Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 14, Number 33, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 9 February 1884 — Page 2

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A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TEltKE HAUTE, FEB. 9, 1884.

Emily Lennox in Godey.

Wedded to Misery.

CHAPTER XI. PACE TO FACE.

Lois was standing in tbe

parlor, all

dressed for a ball, to which Nell Graham "was to take her. /I Colonel Tresham was leaning against the mantel, surveying her fairy-like ^figure in its cloudy drapery with evident approval.

Lois was radiant that night. A "You surly fellow!" she panted, lay ing her hand on Tresham's arm. Wti don't you tell me bow you ^ress?' "Your dress?" be queried, with a faint smile. "How can I think of the dress •wben you are in it? You lok very pretty to-night, Lois." "And you look very solemn."sbe said, with a charming blu"h. -'What makes you so quiet of late, Rex? Aren *3 ,you well?"

Perfectly. Oh, I guess you only

imagine I'm quiet! You forget what a staid, old fellow lain, Lais, lam not at all line Neil." "But Neii i* getting solemn, too. I don't know what has come over you both." "You have, I guess. Ah! I see you have on your chain to-night. Do you always wear tbat, Lois?" ••Always," sbe answered, puttting her hand up to her neck, which waseneircled as usual with tbe slender little thread of gold. "For sentiment's sake?" he asked, lightly. "Aren't you afraid of making me jealous? "Not()f this," she said, softly. •''I thought you knew about it, Rex. You know my mother died when 1 was a wee bit of a baby." "Yes," he said in a different tone. "I dui not know it was anything like that. You need not tell me, Lois, unless you care to." "I don't mind telling you," she answered, leaning her curly head against his arm, as she drew from her bosom a miniature set in a gold frame, and fastened by a welded link to tbe chain sbe always wore. "My mother gave me this," sbe said, holdlug it in her hand. "It is my father's picture, Rex. Madame de,Roy says she put it on my neck when I was a wee bit of a baby. Madame de Roy knew mamma very well. Wasn't my father handsome, Rex? And so very young. He is dead, too."

Lifting the chain from about her neck sbe put it and the miniature in Tresham's hand.

He gave one hasty glance at tbe boyish face framed in a mass of soft, jetty curls, and then he uttered a sharp cry. With trembling lingers he turned it over, and on the back was graven this inscription: ,, "To Genevieve, from Roland. May 5, 18—. Toujoira a toi."

He heard the sound of the sea in his ears. The white-capped waves were breaking on the boach of Santa Baroara, and he was there with his sweet girlwife, the bride of a few short months. "My mother was French," he heard Lois saying, in a voice that sounded milesand miles away. "Isn't Genevieve a sweet name, Rex?1'

Then tbe rooru began to spin around he g-rasped for breath, and, dropping the miuiature from his nerveless hugers, he rushed out of tha house, jostling against Nell Graham, who was just coming up the steps. "Good heavens!" he cried, pressing his baud to his throbbing bead, "am I going mad? What trick is this? Impossible— impossible!"

With rapid strides, he hurried along as though he were pursutti, his eye fixed upon tbe empty air, his face as pale and stony as death.

As he entered his room at the hotel, he locked the door, and then sank down upon the lounge, utterly exhausted by the tumultuous emotion that surged in his breast. "This is too hotrlble!" he groaned, a9' he buried bis face in the cushions. "Oh God. if possible, let this cup pass from me."

He lay there for honrs, struggling with astered hlna. It rose and

the thoughts that overmasters was past midnight when he went to his w.ritlng-desk. "If I should tell her!" he muttered, as he rested his haggard face upon his hands. "No, no! I cannot! I have eworn that no word of mine shall enlighten her. The curse of Caiu is upon me! No, n»! let her think what she will I cannot reveal the truth. My poor little Lois! God help you, child."

Tears trickled down his cheeks and dropped through his fingers. His manly form was shaken by convulsive sobs.

With a mighty effort to control himself he drew some paper towards him, and' took up his pen to write but the tremulous characters which he traced were so wholly unlike his usual hand as to be hardly recognisable.

What he wrote first was this:m{|% MY DKAR I.rrrt,K Lots: Forgive me for the «ruel words I write. God knows I would spare you every sorrow. If 1 ooulii but I am driven on by the force of circumstances beyond my control. Lois, I have discovered an obstacle to oar union. A secret which I may not divulge must part us forever. You can never be my wife, but God grant you may live to blccto abetter man! Forgive me, Lol« I did not know this before. As God sees me, I have not trifled with yon. Pity me child. Do not condemn.

Your unhappy friend KRGtXAi.o TRKSUAM.

When he had written this, he took another sheet and wrote a longer letter to Dr. Langley. He offered no explanation for his conduct, but begged tbe doctor's forgiveness in many earnest words. lit conclusion, he said:

By chance, I have discovered who Lois' father was. You did not tell me. It seems tbat I knew him well, and her mother, too. 1 enclose a portrait of Genevieve which Rouuul gave to mcsome yearn ago. It gives me great joy to tell you, sir, that ber father was living when I last heard of htm,

In this letter he enclosed tbe miniature he bad carried next to his heart so inanv years.

As' he gazed for the last time on the face of his lost bride, tears blinded him And fell poo tbe miniature, which he pressed reverently to his lips. "To Roland from Genevieve, May 9, 18—. TbiQoirs a toi." •n These were the words which were graven on the back of her picture, too. "Farewell, any lost love!" he murmured softly, "farewell!"

SUppuig the miniature in to the en vel ope. he sealed both letters. "They will think mm a knave, c» doubt.*' he said, sadly "but she will for-'-gget this girlish fancy, and Neil win ber yet,*' some hasty present quarters. At breakfast time, having been up the whole night long, be stood arrayed jin his traveling suit, with his trank trapped, and h-s satchel ready.

Before he breakfasted, be walked out and dropped the two envelopes in thelet-ter-box. 4 at was on tbe way back to the hotel tbat be met Ne\l Graham. "Rex!" his friend exclaimed, grasping bis hand, "what is the matter with you? You look like a ghost! And last night you rushed past me without so much as a word. I felt so anxious about you that I came down this morning at this ungodly hour on purpose to see you

Tresham pressed his band. "Come up to my room, Neil,'- he said, in a strained voice "I want to see you."

When they tvo weie once alone, Tresham almost broke down. "Neil," be said, "I have hoped all along that you might teach Lois to love you. Now, I command you to! You roust win ber I6v* you must make ber happy, for I cannot." "What!'' Neil suddenly burst forth. "You will yield to tbe passion tbat sways you! Rex. I have seen how it was. Do you think I could not read your face that night at the theatre? It was ber life above ail others tbat you sought to save. Rex, yon love Madam de Roy but you must not, yon shall not desert Lois. You have swt.re to me that you would never make ber sjffer."

Tresham grasped for breath. With one band be waved Neil back, with the other be supported himself. "Yes," be said, hoarsely, "I do love Madame de Roy, but—she is already married, Nell and Lois—Neil, Lois is— my own daughter "Your daughter? Good heavens!" "Sbe is tbe child of Genevieve Miracour—Genevieve Graham —and I am her father. I know it, Neil, beyond a doubt, bu91 dare not tell her. How could I face the scorn and coniemptof the world? How could she bear to own a convict—a jail-bird—for her father? No, no! I cannot tell her why we mast part forever. O, Neil! you will protect my honor, but do not betray my secret when I am gone "You will not leave her without a word? "No I have written. I am going away—where, I know not. Help her to forget me. Win ber if you can and you can. Neil—1 know you can. Some day she will love you someday she will be your wife. Ah, then and now, my boy, may God bless you!"

Neil Graham caught both his hands and wrung them lervently. Their eyes met in one long look of mutual affection and sympathy. Each knew tbe other's thoughts, each trusted the other imPlicity*

CHAPTER XII.

A VOICE FROM THE PAST.

On the morning after Colonel Tresham had left New York. Madame do Roy was seated before the lire in her own private parlor.

Her face was even paler than usual, awd wore a look of extreme weariness. Her eyes were fixed upon the glowing coals as though she saw in them a reflection of her .own thoughts. "After all bese years!' she murmured, clasping ber slender white hands convulsively in her lap.

4

What utter,

inexcusable folly this Is! The light of love out of my life years and years ago. Have I rekindled the flames tbat tortur ed me? Yes, I love bim, I love him! God help me. O, Lois, my darling, if I had dreamed of this—"

A smothered groan escaped ber tremulous lips, and sbe covered ber face with her bands.

There was a moment's silence, and then a kuock upon the door. The waiter handed in Dr. Langley card. "Show htm up," Madame said, huradly, as ihe rose and cast a furtive glance at the mirror.

A moment's grace enabled ber to mask ber feelings completely. When Dr. Langley entered the room, sbe advanced to meet bim smilingly and with perfect composure, but his own manner was marked by evident agitation. "Madame," be said abruptly, "are you aware that Colonel Tresnam has left town?

No!" sbe auswered, with a start. "When did he go?" "Yesterday," the doctor said, indignantly. "tfo one knows where be has one." He has behaved like a villain, ladame— he has jilted Lois!

A low, Inarticulate cry burst from the lips of Madame de Roy, and she staggerI back with a look of shrinking horror "No, no!" she gasped "Not that! God keep her from such a fate as that!"' Dr. Dangley sank into a chair, and covered his face with his hands. "Poor child!" ho said, in a voice that shook with emotion "He wrote her a letter—a most incomprehensible communication!—saying tbat be could not marry because of certain knowledge he had lately obtained, of facts which were an insuperable barrier to tbat union." "It was not ber being your-your adopted daughter?" Madame said quickly, with a sudden start. "No he knew all about tbat. It was a secret, he said, which he could not reveal. But that is all stuff. Here! Read this letter. I cannot make anything out of it. It is the most incoherent epistle I ever laid my eyes on."

Madame took from bis hands tbe long letter in which Tresham had enclosed the miniature. As sbe opened it with hasty, trembling Augers, her face suddenly turned the colar of ashes. With eyes tbat fairly seemed aflame, sbe glanced hastily over its content*, while tbe look upon her face grew more ghastly and unfamiliar. "Where is the mtniature he speaks of?" she cried, hoarsely. "Let me see it —quick!"

Dr. Langley looked at her In agffi&nish ment and alarm. Thrusting his. hand into his vest pockst, he drew forth the picture of Genevieve Miracour, and placedit in her bands. Her white, tremulous lingers clutched it eagerly, she gave It a searching glance, and then staggered against tbe mantel, with a wild look in her eyes. "It is tbe same!" sbe cried, hoarsely.

And be—oh, my heart! be still!" "Madame, Madame!" exclaimed tbe doctor, springing to bis feet. "What is the matter?''

Wait a moment!" she ftti&wersd, gasping for breath. "I—I —this is Lois' mother—this is Genevieve Miracour, as 1 knew her years ago." "But how came he with this ministare? Who is this Colonel Tresham?" "He!" she cried, with sudden fury, "Coald von not guess tbe truth, Dr. Langley? Colonel Tresham is Roland Graham—Lois's father—the man whose rted death reeked ber mother's and drove her to the grave!" "Her father! Lols'a father? Good heavens, Madame! How do yon know this?" "I know it by an instinct that ministore awakens, I know it by this totter. I know every line and curve of this writing. Oh, I see it all now! Ah, heaven! how could I have been so blind? And I have touched his band, have smiled on him—tbe msn who murdered her! God forgive roe! 1 will hunt bim down now—I will avenge her death!" "Bat Lois!" faltered Doctor Langley. «0h, this hi too horrible!"

A quick revulsion of feeling brought tbe tears to Madameeyes* "Lois!" sbe echoed, in a voice of pas­

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sionate love and sorrow, ^My jJoor little darling!" ft "What shall I tell her the doctor asked, brokenly. «i

MTell her the troth. No, no| don't let ber know what a villain her lather is. Spare her that but tell her why be has left ber thus. That will be merciful." "How can I break it to her? Madame, won't you tell her? cannot." "I? no! Or—stay! I wilL Let us go to her at once."

The doctor's cou was at the dooi. They entered it together, and drove in silence to bis residence. He was too much overcome to speak, and Madame's thoughts were all with the past. As she lay back upon tbe cushions, with her eyes closed and her lips pressed convulsively together, sbe kept saying to herself, with unutterable bitterness: "The battle must be fought all over again It is my destiny I cannot escape it."

Tbe doctor bade ber go up alone to Lois' room, where the child lay sobbing on tbe bed, with Tresham letter open on the floor.

Madame gathered the little trembling figure in her arms, and pillowed the flushed cheek upon her breast." "Lois," she said softly, you «iust not grieve so. It is wicked:" "I cannot help it f" the girl sobbed. "He has gone away, and—I~1dved him so." "But he could not stay with you—he could not marry you, Lois. He had found out something—he bad found out tbat be was nearly related to you, child too nearly ever to make you his wife." "He! What relation is he to me "He sent you your mother's picture he had it all these years. Lois, Colonel Tresham is your own father."

A wild, incredulous cry escaped her, and then she turned deadly pale." "My father!" she gasped. "Impossible "Nay, dear!" Madame said, firmly "he is your father. I know it now, thougn I never dreamed it when I first met him." "How do you know she cried passionately, almost beside herself with the grief and pain which this disclosure cost ber. "I knew your mother, Lois. I was an old friend of the Miracours. That miniature he sent was given to him by Genevieve. I remember the day. I nave seen bis letter, too and I could swear to bis band-writing. This is the secret he spoke of, Lois." "But why should he withhold it from me?" she cried. "Why did he not come to me, and say, 'I am you* father!' Madame, you said he was dead-!" "I thought so, child. He went away before you were born, and I never heard tell of bim since." "Where did he go? Why did he leave my mother? Did he not love her, Madame?"

The great singer's head drooped, and a low sob escaped her lips. "I cannot say, Lois," she faltered. "He told ber that be loved ber on tbe very day they parted, and yet—he never came back."

He could not!" Lois cried, quickly. "Something prevented him, I knew!" "Child 1" Madame exclaimed, with sudden passion. "What do you know about it If he had loved her—oh, what am I saying? Keep your faith in your is—keep it in spite of what I father, say!" "My father!" the girl echoed,, with great bitterness, and then she flung herself into Madatfte*8 arms. "Oh she cried, with a burst of passionate tears.

ed Lois expression iq her own "Thank God!" she murmured "it was not too late! Sbe has not learned yet to love as a mother loved. God grant'that this unhappy passion may soon spend its force!" ,,

CHAPTER XIII. ONCE AQA1N.

The mu&ical majority in Cincinnati went perfectly wild when Madame de Roy sang therein tbe role of Marguerite.

With her beautiful hair hinging In two long, heavy silver braids over her pale blue dress, and a string of pearls about ber snow-white throat, she looked like a girl of nineteen—not at all like a a wontan of thirty-two—and sang divinely.

Back in one of the boxes where he could see without being seen, sat Colonel Tresham, feasting his soul upon tbat loveiy face, that almost angelic voice within tbe sight and sound of which be could alone find happiness.

Eiffht months baa passed since he had left New York, and no word of hlth had been received there.

He had been traveling about in a restless, aimless way, striving in vain to conquer through absence the overwhelming passion which had been conjured up in bis breast as if by magic.

He happened to be in Cincinnati when the Royal Opera Company was too strong for him. Ho went to hear Madame ae Roy sing in "Faust."

How madly his pulses beat when he gazed upon her face again! How fiercely his jealous passion raged when he saw her clasped ia tbe arms of the handsome tehor! And yet she was

Eer

aler—thinner than when he had seen last. His heart gsve a wild throb at the thought tbat she, too, hsd suffered since their parting. "My love!" he murmured passionately as be sat there all alone. 'My love,

my love !M ay 1 Tb

opera was over at last. Tbe green curtain had fallen, and yet Tresham sat

there staring at tbe place wheie she had stood only a few. moments before. His seat was in the shadow of the enrtain. He had not been observed, and no one seemed to know tbe box was occupied. As the crowd was thronging out of tbe opera house, the stage door opened, and Tresham was aroused from his reverie by the sound of a sweet voice—the sweetest voice In the world to him! "I will wait here, Mr. Holz," said Madame de Roy, as sbe entered the box. "I am very sorry, Madame!" said the manager, obsequiously. "If you will

accept my carriago*"Ob, no! I will wait she answered, languidly sbe moved toward a ch denly conscious of Tresham's presence.

TERHE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING- MATT,

•thank yon," and thea as sbe was sod-

He sprang forward with a radical face, and a cry of joy escaped him ere be could control himself. But Madame de Roy shrank with a look of abject repulsion. '•You here!" she cried. "You "Yes, I!" be snswered, with the joyous ring still in bis voice. "Ivismsnths since I met yon last, Madame de Roy." "It is along time," sbe said, coldly. "We have both been leading rather a nomadic life since then. You have been singing in California, I here. Have —have yon heard from Lois, lately

Madame de Roy looked at him for moment. It was |aite impossible to think that lie bad net suffered in the months that bad past «£ae»st»e had seen bim.

Every Hoe and feature of his facobore the mark of mental ausruisb, and tils whole manner, as beawked tbat question »toid of the tumult that had raged—nar, was still ranging in bis mind.

"Idjis is well," Bhe answered, slowly, "quite well. She is going to marry—I suppose you have heard that she is going to marry Mr. Vincent—Mr. Graham fa nnv "No! 'he cried, with a glad light in his eyes. "You could not bring me better news, Madame. You—I suppose you heard from Dr. Langlev that a oarrier had arisen, that I could not marry Lois?" "I beard," she answered, frigidly., "I could not explain the nature of this obstacle," he went on hastily: "I cannot do so yet, but—" "It is quite unnecessary, it is knOVvn already, Mr. Qraham."

He started at that name and paled slightly! "What!" he cried. "Has Neil told you all?' "No he has told us nothing. I bad information from another source, that convinced me of your identity. Lois knows that you are her father."

This cold, quiet statement staggered him. "You know then,"—he stammered, hoarsely, "you know my story "Yes. I know you are Roland Graham, and I know that Roland Graham—" "No more, for God's sake!" he cried. "I cannot bear it! Oh, if you knew what I have suffered, you would not speak to me thus "Why did yoagoaway?" she asked, coldly. "You left Lois without any explanation worthy to be called surb. Thank God, her love for you proved only a girlish fancy! But it might have been more,? and you left her to break ber heart! You have a weakness of that kind, Mr. Graham." "You ask me why when you kno?v all!" he cried, passionately. "Could I go to her, in view of all that is past, and say, *1 am your father, Lois love and honor me Madame, I meant that she should never know who I was. I was willing to bear with having my conduct misconstrued—I was willing to pass for a villain—if it would spare her tbe shame of knowiug ber father's past. I thought that sbe would soon forget me, and, If she bad not, it would have been better for her to have thought me false and perjured, than that she should know the truth."

He spoke with passionate earnestness. The look upon his face broke through the icy calm of Madame de Roy's manner. A slight spasm of pain contracted her beautiful features. "You have repented, then she said, in a low tone. "You have suffered "Suffered!" he cried, lifting his head as though she would call heaven to witness his answer. "My life has baen a hell upon earth. I have never known an hour's happiness! God knows tbat if I could undo the past, my life should pay the cost."

Madame de Roy rested her hand upon the back of a chair, and a sudden faintness came over her. This was so different from what sbe had thought to hear, that it overwhelmed her. Sbe had meant to denounce him, but he had silenced her before she spoke. "Pity me!" he cried, brokenly, holding out his hands in passionate supplication. "My life has been a wretch—a complete failuie. Every hope of earthly happiness has vanished from me. I did not mean for Lois to know, but since she does, I will go to her—I will do all tbat lies in my power to make reparation for the past."

Madame de Roy was still silent. Her face was hidden in her hands, and she shook with ungovernable emotion. "Tell me at least that you do not utterly despise me!" he cried, taking a step towards her. "Ob, if you knew how 14pved you, you wooid not be so cruel!"

Sbe shrank back from him with a low cry that wrung this very soul. "I do not ask anything of you," he said, bitterly, "only a little kindness but I shall love you while my life lasts. Mine is not a nature to forget easily, Madame. I know the barriers between us. They can never be surmounted. But oh, I love you—I love you!"

With a sudden abandon of passion, he fell on his knees at her feet, and covered her hand with kisses. "Don't do that!" she cried, with a vehemence that alnou nted almost to frenzy. "Do not speak to me of love—to me of all women Roland Graham, arise! I would not—I could not listen to you, if every barrier were removed between us!" "But you love t«e!" be said, desperately. "I know tbat you love me. Oh, tell me, tbat if you were free, you would not be so cruel!" "Let mo go!" she cried frantically, wrenching herself away from him. "Do not touch me—do not speak to me I Never, never, never! can I listen to you, Roland Graham. You murdered my sister! I am Claire Miracour."

With a low cry, Tresham swayed to one side, and fell at ber feet but almost at the same instant she darted past him, and escaped through the door. "My carriage?" she said to the manager, whom sbe met behind tbe scenes. "Has it come?"

Her manner was so strangely agitatod tbat be stared at ber a moment fre he HDSW6rddi "Yes, Madame! I was just on my way to tell you."

Five minutes later sbe had entered it, and was driven away. As she leaned back upon her perfumed cushions, she pressed her hand to her heart and murmured "What can come of this? Ob, if 2 could only die now

CHAPTER XIV. FAtHKR AND CBU-Dif

Since bis accession to a fortune, Neil Graham had removed his bachelor quartan to the Hotel Brunswick, and was now installed in the handsome suite of rooms formerly occupied by Colonel Tresham.

It was in theses part men ts tbat Tresham presented himself one morning in November.

When Neil saw the handsome stalwart figure of bis friend standing before him he grassed Tresham's band, and almost wrung it off. "Rex, my dear fellow!" be cried in a transport of gladness. "Is this yon or your ghost?"

It is I—

plied, half sadly "How are you, Neil? You are looking well and hapny." "I am both. Sit down, old boy! Yon don't know how glad I am to see yon.

Neil's eyes were half full of tears. Tresham's pale face and melancholy men bad not escaped his notice. "Where have you kept yourself?" he said, affectionately. "Why didn't yon write to me, Rex f' "Well, you see, I was trying to keep ont of the way. I did not know that it bad all come out, until—Madame de Roy told roe."

He could not otter ber name without an effort. Neil saw it, and the sight wrong his sympathetic sonL "It was not through me, Rex," be began. "I know, Neil. It was sbe who told Item all. It may be for tbe best. At all events, 1 have come back to do all that there is left for me to do."

He spoke so sadly, so despondently, that NaTs heart throbbed with pity. I*

"Don't give it up, Rex!"' he said, with suspicious huskiness. "I have won Lois and you have less to contend with." "Less?" cried Tresham, sharply. "She is married, Neil and, what is almost a great obstacle, she is Genevieve's sister! Her true name is Claire Miracour." "My poor Rex I" his friend exclaimed, passing his arm around Tresham. "I would to heaven I could help vou!" "No one oan help me, Neil,1*' he said, with extreme dejection. "Iam assursed. Sometimes I think I will go where nobody will ever hear tell of me again theu I think of suicide. But that is so cowardly! If I could only die, now! Why should I be cursed with length of days I who have nothing to live for!" "You have Lois, Rex. She can love

?ather.

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now, as a child should love its Thank God Her love for you was only a fancy, that soon passed away. She longs to know yon as her father, Rex. She loves and honors you as such, for I have told her your history—1 thought you would not care now—and she feels for you with her whole tender heart." "Dear child!" murmured Tresham, softly. "I knew she would learn to love you, Neil." "J. am not sure yet," he answered but sbe has promised to marry me if I can win her love, and she does love me a little already. 1 think I shall have my heart's desire by and by." "God grant it!" Tresham said, fervently. "There is no one to whom I would give her so gladly as to you, Neil. But have you no misgivings—you, the heir of such a name and estate!—in marrying the daughter of a convict?" "Rex!" he cried, sternly. "Do not say that of me again. The name and estate are both yours by right, if not by law. 1 feel like an usurper! As for anything else, you will always De to me my best and dearest friend, the man of all others whom I love and honor with my whole soul." "God bless you, boy!" Tresham said, hoarsely, as be wiped away a tear that stole sileatly down bis pale face. "I am going to see Lois now.'* "You will find a warm welcome," Neil said, heartily but his kindly blue eyes filled with tears, as be saw Tresham walk down street with the halting step and drooping head of an old, old uian.

It was with many conflicting emotions that Tresham entered the parlor of Dr. Langley's residence, and awaited the coming of Loi*.

She had hardly known how she would meet him but when sbe saw him standing in the middle of tbe room, so pale and sorrow-stricken, her heart went out to .him, and she obeyed asudd9n impulse to fling herself in his arms. "Father!" she cried, clasping her arms about his neck. '/Oh, I am so glad—so very glad t"

He folded her to his heart in a close embrace. "Lois, my little one!" he murmured, brokenly. "Have you forgiven me—all?" "I had nothing to forgive. Oh, why did you run away from me? You left me beset with such terrible doubts. If it bad not been for Neil I might have misjudged you so! Madame de Roy did not Know all, or she would not have said what she did. But I would not—I could not bejieve that you deserted my mother, and it must have been tbat I was right."

Deserted her I Child, child, I loved her better than my life." "I knew you did I believed in you before I heard your story and then—that went right to my heart. Oh, you don't know how deeply I have felt for you—, how much I have wanted to comfort you!" "Tresham bent his head, and kissed her forehead softly. "I shall be hapfrier now, Lois," be said., "You and Neii will be a great comfort to me."

As be said this, the door opened, and Dr. Langley entered the room. Tresham, my dear fellow!" he cried, the colonel's hand warmly, and roke.down.

grasping then he

Dr. Langley," said Lois' father, "I owe you a great deal—so much that I cannot compute my debt—but I shall never forget your kindness." "Nothing, sir, nothing!" the doctor murmured. "And to think," Lois interjected,"that he Isn't my uncle, after ail, and that you are my father!" "And Madame de Roy your aunt," said the doctor quickly. "My aunt? Uncle Ellis, was Madame de Roy my mother's sister—really and truly "She was Claire Miracour. I can tell you now, though once she bound *ne to secrecy.", "And you?" Lois said, turning to Tresham, and holding out her little hands. "Oh, my father "Child!" he cried, catching her in his arm. "Child of my own wife Genevieve Can it be that after all these years of loneliness and sorrow, I have found you? O, Lois. If you know bow utterly, hopelessly wretched I have been since that day when I found your mother's grave at Santa Barbara! I have never known an hour of joy. It has all been bitternesss, regret, and vain, ceaseless longing." "My poor father!" Lois murmured, softly, "Tell me what I can do to make you happier "Live and love me!" Tresham answered, fervently. "My heart is starving." "What happiness for Madame de Roy!" the doctor cried. "You will tell her this, colonel, without delay •'What!" Tresham exclaimed, Incredulously: "I thought—I understood that Madame de Roy knew already!" "No, sbe has not heard your story. But you shall tell it to her. Sbe is coming to see us. We expect ber next week, before she returns to Europe."

Tresham leaned heavily upon the chair that stood beside him. "I thought sbe knew!" he said, faintly, and then a sweet hope swoke in bis breast. "When I tell her," he murmured, "sbe can surely find it in her heart to pity and forgive me. I may at least be at peace with her—my love, my beauti-

fur queen!" "Y

1

ou have beard the news about Lois snd Noil f" he Jasked, witb sparkling eyes. "My dream bids fair to be realized, after all."

Lois' sweet face was suddenly suffused with bluihes. Yon wouldn't care, wotrtd yon she said, shyly, ss she slipped her little band into Tresham's. "A very great deal!" he answered, arousing himself. "You eannot 1)1 ease me better than by marrying Neil." "Well said!"cried tbe doctor, slapping bim on the back. "It's along lane tbat has no turning, Tresham. There are brighter days ahead for yon. Tbe future most an rely held some recompense for your past soflerings."

Tresham shook his head sadly. "Iam afraid not," be answered. "Happiness te not for me but shall be sawsfled, if in tbe fntore I can only find peace and contentment."

Continued on Seventh Page.

8SFDecorative Art. Explicit directions for every use are given with the Diamond Dyer For dyeing Mosses, Grasses, Eggs, Ivory, Hair, Druggists keep them. Wells, Richardson A Oto., Burlington, Vt.

Illllllllllll iHimmmiimi

ISS

BOOK OF MARTYRS contains many frlcrhttul stories of most agonizlntr BUfferinfr. but nothing, eltherin story

or picture, can be more distressful than the sharp, severe, shooting pains dally and nightly endured by those who are martyrs to that most terrible torment, Neuralgia, rro get rid of this martyrdom is the first business of all who suffer. ATHLOPHOROS regenerates painful nerves, and drives out the norrora of Neuralgia. ATHLOPHOROS gives health to Rheumatic sufferers whom the most skillful physicians have not been able to lieaL ATHLOPHOROS operates on the blood, muscles, and joints and dissolving the acids that I cause Rheumatism, removes them from the system. ATHLOPHOROS is pronounced by all who have tried It an infallible specific for these obstinate and painful diseases. Read the testimony of one of the sufferers. David Little, Sumner, Benner Co., Iowa, writes:

I am part 77 years of age,

h«Te

had tbo JtoenmatiKm

throe years and eight months lost one-third of my I weight could not valk, but shuffled along on crutches could not Bleep nerves shattered, no. strength In my hands, wrists, kneea or feet Butl thanks be to God for your great discovery! The mod-' idne arrived Saturday night I took a doee Sunday morning, felt it all over me, and kept on .with it Monday morning I got up and diwwod myself, anil walked out into the kitchen without the aid of crutehi or cane, and wished them all a happy Now Tear. Iroatl well nights, am gaining in strength, and onoe moro! enjoy life. Wish I could put ATHLOFHOBOS to tho hands of every sufferer from this terrible disease." if you cannot get ATHtoPHonosof your druggists wo will send it express paid, on receipt of regular price—one dollar per Dottle. We prefer thatyou buy it from your druggist, but if he hasn't it, do not boj persuaded to try something else, but order at onco] from UB as directed.

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Analysis by Dr. A. Voelcker. P. R. s., Con-] suiting Chemist Royal Agricultural Society,) England, shows only a trace of nitrates lnl Blackwell's Dull Durham Tobacco. The soil of the Golden Holt of North Carolina, In whidj this tobacco is grown, don't supply nitrates tf the leaf. That Is tho secret of its dellclon mildness. KothlngTso pure and luxurious fo smoking. Don't forget the brand. Noncgeni uine without the trade-mark of the Bull. Al| dealers have lt»

When feline concerts dri veaway sleep, your best solace is found in

JUlacktMll't Bull Our-

hum Smoking Tobacco.

BLACKWELL'81 BULL DURHAM

SMOKINQ TOBACCO

(jURES

COUGH AND

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'Bifc'lJlilll-p A) '-»U 1 *0

tej pooa N HKllJ, fllU-Sfl I.IMIOij IW'H •SHVJ JSU T5V S3BM I'd.

41 GAIN

Health andJappine$l

DO AS OTHEI HAVE DONE,

Are you* Kidneys disorders '•Kidney Wort brought me from raj gravel were, after 1 had been giren up by 13 bc« uortj Detroit." M.

VT.

Dereraax, Mechanic, Ionl^

Are your nerves weak?i «*Ic1noy Wort cured inn from ner*oii» Ac., after I wan not (xrxscted to lire."- Mri M, Ooodwiu, Ed.

Christian Monitor

CltfreWuid,

Oa,

Have you Bright's Disea "Kidney-wort cared me when 1*7 water wi I like chiuk and then like Mood." 1 s,?•.•! '^jv 'ran* Witaon, Peabody.J

Suffering from Diabetes "Kldnjy-Wort Utile moot noccrmful remel «rer ued. OlreeImmediate relief

Immediate reHef.l O. Ball cm, MunkUl

Have you Liver Compla! "Kidney-wort cored mo of chronic Livtr

1^,!SX&eCol.

Isyo "iudc

0—1

-our Back lame and achi nJdcey-Wort, 1 bottle) cored me when

lame

I had to roll ont of.bed."

wow aau Tallmage, Milwa*Jte.j Have you Kidney Disei "Kid-Tcy-Wort mode me wmnd Inllrer enjl ki after roars of un»occc««fulWlUlametown,it*doctoring, a Iwx/'—Sam'l Hodge*,

Are you Constipated?! "Kldncr-Wort c*otwo

*E9 MMJ EVACUATIONS ant

nu after 16 rears of other mwUdnm. to*

K®

Metoon KalrcblW

gt. Alba]

Have you Malaria?

•Tadner-V/ort baa done better than anr| remedy I bare erer Dr. ire yon Bilious? •TOdnej-tfortbaa

me, moro

otber

remedy

good t'1

I

haredoneualloway,Elk

erer

taken.'

Mm J. T. flat,

Are you tormented with "KLdacr^ortptrmanrntly cured

mo of

Are you Rheumatism raclj

"Kidney-Wort cured me, «f 'TRJj'v die

by

I

Ladies, are you stiffen. "Kldoey-T/ort mred

If you would Banish IHf and gain Health, Takt

THE BLOOD CLEANSE*