Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 15, Number 39, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 21 March 1885 — Page 2

mm

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TEKRE HAUTE,

MAlton 21 1886

•UVUtiUOUWVU AMV awnbera can be bad on application at pnb-

BeaUon offlce or of news agents.]

Wyllard's Weird.

"'Ufli BY Miaa M. K. BRAt)DO:

other of "Lady Andleyls Secret," Ausota Fiord," "Tfce Outcast," Ac., Ae.

CHAPTER XIX. WIDOWBD A*D FBBK.

Mr.

ud Mrs. Wyllard went slowly tYi°w to Penmorval. It was a melancholy journey for those two who bad travelled so the young •f ber husband, superior, vested in the knowledge of that wide outer world of which the Cor•ish heiress knew so little. She had loved him with a reverent, admiring love, looking up to him, honoring him and deferring to him in all things, pleased to be dependent upon him and now he was the dependent, looking to her for help comfort. .. Ity awful calmness, which at times was more painful to the tender, sympathetic wife than the fretfulness ana complain ing would have been. The dull agony •f neuralgic pain wrong no groan fiom him he endured the anguish of racked nerves and aching limbs with heroic fortitude. "It is not a surprise to me, Dora," be said quietly, when bis wife praised him for bis courage. "1 have expected some such attack. There have been sensations—strange feelings at odd times— which, althocgh slight enough, have aot been without their meaning. Life was very smooth for me here at Penmorval. Very different lrom my life in the past the struggles of my boyhood. full of sweet Tour love made existence aess. I had the world's esteem too, which must always count for something, let a man pretena to despise the world as he may. Yes it was a full and perfect life, and I told myself that I had some off a winner in the lottery of Fate. And now all things are changed. There was this last lot waiting for me in the bottom of the urn." "My dearest," murmured his wife, nestling closer to him among the heap ed-up pillows of his couch, 'it would be too hard, too cruel that you should be thus smitten, if this life were all. But,

P,and

BD

£iraised

be to God, it is not all! There the fair, bright eternity waiting for aa—the long day of rest tn the land where there is neither sorrow nor pain."

Her husband answered with an impatient sigh. "My dear Dora, I have neither your aweet simplicity nor your pious faith in the letters of an old book,''he answered. "This life is »o palpable and so painful

iy

nst now that I cannot comfort myself looking beyond it towards a life of whioh I know nothing."

Tbey were at Penmorval. Mrs. Wyllard had established ber husband in her two particular sanctum, which was the prettiest room in the house—a spaoious, airy room on the first floor, with a large Tudor window facing southward and an •rlel in the southwestern angle. Julian Wyllard had decorated and furnished this with reference to her tastes and pursuits. It opened into ber dressing room, and beyond her dressing room there was the chief bedchamber of Penmorval, the chamber of the lord of the manor from time immemoral, very spaciousness and grandeur gave to this state apartment an air of gloom intensified by the pre vailing tints of the tapestry, a series of hunting scenes, executed in a sombre radatlon of bluish greens and grayish rowns. The carved oak wardrobes were like monuments in a Gothic cathedral. The bed, with its embroidered velvet hangings and plumed ornaments, suggested a royal catafalque while the •replace, with its sculptured pillars and heavy decoration in black and white

•replace, with its sculptured pillars and heavy decoration in black and white aaarble, recalled the entrance to the Capalet'a tomb. Not a room assuredly for the oocupatloa of an invalid—not a room lu which to suffer sleepless nights and leng hours of dull, weary pain.

This was what Dora thought and at ber order her dressing room, which wan airy and sufficiently spacious, was transformed into a bed room for Mr. Wyllard, while the morning room was arranged for his daily occupation. It would be easy to wheel bis sofa from •ne room to tne other. All his orders bad been telegraphed beforehand, and everything was in its place when the sufferer arrived. "It is a special privilege to be nursed by a good fairy," he said, smiling up at his wife with that rare smile which had

a child upon his mother's knee.

The

he

»h«

Bins

dlity—if the mind were to decay like theb«dy—" "The only fference would be to make me love you more fondly, koowing that yon stood in greater need of my lore," answered bis wife quietly. "Yes, I believe yoa are noble enough

for

any

MAKl/H l\ low

so peculiar a charm in her eyes-the There will be no one here to interfere •mile of a man who has not the same set with your privacy. You may he almost graciousuess for all comers. much alone as your own borne Mid

After this there came the dull monot- Hilda presence in the bouse will help •ay of suffering—the life of routine, to cheer my poor wife. Hurry on your that death in life from which all pwu«i- marriage, Bothwell, while Heathcote is blllty of action is gone, all power of in the humor to accept you. Don the choice, all changes and chance of the hindered about any absurd oonsidera•uter world cut off for ever—a life in tlon about houses secure your good for which a man feels that he has suddenly tune while you can. dropped back into infancy, and is as He fpoke with

man turns his sad eyes back- "My

has left undone pass in

a

ent and my future, Dora.

sacrifice," be said, gazing at her

with a

gearching look, a lootc of the

deepest love anc keenest pain, a look

fUommenoed In The Mall Dec 6th. Back that toldof wr?*. ™h. mon woes of humanity, "res, Delieve it is within the compass of a woman's nature to love a -human wreck like roe or even to love a creature stained with blackest sin. There is no limit to the sublimity of a woman's love."

His wife was kneeling by his coocb, her bead leaning against his pillow. There were times when she could find no words of comfort, when she oould only comfort him with the light touch of her lips upon his brow, bar sympathy, her presence, her hand laid gently upon his. "I love to hear yon talk of your youth," she said one day, when he had talking Of his life at Marborough, and at home—the dull old parsonage—the

a meian- _i.». »Ke carefi

BIMUUJ libblC UOU va «a tobacco, a sermon to be dribbled ont slowly next morning, in a style of elocution, or non-elocution, happily almost extinct. "Tell me about your life in Paris," she went on, encouraging him to forget bis present pains in those old memories, "it must have been full of interest." "It was a life of grinding toil and

doom*ort. gnawing anxiety," he answered impaHe bore bis calamity with an almost jen^jy_ "There is not a detail that could interest you." "Everything in your past history interests me, Julian. I know how bard you worked in Paris. I saw your desk, the place where you sat night after night, the lamp that lighted you. Mr.

Blumenlein has altered notbirg in yonr rooms." •'Vastly civil of bim," muttered Wyllard, as if revolting against patroca~ from the merchant of toys and sma gear. "But however hard you worked you must have bad some associations with the outer world," pursued Dora. "You must have felt the fever and the excite ment of that time. You muBt have been interested in the men who governed PrftQC6t^' "I was interested in the stocks that went up pnd down, and in the men who goverened France so far as their conduct influenced the Stock Exchange. A man who is rnnnlng a race, neck or nothing, a race that means life or death, has no time to think of anything outside the race course. The outside world has no existence for him." "And you knew nothing of the mas ter spirits of the Empire, the men of science, the writers, the painters "My child, how innocent you are The men who write books and paint pictures have no more direct influence upon an epoch than the tailors who build ooat" and the milliners who make gowns. The master spirits are the politicians and financiers. Those are rules of their age. All the rest are servants.

Bothwell bad shown himself deeply moved by the affliction that had fallen on bis cousin's husband. Every feeling of ill-will vanished in a breath before the face of that supreme misfortune—a life smitten to the dust. Bothwell was too generous-hearted to remember that the master of Penmorval had not been altogether kind in the past. His only thought was how he oould help, were it by ever so little, to lighten Julian Wyllard's burden. He was all the more *y mpathetic when he found that the sufferer had thought of him and of bis interests even in the hour of calamity,

WTiiara naa wwrawu »uu miuwusu terests even in va« uuut ui this room for his young wife, and all while the blow that crushed him was things it contained baa been ehosen "8tiH anew thing. „jt

iw»« vavwwi«|vv| "M,'v

aider my happiness at such a fine." said Bothwell, when Dora bad told him of ber husbands conversation with Edward Heatchcote. "My dear Bothwell, my wife's interests are my own and 1 knew that she was keenly interested in your happiness. Heathcote has not found out very much about the girl who was killed but he has found out just enough to dispel his suspicions about you, ana he withdraws all opposition to your marriage with Hilda. Now it is my earnest desire to see you happily married before I am called away -and as life is always uncertain, trebly uncertain for a man in my condition, the sooner you are mar ried the better." "I shall not plead for delay," said Bothwell, "if I can win Hilda's consent to an early marriage. But I hope, my dear Wyllard, that you may live to see our children growing np." "Tnat is to hope for the indefinite prolongation of an Incurable disease, Bothwell, and is barely a kind wish on your part. All you have to do is to hurry on this marriage." "Unfortunately the house I have pitched upon will want three or four months' work before it can be habltable." "What does that matter? You can live at Penmorval till your house is ready. There is room for half a dozen families in this rambling old place,

wag mor8

than good of you to con

an

The patience, the

the child has all the unexplored future who cannot bear the slightest opposition before him, the infinitive possibilities of to his will. life.

shadowy ingly.

raoceseion before his mind's eyes. He Let hitn do so, then, hnw much wiser he might have him

for you and your love I should have anticipated annihilation. The grave eould hardly reduce me to more complete nothingness than this death in life 'here. ...

He looked round the room with an Impatient sigh. And then, touched by Ithe pathetic look In his wife's face, he 1d*d: "Were It not for you, Dora. I have

talk

STn Thoraulu.Td MlS. of (ho. B..tbw„lj .om« hi. betrothed departed years are unrolled before him the next day at Trevenna, where she as on a magio scroll. His maturer was to go with Emulate Meyeretein to judgment, bis co'der blood, condemn inspect

of his Das«lonate youth. ber lover wanted to turn into a commoDora was her huaband^s companion dious house. There eould not be a betthrough many an hourof gloom and de- ter opportunity for pleading bis cause. predion. There were times when be Harode would talk to her with a kind of fever- time to receive Hilda and her chaperon, iah animation talk of the books be had who had posted from Launceston to tod known-™- Trey..n^rH«».d«lld?o» jotjojj. -n th.m.mori«of htoyouth-htobo,.

W onlv live in the past," be said, dered about the wild crest of Tintagol, "and?o you? my pre^ utterly bappy in each other* company, *. II7am 1* VhllA tQK Ql

J1

almost feverish im-

fretfulness of

a

dear

ward aud reviews the oast. All the that Bothwell will be only things be has done and the things

sick man

Julian, you may sure

aot on your advice,"

said

his

wife, sooth

about houses," retorted Julian.

the

old-fashioned cottage which

while that discreet spinster, Miss Mererstein, sat on a grassy bank in the valley below, absorbed in a strip of soft cotton knitting, intended to form part and pareel of a counterpane which great work had been in progress for the past ten mn.

Bothwell was the bearer of a letter from Dora entreating Hilda to go to her at the manor and stay there until Heathcote's return. Bothwell was to stay at T«Tna

I were to lo«e that now^ ^nSt^and_ the fn^ternart'iCvTlfe"'^^f hS b^^^Ton a lease tor ihws "Vas. bnt there mlaht come a crush- lives, Bothwell being one, Hilda an

naa own "kui™ lives, Bothwell being one, HUdsauoibW',

StowaSTtSSkilfr oJTl .o^eof the twins the third. Bothwbre to rink Into feeblen*

vr, »i and one of the twins the third. Both* and imbe- well hoped to be able to buy the place

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVEIS1LNG- A TL.

long before any of these lives gave out. "You and I have so much to arrange and to talK about," wrote Mrs. Wyllard. "Your furniture, your linen, your trousseau. I venture to think 1 am your nearest friend, and the person you would bo almost likely to conduit in these matters. Your presence will comfort me, dear, and binder me from dwelIng too exclusively on my great trouble. Julian, too, will be glad to have yon in the house, and to hear your

songs

some­

times of an evening. He has nis good days, and bis poor days,

poor

darling,

and there are times when he is cheerful and likes company. Do eome to me at onee, Hilda, I am sure you must be tired of Dawllsh by this time. It is a very nice little place, bnt I can imagine a limit to its attractions, and the season is rather late for your favorite diversion of swimming. You shall be free to return to the Spanish when your brother comes back to England, but in the meantime I am aure that I want yon more than Miss Meyeretein, who has those all-absorbing twins to occupy her oaree and thoughts. 1 shall exneet the day after to-morrow, by the an noon train. I shall send a carriage to meet you. .Yours lovingly, "DOHA WTCUW)."

What cenld Hilda say to such an In vitation. from one who had been to her asanelaer sister, and whom she loved as fondly as ever sister was loved She wrote to Dora at the hotel where they lunched and took tea, and gave ber letter for Bothwell to carry. "You are going to Pennmorval, he said. "Yes, 1 am going the day after tomorrow." "And I am to be banished. I am to stay here and see that my plans are carried out properly. I dare say my coushi thinks tnat if I wete to stay at Penmorval while you are there I should forget all the serious business of life, lapse into a rapturous idiocy of love well, I am to happy to complain. 1 shall be happy in the thought that I am building our nest. I shall watch eve brick that is laid, every timber that sawn. You shall not have a badly baked brick or a plank of green wood in yonr bouse. I shall think of the plans night and day, dream of them—leap out of my sleep in the dead af the night to make some improvement." "If you chop and change too mucb on will have dear to pay," said Miss feyeratein, and then she launched into along story about a name, who built himself a summer palace which cost three times as much as he intended, because of his Serene Highnesses artistic temperament which had led him into

li,

continual tampering with the pUns. Never before in his life had Bothwell

house and gardens of the future—the Btudy. the drawing-room, tbe ingle nook in the dining-room, the little en trance hall, whioh would hardly be more than a lobby, the closets and clever contrivances, the shelves, thecosv nooks which were to make this bouse different from all other houses, at least .to tbe eye of its possessor, the quaint old lattloea wbich were to be retained in all their primitive simplicity, ahd still quainter casements, which were to be added— here an oriel, there a bow—an early English chimney stack on one side and a distinctly Flemish porch on the other. Bothwell could draw well enough to show the builder what he wanted done. He had his pocketbook full of sketches for chimneys, pediments, doors and windows ana ornamental ventilators. to 'rau-

"One would think you were build a town," said the practical lein.

Never had Bothwell been happier than he felt aa he rode across the moors In the fading daylight, thlnkftfe of the day that was over. What a simple domeetic day it had been—so homely, so tranquil, so sweet, ending with the oosy tea-drinking in the parlor at the inn, Hilda presiding at tbe tea tray, and as self-possessed as if she and Bothwell had been married for ten years. Tbe time of tremors and agitations was past. They were secure in each other's love, secure in the consent and approval of those who loved them. Henceforward their lives were to drift calmly on a Summer sea.

How different was this newer and purer love of bis from tbe old passion, with its alternations of fever and remorse. How different his simple-mind-ed sweetheart of to-dav—gentle, unselfish, conscientious, religions—from the woman who had been all exaction and caprine insatiable in her desire for admiration, self-indalgent, luxurious, caring not a lot how the world outside her own boudoir went on, who suffered or who wss glad, providing ber wishes were gratified and ner vanity fed.

It was dinner time when Bothwell arrived at Penmorval, asd the dinner hoar was of all seasons the most melancholy, now that ti -j master of tbe house was a helpless Invalid in the upper floor, perhaps never again to enter that state ly dining hall, where the butler Insisted upon serving Bothwell's dinner in just as slow and ceremonial a manner as if family and guests had been assembled in fnu force.

Vainly did Bothwell plead against Ibis ceremony. "I wish you would ask them to cook me a chop, Stodden," he said "a chop and a potatoe would be ample. I hate a long ainner at any time, hot most especially when I am to eat it alone., You need not take so much trouble as you do about me."

But Stodden ascribed all snob speeches to the overwhelming modesty on Mr. Grshame's part. The poor young man knew that he was in somewise an interloper, and he did not wish to give trouble. It was a very proper feeling on his part, and Stodden was resolved that he should not be a loser by bis modesty. 8todden gave him an even handsomer dinner on the following day, and when remonstrated with, smiled a smile of incredulity. "Lor, sir, you know you like a good dinner," he said "you mayn't wish to give trouble, but yoa must like a good dinner. It's human nature."

After this Bothwell felt that remonstrance was useless. Mrs. Wyllard dined with ber invalid husband. She rarely left bim except when he was sleeping under tbe In flu ence of morphia, or when he asked to be alone. There were hours in his long and weary day in which even bis wife's presence seemed a burden to him, and when he preferred to fight his battle in solitude.

Upon this particular evening of Bothwell 8 return from Trevenna bis cousin joined bim at tbe dinner table, an unexpected pleasure. "I want to bear all your news, Bothwell," she said, "Julian to asleep, and I have half an hour free."

Bothwell told hia news gladly, gaily. "She is coming the day after to-mor-row," he said, "and I am to be banished like Romeo. But I am not afraid of Romeo's ill lock. You won't give my Juliet a sleeping potion Mid bury ber alive while I am away, will you? I have taken two rooms In a cottage at Trevenna, with aa old goody who to to, do for me. That will be ever so modi cheaper than the inn and yoa know

that in my position I ought to be econoirirai." "Yon onght not to make yourself uncomfortable for the sake of a few pounds." "Ah, that is your spendthrift's argument. He never can understand that he ought to save a few pounds, apd so he dies pauper, while the man who has a proper respect pounds—and

rshalleven—blossomsfor

nce, into a mllllonare. be very comfortable with my goody. 1 shall Jas oat all day, superintending the bulisl0f. I shall live spon chape and porter, and I shall sleep like atop every night, iti a dear little bedroom smelling of lavender. My goody is clean to a fault. She cast an evil eye at my boots as I went upstairs. All tbe articles of furniture is her rooms are veiled with crochet work, as if the wood were too precious to be exposed to tbe Ugh*. But bow grave you are looking, Dora. Has Wyllard been aay worse today "No, he has been much the same—a sad monotony of suffering. It was of you I was thinking, Bothwell. I saw some news in the oounty paper which I know will grieve you." "There has been no accident between launceeton and Dawlish, has there?" grasped Bothwell, starting np from his chair: "tbe train got back all right—" "You foolish boy 1 If there had been an accident how do you auppoee I could hesr of itf" exclaimed his eousin, smiling at his vehemence. "How like a lover to imsgine that any 111 news must needs be about your betrothed, though you only left ber three hours ago. No, Bothwell, my bad news concerns sn old friend of yours, General Harborough." "What of General Har borough f" asked Bothwell, anxioasly. "The announcement of his death is la tbe county paper." "His death Impossible 1 Why I met him less than ten days ago. He seemed hale and hearty as ever." "He caught a severe cold at the funeral of a friendland died of bronchitis. Poor Bothwell. I can sympathise with vour sorrow for so staunch a friend. I nave often heard you say how good he was to yon in India."

Dora had heard of General Harborongh only as an Indian friend of her cousin's. She knew of Lady Valeria's existence and that was sll. No rumor of Bbthwell's flirtation with that lady had ever reached her ears. She did not know tbst Bothwell's frequent Journeys to Plymouth had been on Laav Valeria's account that his mysterious journeys to London had been made in her interests —troublesome journeys to interview Jew money lenders, to renew, bills ana tide over difficulties.

And now Valeria was a widow and would have been able to expet tbp ful fill ment of old vows—breathed under tropical stars, far away in that eastern Isnd which they had both loved. She would have been able to claim him as her slave If he bad nat boldly broken his fetters tbe other day. "Thank God I delayed no longer," he said to himself "thank God I got my release before this happened."

And then he thougnt sadly, affectionately, of his old friend, and he remembered with thsnkfulness that the last meeting, that farewell grasp of the gaod man's hand which be bad been able to retnrn as honestly as it was given. "Why did I ever sin against him f" he asked himself. "What an arrant sneak I must have been." "You will go to General Har borough's funeral, I suppose?" said Dora presently. "Yes, of course I must be at the fnneral. When does it take place "To-morrow." "Yes, I shell go without doubt. I shall join tbe procession at the cemetery, As I am not invited there will be no need for me to go to tbe boase." "I suppose not. Tbe poor widow will feel the blow terribly, no doubt." "Yes, I have no aoubt ahe will be sorry."

This was not a lie. Bothwell thought that even Valeria could not' tail to feel some touch of sorrow for the loss of that chivalrous friend and benefactor, the man who had given so much ana bad received so poor a return for his gifts. There would be the anguish of a guilty conscience, even if there were no other form of sorrow. "Butfas I suppose she is elderly too, perhaps she will not survive him veiy long," pursued Dora, Infinitely compassionate for tbe woes of a broken-hearted window. "Lady Valeria elderly I" exclaimed Bothwell. "She is not thirty."

What, wss your good General Harborougb so foolish as to marry a girl "Yes. It was tbe only foolishness of bis life that I have ever beard of and he was so good to ths woaan he msrried that he might be pardoned for bis folly." "I hope she wss fond of him, and worthy of bim

Bothwell did not eater npon tbe question, and bis reticence about Lady Valeria Harborongh atruek Dora aa altogether at variance with his natural frankness. And then she remembered that unexplained entanglement which he had confessed to her—an entanglement with a married woman—and it flashed upon her that lady Valeria might be the heroins of thai story. He had spoken of General Harborongh, but never of General Harborough's wife. There had been a studied reserve upon that subject. And now Dora discovered that Valeria Harborongh was a young woman.

The invitation to the funeral came by next morning's post—a funeral invitation sent out by a fashionable Arm of undertakers—and Bothwell had no excuse for stsying swsy from tbe vilis, where the mourners were to assemble at three o'clock in the afternoon. He bad no fear that lady Valeria would be present upon such an occasion but there was just the possibility that she might send for bim when she knew he wss in tbe bouse. She had always been reckless of conventionalities, carrying matters with such a high hand as to defy slsnder.

His heart sank within him as he aproacbed tbe classic portico of the villa, deepest regret for his dead benefactor, deepest remorse for having wronged him, weighed down bis heart as he entered the darkened house, where rooms built for brightness and gaiety looked all the more gloomy in tbe day or mourning. The ball was bung with black, and in tbe midst stood tte plain oak coffin, draped with tbe colorp which tbe general had fought for flfty years before amidst tbe wild bills of Afghan^ Istan. Crosses and wreaths of parent white were heaped upon tbe coffin, and the atmosphere of tbe darkened ball was heavy with the perfume of stepbauotis and tuber rose, those two flowers which the general had always associated with his wife, who rsrely deoorated herself or ber rooms with any other exotics.

Bothwell stood amidst tbe mourning crowd with heavily beating heart. There was no summons from Lady Valeria, and he heard some one near him telling some one else that her grief wss terrible, a stony, silent grief, which alarmed ber people and her medical attendant. She woald see no one. Lady Lnstwltblel hid come ill tbe way from Baden, where tbe poor, dear earl was doctoring Ids gout, nut Lady Valeria had only

consented to see her mother for half an hour, and poor Lady Lostwithlel bad not even been asked to stay at the villa. 8he had been obliged to put up at a hotel, which was a cruelty, as every one knew that tbe Lostwithieis were as poor as church mice. "Perhaps Lady Valeria has not forgiven her family for having sold her," said the second speaker in the same confidential voice. "Sold her? Nothing of the kind. She adored the old general." "You had better tell that to—another regiment," muttered his friend, as Bothwell moved away from tbe group.

It was past five before the funeral was over, ana there was no train for Bodmin till seven, so Bothwell strolled into the coffee room of the Duke of Cornwall and ordered a cup of tea.

While be waa drinking it be was joined by a young officer who had been at the funeral, and whom Bothwell had often met at Harborough Villa—quite a youth, beardless and infantine of aspect, but with a keen desire to appear older than bis years. He affected to have steeped himself in iniquity, to have dishonored more households and fleeced more tradesmen than any man in the servios. He hinted that his father bad thrust him out of doors, and that his mother had died of a broken heart on his acoount. He was a youth who loved and who went about among all a wives snd spinsters of Plymonth, the dowagers ana old ladies, disseminating tittle-tattle. Hardly anything he said wss true, hardly any believed him but people liked to bear him talk all the same. There was a piquancy in slander uttered by thoqe coral lips, which hsd not long finished with the corals of babyhood. "My dear Bothwell, whst tragedy." he exolaimed, as he seated himself in front of a brandy and soda. "It la a sad loss for every one," Bothwell answered tritely. "Baa loss—bu(t my dear fellow what a scandal 1 Everybody in Plymouth Is talking about it. There has been hardly anything else spoken of any ol the dinners I have been at during the last ten daya." "I thought old maids' tea-parties were your usual form," retorted Bothwell, with sneer. "What is your last mare's next, -Falkner The general's deaths or the general's funeral "The circumstances that proceded the dear old man's death, that's the scandal. Surely you mufet have beard—" "Consider that iI have been buried among the Cornish moors and have heard nothing.""By Jove! Do yoa mean to say that you don't know there Was a dreadful row one night at the villa. Sir George Mlldmay insulted Lady Valeria, called ber some foul name, acoused her of carrying on with a young man. The general came up at tne moment and smash ed his head. Sir George went all over the place next day,' abusing my lady, sent the general a summons to the police court, where the whole story must have come out in extenso, as those newspaper fellows say. A very ugly story it is —betting transactions, tiorrowed money and a lover in the background. An un commonly queer story, my dear Grahame. Plymouth was on the quivlvn for a tremendous scandal. You know what these garrison and dockyard towns are, and a man In the generals position is a mark for scandal. The thing was altogether too awfnl, and the poor old

gedied."

eneral wouldn't face:it,, old chap, and

"You mean to say that he—" "I mean to say nothing. There was nO inquest. The poor old man kept bis bed for a week, and tbe cause of death was called bronchitis, but there axe people I know who have their own idea about the general's death, and a very ugly idea it Is." "Your friends have a penchant for ugly

Ideas, Falkner," answered Bothwell coolly. He did aot believe a word of the subaltern story, and yet the thought af it troubled him ss he sat alone in his corner of ths smoking carriage, trying to solace himself with a pipe, trying to think only of the girl he loved ana of bis brightening prespects.

That mention of a lover, how mucb or how little did it mean Could it be true that General Harborongh bad knocked a man down in bis own bouse? Such an act on the part of the most chivalrous of men must nave been the result of ex traordinary provocation. Only a dellb erate insult to a woman could excuse such an outrage against tbe laws of hos pltality. He remembered that Lady Valeria had talked of borrowing money from Sir George Mildmay, and what could she expect but Insult if she placed herself under obligation to a notorious roua? He bad warned her of the folly of such a coarse. He bad urged ber to oonfide in ber husband. And now that good and loyal friend and protector was

feft

rone, and this last act of his wife's hsd her to face the world with a taln'ed reputation.

He told himself that there must be some grain of truth in the subaltern's story. Tbe scandal too neatly touched actual facto, which were known to Bothwei, to be altogether false. "God help her good name is st the mercy of such sscoundrel as Mildmay," thought Bothwell.

He left Penmorval in a dogcart next morning, carrying his portmanteau and a box of books at the back. He was to have tbe use of tne dogcart and (Gfiencoe while he stayed at Trevenna, so that be oould not feel himself altogether banished. He could ride over to Peiimoi val as on a "You must not come too often, mind," said Dora when she was bidding bim good-bye. "Indeed, on reflection I think yon bad better only come when you are invited. You may have no discretion otherwise. It will not do for you to be really living here and only pretending to live at Trevenna." "It is an kind of yon to suggest that a man be an utter imbecile because be Is in love, Dora," remonstrated Bothwell. "Of course I understand that I am sent away as a sacrifice to tbe proprieties. I am banished In order that Mrs. Grundy

may

be satisfied—that same Mrs. Gruady was willing to suspect me of murder on tbe very smallest provocation. No, tuy dear Dora, I am not going to be troublesome. I will only come when I have your permission. I suppose I may come next Sunday?" "O, Bothwell, this Is Wednesday Sunday Is very near." "It will seem ages off

"Men are so clumsy," he pleads#. "They slways spoil things." Goody confessed that the male sex was inherently awkward, and had aa incapacity to appreciate crochet an&macassars. She sighed aasbedenudet ber best parlor of its beauties. "The place dew look so bare," she said.

Bothwell gave up his afternoon to a long interview with the builder, wfce was a smart young man and as honest as be was smart. The old cottage was tberoughly overhauled and inspected* with a view to the carrying out of thoaa extentlons and improvements which Bothwell had planned for himself, tCaA for which be had made drawings which were very creditable to an amatenr architect. His experience aa an engineer stood him in good stead.

He modified his plans somewhat o» the advice of the smart young buildec, but the alterations were to be carriaa out very much upon his own original lines—the builder's modificatlona westchiefly in detail. And then tbey bad to fight out the question of time. Tba builder asked for six months Bothwell would only grant four. Finally, tim% cost, everything was agreed upon, Bothwell having given up his original ideaaf being his own builder and buying kb own materials, and the contract was ta be taken to Camelford next day to to put Into l*gsl form. For three hundrM and fifty pounds the old cottage was ta be transformed into a coiofortabfe house. The two little parlors and the kitchen were to be made into thrss studies, or bookrooms, communicatiag with each other. These were for Bothwell and his pupils to work in. Anew drawing-room and dining-room were ta be built, and over these two good batrooms. "I shall ad# a billiard room and a large nursery over it, later on, whea E am beginning to make my fortune^ thoaght Bothwell. "I know we shall want a billiard room, and I hope w* shall want a nursery."

The builder had gone home to kfifr young wife and baby, in a cheerful ra# brick oottage of hia own construction), and Bothwell was pacing the old neglected garden alone, in the autumn sonset, when be looked up suddenly an# saw a dark figure standing in the narrow path between him and the rosy western sky.

It was the tall, slender figure cf a woman, robed In black and thickly veiled. That black figure seemed to shwt out all the warmth and beauty of the glowing west. Bothwell's heart grew cold within bim at sight of It.

He had not a moment's doubt of hesitation, though tbe woman's face was hardly visible under the thick crape veik "Valeria," be exclaimed. ,. "Yes, it is Valeria." "How, in the name of all that's rmE^

sonable, did you come here?" "A pair of post horses brought mt. That was easy enough when I knew where to find you. I heard at Bodmin road station tnat you were here. Yoa had been seen to drive by, and you tol# the station master where you were ing." [TO BKOOKTINtJKD.J

"•ISnflferina Woman!** C. F. B. HASKELL, (formerly of Ve*4 non, Vt.,) now locating engineer aa the B. O. R. and

N.

Dating the reign of one Englishaian in a stockings.

to me. Yes, I

shall certainly came on Sunday. Even servants are allowed to go and see their friends on the Sabbatb. Is your oousin less than a hireling that be should be denied I shall ride over In time for breakfast Sunday morning?" "Yoa will have to get up at six o'clock.** "What of that? I have bad to get np at four, and even at half-past three for cub-bunting."

He arrived at Trevenna early In the afternoon, settled himself comfortably in bis cottage lodgings, and arranged his books in a corner of tbe neat little parlor, with its superabundant crochet work and crockery, which ornamentation be artfull persuaded his landlady to put away In a cupboard during his residence.

I

A

*4u

Railroad, Dakota*

stated in 18*3, that bis wife wss utterly prsstrated with female difficulties an# aid not seem to be amenable to physicians' remedies. She could not eleeft. trembled life a leaf, periodically loin her reason. They then began the of Warner's SAFE Cure. Writiiut ih July, 1884, from Dakota, Mr«.HeSia4l says, "My wife has n®ver seedar«v slightest Inclination of a return difficulties Warner's SAYB Curf Mnioved." Try it, O. suffering womaW Tbe istest ediot of fashion in New York is that mothers should take of their own children. Poor children

1 1

Ul

"Firib-proof Paper May ho Made," ssys a scientific exchange, "from a

pity that such facta as tbe one following cannot be written, printed or otherwise preserved, upon some sort of indestrua* tible paper. "My wife suffered seven years and was bed riddeh, too," said WL K. Huestis, of Emporia, Kansas, *1 number of physicians failed to help I Dr. Pierce's 'Golden Medical Diseovei cured ber." All druggists sell thl edy. Everybody ought to keep only needs trial.

11, net

and won

One of the greate^^Tf Pennsylvania^ products is petro^lum. Millions bava been made in t&e greasy fluid. Bear ... -*151* ra was prostrated by 'sick headache aa#

jamin Crump/living at Oil City, rigt in the heart o' the petroleum

countrj

was prostrated by sick headache aaL general exhaustion, by working continuously in tbe sun. By tbe doctor's a#~ vice be used Mlshler's Herb Bitters as a preventive, snd thereafter did not suffer.

If tbe sun shines make the most af ff if it rslns, let It rsin. ",

The Teat af 8 Yearn!

DAN. A. GROSVENOR, Esq., Unite# States Treasury Department, Fin# Controller's Offlce, Washington, D. 0« took Warner's 8AFK Cure in 1878, an#

Dec. 29th, 1884, be wrote, "Warner* SAME Cure in my case effected a permanent cure, and for five or six yeaNi I have experienced no trouble frowt what was a serious kidney affection.'*

-THE

BEST TONIC.

This medicine, combtninc Iron with purs

DI«WW(

Wtaa*y*tv»««iM.v

I Dip Ml ItlTan un&ilinc ^"SS^nvSaabl/^Sr Diseases peculiar to Women, and all who lead sedentary live*. ltdoes not injure tbe teeth, cause beadache.or produce coMtfpation—Iron

unSiTrnr remedy for Diseases of the

ia#i4rina d0.

It enriches and pnrlflei the blood, stimnlaics the appetite, aid* tbe assimilation of food, Believes Heartburn and Belching, and strength-

em

the mnscles and nerves. For Intermittent Fevers. Lasaitode, lack of Energy, Ac., It has no eqtisl.

S9- Tbecenoine baa above trade mark and eroaed rsdunes on wrapper. Tate noottw^. snows casual ca*

BAM UNA* A*