Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 12, Number 40, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 1 April 1882 — Page 3

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

YIDA CAEOLAN

OB,

FATAL BEAUTY.

CHAFTEB XXX. SPJX3ISO TLFE WEB.

Will you walk intQ my parlor says the BplUcr to the fly. It is the prettiest parlor that ever you did spy.

NUKSEHT SO NO.

Dar« Devererux dirl not fail to follow up the advantage he had pained at Gifford Wenl'8 dinner-party. lie had succeeded in completely deceiving1 the three young men whose acquaintance, in his new character, he was lent on securing. 'He saw that th«y were prepoBsessed in his favor, none the less eo because both he and "West bad taken care to let them know that M. le Comte de Lasaubc had plenty of money and was addicted to play, and the road to the talon in Duke-street was therefore clear but the keeping up of two identities was beset with not a few difficulties.

From these Devereux was fortunate enough to be nble to exclude his wife. Kven in fashionable life, a wife need not be of a very jealous temper to object to her husband's frequent and prolonged absences, for which no explanations are offered, and some of these absences would, Dare knew, compel him to be away all night, or return home at four or five in the morning.

But Yida never asked a question, never wore a frown never by word or look hinted that she thought any explanation was needed. Little as nature and training had inclined her to be confiding, it was evident that she had ]crfect fa^th in her husband. J3ut it might be that sho thought she had no right to seek full con fidence when she had not given it, but Devereux could not suffer her to remain under that mistake.

He came in one morning about two o'clock he had been dining, as Count Lannulx, with Summers and several other young fellows of the same stamp, and seeing a light still in Vida's dressingroom. he tap|ed at the door and entered.

Vida, too, had leen out, and now, loosely enveloped in & peignoir, she was leaning back in a low fauteuil reading, but she dropped the book and looked up witfe a bright smile, stretching out her hands as her husband came in.

He knelt down by her, and drawing her to him kissed her tenderly. "Vida, my child, you Bhould not sit. up like this. Yon ought to have been asleep." "But I only camo home an hour ago, Dare, and I wanted to finish this book." "Well, I will forgive you—but, Vida, I want to ask you a question." ••Yep." "You never notice my long absences, and often very late hours. I know you trust me, yet it may seem strange to you that 1 do not mention to you whew I have been, not as a needed explanation, but merely because one would ntLturally do so, as you do to me." "I thought it was some business of your own. Dare, that is nil. Why shoved 1 ask questions? and to make any remark might, look as if your reticence vexed me, and that could not be besides She hesitated, then added very low: "I have no light, you know, Dare, to "Hush!" His hand was on her lips. "That is why I spoke. Vida. You have every right to my confidence, and one day soon you shall have it. My own dear wife, you must crush that feeling that your claim on me is limited because you have secret I do not share." "I will try," she said, clinging to him. "I cannot promise more than that. Dare." "That, will suffice me, Vida—for the present,'' answered Devereux, smiling as he added the last qualification and then he rose and bade her seek rest.

Within a fortnight of their first meeting Rnkehv Danvers and M. de Lasaulx were on familiar terms. The ptifi'est of Englishmen could not have been long reserved with the affable Frenchman, and the Hon. Uoknby was bv r.o means a stiff or unceremonious individual.

One evening M. de Ltisuulx broached the subject of tho sahn in Duke-street, of which his English acquaintances had more than once spoken. "I have no doubt," said Dan vers, "that I could introduce you but I shall have to ask permission first. Mrs. Russell is very cautious, and will not }erniit anyone to come whose name is not submitted to her. as well as his being known to an hihiiut.

Vrainxad! she is wise but then I have known you so short a time." "Quite long enough. I dare say. I shall look in to-morrow night, and I will pave the way." "Mtreibefwcoup" And M. de Lnsnulx smiled to himself as he took his departure from Pan vera'

CIUVUIMM'S.

In the course of tho day of his visit .to Duke-stj-eet, the Hon. Rokeby called on the count, but, finding him out, left a brief note, which was delivered to

M.

de

Lasaulx that evening. It ran as follows: "MT NKAR COVJJT—The

old lady is quite

agreeable. I will lxk in upon you tonight about midnight, and see if you carc to accompany me to Duke-street, I called to-day, but you were absent, \ours truly. K- DJLSVBKS." "Half the battle won," said M. de Lasaulx to himself. "Of couso I care to accompany you." Then he lauched. "Oh, Pan vers, my boy, if you only knew where 1 was when you called if you only knew that an hour ago you nodded to M. le Comte de LAsaulx in Piccadilly?"

At twelve o'clock Rokeby Pnnvers called, and found the count quite ready to go with him. They took a hansom and drove to Piccadilly, getting out at the top of Duke-street.

CHAPTER XXXI.

-M. de Lasaulx—Mrs. Russell," and once more, after a lapse of fourteen years. Dare PevVreux stopd lefore Hester Ransomc. and, as he bowed to her, tlmngh her polite wor»ss of welcome, be seciued to hear her fierce defiance: "In this game of skill, let us see. Dare Devereux, which haad will win—yours or mine."

There *ere several ruen already collected in the though play had hardly yet commenced. Most of these men Devereux knew, but not one knew him, or seemed to find even in his features a reminiscence of anyone known to them.

Madame Merville, tiressed as usual in hlack satin and pe-irls, xraa talking to Lord Wet her by, wkose admiration of the handsome Frenchwoman was sufficiently' manifest. She gkneed keenly in the count's face when he was introduced to her. but without a shadow of recognition in her own, and at once entered into conversation with him pleased# it eceoaed, to

meet with a countryman with whom she could converse fluently. Lord Wetherby was not best pleased at this turn of events, and his jealousy of the handsome Frenchman was increased by his ignorance of the language spoken. Tone and manner showed bim that M. de Lasaulx made many galarU speeches, which Madame Merville received graciously, not ill-pleased, and the poor young man felt keenly that in every way the count had the advantage of him.

Meanwhile the supposed count was marvelling what could have placed Madame Merville in her present position. He felt convinced that there was some mystery in her assumption of a role which seemed so inconsistent with her apparent character, and he resolved to watch her verv keenly.

More men came in from time to time, and by half-past one the tables were in full swing. Madame Merville made one of a party, including Lord Wetherby. Grant de Lasaulx found himself the vis-a-tsis of Mrs. Russell in a game of ecarte— that is. hf contrived that this game should flayed by them. They sat at a small' Me, and that at which Madame Merr' was seated was so placed that t:° Frenchwoman faced the count. This arrangement also was not exactly accidental.

The count first broke the silence which was maintained at the commencement of the game. "You have, then, lived in Paris?" he remarked to his companioa "your French is so remarkably pure." "I was brought up there," she answered, "so that for many years it was like my native language, but I was still young when I left France." "And you have never returned there?" "Twice. After I was married I was in Paris for about a week, and also five years ago: then I was, I think, three months in Paris." "Ah, ca! I was wondering if vod had ever met the Baron Bergheim of Berlin. He was the most charming of men. I met him first in Vienna—years ago. He was dining with an English friend." "No, I never met him,'' said Mrs. Russell, "though I fancy I have heard his name." "Very likely he was so well known in Paris. He committed suicide, poor felow!" the count sighed. "Indeed! I never heard of that." "Ah, oui—some love affair and, is it not strange? the Englishman with whom he was dining when I first met him, also committed suicide. You would surely have heard of that, for it was in all the papers—Mr. Percival Claremont, he drowned himself in the Seine." "Ob, yes," said Mrs. Russell quite coolly, "I remember reading about that," and aealing her card she almost threw it down. The action was in itself nothing to notice, but she had before been laying the cards down in a more deliberate manner, and a quick movement seemed designed to conceal the trembling of the hand which a slow action would have revealed but though this did not escape M. de Lasaulx, he was watching Madame Merville rather than his vis-a-vis, and the moment he spoke of an Englishman he became aware that she was listening to him. As the name of Percivnl Claremont passed his lips, there was a sudden, sharp compression of hers, a sudden flash in her eyes, but tho next moment she Baid something to Lord Wetherby with a careless laugh which only confirmed the Count de Lasaulx, if he had needed confirmation, that the name of Percival Claremont was, to this woman more than that of a stranger whose death she had read of, or beanl talked about. "The affair made some stir in Paris," continued M. de Lasaulx "but then, Paris is always ready to gossip for a week, and at the end of that time forget all about it."

Here Rokeby Danvers interposed. "There was a good deal that was mysterious about that suicide, M. de Lasaulx. Claremont, you know, was a friend of a man of whom you must have heard Mr. West speak—Dare Devereux." "Ah, oui I have heard West speak of Mr. Devereux assuredly, but what had he to do with the Claremont affair?" "He was sent lor to identify the body which was found in the Seine."

Another flash in Madame Merville'a dark eyes. She said carelessly: "Was Mr. Devereux in Paris with his friend?" "No, in England. He was little.more than a youth at the time. I didn't mean," continued Danvers quickly,'as the possible drift of Madame Merville's question struck him, "that any suspicion'attached to Devereux he was not with Claremont, as I said, and could have* no possible motive for murdering him." "There was suspicion of murder, then?" said the count. "Oh, no, I believe not. I meant that the motive for suicide was not apparent.' "But," 6aid M. de Lasaulx, laughing, •'do not men and women commit suicide every day, and the public never know the why or wherefore?" "ji. love affair, no doubt,** said Mrs. Russell. "What does M. Devereux think!" asked Madame Merville. "He never mentions Claremont's name," said Danvers "at least, not among ordinary friends, and I can't claim the honor of his Special friendship." "Was Claremont, then, his amide ceeur?' asked M. de Lasaulx. "I have been told they were friends of the David and Jonathan type, though there were many years between them." '•David forgets even Jonathan in our day," remarked Mrs. Russell, "after a lapve of time." "Devereux wouldn't. By Jove! I would not mind being his dearest friend, but I should not envjr his dearest enemy." "Ho is a terrible hater, this M. Devereux," said the count, with a sneer. "One must beware of him." "I have been curious to meet him." said Mrs. Russell, one hears so much of him. He married the famous beauty, Vida Carol an. You have heard of herP "Surely who has not? And I have seen her picture. Truly, her beauty is marvellous.'' "I never saw its equal. Monsieur, the game is yours."

They rose. Lasaulx turned to Madame Merville, who, at the same moment, pushed the cards from before her. "Madame, a game of ccarUT* ••With pleasure*

The count led her to a secluded table near the fire, and placed a chair for her so that her back was towards Mrs. Russell then the cards were dealt and play began. j?or 'or a few moment* nothing was said on either side, but suddenly the count spoke, in a low tone, without a change of countenance, but looking full in his companion's face: "Madame, then, knew Mr. Percival Claremont!-

It was not a question, it was an assertion, as though she had distinctly stated a certain fact, and be was referring to it»

It so utterly startled her, so threw her off her guard, that the cards she held in her hand fell from it, some falling on the floor, and she stooped hastily, muttering something about her stupidity, glad to hide her face from her companion.

M. de Lasaulx, however, was too quick for her. "Madame," said he, "permit me."

She played mechanically. Her heart was beating fast, ber color came and went and not a sign of emotion wad lost to the watchful blue eyes opposite. Before she could collect her thoughts to frame an answer, the count spoke again. "Madame, I will trust you yet more I will avow that Percival Claremont was to me a very dear friend. I am anxious to learn all that I can concerning bim and when I saw that you also knew him, I thought

As he paused the crimson rushed to the Frenchwoman's brow. "You thought," she said, "that I was to Claremont, shall I say more than a friend, or less? But I do not blame you, seeing me here."

The look, the manner, the tone of this reply put the finishing touch to the supposed count's conviction that Madame Merville was not the unsqrupulouo adventuress she seemed, but had, like himself, a purpose in being in this salon. He replied calmly: ••Madame, you wrong me. I never did you the injustice your words imply. Had I done so the suspicion would never have passed my lips. No shall I say, on the contrary, that I was surprised to see you here that, little as I have had the honor of seeing you already, I received an impression of you altogether inconsistent with the idea of your present occupation."

Madame Merville gazed at the speaker in bewilderment. "Monsieur, you are strangely mistaken in my identity. I never beheld you before." "But I have beheld you. Mistaken? Mais non, that could not be nor am I mistaken in this He bent forwards, under pretence of leaning earnestly over the game, and added deliberately: "That you are not what you seem, that you are working out a deliberate purpose, and that woman yonder is your dupe."

For a second she met his eyes unflinching, holding her breath then she spoke steadily: "Show your hand. Who and what are you, and why do you speak to me like this?" "Because I, too, have a purpose to serve in being here, because I believe in my soul that our interests are identical. I will show my hand, but not in this place and now. Answer me one question. Did you know Percival Claremont!" "I* did." "Then shall we speedily understand one another? My trick this time, merei bien. Madame Merville, I must ask you a favor. I must see you alone, and ought, of course, to wait upon you but that is impossible. Would you instead come to my chambers? You can so disguise that no one would know you again. If you distrust me, a total stranger to you——"

Madame Merville interrupted him. "I do not distrust you I will come.— When and where?" "To-morrow at nine in the evening, to this address."

He gave her a card, which she quickly secreted. "I shall not fail." she said. "I know you will not. Ah, madame, the luck is with you."

She laughed and took up the trick, and the count gaily complimented her on her success.

The count did not stay very long after this he had lost a good deal to-night, and won pome, and he parted with his hostess premising a speedy return to her hospitable talon.

He wont down alone, for no one else was disposed to leave just yet, and there, in the dimly-ligbted passage, was Fanchette, ready (l) let out the guests, and closo the door softly behind them. "Ah, ma Fanchette," said he, lightly touching her under the chin, and slipping some loose silver into her band "hast thou nothing more than a smile for mc?" "Indeed!" returned Fanchette, tossing her head coquettishly as the count bent down his tall head to her level: "a smile is enough, I think, monsieur." "Then 1 do not." he answered, kissing her cheek. "Adieu, ma belle dream of Armand de Lasaulx."

And he passed out, leaving Fanchette in a flutter of delight over the gaUantene de ee bean monsieur. "Faugh!" muttered the gay Lothario as he proceeded up Duke-street "'tis the worst part of the work "to make love to that detestable creature. I must purge from my litis the touch of her cheek before I can Rise my-darling's pure brow."

And be actually passed his handkerchief across his mouth as if to remove some contamination.

Poor Fanchette! poor silly fly! If she could only have known how closely the web was being spun about her wings!

But she built castles in the air, and already paw herself decked out, driving in the Bois. Conscience had no stings for her, and the future uo terrors.

CHAPTKH XXXII. BAFTLBD OBCB M0RX. For love's name maketh bold. As If the loved were near. —K. B. BHOWWWO. The evening on which Madame Merville went to keep her appointment with M. le Comte de Lasaulx, Hester Ransome sat alone. Her lips were firmly set together, her hands moved slowly one over the other expression, attitude, action, all bespoke deep thought. She had not seen her daughter since that last interview before her marriage, when Vida bad vowed her love for Dire Devereux, wad had almost defied ber mother to betray the secret that ber own lips would not speak bat to-night mo^ier and child were to meet.

TERRE TT A UTE SATURDAY EVEXTNG MAIL

f'

And he picked up the fallen cards and restored them to her. She had recovered herself a little by this time, and thanked bim with more self-possession than might have been expected but her voice spook a little. "Why do you imagine," she said, "that I knew Mr. Claremont? You are quite mistaken." "Pardon/ It might have been Bomeone of the same name only, when I spoke of him, I thought that you looked as if the name was not strange to you." "If that were so," returned Madame Merville, rather haughtily, "I cannot see how M. de Lasaulx is concerned in the matter." "Madame, I am rebuked and yet I am concerned. I knew M. Claremont. There, once more, madame, an eager look in your eyes—forgive me, I am quick at reading faces—you did know him. I should so much like to meet with anyone who was at all intimate with him. Madame, it is your play."

Hester was prosperous she felt herself strong she reflected that if Devereux were now made acquainted with bis wife's connection with tbe woman he had so long vengefully pursued, he must needs hold his hand, and she would be safe, even if he knew that Mrs. Russell and Hester Ransome were identical and that he did not know this she felt convinced. If, then, he should be still so implacable as to refuse to yield up his vengeance, Vida could hardly show him how to accomplish his purpose—could hardly di--vulge to him the fact that his victim was within his reach—and so be the means of bringing to ruin her own mother.

Hestei-'s object was to insist that Yida should herself tell her husband the truth. Tbe love she once felt for her child, the one speck of good in a singularly evil nature, had died out, and a burning jealousy, a sullen hatred of that child, had taken its place, while the passion for revenge burned brighter and hotter than ever, and l'obbed her of almost all pleasure in her ill-gotten wealth.

If Devereux had failed up .to the present to fully redeem his challenge, he had at least done so in part,* while slie had failed utterly however the man might suffer, he had Vida's love, and despite the bitter drop in the cup there was sweetest nectar also and Vida, traitress and forsworn, was still happy—happier in Hester's belief than in fact, for the woman could not realize the power of a wounded conscience. Vida's avowal that she would never know peace appeared to her little more than the fancy of an impressionable nature tbe girl would soou grow used to a deception that she had imagined would poison her whole existence, and would learn to laugh at her own exaggerated idea of honor and duty.

Vida, then, had all that she ought to have sacrificed nor was there lacking to Hester Ransome this added sting—the conviction that Devereux's wife had ceased to believo in his guilt doubtless she had come to the conclusion that Percival Claremont was her mother's dupe and victim—had, perchance, suspected that the Englishman had been more to the handsome adventuress than her guest.

So, in all things, the child had risen by the ladder the mother had built up, and now the ladder was flung down and its builder neglected and despised. Prosperous and courted, Vida Devereux reigned in a world from which the woman who had placed her there was for ever shut out, and she was forced to hide under disguise from tbe man whom she had vowed to bring to grief and shame. No she had borne long, she had borne much but she could dare to claim revenge now, and she would claim it.

She rose presently, dressed herself in shabby black garments, closely veiling her face, and quitted the house.

She soon reached Carlton-gardens, and rang the bell. The astonished hall-porter summoned a footman, who asked the shabby woman her business, and his somewhat supercilious manner did not tend to conciliate Hester Ransome. It was hard that Dare Devereux's servants should treat with contempt his wife's mother. "Is Mr. Devereux in she asked meekly. "No," responded Jeames. Did you wish to see him?" with a touch of irony in his tone. "I want you," the woman replied, "to take this note to his wife. I will wait for the answer."

She handed him a sealed envelope Jeames took it without a word, and departed, leaving her in the great lighted hall, with its statues and flbwers. She set her teeth. The shabby woman, whom no one in that splendid house regarded, had power to rob the splendor of its brightness for she held the happiness of its master in her right hand.

Scarcely five minutes had elapsed when the footmun returned, and with a far more respectful air than be had formerly thought necessary, bade the shabby woman follow him. He passed through a hall, and opening a door at the farther end, traversed an ante-room, finally conducting the inopportune visitor into a moderate sized, handsome morning-room, where, turning up the gas, he left her with the intimation that Mrs. Devereux would see her shortly. "Some poor beggar, or a broken down someone or other, I'll wager," said Jeames to himself as he withdrew. "The idea of my lady coming down her own self to seft such a creature. She's too free-handed, that she is, and them sort of people finds it out."

Hester Ransome bad not long to wait.—

She heard no step without, but the door opened suddenly and quickly, aDd Vida stood before her.

Whatever the girl may have felt on receiving the note which summoned^ her to this interview, she had succeeded in controlling ail outward manifestation and looked calm and proud, nor did her features denote the slightest degree of pleasure at once again meeting the mother from whom timo and distance had combined to separate her. "Mother," she said, pausing and closing the door, and she spoke coldly, and did not hold dut her hand, "what has brought you here to-night? You are not wise to come to this house."

In their last interview Yida had dropped all pretence of affection, but had still showed herself fully sensible of the tie between them but her manner now took a new departure, or rather distinctly defined what was then only intimated: that henceforth relations were changed, they met no more on common ground. It was Dare Devereux's wife who spoke, not Hester Ransome's daughter, and in her mother she saw not a friend, but an enemy of her husband, and therefore of herself.

Hester looked steadily at the beautiful face, of which not a line relaxed under this scrutiny. Was she measuring her strength with the strength that opposed her? Somehow, face to face with Vida, her task, bold as she was, seemed more difficult than she had imagined. "Your own conscience," she said presently, "might have answered the question you have asked. You fling down tbe ladder by which you mounted with royal grac\ indeed." "You ar* linjn't. Yon placed roe on a pinnacle f»r your revenge, not for my advantage."' "For my revenge!. Had you, then, to share?" "I bad then," said Vida "because I believed the tale you told me."* "And you do not believe it now?" "No."

Hester set ber teeth, but she spoke with a sneer: "I am glad that we understand one another—that the ground between us is clear. 1 will not ask you what it is you do believe—whether you acquit Dare Devereux of even an error. You are his wife be is your hero—be is unu rtprotht but among your list of wifely duties you have forgotten one—truthfulness." "Mother," said the girl haughtily, "I do not. care to bandy words, still less to listen

to badinage. WEy have you come tonight?" "Why cried the woman,%suddenly and fiercely. "To demand my revenge—to call upon you to tell Dare Devereux the truth about yourself." "I cannot—I will not. If I could not tell that truth to my lover, how can I tell it to my husband "Tush! You love him!" What is that to me To me he is an implacable enemy, and why should I stand by and see him happy? Why should I suffer you to rob me of my revenge "Why, indeed save that you are my mother F1 "I, too, can forget," said Madame Ransome harshly. "I can. dare now to take the step you once defied me to take. If your lips decline the allotted task, my pen shall take up the tale."

One

moment Vida hesitated then she made one swift step forward, and knelt at Hester's feet. "Mother!" she said passionately "mother! spare me—have mercy! Why cot blot out the past now—whatever the wrong has been? You are safe. Dare does not know you are in London. Think how the blow that wounds him must crush me think what my whole life has been—so much of pleasure, so little of happiness and, even now, how bitter is tbe pain despite the happiness! Have not I, at least, my punishment? Tell him this cruel truth, and he will put me from him as an impostor, spurn me, cast me out. What have I done that this should come upon me? Mother, have pity!"

Hester looked down on the beautiful face, and for a moment—for a moment only—she wavered. She was touched, a spark of the old affection for this girl sprang up within her, but it withered and died for ever, and the hard, inflexible look Eettled on her features as she drew back. "Spare you!" she repeated. "You have pleased yourself, you have set me at naught, and now you sue for mercy. You flung down the gage of- battle when you deemed yourself secure in your treason, and now that you tremble and are afraid, you beg forbearance and generosity. No, Vida, it is too late" (even as she spoke the girl had risen to her feet and folded her arms on her bosom) "I loved you once— I love you no more. The one motive that might have moved me is gone. It you refuse to tell Dare Devereux tbe truth, he shall hear it from me."

Vida was white as death now, but there was no fear in her glance. "Do you mean," she said quietly, "that you will go to him and tell him all?" "Go to him! Am I mad? Cannot I write to him a letter that will force the truth from you

Then Vida blazed out: "Do it—do your worst! and as you have not spared me, I will not spare you. I will tell him all, tear off your disguise, and let him know Mrs. Russell for Hester Ransome. You think that, for his own honor's sake, he cannot wreak vengeance on his wife's mother, but you trust to a broken reed. Openly, be cannot} but in effect, he can and will and my hand shall not be outstretched to stay his. If the last tie between us is snapped, it is no net of mine. An eye for an eye. and a tooth for a tooth. Count well the cost, and then act as you shall choose.'

Baffled onoe more, lividly pale, Hester Ransome stood before her daughter. She knew that Vida had uttered no idle threat she would carry out to the letter all she had said. Once more the trial of strength had tome, and Vida was the stronger once more the consummation of revenge receded into the future. "So be it," said Hester Ransome slowly, after a few moments' dead silence "perhaps it is well that I know fully on what ground I stand. I cannot strike now, but one day I shall strike and defy me as you may, brave it out as you will try. the terror of that Jay will be on you every hour of your unlfftppy life."

She moved towards the door, and Vida, without a word, touched tbe bell. The convenances must be preserved for the sake of tl\e servants. Jeames quickly appeared, and Vida, bowing her head with a calm "Good-evening" to her visitor, turned indifferently to the fire. The door closed behind Hester Ransome, and her hapless daughter was alone.

But she did not give way she had scarcely yet the disposition to do so. She sat like one turned to stone, with her hands locked together, and her eyes gazing hopelessly into the blaze. She was still trembling inwardly from the passion that had shaken h6r, but there was hardly any perceptible outward movement. She felt that the meshes of the net were drawing in more closely around her day by day she felt the thread of an inevitable future settling over her more and more heavily but there seemed no power to hasten that future.

Her heart grew sick at the vision of her husband's look when she should tell him of her treason. No, she could not tell him. If he heard it, as he must, it should not be from her lips.

Hark! was not that his step in the anteroom She half started up, but resumed her seat again, turning her face to the door. Devereux came in and paused, surprised. ."Why, Vida sweetheart—you here? Robert told me you were, but it seemed PO strange." Then struck bv tbe change in her that bis quick eye detected, Ire advanced and knelt before her, putting his arm abont her. "What is it?" he said softly. "Has anything troubled you, Vida?" ••Yes, but it does not matter, Dare. You could not help me."

It was very bitter to him, this knowledge that there was something in' his wife's life he could not touch but he could not reproach her, for his own act bad debarred bim from the power be would fain have possessed and, loyal to his plighted word, he sought to hide from her the pom he could not but feel, or at least to make her think it was less keen than it was. He drew ber bead down on his breast, and folded ber closer to him, giving all that he could give—silent sympathy and comfort, and Vida understood him, understood the trust in her that made all further questions, after ber answer, needless. He knew that she would abide by bis injunction to her, and give bim her confidence if it were possible to do so, and this trust at least she deserved, but she herself could hardly realize it. She could only feel the wrong, only believe that she deserved her husband's acorn and reproaches.

But that magic touch and voice of love soothed her., and allayed, for a time at any rate, tbat stony feeling of despair. To this one love *be clung with a desperate tenacity was

Her good, ber era tit, her weal, her woe, high, her all below.

Her bope on She was telling off tbe days of ber happiness as a suppliant tells ber beads, and when tbe dark hoar came she won Id bare some bright and glorious memories to dwell upon—memories of a love ooce hers, erf a faith once gij&n, at tender

words once spoken, and" kisSe# on "BfoW and lipa whose sweetness could never wholly leave her. "Lovtd and lost!" Nay, rather this other: "I have liv$d awl loved." [TO BE CONTINUED.]

New Bloomfield, Miss., Jan. 2, 18S0. I wish to say to you that I have been suffering for the last five years with a severe itching all over. I have heard of Hop Bitters and have tried it. I have used up four bottles, and it has done me more good than all the doctors and medicines that they could use on or with uoe. I am old and poor but feel to bless yon for such a relief by your medicine and from torment of the doctors. I have had fifteen doctors at me. One gave me seven ounces of solution of arsenic another took four quarts of blood from me. All they eould tell was that it was skin sickness. Now, after these four bottles of your medicine, my skin is well clean and as snioth as ever.

HENRY KNOCHE.

HEALTH, hopes, and happiness are restored by the use of Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable Compound. It is a positive cure for all those diseases from which women suffer so much. Send to Lydia E. Pinkhan, 233 Western Avenue, Lynn, Mass., for pamplets.

We give above a correct ^likeness of this well known and successful physician and surgeon, who hjis made a life long study of Nervous Diseaws and the Diseases of tbe Skin, and he now stands in tho highest rank, as authority on those special and distressing diseases. In the course of his practice he discovered what now are renowned in medical practice, viz: a combination of celery and Chamomile in shape of Pills. They are used by the profession at large and constantly recommended by them.

It is not a patent medicine. It is the result of his own experience in practice. They are asuro cure for the following special diseases, and are worthy of a trial by all Intelligent sufferers. They are prepared especially to cure sick headache, nervous headache, dyspeptic headache, neuralgia, paralysis, sleeplessness, dyspepsia and nervousness, and will cure any ense. '•C'HAH. N. C1UTTENTON, lift Fulton St., New York City, soleagent for Dr. C. W. Benson's remedies, to whom all orders should be addressed."

DR. C. W. BENSON'S

SKIN CURE

Is Warranted to Cure

ECZEMA, TETTERS, HUMORS, INFLAMMATION, MILK CRUST, ALL ROUGH SCALY ERUPTION8,. DISEASES OF HAIR AND SCALP, SCROFULA ULCERS, PIMPLES A TENDER ITCHINCEon allp*rtaofthe body. Xt makes tho ekln wliJto, soft and smooth removos tan and Creel:lea, end is ths BEST toilet dressing In THE WCI'.IiD. Elegantly put ujy two bottlos In one paakagv, oonalsting of botl internal and external treatment. AU first olassdruggists have it. tl.perp*6kag*{

APIES,"WHITE MOUSE

if of the kind 11

TIMONLY Book ever putt)

A

Washington to the present time, with over ao Steel fortraits of the Ladies of the White House, view of many of tho Homes of the Presidents.

UIIN*with

flsatlcaea are both very

DR. J. B. MARCHI8I,

UTICA. N. Y.,

Discoverer of DXl, MAECHIBP8

UTERINE CATIIOLICON.

A POSITIVE CURE FOR FEMALE COMPLAIRTi. This remedy will net la bormony with Uo Female systlm at all titnee, and also Immediately upon the abdominal and uterine muscles, and restore them to a healthy irnd strong condition.

Dr. Marcliiisi's Uterine Cathollcon will enre faUing of tie womb, Lucorrboea, Chronic Inflammation and Ulceration of tho Womb, Incidents.! Hemorrhage or Flooding, Painful, 8i\ipr«*»ea and Irregular Menstruation, Kidney complaint, and is especially adapted to the Ch-ngc of LHe. Send for pamphlet free. All ietters of inquiry freely answered. Address as nhore.

FOR 8AIJS BY

ALIFCDUU«eiSTS.

Price 91.SOper botna. Be sure and ask let Dr. MsrchW's Uterine Cutbolicon. Take no f.aer. Tr*vie «upplied by COOK A BiCJ.L.

GREAT GERItt DESTROYER

DARBY'#

prophmth fluid

XXXXXXXXXXX£ XSABI.ET ri.vr.H

Pitting of SmaB Pox Prfvented.

I.

Contajffoai destroyed. fMrk no«ra pari fled and made pleaaant. Fevered Mick

)-t rifl«l

UHI

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healed.

Dinrnlr* or«lWonRdM healed rapidly. K®roove» an unpiesant odors. "I eiter dried up. It In fierier*!*' harmUw. For ore Tliroat IX to an re care.

Persons relieved and relreahed by bathing with ProPhylactic Fluid odd ed to the water. Catarrbrelieved and eared. Erjtip'U* cured. run relieved instantly. Hrrnrm prevented. la Fmrt It la Wlainhttanl 1'nriOer.

xxxxxxxxxx: PIPTKEKIA

rKCVKNTED.

xxxxxxxxxx:

J. H. ZKILKV &

CO.,

Manufaetnring Obembts. Sole Proprietor*