Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 15, Number 41, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 4 April 1885 — Page 2

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ft«8

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TBKRE HAUTE, APRIL 4 1885.

(Commenced in The Mall Deo 0th. Back numbers can be had on application at pubifcsatlon office or of news agent*.]

Wyllard's Weird.

BT MI88

M.

yvtber of

K. BRADDOM.

"Lady

Audley'n

Secret," Aasora

Floyd," "Tns Outcast," Ac.,

As.

CHAPTER XXII. WBDDIWO QABMKWT8.

Hilda'* presence at Penuaoival was fall of comfort and solace of Dora Wyllard. She bad known Hilda all ber life,, kad seen ber grow from cbildbood to womanhood, bad loved ber with a stater ly love, trusting ber as sbe trusted no •ne else. Hilda bad been only a cbild at the time of Dora's engagement to Edward Heatbcote, yet, even at eleven years of age, Hilda's tender heart bad been full of sympathy for her brother wben that engagement was broken off, and when Dora became the wife of another man. She had been angry, will* vehement, childish anger. That Dora should like any man better than bim who, In the fond eyes of tbe youngest sister, seemed the prince and pattern of fine gentlemen! That Dora could, like Hamlet's widow, turn from Hyperion to a Satyr!

Hilda at eleven was precocious in ber knowledge of books, and very ^elfopinionated in ber'jadguient of people. Sbe told her brother sbe would never •peak of Dora spain, that she would run a mile to avoid even «eei»g her and thin, after a tew months after Dora'* marriage, finding that ber brother bad forgiven that great wrong with all bis heart, Hilda melted one day suddenly, at meeting Mrs. VVyllard on tbe moor, and fill into ber old friend's arms. "1 have tried to bate you for being so wicxed to my brother," she sobbed, as Dora bent over and kissed her. "Your brother forgave me a year ago, Hilda," said Dora. "Why should you be lens generous than be?'' "Because I love him better than he loves himself," cried Hilda, in her vehement way "became I know bis value better than he does. Oh, ra, how eould you like any one jlse better than Edward?" "You must not ask me that, my dar ling. Those things cannot be explained. Fate willed it so." "And I supp')8e you are very happy in y«ur grand house?" said Hilda, sullenly. "Iam very happy with tbe husband 1 love, Hilda. The grand house makes no difference. And now we ar« going to be good friends, aren't we, dear, and we are never going to talk of the past? How you have grown, Hilda "Out of all my frocks," answered Hilda, glancing contemptuously at her ankles. "It is perfectly degrading never to have a frock long enough for one— and never to have one's waist in tbe right place, Tbe dress-maker says I have no waist yet. Dress-makers are so Insulting to girls of my age. I tbiuk I shall positively trample upon my dressmaker wben 1 am grown up. to revenge myself for all 1 have suffered from the tribe." "My Hilda, what an old-fashioned pass you have grown." "How oan I help being old-fashioned? I never see any young people. Edward never oomes to the Spaniards now. You have driven him away." "Hilda, if we're to be friends—" "Well, I won't sav it again but you have, you know. It is awfully dull at home. I suppose I may say that "I hear you have a new governess. I hope you like ber!" "You needn't hope that, for you know glrla never do. She is a poor sheep of a thing, and 1 dou't suppose I hate ber qnite HO bad as Bome girls hate their governesses. But she is dreadfully dreary. Sbe makes her own gowns, and of an evening her needle goes stitch, stitch, stitch, In time to the ticking of tbe clock, while I practice my scales. I don't know which I hate most, tbe olock, or tbe piano, or the needle." "Poor Hilda, you must spend all your time with me in future. I shall call tomorrow and ask your father's permission to have you at Penmorval as often as I like." "He won't refuse if there's any consistency In him," replied Hilda, "for be Is always grumbling about the noise 1 make, and about mv sliding down tbe bannisters. How did be go down stairs, I wonder, at my age Those broad ban nisters at tbe Spaniards must have been made for sliding. But fathers are so Inconsistent," concluded Hilda. "1 shouldn't wonder if he wouldn't rather have me and my noise at bome than allow me to be bappy at Penmorval." "Let us hope that he will be reasonable," said Dora, smllicg, "even though be is a father."

Mrs. Wyllard called at tbe Spaniards uext day, and was not too graciously received by Mr. Heatboote—old Squire Heatbcote, as he was called In that part of the world. He was a testy invalid, a sufferer from some chronic complaint so obscure in its complications as to seem only an excuse for ill-temper—and he had not forgiven Dora for jilting his son. He softenea gradually, however, melted by the sweetness of her inanuer, and by memories of days that WAS gone, when he bad admired her mother, aud had been ruthlessly cot out by ber father. The eyes that looked at him seemed to lie the eyes that he had loved in his youth.

41

If you care to be troubled with the girl I ought to be grateful for any kindness you may show her," said the squire. "She*makes more noise than a regiment, and she is always disobeying ber governess or neglecting ber lessons, ana then I am called upon to interfere. I wouldn't mind it if they would tight it out between them and leave me in peace." "You shall be left in peace very often, if you will allow tne to have Hilda for my little companion at Penmorval," said Dora. "And I promise yon that ber education shall not be altogether neglected while sbe is with me." "If you can teach her manners I shall be eternally your debtor," said the squire. "I would much rather a young woman should know how to behave herself in society than that sbe should read wfi-wshylua or square tbe circle."

Thus It came about that Hilda spent a great deal of ber life at Penmorval, where the sheep-tike governess escorted her. or whence she fetched ber with unfailing patience, graceful exceedingly when sbe wan rewarded with a cup of tea in Mrs. Wyllard's pretty drawingroom, or in the yew-tree arbor.

The old squire did not long survive that interview fa which he comotsined •f his young daughter*» boydeniah man-1

ners. He did not live to see the hoyden soften into a graceful, modest girl, reserved and silent among strangers, fall of vivacity among tboae she loved. His elder son succeeded bim in tbe poeeession of the Spaniards, a bachelor and an enthusiastic sportsman. He was one of those ideal brothers with whom a sister can do what sbe likes, and under his regime Hilda learnt to ride to hounds, and contrived to enjoy herself as much as any girl in Cornwall. She mourned bim passionately wben be was snatched awa} in tbe flower of his manhood, viotim to a severe cold caught during a tiohing tour in Conuemar*.

Edward's rule was almost as kind, but not quite so easy. He bad narrower ideas about tbe rights of young ladies, especially in relation to the hnating field. "Wben I hunt yon can go with me," be said, "but 1 will not have you flourishing about the country with no one but a groom to look after you," and this narrower rule deprived Hilda of many a day's sport. Courtenay, tbe elder brother bad never missed a day witb fox-bounds or barriers, and he had allowed bis sinter tbe run of bis stables and much latitude in all things.

While Hilda was growing up under Mrs. Wyllard's wiug, while Edward Heatbcote changed from bachelor to married man, and then to widower, Bothwesll Grahaine was serving his queen and bis country in the iareast. He could just remember having seen Hilda once as a child. He came back to

O nwall to find her a woman, or a girl on the verge of womanhood, 8nd it was not long before he grew to believe in her as the very perfection of girlhood and womanhood in one—girlhood wben nhe was gay, and in her more serious mtods altogether womanly.

Iu these darker days, under that beavv cloud which tiad fallen upon Dora Wyllard's life, Hilda's presence was an inestimable bieMsing. Dora was able to put aside the thought of her own great Horrow every now and then, while sbe entered with all her heart into tbe life of her friend—this fresh young life, so full of hope in the future, of earnest purpose and Fweet humility. If a king had stooped from his throne to woo her, Hilda could not have been prouder of tier royal love than she was of Botbwell. Sbe spoke of him as one who honored ber by his affection, and sbe seemed full' of tearfulness lent sbe should not be good enough for ber hero. It never occurred to bor that it was Botbwell who ought to be thankful, that it was he who had won the prize.

Hilda was very fearful of intruding her new joys and hopes upon her friend's sorrow "I ought not to chatter about our prospects, Dora, when you are weighed dowu witb care," she said, apologetically.

But Dora insisted upon hearing all about the new home which was to be made out of the old cottage. She insisted upon discussiug the trousseau and the linen closet, glass and china, and evon hardware albeit her own lines bad fallen iu a mausion where all the settlings are provided on a lavish *cale, and left to tbe care of a housekeeper, to be destroys. and renewed periodically for the benefit of old established trade«meu. 'You never bad a linen closet to look after, Dora," said Hilda, pitving her friend. "That is the worst of being so ich. There is no individuality in your home life. I mean to be a regular housewife, aud to keep count of every tablecloth in my stock. I shall make aud mark and mend all the Douse linen, and I shall be much prouder of my linen closet than of my gowns and bonnets. And tbe china closet, Dora, ought not that to be lovely One can get such delicious glass and china nowadays foi so little money. I hive looked at tbe Plymouth china shops and longed to buy tbe things before I was engaged: but now I can buy all the glass and china for our house—I have saved enough money out of my allowance to pay for all we want in that way." "What an independent young person vou are, Hilda!" said her friend, laughing at ber "out you must not spend all your money on cups and saucers—" "And teapots!" interjected Hilda, "such sweet little chiua teapots. I will have one for every day In the week." "Teapots are all very well, but you will have your trousseau to buy. You must keep some of your money for frocks."' "I have no end of frocks more than enough," protested Hilda. "I Bball buy just two new gowns, my wedding gown and a tailor gown for riding outside coaches in the honeymoon. Botbwell proposes that we should go round the south coast as far as the Start, and then across country to Hartland and home by Bade. That is to be our honeymoon tour

V«rv nice and very Inexpensive, dearest. And then you are to oome here to live till your new home is ready?" "I am afraid we shall be very much in your way." "Yon will be a comfort to me, Hildaf both you and Botbwell will be a help and comfort to me."

Hilda spent her evenings for the most part in tbe invalid's room. Her sympathetic nature made it easy for ber to adapt herself to tbe necessities of a sick room. Sbe could be very quiet, and yet she could be bright and gay. Sbe could be cheerful without beipg noisy. Sbe sang with exquisite taste, and sang the songs which are delightful to all hearers songs that appeal to the heart and soothe the senses.

Julian Wyllard was particularly fond of ber German ballads—Schubert, Mendelsshon, Jensen, old Volks-Lieder— but once when «be began a little French song, "Si tu savais," he stopped her with a painful motion of his distorted band. "Not that, Hilda. I detest that song," and for the first time Hilda doubted tbe excellence of his judgment. "I wonder you dislike It," she began. "Oh the thing is pretty enough, but it has been so vulgarized. All the organs were grinding it wben I was in Paris." "And thoee organs disturbed you at your work sometimes, perhaps," said Dora, seated in her accustomed place beside his pillow, ready to adjust bis reading lamp, to give bim a new book, or to discuss any passage he showed her. He read immensely in those long hours of enforced captivity, but his reading had been chiefly on one peculiar line. He was reading tbe metapbysicans, from Plato and Aristotle to Schopenhauer and Bartmann, trying to find comfort for the anguish of his own Individual position in the universal despoudeocy of the modern school of philosophy. "A man chained to a sick bed ought to be able to console himself with tbe Idea that tbe great world around him Is only an idea of his own brain, and yet even wLen convinced of tbe unreality of all things there remains this one central point in the universe, the aeose of individual pain. Such a belief might reconcile tbe sufferer to the Idea of suicide, but hardly to the Idea of life. Ah, my Dora, if you are only a phantasm, you are tbe sweetest gbost that ever a man's brain invented to haunt and blees bis life. "Dont you think you might read mote Interesting b^oks while yoa are ill, Jollan 7** suggested his wife. "No, dear. Theee books are beat, for

they

Bet

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MATT.

me to thinking upon abstract

questions, and hinder me from brooding upon my own misery." "Thank Qod, the brain is untouched," said Julian Wyllard, when his wife pittied him in his hour of pain. "I should not have cared to sink into imbecility, to have only a dull, vagoe sense of my own individuality, like a vegetable in pain. I am very thankful that Spencer assures me the brain is sound and is likely to outlast this crippled frame.".

Botbwell rode over on Sunday morning as he had threatened, and appeared at tbe parish church with bis cousin and Hilda, much to tbe astonishment of some of tbe parishioners who have suspected and almost condemned him. They are now veering round, and had begun to inform each other that jtlr. Grahaine had been a much-wronged man, and that there was evidently a great deal more in the mystery of the strange girl's death than any one in Bodmin had yet been able to fathom. No doubt Mr. Distin, the famous criminal lawyer, knew all about it, and his eross-examination of Both well Grabame bad been only a blind to throw the press and tbe public off the right scent. The very fact of his coming all the way from London to attend a Cornish inquest argued an occult knowledge, a shadow bebiud the throne. Some among Bothwell's late detractors hinted that the business involved a personage of high rank, and were disposed to transfer their suspicious to a local peer, who was not so popular as he might have been, having but recently refused to remit more than one-thfrd of his farmer's rents, or to renew leases at less than half tbe previous rental.

It was a lovely Autumn day, and Botbwell had strolled in the rose garden with his sweetheart, between luncheon and five o'cock tea, talking oyer their house and their future. "And now, dearest, there is only one point to settle,"'said Botbwell, wben they had discussed furniture and china ana glass to their hearts' content, and when Bothwell had given a graphic description of sundry Chippendale chairs and early English bureaux which he bad discovered and bargained for in cottages and farmhouses within twenty miles of Trevena. "I had a little talk with Wyllard before luncheon. He is most cordially disposed towards us, and be wants to hurry on our marriage in order that he may be present at the ceremony. He feels just able to go down to the church in a Bath chair. His chair could be wheeled up the aisle and placed within sight and sound of the altar, without being in anybody's way. He say« it we delay our marriage he may no longer have tbe power to do even this much, and for this reason he is urgent that we should marry almost immediately. What do you say, dearest Will you take up your burden as a man's wife? Will you be mine soon at once almost? The week after next, for instance." "Oh, Bothwell 1" "Think, dear love, there is nothing to delay our marriage except want of faith in each other or in ourselves. If you have any doubt of me, Hilda, or. any doubt as to your own love for me—" "I have none, Bothwell, not a shadow of doubt." "Then let us be married on Tuesday week. That is tbe day Dora suggested. Sbe tells me'that you are the most sensible girl she ever met with, and that you are not going to buy a wagon load of clothos in order to overdress your part in that old, old play called 'Love in a Cottage,' so you see there is nothing to wait for." "But I must have a wedding gown, Bothwell, and a gown for traveling." "Then you have just a week in which to get them made, dear. Not an hour more."

There was some further discussion, but in tbe end Hilda yielded to her lover's pleading. It should be any day he liken—it should be Tuesday.

The two gownB should be ordered next morning. Edward Heathcote had given Dora full powers, and he would doubtless burry home at ber bidding in time to arrange the terms of Hilda's marriage settlement aud to be present at the wedding.

Bothwell was almost beside himself with gladness for tbe rest of the day, but good feeling impelled him to restrain bis exuberance and to be grave and quiet in the presence of the patient sufferer, whose pale, calm lace told but little of mental struggle or bodily pain. Tbe evening was spent in Julian Wyllard's room. There was a good deal of conversation, and Hilda sang some of his favorite songs, a Bacred song of Gounod's, "There is a green hill far away," which Dora especially loved, and again, "Ave Maria," by the same composer. Bothwell sat in a corner by the pretty little cottage piano, listening to the rieb, full voice of bis beloved, watching her thin white fingers as they strayed over tbe keys, inemably bappy. He had no thought of eveniugs in the years that were gone, when he had listened to another singer, and watched other bands, delicate, nervous fingers, glittering witb diamonds. Tbe voice was thinner, a somewhat reedy soprano, aud those tapering fingers had something of a bird's daws in their extreme attenuation but be bad thought tbe thin voice passing sweet in the days that were gone, and the band of the siren had seemed to bim perfection.

He left Penmorval soon after daybreak next morning, to ride back to Trevena. He was to return on the following Saturday, to take up bis abode there until tbe wedding day, while Hilda was to return to tbe Spaniards almoat immediately, to collect ber belongings and make herself ready for her new life. All the business of furnishing could be done after the wedding, in tbat interval which Mr. and Mrs. Grahame were to spend at Penmorval.

Hilda was up in time to wateh from her bedroom window while her lover rode away in the misty morning, but she was much too sby to go down stairs and wish bim good-bye. Sbe would have quailed before the awful eye of Stodden, tbe butler, had sbe ventured to show herself at such an unseemly hour, unchaperoned, unsanctioned by tbe

Eind

resence of a matron. So she bid beber window curtain and watched her true knight's departure and did not even fling him a flower by way of token.

When horse and rider were out of sight she went to ber desk and wrote to ber brother, urging him to come back without delay, explaining and apolMiming for the early date named for her wedding—reminding him as to her marriage settlement tbat she wished Bothwell to profit as much as possible by ber small independence—an altogether womanly letter, brimming over with love for ber betrothed.

Sbe went home that morning, and sbe and Fran lei Meyeratein began Immediately to busy themselves with preparations for tne wedding. It would naturally be tbe quietest of weddings, sine* Mr. Wyllaru condition forbade all festivity. Hilda said she woaki have tbe twins for ber bridesmaids, and no others. They were to be dressed exactly alike, and till in pure white, like biscuit china figures they ware to havs little

Pompadonr frocks and petticoats, and mob cape. There was a tremendous consultation that Monday afternoon witb the chief dreesmaker of Bodmin, a person of high reputation among those steady old-fashioned people who liked to spend their money in their own town, and who were naturally looked down upon by that other section of the county society, which baa all its clothes from London. The die»smaker bad made Hilda's frocks ever si nee she was a baby, and was inclined to be doleful at tbe idea of this trousseau-less entrance into matrimony—but on being put upon her metal sbe declared that the neat little white satin wedding gown and olive cloth traveling gown should be perfection after their kind and then came a lengthy discussion about sleeves and velvet waistcoat, and tbe all important question of buttons was treated exhaustively. MisB Pitt man, the dreesmaker, had been told of Do re and Redfern, aud had lain awake of a night thinking of their productions she had been shewn dresses from Swan and Edgar but she believed that for the bang of a skirt or tbe fit of a sleeve she could hold her own with any house in Loudon. And then she favored Hilda and the fraulein with a little lecture upon the righteous and the unrighteous manner of making and Butting in a sleeve, which was eminently interesting from a professional point of view.

The first three days of that week seemed to Hilda to pass like a dream. She managed to maintain an outward aspect of supreme calmness but ber brain seemed to her in a whirl all the time. She went in and out of tbe house, and wandered about tbe gardens without knowing why she went hither and thither balf her time hardly knowing where she was. Sbe began one thing after another, and never finished anything. She was always waiting for Both well's letters, which came by every post, albeit a third person might have supposed that be would find very little to write about. For Hilda the letters were full of interest, and she made as much baste to answer them as if she and Botbwell bad been heads of parties carrying on tbe business of the nation at a crisis. She was anxious to receive her brother's answer to her letter, but when it came tbe reply, though satisfactory upon some points, was not altogether agreeable.

He wrote as follows: Mrs. Wyllard is quite justified iu baying that I left tbe arrangements of your wedding in h"r bands. "You could have no kinder friend or wiser counsellor and to ber decision, as to tbe date of your marriage, I bow. But I regret to say that I shall not be present at tbe ceremony. I have business which still detains me in Paris, and I have other reasons which hinder my being a witness of your wedding. You must not suppose that this decision on my part arises from any unfriendly feeling to Bothwell Grabame. I have reconciled myself to his marriage with you, and I shall do my uttermost in the future to prove myself bis friend as well as yours. He will find that the instructions 1 have sent as to your settlement are framed witb a due regard to his interests.

There is one thing, however, in which I desire to alter Mrs. Wyllard's scheme, kind and hospitable as her idea is— namely, with regard to yoHr residence after your marriage. I cannot allow you to spend the first few months of your married life under Mr. Wyllard's roof, while your brother's house is more than large enough to bold you and your husband. It is my wish, therefore, that BothWell should bring you back to tbe Spaniards after your honeymoon, and that you and he should live there till your new home is ready for you. You will, in all probability, be very little troubled witb my company, as I am likely to remain in Paris for some time to oome and you and Botbwell can ride my hunters and consider yourselves master and mistress of everything. I must beg that upon this question my wishes Bball be regarded, and that you will carry out my plan even at the hazard of offending Mis. Wyllard, whom you know I esteem and respect above all other women.

And now, my dear girl, I have nothing to do but to wish you all the blessings which a good and true-hearted woman deserves when she marries the man of ber choioe, and to request your acceptance of the inclosed check for your house and your trousseau.

Your very affectionate brother. EDWARD HBATHOOTB. ,r The check was for twohundred and fifty pounds but liberaPKr tbe gift was, it did not reconcile Hilda to the idea of ber brother's absence on her wedding day. "It is extremely unkind of him not to come," she said, throwing the letter and inclosure into her desk, "And it is not kind of him to alter Dora's plans. I know Bhe looked forward to having us at Penmorval. But I shall go ana see her every day, poor darling."

This idea of her brother's absence on her wedding day—that most fateful day in a woman's life—cast a shadow across the sunlight of Hilda's bliss. She could think cf nothing else after tbe receipt ef Heathcote's letter, and she was full of wonder as to his reason for thus absenting himself upon an occasion when duty and good feeling 1xtb demanded his presence.

What could be his motive? sbe asked herself. He was not the kind of man to spare himself tbe trouble of crossing the channel, even bad it been necessary for bim to return to Paris directly after the wedding. He had never spared trouble or shrinked a duty. It was clear to her, therefore, that he had some very strong motive for absenting himself from the marriage ceremony.

Sbe could only imagine one reason for his conduct. She told herself tbat her brother, in his heart of hearts, still doubted Bothwell, and still disapproved of her marriage. He had allowed himself to be talked over by Mrs. Wyllard. Tbe influence of that old, unforgotten love bad prevailed over his own inclination. He had allowed his consent to be wrung from him, and now that It was too Tate to withdraw that consent he was none the less Both well's enemy. He oould not bring himself to look on as an approving witness at a marriage which ne regretted. He had told his sister tbat his discoveriee in Paris had gone far to convince him of Both well's guiltlessness in relation to tbe French gill's death—but there was still something in the background, some prejudice undispelled, some doubt which darkened friendship.

It was tbe Thursday before ber wedding day and ber preparations and arrangements had been for tbe most part made. There had been indeed, bat little to do, since her return to tbe Spaniards as a bride would simplify matters, and give ber smple time for packing her belongings those books and knicknacks which bad beautified ber own rooms, ber jewels, chiefly an inheritance from ber mother and those few wedding piesenta which had arrived from tbe three or four intimate friends who bad heard of ber engagement—among them an immense satin-lined work basket from Fraulein Meyerstein—a basket provided witb an orderly arrangement of tapes* buttons, cottons

and needles, such as a careful house wife must needs require in the repair of the family linen. The fraulein had made a special journey to Plymouth in order to purchase and furnish this treasury of usefulness and had brought it *back in triumph. "I cannot give yon beautiful things," said the fraulein, apologetically. "You have too valuable jewels of your own to care for any trinket which 1 oould offer but in this basket you will find all things which a good wife needs to preserve order and neatnses in ber bouse bold goods. There is flourishing thread of every quality to darn your table linen. There are pearl buttons of every size for your husband's shirts angolas of every shade for his socks needles of every number bobbins scissors of every kind and lastly, for remembrance of an old fiiend, there is this little golden thimble, which I hope you will wear every day."

And with this little speech the fraulein plumped her basket down in front of Hilda and burst into tears, rememberiug how she, too, had once been engaged, and how adverse fate had injured her marriage. "You are a dear, kind sonl," said Hilda, kissing her affectionately "and I am sure you couldn't have given me anything I should have liked better. I shall think of you every day when I use it. There is nothing like a useful gift for recalling an old friend."

Dora's present arrived the same day. A George the Second tea service, with two little caddies for black tea and green tea, holding about a quarter of a pound each. Hilda thought her silver teapot the 8 wee teat thing tbat bad ever been made, and sbe had sat gazing at the service for an hour at a stretch, and thinking bow delightful it would be to mane tea for Botbwell in tbe oosy Winter dusk when they two shoulfbesettled in their own bouse above the great Atlantic sea, tbe curtains drawn across tbeir oldfashioned lattices, tbe wind raving over the hills, tbe waves roariug, and they two beside tbe domestic hearth, wrapped in a blessed calm—two hearts united and at rest.

She had been so happy yesterday in the thought of her future, and now today her brother's letter seemed to have changed the aspect of things. She was full of a vague disquietude—could not settle to any task, did not eveu care to take ber usual walk across tbe hills to tbe manor to inqnlre about Mr. Wyllard's health, and to spend an hour in coufi ential talk with Dora. To-day she sent a messenger instead, and sat all day in her room brooding over Heathcote's letter. She felt unequal to facing tbe twins or the fraulein, and pleaded a headache as a reason for not going down to luncheon and indeed ber troubled thoughts about that letter from Paris bad given ber a very real headache.

It was four o'clock in tbe afternoon wben sbe heard a carrriage drive up to the hall door, and thought witb horror that sbe would be summoned to receive callers. Her window commanded only an angle of the porch. She could jus see a shabby looking vehicle, which she knew could only be a fly from the station and her heart began to beat violently as sbe thought that perhaps after all her brother had changed bis mind and bad come over to do honor to her wedding.

No it was no such pleasant surprise, only a strange lady who asked to see her. Sbe had sent up ber card.

I "LADY VALERIA HAKOKOUGH,"

"The lady will be greatly obliged if you will see her," Bald tbe servant. "She has come from Plymouth on purpose to pee you. "Of course, I will see her," answered Hilda, cheerfully. "You have

CUREB ALL

DISEASE* OF THE KIDNEYS, LIVER, BLADDER,

AND

URINARY ORGANS, DROP*Y, GRAVEL, DIABETES,

BR1GHT*H DISEASE, PAINS IN THE BACK,

LOIN8 OR SIDE, NERVOUS DISEASES^

Btaown

her into tbe drawing room, I suppose?"Yes, ma'am." "Take in tea as soon as yeu can."

Hilda glanced at her glass before sbe left the room. Her plain cashmere gown was neat enough, and ber hair was tolerably tidy, but ber eyes had a heavy look, and she was very pale. "I'm afraid I don't look a joyful bride or do Bothwell credit in any way," Bhe said to herself.

She had heard her lover speak once or twice of General Harborough as his kindest and most powerful friend in Indiana. Sbe bad he»rd from Dora of tbe general's death, and tbat Bothwell had attended the funeral. And now she felt flattered exceedingly at the idea that tbe general's widow had taken tbe trouble to come to see her, no doubt from pure friendliness for ber dead husband's portege—deeming tbat there was no better compliment she could pay Mr. Grahame than to assume an interest in his betrothed. Sbe, like Dota, took it for granted that old General Harborougb's wife would be an olderly woman, and she went down to the drawing room expecting to see a stately and portly matron, gray haired, bland, perhaps a little patronizing in her double rank of earl's daughter and general's widow. She was surprised beyond all measure wben a tall and slender figure lose to meet her, and she found herself face to face with a young woman whose brilliant eyes and interesting countenance were more striking than absolute beauty. [TO BK CONTINUED.]

VI

As Is the bud bit with an envious worm," so is many a youth cut down by the gnawing worm consumption. But it can be made to release its hold and stop its gnawing. Dr. Pieroe's "Golden Medical Discovery" will If taken in time, effect permanent cores, not only in consumption, but in all cases of chronic throat, bronchial and lung diseases.

'v

A QUESTION ABOUT

"j Browns I-ron Bitters

f-

ANSWERED.

Ths AMrfJ-fhas nrobably beaaaaked tbooaaada of tir"' can Brown's Iron Bitten eun areryttrinrr" W«U. it doaant. Bot tt doaacoraazvdiMM* iorwhich a rapaUbl* pbyriciaa wwild prMcrfbe ISO! Phivkjtaiw (•oasniM Iron ths bit rmtanttr* a«mit known to Um prgteMfoa. and toqniiy ot mar leadizur ebmioal Ann will aatMftaaiiato tboMWrtton U»rt tSar» more pr»ptr«tioi*» o# trpo th«a *87 OOMT wbtUnwi MM in BMdictM. NDA AHMRA oonMttah*}]' that iron to wtowhdijd to totte aot tmportast factor to Boooaarfnliradicalpnctio*. It M. bowmrjirenutriubtof«st,tfartpriotUthe dkoor•nrof BROWN'S IRON BITTEKMnoportirt. IrMrtjffictfliy frflTi rurfn'tHr tH

BROWN'S IROM BITTERSSiiSSS h— iliehe. orprodnoi ooMtiprttoD—«I1 other Froa •MrfietMN da. BROWN'S IKON BITTERS cores IndifMrtfan, BOtoamess, Weakness* Dyspepsia. JtaJcria, Chills aad Fevers, Tired FeeUss,Oeaentl Debility,Pnln in UM» SMe,BRO* *Lfiabs,llf»ajlaefce«adNearal Cta—£ rfttat tihaeatt Iron to pwwlbed dally. BR0WrS!R0IBITTERS.Ssr5£tr: 2th* BMxHch**. acta f- Wben t«hn by m*n mwiani at

Hfarwwwwjimwu. ThemoselMtbmbecoiM r,ttea|matJoatopm*M,t]MboweEiar*a£fffa. law»CTith»ag«ct wm*By won ra^

TONIC AND BITTER, JA It is Unequalled in Results a&d 'Permanent in its Cure I: ]LIVING TESTIMONY. I

Blacksmiths

"Having bad occasion to use'tf remedy

eaarsh

Is

If

kidney troubles I purolifiKed a bottle H*NTT8 [Kidney ana Liver} REMEDY, and oompletely cure me—have no indigestion, and am hearty and hemthy for one of

ik

a»

(65)."—J. P. Woodbury, Blacksmith, N

rw

"Small beginnings lead to large endings."

N

'f^

Carpenter. -J

"I was troubled with a weakness of tka Kidneys. I had to pass my water as many as fifteen times during the night. After baying used the second bottle or HDIT'8 [KID-^ in*y and Liver] REMEDY I found that all

my

trouble was gone "—Joseph O. Miller, UArpenter, Xenia, Ohio. I

"Be a friend to yourself, and others will.''

Fireman.

"I have been a severe eufljprer with a weakness of the kidneys, and I took a severe eoH twhile on duty with the fire department. 1 had terrible pains in my back, and mp water troubled me. HONT'8[ Kidney and Liverl REMEDY comp'etely cured me."—H. k.,Glass, Columbus, Ohio.

"Ts the good, night is not dark."

A Sailor.

Capt. John Kimball, Sailor, New Londoa Conn., writes:—"I was taken with sever* pains in the small of tbe back In the reglo* of the kidneys. I had the best medical attendance wltnuut experiencing any relief. I bought and used a bottle of UKT'S [Kidney and Liverl REMEDY. Four bottles entirely cured me." Price 91.25. Send for Pamplet of Testimonials

HUt'T'S REMEDY CO., Providence, It. I. C. N.<p></p>TUTT'S

CKITTKNTON. Gen'l Agent, M. Y.

PILLS

25 YEARS IN USE, fixe Greatest Medical Triumph of ths Age I SYMPTOMS OF A

TORPID LIVER.

Loss of appetite, Bowels costive, l*aln in tbe head, with a dull sensation In tho back pnrt, Pain nnder the shouldea* blade, Fullness after eating, with a disinclination to exertion of body or mind. Irritability of temper, Low spirits, with a feeling of having neglected some datf Weariness, Dizziness, Fluttering at tte Heart, Dots before the eyes, Headache over the right eye, Restlessness, with fltfal dreams, Highly colored Urine, anul

CONSTIPATION.

TUTT'S PILLS are especially adapted to such cases, one doso effects such a cbangnoffeellngns to astonish the suffere*.

They Increase the A ppettte,snd cause the body to Take on Klesliathuii the syfttem to nourished, and by their Tonte Action oa the Digestive Organs, Reanlar Stools ass |ir{w1aepd^Prtc»jiS«5.^4

TUTTS HAIR

GBAT HAIB or WmsKBKS changed to A GLOSSY BLACK by a single application of this DYE. It imparts a natural color, acts Instantaneously. Sold by Druggists, or sent by express on receipt of $1* Office, 44 Murray St., Now York.

GRAN I0THER

1

Used herbs in doctoring the family, and her simple remedies

}ure

owerful

JJ1J) CVKM

in

most oases. Without the use of herbs, medical science would be powerless and yet the tendency of the times is t* neglect the best of all remedies for those

medicines that seriously fnthe system.

E

BITTERS-

is a combination of valuable herbs, carefully compounded from the formula of a regular Physician, who used this prescription largely in nis private practice with great success. It is

not

a drink,but

a medicine used by many physicians. It is invaluable for ItYHpEl'siA, KIDNEY and

curing will

LIVER COMPLAINTH,

NERVOUS EXHAUSTION, WEAKNEBS, INDIGESTION, &c.

and while

not

AU

,,

hurt the system.

Mr. 0. J. Rhodes, a well-known Iron man of Safe Harbor, Fa., writes: "My son wan completely iro«trmt«d by fever utd Mroe. Qitiuine and bark* did him no (rood, I then aent for Mlnhler'* Herb Bitter* and ins abort time the boy waa quite well." "E. A. Schellentrager, Druggist, 717 Bt. Clair Street, Cleveland, 0., writes:

Your Bitten, I can *ay, and do cay. are acrlbed by aome of tbe defeat and mewt jirouiiuecit pbyaicianaln oar city."

MISHLEB HERB BITTEBS CO., 620 Commerce 8t., Philadelphia. Parker's Pleasant Worm Sjrnp Hever Fails

j*

Why call Calten.dar* Liver Blttera ,the Left Liver Bitterer Because the human liver is our trade mark and our left liver, see ft on each bottle, none genuine without it

BITTERS

andmaHtad.

.•team to 1

tbe akin clear*

Jsrioa* nrrteUmtamd JHrngfim* ntmmmtn I ft. Tba flint h—Trada Matt aad eremmd rad tixtm TAKE MO OTHER.

Why use tbe human fiver as trade markT Because

Patented April 14,1874. liver bitters is a specialty for Liver Comp alnts in all their forms. Being compounded from pure root herbs, and olil peach, the urcnt appetizer of of the age, a favorite family tonic and a warranted medicine. Liver bitters get at the seat of all diseases by the direct action, Ing digestive organs of the liver at the "sma time acts direcflyon tbe kidneys, cleanse* the lungs, cures bright* of tbe kidneys, pnrtfles the blood and beautifies the skin. Ask your druggists for them. ManufacturedI by Barbero A- Calendar, Peoria, Ills. Sold In Terre Haute by tne following droggists Adamsmi A Krttenstine. W1 M»ln Kt-jOcwk A Bell, 301 Main St., J. J. Banr 4 Hon, 7CS Main C. P. Zimmerman, 1241 Main, C. C. Leek* Poplar, J. A. Willlstm, flOln 4th. Allen* Hsvens, 500 13th. J. E. Somes, N, E* Cor. 8th and Ohio.

TjtSTATE OF ZADOC KKKVK.

Notice is hereby given, tbat the under si has been appointed executor of tbe last wm of Zadoc Reeve, late of Vigo county. Indlaig, deceased. Said estate Is supposed to solvent. CHRIS. W. BllO

March 28th, 1885.

VrN,K« cuter,

/15 v,5 s\-