Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 13, Number 23, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 2 December 1882 — Page 2

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THE MAIL

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A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TKHKK HAUTE, DEC. 2, 1882

Love For A Day

THE ATfTHOR

or

I knew that. Had I not sung to him a hundred times by the river and in the woods?

That evening it seemad to me that was about to rival Mark's wife. Was it foolish or wicked that I went to wardrobe for the long, plain, blue sil dress that Mark liked, and that I made the most of my golden hair, that I found so coo white roses for it, and that I tried to look bright and happy while my heart was dead?

I need not speak of the other guests. My story deals only with Mark and Mark's wife. Lady Yorke introduced me to all her visitors. 1 had gono to the drav. ing-room before the gentlemen had Ioit the dining-room. could not have entered with Mark looking at me. I remember no names, no faces my wh'»lo soul seemed waiting until we reachcd Mark's wife. "I/uly Severne," said the clear voice by mv wide and, raising my eyes, I saw Mark's wife—the most beautiful, brilliant, dazzling woman 1 had ever beheld. .Shi' had the vivid bloom of a carnation. a face of exquisite Grecian type, a wide low brow, straight dark eyebrows. lovely mouth, though the lines and curves were rather nroud than tender, a beautiful chin with a delicious dimpii*. As I thought of Mark kissing those lovely lips, the pain in my heart was more hitter than death. A sunerb woman, with dark hluo eyes and dark hair, .she wan dressed in white velvet, relieved by a rich bordering of purple heart's-ease a diamond necklace clasped the white, firm throat, a diamond cross lay on her white breast and the very moment I stood before her I noticed the sweet odor of violets.

Mark's wife! She looked at me with a kindly smile and then 1 noticed that there was something peculiar in her face. 1 did not like it, beautiful, brilliant as it was. There was a vague inexplicable something—a metallic brightness in the eyes, a hard, peculiar color on her eheeks. I^ove for Mark, interest quickened by affection, made me won»*T, and, as I looked at her, so beautiful,

so

brilliant. I asked myself, "What is his sorrow? What was the secret that, clouded his life? What was tho mystery that sapped all tho pleasure and hapniness of his existence? What aould it be?"

Ladv Severne drew aside the folds of her velvet dress, and asked me to take a ."'"at by her side. "l,.i'h* Yorke tolls me that you have a beautiful voiee. Miss Chester." she Haiti. Lord

hope you will sing for rue is'fond of music."

I. Mi:

W a Wi:?!d

41

"DORA THOB*

A DEAD HEART," "TWO KISSEB

ttTHE

FATAL LILIES," ETC.

{, CHAPTER XII. That evening Lady Yorke came to my room. Stic was always kind and considerate to me. "You have not lieen well to-day. Miss Gbester. Masliam tells me that you feavo had one of your bad headaches.

Are you better? You look very pale and changed in some way. I came to ask you if you would bring your music to the drawing-room this evening. It would be a great help to me."

I thought for a few moments before I answered her. I could crush down my own pain and anguish, for I had plentv of self-control and I longed to see Mark's wife. IIow the words pierced my heait—"Mark's wife!" I kissed the white jewelled hand laid so kindly on my shoulder, and said what was true—that I would do anything to please Lady Yorke. "If you feel tired." she said, "do not Join us for a little while come later on. And, Wins Chester, make yourself look •ice. We must urt let J-hdy Severne think Irrself the handsomest woman in the world. Bring some of your best songs. Lord Severne is very fond of, music."

us.

\re her fair face had wiled from mo I knew that. What *h.» sav if she knew that I was

Mil.- k's lirst love, that Ah. what nonsense! Was I mad? Mark was no Ion cor for me. She talked to me kindly enough for a few minutes. 1 felt, rather than knew, that there was something strange about her, but I could not define it.

The gentlemen came in. My only tinpc lay in not looking at Mark. I was keenly, painfully conscious of his presflncp. I knew where he went when he apoke, I heard no other sound. Hut my eyes never sought him. Even when Jiady Yorke introduced me to him. I never saw him but live minutes afterwards, when I went to the piano, the music fell from my nerveless hands. Ah, woe was met The tirst song I found was this—'"Remember :iiti

ng I For-

"I mi l»r*lde the #tr»nmJet: I WAFI'HT*! IIW'WHIW UOW, A* wo lofclliw wntohed It «*m. tittle jr*»«r «»m. •oft ralu juitterwl on Ih

Tho April prn*4 wet— Ah. folly to retnetnNr' *Tv* wWr to forv*t.

•I I

Jtwres,

le triads Juno's pn'aoe nvNl «!tt I t*w nu tr*v«* too lt« w*n# r*»l uuioUl. !'. *ijrt»t «»f ro«i« «tud ."i. Writ fmwirti» -Mi -A•

»1 gtvt—

"I t»adtH«* I

wudv

OJ t4i«» tow .»! '1 --ii J'OIIFvr run in* •*«. no «t WmiM i.sd w. tv-«r ho met I Kvr. cniel aa rvm»»u»nu ,s 'Tj* ftanlrr to fivrxrt. -Tt. tv«rnVt now is fr«- en,

Tin- *re f. -'l, Tb" itv «?O, A "ry W 1 my hm-sv ftr .V'i'I pray f»r v«t. Tor to or

Vpf iMUtasr" to frs.

Tteno was no sounu in the the Uwt U'Mt dud away. I knew lliey had 5r.t |tht t».V!*r'.i%s heart, for

ous tiki

ho left v*» srrtmj or he had the grr v. had Kt, *ky.

LuK

S4ie t*.--. Vt v- is

lari w4 with whom went to one of •.$. T?-:* Msy smt

AS dead in the

broke tho spell. frv«-r*tc, and

Gabriel's beautiful sohg "Ruby.7' "I opened the leave* of a book last night— TTje duet on Its cover lay du*k and brown

As I held ft towards tbe watrinr lWJt „, A wittK-red flow'ret fell ru»f!!afir down. Tw« on'.y tho wraith of a woodjand weed.

Which a dead band in tbe days of old Had placed 'twlxt tbe pages ebe loved to rend

At tie time v/ a my newa of lore was told And memory «t, hut as Fad as rrcct, Swift iiooded ralac jre» with regret »ul tears As the Cry dim harebell skimmed past my feet.

Ilev-aUiiiif an bour from tbe vanished years.

•*Occe more I wa« watcUn her d«*jvrrinred eyes. Bent over tbe Ta**» upon Iw*

And tbe fair face blushing witfc we.rt. *nrprt«e At tbe passionate pleading- that broke from roc*. Ab. Ruby, my darllnsr. tbo *tnal white band

That gathered tbe harebell was. never toy own. But farted and passed the far-off land.

And I rfremnt by tb« Okrlserin* llame alone. I (fathered the flnwer and I closed the leave*, And folded my hand* In silent prayer That the rraper iK-aih. as be aeck* bis sheave*.

Misrbt bantfii tbe bour of our meetin? there." Was I dreaming, or did my own voice die away in a wail of pain—die in a long-drawn bitter sob?

Lady Yorke was near me,.and I saw tears in her eyes. "One more. Miss Cheater." she«aid.

Your songs are so sad and so sweet, they take me out of this world. One more, if you are not too tired."

I had forgiven Mark not very long since but the longing was upon me to make him feel, to pierce his heart with some little of the anguish which had pierced mine. Never mind what I suffered, if 1 could send my words living like barbed arrows across the room.

I looked at him. The handsome profile stood out clearly and distinctly. lie stood gazing though the long window at the -night-sky. Ah, yes. I would sting hito into feeling. And this was my song— I A DRAT) IX)vn. I "Down deep In my henrt, In it* last ca'.m sleep, I A dear deittl love lies burled deep I I elafij.tl it once inn lonjr embrace.

And elowl the eyes and veiled the face I never affttin might »ee. I breathed no word ttud 1 fhed no tear. llut tbe onward yearn looked dark and drear. And I knew, tiv the thndn of mortal pain, That a iweetnes* had tied which never ug-ain

Would in life come bnek to me.

"And dream, of the po*t, like ro«es. still shed Their frnjrranee around my cheri»hed dead: While tears that ever are fallinar unseen,

I.Ike soft cummer rain, keep it? memory green AH the ttnf of the ehurvbyard ncnl. And, weeping nd waiting. I ptny and wait That an angel may open tbe golden pate l*'r 1 think thut the love of Jongavo, Though eold and dead to me here IM'IOW,

Will be mine In tho rest of flod." There was a little stir in the room when my song was finished. The last words rang through my brain—"Will be mine in the rest of God." I had touched him. All those other men and women were nothing to me—only shadows. They had no identity. I saw moving figures. 1 heard voices, but to me Mark was there alone. saw a quiver of pain pass over his face.- I had made him feel. Then, so true, so weak a woman was I that I longed to cross the room and kiss the pain away. The odor of violets came to me Lady Severne was standing by my side. "IIow exquisitely you sing. Miss Chester! You make me long for things that 1 have quite forgotten. IIow differently We should all live if we could lead our lives over again."

The brilliant face softened the hard metallic, light had died .from her eves. I liked her belter in that moment than I had before. Then I heard Lady Yorke asking Mark to sing. I remembered the rich cheery voice that had trolled out many love songs. "You never refused to sing for me in Italy," said Lady Yorke "why refuse here?" "Lord Severne has a beautiful voice and a perfect, ear," Lady Severne remarked, turning to me.

It comforted mo just a little to remember that I had known that long before she did. An uncontrollable trembling came over me. for Mark stood by my side. "Will you play Ixml Sevenio's accompanimentV" said Ladv Yorke. "I would rather not," I replied. "I will," said Lady Severne "I like to play for him."

Was he thinking of her or thinking of me? Not of me. lie could not sing such words to me now for the song he had chosen was Sullivan's lieautiful "My Dearest Heart." "All tho dretiming I.* broken through lloth what I* done nnd undone I run,

Nothing In jtendf!i«t, nothing la true, llut your love for me. and my love for you, My dearest, dcim-ft heart 1

"When the wiuds are loud, when the winds are low. When tho roses come, when the ro?e* go,

One thought, one feeling. In all 1 know, Aly dearewt, dearest heart 1 "The time l* w* ary, tbe rear Is old.

And the licht or the lily burns elose to the mold

The grave is cruel, tho grave I# cold, llut the other dido the elty of gold, M.v dearest heart, my dearest heart 1"

The lights and the flowers, the fair faces and jewels, swam before me. It seemed to me that I was faint and ill from the odor of violets. I went from the piano to the other end of the room. I could sing no more that night. A tall jardiniere, tilled with exquisite white orchids, which stood near afforded me shelter, and from behind the white fragrant flowers I could see and hear all that passed. Lady Yorke came to me there and said that 1 must rest. "Yon musical people take so much out of yourselves,' she said. "You throw your whole souls into vour songs. Look at Lord Severne. Who ia bis dearest heart,' I wonder?" "Lady Severne," I replied, auickly.

But Lady Yorke shook her nead. "That is a marriage I cannot understand," she said, slowly "but I begin to see what Lord Seveme's secret is."

I would have given worlds for courage to ask her to explain her words, but I did not dare to do so.

She left tne. and I watched husband and wife. There was something between them—some shadow. Site seemed to me half afraid of him. He regarded her closely. lie was ill at ease if she said much, if she laughed or attracted much attention. He reminded me of some one who had the care of a forward child always on the point of breaking out Into mischief. They never looked at each other with eyes of trust or love. I had not watched them one half hour before I felt and saw that Mark was wretched.

What could it be? Lady Severne was

room aa beautiful, graceful, elegant, and well-

bml. What eonM be wrong with her? There was something. I felt sure. Later on that evening, when I sat with aching heart and tired eyes, longing for the bmtr of dis«it-«al, Lady Yorke came to me agaiu. "You look i» tired. Miss Chester." bhe said "I will not adc yon to singr."

We tvjth chti5'-d w-ri».s th* room to wi%ei.e I^ady Sevutw, in her white tdh

vet and diamonds, was the centre of a laughing group. "IIowbeautiful she is!" I said. The words seemed wrung from me in very bitterness of heart. "Yes." said Lady Yorke. It Is a strange thing that the canker always eats the heart of the fairest rose and then, seeming vexed at her own words, she hastened to change the subject.

When she had gone. I looked Mng and earnestly at Mark's wife. What couid be wrong with thi* beautiful woman? Not bine: with her moral charaeter. or she would not lie here at West wi i) I. With all her nonchalance aud I inuinference, there was no prouder woman living than Ladv Yorke. She would not have associated with a duchess who had a blot on her character. "There could be nothing of that kind. I saw no blemish in Lady Severne's maimer

She was lively, animated, but not "fast she was witty and clever, but not "loud." I lost myself in conjecture. One thing only was quite plain to me—there was something wrong with Mark's wife, and between them there was no love.

The days that followed were busy ones. The month of May was bright and warm. Lady Yorke enjo.ved p.cnics, and several were organized.— Whatever flirtations were going on had no interest for me I saw only Mark and Mark's wife. He and I never spoke, we never exchanged even a look we were as perfect strangers. The only time we broke through our rule of silence was when he told me that he hoped I would forgive the intrusion of his presence, but that he could not leave West wood so soon as he had intended Lady Severne was not willing.

I did not go to any of the picnics.— Lady Yorke seemed to understand that I was neither well nor happy just then, and she was very kind to me. I noticed that once or twice Lady Severne was absent. She remained at home while the others went, and, on those djy I saw uneasiness on Lady Yorke's face, and misery in Mark's eyes. On these occasions Lady Severne remained secluded in her own room, and her maid in strict attendance upon her.

That maid, Martha Glyde by name, was a puzzle to me. Prim, reticent, never using two words where one would suffice: kind, but with never a smile upon her face gentle, yet with a certain grim manner—to me she soon became a mystery. I thought it so strange that a young and beautiful woman like Lady Severne should prefer a grim, oldfashioned. elderly ierson like Martha Glvde to a young and pretty maid with a l'resh face and quick, tripping footsteps. Moreover, 1 was not sure in my own mind that Lady Severne did like her. The woman "always assumed a tone of authority that I thought most unbecoming.

As yet I suspected nothing. I had no tangible reason for any of the shadowy fears that surrounded me. I had watched Lady Severne with eyes and instincts sharpened bv love and by jealousy, but I saw nothing wrong.

One morning—it was almost t! last in May. and the June roses were beginning to bloom—a picnic was arranged. Most of the county families had beeir invited. Lady Yorke had resolved upon giving an entertainment that should not soon be forgotten. A first-rate military band was one of the chief attractions, ami every one looked forward to the day with delight. It had been decided to visit the old Abbey of St. Ninian—a magnificent ruin only a fewmites from Woodheaton, and a favorite place of resort.

I was,with Lady Yorke in her libu--dQij-Ji.Jf an hour' before, the time JW starting she was telling me about her letters," when I^ord Severne came to the door. Seeing me there, he did not enter. Lady Yorke went to him, and he spoke in a low tone of voice to her. I could see that they were both angry and amazed. Then Lady Yorke spoke in a soothing voice, as if she were trying to comfort him. Shortly afterwards he went away, and she returned to the writing-table, with a crimson flush on her face, and an angry gleam in her eyes. I saw that her hands trembled so that she could not hold her pen. She flung it impatiently upon the table. "You must write tins for me, Miss Chester," she said, quickly "I am vexed and grieved and she walked to the window, and stood for some minutes looking out.

I knew that it must be something about Mark's wife—my instinct told me so—but I could not solve the mystery. On the previous night she had been unusually gay and animated. Indeed, Lord Severne had hovered near her, as though he feared her high spirits might "carry her away." What then could be wrong this morning? Ilis voice, when he spoke to Lady Yorke, was full of pain.

I was right for, when the long line of carriages started with their loads of gay pleasure-seekers, Lady Severne was not there, and her husband's dark, handsome face was clouded and distressed. I was weak enough, as I watched him from afar off, to stretch out my hands to him with a longing cry—

flOh,

Mark, my dear, lost love, what

has gone wrong with you?"

CTIA PTEK XTTI.

Lady Yorke had left me very busy. I had many letters to write I bad several gifts of food and clothing to send away, some music and books to select, and I promised, if possible, to visit a poor woman who lav ill in one of the cottages ohtside Woodheaton. More work was before me, I feared, than I could get through, but I began with a good will. I tried hard to keep my thoughts from wandering, but they would stray to Lady Severne. Why had she not made one of the picnic party? She had so often talked about St. Ninian's Abbey, and wished to see it. Why had she remained at home? She could not be ill, or we should have heard of it and I remembered that Lord Severne and Lady Yorke had spoken in anger rather than in sorrow. It was perfectly clear that there was a mystery, but what the nature of it was I could not imagine.

I remember how calm the day was. The sunshine was delightfully warm ami. as the drowsv, musical hum of the bees as they worked busily fell upon

line— "Tbe bee Is betroUwd to the broom,** The birds were sil there was bat a faint murmur of wind tbe bouse was strangely a: Many of the servants had gone to the Ah to be in attendarc. I could heai 4,life v",a the ri. bf the river in v. and the tapping of leaves against: wisdow-glass. Once or twice 1 fiaic.w that I heard a moat unusnal aound— whether was a lantrh. a scream, or a rrnrn. remiStf leS, for it almost as mma as heard. 1 w*.„

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

to the librarv in search of something that I needed for my writing. On the grand staircase I met Ladv Severne's maid. Martha Glvde. and felt sure that she had the key of a bed-room in her hand. She was taking some beeftea. I thought, up-staira, for she was carrying a covered basin. Martha had always a grim smile for me. I was one of her favorites. I stopped impulsively. "How is Lady Severne?" I asked and the smile died in a moment. A hard, cold, impenetrable look came into the honest face. "I am sorry she is ill, I continued. "She is not"—"ill." the woman was going to say I am sure but she checked herself and substituted "well." "I am sorry," I said "for I know she wanted to see St. Ninian's. What is it —cold or headache?" "I must make haste," replied Martha, ignoring my question "her ladyship is waiting and she brushed past me with tar less ceremony than usual. "Good morning, miss," sue sulded, hast ily, as though she knew she had been abrupt.

An hour afterwards I had finished my writing and begun to pack the parcels of clothes that Lady Yorke nad wished me to send away. My rooms were in the part of the house called the "Queen's wing Lady Yorke's suite of apartments-was in the centre of the building while the rooms set apart for the guests were in the western tower Some of the clothes I wanted were in one of the wardrol»es in a spare room. Crossing the broad corridors that led to the western tower. 1 was struck by the unusual silence. There was no sound of visitors or servants, but profound stillness—no hurry of footsteps —no voices.

I went to the cedar-room, opened the wardrobe, found what 1 required, and was on the point of re-closing it, when I heard a sound that almost froze the blood in my veins.

Was it a ery, a shriek? I could not tell—only that it was unearthly in its horror. "I knew by the sound that it must have come from Lady Severne's apartments.

Half frantic with fear, the next minute I was rapping at her door. "What is the matter, Lidy Severne?" I cried. "Are you ill? Are you hurt?"

There was a moment of deathly silence. I turned the handle of the door, and found that it was securely bolted. "Who is there?" Martha (iiyde'called out. "It is I—Miss Chester. What is the matter?" I replied. "Nothing." was the curt reply. "llut, Martha, I heard Lady Severne scream. I am sure she is ill. Do let me in."

The next moment Martha had half opened the door, and 1 saw her face it was white and angry—yes,' and alarmed. "Miss Chester she said—and the effort to speak calmly was a great one —"Do not try to come in. You will only make things worse. Believe me, there is nothing the matter. Lady Severne is often hysterical. She is not ill but she would be annoyed if she knew you were here."

I went away but I retained my own belief that the scream I heard was not hysterical. I wondered if Mark's wife could be mad but I wasi not aware that people could bemad one day and sane the next.

I found that Lady'Severne did not leave her room that day nor did she join the dinner-party in the evening. Lady Yorke apologized for her, saying that she had taken cold through being out on the terrace on the previous evening, but that she hoped she would be jitter oru the morrow. I saw Mark's face twitch and ids lips quiver, bjit he spoke no word. There was a mUrmur of regret for several of the gent lemen present there would be no attraction that evening.

When the visitors retired, I remained to give Lady Yorke a report of all that she had left for me to arrange, and then I told her of the unearthly noise that I had heard coming from Lady Severne's room.

She looked at me with a strange expression on her face. Did you really hear this yourself, Miss Chester?" she asked. "Certainly, just as 1 have told you, Lady Yorke."

Had any on© been in those rooms would they have heard it in lite same fashion?" she asked. "They must." I replied. "Then," she. said, speaking to herself rather than to nie. "it must bu seen to at once. Poor Lord Severne!" 1 did not like to say any more but I went to my room more unhappv than ever about Mark, more puzzled than ever about the mystery surrounding his wife.

I looked forward with some curiosity to seeing her the next day but at break-fast-time came the apology—Lady Severne did not feel well enough to come down-stairs. Mark's face was a study, yet no one seemed to not ice it except myself. The knowledge that there was a mystery in the house was painful to me/ Lady Yorke seemed distressed— not merely anxious, but distressed. I saw tears her eves and, when we were aloue, she signed frequently and deeply, as though she liaa something on her mind.

In the evening, just before the dress-ing-bell rang, to my astonishment Martha Glyde rapped'at the door of Lady Yorke's boudoir. She wanted "to speak to her ladyship most particularly," bht she would not keep her long. I went awav and left them together.

Duringdmner I saw that Lady Yorke was quite unlike herself, nervous, agitated, unequal to the occasion, and more than once she glanced imploringly at Lord Severne.

Dinner over, I was not much nurirised when a servant came to .say that *ady Yorke wished to see me in her boudoir at once. I went. I had never seen the mistress of Westwood look so sad or so distressed before. "Just turn the key in the door. Miss Chester." she said. "I want a few minutes conversation with you without interruption." did as she wished, and then stood before her. wondering at her agitation, her pale face, the sorrow expressed in her whole demeanor. She wrung her 1 winds, began to speak, and then nesiUiU'd. "The feet is," she staid. "I am at a

mv ears, I thought of that beautiful what to sav or how to :in. I

ftxi th* *hame and the disgrace keenly. astboi:_i thev were my own. I must tell you but I do not know how."

^'Probabiy not. "Lady Severne Is beautiful, charming, she has many admirable qualities, she is verv popular, but there is one fatal drawback, so fatal that all the other gifts are neutralized by it." "Whatis it, Lady Yorke?" I asked, anxiously. "1 am ashamed to tell vou. They are almost the most horrible words that can be said of a woman, but they are unhappily true. Miss Cluster. The fact is. Lady Severne drinks."

I recoiled as though she had struck me a terrible blow: but Lady Yorke looked relieved at having told licr horrible secret at last. "It is true she drinks!" "But," I cried, aghast with horror, "she is a—a ladv it cannot be possible!" "It is quite true. Miss Chester." "Drinks!" Such a solution of the mystery had never occurred to me for one moment. If Lady Yorke bail said, "She cheats at cards, she would rob her neighbor, she has committed murder" —even then I should not have felt so surprised. It was horrible to think that this beautiful woman, Mark's wife, should be guilty of so degrading a vice. "But how is such a thing possible?" I cried, eagerly. "Surely she could avtfid it if she would?" "I cannot tell: she says it is a disease that seizes her and holds her fast in itsclutches. At times, for weeks together,, she is all that can be desired—a most agreeable, charming, fascinating woman then for a few days she appears absolutely to lose all control over herself." "But why do thev let her have intoxicating liquors? Why not keep them from her?' I asked. "They cannot. You may be sure that Lord Severne has tried everything so has that faithful maid of hers, Martha Glyde. It is easier to soothe the paroxysms of the insane than to appease such a craving as hers. I have heard Martha say that when this horrible craving is on" her, she will stoop to anything to get what she wants." "How terrible!" I cried. "Oh. Lady Yorke, I wish I had not known it!" 'I am obliged to tell you," she said "vou may le sure that it is an unavoidable necessity. It is impossible that Lady Severne''can remain in the western tower. Up to this present time no one in the house knows her secret, except her husband. Lord Yorke. Martha Glyde, you and myself but, if she remains in the western tower, every one must guess it. Martha Glvde told me that she has never been so bad as she is now. and she begged me to remove her to where she could be neither seen nor heard. Every one thinks that she is ill and it will occasion no remark if I say that she has asked for a quieter, warmer room. I thought," continued Lady Yorke, "if you were willing. I would give her the room next to yours in the •Queen's wing." There she will be quite safe and you are so kind. Miss Chester, you are so gentle aud good, that this pitiful case must touch your heart. ill you see her sometimes? You did me good you might do her good. You reclaimed me from a life of idle self-indulgence, you might reclaim her." "I will do anything you wish. Lady Yorke—anything."

It will be a great relief to me if yon will help Martha Glvde to remove the unhappy woman. I do not want Masham or aiiy of the servants to know it. I must return to my visitors. I shall trust entirely to you."

She hastened away, leaving me hor-, ror-stricken aud bewildered. Oh, Mark, mv dear, lost, love, it wou^havo been better had you died!

CII.VlTKIt XIV.

That was tho solution of the rnyslerv. That was the cause of Mark's watchfulness and misery and of Lady Severne's peculiarities. From that originated the cold metallic light in the eyes that should have been so tender and lustrous. That was the cause of the hectic color that so often took the place of the dainty bloom. That was why a rretty, bright young maid would have een quite useless—why the elderly woman kept watch and ward over her mistress. Of all tho horrible fates that could have overtaken my poor Mark, surely none could have been more horrible than this! All the anger died in my heart there was nothing left but profound compassion. Now 1 could understand whv he would not say anything to me about his wile. He might well look so worn and haggard. I forgot that he had deceived me, blighted my life: and my heart went out to him, not with the old love, but with a great pity and yearning. I would have given my life to save his wife and help him.

I will not dwell on the terrible'scene that was enacted when Lady Severne was taken to her new rooms. I hope that 1 may never see such a sight again —such a leering smile, drooping, heavy head, sullen eyes, and reeling figure. "I am glad you know all about it, Miss Chester," said Martha. "It is a heavy secret to cany all by oneself. At times I can hardly bear it. I told Lady Yorke you would be the right one to trust."

Partly from her and partly from Jady Yorke I heard the whole sad story. I am no udvocate for total abstinence, although I have a horror of excessive drinking. I simply tell this sad story as it was told to me, and record tbe Incidents I saw.

There is no need to go far back into Lady Severne's life. She was welll»orri, well-bred, married when she was very young, and went with her husband, Captain Nugent, to India. When this horrible vice first took hold of her no one knew. There was some little rumor of it in India but she was so young and so beautiful that no one believed it. It was not until she became Lady Severne that it attracted any attent ton. She said afterwards that she t*K)k no more than other ladies- -two or three glaiwes of wine at luncheon—perhaps a little champagne if *he felt tired or "low:" a little more wine at dinner and. during the evening, champagne at one party, sherry at another, and always brandy at night. She liked it she waa careless, and never thought about the consequences. More than once Ix»rd Severne, seeing her glass filled and refilled. would say. "Be careful, Lurline that wine is strong." She would answer, laughingly, "I do not mind how af 11 it is if it sparkles." More than was ti'-'ressed at finding bot~

tJes of brnn(

"fs it—is it of Lady Severne. I ^4 -.h*? tpows qm^-My. The tern-iWe-fij.- when "Severne. re'Yes, 5. '1 turning home earlier than tiHual, hT*s*Tng :i .otec urns far. It »oi nirl

toJi||d

iv.Uit to «?••".ik. aak«inemce »vrv From that time all *wn:h fig were wre her. ..i-i I

)y hidden away in tier room,

jlf,r— Ab. well. I cannot write

()f

you yes, the s..^er v.us alw ., at 'n,pv had bmarried mlv six lit^ heart of the far ,fti»ie the worm* j* the diseomy. alw-r. '^w lift decided at once what to do* They *.^5, i~i"* (wfikl new livest lb© ftaudfn the least. 1 said. Cvttrtutktt Third Pag#.

happftiesfr *«J*d bftwmt

$

{•Irk Forttio relief nixl* eurtMifthe «U.Mrw«liiX otQlotlon take StmnirfiiV I^lver lifgulntor.

MNtNrln. or is a

avoid nttnck» l»y occnslomilly taking l«»e of SimLUMI.N*

Liver Keitu-

lntor to keep the

liver in heuitny nction. 4'on*il|»ft!lon phoultl not be regarded ns a trifllrn ailnirnt. Nature ritmaml* the utmost regularity of Hie IxivelK. 1 hetetote nmM Nnitim b\ taking iSnnartoins Lit.r Hfftuhuor, It Is n»ilu «nu eflfeeinal.

Pllri.

Relief is at hnml for lhoe who fufler tiny after day with l'lte*. Sin,mows Liver Regulator hascuml hundreds, ntnl It will-cure you. nxvprpwln.

The Kegwlator will r*v« Itively cure thls» rllile ll.se«uts. We-assort emplmticAlly Wter-*IMI we kuow to bo true-

Colic.

Children sttflfeiini: wUl colic soon exiibrltneo relief when Smuuonn IJvcr lte^umtor Is administered.

Buy onlv the Genuine, hi White Wrapper, with nxl"?C." Prepared by .1. II. 7.K.U.I N AOO. (MTMolcl by all »marKtut«•.*»«

r:±

LYQ1A E. PINKHAM, Of LYNN, MASS.,

LYDIA E. PINK HAM'S VEGETABLE COMPOUND.

IB a 1'owll.lve Cum

for all (bo«« PatnOil Complaint* atirt

•«ioium*M

Wwhiimi

to

OHT

beat female population.

It will cur* entirely tli* worat fonu of F*mal« Complaints, all ovarian trouble*, IiiflaininaMon and tile era Hon, falling and Ili|ilao«menlii, and tlia conttquent Bplnnl Wrnltiiraa, aoU I* parUoulorly adapted to Ul* Change of Ufe.

It rrlll dliaolTo and expeltumora from Oie uteni* In an early ilaffo of development. Ttio tendency to cancerous burners Uierala checked very iiioedlljr lij lta tie*.

It reinores falntneen, flatulency, deilroysall craving fornttiniilnuta. nnd relieves weaknea* of tlie stomach. It curcs Mnntliicr, Itrndnclios, Nervous rrostretlon, General Debility, Sleopleaantss, Depression aud Indigestion.

That feeling of bearing down, causing pain, weight aud liankaclic, ts always |iormaiioHlly cuied ly Its usa. It will at all Utiles nnd under all cli rmnstanccs net In harmony with the Inws that

ROVCI

POrNDI* prepared nt WJ

tho fcinalo system.

For tbe euro of Kidney Complaints of either sex Ibis Compound I- unstirpuxsed.

I.TDIA K. l'INKllAM'S

,ni.R

COM-

IUIYF.UET

.I Ma W «torn Avenue,

l.ynn.Mns*. I'iIoo 01. 81* bottles for $fi Sont liy mall In tho form of pills, nlno In tho form lofonncs, on rocolpt of prlro, 81 per box for oltJier. Mm. l'lnkham frooly answoi-s nil letters of Inquiry. Bend for pamphlet, Address as above. Mention IMt Fujur,

Jfo family pliotild le without LYDIA E. riNKnAJM

UYKIl riIJA

They cure coimUpatiou, bUlouinsa^

and torpidity llio liver. SS renta per box.

nr~ F«M bv nil l)rn««lilo.

HE GREAT CURE rem

tt-IIE-U-M-A-T-l-Sl As it is forall Uio painful diseases of tho KIONEY8, LIVER AND BOWELS.

It olcansoo tho oystom of tlio (*orid poison that catuMW tho dreadful auflhrtng vrhloh only tho victims of rheumatism oan realise

THOUSANDS OP OASES of the worst forms of this torrlble disease liavo boon luiokly relieved, amtln shori

,lm#

PERFECTLY CURED.

rtltrx $!. I.t'lt III or tlUY, MILD fcy IJUI CGISTH. )Jry can bewmt bymsHl. W! f.TJt. A-fo., JJuillnRrton.

TUTT'S EXPEOTOPJT

Is cotTip"»«l of Ilrl»

'1 nnd

Mtieilugmous

pnxl-

ii'-i«, wind! permeate the »ul»tBi»«e or tho I/iings, azpocturatoa tl»e acrid mutter that collect* in tho lliuticb)ar.Tubei«,uridftyrra** too tiling coaling, which relieve* (lie Irritation Unit the rxjugh. It clennao* the lonija of all Impurities, utrnigthcn* them wnen enfeeliuil by dliesit, invigorate* tba circulation of the blood, nnd biii««tho nervousnysli'in. WI)(litcoWt often «n«l In consumption. Itl* danK(ron»to tn-glset them. Apply tlu remedy promptly. A twit of twenty warrnnts On apwrtion that no remedy hnssvc been found that Is as

prompt In lUeffiMtan* TU1T'8 EXPECTORANT. A alii|fle dose rallei the phlegm, subdue* infljitnmation.atid its use speellily rur-« tl* mo»t obstinate cough. A pi esiant aardlal, children take It readily. For Croup It t* Inralnchle nnd *ioi«ll be In every family.

In

Xk.<p></p>TUTT'S

nnd tl BettJw.

FILLS

jtCT PIBECTLY''oTVHe' 'uVfcR! Cure* thllla and Fever,

l*ys|e|i«l»f

Hick Headache. Billon* Callc,i'»M*Upatlon, Hhonraatiam, Piles, Palpitation of the Heart, I»Uxlnesa, Tarpld X.Iver, and Vemala IrreapnlartUes. if you !o «wt "feel •frry well,"a einele pill ethanlatce tliestwmeh, luetmesthe appetite, Imparts rigor to tli**r*t«a.

A NOTED DIVINE SATS:

Ia. TUTT:—Dear Hirt

For ten yeara 1 bare

foes a martyr te Dyspepsia, OnMipatlon and 1'Uee. Iast spring you* pills were re^ammended tossa I used them (but with little faith). 1 am new a well «naa, hav» good sppetlte, digestion perfcet, rwnUr atoolit t»U»« feme, end I hare f*in*d fortjr pounds eoliu fl are Woi tii &*dr weight In g'Id.

BEV. B. l..8lHP90X,Ixalrrfne,Ky. Offle«i3IV WsmrfU Sewtort. PH. Tl'TT'!* JKARCAL #r V*«Ail\ BecelpU I'BKE on application.

W.». CLIVT.

J» fit. WaiUKf, J. K. CMFT

CLIFT,WILLIAMS & CO,

uAvvrAcrnnmoi or

Sash, Doors, Blinds, &c

A no o*Ah*M»m

LUMBKK, LATH, 8HINGLE8 illJLRH, PAINTS, OILS

and BUILDERS' HAKIWAIl*.

oubtrry Htreet, C'staer 2«iath,

TKKFITL? IIAUTT:, INU

A