Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 9, Number 9, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 24 August 1878 — Page 1

Vol. g.'T-No. 9,

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

SECOND EDITION.

Town-Talk.

vjhi T.—Do relation of T. T.)—is a rough man in appearanoe and blunt In speech, bat has a remarkable degree of common—or, rather, uncommon sense. T. T. changed to be in oompany with a house pain&r, a man of no remarkable skill in his trade, but an honest, plod* ding man, who has secured a fair competence by doing honest days' work—a good many of them—for an honest priesut Old T. came up and said to the painter, in his blunt way, "I want you to paint my house. George M. wants the job, and has been at me about it several times, but he Is lazy, and smokes and drinks, and such people generally do less work and want a bigger price than other folks. I want yov to do the work,"

This Is no yarn of T. T.'s, spun for the sake of filling this column of The Mail. It is an absolute fact, and occurred exactly as stated, within a week. Wasn't old T. right? It was a mere business matter with him. He wasn't lecturing on temperance or against tobacco. It was noue of his business what a man did with the money he had (earned, and he didn't propose to make it any of his business. He bad a job of work for somebody. He was good pay. Both these facts were"knovn to George M., who is a very fair sort of ajfellow, as the world goes, but rather lazy, a good deal given to tobacco, and a little to drink— and he went for the Job. He didn't get It, because old T. had got it into his head that it was not good polioy to employ such when a good .workman could be bad without these qualities. And his reason for not giving the job to one who asked for it, but going out of bis way to oflerit to ooe who bad not asked for it, is the very reason that controls thousands of men in giving and withholding employment. Young men make their fortunes in life—that is, they get the •tart which results in their suocess, by their mduot and .habits when tbey think nothing about it, and vice versa. What did George M. care for old T.? He never dreamed when be was lounging about the streets, when old T. went past, that he was influencing his own future prospects. As he blew the smoke from his cigar into old T's face, as he passed him, he did not dream that he was whiffing away a good job, or opening the eyes of any man to his worthlessness. Yet he was doing this very thing. How much work he could do, or how well he oould do It, old T. didn't know nor care. He did know that he was lazy, and tkat be smoked and drank, and on general principled he preferred to give his work to somebody else. And probably Gforge M. will never know why he didn't get that job, uuless he reads this article in The Mail. Old T. will not tell him, but, if he says anything about it, will probably say that Mr. G. bad generally done his work for hlpi, or something of that sort. T. T, wanted to go to George, and tell him of this conversation, hoping to benefit him by the revelation. But the only way he could do It without betraying confidence or running the risk of making trouble was to put it In here. So here it is.

And it isn't for the benefit of this one fellow alone. There are any number of young people in Terre Haute who are inflicting serious injury on their future prospects in just this way. Chauncey Hose, who helped many a young man, and older too, would sometimes give a pretty sharp and decided refusal. Those who knew him well, knew that there won often reasons back of his refusal very like this of old T. Those who received the refusal had made it certain years before when they Uttle dreamed of oven needing or deserving his aid. The boys and young men need to bear in mind that it does make a difference what old A., or old B,, or old somebody else thinks of them. A man, a comparative stranger, came to T. T. not long since, and asked him if he knew Frank B. T. T. said he did. Would T. T. recommend him for a position of considerable importance? He couldn't do so bonosUy. Frank is a good fellow, T.T. likes him, and would Rlatlly do him a favor* and would be even more lad to

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help bis parents. But from what he had seen of Frank he was forced to believe him lazy he certainly smokes excessive* ly, and bis companions, and the place out of which T. T. has seen him coming, indicate drinking, thongh T. T. never heard it whispered that he was ever intoxicated. Under these circumstances T. T. could not recommend him, and he lost the place. It makes a difference what old T. or old T. T., or old anybody thinks of you. Keep an eye to the wind'ard for a good name.

Topics of the Times.

J* THE BALANCE OF TRADE. *l The Express still insists that the balance of trade always against a prosperous country and that there is never a favorable balance except in times of depression and illustrates its position as follows: "We will suppose that A Is a commission merchant or general dealer In New York. He purchases for shipment to Liverpool one million dollars' worth of cotton. This Is Registered In oarcastom house, and goes out as one million dollarsof cotton. When It reaches the Liverpool custom house it has taiten on freight, Insurance and profit, and It is no longer a million dollars of sotton, but It has Increased legitimately to say 91200,000 in value. The dealer, A, orders that It be sold and the proceeds be invested in English railroad iron for shipment to New York. The sum invested is 91,200,600. When It reaches this country It has again taken on freight, Insurance and profit, and when It is registered at the New York custom house It amounts to, say, 91,400,000. The books of the New York custom hotue show that A shipped one million dollars in cotton, and received back 91,400,000 in Iron. There Is a balance of trade against him of 9400,oOO, and jet the enterprise was a profit* able and legitimate one, and the only kind that can be profitable."

Very good. But suppose A does not exchange bis cargo of cotton for iron but converts it into money and brings that back. Then the booke. show f1,000,000 of goods exported and none imported. We apprehend that this is the general course of our dealings abroad. One class of merchants export and another class import. The two branches of business are not usually combined. Therefore the value of our exports shows the amount of products we have sold In foreign countries and the value of our imports shows the amount of merchandise we have purchased abroad. If this is true then, when our exports are unusually larger than our Imports It shows one of two things: either that we are sending more than the ususl quantity of products abroad or that we are buying less than the usual quantity of goods of other countries. In either event it indicates prosperity, for we are spending less than our Incorie and are by so much the rioher. The man who spends 9260 less than bis income, is, to that extent, prosperous, and the nation which has made $260,000,000 in a year more than it has expended must also be to that extent prosperous.

IDLE HANDS.

A good deal of information and comfort is obtained from the report of the Massachusetts bureau of labor statistics. A thorough canvass of the State, made between June 24th and August 13th, shows that out of 584 690 laborers, male and female, the total number in the State, not more than 28.508 were out of employment on June 1, 1S78. On the same basis the whole number of unemployed men and women in the United States would be 570,000, which is believed to be much too large an estimate. This is a large number, to be sure, but It is not "millions," nor "four fifths" of the laboring population, as some politic cal speakers have wildly asserted. The report continues that there are many indications of industrial recuperation. News is coming to the bureau from all parts of the State that employers of labor are starting or preparing to start up their works this fall. Occasionally an establishment closes but less and less frequently is this the case. "We have had enough of industrial hypochondria," says the report, "and it is time the publio recognised the facta in the case and acted accordingly." "While this country will not jump into prosperity, it will find itnelf farther along during the next six or twelve months than it would have believed possible six months ago." These are words well spoken. We have Indeed had enough, and too much, of "industrial hypochondria." We have been looking too much on the dark side. We want to turn onr attention to the silver lining of the cloud for awhile. Some pxple have been waiting for a sort of panic of prosperity and have been disappointed because it did not come. But prosperity never oomes that way. The tornado snaps the tree off in a moment which required many years tor its growth. We most give the tree time to grow again and be satisfied when we see the slow signs of growth. These signs we can n'dw see all around us If we look with hopeful, instead of hypochondriacal eyfe.

MBS. BESANTS BOOK.

Mrs. Besantfs "Law of Population" has been printed In the United States by Asa K. Butts, of New York. When first

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published in England recently it created quite a sensation and an effort was msde to suppress it. The effort failed, how ever, for the title page shows that the 25th thousand has been printed in England. It is a small work of less than fifty pages but contains a large fund oi information compactly stated. The first chapter deals with the fact announced by Mathews and other writers that there is a tendency in all animated existence to increase fsster than the means of subsistence." Many illustrations are given of the rspid increase of human populations. In this country where the conditions are very favorable, the population doubles in about twentyfive years, exclusive of immigration. The increase in England and Wales is at the rate of 200,000 annually, so that in forty years, at the same rate of increase, 40,000,000 people will be crowded into that small territory. In the United States, if the present ratio of increase continues, at the end of another century our population will be 640,000,000. In the second chapter the consequences of tBh rapid increase of human beings sre dealt with. Poverty, want, sickness and transmitted disease consequent upon the crowding of many people into insufficient quarters and feeding them on in-ferior-and scanty food, are only a few of the evils enumerated. Chapter third discusses the bearing of these facts upon human conduct and morals. It was this chapter evidently which supplied the ground for the prosecution of the author, but we think no pure minded person can find anything in it to take exception to. The subjects treated are of a nature not suited to discussion here but it cannot be denied that they are bandied with becoming frankness and delicacy. The fourth and last chspter considers the various objections that have been urged against the teachings of the book and they are discussed with the calmness and seriousness which they deserve. The book is evidently the work of a woman earnest and sincere in her purpose to do good and whether the reader agrees or not with the ideas put forth, they are certainly deserving of respectful and thoughtful consideration.

MORSELS FOB SUNDAY CONTEMPLATION. Ennui is the ghost of murdered time.

It is easier to see small faults than large virtues. Following msny vacations has ruined the life of many a man.

Everybody seems to think himself a moral half-bushel to measure the world's frailties.

The hardest trial of the heart is to attempt to bear a rival's failure without weak triumph.

Society js a masked ball, where every one bides his real charrcter, and reveals It by hiding.

Of all created things, animated or inanimated, we find no fools except among mankind.

A wise man's thoughts will walk within him, but a fool's without. Those beings only are fit for solitude who like nobody, are like nobody, and are liked by nobody.

The errors of women spring almost always from her faith In the good or her confidence in thetrue.

The worst of false is a false heart, and the least, comely covering that cau be imagined is a falshehood. "fe-,

The worst tyrant in this world is a woman who is superior to her husband and lets everybody know it.

It is be* ier to sow good heart with kind noes than afield with cam, for the heart harvest is perpetual.

One of the most fatal temptations to the weak is a slight deviation from the truth for the sake of apparent good.

Happiness is in taste, and not in things and It is having what we love that we are happy, not by having what others find agreeable.

There are people with whom penitence stands for repentanoe people with whom wearing mourning dispenses with feel lug sorrow.

This life is like a game of cards. We must plsy the hands dealt to us, and the credit is not so much in winning as in playing a poor hand welL

Mice can live anywhere oomfortable but in a church they get fat very slowly in church. This proves that they can't live on religion any more that a minister. ______

WHAT I HAVE SEEN.

J'-' •.

An old man of experience saya. •, I have seen a yonng man sell a good farui turn merchant, and die in the insane asylum.

I have seen a farmer travel about so much that there was nothing at home worth looking at.

I have semi a young girl many a man of dissolute habits and repent lor it as long as she lived.

I have seen ayqung man spend more money in folly than would support his family in comfort and independence.

I have seen a man depart from tenth where candor and veracity would have served him to a much better purpose,

I have seen the extravsjtanoe and folly of children bring their parents to poverty and want, and themselves to disgrace.

I have seen a prudent and industrious wife retrieve the fortune of a family, wham the husband pulled at the other end of the rope.

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TERRE HAUTE, IND., SATURDAY EVENING, AUGUST 24, 1878. Price Five Cents

WILKIE COLLINS' LAST AND BEST STORY.

THE

HAUNTED HOTEL

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One afternoon, towards the dose of the London season, the doctor had just taken his luncheon after a specially hard morning's work in his consulting-room, and with a formidable list of visits to patients at their own houses to fill up the rest of his day—when the servant announced that a lady wished to speak to him. .. 'Who is she?' the doctor asked. 'A stranger?' tyes sir,' 'I see no strangers out of consultinghours. Tell her what the hours are and send her away.' •I have told her, sir.' •Well?' 'And she wont go.'

Wont go The Doctor smiled as he repeated the words. He was a humorist in his way, and there was an absurd side to the situation which rather amused him. 'Has this obstinate lady given you her name?' he inquired.' •No, sir. She refused to give any name —she said she wouldn't keep you five minutes, and the matter was too important to wait till to-morrow. There she is in the consulting-room, and how to get her ont again is more than I know.'

Doctor Wybrow considered for a moment. His knowledge of women (professionally speaking) rested on the ripe experience of more than thirty years he had met with them in all their varieties, especially the variety which knows nothing of the value of time and never hesitates at sheltering itself behind the privileges of its sex. A glance at his watch informed him that be must soon begin his rounds among his patients who were waiting for him at their own houses. He decided forthwith on taking the only wise course that was open under the circumstances. In other words, he decided on taking flight. 'Is the carriage at the door he asked. 'Yon sir*' •Very well. Opentho house-door for me without making any noise, and leave the lady in undisturbed possession of the consulting-room. When she gets tired of waiting, you know what to tell her. If she asks when I am expected to return, say that I dine at my club and spend the evening at the theatre. Now then softly, Thomas. Ir your shoes creak, I am a lost man.'

He noiselessly led the way into the ball followed by tye servant on tip-toe. Did the lady in the consulting-room suspect him or did Thomas's shoes creak, and was her sense of hearing unusually keen? Whstever the explanation may be, the event that actually happened was beyond all doubt. Exactly as Doctor Wybrow passed his oonsulting-room the door opened—the lady appeared on the threshold—and laid her hand on his arm. 'I entreat you, sir, not to go away without letting me speak to you first.'

The accent was forelgni the tone was low and firm. Her fingers closed gently and yet resolutely on the Doctor's arm.

Neither her language nor her action had the slightest effect in inclining him to grant her request. The influence that instantly stopped him on the way to his carriage was the silent influence of her face. The startling contrast between the corpse-like pallor of her complexion and the overpowering life and light, the (littering metallic brightness in her arge black eyes, held him literally spell-bound. She was dressed in dark colors, in perfect taste she was of middle height and (apparently) of middle age—saya year or two over thirty. Her lower features—the nose, mouth and chin—possessed the fineness and delicacy of form which is oftener seen among women of foreign races than among women of English birth. She was unquestionably a handsome person, with the one serious drawback of her ghastly complexion, and with the less noticeable defect of a total wane of tenderness in the expression of her eyes. Apart from his first emotion of surprise, the feeling she produced in the Doctor may be deecribed as an overpowering feeling of professional curiosity. The case might prove to be something entirely new in bis professional experience. 'It looks like it,' be thought, 'and it's worth waiting for.'

She perceived that she bad produced 1 strong impression of some kind upon him, and dropped her hold on his arm. 'Yon have comforted many miserable women In your time,' ahe said, 'Comfort one more, to-day.'

Without waiting to be answered, she led the way back Into the room. The Doctor followed her, and closed the door. He placed her in the patient's chair, opposite the windows. Even in London the son, on that summer afternoon, waa dazzling bright. The radiant light flowed in on her. Her eyes met it unflinchingly, with the steely steadiness of the eyes or an eagle. The smooth pallor of her unwrinkled akin looked more fearfully white than ever. For the first time, for many a long year past, the Doctor felt his pulse quicken its beat in the presence of a patient. Having possessed herself of his attention, ahe appeared, strangely enough, to have nothing to say to him. A curious apathy seemed to have taken possession of this resolute woman. Forced to speak fin*, the Doctor merely inquired, in tbe^ conventional phrase, what he could do for her.

The sound of his voioe seemed to rouse her. Still looking straight at the light, die said apruptiy: '1 have a palnfm question toask.' •What is it?'

Her eyes travelled slowly from the window to the doctor's fkce. Without the slightest outward appearance of agitation, ahe put the 'painful question in these extraordinary words:

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A MYSTERY OF MODERN VENICE.

PART FIRST—CHAPTER FIRST. In the year 1860 the reputation of Doctor Wybrow as a London physician reached its highest point. It was reported on good authority that he was in receipt of one of the largest Incomes derived from the practice of medicine in modern times.

'I want to.know, if you please, whether I am in danger of going mad Some men might have been amused, and some might have been alarmed. Doctor Wybrow was only conscious of a sense of disappointment. Wss this the rare case that he had anticipated, judging rashly by appearanoe? Was the new patient only a hypochondriacal woman whose malady was a disordered stomach and whose misfortune was a weak brain 'Why do you come to me?' he asked, sharply. 'Why dont you oonsult a doctor whose special employment is the treatment of the insane?'

She had her answer ready on the instant. •I don't go to a doctor of that sort,' she said, 'for the very reason that he is a specialist he has the fatal habit of judging everybody by lines and rules ofnis own laying down. I come to you, because my esse is outside of all lines and rules, and because you are ifamous in your profession for the disJcovery of mysteries in disease. Ar4 you satisfied

He was more than satisfied—bis first idea had been the right idea after all. Besides, she was correctly informed as to his professional position. The capacity which had raised him to fame and fortune, was hisoapacity (unrivalled among his brethren) for the discovery of remote disease. 'I am at your disposal,' he answered. 'Let me try if I can find ont what is the matter with you.'

He put his medicine questions. Thev were promptly and plainly answered and they led to no other conclusion than that the strange lady was mentally and physically in excellent health. Not satisfied with questions, he carefully examined the great ongans of life. Neither his hand nor his stethosoope could discover anything that was amiss. With the admirable patience and devotion to bis art which nad distinguished him from the time when he was a student, he still subjected her to one test after another. The result was always the same. Not only was there no tendency to brain disease—there wss not even a perceptible derangement of the nervous system. 'I can find nothing the matter with you," he said. 'I can't even account for the extraordinary pallor of your complexion. You completely puzzle me.' •The pallor of my oomplexion is nothing,'she answered a little impatiently. 'In my early life I had a narrow escape from death by poisoning. I have never had a complexion since, and my skin is so delicate I cannot paint without producing a hideous rash. But that is of no importance. I wanted your opinion given positively. I believed in you, and you have disappointed me.' Hernead dropped on her breast. 'And so it ends!' she said to herself bitterly.

The Doctor's sympathies were touched. Perhaps it might be more correct to say that his professional pride was a little hurt. 'It may end in the right way yet' he remarked, 'If you choose to help me.'

She looked up again with flashing eyes. 'Speak plainly,' she said. 'How can I help you?' •Plainly, madam, you come to me as an enigma, and you leave me to make the right guess by the unaided efforts of my art. My art.wlll do much, but not all. For example, something must have occurred—something quite unconnected with the state of your bodily health—to frighten you about yourself, or you would never have come here to oonsult me. Is that true

She clasped her hands in her lap. 'That is true!' she said, eagerly begin to believe in you again/ •Very well. You can't expect me to find out the moral cause which hss alarmed you. I can positively discover thst there is no physical cause for alarm and, unleM you admit me to your confidence, I can do no more.'

She rose snd took a turn in the room. 'Suppose I tell you?' she said. 'But mind, I shall mention no names!' 'There is no need to mention names. The facts are all I want.' "The facta are nothing/ she n»iolned. 1 have only my own impressions to confess—and you will very likely think me a fanciful fool when you hear what they are, No matter. 1 will do my best to content you—I will begin with the facts that you want. Take my word for it, they wont do mueh to help you.'

She sat down again. In the plainest possible words she began the strangeat and wildest confession that had ever reached the Doctor's eats.

CHAPTER II.

'It is one fact, sir, that I am a widow,' she said. 'It is another fact that I am going to be married again in a week's lime.'

There she paused, and smiled at some thought that occurred to her. Dr. Wybrow was not favorably impressed by her smile-there wss something at once sad and cruel in it. It came slowly and It went away suddenly. He began to donbt whether be had been wise in acting upon his first impression. His mind reverted to the commonplace patients and the discoverable maladies that were waiting for him, with a certain tender regret.

The lady went on. 'My approaching marriage,' ahe said, 'has one embarrassing circumstance connected with it. The gentleman whose wife I am to be was engaged to another lady when be luwpenea to meet with me abroad—that laay. mind, being of his own blood and family, related to him aa his cousin. I have innoeently robbed her of her lover and destroyed her prospects in life. Innocently, I say, because be told me nothing of his engagement until I bad accepted him. When we met in England, and when there was danger, no doabt, of the aflkir coming to my knowledge, be tokl me the truth, I was naturaliyindignant. He had his excuse ready be snowed

me a letter from the lady herself releasing him from his engagement. A more noble, a more high minded letter, I'' never read in my life. I cried over it—^ I, who have no tears for sorrows of my 55 own! If the letter had left bim any hope of being forgiven I would have r4 positively refused to marry him. But the firmness of it—without anger, without a word of reproach, with heartfelt wishes even for his happiness—^the firmness of it, I say, left mm no hope.0 He sppealed to my compassion, be appealed to his love for me. You know whst women sre, I too, wss soft hearted—I said, "Very well, yes!" So it ended. In a week more (I tremble as I 4 repeat it) we are to be married.'

She did really tremble—she was com-

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lled to pause and oompose herself *. she could go on. The Doctor, waiting for more facta, began to fear that he stood committed to along story. 'Forgive me for reminding you that I have suffering persons wtuung to see me,' he said,' the sooner you come to the point the better for my patients and. for me.'

The strange smile—at once so sad and cruel—showed itself sgaln on tbe lady's lips. 'Every word I have said is to the point,' she said. You will see for yourself In a moment more.' it £,v

She resumed her narrative. •Yesterday—you need fear no long story, sir only yesterdsy—I was a visltor at one of your English luncheon parties. A lady, a perfeot stranger tov me. came in late—after we had left the table and had retired to the drawing I room. She happened to take a chair,." near me and we were presented to each other. I knew her by name, as she knew me. It was tbe woman whom I ?i had robbed of her lover—the woman who had written the noble letter. Now listen! You were impatient with me tor not interesting you in what I said just now. I said it to sstisfy your mind that I had no enmity of feeling toward L. the lady, on my side. I admired her, I felt for ner—1 had no cause to reproach myself. This is very important, aa you will presently see. On her side, I have reason to be assured that the clrcumstances had been truly explained to her, and that she understood that I was in no way to blame. Now, knowing all these |f necessary things ss you do, explain to me if you can, why, when I arose and met that woman's eyes looking at me, Iturned cold from head to foot, and shuddered and shivered, and knew what a deadly panic of fear was for the. first time in my life.'

The Doctor began to feel interested at" last. 'Was there anything remarkable in tbe lady's personal appearance?' he^, 'Nothing whatever!' was tbe vehement rejpiy. 'Here Is the true description of ner: The ordinary English lady tbe clear, cold, blue eyes, the fine rosy

complexion, tbe inanimately polite*^ manner, the large good humored mouth, tbe too plump oheeks and chin these,?, and nothing more.' 'Was there anything in her expression when you first looked at her that tookS ouricu. to „e.f the woman who had been preferred to* her, and perhapa some astonishment^ also not to see a more engsgiogand-:, more besutiful person both these feel-*': tags restrained within the limits ofi' good breeding, and both not lasting for: more than a few minutes—so far as IL oould see. I say "so far," because the^* horrible agitation that she communis csted to me disturbed my judgment. If I oould have got to the door, I woaldjL have run out of the room, she frightened^ me so! I was not even able to standi up—I ssnk back into my chair I stared^ horror struok at tbe calm blue eyes tbar" were only looking at me with gentleff surprise. To say they effected me like** the eyee of a serpent is to say nothing..4 I felt her soul in them looking into!? mine—looking, if such a thing can be,K unconsciously to her own mortal self.:. I tell you my impreasion, in all its hor*r ror, snd in all ita folly! That woman IsF' destined (without knowing it) to be the evil genius of my life. Her innocent eyes saw hidden capabllitiea of wicked-*'^ ness in me that I was not aware of myself, until I felt them stirring nnder her look. It I commit faults in my life to come—if I am even guilty of crimesshe will bring the retribution, without' (ss I firmly believe) any conscious exerelse of her own will. In one describable moment, I felt all this—and I suppose my faoe showed it. The good artless creature was inspired by sort" of gentie alarm for me. "I am afraid the heat of tbe room is too much for you will you try my smelling bottle I heard her say those kind words, and I" remember nothing else—I fainted."?. When I recovered my senses tbe com-T pany bad all gone only tbe lady of the" boose was with me. For tbe moment If could ssy notbing to her: the dreadful Impression that Ihave tried to describe• to yon came back tome with the coming back of my life. As soon ss I could r* speak, I implered her to tell me the g: whole truth about the woman whom II had supplanted. Ton see, I had a faint hope that her good character might not really be deserved, that her noble letter was a skillful pieoe of hypocrisy—in short that she secretly hated me and was cu&ningenough to bide it. No! the lady had been her friend from her girlhood, was as familiar with her as if they had been sisters—knew her positively to 2 be ss good, as innocent, ss lncspsble of hating anybody as the greatest saint that overlived. My one last hope that I had only felt an ordinary forewarning of danger in tbe presence of an ordinary enemy was a hope destroyed forever. There wss one more effort I could make and I made it. Inext went te tbe man whom I am to aHurry. 1 implored him to release meflbm my promise. He refused. I decfied I would break my from nia sisters, som his brothers, snd his dear friends—sll entreating him to thinir again before be made me his wife, all repeating reports of me in Vienns, Puis snd London, which are so many vile liee. "If you refuse to marry me," he said, "you sdmit that these reports sre true—yousdmit that you are afraid to fece society in the character of my wife." What could I answer? There was

contradicting him—he wss plain

ly right if I persisted in my refusal, the utter destruction of my reputation would be the result. I consented to let the wedding take place as we had arranged it—Mid lea him. The night has [Qndmtted on Second Pagt.]

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