Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 15, Number 40, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 28 March 1885 — Page 2

•IN

FHE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TEKRE HAUTE, MARCH 28 1886

(Commenced In The Mail DJC 6lh. ick aarnuen

CHD

behad on application at pub-

ttsatiou office or of news agents.]

Wyllard's Weird.

Br MI38 M. E. BEADDOM.

yotbor bf "Lady Audley'a Secret," Awora Floyd," "The Outcast," tc-, As.

if

CHAPTER XX. 1WO WOMKN.

'.i i"

Tbey stood face to face in the evening Igbt they two who bad ouoe loved each ether, who bad once been wont to meet with smiles and gladness, baud claspe In band—they stood pale and silent, Mcb waiting for the other to speak. "How could you do so mad a thing as lo come here, Lady Valeria Both well asked at last. "It is not the first madness I have keen guilty of lor your sane," she answered. "There was the madness of )oving you, in the first instance, and lha still greater madness of being constant to you, even when I suspected that jou bad grown tired of me. But it was aot weariness of me tbat influenced you, was it, Both well? It was the fale possilion which grew irksome the falsehood towards tbat good, brave man. It is that which made you desert me, was it •ot, Both well That is ail over now. My bondage is over. I am my own vistress, answerable to no one for my eonduct, and I am here to remind you •f old vows made three years ago beside the fountain at Simla." "Those old vows have been canceled, Lady Valeria," said Botbwell, coldly. "Surely you have not forgotten our last parting and the old love token which you threw sway." "I was beside myself with anger," she answered, hurriedly. "You could not liave meant all you said tbat day, Bothwell. You wanted to escape from a false position you could not guess that my release was to oome so soon, that in Jess than a month I should be free, tbat ha a year I might be your wife." "Stop," he cried, "for pity's sake not another word. I am engaged to marry another woman, bound heart and soul to another. I have no other purpose in Ufe but to win her and to be happy with ker." "It is true, then! You are in love with another woman!" "It i« true. I am in love with her, and I am bound to her by all those feelings which are sweetest and most saqred in the mind of a man—by gratitude, by love, by respect, by adoration of her noble qualities. I am to be married to ker almost immediately. You can un derstand, Ihe/efore, Lady Valeria, thai as I hope always to bo your friend, yonr champion and defender, if need of ehampion should ever arise, I

sua

justi­

fied iu remonstrating with you for your folly in coming here alone, upon the day after your husband's funeral." "My champion, my friend," she repeated mockingly. "What amazing generosity, what sublime chivalry I

You offer me your friendship—you who swore to be my husband, to give me the demotion of your life, 'whenever it pleased God to set mo free from an annatural union. You who were bouud to me by the most sacred vows." "You released me from those vows wheu you threw away the love token. I asked you for my freedom and you told me that I was free. You cannot recall that release, Lady Valeria." "I released you from a false position. Tbat is over now and your alleged motive—your compunction—your remorse of conscience—must be over too."

Bothwell was silent. He had said all that could be said. He stood before Lady Valeria motionless, dumb, ready to bear the brunt of her anger and submit meekly to her reproaches, were tbey ever so ungenerous. "Do you know what you have done lor met" she demanded, passionately. "Do you know what you have c.»»t me —you who pretended to be my slave, woo pretended to worsbin ute, and whose flimsy passion could not stand Ihe wear and tear of three short years You have blighted my life you have ruined my good nam9." "That last charge cannot be true, Lady Valeria. You were much too careful of your reputation—you knew much too well how to keep your slave at a a proper distance," answered Bothwell, with a touch of scorn. "But I did not know how to hide my love for you. There were eyes keen enough to read that. Do you known that my husband assaulted Sir Qeorge Mildmay iu bis own house on my account?" "Ah, then, the story was true," muttered Bothwell. "You have heard about it, I see. Did you hear the nature of the insult which provoked that punishment?'' "No." "It was the mention of your name— your name flung in my face like an accusation—cast at me as if my positiou were notorious—as if all society knew that there had been an intrigue between as." "Sir George is a blackguard, and no »et of hh would surprise me but Sir George is not society. You need not be •nhappy about any speech of bis. If you want me to call him out, I am quite willing to go over to Blankenburg and ask

him to meet me there." "You kuow that such an act as tbat would intensify the scandal. No, Both

well, there is only one way in which you cau set me right a year hence, when ty year of widowhood is ovet, when I •an marry again without disrespect to my husband's memory. That is the •my way of setting roe right with the world, Bothwell and it ia the only «a of setting me right in my own sell esteem."

My dear Lady Valeria, I wonder that yon have not learnt to understand society better, vou who are essentially a woman of society. Do yoo think the world would applaud you or respect you for making a very poor marriage—for •tilting yourself to a man without pursuit, or means, or position Yon who with beauty, rank and wealth might marry almost any one yoo pleased. The world does not smile on such marriages, Lady Valeria, The world worships the star which rise* higher in the soda] •rmament— not the star which bends earthward. You have your future before yoo, free and unfettered. You kare wealth, which in this age means power. Yon can have nothing to regret ta a foolish love of the peat, which drooped aod died tor want of a congenial atmosphere." "la that yonr last word upon this subject f" asked Valeria, looking at him intently with those angry eyes. "lly wrj last."

"Then we will say no more, and we will enter upon anew phrase of our existence—the period of friendship. Perbaps you will be kind enough to take me back to the inn where I left my carriage and order some tea for me "1 shall be very happy," said Bothwell quietly, and they walked off towards tue ion, which was less than half a mile 1 from the cottage. •'May I ask what you were doing in that deserted garden?" inquired Lady

Valeria. "1 have been planning the Improvement of my future home." "Indeed, ^re you gning to live In that desolate spot with nothing but the sea and the sky to look at

The sea and the sky and some of the finest coast scenery in England—the sands and the rocks, and the wood hills. Don't you think that ought to be enough for any man to look at?" "For a bertnit, no doubt, not for a man. A man should have the city and the Forum. Ah, Botbwell, if you were my husband tbere would be no limit to my ambition for you. Anu you are going to vegetate in a place like this?" "I am going to work here, and to be more useful to my generation, I hope. I sb&ll help to make the soldiers of the future,'1 and then be told Lady Valeria his plans. "What a drudgery," she exclaimed, "what a wearisome, monotonous round, from year's end to year's end. I would as soon be a horse in a mill. Oh, Bothwell, the very idea is an absurdity, you, a schoolmaster, you

She measured him from head to foot with a scornful laugh, tryiog to humiliate him, to make him ashamed of bis modest hope*. But she failed utterly in this endeavor. Bothwell was too happy to be put out of conceit with bis prospects. Even tbat opprobrious name of schoolmaster" had no terrors for him. "Tell me about my friend's last illness," be said, preseutly, gravely, gently, trying to oriug Lady Valeria to a more womanly frame of mind.

Lady Valeria Id Bothwell abont those last sad days bow the strong frame had been burnt up with fever, the broad chest racked with pain bow patiently weakness and suilering had been endured. "He was a brave, good man,"she said, "noole, unselfish to the last. His parting words were full of love and generosity. 'You will marry again,' he said. •I have left no fetter upon your life. Mv latest prayer will be for your happiness.'

I wish we had both been better worthy of his regard." said Bothwell, gloomily. "Tbat is past wishing now. Nothing that you or I CPU do will cancel the past. No, Botbwell,'1 she said, looking at bim steadily, "nothing will cancel the past.'

They were at the hotel by this time. Bothwell ordered tea, then went out to the stables to order the carriage. He left Lady Valeria to take her tea in mournful solitude, while he walked up and down iu front of the hotel, waiting to hand her into her carriage.

He walked up and d.»wu in the Autumn darkness, listening to the murmur of the waves, seeing the stars shiue out, pale a-id far ap:irt iu the calm gray —glancing now and then at the window of the sitting room, where Lady Valeria was seated in the glow of the fire, a sombre figure in densest black.

She caine out after the carriage had been waiting some time. "Oh, you are there, are you she exclaimed, seeing Bothwell by the carriage door. "I thought you had gone." "I waited to hand you to your carriage." "You are vastly polite. I was hardly ared for so much attention." 'here is a train from Bodmin Road a fe*w minutes after nine. You will be in time for it if your coachman drives pretty fast." "The road is not the safest in the world for fast driving, but you can tell him to catch the train, if you please. Good night."

"'•Tt

The carriage drove off, and Bothwell went baok to bis cottage lodgings wondering whether he had seen the last of the lady. Her coming had introduced anew element of doubt and fear in his mind. A woman capable of such foolishness might stop at no desperate act. All the serenity of Bothwell sky had become clouded over.

CHAPTER XXL

.. ROSES ON A GRAVE. While Bothwell was watching builder's men upon the green hill besides tbe Atlantic, Edward Heathcote was slowly, patiently, laboriously following the thiu thread of circumstantial evidence which was to lead him to tbe solution of Leonie Lemarque's fate,

Mr. Blumenlein's remark about tbe hidden door in tbe aloove of Wyllard's old quarters had impressed Heathcote strongly. Tbe door opened into a dark and obscure court, a narrow passage piercing from one street to another, and with only a side door here and there leading into a yard, and here and tbere the grated windows of a warehouse or an office and all in wbioh after business hours, there were hardly any signs of human habitation. Heathcote inspected this passage after be left the merchant's office. He followed it to its outlet into a narrow street which led him into another and busier street parallel with tbe Rue Lafitte. By this way, which was soirewhat circuitous, and which led for the most part through shabby streets, he avoided the Boulevard altogether.

That speech of Mr. Blumenlein's haunted him like tbe refrain of a song. The words repeated themselves over and over again in bis mind with maddening reiteration. "Wyliard, the speculator, was one man,'but there was another man of whom the world knew nothing, and who weut out and came In between dusk and dawn by that side door in tbe court."

Heathcote looked at his watch when he entered the Rue Lafitte. He bad walked the distance in a quarter of an hour.

He bad made a note of tbe number of the house in which Marie Prevol had lived. It was 117, about half way between tbe boulevard and the Rue Lafayette. It was to this house that he now directed his steps, impelled by tbe desire to see tbe rooms in wLich tbe beautiful young actress had lived, if it were possible to see them.

The person who opened tbe door, and who occupied a little den at the back of the entrance ball, was a woman of aboat forty, cleaner and fresher looking than the generality of portresses and care takers. She was decently attired in a smart cotten gown, which fitted her buxom figure to perfection. Her face was clfean and her cap spotless. She had a pleasant, open countenance, and Heathcote felt that be might believe anything sbe told bim.

He asked if tbere were any apartments to be let In tbe bouse. No, the portress told him. Tbere were only old established families living there. There had not been a floor to let tor three yean.

Indeed! Not the third floor for example?" o. Bat why did monsieur Inquire

^'*-''14:^5:1.

TEHEE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

especially about tbe third floor?" the portress asked, looking at him keenly with her bright, black eyes. "I confess to baring a particular cariosity about tbe third floor," replied Heathcote, lodging tbat frankness would serve bim beet with this outspoken matron, "and il by any chance tbe family were absent—' "Monsieur would like to indulge a morbid curiosity," interrupted the portress, "to see the rooms which were occupied by a beautiful woman who was murdered. Tbere was a time when I bad twenty, forty, fifty such applications in a day, when all the idlers in Paris came here to spy about and to question. If the murder had been done in one of those very rooms instead of in tbe wood I should have made my fortune. As it was, people stared and pried and touched things, as if the very curtains and the sofa cushions had been steeped in blood. But tbat was ten years ago. I wonder tbat monsieur should feel any curiosity after all those years." "Yon were living in this house ten years ago, at tbe time of tbe murder questioned Heathcote, eagerly. "Yes, monsieur and for three fears before tbat. I was with Madam Georges from the day she first entered this house to tbe day she was carried out of it in her coffin. I am Barbe Leroux, born Girot. If you have beard of the murder of Marie Prevol you must have heard of Barbe Girot her servant. I was one of tbe chief witnesses before the judge destruction," concluded the portress, with obvious pride. "Madam. 1 have read your evidence," replied Heathcote. "I am deeply interested in tbe history of that terrible murder, and 1 rejoice in having meta lady who can, if she pleases, help me to marvel a mystery Which baffled tbe police." "Tbe police I" exclaimed Madam Leroix, contemptuously, "the police area parcel of no great things or they woul 1 nave found the man who killed my mistress and Monsieur de Maucroix in a week." "Provided tbat he stopped in Paris to be found. But it seems evident tbat he got away from Paris, a'd instantly, or be would have been taken red-handed." "I have reason tc know that he was in Paris long after tbe murder," said Barbe decisively. "What reason? Pray consider, madam, that I am brought to this house by no morbid love of the horrible. It is my mission to discover the murderer of

Marie Prevol. Giveme jourconfidence, I entreat madam. You who loved your mistress must desire to see her assassin punished."

Barbe Leroix shrugged her shoulders with an air of doubt. "I don't quite know tbat, monsieur. Yes, I lovea my mistress, but I pity her murderer. Come, we cannot talk in this passage all day. Will- you walk into my room monsieur and seat yourself for a little while and then, if you are anxious to see tbe rooms in which that poor lady lived, it may perhaps be man aged "You are very good," said Heathcote, slipping a Napoleon into Barbe Leroux's broad palms.

She ushered him into her little sittingroom, the very sanctuary aud stronghold of her domestic life, since there was a cradle suuning itself in the few rays of light which crept down tbe hollow cube of brick aud stone on which the single window looked. "Leroux is one of the porters at the Central Markets," she explained. "It is a hard life and the pay in small but there are perquisites, and between us we contrive to live and to put away a little for the daughter there," with a nod and a smile iu tbe direction of tbe cradle, whence came tbe rhythmical breathing of a fat baby. "Tbe only one?" inquired Heathcote. "Y6S, Monsieur." "And you have lived in this bouse for thirteen years, Madam Leroux "Nearer fourteen, when all is counted I was a dresser at the Porte Saint Martin, when Mademoiselle Prevol first appeared there, it was a wretched lifebad pay, late hours, hard work, caught cold on going to and fro on the winter nights thinly clad, for I had an old mother to support in those days and I could not afford warm clothing. I had a oougb which tore me to pieces, but I dared not give up my employment, and my fear was for being sent away for bad health. I bad not a friend in Paris to help me. Then it was, monsieur, that Mademoiselle Prevol took pity on me. She spoke about me to a doctor who used to come behind the scenes, and was on friendly terms with all the actors and actresses. She asked him to prescribe for me: but he told her that medicines would be of no use in my ease. was young and had a good constitution All that was needed lor my cure was warmth and comfort. I was not to go outof doors after dark, or in bad weather, if I wanted to cure myself. I almost laughed at tbe doctor for his advice. I lived in tbe Boulevard de la Cbapelle. and had to walk to and fro in all weathers, good or bad. It was Janaary at this time and the snow,was on the ground." "it was then that Mademoiselle Prevol took you into her service speculated Heathcote. "Yes, monsieur. There are not many ladies in her position who would have cared what became of a drudge like me. she was new to the theatre, and the bad just become tbe rage on account of her beauty. The papers had all been full of her praises. Cigars, hats, fans, shoes were called after her. The public applauded her songs and dances made every night. Admirers were waiting in Crowds at the stage door to see her leave tbe theatre, in the shabby little fortysouls tbat used to take her home. She dared not wait for fear ot being followed and mobbed. She was young enough to have had her head tnrned by all this fuss but she seemed to care hardly anything about it. One honest man'a love would be worth all this rubbish, she said to me once when I asked ber if she was not proud of being tbe rage of all Paris. I was proud of dressing her, and I used to take tbe greatest care in everything I did for ber, and I suppose it was this that made ber so good to me. She knew tbat I loved ber, and the poor dresser's love was honest love. In a word, monsieur, she asked me if I would like to be her servant. She was going to leave her mother's lodgings, where she was not comfortable, and to take an apartment of her own. I might have to work bard, perhaps, she told me, and I should have to be careful and saving, as she had only ber salary to live on. She was not like those ladies who drove their crrriages and lived in tbe Bote yonder—but she would feed me and lodge me well, and ahe wonld give me as much money as I was sitting at tbe theatre, without either food or lodging." "Natorally, you accepted t'* "With delight, monsieur." "Was she called Madam Georges when •be first came to this house?*' "No, monsieur, she did uot know his name in those days. 8be only knew tbat she bad a mysterious admirer who came to tbe theatre every night, who wed to ait In a dark corner of a small private box dose to tbe stage, who never showed himself to tbe audience, and who was always alone. This waa all ahef

knew of Monsieur Georges in those days." "Do you know how their acquaintance advanced from this print "No, monsieur. hardly know anything of tbe progress of their attachment. They were letters—gitts—which came to the bouse. And I kuow that iu the Spring night# of tbat first year my mistress used to walk home from the theatre, escuted-by nsieur Georges. But he never entered our apartment till after madam's return from England, where she went during tbe Summer vacation. She had been very sileut about her strange admirer—tJae had told me nothing—but she nad shed many tears on his acsouut. That was a

Eer

Bee-ret

Which she could not bide from me. She had speut many wakeful nights, breathed many sighs. When Bbe told me she was going to England I thought all was over. She had fought bard to be true to herself, poor girl

Bbe

bad struggled

against ber fate, but this man's love had conquered her." "She did not tell you that she was going away to be married "No, monsieur but when she came back after a fortnight's absence she showed me her wedding ring, and she told me tbat she was to be called Madam Georges henceforward. This I took to mean tbat Monsieur Georges tad married her while in Eugland, and I believe it still. He loved ber too well to degrade her by making her bis mistress." "He loved her well enough to murder her," said Heathcote. "I suppose tbat is about the highest degree of intensity in passion." ue loved her as women are not often loved, monsieur,' replied Barbe, with conviction. "I saw enough to know that from first to last he adored ber tbat the jealousy wbioh devoured him later, the jealousy which made hins act like a madman many times in my hearing, was the madness of intense love. I have listened outside tbe door, trembling for my mistress' safety, ready to give the alarm to the bouse, to rush in and rescue her from his violence and then the storm was lulled by ber sweet words, her gentleness, and he became like a

enitent child. Yes, monsieur, he loved as few men love." "If this were so, why did he keep her in such a dubious, discreditable position? Why did he not introduce her to the world as his wife?" "I cannot tell. There must have been reasons for bis secrecy. He seldom came to this bouse before nightfall. He never showed himself anywhere with madam till after tbe theatre." "Since he was rich enough to be lavish, wbjt did he not remove ber from the stage "That was one of the causes of unhappiness towards the last, monsieur. It was bis wish tbat she should leave the theatre and she refused. I believe It was at this time she became acquainted with Monsieur de Maucroix." "You stated before the judge destruction that you believed tbe acquaiutanse between your mistress and Monsieur de Maucroix to have been an inaoceut acquaintance. Is that still your belief?" "It is ray conviction, monsieur I never doubted my dear mistress' honor, though I doubted her wisdom in allowing herself to think about Monsieur de Maucroix. It must be pleaded in her excu8ethat he was one of tbe most fascinating men in Paris. At least that is what I have beard people say of hiinf I know tbat be was young, handsome and remarkably elegant in his appearance," "And now tell me bow you come to know that Georges remained in Pari* after the murder? Did you ever see him?" "Yes, monsieur. I was accustomed to go every week to the Cemetery of Pere Ldchaise, monsieur, to look at my dear mistress's grave, and to lay my bumble offering of flowers upon the plain marble slab which bad been placed there at Madam Lemarque'8 expense. It bore for inscription only the one word —Marie. Madam Leraarque dared not describe ber daughter as a wife—she would not record her name as a spin ster. Marie was enough. For the first month after her burial I found her slab covered with flowers, wreathes, crosses, bouquets of the costliest flowers that can be bought in Paris. I noticed tbat among the variety of flowers there was one wreath frequently renewed, and always the same—a wreath of Marechal Niel roses—and I knew tbat these bad been ber favorite flowers, tbe flowers that she always wore and had about her rooms. I had often heard ber call the Marechal Niel the king of roses. Months passed, and on my weekly visit with my poor little bunch of violets, or snowdrows, or jonquils, I found always tbe wreath of yellow roses. All tbrongh the Winter, when all other tokens had ceased to adorn ths grave—when the beautiful actress was beginning to be forgotten—tbe yellow roses were always renewed. I felt that this could be done only by some one who bad devotedly loved her who lay under tbe marble slab. For her admirers of the theatre ber death had been a nine days' wonder. They had loaded her grave with flowers in tbe first enthusiasm of their regret, and then had gone away and forgotten all about ber, but tbe wreath of yellow roses, renewed again and again, all through the long dead Winter, was the gift ot a steadfast lore, a grief which did not diminish with time. I questioned the people at the gates, but they knew nothing or the mysterious hand which laid those flowers on my mistress'grave. I hoped I should some day surprise the visitor who brought them, but although I altered tbe days of my visit, never going two weeks running on the same day, I seemed no nearer finding tbat mysterious mourner. At last, early in the February after my mistress's death, I resolved upon going to tbe cemetery every day, and remaining tbere, in view of tbe grave as long as my stock of patience wonld allow me. I speut three or four hours there for six days running, till my heart and feet were alike weary. But I had seen no one, the rottes had not been -renewed. Tbe seventh day was a Saturday, tbe day which I always devoted to cleaning the apartment which was now in ths occupation of an elderly gentleman and his wife. I was not able to leave the house till late in the afternoon. The day had been foggy, and tbe fog had thickened by the time I left tbe omnibus, which cook me to tbe Roe de la Roquette. At tbe gates of tbe cemetery it was so dark tbat if 1 bad not been familiar with tbe path* which led to my mistress's giave I should hardly have been able to find my way to tbe spot. The grave is In a nar row side path, midway between two of the principal Walks, and as I turned the corner between two large and lofty monuments, I saw a man standing in the middle ot tbe pialb ia front of Marie Prevol's grave. A tall figure, in a furled overcoat, a figure I knew well. 1 bad not an Instant's doobt that thp murderer of my mistress stood there be fore me, looking at bis victim's grave.' "Did you accost him "Also, no. He waa not mors than a dozen yards from the spot where I stood, and I quickened my footsteps intending to speak to bim but at the sound of those footstep* he looked round, saw a figure approaching through tbe fog and hurried off in the opposite direction. 1

ran after him, but be had reached the other end of the path before 1 could overtake bim, and when I got there it was in vain that I looked for any trace of him either right or left of tbe pathway. He had disappeared iu the fog, which was thicker ab this end of the path, and it was on lower ground. My mistress's grave was on the slope of the bill, and the fog was less dense. "1 went back to tbe grave and looked at tbe flowers on tbe slab. A wreath of yellow roses, fresh from tbe hothouse where they had bees grown, lay on the marble, Burroundiug tbat one word, 'Marie.' "Are you sure that tbe man you saw waB Georges "Perfectly sure. I knew his figure 1 knew bis walk. I could not be mistaken in bim. Aud who else was tbere in Paris who would come week after week, in ail weatherq, to lay the roses my mistress loved upon her grave? Mauy had admired ber on tbe stage, but only two men bad been allowed to love her, to know anythiug of her in her private life. Of those two, oue was the murdered man, Monsieur de Maucroix tbe other was the murderer, Georges." "Did you find tbe flowers renewed after this day, or did the murderer take alarm and forego his tribute to the dead "The roses were renewed week after week for more than a year after tbat foggy Saturday afternoon but I never again saw tbe person who laid them tbere. I bad, indeed, no desire, to see bim again. I bad satisfied myself as to his identity. I did not want to betray bim to tbe police. Tbe shedding of his blood might have avenged my dear mistress's death, but it could not bave restored ber to life. It coeld have been no consolation to her in purgatory to know that this man, whom she had once loved, who had loved ber only too well, was to die on tbe scaffold for ber sake. I bated him as the murderer of my mistress, but I pitied him even in the midst of my hatred. I pitied him for the reality of his love." "You Bay the flowers appeared on tbe grave for more than a year after that February afternoon?" said Heathoote. "Did the tribute fall off gradually Was tbe wreath renewed at longer aod longer intervals till it ceased altogether, or did the offering stop suddenly "Suddenly. In the Marchf of the second year after madam's death I found a fadded wreath ou ray weekly visit, and that faded wreath has never been re placed." "That would be in March, 1874?" "Yes, monsieur." "You never saw Georges again, either in the cemetery or any where else "Never, monsieur." "I have beeu told that he was a French Canadian. Have you any knowledge ae to his country or his family history "None, mousieur. I always supposed him to be a Frenchman. I uever beard him speak in any other language." "Did he speak like a Parisian "No, monsieur. He did not speak exactly like tbe people about here, or the actors at the Porte Saint Martin. I used to think that he wus a provincial." "Did you hear from your mistress what part of England she bad visiced "1 heard, monsieur, but have forgot ten. The names of places weie strange to me—such queer names—but I knew it was a place iu which there-were lakes and mountains." "Was it in Scotland or Ireland?" "No, monsier, it was in England. 1 am sure of that. And now, if monsieur would like to see the third floor."

There was a tiny dining-room oponing out of the salon, with a window overlooking ehimeeys" and backs of bouses, ana this window bad been filled with painted glass in the time of Mousieur Georges. All the other elegances and luxuries with which be bad embel lisbed the cosy little rooms had been disposed of at the sale of Marie Prevol's effects. There had been Venetian mirrors and girandoles on the walls of the the dining-room, Barbe explained.

The bedroom opened out of tbe salon. There was a dressing-room between that and the little back room in which Barbe bad slept when she was in Mademoiselle Prevol's service. On her occasional visits Leonie Lemarque bad occupied a truckle bed in Barbe's room. "How was it that LeonieLamarque in all her visits never happened to see Monsieur Georges." inquired Heathcote, when be had looked at all the rooms, peopling them in his imagination with the figures of tbe lovely actress and ber lover. "Madam took good care to prevent that. She told me that Monsieur Georges hated children, and that tbe little one was to be kept out of bis way." "Did he never spend bis mornings here Was he only here at night "Only at night. It was for that reason Madam Lemarque used to call him tbs night bird. I think she was angry because she was never allowed to see bim—never invited to supper. Monsieur Georges used to take a cup of coffee early in tbe morning, and left the house before most people were up. As early as five o'clock in Summer, never later than half-past six iu Winter. t~ [TO BB C«NTINUKP.]

flfTaar Langi are Destroyed do not expect that Dr. Pierce's "Golden Medical Discovery" will make new one» for you. It can do much, but not impossibilities. If, however, you have not yet reached the last stages of oonsump tion, there is hope for you. But do not delay, lest you cross tbe fatal line where help is impossible. The Discovery has arrested the aggravating cough of thousands of consumptives, cured tb6ir nigbtsweats and hectic fevers, and restored them to health and happiness.

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5 'Il S w*

CTTRE3

By tho two of tiia B23TEDY, UiO Etcrjnoli and Bov/ols epeediiy rcgiia t! r£r re 111 th, r.. .d blocd is purlCvU.

a AT.T. DISEASES

1

BLADDE2. AND tTBXNATtY

It is prcncuaoed ty/ $ hundrccla of fc'.o bee doctors to Vo tie ON~f« LY CTTB23 for *11 kinds ci Hldicy car 08.

DROPSY"

It is rarely veffotr.ble, and enreo vrhra other medicines fail.

i**-" ffRAVTTL !--& DIABSTES BHIOHT'S

It is prepared c--» prossly fcr these diseases, and has novc* been kno\ni to fail. Ono trial •will nvineo you. Fcr mlo by all drujrrists.

DISEASEJ' PAINS -fc.

ItfV THM & ,*

BACK IiOENB OB SIDE

oraavotrs DISEASES BJFL'KNTlON

OB,

lranvBETSNnoN or 4 VBXKB.

PBICJB «1.U5. Bond fcr Fafnphlct of Tootimoniale,

HUNT»gl StM BEMEDyfef oo.,

ProTltli'nco,

P. TIT it

TUTTS PILLS

25 YEARS IN USE, Ths Greatest MedjoaKTnumjjjh. of the Age I SYMPTOMS OF A

TORPID LIVER.

Loss of nppetite, Dowels costive, l'ain la tho head, with a dull sensation In tho back |«rt, Pain under the shonlde*. blade, Fullneas nftor eating, with adi^ Inclination to exertion of body or mind» Irritability of temper, IiOwaplrita, with a feeling of hnvlnr neglected nome dutsb Weariness, Dtxzlneaa, Fluttering at tbe Heart, Dots before tho eyea, lleadacho over the right eye, Iteatleasness, with fltfal dreame, Highly colored Urine, and

CONSTIPATION.

TUTT'S PILL.8 are especially adaptod to such cases, one dose effects such a. •ban go of feel In pus to astonish the sufferer.

They Increase the A ppetite,nnd cause tbft body to Take

OLV

Flenhitliu* the system

nourished, and by their Touie Action on the Olffestive Organs,Rejpilar stools w» jjroducedj^JPrlc^Scj^Olurra^JtjJfjj.

TUTTS HAIR DYE.

GRAT HAIR WHISKERS changed to a GLOSST BLACKor

by a single application of

this DTE. It imparts a natural color, aot* instantaneously. Sold by Druggists, or sent bv express on recoipt of 91* Office, 44 Murray St., New York.

PROWS

Helps those who help themselves. Nature has provided herbs for the cure of husuUt ailments and medical science has discovered their healing powers, and the proper combinations neoessary tooonqoer disease. The rosolt of these disooveries and combinations is

ISHLER'S

BITTERS-

For many years it has been tested ut severe eases of Kidney and Liver Diseases, Malaria, Dyspepsia, Indigestion, Weakness, Lassitude, eto., and invariably it has given relief and onre. Thousands of testimonials have been given, and it is most popular where best known.

J. O. Steinheiser, Superintendent of the Lancaster Co., Fa., hospital, write* "Inaed it in a frreat many cases of dyspepA. kidney disease, liver complaint, rbetunauflL asthma and scrotals, and invariably with bod results." F. Hofftaian, of Ciroleville, Ohio, says: 'This is to certify that 1 have had the d*a£ afrne, and by using one bottle of MiohterM Bam Bitters a complete cure has been effected."

MISHLER HERB BITTERS CO, 035 Commeroe St., Philadelphia. Parker's Pleasant Woha Syrap Vsvsr 7a%

KJ|

ITA

ELY'S

Hi si (ream Balaa,

Cleanses Iks

Head. Allays laflamatlon. Heals

WftVER#S JJ'h" ojBttores the 8e

1

Taste A SnMll

quick and pos-

Cure. flOets

U&A.llt Druggists.

,. j=P''t» by mail reglsCCI/CP tfred. Bend for al ,•• s*|tcircular, fiwnople by mail lOVenta. ELY BROTHERS, Droggintf. Owrw. N Y. SeM.

OKATKrUL—COMFORTING.

EPPS'S COCO!

ft

BREAKFAST.

"By a thorough knowledge ofjthe natospi laws rion tiOU

Wl lite UMC j/ivjrwuv-

Cocoa, Mr. Epiw has provided oar breakfast tables with a delicately flavored beverage which may save us many a heavv doctotiT bills. It is by the Judicious use of wach

_i a ma j.t 4 svi ss W nA 01"

tides of diet tbat a constitution may be grs£ uaily built op until strong enough to resM every tendricy todiaease. Hundredsofw Ue meladlt-t are floating around us readyf» attack wherever there Is a weak point. may escape many a fatal abaft by keeping ourselves well fortified with purs blood ajp a properly nourished frame. —{Civi) Btrr*

Made simply with boiling water or snHfc, gold only in half Poonltinsto groeers, beledthos: JAHK8 KPP8 COHomoepstkie CkeaoJsta, Lssdos,