Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 15, Number 37, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 7 March 1885 — Page 2

"THE MAIL

Ji

PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TEKKK HAUTE, MARCH 7. 1885

(Commenced in The Mail Dec 6th. Back

*1UI1 Mca

oiu be bad oil app office or of news age1

othor

itk at pub-

Wyllard's Weird,

BT

BY MISS M. E. BRADDON.

of "Lady Audley's Secret," "Aurora Floyd," "The Outcast," &c., &c.

"The

Outcast," dtc., dfec.

CHAPTER XVII. 8TRUCK DOWN.

As Edward Heathcote uttered those words the conviction of their truth flashed into his mind. In thoughtful days and watchful nights this question as to the identity of the person who was to meet Leouie Lemarque at the railway station bad been a perplexity to him the subject of many a new theory and now it came upon him ail at once that this thing which he had said on the spur of the moment, in tbe beat of argument, was the true solution of tbe my- ry

It was to Qeorges himself, her daughters generous, adormic lover, herdaugh lera suspected murderer, that Madam Lemarque had sent her granddaughter, as to one who of all other men won Id be most likely to act generously to the or phan (girl, were it only in remorse for his crime.

He tried to realize tbe thoughts of the lone'y old woman, dying in penury leaving her orphan grandchild to face tbe world without a friend. She would go over the list of those whom &be had known in tbe pa9t, those who were rich enough to be generous. Alas, bow few there are who remain tbe frieuds of poverty. Oue man she had known of, al though she had never seen him, rich, .generous to lavhtiuess. tie bad been suspected, by herself as well as the world, as guilty of her daughter's death.

But it might be that she bad afrerwaids modified ber opinion, that she had re ceived some communication from Georges, flmt h« bad induced ber to believe his innocence that he had sent ber money, had helped ^e'r to struggle on against adverse limes, bad helped ber for a while and ihon grown weary. And she, knowing place of bis exile, bad. in her desperation, determined upon committing her grandchild to his care, rather than to the pitiless world of strange faces and careless hearts, the outside world to which one helpless girl tbe more is hut as oue drop in tbo ocean of sorrowing humanity. She had sent Leonie Lemarque to meet this man, and tb( girl bad recognized the murderorof her aunt.

And yet this could hardly be, since the cabman's evidenco showed that Leonie had been on the best possible terms with the man with whom she drove to Paddington Station.

After that speech of his El ward Heathcote had no longer the power to with hold any details of bi* investigation from Julian Wyllard and his wife. H*told them in fewest words all that had happened since be crossed the Channel. l)ora was intensely interested in the story. The passionate love and passionate jealousy were very human feelings that appealed to her womanly tenderness. She could not withhold her pity from the murderer. "Strange, that is all your PariMan ex perionce you never met this Monsieur Georges," she said to her husband. '•Hardly, since I went out very little while this man was evidently a rank Bohemian, who only began to live after midnight," answered Wyllard, care lessly.

Me was sitting in a thoughtful attitude, his elbow on the table, his chin leaning an his hand, and tbe photograph of Marie Prevol lying before him.

He was looking intently at it, perusing every lineament. Presently ho looked up, slowly, thoughtfully, from the photograph to the face ot his wife. "Yes," said Heathcote. "I Jyjow what you are thinking. There is a likeness. It struck me this evening directly I came into this room. There is a curious likeness between the face of the living and the dead."

That doming, on studylbg tho -ountenances in the photograph ICivvaTd Heathcote had been perplexed, vurried even by a souse ol familiarity iu that face of the dead. It smiled at him us a face be bad known of old, a face out of the past. Yet it was only in the even ing when he came into the salon at the Windsor, and Mrs. Wyllard came to meet hitu in the lamplight, that he knew what the likeness meant. It was not an obvious or striking likeness. The resemblance was rather in expression than in feature, but one face recalled the other. "Yes, there is a likeness," said Wyllard, coldly, passing the photograph back to Us owner, who rose to take leave just as tho clock on the mantlepiece struch eleven. "I shall look in to-morrow and see if you are inclined for an afternoon at St. Geruiain," lie said, as he shook hands with Dora. "You are very kind," she said, "but your invitation is no longer tempting. You have spoiled my interest iu that sweet old place. I shall always think of it as the pcene of Marie Prevol's death." "But surely that is an additional charm," said Wyllard, mockingly. "If you are gifted with Mr. Heathcote's detective temper, the geniusof the heavenborn police officer, Saint Germain will be all the more interesting to you on account of a double murder—and perhaps suicide in the bargain—for it is as likely as not the murderer's bones are mouldering in some gravel pit." "You forgot my story of travelingcap," said Heathcote. "That was a shrewd hypothesis on your ex-police officer's part, but it is by uo means conclusive evidence," answered Wyllard.

Heathcote called at the Windsor the following afternoon to in^n Mr. and Mrs. Wyllard had left

•V'H if for rut

Switzerland. He was shocked to that Mr. Wyllard had been taken seriously ill in the night, and that there had been two medical meu with him

rl"U

morniog. Madam was terribly distn i«d, the waiter told him, bat abe bore up admirably.

Heathcote sent in his name, and was at once ad r."' to tin'- salon, where £ora came u::n after rief deiav.

She was very psle, nn 5 tliora wero terror and of grief in her counts I I'.uv. "I am glad to have a -n*," she falter-^. "I '-.we 1** f-nr YOU- ip—"!-1 I and nvlS with t»=*r in b-r eves, j*r in

UWWai SO® tu-a,!' h»vc

too c:u-*.h. ffe was tor ©i.itM fric -!, •Ill" MIM to wh Mil In 1 n* *aliy in tii- h.*ir of uvulla, U12 man whom of all o: her* she most tru

she felt that to appeal to done for Both well's sake, '•Is there anything very serious?" he asked. "Yes, it is very serious. Paralysis. Only a slight attack, tae doctors say, and one from which my poor Julian may soon recover. But there are sigus of a j'i .]• -".y ii! may end fatal* ly—au'overworked

:ntiti,

I went to bed, and I left him sitting in his dressing-rooin reading. The door was half open and I could see him as he sUt by tbe table in tbe bright light of the lamp. I had slept for hours, as it seemed to me, when I wasawakeued by hearing my name called in a strange voice. I sprang out of bed frightened by that unknown voice, and then I heard the name again aud knew all at once that it was Julian's voice, only altered out of knowledge. I rushed to him. He had sunk back into his chair. I asked him what was the matter and he told me she could not move. There was numbnes.-i in all his limbs. His arms were as heavy as lead. I seized his hand and found It cold as ice. I rang the bell with all my might and at last one of the women servants came to my help. She routed the porter and sent him to fetch a doctor. It was not quite four o'clock when she cto me, but it was past live o'clock [ore the doctor came. He told me at once that my husband bad a paralytic ^ock, and he helped me to get him to In o, while the por'er went in search of a nurse. I wanted to nurse Julian myself, without the help of any tranger,"whose presence might worry him but the doctor said th:u would be impossible. I must havea .-.killed nurse in attendance. There would be plenty for mo to do, he said. So I submitted, and the nurse was with us in Jes-i than an hour—a nursing sister of the order of St. Vincentdo Paul, a very rsim person." "Is your doctor a clever uiau "The Frenchman who c?jne in tbe morning seems clever, and at my request lie brought Dr. Danvers, an !'nglish physician. I am told he is the best Rnglish doctor in Paris. Thry are of the same opinion as to the nftiur-i of tht( attack but Dr. Danvers is inclined to look upon it more seriously than the French doctor. He declared that Julian's brain must have been terribly overworked within tho last few years, and when I told him my husband's life had to my knowledge been one of rest and quiet monotony, I conld see by his faca that he did not believe me." "You say that Mr Wyllard is already partially recovered?"

Yes be is much better there is still a feeMng of heaviness and dull pain. But he Is such a patient sufferer, he will ha-dly confess he is in pain, though I c.in see from his face that be suffers."

The tears rushed to her eyes, aud she walked hastily to tho window, where sbe stood for a few minutes with ber handkerchief before' her face, with her back to Heathcote, who waited silently, knowing how vain must be all consolatory speeches in the presence of so real a grief.

She conquered herself, and came back to her seat presently, with a tranquil countenance.

Struck down in the prime of his manhood, with all tbe force of his intellect,'' she said. "It is a deathblow."

Your English doctor may exaggerate tbe danger." "God grant that it is so. I have telegraphed to Sir William Spencer entreating him to come to Paris by to-night mail. The question of cost is nothiug— but I fear he may not be able to leave his practice so long—or he may be away In London." "When did you thingraph "An hour ago. I am expecting the answer at any moment. 1 hope he will come."

4

What is it this Dr. Danvers apprehends?" "He fears an affection of the spinal marrow, a slow and lingering malady, full of pain. Oh, it is too dreadful,'' cried the agonized wife, clasping her hands in a paroxysm of despair. "Whit has he done to be so

never again could she dare very grave. Heatbcote felt that the his friendship as she bad great English doctor had nor left hope

1

the English

physician nays. And yet his iife haa he so easy, so placid, for the last seven V, •. .V.. "No doubt, bat his life in this city was a kiw of excitement and anxiety. «, ttn fever of the raoo for wealth. He is if I suffering now, most likely, for tLe high procure of that period. Is his mind affected by tbe shock "Not in tbe least. His miud was never clearer than it has been to-day." "When did tbe illness be^in "Early this morning, five hours after you left us. We sat up till nearly one o'clock, talking of our trip to Switzerland ind Italy. Julian was in wonderful spirits. I have never known him more cheerful. He planned a tour that would have last all through the Winter, as I told him. It was one o'clock when

M!dieted—how

has

he deserved such sull'-tring, he who worked so hard, denied himself all pleasures iu his youth—he who has been so good and generous to others. Why should he be tortured

Dear Mrs. Wyllard, pray do not give way to grief. The doctor "may be mistaken. He ought not to have told you so much."

It was right of him to tell me. I entreated him to keep nothing fro 1 mo— not to treat me as a «hild. If there is- a martyrdom to be borne I will Imr my part of it I will suflfer with him, pang for for to see him in pain will be as sharp an agony for me as tbe actual torture mi be for him. He is resting now, do! 14 so from the effect of tbe morphia which they have injected under the skin." 'I trust if Sir William Spencer comes lh.U he will .be able to give you a more hooeful opinion."

Yes, I am putting my trust in that. But I am "nil «f fear. Dr. Dnnvtfrs has such a shrewd, dover air. He does not look the kind of man to be mistaken." "TV-it 1n th~o nervous disorders there is .•, .iv•* iv vu for error. You must hope for the best." "I will try to horr for Julian's sake. Good-bye, 1 must back to my place al his bedside. I don't want him to see a stranger* when he awakes." iood-l'vo. il member if there is anyservit rend1 you, the slightest or the grudUit, you have only to command me. I shall call this evening toller h«^v T-~nr iM'-nit prcarwse- "nl if 84 '-»cer is Bat I sbsi nask'to vou."

Ffr !*ft th® hntfl toil! of st HCViv of one 0 lovr-1, H"-- though! of !M:.i in h'-irueN-vimss. her tonrlnuistf. wst. Og tiid .-low decav of th it rip- uoe, the gred--•ion of p,fill s-i. itsnoo co.-.l-i l.-i a» :'ul? m!•-* tcrribl# for a tender,

nal What trnrj ni

Hc.»:

inc. Ti h«r W!U eigi

the win. is or in theevennatiedi \v vi much the^uoe.

Mr. 1 I -M* ti­

'•ol W:s pw% •vi thi

ll i!! rlilts Sir Wiiii

iv I:

WOH

th- CS

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

behind him in tnose rooms on tbe first floor, with their suuny windows facing the palace garden. He had not the bnart tj intrude upon Dora immediately after the consultation, though he was -v«»ry anxious to hear Sir William's verdict. He watched the fly drive away, while Dr. Dan vers walked briskly in the opposite direction and then he strolled along the Rue de Ri vol U-to ward the Palais Royal, batdly knowing wbere he went, so deeply were bis thoughts occupied by the grief of the woman he loved.

If he were to die now, that successful rival of bis, the man who had stolen his plighted wife from him? The tbonaht wodld come, though he tried to shut his mind against it, though be hated himself for harboring bo

basely (-elfish an

idea. The question would shape itself in his mind, would be answered some how or other.

If Julian Wyllard were to die, and Dora were again to wed whom she choose? Would the old love be rekin died in her heart. Would the old lover seem nearer and dearer to ber than any other man on earth? Would she re ward him for long years of patient de votion, for a faithfulness that had wav ered Alas, no, he could hope for no such reward, he who had married within a year or two of losing ber, who had, in tbe world's eye, consoled himself speedily for that loss. Could he go to ber and say, "I never loved my wife I married ber out of p'ty. My love was given to you, and you alone 1"

That was bis secret. To Dora Wyllard he must have seemed as ticklo as tbe common herd of men, who change their earthly ido's as easily as they change their tailors. He could put for ward no claim for past constancy. No were she once again free, it would be by the devotion of tbe future that he must win her.

And then be recalled what the phy sician had said about Julian Wyllard's malady. It would be a slow and linger ing disease—a decaj of years, perhaps He saw the dark possibility of a martyrdom. Dora's life would be worn and wasted in attendance upou that decay ing frame, that sorely tried mind and temper. She would sacrifice health spirits, life itself, perhaps, in her devo tion" to that afflicted husband. And when the end at last came—the dismal end of all hel- care and tendernesswould she tea woman to be wooed and won Would not life for her be over all possibility of happiness forever gond? Only a little respite, a little restremaiu ing before tbe grave should close on her broken heart.

No, there was but lit tie gronnd for seltish rejoicing, for wicked hope'in Julian Wyllatd'M malady.

Heathcote ordered a simple breakfast in one of thn qui Mjst ties in the Palai? Royal, and liugcjfcd over the meal aud the newspapers till he was able to pre sent himself with a better grace at the Windsor. He had some difficulty in reading the news of the day with atten tinfi, or even comprehension, so full w: 4iis thoughts. He recalled Juliat Wyllard's manuer and bearing during the last few months, and wondered at the vigor, the freshness of mind, th»power which had been so obvious in every look, and tone, and gesture. That such a man could suddenly be struck down without a day's warning, without any imaginable cause, seemed a.most in comprehensible. Had the nature'of thn attack been different the thing would have appeared less inexplicable.-. An apopletic fit struck dowq fch^ strong man in his might, as if fr^m the'blow ol a Nasmith hammer, would'liave seemed far more in character withrthe-nature the patient, hjs vigorous manhood, hi appearance of .physical j»wjffiv

Mr. Heathcote called ac xhe Windsor between twelve aud one" o'clock, and had only a few minutes to wait in the saloon before he was joined by Mrs Wyllard.

She was very pale, but she was more compoped than on the previous day Her countenance had a rigid look Heathcote thought, as if she had school ed herself to composure by a severe mental effort. The hand t»he gave him was deadly cold. '•I hope you have good news for me,' lie said. "Is Spencer more hopeful thai your Paris physician "No, there is no hope. I had a long talk with both tbe doctors after their consultation. It was very difficult «vring the truth from tbem both—to gei them to be quite candid. They seemed to pity me so much. They were full ol kindness. As if Kindness or pity would help me in my trouble for him. Nothing can help me—uo one—except God And perhaps He will not. Itseeinstbat in this life there are a certain number ol victims, chosen haphazard, who musi sutler mysterious, purposeless agouies, and Julian is to be one of those sufferers It is bitter, inexplicable, cruel. My soul revolts against these fruitless punishments." "Tell me what Sir William said." "The worst. Juliau's symptoms in dicate a disease of the spinal co»*d pro gressive muscular atrophy, Sir William called it, a disease generally caused by excessive muscular activity, but in this cas@ due to tbe strain upon tbe mind. He will waste away inch by inch, hour by hour, and he' will suffer terribly Yes, that is the worst. This gradual d.-var will be a 1-ng martyrdom. He win dependent twn opiates for relief. I am to take comfoitin the thought that his path can be soothed by repeated in-j-tctions of morphia. He is to exist under the influence of narcoties. He who a few months ago seemed the incarnation of health and vigor.''"A few mouths ago, you say. Then you have marked a change in him of late?" inquired Heathcote. "Yes, there has been a charge, subtle, mysterious. I could not describe the symptoms to

1

be there at

:"k'.

in front

n, IV. DanI- -i ov miiWio.i to *«'. lb** bote! in a panted to

tm Sp^n.-or ]-,i flv. I!f w,s i*ge.l-: by

Danvers.

1 (u weni tm'.k ag as they came out of

ed hat he was her old lover also, and' the ports ock here* and their faces were

Sir William Spender. But

there was a curious alteration in bis ways and manner. He was much moreirrita ble. He has strange intervals of silence. "Can you recall the beginning of this alteration

Hardly. It was a change that seems to have had no beginning. It was so gradual—-imperceptible almost. It was in that very oppressive weather at tbe h° utning of August that I noticed be was looking ill aud haggard. I thought that be was angry and worried about hwell, and that he was vexed at the

:dity

cf his bailiff, who bad misman-

i,-- oin- of the farms, andinvolved him in a lawsuit with a tenant. I fancied things were worry.ng him. that excessive heat was making him ill 1 begged him to take medical auvioe but b't was angry at the fuggeation, and de-

Ur,-I be never felt better ia his

1 f'

What does Sir William advise "Tin: we should go back to P«nmoronce, or at as soon as the -r arrangement can be made for journey. I have telegraphed to •i vsl"* k»enm« h«reimmediately, »::4 Sir Wilntm w.ii *end a trained nurse from London by the evening mail. We shall have plenty of help. Fnrtunatelv it Is Julian's own wish to go l»ek toComwall.'' "Is there any improvements in his health to-day? "I dare not say there ia improvement.

He is very calm, quite resigned. The'and whatever plans you make I shall physicians told hiin the nature of his sanctiou

malady, but^they did not tell him that it is hopeless. They left bis own iuiel ligence to discover that, and I feai he knows the truth only too well already Would you like to see him, if he ia in clined to receive you •'Yes, I should much like to see him."

Dora went into tbe adjoining room and closed the door behind ber' She re opened it almost immediately and beckoned to Heathcote, v\ ho went in with careful footstep aud bated breath, almost as he might have entered the chamber of death. Julian Wyllsrd was reclining on a sofa his head and shoulders propped up by pillows, his legs covered by a fur rug. There was something in the very position of the boiy, so straight, so ri*id a line from the waist downwards, which told of that death in life that had falleu upon tho strong man whom Edward Heathcote had last een erect in all tbe pride of manhood, tall, broad-shoulder ed, powerful looking. "Well, Heathcote, you have come to see the wreck of proud humanity," be said, with a half sad, half cynical smile, "You did not know wbeu you were with us that my race was ho

nearly run

that I was to break down in the middle of the course. I had had my warnings but had made light of them, and tbe blow eame unexpectedly at last. But it has left the brain clear. That is some comfort. Sit down I want to talk to you-*-and Dora—seriously."

He was very pale, white to the lips even, and bis wife was watching him anxiously, surprised at the

found agitation in bim who bad beeu so calm after the physicans nad left him. "Iam very sorry for you, Wyllard sorry with all my heart," said Healhoote, earnestly, as

hetook

the chair near

est the sofa, while Dora seated herself on the other side, close to ber husband "You are more than good. I am assured that everybody will—pity me, this with a smile of tterest meaning "But I want to talk to you about two people in whom you and Dora are both interested—your very lovable sister and my wife's scapegrace cousin. They are devoted to each other, it seems, and ex cept for this little cloud upon Bothwell's character, I take it you had no objection to the match." "Thai was my chief objection." "Forgive me for saying that it was a most foolish one. Because a few country bumpkins take it into their heads to suspect a gentleman—" "Pardon me, Mr. Wyllard, if I confess that I wasatuong those bumpkins. Mr Grabatne's refusal to answer Mr. Distin's quextions and bis oovious agitation led me to believe that he was concerned in ihe girl's death. Iam thankful to able to say that my discoveries 011 thl side of the channel all point in a differ eutdirection, while my sister assure me that her lover has satisfactorily explained the reason of his peculiar conduct at the inquest." "You have no further objection to Both well as a husband for your sister?'' "No, my esteem for the race from which he spransr is a strong reason why I should sanction the match, although worldly wisdom is decidedly against a girl's marriage with a man who was a soldier, and who is—nothiug." "It shall be our business—Dora's and mine—to reconcile worldly wisdom and foolish love. My wife tells me that her '•onsin has turned over anew leaf—that he has set himself to begin a new career with a wonderful amount of energy— just that strong purpose which has been lacking in him hitherto." "I have heard as much, and a good deal more than this, from my sister." "Well, then, my dear Heatbcote, all I need add is that means shall not be wanting to my wife's kinsman to enable tiim to carry out the scheme of Jife which he has made for himself, comfortably ind creditably. Dora and I are both rich. We have no children. We can afford to be generous in the present, and those we lo«?e must naturally profit by our wealth in the future. Dora's fortune will, in all likelihood, go to Bothwell's children. In a word, your sister is not asked to marry a pauper." "I have never thought of the question Irom a financial standpoint." "But it must not be.the less agreeable to you to know that the financial aspect is satisfactory," answered Wyllard.

And now what is to hinder a speedy marriage? It is my wife's wish, Bothwell's wish, mine, everybody's, so far as I can understand, except yours. You are tbe only hindrance. Heathcote, I want to see Bothwell and Hilda united before I die." "Julian," cried his wife, with a stifled sob. "Oh, my dearest, I am not going to leave you yet awhile," answered her husband, clasping her hand and raising it to his lips with infinite tenderness. "My doctors promise me a slow deliverance. But when a man has besuu to die, were it never so gradually, it is time for him to set his house iu order, should like to see Bothwell and Hilda married in Bodmin Church, before the eyes of the people who have maligned my wife's kinsmau. I should like tbe wedding to take place as soon as possible." "I am sure Mr. Heathcote will not refuse your request," said Dora, with ading look at Heatbcote.

If Hilda and her lover can fulfil their own scheme of happiness by a speedy marriage I will not be a stumbling block." said Heathcte.

After this they talked for a while of indifferent subjects, of the journey back to Cornwall—that tedious journey of a helpless invalid which would be so difnv previous experience of Julian Wyllard's. He spoke of it lightly enough, affecting a philosophical disdnin of the changes and chances of this little life but Heatbcote marked the quiver of his lip, tbe look of pain, which ueither pride nor stoicism could suppress.

Yes, it was a hard thing for snch a man, in the very prime of life, handsome, clever, prosperous, to be struck down and it could but be said that Julian Wyllard carried himself firmly under tbe trial.

Heathcote and Dora parted sorrowfully outside the sick room "It is not good of him to wish to see Both well's happiness secured?" sbe said. "It is very good of him to thin& of any one esecpt himself at such a moment, answered Heathcote.

I am so glad he has won your consent to an early marrioge. And now that you have given that consent—now that we are all assured of the folly of any suspicion pointing at Bothwell— vou will trouble yourself no more about the mystery of that poor girl's deatk." "Not at all. I shall go on with my investigation, in tbe interests of justice. Besides, Bothwell's character can never be thoroughly rehabiliied till tbe real criminal i* found and, for tbe third reason, I am interested in this strange story as a work of art. Good-bye, Mrs. Wyflard, if I can be of any tfse to yon to-morrow in heiping to move yoor invalid, prav send for me. If not, I suppose we shall not meet till I call on yon at Penmorval. I leave tbe business of Hilda's marriage in your direction. Sbe eaanot have a belter adviser than yon,

He left the hotel and strolled slowly toward the Madelaine, hardly knowing what he should do with the* rest of bis day. He had^an appointment with Stgismond Trottier in the evening. That gentleman and be were to meet at the Gyiuuase at the first performance of a new play, aud they were to sup at Vacbette's'afterwards, when heathcote was to bear any fresh facts that the paragraphist might have gathered for him relatiug to the mysterious Georges and the onoe celebrated Mademoiselle Prevol. Trottier had promised to bunt up tbe few men who had beeu intimate with Georges, to get all tbe information he could from them.

Iu front of the Madelaine Heathcote was overtaken 6y that good-natured m9rchaut, Monsieur Blumenlein, who had taken so much pleusure in showing bis apartments to Mrs, Wyllard. They walked together for a short distance, in tbe direction of tne Blumenlein establishment, and Heatbcote told the merchant uf bis predecessor's sudden illness.

Monsieur Blumenlein was interested and sympathetic, and they were now in front of his office, he insisted upon Mr. Heatbcote going iu to smoke a cigarette, or share a bottle of Lafitte with bim. Heathcotte accepted tbe cigarette, not sorry to find au excuse for revisiting his rival's old abode. He blamed himself for this curiosity about Julian Wylla.-d youth, as an unworthy and petty feel-

ing

signs 0f

pro

jet, he could not resist the temtation to gratify that curiosity which chance had throwu in bis way.

They went through the offices, where clerks &ere working at their ledgers and warehousemen hurrying in and out, and passed into tbe library—that handsome and somewhat luxurious apartment, which remained in all things, save the books upon the shelves, exactly as Juliau Wyllard had left it. "Did you Know him twenty years ago?" asked Blumenlein, after they had talked of the lae tenant and his wonderful career in Paris. "No, I never saw him till just before bis mairiage, about seven years ago." "Ah, then you did not know bim as a young man. I have a photograph of him in that drawer, youder," poiuiiun to a writing table, by the fireplace, "taken fifteen years ago, when he whs beginning to make his fortune when the Credit Mauresque was at the height of its popularity. It went to smash, afterwards, as, no doubt, you know but Wyllard contrived to get out of it with clean hands—only just contrived." "You mean to say that his part in the tiausactiou was open to doubt?" "Mydearsir, on the Bourse, during the Empire, everything was, more or less, open to doubt. There were onl\ two irrefragable iacts in the •fiaanciai world of that time. There was a great •leal of money made, and a great deal of money lost. Mr. Wyllard was a very clever man, and he contrived to be front rtrst to last on the winning side. No body ever brought any charge of foul play against him, and, in this matter, be was luckier, or cleverer, than the ma jority of his compeers." "I should like to see that photograph of which you spoke just now," said Heathcote. •'You shall see it. A clever face, a remarkable face, I take it," answered Brumenlein, unlocking a diawer and producing a photograph.

Yes, it was a fine head, a noble head, instinct with wondrous vitality, wiih the euergy of a mau bound to dominate others, in any sphere of life a master of whatever craft he practiced. It was nn the face of abstract intellect. The white cold light of the student did not ilium ine those eyes, nor did the calm of the student's tranquil temper inform- tbe mouth. There was passion in the face strongest human feelings were express »d there the love of love, the hate of hate. "It is a marvellous face for a moneygrabber," exclaimed Heathcote, "an extraordinary countenance for a man who could shut himself from all tbe charms of the world, such a world as the second Empire, a man who could be indifferent to art, beauty, wit, music, social peasures of all kinds, and live only for his Cash box and bank book. Difficult to reconcile this face with the life which we are told Mr. Wyllard led in these rooms." "It is more than difficult," said Blum enlein "it is, to my mind, impossible to believe in so monstrous an anomaly at that sordid life endured for nearly ten years bv such a temperament as that which the photograph indicates. I am something of a physiognomist, and I think 1 know what the face means, if faces have sny meaning whatever. It means strong passions, a fervid imattination, a mind that could be satisfied with the triumphs of successful finance It means a nature which the heart must have fair play. Whatever Julian Wyl lard's life may have appeared in the eyes of the men with whom he bad business relations—however he may have contrived to pass the serious genius of finance, old before bis time, the embodiment 01 abstruse calculations, far-seeing policy, be sure that the life was not a barren life, and that the scorching breath of passion had passed across the speculator's toils."

But his life seems to have patent to all the world." Yes, Mr. Heathcote, the life be led in public. But who knows how he may have plunged into the dissipations of Paris after office hours? That little door in the alcove has its significance, you may be sure. I made light of it in Mrs. Wyllard's presence—womon are jealous even of tne past. Why should deprive her of the pleasure of considering her husband a model of propriety, in tbe remote past as well as in sake, to believe the side door of tbe work of a prior tenant to Mr. Wyllard. But I happen to have documentary evidence that Wyllard bad the door made for him in tbe third year of his tenancy. I I found tbe receipted account of tbe builder who made it, among some papers lert by my predecessor at the back of a cupboard.'' "Thei»you think that Wyllard was a man with two faces

I do," replied Blnmenlein. "I think that Wyllard, tbe speculator, tbe financier, was one man, but that there was another man of whose life the world knew nothing, and who'went out and came in between dusk and dawn by that side door in the court." [TO BBOONTfWCBD.]

WHO WILL BE THE NEXT PRESIDENT is an important question to every citizen of the United States bat, far more essential is tbe knowledge how to live our life as the Great Creator intended. That knowledge is imparted in Dr. Pierce's "Common Sense Medical Adviser"— neatly 1,000 rages and about 300 illustrations—published by tbe WorkPs Dispensary Medical Association, Buffalo,

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DISFIGURING HUMORS HUMILIATING

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