Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 12, Number 37, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 11 March 1882 — Page 2

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TKRRK HAUTE, MARCH 11,1882

VIDA CAROLAN;

OR,

FATAL BEAUTY.

The next morning, when the whole household was astir, and dumbfounded

Srs.

the certainty of Vida Carolan's flight, Mrs. Hargrave recalled the brief episode that she now soon dismissed from her tranquil mind. The girl was excited, no doubt, and no wonder the life she led was enough to unstring the strongest nerves.

So thinking, Mrs. Hargrave finished her teaiwt cosy—she was working it for a fashionable bazar shortly to beheld—foldedit up, put it neatly away, and, retiring to her apartment, was ere long wrapped in profound and calm slumber.

Once her mind was fully made up* Vida Carolan bad gone to work with a businesslike precision that might have seemed to a superficial observer almost passionless. She would do her \pst to prevent any search she wanted to save Dare Devereux, and lest the fact of her flight did not sufficiently convince him of her unworthirtesfs, she would write to him in such a manner as to compel him to see that he had made a grievous error in wooing her for his wife. ••I must deny my love," she raid, setting her teeth, and pressing her hands on her throbbing temples, as she sat alone in her dressing-room. "Yes, even that lie for his sake*. Oh, God! why did we ever meet?"

Her eyes were dry and tearless as she took the pen and wrote: "I cannot meet you: it would be useless pain to us both. I do not love you nay, I must not. I am not worthy of your love. I beseech you to try and forgot me. I was wrong to suffer you to decoive youwolf. I do not ask forgiveness, for I cannot bope to gain it. Farewell for ever.

She enclosed this in a letter to Mrs. Hargrave, requesting her to give it to Mr. Devereux if he should call, and left the missive on her toilet-table, together with money for the liquidation of all liabilities, ami two years' salary^ for Mia. Hargrave herself. The remaining available money she nlnced in a Iiand-bag, also the costly jewelry she whs accustomed to wear, and then she attired herself for her journey.

Vida was far too wise to attempt disguising herself as anything but a lady.— To do so would inevitably excite the very notice she was desirous of escaping. Benrinp, voice, movements, everything about her was so unmistakably patrician, that she could not hopo to deceive anyone into believing her bottrgeoise. She therefore dressed herself in black—in deep mourning her head was covered by a close crape bonnet, with a very long crape veil that she could wear over her face, or allow to hang down her back at will. That dress, mantle and veil were of the finest material was a fact that was not likely to lie observed in the semi-obscuri-ty of a railway station nor, especially in black garments, to be noticed by men at all. Besides, there was nothing extraordinary in a woman able to afloi*d good clothes traveling by herself.

Vida decided to pass as an Italian she knew that no one would believe her to bo English, and her assertion that she was so would look like an attempt at imposture, anil suspicion would probably entail observation and might lead to undesirable consequences.

There was no wavering, even when the last moment came. With face ghastly white, with locked features, and still tearless eyes, Vida Carolan, the very sun of the London firmament, the queen to whom all did homage, stole noiselessly, a .disguised fugitive, from the house that

not a home to her, and passed out into the dark, silent street. It was a close, heavy, brooding night. !Park clouds obscured the sky not a star wns visible. So far so well.

Vida paused and looked up at the blach front of the bouse. All was quiet, and it the street no one stirred.

She turned and walked swiftlv Not till she had walked fulb mile northwards did she call a cab. Shiknew that King's Cross and St. Pancra^ stations were close together, so she tolo the driver to take her to the former sta tion then she would walk to St. Pancrat and go to Manchester by that route.

ay. alf

If perchance the cabman who drove lies should Ixi discovered and questioned, bin replies would naturally direct inquiries to King's Cross.

A train from the North had just comi. in as Vida entered the Midland Station, and a crowd of passongers were bustling hither and thither, too intent on their own concerns to notice anyone.

But suddenly a ladr, owning the oppo

lady, ooi

site way, and seemingly la a great hurry, nearly ran up again* Vida. Both drew back both, almost in a breath, uttered the word "Pardon," but the lady whose hedlessnaes had caused the encounter paused abruptly, hearing the language and intonation of the younger woman—she herself was on the verge of middlo age—and said eagerly, In French: "Ah, mademoiselle, perhaps you can assist me. I cannot make tnete people understand.*

Vida paused, stepping back a little so as to throw her face, already obscured by the thick crape veil, into deeper gloom under the shadow of a pillar, and then replied courteously: "I shall be happy to render any assistance that I ate bat I massif am quite a stranger in London." "Then—pardon—I will not detain you. 1 thought vou might know if there is an hotel near here "There is one close by. You will see it as you come out of the station," Vida replied, taking pity on the stranger, whom .she saw at once was a lady in the fullest aense of the term, "and I believe they speak French. You could not go to any better place for to-night." "Thanks, ten thousand thanks! Yoo Are kind, indeed."1

And the French lady bowed and patted on. Vida turned into the booking office, took her ticket—first-class f«r Manchester—and ten minutes later was traveling rapidly towards the metropolis of oottoo. {cHArram xrv.

ANOTHER LODflKR I* DCClt-STRBKT. 'A snake bedded himself under tbe threshold of country bon».—L'BjntRMKHt. "British ami Foreign Governesses* Institution" appeared on a br»5R plate on the door jamb of No. Duke-street» Piccadilly the house wherein Miss Johnson. the dressmaker, 5m the parlor floor, and Ssgrnor (ihiUnti the front rooms of

the floor above the drawing-room. This drawing-room, or first floor, was in the occupation of Miss Preston, who conducted the above-mentioned governess agency, and who, according to her prospectus, was specially qualified for her business, having had "many years' experience in the families of foreign noblemen."

She was seated at her desk tbe morning after Vida Carolarfs flight, when a gentle knock came at the door. "Come in," said Miss Preston, hardly looking up.

And there entered the French lady who had accosted Vida last night at St. Paneras station, and who had asked her way of Dare Devereux not long before. "Ah, Madame Mervillef exclaimed the agent continuing, in very tolerable French: "Well, what success have you badf "None," replied Madame Merville, seating herself. "They require Latin and drawing, neither of which do I undertake to teach." "They never told me they would require them," said Miss Preston. "It is too bad of people, and thev have no right to ask so much for the salary they offer. Well, I am afraid I have nothing just now that would suit you. The moment I have I will let you know. The same address, I suppose." "No, I leave that to-morroW it is too far from here and, besides, they have let the rooms next mine to a couple who continually quarrel. Are rooms in this neighborhood expensive?"

Miss Preston smiled. "Vefy expensive," she said. "You would not get anything in this street at all as moderate as where you are now." "And yet," said Madame Merville, "some of the bouses, on the opposite side of tbe way especially, do not look so very superfine. I should think they would let apartments in tbe house vis-a-vis to this "Do you mean where the shop is T—Goodman the name?" "Mais oni. Is there anything against the house?" asked the French lady, her quick wit struck by the tone in which the agent put her question. "Well," said Miss Preston, delighted at the opportunity offered of a spicy tid-bit of gossip, "I should not advise you to seek lodgings at Goodman's there is something very queer about the whole place." "Indeed?" "The Goodman's don't bear the best of characters," pursued Miss Preston, "and they have a very, very suspicious lodger on tbe drawing-room floor—a Mrs. Russell, so she is called, though whether it is her real name or not, no one can tell. She is very rarely peen. .'.it she is a woman

Eeeps

ist middle age, and i'iv belief is that she a secret gambh «\*dron." The Frenchwoman started and changed color, but Miss Preston was too eager to impart all she knew, and favor her companion with her conjectures, to notice the slight sign of emotion her last words had caused. "Thei*e used to be an idea," she went on, "that some fashionable beauty lived there, for whom Mrs. Russell was a blind but there could be no reason for such blind, and no younger woman was ever seen. It was scarcely likely that a woman of that kind would keep herself mewed up they are too fond of pleasure, and the things one sees seem more consistent with the idea of a gambling-saloon. There are plenty of such places rub rosa in all great capitals." "There are, indeed but what is it that makes you entertain that suspicion "The number of young men that go there in the small hours or the morning." said Miss Preston, and mostly by the back entrance." "What sort of men?" "Jeunesse doree principally. Ob, I have not the least doubt in my own mind as to the character of the house." "Do you know anything about Mrs. Russell "Nothing at all but I should imagine she cams from abroad, as she has a French servant—Fanchette. Fachette is very discreet. She does not speak English,.or pretends she does not but nothing is to be wormed out of her." "She is not young, then?" "Oh, no, quite a middle-aged woman. She does all the marketing, and that looks as if Mrs. Russell bad lived on the Continent."

At this moment there was another knock at. the door, and two or three ladies entered.

Madame Merville rose. "I will not detain you any longer this morning, madarae," said she, bowing. "I will write to you immediately I can send you an address. Very likely I shall go to the house we were speaking of. I do not see what, it should matter to me, no one would interfere with me." "Why, no but still I should hardly think you would find it very pleasant."

Madame Merville smiled and shrugged her shoulders." "Better, I dare say, than what I have left and it would be a very convenient situation for many reasons. Adieu, madame." She bowed again and went out.

She paused a moment on the stair-head, pressing her band over her heart and ner lips, pale and trembling, moved convulsively, but no sound passed them, her thought was unuttered. "After all, it may not be. I may be lursuing a jtu foUei but no stone must left unturned."

A resolute expression settled on her handsome features she descended the stairs, crossed the street, and went straight into Goodman's shop.

The elder Goodman, a stoat, vulgarlooking man, did not speak French bot he sent for his son, who spoke the lanafter a fashion—a very English

CEL.*

Madame wanted a room—one only Yes, they had one at the back of tbe house, top floor. Madame would have to pay the rent in advance always.

This was not said In the most civil manner, but Madame Merville, though ahe looked a proud woman, had apparently her own reasons for not noticing impertinence.

She calmly replied that she was quite willing to pay in advance, aod though the rent waa more than ahe had been paying, ahe would like to see the room.

It waa comfortable enough, and Mad* ame Merville took it at once, and paid the first week before she went to fetch each baggage as she had.

What reason had Madame Merville for wishing to occupy the same boose with Mrs. Russell, or whom, as we hare seen, ahe knew nothing? |..V3 CKAPTSR XV.

SOCIBTT HOLDS CP ITS HAST&SOn the wreck plank of life is there pardon When Joy is worn hollow in sin? Vida Carolan fled! Impossible! That was how the news which spread with the proverbial swiftness of evil intelligence through Mayfair was first received by all tb whom it was imparted, but the answer was conclusive the informant always had

his or her information on indisputable authority, Vida certainly had left her house in Hertford-street suddenly and mysteriously last night, no one knew when or whence. Her companion. Mrs. Hargrave, it is true, did attempt to put some gloss on the affair, and trump up something about a telegram, but the story would not hold water, for however suddenly Miss Carolan might be compelled to leave London, there could be no conceivable bona fide reason for the manner of her departure. That she herself had taken no pains to guard her reputation against the inevitable scandal that her conduct must provoke, showed a recklessness which was dangerously like guilt, and it must be allowed that the gossips were hardly to blame when they concluded that Miss Vida Cardan had not left London alone.

But there were those who took another view of the matter, and openly stated their belief that in a day or two the brokers would be in Hertford-street they bad always said Vida Carolan was a mere adventuress, and here was the evidence of it. Vida bad been living on credit, and the crash had come ddubtless fraud had been added to impecuniosity, and the season's beauty had fled to avoid very unpleasant personal consequences. Others again declared that Vida Carolan was secretly married, and her husband had ap-

§igamist

peared on the scene again, she was a indeed, every kind of wild rumor was circulated about the unhappy girl whose impetuous act had given only too much field for conjecture.

Everyone was quitejpositive that he or she was in possession of the true facts of the case, and at least six prominent men in society were confidently named as the lover with whom Ia belle Bohetnienne had fled of this six Dare Devereux was one, but some of the quidnuncs were not a little staggered when they discovered that Devereux was still in London others, however, only looked upon this as a ruse; Deverenx did not desire any esclandre he would join Miss Carolan later.

Lucille was naturally the first person to discover Miss Carolan's disappearance. Vida was always an early riser, and seldom called upon her maid's assistance in the morning, hence it was not till roonday, at Vida's non-appearance, that Lucille went to her apartment and the truth came out.

Had mademoiselle gone for* an early ride It was very soon ascertained that sbe had not, and tnen, in some alarm, Lucille went to her mistress's apartment, to find the letter left for Mrs. Hargrave, and that lady had not yet sufficiently collected her thoughts to even conjecture how she was to act when another person appeared on the scene.

It was Dare Devereux's custom to go for a ride early every morning, sometimes only in the park, but more frequently out into the country, and this morning he had ridden out to Richmond. It was close upon half-past eight when he drew rein before bis own door, and as he entered the house, Ellis met him in the hall. One glance at the man's face was enough to assure Devereux that his presence just now was not accidental, and Dare asked quickly: "What is the matter, Ellis? What has happened?" "I'll tell you in a minute, sir," returned Ellis. ."I've been watching for you."

His voice trembled, he seemed strangely agitated. Devereux opened the diningroom door, and when they had both entered the room beyond, he closed the door and turned to Ellis." "Well?" be said quietly, arid yet his heart was throbbing with an undefined dread. "I thought you ought to know, sir," said Ellis, looking straight before him., "I hear—I have just been told that Miss Carolan went off last night."

What* In heaven's name, what story is this?" Devereux's voice was hoarse and quivering his hand was laid heavily on tbe man's shoulder. "Mr. Devereux," he said chokingly, "you know how dearly I love you, and I know—forgive me—that you—at least, thought very much of Miss Carolan, and that is why I tell you. I heard it from the groom, sir. All they seem to know is that Miss Carolan disappeared last night at any rate, that was all he knew." "Enough, Ellis, I meant no blame to you I know you love me. I am going to Hertford-street I must know the truth."

He was livid to the very lips as he turned away and strode through the hall he was stunned, blinded. There must be some mistake it could not be true that Vida had fled secretly in the dead of night.

But all doubt as to tbe actual fact was dispelled when he reached Hertford-street. Almost before the bell had ceased to sound, the door was opened, and a footman, evidently much agitated, hurried forwards. "Mr. Devereux," he said, trying vainly to attain the pro mer degree of dignity, "Mrs. Hargrave would

TEEBE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL k-

respectful like to

see you at once. This way, please, sir." In silence Dare Devereux followed the servant, who led him at once to the draw-ing-room, and even as he was saying: "Mrs. Hargrave will be with you in a moment, sir."

That lady passed him on the threshold, and Dare Devereux clasped her hand in his. ••Mrs. Hargrave, for God's sake tell me what has happened what doee this mean T*

She could not anawer him: at first, and he led her to ft seat, waiting in all but insufferable anguish till she should be able to speak.

She was able at length to tell him all •hfr* she or anyone in the household knew, and he pat no questions, seeing that she was still too agitated to give any collected or trustworthy replies. "I should have sent for you," she said, finally, Mfyou bad not come for Vida left with me this letter for you

And she placed Vida's brief epistle in his hands. He drew back a step and read it through—once—twice then messed it peasionately and silently to bis lips, and turned to Mrs. Hargrave, who had cov- /mu8|^ •red her free With her hands.** *Mrs. Hargrave," he said, bending down to her, and she looked up, startled, into tbe handsome face, pale as the dead, resolute as fate the deep bine eyes glowing like living fire, passion and will in every line, in the soft clear tones of the voice, albeit so steady and unfaltering, "listen to me. I love Vida Carolan. She tells me here that she does not krve me, that ahe is not worthy of me. Neither of these statements are true. 8be had promised to see me to-morrow, and I believe that it is from me, for some inserutaWe reason, that sbe has fled. I will find her. and bring her back, as my wife. Nothing shall separate her from me nothing shall make me yield her up. Let all the-world defame her, it will not change my love

(uy nrvc* urra vu wiu uiu^ 'gut," RgiU Mrs., Hargrave, brwrthjesa- coldly. iLqve begtrts lo

can have made Vida act like this?^ "Hush! This is no time for weeping. Try to judge her kindly, try not to believe evil of her give no need to those who blacken her name. I could not doubt her, could not believe her false to her womanhood—false to me for I know that in this letter she has belied her heart."

He paused a moment, then went on •peaking very calmly: "Will you," he said, "do all that she asks of you I I cannot for her sake act for you in the matter then communicate with me again. Wherever I am, Ellis will always know where to send to me, and can be implicitly trusted. I should like now, if you will allow me, to see Lucille alone."

Mrs. Hargrave rose. "Mr. Devereux," she said, "if you ai-e deceived in Vida, heaven pardon her! Such love as yours is rare indeed,. I will send Lucille to you." "Thank you."

He opened the door for ber to pass out, and when he had closed it behind her, pressed his hand to his brow like one in mortal agony. "Vida, Vida!" he muttered brokenly.— "Oh, my life, my soul! couldst thou not trust me who loves thee so well

Lucille could throw no light on Vida's disappearance she conld not even tell what apparel Vida had worn. She missed nothing Miss Carolan might have clothes never worn now that she (Lucille) had not seen. It was evident that the girl had not been taken into her mistress's confidence.

Devereux next saw Mrs. Hargrave again, and to her suggestion that she should tell some story about a telegram, answered: "I see no use of it no one will believe such a story but, of course, act as you please. No tale that ingenuity can- concoct can varnish over last night's event,"

Did no doubt of this woman, of whom he knew so little, enter Dare Devereux's heart as he walked rapidly back to Carl-ton-gardens? There was so little ground for faith, so much for doubt and she herself had so written that even the worst construction might have been put upon her flight but Devereux bad spoken the simple truth when he said he could not doubt. If Vida had lost the world, she had the greater need of his 'love one hand should still clasp hers, one heart should shelter her.

Ob, if in her shame and misery Vida could but know how this man loved her, would she not come back to him, even from the uttermost parts of the earth, and, owning her wrong, yield all to the love that was faithful through all?

CHAPTER XVI.

MBS. BUSSELL HBARS THB NBWS. "An extraordinary sensation has been created in society by the abrupt disappearance of a lady, whose remarkable beauty and accomplishments made her the reigning queen of the season. The lady, it seems, quitted her home late last night without leaving the lfeast clue by which she might be traced. A profound mys^pry envelopes the whole affair, and the wildest rumors are current some coupling the lady's name with other wellknown named but it would not be just to give such rumors credence or currency. So far as we can ascertain no steps have been taken to trace the fugitive."

So ran a paragraph in an evening paper, and Fanchette, who was out in Piccadilly on some errand, hearing the newsboys shouting out something about^ an "extraordinary occurrence in 'igh life," bought a paper, and reading it on the way home, could make out quite enough to induce her to hurry back to. Dukestreet at a very unusual speed. "Madame," she cried, running into the drawing-room, in which Mrs. Russell sat writing, "lists tela—oh, man Dieu/"

Hester Ransome snatched up the paper and read the paragraph rapidly, then, as if she scarcely believed her senses, she went through it again more carefully. No, there could be no doubt, Vida only could be'the person indicated. The journal fell from the woman's nerveless hand.

she sat for a few moments perfectly rigid, and Fanchette stood near, watching ner, not daring to speak. "Ma'amselle Vida?" she said at under her breath.

ly, borne down and overcomety the force of this man's strong love and steadfast resolve, "how are you to find her? You have no clue you know not where she has gone. I cannot help you, or heaven knows I would. I know nothing." "Leave all to me I am not speaking wildly. I shall find her, and before long. Sbe has taken a mad, a desperate step already the world is making sport of tier fair name, and nothing we can do will avert scandal but she is more than all is more the world to me, more than all save honor. I that"her dav wasnassed Now give heed tome will you let me «i have proved the truth of what advise y°u ... _, -*ay," said Hester Ran some, turning away, "Gladly, only_ too gladly. Oiu what «but each man and woman thinks his or her case is exceptional." 'That is the way with criminals," said

length ti

Hester nodded. "CW/ She has run away with M. Devereux?^ "No," said Hester through her teeth "not that. She is alone, I am sure at that, but I see how it has been. I was mad—mad to trust her to dream that in such a nature as hers hate could bestronger than love. She loves Dare Devereux despite'herself. He has, perhaps* spoken to her she has shrunk from tW consummation of that for which alone I worked, and has fle^ alike from love and vengeance—from vengeance because she will sot take it from love because she dare net. She is false—foresWtarn—traitress! Oh," she cried, rising up, and walking excitedly to and fro, "would that I could go to Dare Devereux aad tell him the truth, but my bands are tied, and she knows it: to go to him now would be eer-t tain ruin. She kept her secret well.,I never suspected it. Bat as she has town* so let her reap. At any rate," she said, with a low and exultant^ laugh* "if he loves her he miist Sulfar bm can whiten the name die haa The wife of a Devereux must he like Cteaar's—above suspicion." "Are you going to try and find out where mademoiselle isP she asked prea-

I can aooot her,*

•aid Madame Ransome, paosing in her walk. "I am baffled, Fanchette, completely baffled. I cannot understand

"Who could, even as a child Mid Fanchette. "8he is one of those who wOl take the hit between her teeth, however yon may try to drive ber or lead her." "She can never appear in London society again, never," said Hester gloomily.— "She has flung up the whole gams. At preeent all I can do Is to ascertain the exact truth of this rumor, and then Tcannot move things must take their course. I was a fool—a fool for once in my life—to ret a girl like Vida to ensnare a man like Dare Devereux. and imagine that her love for me would be proof against his power to win her." "And bers to win him." said Fanchette

5-

A"

f*i 4. S "Love!" repeated Hester scornfully. "What is itf a fancy—a phantasms—bah! For how Ifttle will men and women wreck their lives.''

Tis love that makes the world go round,' the song says," observed Fanchette, with the familiar manner she was accustomed, it seemed, to employ to her mistress. "You have had your day, you see, and now you sneer at others. That is the way with so many."

Fanchette evidently did not imagine

Fanchette, laughing. Madame Ransome turned sharply, stamping her foot. "You talk like a fool!" she said, with a sharpness that the occasion did not seem to warrant. "Do IT Fanchette laughed again. "Well," she added, laying ber band on the doer, "I will go about my work, and you, I suppose, to discover all you can about mademoiselle. Foil A beauty is more difficult to deal with than an untamed calf. Bay what you will, madame, I think ee beau M. Devereux could throw some light on mademoiselle's disappear uice." And with this parting fling, Fancoette quitted the room.

Two aays later, tbe house in Hertfordstreet was closed, and Mrs. Hargrave went to live in apartments not far oS, but still nothing was known of Vida Carolan. •=.

CHAPTER XVII. •L0KB. ..

Hush! call no echo up in proof Of desolation. There's a voice within That weeps alone, aloof. —E. B. BROWNING. On, on through the darkness sped the train that bore Vida Carolan away from London—away from a brilliant, dazzling life to a dull, blank, obscure existence— away from love with its happiness and pain, to the "sunless sea" of a bleak, unknown future.

For somf miles she was alone in the compartment, and flinging back the thick crape veil, she sat with locked hands, trying to face the fate she had sought, trying to think what she was to do, where she was to go. W

She was only eighteen She might have many years to live yet, and how was she to commence a journey beset with so many difficulties, for she was hampered by the paramount necessity of keeping out of Dare Devereux's way, of remaining hidden from him

She had done Dare Devereux a grievous wrong, but it was for his sake—to avoid a greater. This wrong would scathe him, but time would obliterate even its scar, or, at least, heal the wound. The other would be damning.

Easy to say that love can generally forgive the sin that love prompted but would he, fcould be forgive such utter deception from the woman who bore his name, who held his very life in her hand?

Nay, had he not distrusted his own power to forgive, adding: "But I should not like to bo tried." "Yet,"-said Vida to herself, "if he came to me now, if he pleaded as he would plead, I know that I should yield, and deceive him. I should struggle to the last, but he would conquer in the end. I know that when be discovered the truth he would put me from him, cut me off from his love forever but I should deceive him, nevertheless. I have taken the only step that could save him, and if there is a land in which all things are made clear, he may know one day that though I was not worthy of such love as his, yet I did love him with a pure, true heart, and tbe greatest wrong I did was for his sake."

In the small hours of the morning the train reached Manchester, and Vida alighted, feeling, as she stood on the wide platform, utterly friendless and hopeless but her senses were on the alert to secure immunity from notice, and calling a cab, she told the man to drive her to the Clarence Hotel, where, however, she liad no intention of remaining over the morrow, especially as she noticed the cabman looked at her rather curiously, and when she reached the hotel, the chambermaid who showed her her room also gazed at her with more interest than is ordinarily evoked by a stranger in a great city.

For the first time in her life Vida fouhd her remarkable personnel against her. She still kept ber face veiled, which in itself looked suspicious, but enough was visible of her features to see that they were beautiful, and there was nothing to hide the symmetry of her figure, and its rare grace of movement.

She gave no account of herself, save that she was "passing through" Manchester on her way further north. She gave the name of Carreno—Mdlle. Carreno— •poke broken English, and ordered an early breakfast. No, she did not want to be called she always woke early.

She never slept she did not even try "--m— her the

iri_.-

"Swayne's •'Swayne's ''Swayne's ••Swayne's •'Swayne's "Swayne's ••swayne's •'Swayne's •'Swayne's •'Swayne's •'Swayne's •'Swayne's ••Swayne's •Swayne's

Ointment" Ointment"] Ointment" Ointment" Ointment" Ointment" Ointment" Ointment Ointment" Ointment" Ointment"] Ointmeut''-) Ointment'' Ointment"

weary,

exhausted but there was no sleep in her eyes. She sat the dreary hours with ber head bowed down on her folded arms, or walked noiselessly up and down but not once did the heavy lids close over tbe dark eyes.

Sometimes seemed to ber that, if it had been possible, sbe would have returned to Dare Devereux, and then sbe was glad to know tb*t that could not be —glad that her own act had saved ber from a temptation that otherwise might have mastered ber.

Was she willing, then, to condone the wrong done to ner mother?' Was that he

No hat the suspicion thai BrtWR was free from guilt, or at leasyfan sueh

fb, "if he guilt as Hector Ransome imputwl to him* Nothing had grown fsito a settled

con

viction, and a

blackened, aav vista wa vista was opening before Vida's pyw wsm w*v wjfv mind, a new view of many things, ar a*

Poor Vida! so nobis by nature, so perverted by training, would she ever struggle oat from the gloom into the dayllghtf

Mdlle. Carreno had her breakfast in the cotoe-room, but it was so early that no one else was down, and ahe had the apartment to herself. ,7,

The waiter, whenever be believed himself unobserved, stared very hard at the exquisitely beautiful Italian, and marvelled greatly who could be this aristo-cratic-looking girl, who came alone to aa hotel without any more luggage than a hand-bag, and seemed altogether out of harmony with her surroundings* although, at the same time, she appeared to be perfectly self-possessed, and was evidently in tbe habit of traveling unattended.

Immediately after breakfast—she had forced herself to eat a little-Vida called for her reckoning, and having paid it, left the hotel.

Continued on Third Page.

Since the days of Hippocrates no remedy has obtained so boundless confidence or conferred on mankind so estimable a blessing as Swayue'a Ointment.

"Certainly the best remedy ever in my practice." G.AV. Colton,M. D. of Vermont.

••Cdres" "Cmrea*' "Cures" "Cures" "Cures" "Cures" "Cures" "Cures"

It cures toftuk, Itch, 'Salt Kheum, Scald Head, Barbers Itch,

Bores, Scaly, Crusty, I Itchs Skin Eruptions and that terrible malady, "Itching Piles."

The symptoms of -which are moisture like perspiration, Intense itching—particularly at night after getting warm, which leelHulf pin .worms were crawling in and about the tectum.

"Itching Piles" "Itching Piles" "Itohlng Piles" "Itching Piles" "Itching Piles" "Itching Piles" "Itching Piles" "Itching Piles" "Itching Piles"

"Air "All' "A11"

"Skin "Sfclu "Skin "Skin "Skin "Skin "Skin "Skin

The private parts are often allected. For this or any akin disease Swayne's Ointment Is superior to any article in the the market.

"Ihave suffered 15 years from Itching 'Piles.consulted many physicians nnd used remedies but no permanent

many found no perm until I used Swsy lie's Ointment." Geo. -Simpson, New Haven, Ct.

Diseases" Diseases" Diseases" Diseases" Diseases" Diseases'' Diseases" Disease)*"

Ask- your dvagaitit for it. srWwly

A CARD.

To all who are suffering from the errors and indiscretions of youth, nervous weakness, early decay, loss of manhood, Ac., I will send a recipe that will cure you, FREE OF CHARGE. Tills great remedy was discovered by a missionary in South America. Send a self-addressed envelope to the Rev. Joseph Inm an, Station D. New York City. i\"i-Om.

per year can he easily made at

heme working for E. G, Rideout A Co., 10 Barclay Street, New York. Send for their catalogue and full particulars.

NEURALGIA

It lias been ascertained that the most Inveterate cases of neuralgia are cured by Follows' Syrup of Hypophosphltes. Not only is the principal disease eradicated, but the patient is made vigorous and strong: tbe stomach the blood, tho skin become healthy, and he obtained ii new lease of epjoyable life.

The only satisfactory treatment of neuralgia is by strengthening the nervous system. A person with strong nerves never suffers from this disease.

The virtues of Fellows' Compound Syrup of Hypophosphltes are such that other remedies are seldom required.

The demand for Hypophosphltes and other Phosphorus preparations at tno present day, is largely owing to the good effects and success following tne introuaction of this article in the United States.

IMPORTANT.

Should the Invalid haveany difficulty In procuring the Compound Syrup In his vicinity, let him not be put off with any other remedy,because this article has not Its equal in the diseases for which,it. is recomme nded.

NOTE.—Be suspicious of persons who recommend any other article as "lust as ood." The highest class medical men In every lnrge city, where it Is known, recommend it.

SOLD BY ALL DRUGGISTS.

•Hi. LTDIA PMKI1M.0F IVHH, MISS.

LYDIA B. PINKHAM'S coigomro. Is a Positive Csrs

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The bead waiter, standing on the step®, looked after ber as she walked down the street. 1

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iiMi k. rarnurs c#mmNllipnpsted aiss aa4 w.rf»r» Awase, Ifmtfltm. FHeefl. Sixb9tttmtor». SftbjbmU tettcfani «t pOk, aUoUtl* torm otloue**, on (Wtfpt of prie», jt pf toe fmlj imoi 11 l»ttn« nf l~t swta P—y tat. iditrw aa abor*, tlmtlon tht$ Paptr.

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IUCRATIVE EMPLOYMENT

lor Winter in larmiri* (iitrK-r«. \cry lazge returns for comparatively litUo labor. LJfnr fnll rmrtlciilnr* aMrcs* immefllately HBolUSOC Jl'PP CO. Uro»dwy. X.Y. •v/i FtmranlGenuineCbronio('arils no two 50 «'th IOC. S.NOW 1

CO. M„-

idea, Conn. Uiwra.