Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 15, Number 37, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 7 March 1885 — Page 6

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E A I

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

Called Back BY HUGH CONWAY.

CHATTER V.

BY LAW, NOT BY LOVE.

Proud and happy as I felt when seated side by side with Pauline in the railway carriage which was taking us to the north, fortunate as I told myself I was to have won such a fair bride great as my love was for the sweet girl who had just vowed herself mine forever, Ceneri's extraordinary stipulation kept recurring to my mind—the man who marries Pauline March must be content to take'her as she is to wish to know nothing of her past.

Xot for one minute did I think such a/rontract could be enforced. As soon as 1 had succeeded in making Pauline love mo. she would surely wish to tell me all her history—there would be no need to ask for it—the confidence would thm be given, as a matter of course. Wiift! she learned the secret of love, all other secrets would cease between us.

My wife red very beautiful as she eat with her jiead leaning against the dark cloth of the carriage. Her clearcut. refined features showed in that position advantageously. Her face, as usual, was pale and calm her eyes were cast down. A woman to be indeed proud of: to worship, to cherish, and—how BW-

ot it seemed to whisper the word to mvsolf-r-my wife! Vet I suspect none would have taken us for a newly married couple. At any rate, there were no nudgmgs and sly glances among our fellow-passengers. The ceremony had been so hurried on that no attempt had been made to invest Pauline with the usual bridal accessories. Her dress, although becoming and fashionable, was the one in, vhich I had seen her several times. JsVithor of us had any brand new belongings to stamp us as being bound for n, honeymoon so the only notice we alljacted was the notice which was due mv wife's great and uncommon beauty.

The carriage was nearly full when we started from London, and as the strangeness of our new relations prevented our conversing an ordinary way, by mutual consent we were all but silent a few soft words in Italian were all I could trust myself to speak until we were alone.

At the tirst important station, the first place at which the train stopped for any'time worth mentioning. I exercised a little diplomatic bribery, and, changing our carriage, we were installed in a compartment the windows of which bore the magic word "engaged." Paulino and I were alone. I took her hand in mine. "My wife!" said passionately, "mine, only mine, forever!"' lfer hand lay listless and unresisting in my own. 1 pressed my lips to her cheefc. She shrank not from my kiss, neither did she return it— she simply suffered it. "Pauline!" I whispered, "say once, 'Gilbert, my husband.

Sho repeated the words like a child learning anew lesson. My heart sank as her motionless accents fell on my ears. I had a hard task before me!

I could not blame her. Why should she love me vet? Me,, whose Christian name, I think', she heard yesterday for the first time? Better, far better, indifferdnco than simulated love. She liad become my wife simply because her undo wished it. I could at least comfort mvsolf by thinking the marriage •had not been forced upon her also that, so far as I could see, she entertained no dislike to me. I did not for one moment despair. must now woo her hurablv am(reverently, as every man should woo his love. Certainly, as her husband

I did not stand in a worse position than when 1 was her fellow-lodger and old Teresa was following my every movement with her black suspicious eyes.

I would win her. but until I could claim the rights which love would giVe. I resolved to take none .of those with which the law bM invested me. None save this, and th.s onlv once. "Pauline." I said, "will vou kiss me? •Only Once I ask it. It will make me liappier but if you would rather wait until we are butter acquainted, 1 shall not complain."

Sho leaned forward and kissed my forehead. Her young lips were red aud wnrlta, but they chilled me—in that kiss there was not a suspicion of the passion which was thrilling me.

I drew mv hand from hers. and. still sitting besiele her, began to do my best to make mvself agreeable to the woman I loved. It I felt distressed and somewhat disappointed, 1 concealed it and strove to talk pleasantly and naturally tried to ascertain what manner of woman I had married—to get at her likes and dislikes—to study her disposition— to determine her tastes—learu lies: wishes—read her thoughts and eventually to make her regard me as one who would spend his life tu rendering her Jumpy.

When was it the idea first struck me, the horrible idea that even the peculiarity and novelty of the situation could liot altogether account tor Pauline's apathy and lack of animat ion—that shyness alone could not be entirely responsible for the difficulty experienced in making her talk to me. even in inducing her to answer my question? I made every excuse for her. She was tired she was upset sho could th'rrc of nothing else save the, rash and s* step taken to-day—move rash for her than for me—as I. at least, knew that I loved her. At last 1. too, sat mto si* lence. and mile** and hwr3 v.mt In* wbilift the bride and brtdcg sit frfr*": by side without exetongihgH wont, TU Hless

a It was a

it?!.

wa»-

strange

s* range jomni'v! the train rushed northuntil the dusk begun

ti s:\ thing*gantry and I v! a the hstli-s^lut beauand wondered what u:r }tu .tould be but I did not .ti-"

,sr

.i5 ivi

the rattle of the train

,iong spemM to resolve fmiy rlnV Tt. er-

ated wi'' :ce sinc old Iciv,-.. \runLs -ie* is not for love or a. rrU -IM». JOT J.*.*-' OJ I'liTtiau''' !. rkr* ».* iter rew outsule, .aid .«-• "ti. -ije "Huhit JVH on Ute jture. wU c:«* I--- I- im i« w.i:v ".•» n« VW u. it* .it but v\ van -r I».. A vrtf€

CAE CR

Wt» test tv.appt^.:

siM

of Tee which no love woulO[ ever thaw. Then tired, weary and almost dispirited I sank into a kind of Sleep. The last thing I could remember before my eyes closed was that, in spite of my resolution, I took that white, well-shaped, unresisting hand in my own, and slept Mill holding it. ?.

Sieepl Yes. it vis ^ep. if sleep means anytleog bio. rr-i and peace,. Nt ver, since the night I heard it, liau that '.roman'sstifled moaning omebn» tu iae so clearly never had inv die :ipso nearly ar-oroached the re iii!y of *.ie frrror v.liii^i tli«3 blind mau had. fyli vcars 1!gbt tnkfuri. whtei) the ha'nitinir c'ry rose ii J':er and shriller. and. at last, eniuiinated by rcsoivjnir iiMilf into the slu-iekiug whistle, which told me we were nea1* to'.JEdiu:rcrh. 1 loosed my WiiVi hand and recalled my senses. That dream must have i.-eeiia vivid m:e, for it left with the beads of perspiration clam™:, on Jny brow.

Jfe-. er having been to EdJiiburgu.anu. wfsliiag tu him ^u: eihing of tlic city, I el pro] osed staving' there for two or thn'e d:.'.». Diinng the j'.urn"v I ljn? this to mfy"-n\ife. She hau e.'.v-1 to it as thou git place ortimevas a matter of 1:1 i.t"!jnomeut to her. Xoihin«r, it seemed to iue, _her ere!

Husband and ife! The bitter mockery of the words! For in everything except the legal bo'nd Pauline and 1 were as far apart as we were on that day when first I saw her at Turin. Yet this morning we had vowed to love and cherish each other until death bid us part.

Why had 1 been rash enough to take Ceneri at his word? Why not have waited until

Yet she was ..«{ mad. A person inichi have met her out in company.i:.uu atuu spending hour? in her society might have ea 'ed away no wor- impvt-^.on than that she was shy. and reticent. Whenever she did speak her words were as those of a perfect ly sane :, but as a role her voice v.us oidy Uu.: iien the ordinary necessities of life demanded, or in rly to some shupie qnext ion. a 1 1 a comparing her mind to that of a ch 1:1— butvaJaBl it wn^i a child's in! a Wtv niHn's bodyr-.a-'l tUat....niumau was,.,my wife!

Life to lr-r, so I ser-. held it a a re a sidered pliysicallv, 1 found that sliewi^! more irs iged henr an-i c.-M i)yany oil cr ag uts, T!:c sun wo: tempt her out of doors, or wind wroid hrr it?/ -f,i },v: no ttie,:|lS.5i!:',i: o|.y, See s.-»:M.e.i-iU!iCCO-tent to .-it by my side, or to walk or drive wi*. forjh^nr* r-«- tkwi.ou» u..* a '.• j,. Jjveone. rVndp'trtrris.pTr^rt nr»d followed vi-ry s^-re-xH:-! in with ev\ r.v plan, was thejrf. rtr r\fnywh^T©,-.. ft- \v her*vn:pHav,ee a:al Oi-»'divn-a\ t» a WW

thos» er a Hi' h.»v a It was ilns

*Ui l-io:

TERR HJ HA

,t.

We drove to the hotel ftrfrt dipped together. Fromeui muui:ei-wrmight,at the most, have been friends. Our intercourse, for tl time, befng confined to tlie usual civiiiii"- sliownjn a gentleman toward a lady in wh -e so.-tety he is thrown. Pauline tlir.nl .'! rae for ary little attention to her onitWt,- and was all. The iouruey had la on along aod trying one—she looked wearied out. "You are tired, Panliiie,* I said "would you like to go to your room "I am very tired." ,-She spoke almost plaintively. f'Good-night, then." I said: "to-mor-row you will feel better, and we will look at the lions of the place."

She rose we shook nands and said good-night. Pauline retired to her apartment, whilst I went out for a ramble through the gaslighted streets, and with a sad heart recalled the events of the day.

had ascertained that the

girl could love pie, or at least ascertained that she had the power of loving at all? The apathy and utter indifference

she displayed fell like a chill upon my heart. Iliad done a foolish thing—a thing-that could never be undone. 1 must bear the consequences. Still I would hope—hope, particularly, for what to-morrow might bring forth.

I walked about for a longtime, thinking over mv strange position. Then 1 returned to the hotel and sought my own apartment. It,was one of the suite of rooms 1 had engaged, and next to my wife's. I dismissed, as well as I could, all hopes and fears Until the morjiing came, and, tired, with the day'? events, at last slept.

Mv bride and I did not visit the Lakes as I'had planned. In two days' time I had learned the. .whole truth—learned all I could know—all that I might ever know about-Pauline. 'The meaning oi the old woman's repeated phrase, "she is hot for love or marriage, was manifested to me. The reason why Dr Ceneri had st ion luted that Pauline's husband sho ti lit be content to take hei without inqu W'x-into her early life was clear. PanUne—ni^ wife—my love, had no past!

Or no knowledge of the past. Slowli at-first, then with swift steps, the trntr came home to me. Now I knew how tc account, for that puzzled, strange loot its those beautiful eyes—knew the reason for the indifference, the apathy, shf displayed. The face of the woman .1 liad married wan fair as the morn hei figure as perfect as that of a Grecian i.tatue her voice low and sweet but th« one thing which animates every chai n: -rthe mind—was missing!

How shall 1 describe her. Madness meaiiS sometlupg quite different Iron her state. Imheeility would still less convoy my meaning.* There is no won can fiiid'which i» titting to use. 'lliere Was simply something niissingfrom hei intellect-as much missing as a lirnl may be from a body. Memory excopl for' comparatively recent events, sht seemed to have none. The power ol reasoning, weighing and drawing deductions seemed bevoud her grasp. Sin appeared unable to ecognize tue iiu nortance or bearing of occurrences taking place round her. Sorrow and delight were emotions she was incapable ot feeling. Nothing appeared to move her. Unless her attention was called them she uoticed neither persons noi places. She lived as by instinct—rose ate, drank, and lay down to rest as one not knowing why she did so. Such questions or remarks as came within the limited range t' her capacity she replied to—those outside it ps- edunht led, oi else the shy troubled eyes sought for a moment the questioner's face, and left him as mystified as 1 had boon when lirst I noticed that curious inquiring looks

-e.f-M I'e, .••d: but r'or. It

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lb Waioii-..' ..d

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and its powerlessness to comprehend the true meaning of the step she was taking.

Such was Pauline, my wife! A woman in her beauty and grace of person a child in her clouded and unformed or stunted mind! And. I, her husband, a strong man craving for love, might win from her. perchance,at last, what might be compared to the affection of a child to its parent, or a dog his master.

As the truth, ih whole truth, came home to me.I am not ashamed to say thai I lav down and wept in bitter grief. i.ovea Ih-T e^ennowl knew nil! I wbiiid no even have .inM rir?TC. she wan wife: maa I bad over cared,for. fil my vow—would love h«. her. Her life, at least,

as happv a«« mv care could makeit. But iall ile sani:- iVo ,ll woe'o naveaflt-tinx-iv^uing Italian di '0r. ffim, I feit "hi i' 'i I sh dd 3tc at once. -.From iiua I wuUid "wring %11 particulars. I would learn if Pauline had always been the snme—if ih rre wa~ rnv hor.3. tV.at time and fKiiient tn-at'.'.ieiil would work an improvement.

I would le:n n, moreover, the oi 'a*ct of his for)realmcnf. I Would, 1 *woro,dr«.g the 'truth iVom hi in,-or it siiouM cst him dear. Until• I stood face to face with (Vnrri I sliould finfl uo prace.

I loid Pauline' it was nei-i-ssaiy we. sho uid reti ini to Lon dim nr. {lately She betraveuno ?urprite -raised no ofcjeciioa. Jji-e nijuie iu-r prepar orice. and was readv to aeoomp \vh"u I willed it. This wa auOthei th'p ig acboisi her which puzzled me. Sio far as thintrs mechanical v.vut she was as other people. In her toilet, even in hei*:preparations for a journey, she needed no assistance.'- All her actions were th^seofa i-crfeetlysane person it was only when the mirxl was eaiietl upon,to sliow. iiseif that the deticieiicy bet.arae at all apiiurent.

And yet how fair the girl loo1 ad as she slood by my .^ide on that wiuc platform How strangely that air of repose, that sweet, re il ned, calm face, that general appearance of huiiiunence, contrasted with the busy scene around us, as the train di:2.'ors 1 its contents. Oh, that I could sweep the clouds from her mind and make her what I wished!

I had found some difficulty in settling what course, to pursue. I decided, after ventilating various schemes, that I would ta.l:e Pauline to my cwn rooms in "Waipule street. I knew the.* people of the house well, and ffclt certain *he would he taken care of (hiring my absence for, alter a few Ik.-LUS' repose, it was mv intention to start in search of Ceneri". 1 had written from Edinburgh to Walpolesstreet, telling the good people there to be ready for me and whom to expect .moreover, .Iliad again appealed to my ia-ihiul old servant, Priscilla, and begged her to be at the house awsiiingiiiv hh-n.'il. For my.sake, I knew slie ouid show every kindness to mv poor gi rl. So tp AV'alpole street we went.

All was in readiness for us. Priseilla received us with eyes full of curious wonder. I saw t'i.it her nympithios were at once ealisied by Pauline's appearance.* After a cup of tea and some-, thing to eat, I bra:Ted Priseilln to lead mv li'o to her room, that sh« might take the rest she- needed. Pauline, in her childlike. doe ,e waj, rose and fo.lr lov., lhe old wo:e in. "When yott have seen toMrs. \'aughairs ceivifort's, corac back to m»»." I said. "I waiilto sp r.l to you,"

Priseilla, no doubt, wasouh too eager to return to me. I felt she was brimming over with que-ions about my unexpected marriage but 1 checked her volubility. tare must have loid her that I had noth pvasaut to communicate. She sat down, andv as I desired her to do, listened without comenl to my tale. 1 was compelled to -confide in some dne. The old wo"*an. I knew, was -trustworthy aud w«- dd keep my afTaifa secret. So 1 told her all, or nearly all

I explained a? Well'as could'Pauline's peculiar mental state. I suggested all that my short experience, brought to mv mind, and

l'p"tvt4d

She turned her pi.^l^d e\es to mine. I siila I. as I knew rny questions were useless. ill, find him I must. I would go to Oeiuiva, if the man was a doctor, as he represented himself,' he must be known there. If I co. 'd not find any »vneo of -him at Gent-va 1 wouid try Tn: in. It-' •'.% uiy \. ,:e's h..ud. "I am goingawa tora f« days. Pau1!TK». You wi*l5-taV inre uniil return. Fvfry-one will br- -d to -a-u. -uila will all yosi wam.rt I "Yes. fifih: rf.s sh*1-!. ^'iftly. 1 had tanglit h.er to call me !lv-i-i,.

Then, after .vm'"1 last Jusiruciioiw to T*r:-eil!a. 1 start et! on my jomm \. As my cab drove n-oiu iho "d,or I rrtneed un at iie wiichoa? of she room in whivdi-l I had left Pan hue. ishe was -SUUaiing tb -re. Inoi.Ku: at ttw, anU a great ..wa€ot jov came o\e' my heart. fer I fanc:ed|trroorii.'M". that her eyes v, re !«:.: itiy: sad. hke ii,» ever id one ta1 a?.r leave .if a dear friend. It iiiay have been only fiuiey. bur. as I bao bi lou* fnne wd tl ,k

Ai r^a" for lieiieva and il dottore' C-'uerlf^

iiav

rN^ATi-TAcu.-

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it'.v). manv JB he* n.- -elf. i. -1 ai.-' low: Six t.i«•!

xfm SArl\i kxjAY EVttirN m* ItfAlL

*ri© tnc-mar-the only woI WC-ald .ful— and cii( ish uld be made

ions at 1^3 me

It was gray morning when we reached Huston SteilJon. We had traveled a1! night. I smiled bitterly as 1 stepped on to the piatl'orm: smiled at the eojitiit^l between my thoiigids' of to-day and those' of a few-morning* ago when I handed the wife I liad so strangely won into the train, and !d myself, as I followed her. that .a Jii'o of pciUct liapiiiness Avaa now about to begin.

PrisralUi. bv tlie

'love she bore inc. io uuard and be kind in mv absence to the wife! loved. The promise .being cri-ch I threw myself upon the sofa, and slept for several hours.

In the afternoon I saw Pauline again. I asked her if she knew where I could write to Oeneri. She shook her head. "Try a rid. think, mv d- r." I said,

She pressed her delicate.tiuger tips against her brow. I had always' noticed that trying to thing always troubled .her greatKn "Te.i esa knew-," I said to assist her. "Yes. ask her."

I Jut she has left us, Pauline. .Can vou tell us where she is?" Once more she shook her head hc.pele^slv. lie told me he lived in Geneva," I B8'd. *T)o you know the street?"

a soui could 1 find who knew the man. I called on every doctor in the place one and ali professed entire ignorance of snch a colleague. At last I felt certaiu that the name he had given me was a fictitious one, or that Geneva was not his abode. However obscure a doctor may be, he is sure to be known by some of his professional brethren in the same town. I decided to go to Turin and try mv luck there.

It was on the eve of my intended departure. I was stroll in a: i! ut, feeling' very sad at heart, and try i.i to persuade myself that I shou'd fare better in Tin in. wken noticed a until lounging along* the opt* tc si tie of the strcc fc. As his face and l)earing seemed familiar to me, I crossed the road to see him to better advantage. Being clothed in the inevitable tourist suit ne presented the appearance of an ordinary IM'lshtravefer—so much so thai I believed I must be mistaken. But I was right, after all. Inspiteof hiscl ana attire I recognized him the moment 1 drew near. lie was the man with whom Kenyon had engaged in a wordy war oinside San Giovanni—the man who had remonstrated with us for our expressed admiration of Pauline -the ra an who had walked away arm in ana wiia Ceneri.

The chance was too good a one to be lost. He would, at least, know where the .doctor was to be found. I trusted Ills memory.for facqs was not so retentive as mine that he would not connect me with the unplea- nit passage which occurred when we last met. I walked nr. to him, and raising my hat requested him to favor me with a few moments' corner sat im. 1 spoke in Kn riish. He gave me a quick,per.et

IT-I

o-H e«•LtVfi :e_ •.

AX-

ion 11 .-s. t) at lt' »k in Pauline's wrss fcocoe con.fort to carry awavl W.lh me. .•

steai): would me, io oi'va. whcre I a I'-Hf .. ia^ .navs i'ac wh.erea.b..nt^ oj' Dr. Cwr*. 1 ha-i h-en ,,! that iin-th him \\»'uhl be an •-.t-y n:atter. IL-i w.-eo: ta '•,( tin-*: pre -^atu u.at he ]'ra. e«d in Uie town.

ii in- .'*• :v

ir.ii-t know him. or 1 1 deceived

iiux •.dance,then acknowl

edging my saJutat'iont professed, in the saf :3 language, bis wish to place himselL' at my service. am trying to ascertain the address of a 'rnrtlemairwho I believe lives here. I thiol you will be able to assist me." lie laughed. "I will if I can—but being like yourself, an Knglishman, and knowing very few people, I fear I can be of little help to you." "I am anxious to find a doctor named Ceneri."

The start he gave as he heard my words the look, aimostof apprehension, he cast on me, showed me that he re-' cognized the name. But in a second he recovered himself. "I cannot remember the name. I am sorry to say I am unable to help you." "But," I said,in Italian,"! have see you in his company."

He scowled viciously. "I know no man of the name. Good-morning." lie raised his hat and strode away.

I was not going to lose him like that. I quickened'my pace and came up with him. "I must see him upon an important matter. It is no use denying that he is a friend of yours." lie hesitated, then halted. "You are strangely importunate, sir. Perhaps you will fell me your reason for your statement that the man you seek is my friend?" "I saw you arm in arm with him,"^ "Where, may I ask?" "In Turin—last spring. Outside San Giovanni."

He looked at me attentively., "Yes. I remember your face now. You are one of those young men who insulted a lady, and whom I'swore^o chastise." "Ko insult was meant, hut even had it been so, it might be passed over now." "No. insult! I have killed a man for less than vour friend said to me"

Please* remember said nothing. But- that matters little, ft is on behalf of His niece. Pauline, that I wish to see T)h 'Ceneri."

A look of utter astonishment spread ovei his 1 What have you to do with his nu rne asked roushly. '/That is his business, and mine. Xow tell me where I can lind him." •'What is yourname?"heaskedcurtly. "Gilbert V-anglian." v',,'v-• "What are vou?"' "An English gentleman—nothing more.".- ,'~v: sa'ia ff.-'-remained thoughtful for a few seconds' "I can take you to Ceneri," he said, "but first I must know what you waul with him. and why you mention Pauline's name? The street is not vhe place to talk in—let lis'go elsewhere." ied him to my hotel, to a rooni where.\v.e could talk at ^ur,ease. "Now. Mr. Vaughan," he said, "answer mv quesiion, a I'd I may -e my way.to helping you. "W hat has Pauline March to do with the matter?" "She is my wife—1 hat is all." lie spvai ig to" his fierce Italian oath hisseti from his lips. His ia e,v\ as while with rage.

Your,wife?" he shouted. "You lie— I a I rose, furious a.H himself, but more .•collected. "I told yon. sir. that'I am an English gantleman. "Either id a] aize tor your, words or 1 will k+,I» of the room."

IT sinigjrinl with his pr.^-aoP at:! curbed it. "1 apolugize," he saal. "I was wrong. Docs Ceneri know it?" he asjied sliarub "Ceruiiiily he was present when we were married."

His passion -nfC luor'e seV^aed upon the point of ma--:terLighim."i» 4^ I heard him whisper fiercely to himself, "/a N).e'•!, 'J hen he fumed to me with composed features. 'Tf so I bfive nothing more to do save to cm atulate yon. Mr. Vaughan. Toui io -.nnc is indce-'lenviable. Your wife is .beautiful, and of course good. You will find her a charming companion."

I would have given mnch to know why the vnrnth-n of mymarrintrc!d have .-jciu l'Jm into su.-li aslo*': iof ra/e. but! would have given more to have ba aldetr fulri! tny threat of kfekiivjr iu'.a out. Oiev iaonat -a:i of das last wo ids told me' thtit Piiu line's' state niiiid v"a^ well l*T!f-*tn to Mn. .1 e^nhi seai.ee!} ke,-,-j 'hands otf the IV!lowbut 1 was e.Anpedrd to restiaiu my an.a r. a? Willa-"! Ids ral I coniu nof find i'-aji-ri. "Thank yen.*' I said ipdet'iy. "now .perhn »s you* will give me the Ih-formatlr-n I w*nnt." -You „re not aveiy de\oicd bnde-

Araucrhan," said the fid'.ow "Ti -jvTi w*t»s at your vyeddd oa:y have oe.rnrred a few .'•it-must bo irnp«-ria»il_ busi'I }tfU fitiiii oiii* \/L

aai .t-. i» i* lani bai "Tr"—. 1 ie. it !uu-si .-e-i not in G»-r.e !ascn totldakhe ma v. '•.-•k*'* tiaatv 1 '-a ltd! lihn vou'are "L"l me kT:ow v.]•.»»!•

Cf"

n»-s. wait f^w-itsw. av Bui I .»vc bt- ht-re in ab»i: it ut.U

nad l.hn .aid

it will. as

-i »'i kluJVVU

Vinr to him*" I"..V.o'ivv.l a- -.TiriT -•,«••: felt that ii d^ubtial whether I -houM ur«eed ln obMininu ibii interexf with the mysterious doctor. It do-

.. _iys I h™ted high utwded entirely whether he chose to very where: but not! arrant ife- He miffht come to Geneva

and go away again without my toeing any the wiser, unless his friend or himself sent me some communication.

I idled awav a week, and then beaan to fear that Ceneri had made up diis mind to keep out of my way. But it was not so. A letter came "one morning. It contained a few words only. "You wish to see me. A carriage will call for "you at eleven o'clock. M. (V*

At eleven o'clock an ordinary hired conveyance drove up to the hotel. The driver inquired for-Mr. Vaughan. I stepped in w.illr-ul a word, and was driven ioa buiall house outside the town. Upon beiug shown into a room I found the doctor'keated at a table covered with newspapers andleti rs. He rose, and shaking my hand begged me to be -rated. "You have come to Geneva to see me, I hear, Mr. Vaughan?"

"Yes. I wished to aslf yott some questions respeeiinu mv wTit'ea' "I will answer all I can—but there are many I shall doubtless refu?e to reply to. You men h'T my stipulation?" "Yes, but why did you not make me aware of my wife's peculiar mental state?" "You had seen her yourself several times. Ilttr state was tne same as when she first proved so attractive to you. I am sorry vou should think yourself deceived." "Why not have told me every tiling? Then 1 could have blamed no one." "I had so many reasons, Mr. Vaughan. Pauline was a great responsibility on my shoulders. A great expense, for am a poor man. And. after aal, is the matter so very bad? She is beautiful, good raid amiable. She will make you a loving wilV "You wished to getrid of her .in fact." "Scarcely (hat altogether. There are circumstances—-I cannot explain them —which mado me glad to marry her to an Englishman of trood position." "Without thinking what that man's feelings might be on finding the woman he loved Pttle better than a chili."

I felt indignant, and showed my feeling very plainly. Ceneri took little notice of my wrath. He remained perfectly calm. "There is another point to be considered. Pauline's case is, in mv opinim, far from being hopeless. Indeed, I have always looked upon marriage as greatly adding to the chance of her recovery. If her mind to a certain ex lent is wanting, I believe that, little by little, it may be built up again. Or it may return as suddenly

it left her."

My heart leaped at his words of hope. Cruelly as I felt I had been treated, tool that I had been made for this man's selfish ends, I was willing to accept the situation cheerfully if I had any hope held out to me. "Will you give me all the particulars of my poor yvife's state? I conclude she has not been always like this." "Certainly not. Her case is most peculiar. Some years ago she received a great shock—sustained a sudden loss. The effect was to entirely blot out the past from her mind. She rose from her lied after some weeks' illness wdth her memory a complete blank. Places were forgotten—friends were strangers to her. Her mind might, as you say, h:«ve been the mind of a child. But a child's mind grows, and, if treated properly, so wall hers." "What was the cause of her illness— what shock?" "That is one of the questions I eannot answer." "But I have a rrrht to know.". "You have a rigia, to ask, andTT have a rhdit to refuse to i-peak," ""Tell me of her farni ly—her relatives." "She has none, I believe, save myself." asked other questions, but could get no answers worth recording. I should •return to England not much wiseif than I left it. But there was one question to which I insisted on having a clear renly. "What has tlnit friend of yours that Kiiaiish-speaking Italian, to do wdth Paulino?"

Ceneri shrugged liis shoulders and sin Mod. "Macaril I am glad to be able to answer something tully, Mr. Vaughan, For a year or two before Pauline wr-s taken ill, Macari supposed himsalttobe in love with her. He is now furious with me for allowing her to get married. He declares he" was only awaiting her recovery to try his own liiek." "Why should he noi h'ave served your purpose an well as I seem to have?

Ceneri looked at me sharply. "Bo you regret, Mr. Vaughan?' "No—nut if there is a chance, even a slight chance. But I tell you,Dr. Ceneri,yo have deceived and cajoled me shame* fully."

I rose to take my leave. Then Ceneri spoke v, iih more feeling than he had as yet di&played. "Mr. Vaua han. do not judge uie too harshly. I have wr-nged you. I admit There are tilings ou know nothing of. I must tell you more than I intended. The temptation to place Pa*.ill he in a position of wealth aud comfort was irresistible. I aai her dei.ior for a vast amount. Ai one time her foriune

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lUY ».. .«wou Cenei 1 ad called Macari. He signaled to the driver to stop, and then entering the carriage, s%t beside me. "Yon have seen the doctor. VauRban?" he asked.

''Yes. I have just come from him."* "And have learned all you wish to know-, I hope?" "A great many Of my questions have been answered "But not ail. Ceneri would not answer all."' 1 a

He laughed, and his laugh was cynical and mocking. I kept silence. "Had you questioned me," he continued, "I might have told you more than Ceneri."

,rI

came to ask Dr. Ceneri for all the information he could give me respecting in) wife's muilal state, of which 1 believe you are aware. If you can say anything that may be of use to me, I will beg you to speak." -v "You asked bun what caused it?"#, "I did. He told me a shock." "You asked him what shock. That he did not tell ou?" "He had his reasons for declining, I supuose." "Yes. Excellent reasons -family reasons."' "If you can enlighten me, kindly do so." "Not here. Mr. Vaughan. The doctor and I are friends. You might fly back and assault him. and 1 should get blamed. You are go.i^ back to England, I suppose?" "Yes. I «dart a! on«*. "Give me vour raidress. and perhaps I will write or, better still, if I feel inclined to be conanunieative. I will call on you wht.n I am ne.vt in London, and pay my respects to Mrs. Vaughan'at the suae time."

So eager was I to get at the bottom of the affair that 1 gave him my card. Ho than sta.j-.b*-d the carriage and stepped out. .Uc raised his hat, aud there warn a malicious triumph in his eyes as they met mine. "Good-bye, Mr. Vaughan. Perhaps after all you are to be congratulated upon being married to a woman whoso past it is iinpo: sd)le to rake up."

With this parting shaft—a shaft which struck deep and rank led—he left me. It was well he did so, before I cauaht him by the throat aud strove to force him to explain h'is last- words.

Longing to see my poor wife again, 1 went back to England with all speed.

[To be Continued.]

A Kfontrhtthle tmrape. Mrs. Mary A. Dailey, of Tunkhanii- .-K, Ph., whs Hfllieied lor six years with Asthma and Bronchi: is, during wnich lime the best phyb-i--inns could sive no relief. Her life was despaired of, until in la«t. Octobpr she procured a bottle of Dr. Kiug's New Discovery, wheu iiouiPriiHie iHi^f was fnlt. and «y continuing its use for a short time she wascompletely cured, fining in flesh 50 lbs. in a few months. Free trial bottles of 'ids certain cure of all Throat aud Lung nispappu nt CooV dk Bell's Drug Store. Large Bottles $100. -4-

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ab.."tfift\ thou 'and pounds. The whole of mat I spent "And dare to boast of it!" I ssnid, bitterly. lie waved his hand with dignity. "Yes. I' to of it. spt ut it all for freedom- lor Italy. It was in nr k-'er-'u? ai trustee, I, who would ha\e km my vn fath»r, my own son, should I hesitate to take her money foi a !i an 1? tfvryy fa.:h" ut to tin* -^reat cause, aial was wen spent.1' "It was the act of a criminal to rob an ornhnn." what you like. Money had to be found. Why should I not t-acrMico my h.-T-.or for mv country ra freely as I Would ta'tve raenla-e 1 inylao?" "It is no use discussing it—the matter is ended." s. but I tell you to show yon why I wished to g^iinPauline a hotr.e. Moie-ov-r. Mr. Vr"trhe.u"—here m* \o ce di.-l/-dtoa ^-ir—"I was utra'.ih to provide Tout home at (u Qam boun Wl. 1 the ret have for ucvrmeH. ag.-i "xon t--e plot-i "1 i.u no I- Y»xi:

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