Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 15, Number 48, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 23 May 1885 — Page 2

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A PA^ER FOR THE PEOPLL

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CHAPTER XXXII.

18 HELL, OR PARADISE, OR HKAVKN."

It was the despairing cry of a woman's breaking heart that came with that kw wailing sound from the curtained doorway. Dora bad been told of Heath•ote's arrival, and bad hurried from ber dressing room on the farther side of the spacious bed-chamber. Sbe bad reached tbs threshold of the morning-room in time to bear Heathcote pronounce thei dreadful word '.'Murder," and sbe beard all that followed. She bad heard ber husband's own lips proclaim bim triply an assassin. "It is my wife's voice," said Wyllard, quietly. "You knew that sbe was there, perhaps. You wanted her to hear." "1 did not know Bhe was there bat it would have been my duty to tell her all I have discovered. She has lived under a delusion she has lived under the spell of yonr consulate hypocrisy. It is •niy right that she should know the troth. Thank God, she has beard it from your own lips." "You have not forgotten the day when we were rivals (or her love," said Wyllard, with a diabolical sneer. "I won tbe race, heavily handicapped and low your turn has come. You hare your revenge."

Heathcote was silent. His eyes were Axed upon tbe figure which appeared between the folds ol tbe dark plush curtain. and «t»me slowly, tottering forward to Wyllard's couch, and sank in a heap beside it. The white, set face, with its look of agony, tbe widely opened •yes, pale with horror, haunted bim for long after that awful hour. It was he who bad brought this agony upon her, he who had unearthed the buried skeleton, he who, going forth from that house todo ber bidding, her true knigbt, her champion, ber servant, had come back as the messenger of doom. Was he to blatne that fate bad imposed that hateful tank upon bim He told himself that be was blameless, but that sbe jrould never forgive. ••I congratulate you upon your perseTeranoe and your success," said Wyllard, after a pause. "You have succeeded where all the police of Paris had failed. Was It love for my wife, or hatred for me, that stood in the place of training awd experience "It was neither. It was tbe band of fate, the mysterious guiding of Providence, which took me from stage to atageof that horrible story."

was my wife—my redeeming

an«el—who

SDiMSion,

sent you forth upon your

who appealed to your love of

tbe pa«t for your devotion in the present. There is the irony of Fate in that part of the business," said Wyllard mockingly. _____ iliwn BWf WCTptflU

hated hiin because he bad once possessed Dora's love, but most of all secstise bo had been worthy of it.

Julian Wyllard's head sank forward •pou his folded arms, and for some minutes there was silence iu the room save for along and smothered wound suppressed sobbing, from that Kneeling figure by tbe sick man'* couch. Tbe face of the huxbtiud and the fafi* of tbe wife were alike hidden. Dora's bead had fallen across ber husband's knees, ber hands clapped above the dark coils of silky hair, in an attitude of consum mate agony,

Heathcote stood a little way off, feel tag an if he were in the pres nee of the d«ad. The mystery of those two hkMen fatws oppressed him. He almost buted himtalf for what be had done. He felt tike an executioner—a man from whom the state had exacted a revolting service "Julian, is this true?" murmured i)«»ra, after a long silence. "Is all, or IUV

part, of this dreadful story true?'' He looked up suddenly, as If vivified Vy the sound of her voice. "What would you think of me if it were all, or any or it, true?" be asked, hoarsely. "Look up, Dora. Let me see your eyes an vou answer me. I want to know how I am to stand henceforth in the sight of tl^e woman who •nee loved me.''

She lifted her head, and turned her death-like face towards him, tearless, but with a look of agony deeper than be h«d ever seen before on any human countenance.

That other look, that last look of Leo aie Letnarque s, which had haunted him waking or sleeping ever since the fifth of July, had b«*n a look of horrified surprise. But here there was the quiet anguish of a broken heart. "Whs oace loved you." she echoed.

Do you think such love as mine can be throw* off like au old gown Tell me the truth, Julian it can make no differ* •nee to my love."

Julian Wyllard's bead sank back upon the beaped-tip pillows, and he remained for some moments gaziug dreamily at the low wood tire opposite his conch,

looking into the pages of tbe past. "Y«s, your story is put together very cleverly,v* he said, "and it ia for the most part true. Yes, I am the murderer of Marie Prevol. I am that taalous devil who, in an access of fury, destroyed the Ufa that was dearer than his own. It was not that 1 believed her guilty. No: it was tbe agonising knowledge that ber love had gone from me, in spite of her•elf- had gone to that younger, brighter, more fascinating lover. I saw tbe gradual working of the change—saw coldnesa, dislike even, creeping over her who had once piteously returned mv love—saw that my coming was unwelcome. my departure a relief. Sbe who of old had followed me to the threshold, bad huag upon me with sweetest caresses at tbe moment of parting, now could scarce conceal her indifference, her growing aversion. I saw all this and Satan took possession of me. Again and again I was on tbe verge of unpreait

meditated murder. My eyes grew dim, valtad bv a cloud of blood butt bald my hand before tbe deed waa done. I have had my grip upon her throat—that milk white throat, which waa purer of ttat and lovelier of form than tbe choicest gems I could bay to adorn it* I bav* aeen the pleading eyes looking into mine, aaklng me for mercy, and I have Mien at her feet and sobbed like a child. Bat there came a Um« when tbia sullen 4a*il of jealooay and hatred took a 4raaar hold on me, and than I awor» to

Back her. I pat my revolver in my pocket

pub-

anj

news agents.]

Wyllard's Weird,

BT MISS M. K. BRADDOK.

followed her to the station, dis-

guised by a pair of dark spectacles and a style of dress in which she had never seen me. I stood by the doorway of tbe waiting-room and saw ber sitting side by side with her favored lover, they two as happy and as absorbed in each other as two children at play in a garden. You know all the rest. Yes, it was I who watched in front of the Henri Quatre, saw those two laughing together in tbe candle light it was I who sprang out of the thicket in the forest and shot them down, one after another, left them

away

wood—a sense of triumph. I had won my love from her new lover. She bad been mine only and she would be mine now until the end. I had saved her from ber own weakness—saved her from tbe disbonor which her folly must soon have made inevitable."

He paused for a few moments, but neither Dora nor Heathcote spoke, and after the briefest silence he went on with his confession. "I never meant to survive my beloved except just so long as would be necessary to put my affairs in order and to transfer my securities to England, where those of my own flesh and blood might profit by my fortune. In order to do this I got quickly back to Paris, and decided to take up the threads of my business life Mith a view of closing tbe book .forever.

YOB

know enough of my

character and my history to know that I have a perfect command over my emotions, and you will, therefore, believe that I was able to go about my daily business, to mix with my fellow men, with as serene a manner and countenance as if not a rippleof passion bad crossed tbe stagnant surface of my dull, ploddiug nature I had so trained myself that the man of passions and emotions was one being, and the man of business another—a creature totally apart. And now, for a while at least, the man of feeling was dead and buried, and only the money-making automaton reniftiDdd*" "It happened at that time that a cloud of disaster swept over the Paris Bourse. Had I wound up my affairs at that period I should have been a heavy loser, and I, to whom tbe science of finance was a passion, could not submit to losses wbichl knew bow to avoid. So I delayed tbe settlement of my affairs, and even allowed myself to be tempted into fresh enterprises. Yet scarcely a night passed on which I did not look at my pistols before I lay down to rest and long for the time when I should feel myself free to end my miserable life." "And in those days you west frequently to the cemetery to place your tribute of roses on your victim's grave," said Heathcote. "It was the only tribute I cottld show to the woman my love had killed," answered Wyllard "the only token of respect for my wife." "Your wife!" exclaimed tbe other. "Then Barbe Girot was right in her supposition. You loved Marie Prevol well enough to marry her." "I loved her too well to degrade her," anawered Wyllard. "It was in tbe floodtide of my financial success, when I was almost drunk with fort ne^and^had^not

yours, Dora—yes, it was tbe likeness to my good angel or the past that drew me to you, my good angel of the present, my comforter, my better self. Ob, but for that second unpremeditated crime, tbe evil work of a moment's savage passion, I might have gone down to the grave In peace, believing that I had ex-

Soublethat

iated first murder, atoned for that blood-shed by the agonies that had gone before and after it. But that last crime wrecked me, it revealed the blackness of my diabolical nature—a nature in which tbe evil is inherent, tbe good only the effect of education and surroundings. "Yes, she was my wife, and I gave her all honor and reverence aue to a wife though it was my caprice, my falpe pride perhaps, to keep my relations with her a profound secret. I had won my reputation in Paris as tbe stolid, unemotional Englishman, a man of iron, a creature without passions of human weaknesses, a calculating machine. It was this reputation whicn had helped most of all to bring me wealth. To be known all at once as the lover and the husband of a beautiful actress would have been social, and might have been financial, ruin. Tbe men who had trusted me with their money to stake on the speculator's wheel of fortune would have withdrawn their confidence. I sbould have been left to fight single-banded on my own capital, and my own-capital, large as it was by this time, was not large enough for my scheme*. The Credit Mauresque was then in the front rank of public favor, and it was generally considered the Credit Mauresque.

that was tbe Credit Mauresque. Any weakness on my part and the bubble would have burst. So I planned for myself a dual existence. By day I was the cool-beaded financier but when the stars were high and tbe lamps lighted I was Georges, the American-Parisian, the Eccentric and Bohemian—the friend and entertainer of a little band of choice spirits, journalists, musicians, painters —the lover, husband, slave of Marie Prevol. Ah, Dora, for the first two years of that strange life there was compensation in it for al! the restraints of the day, for the anxiety, tbe fever, the fret of a speculator's hazardous career, "Yes. she waa my wife. I married her in a village church in the Lake country a quiet little church half hidden among the hills which encircle Derwentwater— sweet spot. Do you remember once asking me to take you to the English lakes, Dora 7 I had to invent an excuse for refusing. I coald not revisit those scenes, even with yon." there was silenoe, broken only

the

by the soand of Dora's weeping. She was still on her knees beside her busband's couch her hand still clasped his. Not all tbe horror that had been revealed to ber could change her love to bate or scorn. Deepest pity filled her breast. Sbe, to whose nature deeds of violence were altogether alien, could yet enter into and sympathise with the feelingsof this sinner, whose fatal passions had sunk bim In an abyss of crime. She pitied him, and dung to him, ready with words of comfort whenever such words might be spoken. Evan in her silence the very touch of her hand told of eon eolation and of pity. "I married my love in that qaiet village church married her under my assumed name of Gastave Georges, but the maniac* was aound «nough in law, and for me it meant a Ufa-long bond. I had found Marie Prevel pore and Innocent in tbe trained atmosphere of a Parisian theatre, a areata re Incapable of guile. I honored her tor tfcat innata parity which waa independent of sar

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVEN 1-N MAIL

when we were together—it may be that these circumstances and the strangeness of our relations intensified my passion, lending to our calm domestic bliss all the cbarm of mystery and romance. Ah, how sweet were our brief holidaya by the Mediterranean, oar wandering* in picturesque old Spain, far away from tbe beaten tracks, choosing always those places to which the world did not go. So far as it went, that life of ours was a perfect life and I was fool enough to tbiuk that it would last for ever."

He signed, and sank for some moments into a dreamy silence, his eyes fixed in a vision of that past existenoe. "My wife had an intense delight in tbe theatre and her successes there. Sbe was never a famous actress, but ber beauty had made her tbe rage. Sbe bad a bird-like soprano voice and a bewitching manner, Sbe was one of those adorable actresses who enchant their audience without ever losing their own individuality. She was always Marie Prevol but the public wanted her to be nothing else. As I kept ber entirely secluded from society for my own masons, I could not deny her the pleasure of pursuing her profession. It pleased her to earn a handsome salery, to know that she was not entirely dependent on me, to be able to help her motbe who was a harpy, continually taking money from me. So she remained on the stage, to my destruction, for it was there that Maucroix saw her, and it was because she was an actress that ha dared pursue her with attentions which she at first repulsed, but which sbe afterwards encouraged. "No, Dora, I will not dwell upon that hideous time, those days and nights of madness and despair. I saw her love going from me. I saw the subtile change from love to indifference, from indifference to fear, from fear to disgust and then to horror. She was kind to me still, from a sense of duty meek, bbedient, a gentle, yielding wife. But I have seen ber shiver at my approach, I have felt her hand grow cold in mine, I had found repulsion instead of warm, confiding love. Nor was I allowed long to remain in ignorance as to tbe cause of the change. A kind friend of mine was also an acquaintance of Maucroix

He informed me of the young man's passion for Marie, of his having sworn to win her at any cost—yes, even at the cost of the coronet which be bad tbe

Sependent,

ower to bestow upon her. He was in rich, able to do as be liked with his life. He was one of tbe band eomest young men in Paris, and was said to te the most fascinating. And I was a hard headed man of Dusiness, anxious, brain-weary, long past tbe fiu«h of hopeful youth. Could I wonder that Marie turned from me to her young adorer I gave her all credit for bav ing struggled against ber infatuation, for having been true as a wife even to tbe last but she had ceascd to love me, and the day was at band when the bar riers would be broken, when that 1m passioned woman's heart of hers, that tond, impulsive nature whose every pulBe. I knew, would yield at a breath, and she whom I worshiped would fall to blackest depths of sin. "Then, like Othello, I called this deed which I had to do a sacrifice and not a murder. "You have heard the story of tg&,crlme —r

IE.1^

A*' »eln

wonderful ingenuity. Yes, is was I who laid those roses on my victim's grave, stayed in Paris long enough to save appearances, tbe man Georges being supposed to have fled to the utmost ends of tbe earth. I went about among my fellowmen on tbe Bourse and in the clubs and heard them talk of Marie Prevol's murder. Once I was told, by a man who bad met me as Georges, of the likeness to tbe supposed murderer but those few chosen friends who had known me as Georges were not men to be met on the Bo urea or in financial circles, and I had always eschewed mixed society. My identity with tbe murderer was never suspected. I saved wound up my affairs and left thought, forever, went forth from that accursed city as I would have gone out of hell. I went back to England, with the brand of Cain, not upon my brow, but upon my heart. I wandered in a purposeless fashion from place to place, possessed of a restless devil. I bad my office in London, where I tried to find a distraction in tbe excitement of speculation, the financial strategy that had once been my delight. Vain the effort. I waa no happier in London than in Paris, within a few minutes' walk of the house that bad sheltered my wife, the secret home in which I had been so happy. "Haunted always by the same dark thoughts, seeing only one image amidst

tnougnts, seeing oniy one tmagi avery change of surroundings, 1 came at last to this fag end of England. The rugged scenery, tbe wild coast line, tha tbe sparcely populated moors and fells pleased me better than anything I had seen on this side of tbe channel. The landscape harmonized with my melan choly thoughts and exercised soothing influence upon my mind. I became more reconciled to my life. Conscience, as you, Dora, or you, Heathcote, may accept the word, had troubled me 'but little. I bad exercised what I held to be a right—a right to slay the woman who had broken my heart, the man who had spoiled my life. I waa oppressed by no particular horror at the thought of blood guiltness. The agony from which I suffered wa« the loss of Marie's love, tbe loss of the woman who had once filled my life with happiness. "I took to your native soil, Dora. It might be a foreshadowing of the love which was to gladden my latter days. My mind grew clearer, tbe burden seemed to be lifted from me. And then in a happy hour I met yon. "Do you remember that first meeting Dora?" "Yes, I remember," she said softly, her head drooping upon her husband's pillow, her face hidaeu, an attitude of mourning, like a marble figure bending over a funeral urn. "It waa in the picture gallery at Tregouy Manor. I had been taken there as a stranger by the rector of the pariah, to see a famous Woavermans. Your mother received me in the friendliest spirit, and while we were talking about her pictures yon appeared at the other and of the gallery, a girlish figure In a white gown, carrying your garden hat in your hand, surprised at seeing a stranger." "I remembered how yon stared, bow oddly yon looked at me," murmured bis wife. "I wss looking at a facs out of the grave, tbe face of Marie Prevol younger, fresher, bat not mors innocent in its stainless beauty than Marie'a faoe when 1 first knew ber. lbs likeness Is but a

vague one, perhaps, a look, an air, bat to me at that moment It struck home. My heart went oat to yon at once. If my aaasdared wife had oome back to aae la soma angtlic form, had oflsrsd aae

Bhouid

myself that

"You knew that she was tbe betrothed of another man, knew that your hands were stained with blood," said Heathcote, with suppressed indignation.

Was there no disbonor in tempting a pure-minded girl with your love You whose heart must be as a charnel house!"

I had put every thought of that dark past behind me before I entered Iregony Manor. Was I a different man, do you tbink, becausa in one dark hour of my life I bad sinned agaiust the law of civilized society, and revenged my own wrongs according to tbe universal law of unsophisticated humanity I loved my new love not the less dearly because of the crime. I loved her as women are not often loved. Dora, speak to me tell me if I baveever failed in my duty which a husband owes to an idolwife. Hav6 I ever been false to tbe promises of our betrothal "Never, never, my beloved," murmured tne low, mournful voice.

We might. have lived happily to the end, perhaps, had Fate been kinder. I 1 ad ray dark dreams now aud again* acted over my past crime, my old agonies, in the helplessness of slumber but this was but a trans'ent evil. My daring's influence could always soothe and gladden me—even in tbe darkest hour. All went well with me, better perhaps that life goes with many a better mau, until the fatal hour when I received a letter from Marie Prevol'a mother, written on her deathbed, asking me to find a home in England for her orphan granddaughter—the child 1 had beard of in the Rue Lafitte, and who had often

stayed there as Marie's pet and plaything, but wborn I had scrupulously

avoided at all times. "I answered tbe letter promptly, in my character of a friend of the missing Georges. It was in this character that I bad contrived from time to time to send money for tbe relief of Madam Lemarque's necessities. I sent mcney to bring tbe girl to London, and arranged to meet ber at the railway station. That was whCn I went ostensibly to buy the famous Raflaelle, Dora. I was somewhat uncertain as to my plans for tbe girl's future but I meant kindly by her. I had no thought but of being kindly by ber. If she sbonld prove an amiable girl, with pleasing manners, my idea was to bring her to this neiKhborhood, to get her placed as a nursery governess somewhere within ray ken, to introduce her to you, and to secure your kindness and protection for her. I bad paid for her education at a convent in Brittany, I bad been teld ttat she left the convent with an excellent character. She was the only link remaining with the terrible past, the only witness of my crime but I had been told that after her illness all memory of that crime bad loft her. I had been assurred that I sbould run no risk in having her about me." "Poor child," said Dora, with a stifled sob, recalling^ that Summer evening when Julian AVyllurd cams out of the statiou, a little paler, than usual, but self-possessed and calm, telling ber iu measured tones of the calamity upon tbe line—the strange death of a nameless girl. "I met her at Charing Cross in the early Summer morning," he continued quietly. "She was flurried and frightened, so frightened by the Btrauge faces and tbe strange language around her that she forgot to tell me of the bag sbe bad deposited in the waiting room.

Rut I succeeded in putting her at ease breakfasTrwTrrf-uwhil"* TtavBTlProom at tbe hotel she told me all about her grandmother's death and her own edu cation in tbe convent what she could do in tbe way of teaching. She was frank and gentle and seemed a good girl, and I had no though^ but to do the very utmost for her advautage. I could have pensioned ber and made her independ ent of all service, but I considered that for a friendless girl there could be no better discipline than tbe necessity of earning a living under reputable circumstances and protected by powerful friends. "We drove together to Paddington— as your cabman informed you, con tinued Wyllard, addressing himself for an instance to Heathcote, whom he for tbe most part ignored, making bis con fession to the heart-broken wife, whose low, stifled sobbing sounded in his ear now and again as he spoke. "At Pad dington I took a second-class ticket for Plymouth, not quite resolved as- to whether I sbould take tbe girl on at once to Bodmin, or leave ber In the care of the wife of my frame-maker at Plymouth, a kind soul who would, I knew be faithful to any trust I reposed in her I put my portege in a Becoud-class car riage, in the care of some friendly people, and I rode alone in a first-class compartment. I wanted to be free to tbink out the situation, to decide on my line of conduct. I knew that sbe bad a packet of my letters—my early letters to Marie Prevol, written without reserve, out of the fulness of my heart—letters identifying me with the man Georges. It was vital that I should get those letters from her before she left the railway carriage. Yet, with a curious weakness, I delayed makng tbe attempt till we came to Plymouth. There would be fewer people in the carriage then, I thought. It would be easier for me to be alone with Leonie. I had by this time decided upon taking her on to Bodmin, and finding her a temporary home in my steward's family. "At Plymouth I left my own compartment, intending to go straight to tbe second-class carriage in wbich I bad placed Leonie, bat on the platform 1 waa met by people I kuew, who detained me inconvernation till the train was within two minutes of starting. While I was talking to these people I saw Leonie wandering up and down tbe platform in an aimless way, perhaps looking for me. I had tola ber that I would let her know wbea a he bad come to the end of ber journey, and now sbe was mystified by the delay and feared that I had forgotten her. About one ml note before the starting of tbe train I escaped from my troublesome friends and got into an empty aecoftd-class, into which I beckoned Leonie as she came along tbe platform. "We crossed the bridge and came Into Cornwall, and now there waa but the shortest time for me to explain my views as to the girl's future, and to get from her those tatal letters which told the history of my love for Mule Prevol, my double life as a husband, and which, the evidence of my own band writing mtified me with ber murder. I wss determined that Leonie should not lesve the train with that packet in ber possession, but I anticipated no difficulty in getting it from ber. "I told ber my views, promised her that I woald be to ber as a guardian and should deserve friend, so long ss she protection, assured her that tbe hap ness and prosperity of her future 1 were contingent only on ber own oondoct. And then I asked bar for tba packet which Madam Letnarqae had told bar to dslivsr i» oas. B«& to my

astonishment she refused to give it to me. Her grandmother bad told her that she was never to part with those letters. She was to keep the packet unopened so long as I was kind to her, so long as she was protected by my care but if at any time I withdrew my help from her, and she was iu difficulty and want, she was then to opes the packet and read the letters. Her own good sense would tell her bow to act when she bad read them. In a word, the letters were to remain in this girl's possession as a sword to hang over my head. "1 tried to mske the girl understand' the infamy of such a line of conduct— tried to make her see that her grandmother had schooled ber in the vilest form of chantage. 'You see me willing to help you freely, generously, for the saae of an old friend,' I said 'and surely you would not use these letters as a lever to extort money from me.' All my arguments were useless. The discipline of the convent bad taught the girl blind and implicit obedience to priests aud parents. Sbe would not consider anything except the fact that certain instructions had been given to her by ber dyiug grandmother, and her duty was to obey those instructions. "I was patient at the beginning, but the unhappy creature's dogged resistance made my blood boil. Passion got tbe better of me. I caught ber by tbe shoulder with one band, while 1 snatched the packet from her feeble grasp with the other. I was beside myself with rage. As I bent over her, holding her as in a vice, she gave a sudden shriek, expressing horrified surprise. 'Tbe face in the wood,' she cried, 'the murderer, the murderer.' "My band relaxed its grip, she broke from me, and dashed open the doar of the carriage. 'I will tell," she grasped, in strange, suppressed tones, full of concentrated fury. 'You shall not escape. Ye», I remember your face now—the face 1 saw in my dreams—tho savage face in the wood/ "She was on the footboard, dinging to the iron by the window, muttering to herself like a mad thing. Qod alone knows what she meant to do. She wanted to make my crime known, to bring the train to a standstill, to have me arrested then and there. While sbe Mloo'i wavering on the narrow ledge, her life hanging

a thread, the train

rounded the curve and passed on to the viaduct. The stony gorge was below, deep and narrow, like an open grave— tempting me—tempting me as Satan tempts his own. One sudden movement of my arm and all was over. I had held ber for the first few moments. I tried to save her. Had she been reasonable would have Baved her. But there was no middle course. Ruin, utter for «ne, or death for her. One motior ot my arm, and she was gone. Light as a thistle-down the poor little figure fluttered down the gorge. Another minute and the train stopped. I bad my railway key ready before the stoppage, and did not lose an instant in getting along the off-side of the line back to the compartment I had left. Every head without exception was turned toward the Hide ou wbich

tb8

girl had fallen. Tbe

only witness of my crime bad been destroyed, and my letters were safe In my own keeping, to be burned at tbe earliest opportunity." "You burnt tbem that night," said Dora. "I remember. And that tress of hair wbicb you were looking at when I went into the library—" "Was cut from Marie's head after her death. Tbe mother had placed it amongst those fatal letters. That night, after an interval of years, I touched tbe soft, bright hair on which my hand had ao often lingered in adoring love—that lovely ha|r which tny hand had stalnfxt -There" ww no more to be told. An awful silence followed, a silence in wbich even Dora's sobs sounded no more. There was a tearless agony which was deeper than that passion of tears

She roae from her knees and turned towards Heathcote, while tbe lips, icy cold, 1 oking at him as if be bad been a stranger, and as if sbe expected no more mercy from bim than from a strauger. "What are you going to do?'' she asked. "You have come here alone, but perhaps there are people waiting outside —policemen, to take my husband to prison. He cannot run away from tbem your victim is quite helpless." "My victimT Oh, Dora, how cruel that sounds from you "Yes, I know," she said, hurriedly. "I asked you to find out tbe mystery of that murder, and you have obeyed me. My husband—my nusband an assassin," she cried, flinging her clasped bands above ber head In an access of despair, "my husband whom I believed in as tbe noblest and best of men. He was temped to tbe blackest sin—tempted by tbe madness of jealousy—wrought upon afterwards by a sudden panic. He waa not a despicable sinner—not like the man who poisons his friend, or who kills tbe helpless for the sake of gold. It was an ungovernable passion which wrecked bim—it was a fatal love wbicb led bim to crime. Heathcote," fallint at his feet with a wild cry of appeal "have mercy on him, have mercy Think of his helplessness. Remember bow low be has been brought ^already. Have mercy."

Heathcote lifted her from h£r knees, as be bad done once before in bis life, when she pleaded to him for pardon for ber own falsehood.

I would have mercy on a snake if you loved it, Dora," he aaid. "Neither you nor your husband have anything to fear from me. Parisian juries are very merciful but I will not submit Mr. Wyllard to ttie inconvenience of a trial. As for the episode upon the railway—we will try to think that an accident, an unlucky impulse, unpremeditated, falling considerably short of murder. No, Mrs. Wyllard, I do not intend to deliver up your husband to the law. The one person who has tbe right to cry for vengeance has learnt the sublimity of submission to tbe Divine Will. I nave seen tbe widowed mother of Maxima de MaucroSx and from ber lips 1 have heard the reproof of my own revengeful feelings. But although I am content to be ailent, it would be well for Julian Wyllard, when he ahall feel tbe hand of death upon him, to write the confession of bis guilt since that alone can thoroughly clear your cooain Both well beforp his fellow men. So dark a suspicion engendered may hang over a man for a lifetime."

My confession shall be written before thia maimed hand of mine is stilled forever. My wife's kinsman shall not always bear tbs burden of my sin," mid Wyllard. "I thank yon, Heathcote, for your mercy to a fallen foe. A wretch so abjeot, so smitten by the hand of fate, would be to mean a creature for yonr

You are not like the nobis

ge.

Achillea, and would hardly care to drag sak a sorpse at your chariot wheel and wrea yonr rage upon impotence. The play is played out, tbe lights are down. Let the cartain fail in decency and silence. For her sake be merciful." "Make yonr peace with yonr offended Gnd, if you can," answered Heathcote. "Too have nothing to fear from me."

Be moved slowly towards the door, and at the last turned and held oat his hand to Dora. She hesitated for an instant looking at ber huaband.

"Give him your hand, Dora," said Wyllard. "I can bear to see you clasp, banda with the man who has read ths.^ riddle of Leonie Lemarque'a death. I^j. have come to a stage at wbich life and^ death make but little difference to m« and even shame is dead. Give him your hand. You may need his friendshipand protection some day when I am under ground, and when people look at you with the morbid interest, as the murderer's widow. It will be wise to shuffle off my tainted name as soon as you decently can. Change it for a better, Dora." "Julian, how can you be so cruel f"

She was by his side again, with her hand in his, forgetful of all things except her love for him, her pity for hia' pain. All her natural horror at hiaguilt was not strong enough to extin* guisb her love for him, to lessen her compassion. As she had pitied him for his physical infirmity, so she now pitied him for his mental infirmity—a mind! swayed to crime by disciplined passions.

Heathcote left the room without another word. He had come there as the messenger of Fate. He bad no further business in that house.

He had heard from the butler that Sir William Spencer and tbe local physician bad been in consultation together ttiatafteraoon, and tbat tbe man had gathered from their talk as they left the bouse that Mr. Wyllard's illnbss waa likely t* end fatally, sooner than Sir Wllliana had at first supposed. "Give me my sleeping draught, and. then go, Dora," said Wyllard, when haand his wife were alone.

She prepared to obey him. The nuraa was talcing her rest at this hour, and it was the wife's privilege to attend upon her husbabd. The morphia sleeping: draughts had been administered with rigid care, Dora herself watching the allotment of every bottle, lest Uhe unhappy suflerer should be tempted to take an overdose and end tbe tragedy of pain. Once, when sbe had betrayed ber anxiety by a word Bpoken unawares, aba bad seen a curious smile upon her huaband'a thin lips, a smile tbat told her ho bad read her thought and now she felt tbe peril of suicide with a much nearer fear. What had be to live for now—bo who stood confessed a murderer and a hypocrite,before the wife who bad revered bim?

The sleeping draughts bad been sent in from tbe local doctor, half a doaen at a time, Mr. Wyllard taking two and sometl'nes three in the courseof the day and nigbt. Dora kept, tbem under leek and key In tbe cabinet, where Bhe kept ber drawing materials, an old tulip wood cabinet of Dutch inlaid work that stood in a corner of tbe room, at somo distance from the sick man's sofa.

On the table by his side stood his dressing ca*e, with

itB

Wyllard poured this liquid into a glass, which he held ready for Dora when she brought him the sleeping draught. Tbe colorless liquid would have hanlly shown in the bottom of the glass under any circumstances, Jjut Wyllard was careful to serene it with bis hand.

Dora poured out the aleeping draught and-handed him

could

glittering array

of gold-topped bottles—eau de cologne, toilet vinegar, sal volatile. His medicine glass was on the same table.

And now, while Dora stood with her face towards the cabinet, Wyllard's crippled bands were busied with one of those bottles in tbe dressing case. With a wonderful swiftness and dexterity, taking into account tbe condition of bis bands, be drew out one of tbe smallest bottles In the dressing case and unscrewed the stopper. Tbe bottle concontained about half an ounce of a clear white liquid.

fctoo olUnce^

Bhe

What,v

say to bills from whose famil

iar face tbe mask bad fallen. Tbe busband she bad loved and honored waa lost to ber forever. The helpless wretch lying there was a stranger to her—a sinner

begrimmed with sin that only

the infinite compassion of woman could behold bim without loathing. "I drink this to your future happiness, Dora," he said, solemnly, "and remember tbat at my last hour I blessed yon for your goodness to a «innnr

treat sinner.' bis tone wbich

The lere waa that in

warned ber of his purpose. Sbe flung out her arms, trying to seise tbe band that held the glass before he could drink but tbe table was between tbem and the glass was at bis lips when be finished speaking. He drank to tbe last drop, gave one long sigh and fell back upon bis pillow—dead. "Hydrocyanic acid," said tbe local practitioner wben he came to look at ths corpse, "and a happy release into tbs bargain. I should like to have given him an overdose of morphia myself if the law of the land would have allowed me, or to have operated on the base of bis braiii and killed bim tenderly in ths interest of science, just to find out whether Cruveilhier or Yirchow «a» right in his theorizing as to tbe seat of the malady. I go for Yirchow, backed, by Gull." [TO BK CONTINUED.]

\„, POOR FELLOWS! Prostrated, debilitated, enfeebled, they feel as if they were hardly worth picking up. They would hardly give the toss of a bright penny for a chance of a choice between life and death. But even snch forlorn people can be renewed by the use of Brown's Iron Bitters. It vitalizes the blood, tones the nerves, and renovates tbe system. Mr. Isaac C. Weed, Burr's Mills, 0., says, "I used Brown's Iron Bitters for general weakness, and it helped me greatly."

professor of natural history says animals frequently cry.

STARTLING WEAKNESS, General and Nervous Debility, Impaired Memory, Lack of Self-confidence, Premature Loss of Manly Vigor and Powers, are common reaulta of excessive indulgence or youthful indiscretions and pernicious solitary practices. Victima whose manhood has thus been wrecked by self-abuse sbould address, with threfe letter stamps, for large illustrated treatise giving means of perfect care,

WORLD'S DISPRNHARY MKDICAI, ASSOCIATION,

Buffalo, N. Y.

New York barbers are now called upon to clip poodles and shampoo pugs.

Colic is one of the banes of childhood, but in our latter days we are not exempt from it. John Ripper, a carpenter employed at Tbotnas A Marts, Springfield, O., sends this certificate to add to amass of similar ones received daily from every portion of tbe country. I do hereby certify that Mishler'a Herb Bitters entirely relieved me in a few minutes front a severe attack of cramp colic.

Governor Hoadly, of Ohio, thinka Cleveland will be re-eleeted in 1888.

"How my back doea ache t" All diseases of tbe kidneys, retention of urin* and female weaknesses, are eared by Hunt's Remedy.

A standard sped fie and abaolute ears Is found in tbe grest liver and kidney medicine, Honrs Remedy. Beware af Imitations.

Mm- tit«