing that the salary came out of Miss Brevoort's private purse, she could naturally obtain it). "Nenv. I think you are the very person for it. t The pupils are girls; they are all clever, otherwise they are not admitted, so the work ought to be Interesting. The salary is not very large, but it is fairly good, and there are rooms at the school; you will live rentfree. It would be better, and I think pleasanter. than what you are eloing; and you would have leisure to pursue your own work." Fenton started and laid down his crayon. "You offer me this appointernent ? How more than good you are!" "No; I study the i erest of the girls; I wish "to secure thf a good master." "Miss Brevoort, iat can I say?" "I hope yes." "If I said no, you would think me ungrateful. What shall I do?" He was greatly agitated. "Why should you say no?" "Because you wtuU withdraw your offer if you knew all. I am not so vile as t' sail under false colors with you. I must tell you I ought to have told you. . I cannot accept your heavenly kindness, and I: li so hard to tell yiu why; you do not knaw how harel. You have been like a cup of cold water in the desert. Think what a man would feel who had to pour it away, anel söe the sand drink what his lips were parched for." "I hope you know that you are secure of my sympathy." "I don't know; ah, it's horribly hard!" lie drew lines on the table with a shaking hand. "You surely are not afraid of me?" "That is just what I am. I am afraid of everything and every one; and of you, at this moment, most of all. I must tell you. though. You said, 'Once a gen'.leman. always a gentleman, or something like it. didn't vou?" "Ye." "I was born a gentleman, and educated as one; but if a man dishonors his birth and his training, v41t then?" "Then he is very much t be pitied." Fenton drew his breath in a gasp. "Miss Brevoort, I am a relurneel convict. I was five years in prison." Cordelia started. The theory of th universal brotherhood of ma a necessitates the admission of the criminal info the family circle; but theory ar.J practice are different. "But you were innocent ?"' "No. I was guilty." There was a littb pause, then Cudclit spoke. "I am sure you are very sorry." "For myself? I have suffered enough for my sin to repent it." "I ditl not mean that. I am sure you would be just cs sorry, even had you not suffered." "I don't know." "I am sure of it. Will von tei; me a little more?" "I will try. I had plenty o' money, and I lived up to my income. I fell in love when I was twenty-three, and I mimed. I was unbusin?sslike; I speculatei foolishly, and lost a lot of money. I could tiOt make my wife see the necessity of retrenchment; I was as weak v.s water a fool, in short, as I am, and always have been. We lived extravagantly and ran Into debt. Whn I was twenty-six. there was money belonging to some people for whom I was trustee. I h:d only been trustee a year; I borrowed some of that money for a time; the other trustee came from abroad, and that was when I was twenty-six. I have been free two years; I am supposed to be dead." He spoke in a curious, dry, level voice, and stiil drew lines upon the table. "I suppose 1 repent," he went on. "I do; I am wretched; that is repentance, I imagine. The eyes of strangers in the street used to turn me e!ck with shame; I'm getting used to that now. You see what a usedess life you saved." "I could not. There "is not such a thing." "You really think I can start again? You don't understand. I am not an innocent man, suffering unjustly; I am a thief." "Say you were a thief; you ar not ona now. If you are sorry. And I am quite, quits sure you will nH be 3 agiin." "You are not offering me this place now that you know all about me?" "Yes, I am. Will you say yes?" Mark Fentm did not say "yes" In words; he stared at her like one stunned. "I. did not know there was such a woman pos?iblo as you," he said. "You ar; like a vision of God." "You mint not say that. I am no better than Other peeple. We are all visions

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01 uju, wners we tuigei ourselves lor x moment, and ?ry to help vach other." S the art school had a new master, and flourished exceedingly; aaid two little flower paintings of Fenton's wer hung In a winter exhibition. The flirtation between Mr. Rutherford and Mrs. BraintrcM was carried on discreetly on the lidy's side. Miss Breevort grew very quiet, and gentler than usual; she was rather pale, and a little depressed, thiugh unwearied in welldoing. Lady Bland became poss?"?3?d by an awful terror in which tn? "drawing person" usurped the place of the "saclalIstic tinker." Mrs. Braintree learned of the afflicted chapern's anxiety, and told Frjnk Rutherford of it. He was so obviously disconcerted that his friend wasas much annoyed as amused when he left her. CHAPTER IV. In the spring of that year a wealthy and benevolent Australian vlsitcl England. He brought a letter of introduction to Lady Bland, and became a profound admirer, in a stricth' fatheily fashion, of Miss Brevoort. He viitM her ?chool, and announced his intcniion of endowing an institution of the kind on a larger scale in h!3 native land. "You've got a capital teacher," said he. "You couldn't tell me of any one equally g.od?" and he named his proposed rate '-f payment, double Fenton's salary. Cordelia pondered; Fento;i was not a strong man, and the English winters tried him. She suggested that the Australian appointment should be offered to him. HThe benevolent gentleman" Jumped at the idea; he heard the whole history, and offered Fenton the post. Fenton very gratefully, very humbly, very apologetically refused It. The Australian would not take the refusal, being stru !;'" by Fenton's method of teaching, his talents, and the infinite amount of pains he Look. He gave him a month to consider P. Cordelia went to see him and to remonstrate. "Why don't you accept?" "I am contented here; unless you are dissatisfied." "That 13 foolish, Mr." Fenton. I am satisfied, of course, but really this Is a splendid opportunity, and you know you I cannot stand the fogs." "I do not want anything better than I have. I am getting uäed.to fogs; I like them." "Like them! Y'ou told me you could i hardly breathe in the them." I "I am not ungrateful, but I do not want to go." "I cannot imagine why- not. Really, this present appoiiUmmt does not give you a fair chance. I think you don't know how very clever Mr. Anderson thinks you. He is a better critic than I am; he would push you forward as I cannot; and altogether, the entire change, the climate, the new country " ' "Miss Brevoort, wi"4 you tell me I am impertinent if I y something?" "No." "Then 'entreat me not to leave thee.' You do not know how very much your friendship is to me; I am utt&rly unworthy of it. but I cannot give it up." . "You would not, Mr.' Fenton; I hope we shall always be friends great and trusted friends, as we are now." ' "It would not be the same. I should not se you, I should not hear your voice, I should not feel, as I do now, that any h:ur. any minute, I might hear your step, see your smile, feel the unspeakable beauty and comfort of your presence." Cordelia had mt talked much lately of the superiority of the many over the unit, of the psychial development of woman as opposed to man. Scmething, some one, was winnowing and sifting the chaff from the grain. Y;t, though she was conscious that the influence of a unit) had metamorphosed Mark Fentun and given hi new life and strength, mentally and morally, she now became vaguely aware that the conversation was growing too subjective'. They were seated in (he studio; the swing-d or at the end of the ro m opened. "This way, Mrs. Braintree. Good unrning, Fenton. I just met my friend," Mrs. Braintree, passing here, and persuaded her in to see tlyit "Undine" of yours. It has a look of her. Mr. Rutherford was with her, so he las I beg your pardo. Miss Brevoort, I did not see you." It was Mr. Anderson; Cordelia stood up, with a sense of having been tricked. Frank Rutherford with Mrs. Braintree! "Dear Cordelia," cooed that lady to her. "I can explain. Is this the Ah h h!" It was as honest a shriek as ever burst from a pair of lying lips. "Mark!" "Alice!" Mrs. Braintree was a woman of powerful mind, but she wen: into hysterics. The resurrection of a dead man of shady antecedents Ij a cruel strain upon the nerves of a true believer in the gospel cf "getting on" when the dead man is the believer's husband. This was the painful position of Alice Braintree. "Leave her to me," sa!3 Cordelia quickly. 'Tray leave her to me." She tried to support her from the studio; Fenton followed; his face was gray. "Let me come too," he whispered. "She was she is my wife." Cordelia was filled with sympathy. "Ah!" she cried. "She thought you were dead, and thia Is Joy." Fenton smiled rather bitterly, but did not answer. Mrs. Braintree began to recover her speech, but not her self-control. "You!" she exclaimed. "And I thought I was free! Oh, there never was a woman so shamefully treated as I am never!" FciiLon was silent. "Alice:" cried Cordelia. ' "Do you know who your protege is?" .screamed the angry woman. "He is a returned convict, a thief. I have had to change my name, and work like a galleyslave, through! that man. I believe he set it abroad that he was dead from sheer spite. I might hive married, or anything! Oil. it's infamous.' I tell you (and you may tell Mr. Anderson), he's a thief." "I know vour husband's past history, Alice." said"Coide!ia. "He to!d it to me." "And you ht-Ip a man like that! You are a mass ef affection! I suppose you sought a new experience, a p'atonie flirtation with a returned convict." Cordelia turned white. "Alice." said Fenton, "you may give me your wife!y welcome in whatever tpnns you please; you steal 1 not insult Mi.-s Brevoort. I forbid you to speak another word." Mrs. Braintree crlieoted her scattered senses. "Corel elia, " she said, with a eiiluted smile cf hysterical rage and conciliation. "I do not kna-w what I have been saying, d a dear. I am an ill-useel woman; 1 have suffered a shock; I have endured much at the hanJs of that man; our paths mujt lie apart; he knows this, I am sure he wishes it. I grieve if I have spoken to you. my on on only friend, unjut'.y." "You were excited, Alice; do not think more of it. Forgive me if I say that our husband has suffered too. I will go now, and leave you to talk. I hope you will persuade him to accept Mr. Anderson's offer." She turned to Fenton and held out her hand; he took it silently. "Mark," sh-i said, calling him thus for the first lime, "I hepe this may mean happiness for you. I shall see you again In a few da ye: I am always your friend you know that." She turned away. "One moment, sweet," said Mrs. Braintree. "Dear Cordelia, even at this trying moment, I cannot benr that you should judge me harshly; you thought It strange to meet me with Mr. Rutherford? To my great happiness, I find it was a Mr. F. C. Rutherford with whom my friend was acquainted, not F. L. It was such a relief to my mind; I got the letter yesterday, and was coming to tell you." She paused- "Dear one," ehe whispered, "may I beg that you will use your influence with the gentlemen to Indue? them to be silent about the this affair; and be silent yourself?" Cordelia looked at her steadily. "I will do so," she said, quietly. She looked back again at Fenton, and there were tears in her eyes. "Good-by," shj said, sofely. "No, au revolr." She left the room, and rs-entered the studio; with one little qukk glance -at Frank Rutherford, she approached Mr. Anderson, and spoke low. "Of course, -f course. Miss Bivoort. I have not learned much In my fifty years, except to hold my tongus. I am sorry to have been the means of bringing about an unpleasant scene. Good-by. J Good-by, Rutherford." Mr. Frank Rutherford and Miss Cordelia

Brevoort were left alone. "Irank," she said, "will you call me a cab, please?" Her voice was meek; she was thinking of the wrong she had done him in thought, thinking, too, of a certain iu-scn in rych -- ology taught her by six month? of jealous pain and disillusionment but Frank Rutherford thought thai Mark ronton, the drawing-master, was on ner conscience, and drew himself up stlfily. Thus do our dear friends fail to pluck out the heatt of our mystery. "Certainls-. unless you would prefer er Mr. Fenton to get one for you." She directed a heavenly glance of reproach at him. but the imp that sat on the tongue of this goddess was surely human. "No, Frank," said she. "I had rather you got one for me; Mr. Fenton is engaged. And I think Mrs. Braintree will excuse you." Frank Rutherford got the cab in humble silence, and he!pd her in. "Home?" "Home." "A a may I come too, Delia?" Miss Brevoort did not answer: but Frank Rutherford gae his directions to the driver through the trap-dvr in the roof. Meanwhile husband and wife fsiced each other. Mrs. Braintree sat down on the sofa. "Let u? look at this thing calmly, Mark," she said. "We will not scold each other. I lost my temper; I ailmit it; I am cool now. Cordelia Brevoort will keep quiet, and she will keep the men quiet, too. I am making a decent livelihood; so, I suppose, are you. You don't want me; I, assuredly, don't want you. You do not want me?" "N'ot in the least." "Then we meet and part here. If we meet again, 3-ou will not know Mrs. Braintree?" "I am entirely at your orders, Alice." "You are behaving very decently, very sensibly. I suppose the fact Is, yuu don't care for me." "Xo. I don't." "That is very nice; I am so glad. Goodby, then; I wish you good luck. Mark." She was perfectly goxl-tempered now. "One minute, Alice; I wanted to ask you Komething. You don't mind having a few minutes' convei-satlon with me?" "Oh no, oh dear no! I came to see your 'Undine.' What is it?" She leaned back, playing with her eyeglasses. "You salJ something about Mr. Rutherford to Miss Brevoort- what was it?" . "Oh, that I practised a pious fraud upon our dear Cordelia. I told her something about Mr. Rutherford; nothing any other woman would have cared a flg about, but she's so ridiculous. However, I wanted a Roland, so I gave her an Oliver. Besides, in the circumstances, I hal no reaam for not doing so." "I don't understand you." "It is rather an awkward thing to say to you, Mark gauche, bad, ferm. but Mr. Rutherford Is very eligible. I, though you do not care for me. am still as attractive as you thought me before you married me. And I thought I was a widow." "You meant to marry Rutherford, had it not been for my want of tact; I grasp that. But what h-'s that to ds with Miss Brevoort?" -H "Frank RuthtfiÄTd is In love with Cordelia Brevoort; d. though she Is halfcracked, she likes him. I told her a girl was elylng for love of him; she privies herself on her 'loyalty to her s.x," ha, ha!" "Go on." "Now I have cleared matters up between them. He is just the sort of fool that these recognized, catalogued, ticketed 'clever women' can't resist, which proves that there is one thing more stupid than an overgrown foil of a man, and that's a clever woman. He understands about one minute section of Cordelia's mind, which section he admires very blindly. And he also likes a woman to ba tall; Cordelia is very tall. They will marry, and live happily ever after. I dare say they are engaged by this time." Mrs. Braintree laughed gayly. "Ah!" I: was a curious little sound, neither sob. sigh, nor groan, yet partaking of the nature of all three. Mrs. Braintree raised hor glasses, and scrutinized her husband. "Dear me," she said to herself, "hew very truly absurd!" The next morning Mr. Anderson received Mark Fenton's acceptance of the Australian appointment. He salleel three weeks later, and the crayon sketch of Sister Brevoort sailed with him. Macmillan's Magazine.

HE I.OST A I.Ii CHARM FOR HER Antl n Flight of Stair. (nnf(l All the Trouble IJetTvecn Tlieni. She wa the most popular girl in the summer hotel and when two of the others came into her rorn and found her dissolved in tears they proffered sympathy at once. "Has your father sent for you?" cried the girl with her hair looped over her ear. "'Charley ha3 gone off on the train.' cried the grirl with the penciled brows in a tragic tone. "Xo no much worse." "You surely never lo?t that lovely hat overboard- while you were boating:?" "Or let Jennie pet the strange young man seated next to her at table." "O, plrls, it's much worse than anything: I think I'll go into a convent everybody will be talking about it. Promise never to breathe it and I'll tell you all about it." "We never will." "Well, you know that lovely new young man." - "Xo, but I mean to." "O, it's about him. Mame, and I have been Jus: crazy to know him. His room is just under ours, and we hear him singing in a lovely baritone." "Well, Fred kno.vs him and he'll introduce1 " "Never! It was this way:: 'I was asking Fred about him and he told me that he wanted to know me; that he said those little btby curls about my foreheael were lovely, so natural. Then we saw him eeming and Fred offered to present him a; once." "eof course you asrreed?" "If I only had. But I told Fred that I must sjeak to one of the Rirls first; then I flew up stair?. When I gut there I saw at once that Manie had had one of her tidying fits for I couldn't find what I wanted. You see, my hair was a little out of curl." "Of course." "Just then I heard Manie coming ami I said, crossly: 'I wish you'd tell me where on earth you've put my curling iron." There was no reply, so 1 re-peateJ my oue-ry In a still crosier te:ie." "Mame is so prevtking!" "Listen: I I think ther, must be some mistake,' said a rather faint, masculine voice. nd, Kirls, there he was standing just inside the door." "My gcodness!" "I just stamped my foot: 'There is a mistake!" I cried. 'You're in the wrong room and I'll thank you to get out,' and I advanced brush In hand. He fled, and I locked and double locked the door; then I sank on the floor In a heap and cried. I couldn't forgive him for making such a silly' mistake. Suddenly something druck me as strange5 " "You surely hadn't " "I just had. In my hate T had missed a flight of stairs and I had driven th? man out of his own room. Oh. I'll ne-ver get over It if I live to be a hundred!" Chicago Tribune. "IVO MAX'S MFK I" IIJH. An Kilnlfnre AYitlioat AVIcUednes, nut Intolerable. The position of the native women- of Rajputana is singularly deplorable. Penned from their babyhood within the narrow limits of the zenana, they are cut off from all contact with the outer world, with which they communicate only through their slave girls, seeing not only no men but hardly any women, very few ladies of sufficiently high rank living within visiting distance of each other. Th:y are quite uneducated, unable to either read or write or work; nothing, therefore, remains to them but their affections, and these are outraged, their husbands professing no love for them and visiting them but occasionally, their children bring taken from them at a very early age and placed under tha guardianship of n?n. theiri mothers being considered unfit, and alas! truly, to bring them up. Is Ii to be wondered at that such an education, such a, violation of every Instinct. ev?ry need of a human being, should produce creatures singularly deprave d'! inter Occ&a.

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t$ XAGSEJl'S STAND AED HOUSE AXD STOCK BOOK " You will find not only elaborate chapters relating to stock, etc but other interests cf the farm are comprehensively treated of, including

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Poultru, Tlieir Breeds ana fflanaoement."

The Egg and Foultry interest is really the largest single branch cf production in. this country. On this account wo have made a special effort to present in thl3 department a concise and complete synopsis, from rcliahlo Bources, of the most useful and protitnble breexls of fowls, and also such general hints and directions in the raising of poultry anel tho incubation of eggs, as v. ill be of assistance to ail those who,, are engaged therein, together w ith an extensive and elaborate list df illustrations of representative fowls, and of various style3 of incubators and poultry houses, Trhich have been prepared with great care and expense. C.The introduction and general tiso cf incubators, making it possible to increase the supply of eggs by artificial production to an unlimited extent, has had the effect of stimulating the raising of poultry in America to a degrco little appreciated by the ordinary observer or the general reader. It has been said that 'on tho farm to-day Poultry is King.' This department is exhaustively illustrated with all tho types and varieties of Chickens, Turkeys, Ducks, Geese, etc., with the facts concerning them, and is an attractive, as well as a most useful, department of Prof. Magner's work. An entire chapter is devoted to Food, Feeding and Marketing, giving proper food for fowls, fattening for market, killing, packing, etc.; dso tho best methods of preserving and packing eggs. In short, just such ixormation as will enable the Poultry-raiser to make it profitable. flOW YOU MAY OBTfiiH THIS VflLUfiBLE WORK. O The entire Series is complete in 13 purts, issued weekly. On receipt of 10 cents wo will mail you Part 1. Parts II to XIII inciusivo may be obtained in like manner, or on receipt of 1.25 wo will send you the entire Series as fast as the parts are issued. Copy or cut this out and mail to Tbo Indianapolis Sentinel, Indianapolis, IntL

1894. INDSATJA STATE SENTINEL: Inclosed find 10 cents for part one. of ''Manner' s" Standard Horse and Stock Book (or 81. 25 for the complete series of 13 numbers, as issued). Send to following address: Name Street Town State

NEW BODICES, They May Still He of Bright Color and m Wide Variety of Trimming. There is no diminution In the popularity of (bodices differing in color and material from the skirt with which they are worn. Xot only is crape anil every sort of silk used for these garments, but bright-toned challies and other woolen gooels. .Summer gowns of ve-iiing and crepon. the dainty color of which has been faded or injured here and there, may be taken apart and the best pieces utilized to make house waists for winter wear. 1 1 , I f SILK r.ODICE. Trimmed with jet, ribbons or black velvet, the effect is very frood. A full. round bodice of red challie, with black figures, for instance, may be made over a fitted lining and gathered along the shoulder seam and around the neck and waist A pointed corselet is then simulated by two bands of black velvet rl'bbon. A black velvet collar with choux finishes the neck, and a 'black velvet 'i'.t encircles the wais;. The tight sl?eves have velvet bands at the wrists and a double puff above the elbow, divided by velvet bands. For evening wear different bodices are particularly liked and are mide in varying degrees of elaboration. Plain place silk, so lang favored, is now beginning to give" way to stripes and checks, while h'ack corsages are brightened up 'by collars, cuffs and belts of brilliant velvet. (Jeranium and 'bluet are the shades of the moment, but blue of a warmer tone Is seen and also rich tones of olive. For breakfast wear a pretty variety of Russian blouse la shown. Mad? of striped flannel. It Is smoith over the shoulders, but gathered at th front and bae-k of the neck, which is rounded and collarless. The blouse opens at one side

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ä U 8 & S of the front, under, a flat band of trimming. A similar , band borders the ivclc and sleeves and forms the belt. A blouse of glace silk is shown In the sketch. The upper part is tucked to form a yoke, and the fullness is confined by a ribbon ieH. The sleeve puffs are tucked at th shoulders and midway of the arm. The ljw?r part of the sleeves is plain. JUDIC CHOLLCT. Ilrncinsr I'p HI" -r e. "(lot any .bridal chambers here?" asked a tall, awkward young man. with an ancient carpets ick in em.' hand, a frlghtene.l 1 k n his lace, a black sloueh hat ,a his head i'.nd weiring a hand-me-dawn suit of faded brown, lie was from some interior town of Missouri. "Yes. sir. we have some very fine bridil (linmbers here," replied Chief Ci.-rk Cunningham. "Waal. I want ter look at 'em, fer I've g)t t- engage one i:v Vm," said tha stranger. "All rigTu. Just step this way, please," said Mr. Cunningham, who called an assitant and gave the order. "Show this ge-iüleman the -bridal chambers." The stranger investigated The bridal chambers fir half an hour and Then returned to t'h counter down stairs and said to -Mr. Cunningham: "Ooily, those r ms air ez loovly ez a pastur' lot in paradise. Now. they air the finest you have, air they?" "Yes. sir, they are the finest In the e ity and ar good enough for a millionaire and his drtide." "Waal. I'm much obliged fer all the trouble you've g Tie to. I'll .be in next week. I s'iie, an take one uv 'em," tha stranger svld, moving off. "Oh. you did nn wish to engage a -bridal chamber today?" said Mr. Cunningham in surprise. The young stranr almost Jumped out of his brogans. " los'.i amighty. mister!" Si? exclaimed, "I hain't ast the gal yit. I'm Jist a-doln this to got roy nerve up so's I can go baok home an' p'P th question to "er." St. Louis ItepU'uIiC. Itrvrnlrd n. Flaw. "I wish you haln't had your hair cut so short, Harold," exclaimed tho young woman, turning away from him involuntarily. "What difference djes it make, dearest?" asked Harold, with tender anxiety. You vou have destroyed an, illusion," she sighed. "That Is all." "You didn't think I was a poet, did you. Clara, because I wore my hair lor.gT "No; I never suspected you of being a poet." "Or an artist?" "No." "Thea what illusion have I destroyed? he demanded. "Perhajvs I should say, Harold." she answered with tears in her voice, "that you have unconsciously revealed a fa.n I n.-ver suspected, dear. Your ears aren't mates. Chicago Tribune. TNe Mother, of Course. First Juilare ebaby show) "Who is the mother of that suuaily brat?" Second Judie "Mrs. trrlsh. I think. I hoard her sp--ak or him as 'cunning 'cut' and sweet-' " N. Y. Weekly.

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