Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 13, Number 11, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 9 September 1882 — Page 2

TtlEMIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TERRI- HAUTE, SKIT. 9, 1882

THE OLD FARMER'S THEORY.

1 I a a **ThU farmlu' by look* and rule*.

And »«iiltn'Hie l*»yjf to learn thatnaff At the agricultural schools. Bota tlon crnpn an«l analyxl*!

Ta Ik to a young baboon! But needn't be tellln'yer scicucc to me, For I be leveln tbe moou.

"If yon plant yer corn In tbe growin' moon, And put up tins lines 'or crown, You'll And It will bcaiyuul yer wheat will too,

If It'* decent land wbere It grows. But po« «toe*, now, area different tiling. They want to grow down that 1* laFu And don't ye we you inunt plant for that

When tbe tnoon 1* on tbe wane?

"So In plnntin' and hoeln' and nayin* time It It web to have an eye On th hang o' tbe moon yc know ye can

II

A wet moon from a dry And a* to liayln', you wise ones, Are cuttln' your gnuw too noon, If you want it to Kpread, Just wait till it's ripe,

An mow on the full of tbernoon.

"And when al! the harvest work Is done, And the butcberin' time come* round, Thouah yer hog* may be look In' tbe very best

And nt tnt it* hogs are found, You will find your pork all shriveled and fhrunk

Whenlt comes to the table at noonAll rugs— If it wasn't killed At the right II me of the moon."

"With the farmers' inectin's and granges now Fo!k« can talk till all Is blue, But d'.nt ye beswallowin'all ye hear,

For wiere ain't rnore'n lialf on't true. They ''ro tryln' to tuakemechangc my plan, Hnt I tell 'em I'm no such coon I sli tH keep right on in the same old way,

Anil work my farm by the moon."

Through Danger.

A I.ove That Could Not Be Sold.

CITAITEK IV.

MA UK HILTON MOUNTS PAXOEK.

In that liaiipy reunion neither Flo nor I'h! 1 ip liail a thought to spend on Herbert Archer. Their hands clasped, fpr a space they were silent in their surprise, their eyes speaking, however, a language more eloijnent than words. "la it a dream? Can it be? It scemi 80 wonderful," finally exclaimed Flo. "Dream! I'ray Heaven, no!" ejaculated Philip Hathurst. "It would be cruelty indeed apjuin to lose you, Florence. after all my search." "Your search? llavo you searched for me then, Philip?" a pleased tender light in her eyes. "Have I not, dearest? Adelaide and Melbourne are well acquainted willithe name of (Irainger by this time. Nevertheless, failure pursued me." "Ah." she smiled, "if you had only tried"Svdney. But why the need of search,'Philip? I left word with Susan to tell you all." "Thereby hangs a tale," laughed Philip Bathurst, his heart light enough now as lie gazed once more into the face of his beloved. "That very morning after our last interview, a telegram summoned me to my uncle, who had met with an accident, and the letter 1 wrote you under cover to Susan, informing you of the cause of my absence, fell somehow into the hands of Miss Dawes

"Oh, Philip, never!" "It's a fact, and, ha, ha, ha! what a commotion it created. When I returned. and could not see you nor Susan, who at once had been packed off bag and baggage, driven to despair I called on Mi*s Dawes, when, after favoring me with every opprobrious epithet a lady can use, she snowed me to the door no wiser than when I came." "Poor Philip! had I had time to write I did not know where to address you, ami 1 was crushed by sorrow. My father "1 am aware, dearest," he interrupted, to save her the pain of the recital, seeing the tears suffusing her eyes. "On" of Miss Dawes's pupils, a dark, lively brunette, divining the truth, took compassion upon me, and managed to convey to me the intelligence, and also your address in l/ondon." "That was Maude Pierce," smiled Flo "she used to qui* me unmercifully about von, Philip/ "I know she won my warmest gratitude. though the news came too late.— On reaching Ladbrook-crescent I found you again llown. Ah, it is well to laugh now. but, oh, the misery to me of that period, darling. All I could learn was that you had gone away with au uncle, it was Iteiieved to Australia." •Poor Philip!" and instinctively the

fn

jlrl put her cloved hand on his. And all this din your love remain mine?" "Flo, can vou doubt it? If so, there's Mark, mv foster -brother, yonder he shall tell you, with unmistakable proof, it did. And yours, dearest? You were so young tlien. so long a time has elapsed, our ever meeting again was so problematical, and—you arr so beautiful that I have feared, and had terrible dreams, wherein I saw you another's." "K'ven had that occurred. Philip, as confess, once or twice, to pk ise my uncle and aunt, it mijrht." she answered simply, "my love would ever have been yours! But Heaven watched over me— V* es. it must bave done—preventing me king a step I must ever have re®e«

Then your affection is still mine, «v«ri. ng?"*he asked eagerly. ever, Philip. Nothing, I *.TnV* er alter it."

51

"T:

feel.

Hen '^1 her little hand passionately to il* "Heavv

\s he spot* a change came over his features they became grave as he con-

"That is. if Heaven will yet befriend me. dearest, and eunWe me to win the fortune to maintain a wife. 1 es, its true—don*t look frightened, but I am a beggar. Mark even now to the dL op. to *r«st wealth from the aurife is earth.' "You, Philip, a befgar!" slie ejacuhe laughed, "tbe votmg mil knew at Brighton, Ffo, who did Jottnnc to kill time but stfioke on the

esplanade, do* a little boating and sailing, who scented his handkerchief with mfllfieur, and wore a new pair of gloves every dav, now is compelled to wear Solomons clothes instead of Poole's, to dispense with the luxuries of perfume ana gloves altogether, and instead of handEng an oar, must grasp vigorously pick and spade, if he would live." "Oh, Philip!" and the gentle eyes were full of concern. "But "But I told you I was heir to a rich uncle. So I was, Flo but rich uncles are arbitrary, and often want too much their own way. Near his estate was another, and Uncle Bathurst, so that the two should be united, desired me to wed the heiress. He gave me my choice— the lady, or—disinheritance. I confess I was such a lazv. luxurious fellow, that I think I should have sold myself and taken the lady, had not my guardian angel, in the remembrance of a sweet dear face I had loved and lost in Brighton, interposed and saved me. So I accepted disinheritance, and started for Australia to make a fortune, and find, if Fate would be good to me—as it has —Miss Florence GraingdV." "Oh, Philip!" the girl's lips trembled, and her eyes were bright with tears "you accepted poverty for my sake?" "Yes, Flo." he laughed, "and renounced unhappiness for happiness. Nay, don't pity me this free life is uncommonly jolly. 1 perfectly revel in it." "Bv Jove, it's all very well to say so," said Flo, imitating his voice, a merry smile on her lips, "but the reality scarcely comes up to the sentiment." "What, you heard me?" he laughed. "Ah. but then it was different, dearest. I had not found you. By the way, you had a companion."

Flo colored as she answered: "A friend—a friend of my uncle's.— His station is the next to Shady Creek. But come, Philip." she proceeded, to prevent the turn the conversation had taken, "I must introduce you to my uncle and aunt. I can promise him who saved me from injury, perhaps death, at Brighton, a warm and sincere welcome."

Mark had already ranged alongside of old Jeck, who was never happier than when talking, and whose tongue was so loosely hung that in five minutes Mark had learned almost everything about Shady Creek, its sayings and doings, and also Herbert Archer." "lie very rich—Misser Archer," as he and his companion followed their master and mistress "he marry Missie Florence." "Marry Miss Grainger!" cried Mark. "Zackfy. He love lier. Missie love him. Jeck sure he ask her be his wife this very noon." "If so," reflected Mark, "I imagine Mr. Phil will just put a spoke in his wheel. Now I understand that look. He's a rival. If Mr. Phil carries off Miss Grainger, Mr. Phil must look out."

Lovers are proverbial for neither walking nor riding fast. Thus nearly an hour elapsed before the little party came in sight of Shady Creek. Once during that time Mark had felt certain lie had caught-sight of Herbert Archer hovering stealthily among the trees on their track.

It occurred to him how easily in this wild and beautiful wilderness a rillebail might fell its victim, and yet the lirer be safe. "I'll just speak to Mr. Phil," he pondered "then if he's really ousting this Herbert Archer, Herbert Archer sna'n't move a dozen yards that I don't know of, until I am aware of his purpose." "Colonel, come here. Who is tnis with Florence? Not Mr. Archer." exclaimed Mrs. Crane, seated in a rocking-chair in the verandah.

The colonel, coming from the inner room, inspected the approaching party. "Not Archer? No. Never saw him l)efore. Some one Flo's picked up in the bush." "Picked up in the bush! You speak, brother, as if strangers were blackberries. Who can it be?" "We shall soon know, Kate, for they have alighted, and are coming straight here. He's a fine, manly-looking fellow, and a gentleman, I'd swear."

A moment after Flo had ascended the verandah, followed by Philip Bathurst. There was a glow on lier cheeks, a sparkle in her eyes, which, however, slightly fell before the colonel's steady gaze. "Uncle, aunt," she said, "let me introduce to you Mr. Hathurst, the gentleman who saved me when my horse ran away from Brighton. I knew that the hospitality which is accorded to evervone at Shady Creek, would be trebfv so to him to whom I may have owed* my life." "This he!" cried Coloicl Grainger. "You are right, Florence* Sir, you are welcome—heartily welcome," extending his hand. "We owe you much." "Indeed, Colonel Grainger," began Philip, "the time is "So long back that, like a generous man, vou have forgotten your good deeds out. sir. I can assure you we nave not forgotten our gratitude. Welcome, I repeat, to Shady Creek. Sit down, perhaps yon have leen riding far." "Since five o'clock, colonel, this morning. We camped out last night." "Camped out, Mr. Bathurst? Your station "1 have no station as vet that is, I hope, to come." smiled Philip. "I am on my way to the diggings." "Ueally. I hope, however, you are not in such haste to get to Tom Tiddler's ground but that you will give us a day or two of your society? Kate,

She was verv thoughtful. The lines in her forehead were deeper as she gave her orders. As she returned, looking her niece in tbe face, she said abruptly: "Flo. you've been a mystery to me, but now expect I !now all about it.— Mr. Bathurst is tie reason why you would never think of Herbert Archer.' "Oh, auntie, dear auntie!'' and the rl hid her blushing face on the old ady's bosom. "Yes, you are right 1 love him so der.rly. But I fancied we should never meet again, therefore was silent. Now. a m'Je. I will tell you all. Yon will not b« angry.'" "That depends, child. What is he?*' "A gentleman. Run.ie." "That's not everything. What's he got with which to keep you, child?"

&

must haw watched over me

also FW». he remarked. "It has helped me to flivl you, ami to claim you as

To which Flo mad? this frank and startling avowal: "Nothing, auntie. He is beggar.** "A beggar?" "Only now. He is going to main ft great fortune at the diggings^ "Diggings! Nonsense. Flo. don't you be a foolish girl. You marry a V^gar! Well, there, ck«t cry. I supfx you will wait until the fort de. But

Kinll

see what your .vie vwU say to Mr. Bathurs'i, I trust, will not accept his hospitality under false preten*rv

TERRE HAUTIfu

"Oh. auntie, I am He is a gentleman." "Oh, handsome is does," responded the sniff, for sne was put poused Herbert Archer's was annoyed at this evide: One thing consoled her, the that her brother would never marry a penniless suitor, though a gentleman.

On their entering the sittingtbey found the two had quitted tBfe verandah, and were pacing backwards and forwards by the gum-trees in serious talk. Flo's heart fell. What cdtild they be speaking about?

The truth was. no sooner had the ladies gone than Philip Bathurst, as If he had heard Aunt Crane's remark respecting false pretenses, determined to acquaint the colonel with the truth of his love, and his position, boldly asking his consent, as her guardian, to his ana Florence's engagement: Thus he remarked: "Colonel Grainger, will you grant me a few moment's private conversation, as I feel I have no right to accept your hospitality without first acquainting you with the sentiments I entertain towards your lovely niece."

A smile flitted over the officer's handsome features but banishing it he remarked seriously: "You love her, Mr. Bathurst?" "Sincelv, passionately." "And Florence loves you?" "She does, colonel. But can she have told you so?" inquired the young man eagerly. "She has told me nothing. However, I read the truth in her eyes when she introduced you. I regret she has been so secretive." "Do not blame her, colonel. Rather blame me who am the elder. Besides, we neither believed we should have the happiness to meet again. Our love has some romance about it. but I feel therfe has been little in it to receive your disapproval. May I tell it you? May I also inform you who I am, for as yet I am a stranger." "Yes." said the colonel, rising. "We will go yonder by the gum-trees. We shall be undisturbed."

In his secret heart he was already taken by the frank, outspoken manliness of Philip Bathurst. He remembered, however, it was probably, Florence's future at stake, and fair seeming was not always fair doing. Of course, as a naUiral sequence. Flo, a school girl, would Al in love with a young, handsome fellow but who was this fellow? An adventurer, perhaps.

Who he was Philip Bathurst was not slow to inform him, and each sentence lie uttered the more won the colonel. He saw now why Flo had never inclined toward Herbert Archer, and loved the girl for her fidelity. "You know now, Cdlonel Grainger, who I am, also my prospects," concluded Philip. "And the latter, you will own. Mr. Bathurst," remarked the other dryly, "are not very brilliant." "On the contrary," smiled Philip, "they are almost below zero. Still, for stock-in-trade I have hope, youth, health, and a determination to succeed. Besides, though that is the last thing I couid advance, my uncle may relent." "Then what do you need of me?" "First I wish, colonel, to have nothing hidden from you. Secondly, your consent to my marriage with your ni#ee when*! have acquired a home and an income worthy of her acceptance." "Mr. Bathurst," rejoined the colonel, halting in the path, "vou have be frank with,me I will be the same. I ought to be, for I owe you gratitude but it is not that. I like you. You have spoken honestly and like a man. Win the fortune, and if by advice 1 can aid vou I will. I'll not ask a large one, and'if Flo keeps of the same mind, my consent is yours, There's my hand upon it."

Philip grasped the soldier's palm with much emotion. Every obstacle, apparently, was fading from his path. After all, how smoothly the course of their love promised to fun. "Now I see the ladies have returned," proceeded the colonel, "let us join them. Von must need refreshment.

That evoning, as Flo stood in the verandah watching the silver moon rising over the distant range of hills, Philip came out to her. "Oh, Philip." she murmured, as ho stood bv her side, "you have told uncle everything. I am so, so glad." "I could not have accepted his hospitality. darling, without doing so." he answered. "And he says?" "That you ma^ be mine, love, directly I have a home to offer you." "What's that, Philip?" "What, dearest?" "I thought I heard a rustlo among the bushes yonder."

The young man went towards them, but all was still. "It was nothing, or, at least, only some night bird, love," he said, returning at the same moment the colonel called from within: "Come, come. Flo the night air is yet chill. We must have no coldcatching. Besides. Mr. Bathurst, we are early people in the bush."

Philip and Florence at once entered. The windows were closed, and the bli Ads drawn.

Directlv it was so. the figure of a man stole from the bushes, moved swiftly and cautiously to the gate, and disappeared among the shadows of the trees.

Half an hour later. Philip Bathurst, entering his bedroom, found Mark waiting him.

You here, Mark? I say. old fellow, we have fallen into comfortable

N

Quar­

ters, eh?" exclaimed the young fellow. "There's not a man on earth happier than am to-night." "Then, Mr. Phil, you've told the colonel?" "And got his consent, Mark. I have but to win a fortune, to win a bride." "Win a fortune, Mr. Pbil, and overcome an enemy." "An anemy? Why, man. I can have none here."*

"A bitter ohe. if I mistake not. Mr. Phil. Do vou remember, when wc came upon Msss'Graliiger, she had a companion?"

Yes. a friend of the colonel's." "And a lover of the niece's. If I judged him rightly, he will not easily brook your coming between them/' "Nonsense. Mark! hat absurdity:"

44

You ought to have seen the look he a "Possibly. Mark.. I can imagine the look I should give in his caw. Bat looks, old fellow, never killed vet. W hy. how grave yon are! San with a merry laugh, "you don't luiuk my unfortunate rival will order one out to ft round of fisticuffs, or chal age me to a duel? JusV b^nse we f-nre left England behind Mark, cot civuhatlon- Our camping ort. I reckon, haa matte you nervous. There, old

DAY EVENING MAIL.

fellow, get to bed. I think we both shall sleep soundly to-night." Mark Hilton took his leave ashamed to state his fears further, but his opinion was by no means altered. "Mr- Phil didn't"see his Jook," he repeated mentally as he turned into bed.

Jftmost about the same hour Herbert Archer paced the sitting-room of his station with a scowl as black as night upon his face. Frequent mutterings escaped his Hps. Once he exclaimed, almost fiercely: "Let him have a care —let him have a care."

Suddenly there was the quick beat of horses' hoofs on the road. He sprang to the window, and threw it open. As the light poured forth, the horse stopped, and two minutes after there advanced towards Herbert Archer a man in the dress of a farm laborer. He was of middle height, with a heavy, dogged jaw, and overhanging brows. "At last. Mat," exclaimed Archer, "Come in." 'he man doing so, the other closed the window and advanced. "Well! Who is he?" he inquired, eagerly. "A Mr. Philip Bathurst, come to Australia with his foster-brother to try the gold-fields." "Yes, yes. What more? Tell me all, man." "He seems to be a gentleman, and has rich connections—an uncle, his fos-ter-brother said. He saved Miss Grainger's life when she was in England, and it was by chance they met to-day." "Chance! An agreeable chance," said Herbert Archer through his teeth. "They called each other by their Christian names." "So they did to-night, when I saw them on the verandah, billing and cooing, all the world like lovers." "Lovers—lovers! That's what it is— that's what it is," ejaculated Herbert JScher, pacing the room excitedly. "But trust me. Mat, never man and wife. The fellow, then, is staying there?" _"Yes." if'And the colonel?" "Treats him as an old friend and, Mr. Archer, that is all I know." "But not all that you must know, Mat., What did the colonel say to my messag^V" "When I told him that I had tramped from Sydney in search of employment, and you having no need of me had sent me on to him, as he had some new cattle, he said he would do what he could for me—that at any rate I might stop for a week or so." "Good. But how did you manage to return here?" "I said I had to return to tell you." "Right. Well, watch this man, listen to his every word, mark what he does, and to-morrow night at eight o'clock meet me in Blackmail's Gully, and I'll give vou further orders if necessary. You know the reward I will be liberal. Now you may go."

When alone Herbert Archer paced the room awhile in thought. Then as he ascended to his chamber he muttered: "No one life—nor two—shall not balk me, Florence Grainger, from making you mine. I said I loved you better than life, and that life I'll sacrifice rather than see you another's."

v,

CHAPTER V.

Bf A UK's SUSPICIONS INCREASE.

Tn the joyous excitement of meeting Philip again Florence had almost forgotten Herbert Archer's proposal, and the alarm and indignation it had occasioned her. She had had neither timo nor opportunity to acquaint either her aunt or uncle with what had occurred, and the blo\^ on her temple which might, by being remarked, have led up to it. was concealed by her hair.

When, therefore, in her own chamber she recalled the events of the day, both her alarm and indignation were modified. IIow could she feel alarm, with Philip, now her acknowledged betrothed, near to protect her? And her own exceeding liappiijess made her experience pity for the suffering of one whose fault was loving her too ardently.

Reflecting upon it, she deemed it the greatest kindness to her discarded lover merely to state he had proposed and been refused, without entering upon the manner of his proposal, which she felt, by arousing her uncle's scorn, if not anger, would shut the doors of Shady Creek against him for ever. As to Philip Hathurst. when he awoke the next morning, he found it at first rather difficult to believe that he was really under the same roof as Florence and, what was more, lier accepted lover with her uncle's consent. There was only one obstacle to be overcome before he made her his wife—the getting enough to keep a wife upon. "But I don't despair of that" he exclaimed, as he sprang up. "What men have done surely can I, and I'll not let the grass grow beneath my feet either. If once I can bag enough nuggets to buy a station and stock it, I'll work like the shepherd kings of old, and, with the colonels experience and advice, will soon get a sufficiently extensive sheep run to make my sweet Flo mistress of.'

Charles Batlmrst's anger against his nephew had been so extreme that his disinheritance had been pitiless, and he had refused him the smallest assistance to commence his new life upon. "Go and work if you will," he had exclaimed, "and if vour white hands prove unfit, starve—do you understand? —starve. I will not help you." "If will and energy be present." Philip had rejoined quietly, "the hands, however white, that can pull an oar or handle a rifle, can use a spade or pick, and the fortune so gained will be sweeter than the one obtained by dependence and the sale of one's liberty." "I hope you will find it so," was the sneering retort. "WhetherI door no,of course will not matter to you," went on Philip. "I may perish in the bush, or succumb to fever at the digging*, but be assured of this. Uncle Bathurst, 1 will starve and die before I will ask you for one shilling to prevent either."

So they had parted. Philip had

packed his portmanteau, and that very night had sfept in his foster-brothers cottage, and the next morning had commenced their new life with just a hundred and fifty poitfids between them.

The spirit of wisdom and economy at once had seized Philip, who had prepared the most serviceable of outfits, and as now he looked in the glass, after expending an extra quarter of an hour over his toilet, he laughed heartily in comparing bis bronr^d bearded self with the aristocratic young gentleman Vrho had sauntered away life at Brighton. "What do I care?" he thought *nhis existence is tax more manly it seems to rht to five, and 111 give one abetter wjic-T it makes no differ- ta my dar~s loye. Hallol there she Is flitting

t*

ambng her flowers like a butterfly. What a sluggard she will think me." And, with a last glance at himself in the glass, he ran downstairs. There is, however,

many

a slip twixt cup and

lip, and on reaching the verandah Philip found that Fio had disappeared but the colonel was there, on ths point of paying a visit to the stock-yard, to v.iiieh he persisted in carrying off his guest, who had to consent, though lie east a wistful glance round for her he had longed to see.

Oulv a few seconds before his appearance Flo had passed from the garden into a miniature wilderness of bushes to gather some large bronze-liued leaves with which to surround her flowers, her dosr trotting by her side.

As she stooped to gather them, a low growl, and then a bark of welcome, caused her to raise her head, and she stepped quickly back upon perceiving Herbert Archer within two paces of her. "Mr. Archer!" she ejaculated. "My presence, I perceive, is as distasteful as unwelcome," he said sadly, almost humbly. "1 knew it would l*e thus. Yet I could not help but come. Florence, I have been waiting this opportunity to speak to you, to crave your pardon—for—for my words of yesterday." "Indeed, Mr. Archer, they hardly merit it," she responded coldly. "I know it. I know not what possessed me. I was mad—mad with love," he ejaculated. "No, no, do not fear I no longer urge that I am aware of my fate, and accept it. There another more fortunate than I—ano :v.er to whom I must give place—another, who is to receive your smiles, your caresses, while I have but your cold frowns. Oh, did you but know"the wretched night 1 have passed," he proceeded passionately, "from the remembrance of the last look vou gave me, from the knowledgo that 1 had offended you—you whom I so love—you would pity me. I cannot bear it: such another night would kill me. Florence, I am here to pray, to humbly entreat pardon. Do not refuse."

He had flung himself at her feet, and now timidly—as it seemed, reverentially —clasped her dress.

Flo was startled, but more so at the change in him. He was wan and haggard. She could well believe in that sleepless night, and she»did feel pity. "Mr. Archer," she rejoined, as steadily as she could, "you had no right to address me as you did yesterday that for a space you had lost all selfcontrol must be your excuse. Your repentance wins my compassion, though I relt I could never feel Kindly towards you again." "Oh, Florence!" and ho bowed his head on her dress. "If, indeed, you'wish my pardon, I give it sincerely." "You forgive!" he cried, looking up. "Oh, Florence—angel!" "Only," she proceeded, drawing a little back, "on condition that you never address a syllable of love to me again." "Your will shall be my law," he answered, "only do not banish me. We were friends—I hoped to be more do not punish my presumption by making me less. Forget the words I spoke yesterday." "Most willingly," she responded, with a sense of relief. "Now, rise, Mr. Archer this is no position for you." "One instant," lie pleaded. "Tell me this. Have I to entreat the pardon of others?—j'onr uncle's, your aunt's?— How have they regarded me?" "At present I have failed to find an opportunity of acquainting them with what occurred," sne replied. "They know nothing?" he repeated, quickly. "Nothing as yet." "Florence—I should say Miss Grainger, dare I ask for more than pardonfor silence? You cannot appreciate the humiliation a man experiences who loves, and is pointed at as—rejected. You have pitied me—I have read that in your eyes, too pure for concealment you have promised to forget in mercy to me, and the suffering It would givo me, will you keep the utterance of my love a secret between us two?" "Again I answer, most willingly," replied Flo, a greater gentleness in her manner, for she was touched by the earnestness of his manner, and the evident pain he was undergoing. "Mr. Atcher, if the secret be between us two, the more easy will it be to forget. Let us say no more about it but, if you will, let us continue friends."

With that impulse felt by all generous natures, Flo extended her hand. He took it, and held it with almost a nervous reverence. "You are too good for me, far too good but you are an angel, I—a man," he said. "As a sign that the past is dead, that henceforth we are friends only friends—may 1 kiss your hand?" he had press( lien he

Jy

Before she could reply, he had pressed his lips on the slender Angers th

released them. "You have made me a comparatively happy man, Miss Grainger he remarked, "i will no longer detain you.' "Will you not come and see uncle?" she inquired, at a loss what to say. "Not now, please, not now," ho rejoined, with a waving motion of the hand. "Good-day."

Glad to be free, Flo made a similar response, and passed him where he yet knelt. Before quitting the trees she looked back. Herbert Archer was prone on the grass, his hands clutching it spasmodically, and his frame quivering with emotion. "Poor, poor fellow!" thought the girl as she hurried on, tears of pity in her eyes.

Sho would have recalled her sympathy had she seen Herbert Archer as he rose up a few moments later. Wan and haggard yet, for he was in the field of the fierce "war of jealousy, but bis features wore a smile of triumph aud satisfaction. "When matt'ers go so easily, it would be ungrateful to dream of failure." be reflected, as he quitted the spot. "I have conquered her fears, I have won her compassion and. equally good, her silence. I can now visit Shady Creek as usual, and when I am not on watch. Mat will be. I must learn more of this Philip Bathurst—why he is here, what he intends to do—before I can form my plans, which I feel already success will crown."

Reaching

tbe

clump of

trees

where

his horse was fastened, and which commanded Shady Creek Station, be looked back and his teeth clenched angrily as he beheld standing In the verandah, side by side, Philip Bathurst, his rival, and the woman he loved. "How secure, no doubt, he tninss himself," he muttered. "But. nevernever." shaking his clenched hand.— "Little does either guess what the future has in store." „,

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HAS BEEN PROVED The SUREST OURS for

KIDNEY DISEASES.

Sooa a lame back or a disordered urine indicate that you aro a victim? THEN DO NOT HESITATE use XIDNBT- WOST Ht ouooJdrujreUtareoommendlO And it. •will speedily overcome the disease and roetore healthy notion to all tho organs.

Ofllfkia For oomplnlnts peculiar kflUlvos to your HCZ,»uohas puiu and mvticncwM, K1DNJST.W0BT is unsurpassed, it will oat promptly and safoly.

Either Bex. Incontinence, retention of urine, briok dust or ropy deposits, and dull dragging raina, all oiteedily ylold to its curative power. (M)

SOLD BY AtiL DRUGGISTS. Prioe p.t.

KIDNEY-WORT

Know THK FUTlIURt NwliM.U* Uml IM, AWWIMW will MCJOte..«&*»«». »•!«. a»W —iml j—«fj (*«t N«l* fcwt'Md •HV !!•«,

IJM* »f in IM»ilk, XI Mi

A44MH.

Ttiisi* it JMM'I rw

PILLS

A DISORDERED LIVER IS THE BANE

o. the present generation. It Is for the Corn or this dlseaso and"If attendants, sness, jdvs: P?^PSIA, COlf8ftPATIpy, Pit-Bs,

cto., that

friPFS'Plffift have gidned a^orId-w»ra re tatl on. ^l^oTftVmoJy Eaa over "been

di icovered~tfaat

acta

so gently_on

the

digestive organ*, giving them vigor to w^ ill a Hate food. A natural rftBult.the iff irvoua Bystem la BracocT, tbo Munolea ir )~D~eveloped^ and the Body fiobunt.*

Chlllo ondL Fovor.

B. rtlVAL, a Planter at Bayou Sara. Ln .eftvs: plantation

in in

a malar'-M dlntrlot. For

levoral ynsm I could not maKe half a orop on count of billouii dtneaiftn find cbilln. I was difloouraged wht»n I lh« u#* of rurra PILLS. Tho rn»«lt wiw nmrvoloua: my laborers aoon becamo and rubuat, «»d I have had no furtbar trouble.

Thrr r?llmlleeng«i«pd Mrw.riMtniti

(tie Blooti from po*cuoun liunjior., and CATOA Ihn bowel* to n't inUi rniAy. wlUi.

nutwhlrti noor.«i"»» wl «v'il. ... Try thl/» fntrly, yon wlSi ei»In kifKlthy to". VBe«"'"l,1.• V,,r" mtocMl, Ktroiiir », Hmiitd MTIee,33'enta. O.'Sce,K.MumyMUTUT.

TUTT'S HAH! BYE.

(JUAY HAIR or WIRTSKJCRS channel to a 'U Inii**^ a nJrturof TOlor,»uil new lnntantanwti«-.ly. Hold bv Dmggtata, or st nt by express on receipt of Ono Dollar. Office, 80 Murrny Strcr-t. Nw YorJ

Dr. TVTTVH StANi-Af' of rattfahla^ Information nmt

I'M/"'

Beeaiptm

tvUl be maiUA TUB o«iMwtto»».

LIVER

TARAXINE

The Great Vea(table Liver Corrector,

It rtHilaim no Calowl or Minti'frl of «Mj kind. Hi Main JnjrrdlrHt 1m the Concmutrat'tl ,11'tiirnl rlnrtpU of

Hi* Tnrwlnttn or XAtndvUon.

TARAXINE

la a Uprriflft for alt fH*rn*en arM»0 from Jtrranyrxi JAvr, Jfotmla, Kpleen or Kidneyt.

TARAXINE TARAXINE Cur en

Liver Complaint in all its Utages.

Never falls to cure Chronic Ague. Try it.

TARAXINE Cures I

TARAXINE\

Cures Habitual Constipation.

4

It was true. Even he did not divine all. There ace people who do pot believe

Qmlinued on Third Page,

I)y*pep»ia and Indigestion*

TARAXINE

It for Sat* hy

nil

Drnggltt* and Patent

Medicine Dialer*.

Price, SO CH, and $1.00.

A.KIEFEB,

Indianapolis, Ind,