Richmond Palladium (Daily), Volume 31, Number 347, 18 January 1907 — Page 7

The Richmond Palladium, Friday, January 18, 1907..

Page Seven.

g The Mys '

By Anna Katharine Green. Author of Tho Leave nwortli Case." "Icat Hata Line," "Hani

151 OO C-1 CO "Jfcant you. was ner simple repiy. find for the first time every man there thrilled at her tone. Seeing It. all the dangerous fascination of Ler look and! manner returned upon her with double force. "I have been unwise," said she, "and let my sympathy run away with ijy Judgment Women have Impulses cf this kind sometimes, and men blame them for it till they themselves come to the point of feeling -the need of just j puch blind devotion. 1 am sure I regret my shortsightedness now. for 1 bare lost esteem by It. while he" With a wave of t!ie hand she dismissed the subject, and Dr. Talbot, watching her. felt a shade of his distrust leave him and In its pla.ee a species of admiration for the lithe, graceful, bewitching personality before them, with her childish Impulses and womanly wit which half mystified and half Imposed upon them. Sir. Sutherland, on the WCtcnj, neither charmed from his antagonism nor convinced of her honesty. There "This 1 am ready to suear to before Ood and before man!" was something in this matter that could not be explained away by her argument, and his suspicion of that something he felt perfectly sure was shared by his son, toward whose cold, set face be bad frequently cast the most-uneasy glances. lie was not ready, however, to probe into the subject more nearly, nor could he for the sake of Frederick urge on to any further confession a young woman whom his unhappy son professed to love and in whose discretion he had so little confidence. As for Sweetwater, he had cow fully recovered himself and bore himself with great discretion when Dr. Talbot finally said: "Well, gentleman, we have got more than we expected when we came here this morning. There remains, however. n nnlnt rfnrHin tvliirh wo hnvo rn. celved no explanation. Miss Page, how ' came that orchid, which. I am told, you i wore In your hair at the dance, to be j found lying near the hem of Batsy's 1 skirts? You distinctly told us that you , not n tin stflira when von wpre in Mrs. Webb's house." "Ah. that's so!" acquiesced the Boston detective dryly. "How came that flower on the scene of the murder?" She smiled and seemed equal to the emergency. "That Is a mystery for us all to solve." she said quietly, looking into the eyes of her questioner. A mystery it is your business to polve." corrected the district attorney. "Nothing that you have told us in support of your innocence would In the ryes of the law weigh for one instant against the complicity shown by that one piece of circumstantial evidence against you." Her smile carried a certain high handed denial of this to one heart there at least. But ber words were bumble enough. "1 am aware of that." said she. Then, turning like lightning to where Sweetwater stood lowering upon her from out his half closed eyes, she impetuously cried: "You. sir, you who without call to do so have presumed to ar- . rogate the oflice of detective from those whose right it was to act In his matter, prove yourself equal to your presumption by finding out the explanation of this mystery yourself. It , can be found out. for. mark. I did not carry that flower into the room where It was found. This I am ready to swear . to before God and before man!" Her hand was raised, her whole at- : titude spoke defiance and hard as it was for Sweetwater to acknowledge it j truth. He felt that he had received j a challenge, and. with a quick glance j at Kuapp. who barely responded by a shrug, he shifted over to the side of Ir. Talbot. ! Amrihl nt nrtfa rrnrw1 titi" Viand ! "May I go?" she now cried appeallngly to Mr. Courtney. "I really have no more to say. and lam tired." "Did you see the figure of the roan who brushed by you In the wood? Was la that of the old man you saw on the doorstep?" At this direct question Frederick quivered in spite of his dogged self control. But she, with her face upturned to meet the scrutiny of the speaker, showed only a childish kind cf wonder. "Why do you ask that? is there any doubt about 1U being the "What an actress! Frederick stood appalled. He had been amazed at the skill AvItL, which he had manipulated her story so as to keep her promise tc him and yet leave the way open for that f urtlier-cro fei ftowMri -mucL1

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Copyright, 1900, by Anna KatLsrine tir-ten. v alter the whole Into a denunciation cf himself which he would find It difficult If not impossible to meet. But this extreme dissimulation made him lose heart. It showed her to be an antagonist of almost illimitable resource and secret determination. "I did not suppose there could be any doubt," she added, in such a natural tone of surprise that Mr. Courtney dropped the subject and Dr. Talbot turned to .Sweetwater, who for the moment seemed to have robbed Knapp of his rightful place as the coroner's confidant. "Shall we let her go for the present?" he whispered. "She does look tired, poor girl!" The public challenge which Sweetwater had received made him wary, and his reply was a guarded one. "1 do nut trust her, yet there Is much to confirm her story. Those sandwiches, nowl She says she dropped them In Mrs. Webb's yard under the pear tree and that the bag that held them burst open. Gentlemen, the birds were so busy there on the morning after the murder that I could not but notice them, notwithstanding my absorption in greater matters. I remember wondering what they were all pecking; at so eagerly. Then the length of time ; that elapsed between the moment Za-! bel was seen rushing from Mrs. Webb's gate and the hour In which he bought the bread has never been quite accounted for. Though I doubt that so i old a man would find strength for that ; Journey to the woods, I can but ac- . knowledge that it would account for ; those very minutes we have had some j difficulty in filling up. But the flower whose presence on the scene of guilt j she challenges uae to explain! How about that, sirs? And then the money so deftly reburled by her can any explanation make her other than accessory to a crime on whose fruits she lays her hand in a way tending solely to concealment? No, sirs, and so I shall not relax my vigilance over her actions even if, in order to be faithful to it. I have to suggest that a warrant be made out for her imprisonment." "You are right," acquiesced the coroner, and. turning to Knapp. be suggested that Miss Page was such an important witness in this matter that perhaps it would be better to have her j down in the town where she could be more easily under his eye. Nothing could have pleased Mr. Sutherland better. Glancing at Frederick and seeing that he was rather pleased than disturbed by this suggestion, he gave his unqualified approval, and Miss Page was notified of the coroner's wishes. She made no objection. On the contrary, her cheeks dimpled, and she turned away with alacrity to prepare herself for departure. But before going she approached the coroner and said persuasively: "I have told you all that came to my mind this moment. But after thinking it over 1 may remember some little details that have escaped me today." "Call her back." cried Mr. Courtney. "She has kept back something; let us hear it all." But Mr. Sutherland, with a side look at Frederick, whispered: "Wait! She is a subtle creature and under the excitement of the moment will contrive lude you Catch her alone Mr. putney; catch her a one. and if she has a fiecrct' ru of ,? men wiU suc cee(1 in surpris ng it. He lia1 notod t,hat tne "st were too I'veocciipieu iu uusere iuui rifumrh had reached the limit of his strength and could not be trusted to preserve his composure any longer under this searching examination into the conduct of a woman from whom he had so lately detached himself. CHAPTER XIX. A SYMPATHETIC FRIENTX The next d3y was the day of Agatha's funeral. She was to be buried in Porchester, by the side of her six children, and, as the day was fine, the whole town, as by common consent, assembled in the road along which the humble cortege was to make its way to the spot indicated. From" the windows of farmhouses, from between the trees of the few scattered thickets along the way. saddened and curious faces looked forth, till Sweetwater, who walked as near as he dared to the immediate friends of the deceased, felt the impossibility of remembering them all and gave up the task in despair. Before one house, about a mile out i of town, the procession paused, and at a gesture from the minister every one within sight took off their hats, amid a hush which made almost painfully apparent the twittering of birds and the other sounds of animate and inanimate nature which are Inseparable from a country road. They had reached Widow Jones cottage, in which Philemon was then staying. The front door was closed and so were the lower windows, but in one of the upper casements a movement was perceptible, and in another instant there came Into view a woman and a man, supporting between them the impassible form of Agatha's husband. Holding hira up In plain sight of the almost breathless throng below, the woman pointed to where his darling lay and appeared to say something to him. Then there was to be seen a strange sight. The old man, with his thin white locks fluttering In the breeze, leaned forward, with a smile, and. holding out his arms, cried in a faint j but joyful tone. "Agatha!" Then, as if realizing for the first time that it was ! ieeth he looked upon and that the ' crowd below was a funeral procession, his faoc altered, and he fell back, with a low, heartbroken moan, into the arms of those who supported him. As his white head disappeared from sight the procession moved on. and from ouly.one pair of 4is went up that 1 crcan - of: sorrow . with wWch . tva-T;

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ft jo O : J t and Hix-,' Etc., E.u. v neart seemed surcharged cfle grcan. From whose lips did it come? Sweetwater endeavored to find out. but was not able, nor could any one inform him unless it was Mr. Sutherland, whom he dared not approach. Thi3 gentleman was on foot like the rest, with his arm fast linked in that of his son Frederick. He had meant to ride, for the distance was lonz for men past GO; but. finding the latter resolved to walk, he had consented to do the same rather than be separated from hi.- son. He had fears for Frederick he could hardly have told why -and as the ceremony proceeded and Agatha was soleranly laid away in the place prepared for her his sympathies grew upon him to such an extent that he found it difficult to quit the voung man for a mo-

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luent or even to turn his eyes away "Yes. ft is crape." answered the drivfroru the face be had never seemed to er. jumping out and running up the

know till now. But as a friend and path to look. "Philemon must be dead, stranger were now rapidly leaving the j the good Philemon." yard he controlled himself r.nd. assum- i Here was a fresh blow. Mr. Suthering a more natural demeanor, asked his. ' land bowed before it for a moment, son If he were now ready to ride back. 1 Then he rose hurriedly and stepped

But, to hfs astonishment, Frederick replied that he did not intend to return to Sutherlandtown at present, that he had business in Porchester and that he was doubtful as to when he would be ready to go home. As the old gentleman did not wish to raise a controversy, he said nothing, but as soon as he saw Frederick disappear up the road he sent back the carriage he had ordered, saying that he would return in a Porchester gig as soon as he had settled some affairs of his own, which might and might not detain him there till evening. Then he proceeded to a little Inn, where he hired a room with windows that looked out on the highroad. In one of these windows he sat all day, watching for Frederick, who had gone further up the road. But no Frederick appeared, and with vague misgivings, for which as yet he had no name, he left the window and set out on foot for home. It was now dark, but a silvery gleam on the horizon gave promise of the speedy rising of a full moon. Otherwise he would not have attempted to walk over a road proverbially dark ! and dismal. The churchyard, in which they had just laid away Agatha, lay in his course. As he approached he felt his heart fail, and stopping a moment at the stone wall that separated it from the highroad, he leaned against the trunk of a huge elm that guarded the gate of entrance. As he did so he heard a sound of repressed sobbing from some spot not very far away, and moved by some undefinable impulse stronger than his will, he pushed open the gate and entered the sacred precincts. Instantly the wierdness and desolation of the spot struck him. He wished, j-et dreaded, to advance. Something in the grief of the mourner whose sobs he had heard had seized upon his heartstrings, and yet as he hesitated, the sounds came again, and. forgetting that his intrusion might not prove altogether welcome, he pressed forward till be came within a few feet from the spot from which the sobs Issued. He had moved quietly, feeling the awe of the place, and when he paused it was with a sensation of dread not to bo entirely explained by the sad and dismal surroundings. Dark as it was. he discerned the outline of a form lying stretched in speechless misery across a grave, but when impelled by an almost irresistible compassion he strove to speak, his tongue clove to the 1 ; roof of his mouth and he only drew ! back further into the shadow, j He hadrecognized the mourner and ! the grave. The mourner was Fred- ! erjck and the grave that of Agatha Webb. A few minutes later Mr. Sutherland j reappeared at the door of the inn and asked for a gig and driverMto take him A. moment's conrertatton -proved the driver's supposition to be correct. back to Sutherlandtown. He said in excuse for his Indecision that he had undertaken to walk, but had found his strength inadequate to the exertion. He was looking very pale and trembled so that the landlord, who took his order, asked him if he were ilL But Mr. Sutherland insisted that he was Quite well, only in a hurry, and showed the greatest Impatience till he was again started upon the road. For the first half mile he sat perfectly silent. The moon was now up and the rul stretched before them flooded with light. As long as no one was to be seen on this road or on the path running beside It Mx. Sutherland held himself erect. Lis eyes fixed before him in an attitude of anxious inquiry, but as soon as aiy sound came tt

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uisiaute aneau or tnem toe least appearance of a plodding wayfarer he drew back and hid himself In the recesses of the vehicle.- This happened several times. Then his whole manner changed. They had just passed Frederick, walking, with bowed head, toward Sutherlandtown. But he was not the only person on the road at this time. A few minutes previously they had passed another man walking in the same direction. As Mr. Sutherland mused over this he found himself peering through the small window at the back of the bug

gy, striving to catch another glimpse of the two men plodding behind him. ; He could see them both, his son's form i throwing its long shadow over the '' moonlit road, followed only too closely J by that other, whose ungainly step he ' feared to acknowledge to himself was ' growing only too familiar in his eyes. Falling into a troubled reverie, be begreat trees under whose shadow ho had grown from youth to manhood flit by him like phantoms in a dream. But suddenly one house and one place drew his attention with a force that started him again Into an erect attitude, and. seizing with one band the arm of the driver, he pointed with the other at the door of the cottage they were passing, saying in choked tones: "See. see! Something dreadful has happened since we passed by here this morning. That Is crape, Samuel, crape. hauging from the doorpost yonder!" down into the road beside the driver. "Get in again." said he. "and drive on. Bide a half mile, then come back for me. I must see the WTidow Jones." The driver, awed both by the occasion and the feeling it had called up in Mr. Sutherland, did as he was bid and drove away. Mr. Sutherland, with a j glance back at the road he had just : traversed, walked painfully up the j path to Mrs. Jones' door. ! A moment's conversation with the woman who answered his summons ' proved the driver's supposition to be correct. Philemon had passed away, He had never rallied from the shock be had received. He had joined his beloved Agatha on the day of her burial, and i the long tragedy of their mutual life j was over. 1 "It is a mercv that no inheritor of i : their misfortune remains," quoth the ; good woman as she saw the affiiction j her tidings caused in this much rever- ; ed friend. The assent Mr. Sutherland gave was mechanical. He was anxiously study ing the road leading toward Porchester. Suddenly he stepped hastily in. "Will you be so good as to let me sit down in your parlor for a few minutes?" he asked. "I would like to rest there for an Instant alone. This final blow has upset me." The good woman bowed. Mr. Sutherland's word was law in that town. She did not even dare to protest against the "alone" which he had so pointedly emphasized, but left him after making him, as she said, comfortable, and went back to her duties in the room above. It was fortunate she was so amei nable to his wishes, for no sooner had 'her steps ceased to be heard than Mr. I Sutherland rose from the easy chair in j which he had been seated and. putting 'out the lamp Widow Joues had insist1 ed on lighting, passed directly to the I window, through which he began to ' peer with looks of the deepest anxiety. A man was coining up the road, a youug man Frederick. ' As Mr. Sutherland recognized him hewaned forward with increased anxiety till at the appearance of his son in front his scru tiny grew so strained and penetrating that it seemed to exercise a magnetic ; influence upon the passerby, for when directly opposite the window Frederick Involuntarily roused from his abstraction and looked up. The glance he gave j the house was but momentary, but jn i that glance the father saw all that he had secretly dreaded. As his son's eye fell on that fluttering bit of crape, testifying to another death In this already much bereaved community, he stagger ed wildly, then in a pause of doubt I drew nearer and nearer till his fingers I grasped this symbol of mourning and clung there. Next moment he was far down the road, plunging toward home In a state of great mental disorder. With sinking heart Mr. Sutherland let his eyes drop from this flying figure to search for the man whom a little while before he had seen following imj mediately behind bis son. He was following him still and hastened by the j house just as Mr. Sutherland's glance J fell on him, so that whatever was strange or pitiful in the foregoing scene must have had this man for a witness. I a hair nour arterwara Mr. sutnerj land reached home. He had not over taken Frederick again or even his accompanying shadow. Ascertaining at j his own door that his son had not yet I come in. but had been seen going far ther up the hill, he turned back again ; into the road and proceeded after him on foot. The next place to his own was occu- j pled by Mr. Halliday. As he approach ed it he caught sight of a man standing half in and half out of the honeysuckle porch, whom he at first thought to be Frederick. But he soon saw that it was the fellow who had been following his son all the way from Porchester, and, controlling, his first movement of dislike,' he stepped" tip to BTm and quietly said: "Sweetwater, is this you?" The young man fell back and showed a most extraordinary agitation, quickly suppressed, however. "Yes, sir; it is no one else. Do you know what I am doing here?" "I fear I do. You have been to Porchester. You have seen my son" Sweetwater made a hurried, almost an entreating, gesture. "Never mind that Mr. Sutherland. I had rather you wouldn't say anything about that. I am as much broken tip by what I have seen as you are. I never suspected him. sir; only the girl to whom he has so unfortunately attached himself. Bat after seeing him abandoned to grief in that place, over that grave, what am I to think? What am I to do? I honor you; I would not grieve you, but but oh, sir, perhaps you can help me out of the maze into which I have stumbled: Perhaps you caji- assure m that -XU-. .Fredrick: did

not leave the hall at the time she did. I missed him frorn among the dancers. I did not see him between 12 and 3, but perhaps you did. and and" Ills voice broke. lie was almost as profoundly agitated as Mr. Sutherland. As for the latter, who found himself unable to reassure the other on this

very vital point, having no reruembrance himself of having seen Frederick among his guests during those fatal hours, he stood speechless, lost; in abysses, the depth and horror of, which only a father can appreciate. Sweetwater respected his aDguish and for a moment was silent himself. Then he burst out: I had rather never have lived to see this day than be the cause of shame or suffering to you. Tell me what to do. Shall I be deaf, dumb" Here Mr. Sutherland fond voice. "You make too much of what you i saw." said he. 'My boy has faults and "Yon have a right to command me." has lived anything but a satisfactory life, but he Is not as bad as your fears would show. He could never have taken life. That would be incredible, monstrous, in one brought up as be has been. Besides, if he were so far gone in evil as to be willing to attempt j crime, he had no motive to do so; ; Sweetwater, he had no motive. A few ! hundred dollars! But these he could have got from me, and did, but" Why did the wretched father stop? Did he recall the circumstances under w-hich Frederick had obtained these last hundreds from him? They were not ordinary circumstances, and Frederick had been In no ordinary strait. Mr. Sutherland could not but acknowledge to himself that there was something in that whole matter which contradicted the very plea he was making, and not being able to establish the conviction of his son's Innocence In his own mind he was too honorable to try to establish it in another. His next words showed the struggle he was laboring under. "It is that girl who has ruined him, Sweetwater. He loves her, but he doubts her, as who could help doing after the story she told us day before yesterday. Indeed he has doubted her ever since that fatal night, and it is this which has broken his heart and not not" Again the old gentleman paused; again he recovered himself, this time with a touch of his usual dignity and self command. "Leave me!" he cried. "Leave us! Nothing that you t have seen has escaped me, but our in terpretations of it may differ. I will watch over my son from this hour, and you may trust to my vigilance." Sweetwater bowed. - "You have a right to command me," said he. "You may have forgotten, but a have not, that 1 owe my life to you. Years ago perhaps you can recall It; it -n.- t th Riflk- nnnrt-i w frotnf,wn for tha thtrrf tima -nri m-r moth. er was screaming in terror on the bank. when you-you plunged in and- Well, j sir. such things are never forgotten, i and. . 1 id before, von hare nniv to ! command me." He turned to go, but suddenly came back. There were signs of mental conflict in his face and voice also. "Mr. Sutherland, I am not a talkative man. If I trust your vigilance, you may trust my discretion. Only I must have your word that you will convey no warning to your son; that you will not even let him see he lies under any suspicion, least of all your own." Mr. Sutherland made an indefinable gesture, and Sweetwater again disappeared, this time not to return. As for Mr. Sutherland, he remained standing before Mr. Halliday's door. What had j the young man meant by this emphatic repetition of his former suggestion? That he would be quiet also and not speak of what he had that night seen? Why. then But to the hope thus given this honest hearted gentleman would yield no quarter, and. seeing a duty before him. a duty he dare not shirk, he brought his emotions, violent as they were. Into complete and absolute sub- j WHnn nnd rmonino- Mr TTnllidar'a ! door, entered the house. They were ! old neighbors, and ceremony was ig- I nored between them ! Finding the hall empty and the par- ! lor door open, he walked immediately j Into the latter room. The sight that met hi ere nerer left bis memorv ! Agnes his little Agnes, whom he bad i always loved and whom he had vainly ' innt to t, ti, Pnflrin, ! of daughter, sat with her face toward j him, looking up at Frederick. That j young gentleman had just spoken to her, or she had just received something from his hand, for her own was held out, and her expression was one of ! gratitude and acceptance. She was not a beautiful girl, but she had a beautiful look, and at this moment It was exalted by a feeling the old gentleman had once longed, but now dreaded inexpressibly, to see there. "What could It mean? Why did she show interest, devotion, passion almost, at this especial moment of her life, when in all the years that had gone by, and when it was the dearest wish of his heart to see these two united, she had never betrayed In all their intercourse anything but distrust. If not an uneasy dislike? It was one of the contradictions of our mysterious human nature, and at this crisis and In this moment of secret heartbreak and miserable donbt ft made the old gentleman shrink, with his first feeling of actual despair. The next moment Agnes had risen, and they were both facing him. "Good evening. Agnes." Mr. Suaberiand. forced himself to soeak-Hsfctlsv

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-An. Frederick, do I find you herer The latter question had more of constraint In ic Frederick, with a slight flush suffusing his cheek, which had been only too pale until now. acknowledged his father's greeting with a smile in which that father was surprised to see a

i faint shade of relief if not of joy. Then j Ke backed toward the door. Vas just leaving." said be. "I was the bearer of a message to Miss Halliday." lie had always called her Agnes before. Mr. Sutherland, who had found his faculties confused by the expression be had surprised on the young girl's face, answered with a divided attention: "And l have a message to give you. Wait outside on the porch for me, Frederick, till I exchange a word with our little friend here." Agnes, who had thrust something she held into a box that lay beside her on a table, turned, with a confused blush, to listen. Mr. Sutherland waited till Frederick had stepped into the hall. Then he drew Agnes to one side and remorselessly, persistently, raised her face toward him till she was forced to meet his benevolent but searching regard. "Do you know." he . whispered in what he endeavored to make a bantering tone, "how very few days it is since that unhappy boy yonder confessed his love for a young lady whose name I cannot bring myself to utter in your presence?" The intent was kind, but the effect was unexpectedly cruel. With a droop ! of her head and a hurried gasp which conveyed a mixture of entreaty and reproach Agnes drew back In a vague endeavor to hide her sudden uneasiness, lie saw his mistake and let his hands drop. "Don't, my dear," he whispered. "I had no idea It would hurt you to hear this. You have always seemed indifferent, hard even, toward my scapegrace son. And this was right, for for" What could he say, how express one-tenth of that with which his breast was laboring? He could not, he dared not. so ended, as we have intimated, by a confused stammering. Agnes, who had never before seen this object of her lifelong admiration under any serious emotion, felt an impulse of remorse, as if she herself had been guilty of occasioning him embarrassment. Plucking up her courage, she wistfully eyed him. "Did you imagine," she murmured, "that I needed any warning against Frederick, who bas never honored me with his regard, as he has the young lady you cannot mention? I'm afraid you don't know me, Mr. Sutherland, notwithstanding I have sat on your knee and sometimes plucked at your beard in my infantile Insistence upon attention." "I am afraid I don't know you," ho answered. "I feel that I know nobody now, not even my son." He had hoped 6he would look up at this, but she did not. "Will my little girl think me very curious and very Impertlr.v.it if I ak her what my son Frederick was saying to her when I came into the room?" I She looked up now and with visible candor answered him Immediately and ; to the point. t "Frederick is in trouble. Mr. Suther- i land He has felt the need of a friend

who could appreciate this, and he has ! relieve the Immense strain on his heartasked me to be that friend. Besides, ; At la?lt he himself spoke dryly, as we he brought me a packet of letters ' ali speak when thp neart ls tnlltat and .which he entreated me to keep for him. J we fPar to reveal the depth of our I took them, Mr. Sutherland, and I j emotions. will keep them, as he asked me to do "What papers were those you gave safe from everybody's inspection, even into Agnes Ilr.lliday's keeping? Anymy own." thing which we could not have more Oh. why had he questioned her? ne! safely, not to f,j discreetly, harbored did not want to know of these letters;! in our own bouse?" he did want to know that Frederick I Frederick, taken aback, for he hsl

j possessed anything which he was arraia to retain in nis own possession. "Mj son did wrong." said he. "to ccti - I fide anything to your care which he did l " ,v,1" u'7""1uuum! lUi" 4 uu"1 lu lutw fr my son is in trouble, as you say. j'1' his father ouKht to know It." I am not 6ure about that" she smiled. "His trouble may be of a different nature from what you Imagine. Frederick has led a life that he regrets. .1 think his chief source of suffering lies In the fact that It is so hard for him to make others believe that he means to do differently in the future." "Does he mean to do differently? She flushed. "He says so, Mr. Sutherland. And I, for one, cannot help believing him. Don't you see that he begins to look like another man?" Mr. Sutherland was taken aback. He k31 noticed this fact and had found It a nard one to understand. To ascertain vvhat her explanation of it might e replied at once: "There is a change in him a change that more than one has noticed. What ,s the occasion of it? To whaflMo you ascribe it, Agnes?" How breathlessly he waited for her answer! Had she any suspicion of the awful doubts which were so deeply agitating himself that night? She did not appear to have. "l hesitate," she faltered, "but not from any doubt of Frederick, to tell ou .st wbat 1 thlnk lies at the bot' fon t?f tbe "dden change observable lQ hlm' Msa pae ou J6 1 can name ner if 7 Cannot) has proved herslf so unworthy of his regard that tT r eu "i" s eyes to certain feelings of his own which made his weakness In her regard possible. I do not know of anything else. Do you?" At this direct question, which pierced to the very quick of his trouble, breathed though it was by tender lips and launched in ignorance of the barb which carried It to his heart, Mr. Sutherland recoiled and cast an anxious look upon the door; then, with forced composure, be quietly said, "If you do not. who are so much nearer her age, and, let me hope, his sympathy, how should I, who am his father, but have never been his confidant?" "Oh," she cried, holding out her hands, "such a good father! Some day be will appreciate that fact ss well as others. Believe It Mr. Sutherland, believe it" And then, ashamed of her glowing interest which was a little more pronounced than fitted to her simple attitude of friend toward a man professedly in love with another woman, she faltered a little and cast the shyest of looks upward at tbe grand but troubled face she had never seen turned toward her with anything bat kindness. "I have confidence in his good heart," she added, with something like dignity. "Wouid God that I could share Itr

NO MAN 15 STRONGER THAN HIS STOMACH. Let the greatest athlete have dyspepsia mt his muscles would soon fail. Phvical strength is derived from fouaL If man has insufficient food he loses strength. If lie has no food he dies. Food is converted into nutrition through the stomach and bowels. It depends on tha strength of the stomach to w hat extent fixxi eaten is digested and assimilated. People can die cf starvation who hav abundant fxl to rat. when the stomach and its associate organs of digestion and nutrition do not perform their duty. Thus tha tomach is really the vital organ of tne body. If the stomach is"weak the body will be weak also, because it is upon the stomach the body relies for its strength. And as the body, considered as a whole, is made up of Its several members and organs, so the weakness of tha body as a consequence of "weak" stomach will be distributed among the organs which compos the body. If th body Is weak because it Is ill-nounshed that physical weakness will be found in all the organs heart. lilr, kidnevs. Mc. The liver will be torpid and inactive, giving rise to biliousness. los of appetite, vak nerves, feeble or irregular action of heart, palpitation, dizziness, headache, backache aud kindred disturbances and weaknesses. Mr. Louis Par, of QueNr. write: "For Tears after mjr health began u fail, my h,t jrrrw dlzir. eyes pained me. and my xtomy t was sore all tlm utix. while everything I would eat would stm to lie iu-avy HUe loa! on my Ktomach. Tht donors t-iairtMHi it was sympathetic trouMe due lodj'svpsit. and prracritHtl for m and although 1 took their powders rejrularly yrt 1 felt no better. My wife airi!ed me to try lr. Pierce s tiolden Medical l'iscovery and nop taking the doctor's medicine. She txmrht nie a tottle and we soon found that 1 beran to Improve, so I kept up the treatment. I took on tlevh. my stomach lnvni normal, thedltresilve organs worked perfectly and 1 soon began to look hue a different person. 1 can never cvaso to lw grateful for what your medicine hai done for me and 1 certainly rive It highest praise." Don't be wheedled by a penny-grabbing dealer into taking inferior substitutes for Dr. Pierce's medicines, recommended to be "just a good." To gain knowledge of vour own body in sickness and health send for the People's Common Sense Medical Adviser.. A book of 100S pages. Send 21 one -cent stamps for pap&r-eoverod. or 31 tnipt for cloth-hound copv. Address Dr. K. V. Tierce, 663 Main Street, liuffalo, N. Y.

rore sne could recover from the shock of these words Mr. Sutherland was gone. Agnes was a little troubled by this interview, for after she had heard thi gate click behind these two friends and bad carried that precious something away with her tip stairs there was a lingering in the step with which she trod the little white embowered chamber, sacred to her girlish dreams, that bespakc an overcharged heart, a heart that, before she slept, found relief in these few words that she whispered into the night air, laden with the sweetness of honeysuckles: "Can It be that he !s right? Did I need such a warning I who have hated this man and who thought that it was my hatred which made It Impossible for me to think of anything or anybody else since we parted from each other last night? Oh. me. If it Is so!" And from the great, wide world without, tremulous with moonlight, the echo seemed to come back: "Woe to thee, Agnes Halliday. If this beso:" CHAPTER XX. AGATHA'S HEIR. ' Meanwhile Mr. Sutherland and Frederick stood facing each other in the former's library. Nothing had been said during their walk down the bill, and nothing seemed likely to proceed from Frederick now. though his father waited with srreat and irrowine aritation for somo exnlanatlon that would not realized that his father had seen ; tuese pispers. nee hh tea ror a moment; : then be boldly said: j "They were letters-old letterswhich I felt to be better out of this bonso thau In It. I could not destroy them, "When veerc these letters vrrittenV so I gave them Into tha guardianship of the moat conscientious person I know. I hope you won't demand to see those letters. Indeed, sir, I hop you won't demand to see them. They were not written for your eye, and I would rather rest under your displeasure than have them in any way made public." Frederick showed such earnestness rather than fear that Mr. Sutherland was astonished. ' "When were these letters written?" he asked. "Lately or before You say they are old. How old?" Frederick's breath came easier. "Some of tbem were written years ago most of them. In fact It ls a personal matter. Every man has such. I wish I could have destroyCOT them. You will leave them with Agnes, sir?" "You astonish me," said Mr. Sutherland, relieved that he could at least hope that these letters were In nowie connected with the subject of his own frightful suspicions. "A young girl to whom you certainly were most indifferent a week ago is a curious guardian of letters yon decline to show your father." "I know It" was Frederick's sole reply. Somehow the humility with which this was uttered touched Mr. Sutherland and roused hopes he had supposed dead. He looked his son for the first time directly In the eye and with a beating heart sa!d: (To Be Continued.) 'Phone or write a card to the Palladium of the little piece of news your neighbor told you and get your name in the news "tip" contest for this week.

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