Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 15, Number 43, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 18 April 1885 — Page 6

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rHE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE

Called Back

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Br HUGH OONWAT.

CHAPTER XT.

FROM GRIEF TO JOT. "J"'

My tale is drawing to an end.although I could, for my own pleasure, write chapter after chapter, detailing every 4ccurrence of the next month—describing every look, repeating every word that passed between Pauline and myself, but if I wrote them they would be sacred from all persons save two—my my

If my situation was an anomalous «ne it nad at least a certain charm. It was anew wooing, none the less entertaining and sweet because its object happened to be already my wife in name. It was like a landowner walking over kin estate and in every direction finding ansuspfccted beauties and unknown -mines of wealth. Every day showed me •reslLcharms in the woman I loved. ller smile was a ioy greater than I had ever pictured, her laugh a revelation. To gaze into those bright unclouded eyes and strive to learn their •ecrets was a reward that repaid me for all that I suffered. To find that her intellect, now restored, was fit to be matched with any one's—to know that when the time came I should be given sot only a wife, beautiful in my eyes, above all women, but a companion and a sympathetic friend—how can I de*arib6 my rapture?

Yet it was a rapture not unmodified ty doubts and fears. It may be that anarsicter lacked that very useful trai self-confiaence, and by

iracter lacked that very useful trai ealled by some self-confic others conceit. The more I saw to love and admire in Pauline, the more I asked myself how I could dare to expect that so peerless a creature would condescend to accept the love and the life 1 wished to offer her. Who was I to win her? I was rich, it is true, but I felt §ure that riches would not buy her affection—besides, as I had not told her Jfaat her own wealth was swept away, the fancied her fortune was as large as ay own. She was young, beautiful, and, so far as she knew, free and ampiv provided for. No, I had nothing to offer her which was worthy of her acceptance.

I quite dreaded to look forward to the moment which must sooner or later some—the moment when I must, ignoring the past, ask her once more to be my wife. On her answer would hang ihe whole of my future life. No wonier I decided to postpone the ordeal until I felt quite certain that the result of it would be favorable to me. No wonder that when with Pauline, and realising the value of the prize I aimed at, I grew quite humble ana depreciatory of What merits I may have possessed. No wonder that at times I wished that I wore gifted with that pleasing assurance which sits so well on many men, and, time and opportunity being given,seems lo go" along way tiowaM winning a woman's heart

Time and opportunity at least were sot wanting in my case. I bad taken up my quarters near to Iter, and from morn to night we were in

either side. We climbed the rugged tors. We fished with more or less success the rapid streams. We drove together. we read and sketched—but as yet we had not talked of loVe though all the while my wedding-ring was on *er finger.

It required all my authority to prevent Priscilla telling Pauline the truth. Hn this point I was firm. Unless the past came back of its own accord, I would hear her say she loved me before my lips revealed it to her. Perhaps it was tne idea which at times came to me, that Pauline remembered more Jhatt she would own to, kept me steadtint in this resolution.

It was ourious the way in which she a& once fell into friendlv, unconstrained intercourse with me. We might have .known each other from, childhood, so perfectly natural and unembarrassed was her manner when we were together. Sh&made no demur when I lagged her to dill tne by my Christian name, nor 4id she object to my making use of her «yn. Had she done so I cannot think i& what form I should have addressed her. Although I had instructed Pris«Ula to call her Miss March, the old woman stoutly objected to this, and compounded matters by speaking to and of as Miss Pauline.

The days slipped by—the happ days my life had as yet known. Mc soon and eve we were together ltear were objects of great curiosity «mr neighbors, who no doubt wondered what relations existed between me and fee beautiful girl at whose side I ever

iest

utoro* and I to

I soon found that Pauline's natural disposition was gay and bright. It was Mo soon yet to expect? it to reassert itself, yet I was not without hopes that -before long that look, telling of sad memories, which so often crossed her face would fade away forever. Now -and again a pleased smile lit up her. face, and merry words slipped from her lips. Although when reason first returned to her, it seemed as if her brother^ death had occurred but the day before, I felt sure that, after a while, she auderstood that years had passed since fatal night. These years were to kor wrapped in a mist they seemed as dreams. She was trying to recall them, beginning at the beginning and 1 need not say with what alacrity I lent my aid.

By common consent we avoided the future but of the past, or all the past in which I was not concerned, we spoke freely. All the events of her early years ahf? now remembered perfectly: she •ould u.-f iVimt for everything up to the time wiw-n It brother was struck down —after ih amemistiness from which «he emersfH u» find herself in a strange rom. ill. ami being nursed by a strange aurse.

Several passed before Pauline question*-l inv as to the part I had playad in her clouded life. One evening we stood on tli« top of a thickly wooded toll, from which we could lust catch a idt. lorious su!iit. We had Men

glmp.se of *l*o aeavOQW reddened glorious sun^t. We had for mm and who can •or thought* ware not sftore ib than anvTmnls we could hare spoken whilst our strange and uncertain relation* continued. leaked at the west­

ern sky until the glowing tints began to fade, then turning to my companion I found her dark eyes gazing at me with almost painful earnestness. "Tell me," she said, "tell me what shall find when that lost time comes back to me?"

Her fingers, as she spoke, were playing with ner wedding-ring. She still wore it, and the diamond keeper 1 had placed above it but she had not as yet asked me why it was on her hand. "Will it come back, Pauline, do you think?" I asked. "I hope so—or stay should I nope so Tell me, will it bring me joy or sorrow?* "Who can say—the two are always mingled."

She sighed and turned her eyes to the ground. Presently she raised them to mine. "Tell me," she said, "how and when did you come into my life—why did dream of you?" "You saw me so often when you were ill." "Why did I wake and find your old servant taking care of me?" "Your uncle gave you into my charge, I promised to watcn over you durmg his absence." "And he will never return. He is punished for his crime—for standing by when the poor boy was murdered."

She pressed her hands to her eyes, as if to snut out the light. "Pauline." I said, wishing to change the current of her thoughts, "tell me how you saw me in dreams what you dreamed of me?"

She shuddered. "I dreamed that you were standing by me—in the very room —that you saw the deed. Yet I knew that it could not be so." "And then?" "I saw your face many times—it was always traveling, traveling through clouds. seemed truth'—so I waited patiently till you turned." "You never dreamed of me before?"

It was growing dusk, I was uncertain whether it was the deepening shade from the trees which made her cheeks look darker, or whether it was a blush. My heart was beating madly.

6I

cannot tell I I don't know. Don't ask me!" she said in a troubled voice Then she turned. "It grows dark and chilly. Let us go in."

I followed her. It was so completely the rule for me to spend the evening with her that 1 did not even wait for an invitation. It was our custom to and sing together for an hour or two. Pauline's first expressed desire after her recovery had been for a piano. Believing herself to be an heiress she had felt no scruple in asking for all she wanted, and my instructions to Priscilla being that no money was to be spared in ministering to her comforts, a piano had been sent from the nearest town.

All her skill had returned to her. Her voice had come back even stronger and more sweet than of old. Again and again she held me entranced as she had held me once before, when I little expected the fearful ending to her song, or that my fate and the singer's were so closely interwoven,

I was surprised, therefore, when this evening She tiiniesd on th6 doorstep and said: "Not to-night. Leave me, please, for to-niglit."

I urged no objection. I took her hand and brnle her farewell until the m'orrow. I would go and wander bvjtarlightgnd think of ner.

As we parted she looked at me strangely, almost solemnly. "Giibert,w£he said, speaking in Italian for Priscilla was now standing at the open door—"shall I pray for the past to return or that I should never remember it? Which will be the best for me —and for you?"

Without waiting to hear my reply, she lided past Priscilla, who stood waiting or me to follow her,. "Good-night, Priscilla," I said, "I am not coming in." "Not coming in, Master Gilbert! Miss Pauline will be vexed." "She is tired and not quite well. You had better go to her. Good-night.

Priscilla came out to the doorstep and closed the door behind her. There was something in her manner which told roe she meant on this particular occasion to resume what she could of that authority she had been delegated to exercise over me during my tender years —an authority I did not aare to dispute until long after I had been invested with jackets and trousers. I have no doubt but she would have liked to seise me by the collar and give me a sound shaking. As it was she was obliged to content herself with throwing a world of sorrowful indignation into her voice. "She may easily feel ill, poor young lady, when her husband lives at one house, and she at another. And here's everybody round-about trying to find out what relation you two are to each other—asking me all sorts of questions and I mustn't say you are husband and ™No~notyet."

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Well, I'm going to, afaster Gilbert. If you wont tell the poor young lady, I **V

Well, I'm p)in^to,

y°

shall. I'll tell her how you broughthtr

home and sent for me to take care of

her—how you tended her and waited on her all day long—how you shut yourself up for her sake, never seeing an old friend's face. Olives. Master Gilbert, I'll tell her all and I'll tell her how you. went into her room and kissed her ere you started on that fool's journey, wherever it was. She'll remember everything fast enough then." "I command you to say nothing." "I've heeded too many commands of urs, Master Gilbert, to mind breaking one for your sake. I'll do it, and take the consequences."

Feeling thatthe explanation, if made by Priscilla, would not only sweep away a great deal of romance, but abp might precipitate matters and make them far more difficult to adjust tomy own satisfaction, I was bound to prevent her carrying out her threat. Knowing from old experience that although the good soul could not be driven, she could be led. I was obliged to resort to cajolery. 8o I said, as one asking a boon— "You wont if I entreat and beg you not to, my old friend. You love me too much to do anything against my wishes."

Priscilla was not proof against this appeal, but she urged me to proclaim the true state of affairs as soon as possible.

And dont be too sure, Master Gil* bert," she concluded, "as to what she remembers or doesnt. Sometimes I think she knows a deal more than yon suppose."

Then she ig about thinkii attach to

left me. and I went wanderas to what meaning words.

*Whfch will be tfc* fwsfcfor for your-^lwgit^ *«©W

ror your—®? rorgeror wrecaar mow muaraa a* fbrge^ow^diWitts recall? Had those rings on her hand it she own her that

on waaa wife?

TERKis HAUTE 8All)js±jaY

Could she help suspecting whose wife she was? Even if she remembered nothing about our strange hurried marriage, nothing about otir subsequent life together, she found herself after that interval of oblivion, as it were, under my charge found that I knew all the tragic circumstances of her brother's end, that I now returned from a journey of thousands of miles, undertaken to learn the fatal particulars. Although she might not be able to account for it, she must by this know the truth. Keeping the ring on her finger showed that she did not dispute the fact that, somehow, she was wedded. Who could be her husband save me?

Yes, by the evidence the situation offered, I determined that she had arrived at the right conclusion and the hour was at hand when I should learn if the knowledge would bring her joy or sorrow.

To-morrow I would tell her all. I would tell her how strangely our lives became linked. I would plead for her love more passionately than ever man yet pleaded. I would prove to her how innocently I had fallen into Ceneri's schemes—how free from blame I was in wedding her whilst her mental state was such that she was unable to refuse consent. All this she should learn, and then I would hear my doom from her lips.

I would urge no plea based upon my legal right to my wife. So far as I could make her she should be free. Nothing should bind her to me except love. Ii she had none to give me I would tear myself from her, and at her wish see if steps could not be taken to annul the marriage—but whether she elected to remain my wife in name, to become my wife in reality, or to sever every tie,h6r future life, with or without her knowledge, should be my care. By this time to-morrow my fate should be known.

Having settled this I should have retired to rest but I was in no mood for sleep. Again and again I recalled her last words and commenced one of those weighings of hopes and fears which always means self-torture. Why if Pauline had guessed the truth, haa she not asked me about it? How could she spend hour after hour with me, knowing she was my wife yet not knowing how she became so? Would her words admit of the interpretation that she dreaded what she nad to learn? Did she wish for freedom and continual forgetfulness? So, on and on until I made myself quite miserable.

Many a may on the eve of learning whether his love is to be accepted or rejected has been racked as I was that night, but surely no lover save myself ever lived, who was to receive the momentous answer from the lips of a woman who was already his wife.

The hour was late when I returned from my solitary walk. I passed Pauline's window, and standing gazing up at it I wondered if she, too, were lying awake and thinking and deciding about our future lives. Ah well, to-morrow would put us both out of suspensel

The night being still and warm her window was open at the top. Before I turned away a fancy seized me. I pick ed arose from a bush in the garden and managed to toss it through the open sash. She might find it in the morning and guessing from whom it came might wear it. It would be a good omen.

The blind shivered as the rosebud struck it then, fearing discovery, turned ana fled.

The morning broke fair. I rose with hope in my heart and scouted the fears of the night. At the earliest moment I could hope to find her I started in search of Pauline. She had just gone out, 1 ascertained in which way, and followed her.

I found her walking slowly, with her head betit. She greeted me with her usual quiet sweetness, and we walked on side by side. I looked in vain for my rose and was fain to comfort myself by thinking it must have fallen where she could not see it. Nevertheless, 1 was troubled.

And there was worse in store for me. Her hands, ungloved and with the finders interlaced, were carried in front of ler. I was walking on her left side, and I saw that the hand nearest me was denuded of its rings. The golden circlet which had shone until now like a beacon of hope, had disappeared. My heart sank. The meaning was only too clear when coupled with her words of last night, who could fail to understand it? Although she knew herself to be my wife she wished to throw the yoke aside. Pauline loved me not—the truth which was gradually creeping from the misty pjist would bring her sorrow—now that she remembered, Bhe wished to forget. The rings were cast aside to show me, if possible, without words, that she was not to be my wife.

How could I speak now? The answer had been given before the question had been put.

She saw me looking at that little white hand of hers, but simply dropped her lashes and said nothing. No doubt she wished me to spare her the pain of an explanation. If I could nerve myself to it, perhaps the best thing would be to leave her as speedily as possibleleave her to return no more.

Moody and despondent as I felt at the discovery just made, it was not long before found a great change in Pauline's manner. She was not the same. Something had come between us, something whicn entirely dispelled the old friendly intercourse changing it into little more than conventional politeness. Shyness and constraint now made themselves manifest in every word and action—perhaps, in mine also. We spent the day together as usual, but the companionship must have been irksome to both, so greatly was its footing changed for the worse. That night I went to bed wretched. The prize I had striven for seemed to be snatched away just as I had hoped to win it!

So several days passed. Pauline made no sign, or certainly none I could construe favorably. 1 could bear this state of things no longer. Priscilla, whose sharp eyes saw that something was amiss, pestered me beyond endurance: and spoke her mind so roundly that! began to suspect she had already executed her threat of telling Pauline everything", and I felt inclined to attribute my failure to the old woman's officiousness in making a premature revelation. All might have gone well had I been given another week or a fortnight to win my wife's heart. I began to believe that she was growing unhappy that my presence troubled ner. Not that she evinced any wish to avoid me: indeed, she came so surely at my beck and oall as to suggest a shadow of the obedience die had always given during those days upon which I now dreaded to dwell. But I felt she would be happier and more at ease In my So I resolved to depart.

I knew that my only way was to carry oat my determination at once. Hav-

EVJffiJSllN*

readiness. I arranged by which coach to go. I should have three hours in the morning to give Priscilla my final instructions and to bid my wife adieu forever.

As soon as I had finished my pretense at a breakfastjl walked across to the house where Pauline lodged. As yet she knew nothing of my purpose. I held her hand rather longer than usual, and by a desperate effort forced words to my lips. "I am come to say good-bye. I go to London to-day."

She answered not a word, but I felt her hand tremble in my own. Her eyes I could not see. "Yes I have loitered here long enough," I continued, attempting to speak easily "a great many things call me to town.*

Pauline was not looking in the best of health this morning. Her cheek was paler than it had been since my arrival. She looked languid and depressed. Doubtless my presence had worried her. Poor girl, she would soon be relieved of that!

Seeing that I paused for her to speak she found her voice, but even that seemed to have lost some of it$ freshness and tone. "When do you go?" was all that she said. Not a word about my return! "By the mid-day coach. I have still some hours lefts As it is the last time, shall we walk to the Clearing together?*' "Do you wish it?" "If you have no objection. Besides, I want to speak to you about yourself— about business matters," I added, to show that she need not fear the inter view. "I will come," she said, quitting the room hurriedly.

I waited. Presently Priscilla appear-

ring

Mv frame of mind was a sad one Avhen I reached the Clearing. I threw myself down on the sloping ground and turned my eyes up the path by which she must come. A fallen trunk at my back formed a rest for my head—the trees around were rustling in the soft breeze—the monotonous rush of the stream below was soothing and lulling —a few white clouds sailed slowly across the sky. It wasadrowsy,dreamy, beautiful morning. I had scarcely slept for the last two or three nights. Pauline 1 ngered. Is it any wonder that my eyes closed and for a while all sorrow and disappointment were chased away by the sleep I so sorely needed?

Was it sleep? Yes, because one must sleep in order to dream. Ah! if that dream were reality, life would be worth having. I dreamed that my wife was beside me, that she took my hand and pressed her lips to it passionately, that her cheek was almost touching mine, that I could feel her soft sweet breath. So real did it seem that I turned on my hard rustic pillow toward the dream, and then of course it vanished.

I opened my eyes. In front of me stood Pauline. Those grand dark eyes of hers no longer veiled by the lashes, but open and looking into mine. I saw them out for a second, but that was long enough fort he look I had surprised

and swiftly in my sweet face with ki

MAIL.

%ot go without explaining

I could

some things to ner. I need not pain

„jme things to her. her by alluding to our relationship, but I must inform her that she was not the heiress she believed. I must tell her she had plenty to live upon without saying that I, her husband, would supply it. When this was arranged, farewell for-

from her. Her raspy, bringin

undeserved, at least voice was harsh and back to my mind a familiar sound or early childhood, when I had committed some petty crime which excited her ire. "Miss Pauline begs you will walk on and not wait for her. She will join you at the Clearing presently."

I took my hat and prepared to do as commanded. Priscilla had said nothing which showed she knew of my approaching departure, but as I was passing out or the house she said, in atone of withering scorn. "Master Gilbert, you area bigger fool 'than I thought you were."

Such an observation, even from an old servant, could not be passed by turned to remonstrate. Priscilla simply slammed the door almost against my nose.

I walked away—the thing in the face of my other troubles was not worth a thought. Of course I could not expect Priscilla to enter into my feelings and appreciate the delicacy or my position. Besides, I must see her and nave along talk with her before I left.

The Clearing, as we called it, was a

Ead

lace on the hillside, not far away. We stumbled upon it, almost by accident, during our walks. A seldom trodden path through the wood led to a spot from which the trees and undergrowth had been cleared. From it there was a delightful view of the opposite hills and the stream winding through the valley. It was a favorite resort of mine. Here I had sat for hours talking to Pauline, and here in my dreams I had poured forth the words of love I longed to speak—and here I was to say good-bye forever!

arms—to cover her isses, ejaculating the

only words that one can find at such a time. "I love you! I love youl 1 love your

For no man yet has seen in a woman's eyes the look saw in Pauline's unless that woman loves him above all the world.

No words can describe the rapture of that moment—the revulsion of my feelings. She was mine, my own forever. I knew it: I could feel it every time my lips touched hers. The bright blush which spread from her cheek to her neck proclaimed it—her suffering without resistance mv passionate caresses confirmed it—bullet me hear it from those sweet lips! "Pauline! Pauline!" I cried "do you love me?"

A trembling which I knew was of joy passed over her. "Do I love you! love youl" she said, and hid her blushing face on my shoulder. The words, the action, was enough, but presently she raised her head and pressed her fips to mine. "I love you—yes, I love you, my husband!"

When did you know? When did you remember? For a moment she answered not. She broke from my embrace then, opening the bosom of her dress, drew forth a blue ribbon which hong round her neck. Upon it were threaded the two rings. They seemed to sparkle with joy in tne bright sun.

Soe detached them and held them toward me. "Gilbert, my love, my husband, if yon will that I shall be your wife, if you think me worthy of it, take them and place them where they should be."

And then once more, with many a kiss, many A TOW. I placed ^he riitfs up­

xr TT

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on her finger and knew that my troubles were at an end. "But when did you know—yhen did the memory come back?" "Dearest," she whispered, and her voice sounded like music. "I knew it when I saw you standing on the river bank. It came to me all at once. Till then all was dark. I saw your face and knew everything." "Why did you not tell me?"

She hung ner head. "I wanted to find out if you loved me. Why should you do so? If you did not we could part, and I would set you free if possible. But not now, Gilbert you will never get rid of me now."

Her thoughts had been the same as mine. No wonder I had misunderstood her. The idea of her waiting to see if I loved her seemed so preposterous! "You would have saved me days of grief if I had known you cared for me. Why did you take off the rings, Pauline?" "Day after day passed and you said nothing. Then I took them off. They have been next my heart ever since, waiting for you to give back when you chose."

I kissed the hand on which they shone. "Then all is clear to you now, my own wife?" *Not quite all, but enough. The truth, the love, the devotion—all this, my husband, I can remember—all this I will repay, if my love can do it."

Our wooing may close with these words—let all the rest be sacred. The trees around alone know what passed between us, as their kindly shade fell on us where we sat and interchanged our words of love whilst hour after hour of our second and real wedding day slipped by. At last we rose, but lingered yet awhile, as though loth to leave the spot where happiness had come to us. We looked round once more and bid farewell to hill and valley and stream we gazed long in each other's eyes, our lips met in a passionate kiss then we went forth together to the world and the new sweet life awaitingus.

We walked as in a dream, from which we were only recalled by the sight of houses and people "Pauline! IwhiLr„ this place to-night? We will go to London.*

"Pauline! I whispered, "can you leave

"And afterward?" she asked, ly"Can you ask me? To Italy, of course."

She thanked me with a look and pressure of the hand. We were now at her home. She left me, passing Priscilla, whose honest eyes were now glowering at me. Priscilla had called me a fool I must be revenged. "Priscilla," I said, gravely,

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am go­

ing by this evening's coach. I will write when I get to London." I had my revenge in full. The good old soul almost fell weeping at my feet "Oh, Master Gilbert, don'tde, go. sirl That poor young lady, Miss Pauline, what will she do? She loves the very ground you tread upon."

I had bargained for reproaches, not sentiment or this kind. I laid my hand upon her shoulder. "But Priscilla, Miss Pauline—Mrs. Vaughan, my wife, goes with me."

Priscilla's tears came more copiously than before, but they were tears of joy. Ten days later ana Pauline stood beside her brother's grave. By her own wish she visited it alone. I waited at the gate of the cemetery until she rejoined me. Her face was very pale, her eyes showed traces of many tears, but she smiled as she met my anxious glance. "Gilbert, my husband," she said, "1 have wept, but now I smile. The past is past. Let its darkness be dispersed by the brightness of the present and the promise of the future. Let the love I bore my brother be carried into the greater love I give my husband. Let us turn our backs on the dark shadows and begin our lives."

Have I more to tell? One thing only. Years afterward I was in Paris. The great war had been fought out to the bitter end. Traces of tne conflict between the two races had almost vanished, but those of the second and internecine contest were visible everywhere. The Gaul himself had destroyed what the Teuton spared. The Tuileries, with sightless, empty eyes, gazed sadly toward the Place de la Concorde, where stood the statues of the fair lost provinces. The Vendome column lay pros trate. The fair city was charred and blackened by the incendiary torches of her own sons: but the flames had been some time extinguished and ample revenge had been taken. A gay young officer, a friend of mine, took me to see a military prison. We were chatting and smoking in the open air when a small body of soldiers appeared. They were escorting three men, who walked with fettered hands and bowed heads. "Who are tbev?" I asked. "Blackguard Communists."^ "Where are they taking them?"

The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. "Where they ought all to betaken to be shot, the brutes!"

Brutes or not,three men who have but a minute to live must be objects of interest if not sympathy. I looked closeat them as they passed us. One of em raised his bead and stared me in the face. It was Macari!

I started as his eyes met mine, but I am not ashamed to say the movement was caused by no feeling of compassion. Ceneri. in spite of myself, I pitied, and would have aided had it been possible, but this ruffian, liar and traitor should have gone to his doom, even if I could have saved him by lifting a finger. He had passed long ago out of my life, but blooa still boiled when Ithoughtof him and his crimes. I knew not how he had lived since I last saw him—knew not whom or how many he had betrayed but if Justice had been slow in claiming him, her sword had at last reached him and his end was close at hand.

He knew me—perhaps he thought I had come there to gloat over his punishment. A look of bitter hate crossed his face. He stopped and cursed me. The «d him on. He turned his guard forced head and cursed me until one of the soldiers smote him in the mouth. The act may have been cruel, but there was little mercy shown to Communists in those days. The guard and tiieir prisoners turned round an angle of the "Shalfwe seethe end?" said my friend, flipping the ash off his cigar.

No, thank you." But we heard it. In ten minutes the rattle of rifles sounded, and I knew that the last andguiltiestof Anthony March's murderers had found his deserts.

I remembered my promise to Ceneri. With great trouble 1 managed to get a message sent which I believed would reach him. Six months afterward a letter stamped with innumerable hieroglyphical postmarks was delivered to me. It tola me thAt the prisoner to whom I had written had died two years after his arrival at tl» mines. So the IMCI fba

Yes, it must be so for she has read every line I have written, and as we peruse and revise this last prg3 her arm steals round me, and she says, insisting that I shall record her utterance: "Too much, too much of me, my husband, not enough of what you did and have always done for meP

With this, the only difference of opinion that exists between us, my tale may end.

Tine END.

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I

of knowing ihe fate of the man wlie betrayed him. My tale is told. My life and Pauline*® began when we turned from that eemo-i1*3oeen-past.

tery and resolved to forget the Since then our joys and griefs have the same as those of thousands. As I write this in jny happy country house, blessed with wife and children, I wonder if I could ever have been that blind man who heard those fearful sounds and who saw afterward that terrible sight. Could it have been I who rushed from one end of Europe to the other to set at rest a doubt which I blush ait even harboring? Could it have been Pauline, whose eyes now shine with love and intelligence, who lay for months, even years, with the sweet bells of her intellect jangled and out of tune? •:,

V-

Remarkable'Earape.

Mrs. Mary A. Dailey, of TunkhanNNCK,' PH., was afflicted for si* years* with Asthma and Bronchitis, durine wnich time the best physicians coala give no relief. Her life was despaired ofr until in last October she procured a bottle of Dr. King's New Discovery, when immediate relief was felt, and by continuing its use for a short time she wa» completely cured, sainiag in flesh SO Ibe* in a few months. Free trial bottles off this certain cure of all Throat and Lung Diseases at Cook A Bell's Drug Stores Large Bottles $1.00. -4-

ids, Chilblains, Corns, and and positively cures Pllea* ]. It is guaranteed to give-

OK Quick Curative For Itch. A PositivefBafe Sore Cure in 80 minutes. Ask your druggis's for it For sale by air Druggists. Theutrade Supplied by Cook &r Bell.

TOVKO

MEN!—BBADTHIS!^ '1

TAB VOLTAIC BKLT CO., of Mai shall, Micb., offer to send their celebrated EiiKOTRo-VoLTAic BKLT and others ELECTRIC APPMANOBS on trial for thirty days, to men (young or old) afflicted* with nervous debility, loss of vitality and manhood, and all kindred troubles. Also for rhenmatism, neuralgia, paralysis, and many other diseases. Complete* restoration to health, vigor and manhood guaranteed. No rlt-k ia inenrre as thirty days trial is allowed. Writ •b*ra at once for illustrated pamphlet free. ja8-ly.

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GERManreMEDTHnrafela,CnmSfemaatlia,

Batkatfcc, Hnittta, Tlelbehs Hprmlm, Bnkw atker hmuilitai kta itxt Dwkin

vn CHABLiS A. YOflKlBK To..

TRADE XXJ MARK.

OUGHIUR

PRQMPT.SAFE.SURE Tkiwl BmOnnAlMmi. irDiimninwDuti^ IBB OUB1A A.

TMiHia Ofc, Hlwn, H,

fit's.

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Thiformula by which Mutter's fieri Bittert compounded is OPQR

two

TAN-

dred years old, and of German origin* The entire range of proprietary median*a cannot produce a preparation that enjoys so high a reputation in the commuaitf here it is made as

ISHLER'S

Bitters-

is the test remedy for Kidney and Liver Complaints, Zkyspepaia, Cramp in the Stomach, Indigestion, Malaria, Periodical Complaints, tie. Asa Blood Purifier, it has no equal. tones the system* strengthening, invigorating and gmn§ new fye.

Tlwlflto Judge Esraa, of I-WIIM— OO., F»., mm afcle Juriat nd an honored dtiaeai. ooo» wixrt* "MUlatto Harfc BttUre la

and teas aaqatod a s*wt mwUttoa

A?

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wldUty kaova*

far

daalandeatatttw prosmVm. I hereeaafl •adla my fuafljr ammbotOtt, aad I am atlsfl«dtta»»»iimnonto»ot*aaartna» ifTWTrr.TO HXBB BITWM OO,

Hi OomswrM ft, Philadelphia.

tldl sfEir c,i±.

Wwatfiflwa Fsfla