Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 15, Number 42, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 11 April 1885 — Page 2

*y,.

THE MAIL

when

-5J

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TBRRE HAUTE, APRIL 11 1886.

{Commenced in The Mail Dee 6th. Bade Bombers can be bad on application at publication office or of news agents.]

Wyllard's Weird,

Br MISS M. E. BBADDOfT.

yolhor of "Lad/ Aodley's Secret," "Aurora Floyd," "The Outcast," Ac., 4c.

CHAPTER XXIll

LADY VALERIA FIGHTS HXB OWN BATTLE.

its innocent blue eyes and babified bloom, its broad, white forehead ringed round with infantine curls of golden brown its delicately penciled eyebrows its coral lips and small white teeth. "For people who admire babies the girl is well enough," thought Lady Valeria.

Yet even her small knowledge of phrenology and the physiognomy (aught her that the broad, lull forehead au4 the tirualy moulded lip* meant force of character and firmness ol purpose— (hat tbis girlish beauty was the beauty of a good and brave woman—that here there was no reed for her to twist and

of

your

exquisite charms. That nothing lens thau your exceptional loveliness could kindle that oold nature into flame." "Lady Valeria, if you came here only to insult me—" began Hilda, moving towards tbe door. "1 came hear to read yon a lesson, to save you from a life of misery if I can, and you shall hear me," said Valeria, pas sionately. "I am here for your sake, do you understand?—to save you and your lover from an irreparable folly. He would sacrifice bis own happiness and a brilliant future from a mistaken sense of honor to you. Now, I waut yuu at least to know what manner of sacrifice he is going to make for you, and if you are not made of wood—if you have a woman's heart in your bosom—you will release him "Release him! What do you mean. Lady Valeria? Tbis is sheer madness, Mr. Grabame sought me of his own accord—cHose me deliberately for his wife, In the face of great difficulties. We are both completely happy In our love for each other—in «ur faith for each other. There is not a cloud, or the shadow of a cloud, between v.s."

1

were stealing another woman's lover "I have every right. Yes, you knew well enough what you were doing, in spite of your provincial bringing up. Every woman is wise in these matters. An entanglement, you say. Do yon

Sbe had opened ber ntleala and bad I bar aodal atatoa, her ample

taken out a packet of letters while sbe was speaking. Sbe flung the packet on to a table near Hilda. "Read tbem, Miss Heathoote. I suppose yon know Mr. Grahame's handwriting. I suppose he has written to you." "I can see that they are in Bothwell's band." said Hilda, looking down at the bundle of letters as if they bad been a nest of scorpions, "but 1 decline to read letters that were not written tome."

You are afraid to read them "I will take it upon trust that they are love lettere. May I ask if they were addressed to you—General Harborough's wife?"

Tbe calm and measured accents, the steady gaze of those candid blue eyes, the tesolute attitude, the small wellbalanced head and proudly erect, the nervous hands clasped firmly on the back of a chair by which the girl was standing, surprised Lady Valeria, and with a far frompleasant surprise. She had expected Hilda to be more easily crushed. She had expected to see a sentimental, love-sick girl sobbing at her feet, ready to surrender her lover at the first attack. And instead of girlish weakness, she found a woman prepared to do battle for her love. "The letters are addressed to me. I should much like you to read them, in order that you may understand what Both well Grahame's 'entanglement' was."

The two women stood face to face in sileuce for a few moments. Surprise made Hilda dumb. She gazed in unconcealed wonderment at the small, pale framed in white crape, the delicate, high bred features, tefined almost to attention, the luminous gray eyes with their long, dark lashes—eyes which alone cave life and color to the face. -i aecime vuoiu. mu,,»

Lady Valeria looked at the girl with enough for me to know that he was in •o intent a scrutiny tbfct those brilliant jove with a married woman, and that eyes of hers seemed to burn into the face

of her rival a seathing look, measuring

I decline to read them. It is quite

8be

encouraged bis love—she, the wife

Qf a

and appraising that modest, girlish by the right of her noble birth should beauty, cheapening those innocent have been prouder, truer, purer than «harms in scornful wonder. women of meaner race. She stooped so

And this was the woman for whose iow. I am very sorry that you came sake she, Valeria had been flung way

like an old glove. Tbis girMaee^ with

tucru was liu ICCVJ lUl UOi kitiow ouu UUZSLUJ UCU ujr OlUt UUVU *wfv rend at her own passionate will, but a isbed for Bothwell Grabame and he for a! UA MAM I ....

nature that was firmer and more con eentrated than her own. Equal forces had met in these two—the force of pas •inn and tbe force ol principle. "So you are Miss Heathcote," said the pale lip* at last, after that silent interval. in which Hilda bad heard the beating of her own heart "you are the Miss Heathoote who is to marry BothweJl Grahame ••Yes, Lady Valeria. Both well has told me how kind a friend he had in -General Harborougb," returned Hilda, oaloily, trying to feel at ease under that searching gaze. "I am very inach flattered that you should come to see me." "1 fear you will feel less flattered when you know the motive of my visit. No, thanks, I prefer stand," sbe said curtly, as Hilda wheeled a luxurious chair towards her guest and courteously invited her to be seated "you will 1 ate me, no doubt, when you know why I am here— and vet I am come to do you a service, which one woman can render to another."

What service, Lady Valeria asked Hilda wbose girlish bloom bad been momentarily fading, and who was now almost as pale as her visitor. "I am here to save you from a most nuhappy union—from a fatal union— from marriage with a man who loves another woman I'' •Tbat is not true," said Hilda, very calmly. "Whoever your informant may have been, Lady Valeria you have been misinformed. 1 am as firmly convinced of Bothwell Grahame's love and of the worth of bis character as I am of my existeuoe. I would as soon doubt one as doubt tbe other." "You are like most girls of your age reared in the country," Baid Lady Valeria, with quiet scorn. You are very ignorant aud you are very vain. I suppose that you imagine that you are the first woman Both well Grabame ever loved—that at three and thirty be brings you a heart hitherto untouched by beauty. That bis senses only awake from a life-long torpor at sight

good and brave old man—she. who

here,

Lady Valeria, and very sorry that

we

ever met—very sorry that you have

told me your secret.' "It is everybody's secret by tbis time. A woman in my position is surrounded by lynx-eyed friends, who read her inmost thoughts. Everybody knowsthat Both well Grahame loved me and that I returned his love. To you this seems terrible, no doubt. Yet I can tell you that I was a true wife to my husband, as the world estimates truth, and that he died honoring me. You, with your provincial ignorance and your narrow mind, cannot imagine a love which, although unconquered, could remain puie. passionate, intense, devoted, but unstained by siD. Such a love I cher

S

She could not believe that Lady Valeria Harborougb would tell her a deliberate lie. She was convinced in spite of herself. Bothwell had deceived her. "I beg you to read those letters," urged Valeria. "If you do not read tbem you may think just a little worse of me than I deserve. I do not pretend to be a good woman but I want you to know that my attachment to Bothwell Grahame never generated into a low intrigue. You may hear the vilest things said of me, perhaps, by and by, when it is known that Mr. Grabame is not going to marry me.''

Hilda looked at the letters. She knew tbat tbe reading of tbem would wring her heart and yet the temptation was too strong to be steadfastly resisted.

Slowly, reluctantly, almost as if under the influence of a mesmerist, Hilda's hand was extended to the packet of letters. She took* it up, and looked at it for a moment still hesitating.

The letters were found lengthwise without their envelopes. Bothwell's bold lorge hand was easy enough to read, even at a glance. Without untying tbe packet Hilda could see the nature of those letters. "Mv dearest love," "My life," "My ever beloved." Such words as those scattered on the folded pages told the character of the correspondence.

Sbe had known from the first from his own lips tbat he had cared for another woman, that he had been in some mauner bound to that other woman— his future life so compromised tnat he must needs win his release from that tie before he could offer himself honorably to his new and better love. She bad known this, and yet the sight of those impassioned phrases in the nand of her betrothed tortured ber almost to madness. She flung the packet from her, flung it at her rival's feet, as if it had been some loathsome reptile that had fastened on ber hand.

The butler brought in a little bamboo table, and arranged the old-fashioned silver tea-tray, and during this brief in terruption hostilities were suspended, and both women composed their faces to placid neutrality. Lady Valeria deellned Hilda's cup of tea, proffered with a another man's wife. I will read remulous band, and directly the butler more—not a line—not a syllable." bad gone she coldly pursued her inter- "But you shall read or you shall hear,' rogation. said Valeira. taking up the packet. ^Answer me one question, Miss "You shall know what kind of vows Uea'hcote. Do you believe yourself Mr. this man made to me, this man whom Grahame's first love?" yon are going to marry." "No." faltered Hilda. "I know that She drew out a letter haphazard and there was some one else—tbat there was thrust it into Hilda's hand, forced ber to an entanglement from which Mr. Gra read by sheer strength of will, watching bame released himself, honorably and her with flashing eyes all the while.

MIt

?ence.

nt Vtnw Vtaf

me. We bad promised each other that whenever my release came, and in tbe course of nature it was not likely to be long deferred, our lives should be linked, our love should be blest. I lived on that hope, and Both well, as those letters would tell you, tbat hope was no less dear than to me. Honor, right feeling, honesty, were all Involved iu the promise which bouud Bothwell Grahame to me, and I never for an instant doubted that be would keep bis promise, never doubted that he was mine till death. But in an evil hour he met you. He was under a cloud. He was maddened by tbe idea that bis neighbors thought tbe foulest things of him. You interposed with your girlish sympathy, your sentimental prettiness. You consoled, you encouraged him in his darK hour, and that impulsive nature was moved to a step which he has repented ever since. He committed himself by an avowal which left no possibility of retreat, and to be ture to you he has broken the most sacred promise that man ever made to woman." •'You released bim from tbat promise, Lady Valeria?" "Never. Some hasty words passed between us on one occasion, and we parted in anger. But there was no confession on his part, no release on mine." "He told me that the lady he once loved bad released him," said Hilda, terribly crest fallen.

is shameful, abominable," she

cried. "Such words as those written to no

Hilda read words of such passionate vehemence that it was difficult to be-

Vetirst asited me to be bis wife. I Heve that transient feelings could have waited till he could give me his assur- inspired them—words that told of rapance upon this point before I consented turons delight in a reciprocal love and to marry htm.M foodaat bop© of futura union words "Oh, then, yoa did not know that tbat made light of all things In earth there was some one?" exclaimed Lady aud heaven aa weighed against that allValeria with crushing scorn. "You did absorbing love. Sbe read of that scheme know that tuere was an entanglement— of tbe future In which the ultimate or, in plain words, you knew that you marriage of tbe lovers waa counted on

as a certainty. And it was for ber sake tbat be had abandoned this old dream—this plan of a life so long cherished. It was for hen an obscure, eountrybred girl, who could bring bim neither fame nor fortune,

AU BDiKlglOlireut, JfUU ••jr. jwu UIIUK uiua unurai ti1 know, girl, that this entanglement, of that be had surrendered all hope of callwhich you speak so flippantly, was a tag this brilliant, high-born woman his passionate, all-abeorblng love, a love wife. that had lasted three years, that bad And now the hour bad eonwwben be braved all conseqoenoea, that bad iaugb- might bare claimed her, when, his years ed at dancer—a love that baraa in every of servitode being over, be bad but to line of these letter*. Bead tbem, read wait tbe brief span society demanded tbem, girL and see what yoar 'entangle- before be stood before tbe world with OMDt' arcana." this womu by bis side, tbe iktrw of

mmm

dlv

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EYEIS11JN Gr%LAIL.

Snrely this would have been a iiappy late for him, if there were any truth in these words of his, words which seemed to Bcoreh Hilda's brain as' she stood, silent, motionless, poringover them.

You see," said Lady Valeria, after a long sigh, "that once at least your lover loved me." "I thought that once in such things meant forever," answered Hilda, with a quiet sadness, as of one who speaks of the dead. "Yet the man who wrote this letter has talked and written of his love for me just as tenderly, just as passionately, as he has writteu here. Yes, I knew that he had cared for some one else, but not like this. I did not think that such a love as this could come twice in a lifetime. "You are wiser than I expected to find

rou," said Valeria, with languid inso"No, child, men do not love like that twice in a lifetime. I had Bothwell Grahame's heart at its best—his constancy—bis devotien—and he would have been true to me till tbe end of his life had it not been for that business of tbe murder, which made men look askance at bim, and your childish pity, which touched his heart when it was sorest. He was caught in the toils of bis own affectionate nature. His giateful heart, which always melted at the least kindness, betrayed him. And because he was sympathetic and grateful you thought be loved yon and now you stand between him and his first love. You are the only barrier to a marriage which would make Bothwell Grahame a rich man and me the happiest of women." "If you had had him talk of our future, if you had seen him planning our home, you would hardly aoubt that he meant to be bappy with me, Lady Valeria," said Hilda. "My child, I have seen your future home, I have heard what kind of a life Bothwell Grahame is to lead as your husband. He is to be a schoolmaster, cramming dull boys for impossible examinations, grinding mathematics and engineering theories all day long and every day, till his brain is weary, going over the same ground again and again like a horse in a mill. He is to be a nobody, a plodding bread-winner living year after in a God-forsaken village, far away from tbe great arena of life ground down by tbe fathers and patronized by the mothers of his pupils. He is to cherish no higher ambition than to be able to pa tbe butoher and the baker, and to get himself anew coat before the old one is threadbare. That is the life to which your generous love would condemn bim." "We are not going to be quite such paupers as you imagine, Lady Valeria. I have a small income of my own, which will at least pay the baker, and 1 do not think Bothwell's rich cousin would see him want a coat." "My dear Miss Heathcote, it is only a question of degrees. Granted that Mr. Grahame is sure of his breakfast and dinner, his existence as a private tutor will be none the less a life of exile from all that makes life worth living—from tbe world of art and letters, from tbe strife and glory of politics, from tbe great world of distinguished men and women. As my husband he would have the ball at his feet. His fortune would be large enough to oommand an opening in any career he might choose for himself, his connections on my side of the house would be powerful enough to help bim to tbe front. In the House his career would be assured. With bis knowledge of India and Indian war tactics he would inevitably make bis mark. There are hardl men in tbe House any real knowl item world for icians legislate, for him, thought bition is for him,

of Commons who edge of that Va which English, You see I have dj for him. All and not for my "I am willing t«Tbifteve that yoi him, Lady Valeria," said Hilda, with frigid distinctness of utterance, looking her rival full in tbe face, "since nothing but the blindest love could induce any woman in your position to lower yourself as you have done—first in India as General Harborough's wife, and secondly to-day as General Harborough's widow—when you come to me and ask me to give up my betrothed husband, the man to whom I am to be married next Tuesday for I suppose that is tbe gist of all you have said to me." "I ask nothing from yon, Miss Heathcote. I know the narrow view which most girls of your age, brought up as you have been, taken of life aud its obligation. I do not expeot large-minded ideas from a young lady with your surroundings." This was said with Infinite scorn of Hilda's rustic rearing. "But I think it well that you should know how much Bothwell Grahame sacrifices for the privilege of having you for a wife. Of course, it is quite possible that the recompense may be worth the sacrifice. It is for you to judge of that. I wish you good-day."

Hilda bowed and rang the bell, without a word. She did not accompany her visitor to the drawing-room door, but stood in a stony silence looking out at the window in front of her, with fixed eyes.

It was only when tbe outer door had closed on Liady Valeiia tbat the girl flung herself on tbe nearest sofa and abandoned herself to her grief.

Alas, this entanglement of tbe past had been something more than a garland of roses. It had been a chain from which her lover had tried to release himself, but whose iron links yet hung about him.

All the happiness was gone out of ber life, all the sweet tranquility which had been the bolieet charm in her love for Bothwell, the deep faith in her beloved, the assurance of his trustworthiness, bis unalloyed love for her. How could she ever again believe in that love after sbe had heard the history of his passion for another, after she had read of that wild iufatuation in his own band, after she had thus addressed a woman to win and hold the love of men. a woman whose beauty had that subtile charm of supreme refinement and distinction which is liar above the peach-bloom tints and perfect lines of stereotyped loveliness? In Valeria the broken-hearted girl ackowledged a siren before whose potent fascinations tbe wisest man might be as a fool. Sbe compared ber ipan

tight be lf with her rival. console glass, contemplating herown image, half bcornfully, naif sorrowfully. The pale tear-blotted face appeared at its worst, without tbe freshness tbat constituted half its beauty. The slight and girlish figure looked insignificant as compared with Valeria's statelier bear-

She walked across

the room and stood before the long

se

"fee girl turned herself about and looked at herself at every angle, as if sbe bad been trying on a gown at ber milliner's "What a dowdy I look," ahe said to herself. "Just the very pattern for a schoolmaster*B wife. I dont suppose Lady Valeria Is more than an inch taller and yet sbe looks a queen. It is the way sbe canto ber head, I suppose, and tbe way sbe walks, like a woman aoenatomed to command. Yes. a nuns might well be ptood of such a wife, and of tbe position snob a wife wold gi»» bim* Bothwell in Parliament. Bothwgl a great authority oa Indian aiEaia. How

strange it sounds. But I know how clever he is. How well he can talk upon any subject. It would be a spleudid career for bim. And for my sake he is to forego ail tbat snd to drudge as a tutor in a Cornish village. Yes, I eup pose it would be a dreadful life for such a man—though it seemed so full of brightness when we two talked about it last week. For my sake. No, Both-1 well," she said to he-slf, resolutely• Btriking ber clenched haud upon the marble table. "No, Bothwell, not for my sake! You shall not surrender fame and fortune for my sake!"

A then seating herself on tbe low. old-fashioned window seat, with clasped hands lying in ber lap, and steadfast eyes brooding on the ground, in an attitude of deepest thought, sbe retraced the history of Both well's courtship. Sbe asked herself if she had verily been, as Lady Valeria had insinuated, herself half tbe wooer She remembered how, in tbe beginning of their acquaintance, she had admired Dora Willard's cousin —bow MB riding, his siuging bis conversation had alike seemed perfection. How she had contrasted him, to his wondrous advantage, with the country' squires around and about. It was just possible that in her girlish inexperieuce she had betrayed ber admiration, had flattered Bothwell into the idea tbat he lised her. And then, when the hour of trouble came, it was true tbat sbe bad made no effort to hide ber feelings, she had given Bothwell her sympathy almost unasked she bad, perhaps, lured bim into declaring himself as her lover, when the feeling which inspired hint was but the impulse of tbe moment, a transient emotion, horn of gratitude.

Sbe could understand how, in his selfcontempt, his wounded honor, he bad believed that his love for Valeria was a thing of the past, had been glad to release himself from an ignoble bondage. But now that Valeria was free, bis first love, as devoted to him as ever, valuing her fortune and position only as a means for his advancement, who could doubt tbat tbe old love would revive in his breast with all be old fervor, that his heart would go back to lite first beloved, as a bird returns to its nest

And was bis whole life to be sacrificed because of this one mistaken impulse No, the wrong was not yet irreparable. Tbe marriage planned for next Tt need never take place.

Hilda began deliberately to scheme out tbe manner in which sbe should set ber lover free. If the thing was to be done it must be done bravely and thoroughly—not by halves. There must be no half-hearted'action, no wavering, no pretense of surrender offered in the hope that Bothwell would refuse to accept bis liberty. No, sbe must make tbe sacrifice as full and as effectual as that of Iphigenela, or of Jeptba's daughter. They gave their lives. She could give her happiness, her fair future, tbe sweet ideal she bad dreamed of, tbe life which to every good woman seems of all lives most perfect, an existence spent in tranquil seclusion with tbe husband of her choice.

After long brooding, deepest thought interrupted ever and anon by a burst of passionate weeping, tears which would not be restrained. Hilda Heathcote bad made her plan. Sbe would go away, quite away, where Bothwell could not follow her. Sbe would write him a letter which would leave him free to return to

biB

old allegiance, while she herself would disappear, drop quietly out of the circle in which she was knowu, and remain hidden from all ber friends for the next few months, perhaps ft a year at any rate until the joybells had rung for Bothwell's marriage with his old love. Alas, those joybells! She had imagined them ringing for her own wedding, had heard their sweet music in her dreams.

Where should she go? What should she do with herself during the time of hiding? That was tbe question, and it was a difficult one for this inexperienced girl to answer. She had traveled so little that all tbe wide world outside ber own home was no more familiar to ber than a chapter of geography. She knew the names of mountains and rivers, sbe had made her dream pictures of beautiful places and scenes in far away lands, but of railways and steamers, of tbe mode and manner of journeying from one place to another, of hotels and custom nouses, and tbe exchange of money, she knew hardly anything. *!l must go somewhere very far away, to some place where he would not think of following me, where he could never find me," she said to herself, supposing tbat it would be a point of honor with Bothwell to follow her, to keep his plighted troth, if it were possible.

She wanted to set hkn free, to make it easy for bim to go back to bis old love She told herself that Lady Valeria bad told the truth, and it was not possible for him to^have forgotten that old love.

When he had married Valeria, she (Hilda) would be free to come back to ber old home to take up the thread of her broken life and follow it on to the dreary end. What joy could she have in her life, having lost him Only tbe joy of knowing that ahe had loved bim better than herself, cared more for his happiness than her own—the joy of woman's martyrdom.

After long deliberation, after having thought of a voyage to Australia, or a trip to Canada—after having meditated upon various possible and impossible journeys, she decided upon a very com-mon-place course of proceeding. Sht» had often heaid it remarked of a levanting criminal that if he bad stayed in London or any populous city he would in all probability have escaped his pursuers, he would have been lost in tbe press of humanity, like a bubble in a running stream, whereas the man who goes to America is almost inevitably traced and trapped.

She would not go to London, a city sbe hated, and where she might at any moment run against her Cornish friends, all of whom paid occasional visits to tne metropolis. 8he would go to Paris, where sbe would be lostamongatrangera —where she could live quietly in some obscure quarter, improving herself as a singer and a pianiste, until her time of probation waa over, and tbe announcement of Botbwell'a marriage told her that her sacrifice bad been consummated. Sbe would so plan ber life that ber brother oould know tbat sbe was well cared for but even be should not know the place of ber residence, lest heahould betray her secret to Bothwell.

This idea of Paris was partly traceable to an old influence. Until a year ago abe bad taken lesaona from a bright little Frenchwoman who bad taught ber music and singing, and who bad helped her incidentally with her .French. Tbe lfwaona bad been going on for three

Jave

ean when Hilda waa pronounced to finished her moaical education, or at least to have learnt as much aa Mademoiselle Duprey could teach her, and in those three years the little Frenchwoman bad been a weekly visitor at tbe

Ing driven bade to tbe station by her

&ttle

jpu after a cheery luncheon which tbe woman thoroughly enjoyed. Mademoiselle Dqprea claimed kindred with tbe famous French tenor of that nsmn. and had herself been a small celebrity in ber way. She bad sung at

the Opera House in the Rue Le Peletier, in the days when Falcon was diva, and Halevy's "Juive" was tbe Buccess of the hour. Then came a fatal fever, caught at Nice, where she had gone to fulfill an autumnal engagement. Loaise Dopred lost the voice which had been her only fortune. Happily, though the voice was gone, the exquisite method learnt frem Garcia, and Ripened at the feet of Rossini, still remained, and by her excellence as a teacher of singing and piano Mademoiselle Duprey had contrived to make a comfortable living first in Paris, and afterwards at Plymouth, whither sbe had come at the suggestion of Edward Heathcote, who had made her acquaintance at the bouse of one of his Parisian friends, and who had recommended her to try a residence in Devonshire as a cure for her delicate chest, promising at the same time to do all in his power to help her in finding pupils at Plymouth, where he was at that time town clerk.

Mademoiselle Duprey had followed Mr. Heathcote's advice, and had not waited long before she found herself fairly established in the Devonshire seaport. Hilda had been ber first pupil, aud Hilda sbe loved almost as a maiden aunt loves tbe prettiest and most amiable of her nieces. It was Hilda sbe quoted to all her other pupils. "You should hear a dear young pupil of mine, Miss Heathcote, of Bvdmiu, sing that song," she would say, and an eloquent shrug of her shoulders an elevation of her evebrows would express how wide tbe difference between Miss Heathcote's perfection and the shortcoming of tbe performer now in hand.

Hilda was very fond of the lively little Parisienne—loved to heal- her talk and learn of her hung upon her words as she expounded the delicacies of her native language. Hilda had petted and made much of the little woman whenever she came to tbe Spaniards bad never spent a day in Plymouth without paying her old mistress a visit. And now, in ber soirow and difficulty, it was of Louise Duprey sbe thought as tbe one frieud whom she could trust with ber secret, and who would be able to help her.

Hilda went to her own room before Fraulein Meyerotein returned from her afternoon walk with the twins. Tho»e well brought up infants were ruthlessly sent from their play-room, their rocking horra and tt^eir doll's house an hour after their early dinner, and were taken for afternoon drill by the fraulein. Nerdless to say that they detested the formal trudge along dusty lanes and abhorred the beauties of nature encountered on tbe way but their health, no doubt profitted by this severe regimen.

Hilda shut herself in her own rooms for the remainder of tbe evening, with tbe usual plea of a headache. But sbe was up before day-break next morning, and by six o'clock she bad packed a small portmanteau and a Gladstone bag with her own hands, and carried them down surreptitiously to the stable yard, where sbe gave them to an underling with directions to put them in the pony cart and take tbem to Bodmin road station in time for tbe eight o'clock train. Sbe herself intended to walk to tbe station, as her-appearance on foot would be lees likely to attract attention than the pony cart with the luggage.

So in the dewy early morning, alone and unattended, with asben cheeks and eyelids swollen by long weeping, Hilda Heathcote crept out of her brother's bouse and walked across the hills, trust ing to the keen breath of the Autumn wind to obliterate tbe traces of a night of anguish before she arrived at tbe station.

She had left letters for her brother and for the fraulein. No one need be made uneasy at her disappearance. [TO BE CONTINUED.]

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TRUE ECONOMY.

Every one must practice true economy to succeed in life. But it is uo economy to buy "shoddy artls es: bad Flour, bad Butter and bad Food of any kind are not economical to nse at any price: a thousand times worse is a "shoddy,rmedlcine that pretends to cure,but makes a patient worse. oar AH ahe best food is the cheapest because it is nutritious and strengbtening to the whole system, and even in small quantites, so is a pure medicine, which cures every time, even in smal dose* therefore always keep tn mind these Ten Solid Facts.

SW'There is more real solid cure In one bottle of HUNT'S (K dney and Liver) REMBDY, for the dbea*e* it is prepared for than a barrel of tbe so called cures the dose is 20 to 80 drops aarxt cures, restores, regulates and invigorates tbe Liver, Stomach, Kidneys, Bladder and Urinary organs, creates a piarvelous uppetite and rebuilds the entire system, ana it is "Never known to fail."

Mr It will prevent as well as cure, Miliaria, Fevera and Rheumatism and all dh-eases which comes from Impure oio^d. Keep tbe fountain and the springs that supply tt, pure aud tbe stream flowing therefrom will be healthful and life-giving. aarspeclal and interesting ca«esof Bright's disease described on second page of our Banner Book. •VHUKTIS (Kidney and Liver) RSMKDT purl flea the Blood, thereby keeping the Kid* neys, Liver, Btomach, Bladder and Urinary organs vigorous with life and action, causing tbem to tree tbe system from the poisonous waste which brings disease and death. •GVlt reacbes the seat of tbe disease at once—removes the cause—stimulated and assist* the functions of the Kidneys, Liver and Urinary organ*. •WSave your heaith by nsing HOST* (Kidney and Liver) REMEDY, as mUlipM will not recompense tbe

VSUffiSWGVfflS

The Only Remedies for the Skim and Blood Universally

4

E

Urn of the prickle*

boon. It will care Female Weakness, and prevents monthly suffering. Correspondence freely answered by oar Consulting Physician at this office. •arThe largest sales are ,at tbe home of tbe medlcine where it is bt-st known, it is osed most ex-

1

.-vf, tensively and precrlbed by 75 pnyslclans. What better endorsement eotild

•»»g»MKBy be offered.

Price$L25 a bottle

::TQTAtL«g

OOHPAHT.

Providence,

Sold by All DroffliU.

-J

Commended. .I

Wm. T. Totten, 672 North Tenth Street, Philadelphia, reports that one of his customers stated to him incidentally that he waa felling so we land had gained twenty-seven pounds in the last year, all of which he attributed to a systematic course of tbe CovICURA RESOLVENT, which has proved efltee« tual when all other remedies failed.

SORBS ON NECK.

VLNCENNES, IND.

?t

j,

Chas. Brady, Somerville, Mass., who refers to Dr. J. J. Wood, druggist, of that city, certifies to a wonderful cure of running sores on the neck which had been treated by hospital physicians without cure, and which yielded completely to the CUTICUKA RKKK9IES.

CURED BY CUTICURA.

My skin disease, which resisted several popular remediesand other remedies advise* bv physicians, been cured by your CtmCURA REMEDIES. They surpassed my moA sanguine exnectations and rapidly effected a cure- J. C. ARJENTRUE*

KNOW ITS VALUE.

All of vour CUTICUKA REMEDIES give ve. good satisfaction. The CUTICUKA I e«iecial recommend for tbe

diseases

for which

it

used. I know from experience its value. DR. H. J. PRATT, MONTELLO, WIS. V*

CUTICURA ABROAD.

Through a home-returned Norwegian, I" have learned to know your CUTICUKA, wMeh has In a short time cored me -f an Ecsena that my nhyalcian'a medicines could not heal. CHR. HELTZEN, BEHOEK, NORWAY,

A genturforretning.

THE POET POWERS.

A feeling of grntitude impels me to acknowledge the great merits of your CtmCURA. and I cordial recommend it to the public as a very valuable remedy.

H. N. POWifiRii, BRUXJETOHT, Oo

vW.

Sold everywhere. Price: CUTIC'IRA, 80 ofe RESOLVENT, 11.00 BOAP, 25 cents. POTTK DRUG AND CHEMICAL Co., Boston, Mass.

PTTTTCLIRA

SOAP. An exquisite Toilet,

vUli Bath, and Nursery Sanative.

SAN FORD'S RADICAL CURE FOR CATARRH

Witch-Hacel, American Pine,Canada Fir, Marigold, and Clover Blossoms.,,

A single dose of Sanford'a Radical Cure instant relieves the mo-t violent yneeaing or Heao Colds, deal's the Head as by nmgle. stops watery discharges from the Nose and Eyes, prevents Rinsing Noises in the Head, cures Nervous Headache, and subdues Chills and Fevers. In Chronic Catarrh it cleanses the nasal passa 'es of foul mucus, restores the senses of smell, taste, and hearing when affected, frees the head, throat, and bronchial tubes of offensive matter, sweetens and purities the breath, stops the cough, and arrests the progress of Catarrh towards Consumption.

One bottle Radical Cure, one Box Catarrhal Solvent and Sanford's Inhnler, all in one package, forming a complete treatment, of all druggists for $1. Ask for SANFORD'S RADICAL CURE. POTTER DRUG AND CHEMICAL Co., Boston.

a

ai I IMa. For the relief and prevemrUbUliV^'tion, the Instant it Is apT. VOLTAIC/ plied, of Rheumatism,Neu-

v//j/ ralgla, Sciatica, Cougbs, Weak Buck, Btomach, and Bowels, Shooting Pains,

-T Numbness, Hysteria, Female Pains, Palpitation, Dyspepsia, LiverComplainL

Ai rTRi«\ Bilious Fever, Malaria, and

£*•!«T,V?V

Epidemics, use Collins' (an Electric Battery com*

btned with a Porous Planter) and laugh at pan 2fie. everywhere.

pffisKws

iwhy call Calendar's Liver Bitten ,thc Left Liver Bitters? Because tbe human liver is our lf*»trade mark and 5fj our left liver, see It •2 on each bottleKJnone genuine without

SITTERS

It

Why use tbe human liver as trad* ^mark? Because

Patented April 14, LS7*.iiver bitters is a specialty for Liver Comp aints in all their forms. Being compounded from pure root herbs, and old peach, the great appetlaerof of the age, a favorite family tonic ^and^a warranted medicine.

Liver

bitters get at tne

seat of all diseases by the direct action, open-^ ing digestive organs of the liver at the same time acts directly on the kidneys, cleanses the lungs, cures brlghts of the kidneys, purlfles the blood and beautifies the skin. Ask vour druggists for them. Manufactured by fearbero Callendar, Peoria, Ills. Sold In Torre Hante by the following drogglste Adamson & Krttenstine, 641 Main §t., Cook A Bell, 801 Main st„ J. J. Baur A Son, 703 Main C. F. Zimmerman, 1241 Main, 0. C. Leek. Poplar, J. A. Wllllson, 601 4tb, Allen* Havens, 600 ISth. J. E. Homes, N. K. Ctor. 6th and Ohio.

ISTATE OF ZADOC REEVE.

Notice is hereby given, that the undersigned has been appointed executor of the laHt w» of Zadoc Reeve, late of Vigo county, Indian^ deceased. Said estate Is supposed to solvent. CHRIS. W. BROWN, Exccutor.

Marcb 28th, 1886.

jQANVILLEROUTE. Chicago and Eastern Illinois Railroad.

Sfit aid Direct Route

Chi o, Milwaukee, sk*-tv** Madison, Green Bay, Minneapolis, St. Paul,

Cedar Rapids, OntahA

And all points in the North and Northwest

THREE TRAINS DAILY

Between Terre Haute and Chicago arriving in time to make close connections wit* trains on sli roads diverging. tar Woodruff Palace and Sleeping Ooache# on all night trains.

Tourists Guides giving a description of tn various Humme' Resorts will be furnnuxf upon application to R. A. CAMPBELL, GenlAg't. 824 Main st Terre Haute, Ind.

WM. HILL, O. P. A. ^Chicago, lis.

a

TKAIHS oonro VOBTH AJCD EA«T. Leave Evansville at 1030 a. m. Terre Hante at 230 and lflO a «. Arrive Indianapolis atJ4w and 3a»

TBAixa GOING WEST AND SOUTH. Leave Indianapolis at 11:56 Terre Haute at Mt and Arrive Evansville at &20 and 7» a passengers for Indianapolis, on the ljM a train, can remain "^S^.^Pninved Tba»on»nuo '"P"™1,

run In AJ#

absolutely free from dust and smoke, more luxurious ears G. J. ORAMMER. O. P. A.

TEACHERS^ASo^I^