Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 15, Number 50, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 6 June 1885 — Page 2

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2

THE MAIL

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TERRE HAUTE, JUNE 6. 1885.

[Commenced in The Mall Dec 6th. Bock •umbers can be had on application at publication office or of news agents.]

Wyllard's Weird.

Br MISS M. E. BRADDON.

yntfcor rf "Lady Audley'sSecret," Aurora Floyd," "The Outcast," Ac., Ac.

CHAPTER XXXV.

"HOW LIKB A WINTKR HATH THY AB-

8BHCK

BEEN.

Perhaps, among all "Valeria's friends and admirers, Sir George Mildmcy was the only man who had any inkling of the troth, who was keen enough to discover the real cause of that meral decay which its results was obvious to every one. Be bad enjoyed more of Lady Valeria's eonfidenoe tban anybody else, and be watched ber closely, both before and after her husband's death. She bad tried to keep him at a distance when they first met at Monaco she had let him see that her resentment was as strong as ever—but at a race-meeting in the neighborhood he had contrived to make his peace with ber. Tbe gambler's common instinct drew tbem together. She was alone in a strange land, or rather she knew

no

one else whose

counsel upon turf questions was worth sixpence, and she humiliated herself and forgot tbeir burning wrong of the past, tried to forget that for her sake her dead husband bad beaten this man and she allowed Six George to call upon her one February afternoon and tell ber all about tbe Craven and tbe First Spring across tbe Moorish tea-tray, with its little brazen tea-pot and eggshell oups and saucers. After that they had become staunch allies, if not staunch friends. Valeria had now tbe command of ample funds, and could bet as much as she liked. When she took Sir George's advice she was generally a winner. She invariably lost when she followed her own inspirations. He initiated her in the mysteries of the tables at Monte Carlo, expounding the whole theory of martinuales, and showed her bow she might beguile tbe tedium of her days with tbe occult science of chance, as exemplified by pricking figures on a card.

They were a great deal together as tbe season wore on, and, as a natural conse-

3eal

uence, they were talked about a great by that section of society whose chief conversation is of the follies and sins of its own particular set.

Sir George felt that be was getting cn, but in bis Heart of hearts he knew perfectly well that Valeria did not care a straw for him. He knew that she passionately loved Botbwell Grabame, and that despair at his abandonment was tbe mainspring of all her conduct. She was reckless of herself and of ber good name —spent her money like water, ruined her health, indulged every caprice of tbe moment, gave way to every fit of illtemper—snoply because, having lost Bothwell Grabame, she had nothing in life worth living for, except such things as could give her feverish excitement, and with that excitement forgetfulness.

Knowing all this, knowing that the woman's heart was like an empty sepulchre, George Mildmay was uot the less determined to win her for his wife. "We suit each other so well," he said modestly, when his friends congratulated him, considerably in advance, after their manner. "No, we are not engaged. I only wish we were. But I Bare say if I am good It may run to that by and by. She is a very fine woman, and has a remarkable head for the turf, remarkable, by Jove. She's always wrong but the mind is there, don't you know, very remarkable mind. And she's a vsrv fair judge of a horse, too, or would be It she would only look at ills legs, which she never does." "And she has plenty of lucre, eh, George, I think that's the main point in your case, isn't it?" "Very sorry for myself, but can't do without the filthy lucre. Couldn't afford to elope with Mrs. Menelaus if she was a pauper." answered Sir George, with oheery frankness. "Some idiot told me that her husband knocked you down at tbe last party they ever gave at Plymouth," said his friend, with a half gnn "that was a lie, of course."

1U

"No there is some truth we bad a little passage at fisticuffs, and that's why I mean to marry his widow, answered Sir George, savagely. "I mean tto have the law of him but as he bilked the beak by dying before the summons was out. I mean to have his money by way of damages. It will be a pleasanter remedy. "And the lady thrown in by way of tllly," grinned his friend.

The time came when Sir George thought he might venture to advance his claim, in a purely business manner. Ladv Valeria and he had made a splendid book for the Derby, and the lady had won something over five thousand sounds, graphically described by ber coadjutor as a pot of money The money was of verv little consequence to her nowadays, for she bad not yet in liviug beyond her income but she was so eager to win as she had been in the oldtime at Simla, when losing meant difficulty, and might mean ruin. She loved the sensation of success, the knowledge that her horse had struggled to the front and kept there at the crucial

"Emboldened by this brilliant coon Sir George reminded Valeria of bis patience an' devotion, and asked her to accept him

AS

a second husband. don't expect you to marry me just vet," she said. "It's only six months the general died—and I know women

are

trick lore for etlqueOe in

thwe matters—though they are leaving off widow's oaps and a good deal of humbug. But I should like to have your word for the future. I don want another fellow to cot In and win the cup after I'v* made all the running."

Lady Valeria looked at him In a leis* arely *wav, with that eon tern ptu»«* smile of her*, a smile that had crushed so many a bold admirer. "I thmiicbt we understood each other too well for this kind of thing to hap pen," she said, with parted good tem per and placidity. "We h#veWn get ting on remarkably well to^her-and I have even t*««hl ynur Impertinence that night at Fox Hill. As to marriage, yon may be almost sure of thing, and quite sure of another—first that I shall never^mar rv *11. saoondly that I shall never

™Sirycfeorge bowed, and said not sn other word. The partuwbip no tbe turf and at hancarat was too •.riled. But he mwwt the

to be impertiea. "A alliance to wieome cloeer and J®ore bind lug, before be and Udy dooe with each other.

Valeria bad

And now in this lovely July weather, when the river and tbe woods were at their fairest. Sir George Mildmay felt himself several furlongs nearer the winning poet than he had been at Monaco. Lady Valeria had become a more sensitive creature of late. The strings of tbe lyre were played upon more easily. In other words, Valeria bad taken to chloral. Sir George was on excellent terms with her maid, and bad received information of a character which he himself called "the straight tip" from that astnte damsel. Lady Valeria bad ber good days and ber bad days and on tbe b0 days she was sunk in an abyss of despair, from which not even some great success in her racing speculations could rouse her. It was while the lady was suffering from oue of these fits of despondency that Sir George Mildmay made his second

of marriage.

But this time he did hot sue as ber slave, nor did be adopt tbe calm and debonnaire tone of a business man advocating an advantageous alliance. He approach ed her with a brutal energy, a course plainness of speech, which shoked the shattered nerves and frightened her into submission.

He told her tbe scandals that were rife about her—told her how, if she did not rehabilitate her character by becoming bis wife, sbe would find herself cut by society as bis mistress—laughed at ber half indignant, half hysterical protest— told her that the world was much too wicked to believe in sn innocent alliance between a beautiful woman and a man whose past life had not been stainless, talked to ber as no man had ever dared to talk to ber before, talked till she sat trembling before bim, vanquished, subjugated by tbe strangeness of sbeer brutality, she who a year ago had been sheltered and defended from slander and insult by the protecting love of a noble heart.

She sat cowering before him. Was tbe world so vile as to suspect her—and of caring for this man, whom she loathed? She covered her face with her hands and sobbed aloud. "There is not a man upon earth who would step out of his way to protect me from their vile slanders not one of my own kin who would stqnd up forme, she sobbed. "How could you expect it?" asked Sir George, "when you have kept all your people at arm's length. You may lay long odds no one of that lot will take your part. I would give some of your traducers a sound horsewhipping to moYrow but my interference would do you more harm than good unless you mean to marry me." "Horsewhip them and I will marry you," cried Valeria, raising and rushing from the room, wild with rage.

Sir George took an early oppoitunity of leading on a harmless youth to say something uncivil of Lady Valeria, and thereupon chastised him In his flannels before a select audience. The scapegoat writhed under the strong gut ridingwhip, could uot understand why he was so chastigated, vowed vengence, and sent a friend to Sir George that evening, proposing an early meeting on the sands outside 09tend, at which message Sir George openly laughed. "When boys are rude tbey must be punished," be said, "but I don't shoot boys. Tell your young friend I am sorry I lost my temper and that if he will write a nice letter, apologizing to my future wife for his rashness of Bpeecb, I shall consider we are qalts."

It was known next day along both bauks of the river that Lady Valeria was to marry Sir George Mildmay immediately on tbe expiry of her m'jurnin*. Tbe Daily Telegraph possessed Itself of the fact before the Morning Post and it was recorded in all the society papers of the following week. Botbwell Grahame read of it a week later in the United Service Gazette, read aud was thankful for now this restless spirit which had wrought him so muck evil would be exercised and bound foir ever In the thrall of matrimony. "I am sorry she is to many a scoundrel," he said to himself, "otherwise my feeling would be unalloyed gladness.

And now Botbwell dared hope that the wandering bird Hilda might be lured home to hei nest—that now the doubtlug heart might have faith once more.

A

,,,

If he could but write to ber, tell her of Valeria's engagement, ask her if he had not proved himself faithful, whether she could not trust him henceforward with perfect trustfulness. She bad trusted him when his fellow men pointed at him as a suspected murderer she bad tied from bim because'an audacious woman claimed bim for a lover. Strange inconsistency of woman's heart, so strong and yet so weak 1

Heathcote was In Italy and Heathcote was tbe only channel of communication between Bothwell and b.s lost love. He saddled Glencoe and

rode

over to the

Spaniards, where he hoped to hear or the master's speedy return, but the frauleiu was quite in the dark as to her employers movements. Be wrote very seldom, he left everything in her bands. She had received a little note from Florence nearly a fortnight ago. He bad written not a word as to the probable time of his return.

Bothwell talked about Hilda, and inslduoucly questioned the fraulein, who might perchance know the girl's whereabouts. But Miss Meverstein was quite as dark upon the subject as Grecian society in general wss about the adventures of Ariadne. As Miss Meyers

Win

could tell Botbwell was that Hilda bud Glossop with her, which preference of Glossop the mild fraulein evidently regarded as something in the way of a sliirht to herself. "If Glossop can be trusted to know where Hilda fs, I

think

I might be trust­

ed,'' she ssld. ... •«I wonder a frivolous person like Glossop has not told the secret to half the inhabitants of Bodmin before now

^He wlota to Hilda that night, iocUm ing his letter to Mr. Heathcote at Fftr ence. It seemed a weary

round-about

WAV of reaching Hilda, but I* only way, and it was just possible that «he tuiitht be with her brother, and receive his letter sooner than he thought. He wrote

r«" Uue*w

Heathcote with

the Incisure, telling b.ra nooncement of Lady \a»eria's engagement. "1 suppose when they two are mirffod our banns may be put in Bod min Church." be wrote "unless Hilda has anv other objection to me.

He counted the days, the hoars *1 most, while he waited for a reply to bin ESS. H* followed the letterJnJts lontasv, uow over sea, and then over Mnd halted lb it «t C*la«% went aouthward with it, pierced the Alps, skirted the Medetermnean, and tben was all darkneaa. ho can tell where the ltf'«*r m**ht have to go alter nwelHsi Florence? .. **54he itliit'• be hiding herself some whete In England, and that wretched Tftitnr nit? have to

ill

the way

twe* attain," be told bimjlf r"«fnllv. He waited, and waited, and waited hearing himself with a breve front he fore his pupils all the while teaching them, hntaniiing with them, boating, riding, shooting with them, and never *ocs toeing temper with tbem count of his own trouble. Bnt be was suffering an agony of impatience sod

mmmmM lltilSiliii

tii a*

THREE HAUTE SATURDAY EVEN

suspense all the same, and one of the more thoughtful of his lads saw that he was paler tban ususl, and looked worn and haggard, and asked him if be were not ill. .. "Yon mustn't work with ns if you yon are ill, Mr. Grahame," he said "we will get on with onr work by ourselves lor a bit." ••No, my dear boy, I'm notill. I have not been sleeping very well lately, that's —'sleep that knits up the raveled sleeve of care."' ... "Yes we can't get on without that beggar,'" answered the uoy. "I know what it is to be awake all night with the toothache. I've often wondered that the nights should he so jolly short when one's asleep and so jolly long when one's awake.

One morning at breakfast one of the lads, the son of a brother officer of Bothwell's, looked np from tbe Evening Standard with an exclamation of surprise. "Here's the widow of one of your friends gone and got married, Mr. Grahame "he said. At Galbraith Church, N. B., Sir George Mildmay, Barv., of Hop-poles, Maidstone, to Lady Valeria Harborougb, of Galbraith Csstle, Perthshire, and Fox Hill, Plymouth.' You saved tbe old general's life np at the hills, didn't yon asked the boy. "I've heard my father talk about it. "It wasn't worth talking about, Hec­

tor,"

answered Bothwell. "The general was a good friend to me and I honor hjp memory." "More than Lady Valeria does, or she wouldn't marry such a cad as Mildmay I've heard my father say he is a cad." "It is safer not to repeat opinions of that kind," said Botbwell.

He tried to plsy the schoolmaster while his heat beat furiously for very joy. She was married, that viper who bad so well-nigh spoiled his life she was married to a man who would make her life miserable, and he, Bothwell, was his own man again. Hilda could have no further justification for distrust. He had held himself aloof from tbe syren, he had demonstrated by his conduct that he bad no hankering after her or her fortune. And now that she was safely disposed of in second wedlock, Hilda could have no excuse for delaying his happiness.

All things had gone well with him ex_ cept this one thing. He had boilt and furnished his bouse and laid out his garden. People were full of praises for his taste and cleverness. He bad been lucky with his pupils and he liked his work.

He was

*°A* fortnight had gone since he had written to BWd»r and there had been no sign. It was the fifth day after tb« announcement of Lady Valeria marriage in the Londton papers, and Botbwell started once more »pon that long,ride by moorland and lane, across country from Trevena t»-Bodmin, and thenfe to tbe Spaniards* He expected the snfell est comfort at? the end of bis jouri only a little talte wKb »be fraulein, might have hadta recent letter ftoffl Heathcote, and) might he able to tell something, were it ever so little, was always friendly andeompassion and she was always ready to talk to about Hilda, aadt that wss much. *n one occasion sbe- had gooe so far as take him into Hilda's private sittl room and to gloat over the rows of pp tliy bound books—Tennyson, ai Browning, and Dlekens, and Thackerrt —and the little tables, and manifod knick-nacks, the mantle-piece bord« which those dear hands had workek There stood his own photograph, cu£ tained with ploeh, as if it were th sacred for tbe eommou eye. He bifl aiven her a smaller copy of the sanh photograph, and he hoped that she b# taken that with bw, that she looked it sometimes among strange faces.

Miss Meyerstein expatiated on Slldah abrupt departure »ud the little luggaa wbkth-she bad taken with her.

Only her dressing bag and a sma( portmanteau," said the fraulein. "Sh left all her pretty frocks banging rn th' wardrobe all her laces and ribbons an gloves and collars In her drawers. 8h must have had to boy everything ne* And there Is her wedding gown, just si

from

able to save money, and

before the year was out be had laid aside tbe first hundred pounds toward the ex tinction of his debt to his cousin. But Dora did not want the debt extinguished, and bad written him an indig nant letter when he offered to pay the money into her banking account. "Howdare you pinch and scrape ia ordei" to pay me off? she wrote. *'How do I know that you are not half starving those poor lads in your desire to get out of my debt. Is it ^your paltry pride1

ty

whicb revolts at an obligation even to yonr adopted sister." To atone for tbe harshness of her letter sbe sent bim a fine old Florentine cabinet of ebony and ivory, a gem which glorified bis drawing room, already enriched by ber gifts for she had sent txm bronzes from one place, and pottery from another, and glass from a thini. She had made np his mind that whentbe time came for Bothwell to lead Iras' young wife home, the home she woulw be worthy of the wife.

And now there was an end of all oncertainties wboat that first unhappy l®v» ol BOtbwell? and nothing^ butJfeapricw need keep him and Hilaa apalrt any

uw vuc.„ vou»g woman than this sister of mine. came "from "the dressmaker's the da^ When she was determined to have you

after ebo left honae." And then, at Botbwell's urgent, reiter ated entreaty, Miss Meyersteln wen nto the adjoining room and came back ttiinir of keyes, bringing *itl!

But she didn't expect to dance up*" ber wedding day," ejaculated Bothwei

•SSrlfct afterwards. She would to dances, and sbe would be expected 1 appear as a bride." ••Of course,' mattered Bothwell, woi dered how many dances, save thedane of pixies in a moonlit glen, might expected to oecor within an easy dri of Trevena.

He knelt and kissed the hem of tl white satin frock, and then turtu awav with a sigh th*t was almost a so ••Not a grain of dust has sot to it said Miss Meverstein. "It will be reat when it is wanted." "Yes," answered Bothwell. "T! grown will be ready when it is wante but who can tell who the bridegroo will be f" "He will be nobody if be Is not yo« said Mis-* Mey«rateSn. "That poor ett positively adores you."

HQW

do you know It Is nearly

ING

of her race, and sbe bad loved them, and they oould prattle to him sbopt her,.

CHAPTER XXXVI. "MT UDT ABB MI LOVK" It was a rainy afternoon late in September, and a dreary day for that long ride over the hills. Sea and sky were of one universal gray, and even the land looked sere and dun, a sunless world. It would be dark before Bothwell could get back to Trevena, and the ride was not tbe pleasantest after nightfall but a rpnn who had ridden through Afghan in his time was not to be scared bydark hills and narrow lanes. Bothwell was in a mood to ride somewhere, were it only in"the hope of riding away

his own impatient thoughts. He had delayed starting till after luncheon, having waited to give his boys the full benefit of a long morning's work. Is wss between five and six when he came to tbe great iron gates of the Spaniards, and the son was setting behind the hills yonder above Penmorval, poor deeerted Penmorval, where the pictured faces looked out upon empty rooms, and the house-keeper sighed as she went from room to room, attending to fires that warmed desolate hearths.

The Spaniards looked a little more cheerful than when Bothwell had seen it last, for there were lights in many of tbe lower windows, ana those lsmp-lit casements glowed brightly athwart the rainy dusk. He would be able to get a good cup of tea from tbe franlein, and to pot up his horse for an hour or two before he turned homeward again.

An empty carriage passed him in the drive, ana turned towards an opening in the shrubbery that led to the stable

?ards,

rard. There were visitors at tbe Spanvisitors upon that wet evening. Bothwell wondered who the guest or or guests could be in the absence of the master.

Or was it the master himself who had come back His heart beat faster at the thought. He dismounted snd rang the bell. The door was opened directly There were a couple of servants in the hah and some luggage. Yes, the master of tbe house bad returned. "Take my horse to the stables, like a good fellow," said Bothwell to the man who had opened the door. Your master has come home, I see." "Yes, sir, ten minutes ago."

Bothwell waited to ask no further questions, did not wait to be announced even, but walked straight to the library. Heathcote's usual sitting-room, opened the door and went in.

There was no lamp. The room was lighted only by the fire glow which gleamed on book-shelves and old oak paneling, and on the massive timbers of the ceiling. There was a tea-table in front of the wide old fireplace—one of vagabond tea-4ables whicb can make themselves at borne anywhere—and the tea was being poured out by a girl who wore a neat little black-velvet toque and dark cloth jacket, a girl who looked as if sbe had just come off a journey, while Heathcote reposed in his armchair on tbe other side of Uhe hearth.

No one but Hil&a could have been so much at her ease in that room, which was in somewise a sacred chamber, especially devoted to tbe master of tbe house. No one bat Hilda hod such pretty hair, or sucib a graceful bead of the bead. The girl in the velvet toque was sitting with ber back to Bbtbwell but be baa not a moment's doubt as to her identity.

He went over to the hearth, gave his hand to Heathcote silently, and) then seated himself by Hilda's sid», she looked np to bim dumbly, half in fear. "What bavo you t*» «y to nwr Hilda, after having used me so ill?" be aeked, taking ber hand in bis. "®nly that it was f6r your sake I went away on tbe eve oft oar marriage," sH* answered gravely. "I do not want to stand between you and happiness*" "WooJd it not have been wiser and fairer to me if you had taken my opinion«of tbe matter before jou ran away." "'Vow would have been too generous to tell ose tbe truth you would* have saoiificedi yourself to you sense of honor. Bow oottkl I tell you did not love-lady Valferia better tban me "If yoo had read 'Torn Jones,." you would1 have had a very easy way of solving that tijnestion. You would have-had only to look in the glass, and-there-you would' have seen purity and innocence audi fresh yonng beauty, aod -you wo«»ld have- known that your love oouAd) not falter in bis truth to you." don't think Tom's conduct wasal together blameless, in spite*of the- Looking glass, eh, Bothwell said Hteathcote, laughing at him. "It is so hasd to have-to make love before a third person. Yo*». have to thank me fftp bringing home your sweetheart. 1 read th» advertisement of Lady Valeria^ marriage at 6tenoa two days ago, a» I was on my way home, so I stopped in Paris and brought this young lady away from ber musical studies at an Itouc'S notice. I suppose she was getting tired oI the Conservatoire, for sbe seecned uncommonly glad to come." "Ana you were in Paris?" cried Botbwell. "So near. If had only known." "Tbere would have been nothing gained by following her," said Heathoote. "I never met a more resolute

there was not the least use-in opposing ber, and when she bad mode ap her mind not to have you sbe wss just as inflexible. But now that &ady Valeria

after a rattling of keyes, Dringing »m has taken to herself a second bnsband, her a white obisct, which looked liMand that you seem to bear the blow tbe sheeted dead being oari led awaj pretty cheerfully, per haps-Hilda may be inclined to change ber mind for the sec-

from a plaugue-stricken house It was only Hilda's wedding gow wrapped in voluminous coverings wbite satin of so rich a fabric that it too all manner of pearly and opal hues I the autumn light—a neat little frocl with around skirt and just one big pu at the back of tbe waist, likeacarelessl tied sash. "Short, for dancing, said Miss Me] erstein, as she held out the frock arm's length, dangling io tbe air.

cood time." "Her wedding gown is banging in her wardrobe ready for her,""said Bothwell, drawing a little closer to his truant sweetheart, in the sheltering dusk, that delicious hour for true and loving hearts, blind man's holiday, betwixt dog and wolf. "How did you know that?" Heathcote. "The fraulein told me. She has been taking care of your wedding gown, Hilda. She knew that it would be wanted. You had better wear it as soon possible, dearest. It is a year old already, and is going more and more out of fashion every day." "She shall wear It before we are a month older," said Hestbcote. "I have too much trouble about this marriage already, and I'll stand no more shillyshallying. We'll put np tbe banns next Sunday, and in less than a month from to-day you two foolish people shall be

MAIL.

asked

Edward Heathcote kept bis word, and the smart white satin frock was worn one bright morning ic October, worn by tbe prettiest bride that had been seen in Bodmin Church for many a year, the townspeople said—those townspeople who have now only praises and friendliest greetings for the Bothwell Grahame who a year ago had seemed to tbem as a possible murderer.

A telegram bad informed Mrs. Wyllard of tbe wedding dav, so soon as ever tbe date had Men fixed but she bad not responded as Hilda snd her brother had hoped she would respond to tbe invitation to be present at tbe wedding. Sbe

year since you saw her." To-day Bothwell felt that he want even sneh poor comfort as might from- feminine twaddle of tc kind. He felt that even a romp wi the twina would do him good. Tb could not Dear to see the. Cornish hills

yet awhile, she told Hilda in her letter of congratulation. Years must pass in all probability before she oould endure look upon that familiar landscape again or to see that roof-tree which had sheltered ber when she was Julian Wyllard's happy wife. "I am rejoiced to know that you and Bothwell have come to a safe haven at last," she wrote. "I shall always be interested in hearing of your welfare, cheered and comforted by the thought of your bright home. I cannot blame you for having made Bothwell wait for his happiness, Hilda, for I feel that you have acted wisely in making sure of his free choice. There can now be no after thought, no lurking suspicion to come between you and your wedded love. "For my own part I am peace here, and that is much. I read a great deal, paint a little every day, and my picture is a kind of companion to me, a thing that seems to live as it grows under my hand. My models interest me, ana through them I have become acquainted with several humble households in Florence, and find a great deal to interest me in this warm-hearted, hot-headed race. Best of all, I am away from old scenes, old associations, and sometimes sitting dreaming in mv sunny balcony with tbe blue waters of the Arno gliding by under my feet, I almoet fancy that I am some new creature and not that Dora Wyllard who was once the mistress of Penmorval. "I wish you and Bothwell would take your honeymoon holiday in the South and spend a week or two here with me. Theie is plenty of accommodation for you here in this grand old apartment of mine—a first floor of a dozen rooms, all large and loftv, part of a mediaeval palace. My old servants keep everything in exquisite order and are devoted in tbeir attention to me. "It was a pleasure to me to see your brother when he was staying in Florence. Tell bim that I left Vallambrosa only a week ago, and was very sorry to come away even then."

Hilda and her husband accepted this frieqdly invitation, and spent naif their honeymoon on the road to Florence, and the other in that picturesque city. They found Dora the pale shadow of her former self. She bad a gentle air of resignation, a pensive placidity which was inexpressibly touching. She never mentioned her dead husband. She was full of tboughtfulneBs for others, and had made herself the adored benefactress of a little colony of poor Florentines. She had furnished her rooms and established herself in a manner which indicated the Intention to make a permanent home in the eity and there Bothwell and his wife Mt her with deep regret. "Will you never come back to Cornwall, Dora Hilda asked piteously, in the la9t fare well moments at the railway station.. "Never is along wsrdv dearest. I suppose I shall see the eld place again some day^ but I must be a- good deal older than I am now—a good deal further away fro'oi my old self.?'

Dora spoke without reckoning »pon that Providence which shapes our endB in spite of ns and, happily for the cause of true love, Providence found away of bringing ber back to Cornwall mnch sooner tban she intended.

A little more than a yea* after Bothwell and his wife left Florsnoe the happy home at Trevana was darkened by the shadow oft an awful 9»ar. A son had been bom to Bothwelli Grahame, and before the-boy was a week old the young mother was in lmmiaent danger of death. Edward Heathcote was in Italy, spending his Autumn holiday, ovar much of tbe same ground that be had visited before, and loitering longer and later than the previous- year. A telegram from.Bothwell told'bim of bis sister's perils and another telegram reached Mrs. Willard from» the same source. Moved by tbe same- impulse, Dora and Heathcote met at the station, each on the same errand, oentson starting by the first train for Paris. Tbey traveled together in silent andtsad companionship, each oppressed by the fear of a great calamity.

Heathcote had telegraphed before be started, asking for a message- to meet him at the Paris station, ana hare tbe wires brought a ray of comfort. 'A little better. Doctors more hopeful."

Anxious days and nights followed Dora's arrival at Trevena. Poor Bothwell suffered a suppressed agony of rief which seemed to have aged him oy ten years by the time the crisis was past and the yonng mother was- able to smile upon her first born. Happily these markings of care are soon erased from youthful) faces and ^before- Christmas Botbwell was himself again, and ready to receive anew batcb of pupils, the old lot having been disposed of triumphantly in the Summer before his son's' birth.

Dora stayed at Cornwall daring that Winter of '83«and '84, but not at Pen morval. She has established herself at her birthplace, the old Mane* House, near tbe Land's End snd here old friends and neighbors flock rownd her, the people who knew her mother, tbe friends of her childish days, o* ber happy girlhood. Tbey bring back sweet memories of the old time, and help to her from any gloomy thoughts.

One of her old companionsy a spinster of thirty Summers, is always with Mrs. Wyllara in tbe familiar home. Tbey seem almost like the girl-friends of tbe past, painting together, playing, ringing, working—all the old occupations resumed as if tbe ten years, intervening had hardly made any break in tbe two 11*®®. .... "Sometimes I fancy It l»all a dream, and thafiyou have never been away from Tregony Manor," says Miss Beaucbamp one morning when tbey- are sitting at work. "If we had but your dear good mother sitting over there in ber chair by the fire-place, I should qpite believe tbe last ten vears to be only a dream but she is gone and that makes a sad differencek Do you know yesterday when I looked out of tbe window and saw you and Mr. Heathcote walking on tbe terraee, I rubbed my eves to make sure tbat I was awake? You both looned exactly as you used to look ten years aoo, when you were engaged."

Dora went on with her work in placid s&lenoe* Dora, be is so good, he is so loyal, so devoted to you," cried Miss Beaucbamp, in her impulsive way. "You cannot be

SJ

cruel as to spoil his life for «wr. Surely yon will reward bim some day. "Some day." sang Dora, .softly, with her face belt low over her work, snd her story ends thus, with tbe refrain of «i favorite song. 1 t™* Kyn.r"

tr.

"WHAT'S THE HATTER WtTH TOUT** "Well, not much in particular. But I'm a little ailing all over. I don sleep well, and my kidneys are out of order, and I can't enjoy my meals, and I ve a touch of rheumatism, and once in a while a twinge of neuralgia." Now, neighbor, yon seem to want a general fixing up, and the thing to do it is Brown's Iron Biweni. Mr A. J. Pickrail. «f EQUK T«X*S «SV«. "I

wss a

sickly man. Brown's Iron Bitte«8 made me healthy snd strong."

RHEUMATIC,

I suffered with rhematism for many months, at times unable to walk or gee about only on crutches. I took eight bottles of Swift's Specific, and have been entirely releived.

P. T. Bartrum, Macon, Ga.,~y

FROM THE MO VNT A INS. For many years I have been troubled with a scrofulous affection. My right leg was covered with sores from the hip to the ankle—some of them large and painful, running a great deal. I tried

ything I could think of or friends suggest. The physicians did what tbey could, but brought no permanant relief. My case was well known in this community, ss well as the fearful suffering I endured. Last fall, at the suggestion Of a friend, 1 began the use of Swift's «. Specific. It produced a change so apparent that it astonished everybody, as

1

one ulcer after another disappeared, and none were more astonished than myself. Six bottles produced an entire cure. My restoration is due entirley to the use of this medicine. It is the best blood purifier in tbe world, and will come nearer doing what 1b claimed for it than any medicine I have ever tried.

3. M.

Jasper, Ga., March II, '85. Watkins. Swift's Specific is entirley v« Treats on Blood and Skin mailed fioo~

stable. Disease

The Swift Speoific Co., Drawer 8, Atlanta, Ga.

Education may not prevent crime, but it is a crime to prevent education.

An lmjpsrtsnt Discovery. The most important Discovery is that' whicb brings tbe most good to the greatest number. Dr. King's New Discovery for Consumption, Coughs, and Colds, will preserve the health and save life, and is a priceless boon to the afflicted. Not only does it positively cure Consumption, but Congbs, Colds, Bronchitis, Asthma, Hoarseness, and all affections of the Throat, Chest, and Lungs, yield at once to its wonderful curative powers. If you doubt this, get a Trial Bottlg £ree, at Cook & Bell's Drugstore. (5)

AnfndtoHoii Scraping. toward Shepherd, of Harrlsburg, 111., says: "Having. received so much benefit from Electric Bitters, I feel it my duty to let suflbrIng humanity know it. Have had a running sore on my leg for eight years my doctors told me I would have to have the bone scraped or leg amputated^ I used, instead, three bottles of Electric Wtters and seven boxes Bucklen's Aruica Salve, and my leg is now sound and welit"

Electric Bitters are sold at 60 cents a bottle, and Bneklen'n Arnica Salv® at 26 cents per box by Cook A Bell.

Bncklen's Arnica Naive. The Best Salve in the world for Cuts,Bruises, Sores, Ulcers, Salt Rheum, Fever Sores, Tetter, Chapped Hands, Chilblains, Corns, and all skin eruptions and positively cures Piles, or no pay required. It is guaranteed to give perfect satisfaction, or money refunded. 25c per box. For sale by Cook A Bell. (tf.)^

Ihe Best In the World.

Dr.J. W. Hamilton, of Merrillon, Win., says, 1 have sold Warner's White Wine Tar Syrup for years. It is the best cough n»edicine in the world and has no equ il for asthma.

9_4t-

O Quick Curative For Itch. A PosltivefSafe Sure Cure in 80 minutes. Ask your druggis's for it. For sale by all Druggists. The trade Supplied by Cook ft Bell.

Wabash Scratch and Itch cured In 30 minutes by Woolfords Sanitary Lotion. Use no other this never fails. Sold by Buntin ft Armstrong, druggists, Terre Haute

A QUESTION ABOUT

'^Browns Iron

'Bitters

I'JV ANSWERED.

Mked thoau&ds

Th» pT©t»bly be»n «»lced of tirr^ -Scan Brown'n Iron thin*T" WeD, it doero't. Bat it

DO^cmrecarediMM*ttrtrj-MUTBitten

for which a reputable phjr*ici*n would prescribe Physician* reeocniM Iron th* best Mtontm went known to th* prof«Mkm. and inquiry of any iMdinc ohmnioal firm wUl cabataatteto tn« aasertkn that tow* an mora preparation! ol iron than of anf other sabatenoA DIM in modioine. Thii »how* eonclnstraly that iron la aoknowladmd to betha moa* important factor in atooaaaftil madioal oraotloa It is,

ljr satisfactory iron combination ha4«rarbean found. BROWN'S IRON BITTERSte^s: haadacha, or prodnoa constipation—aJl other Iroa medicines do. BROWN'S IBON BITTERS cures Indigestion, Blllonsnesit, Weakness* Dyspepsia* III alalia, Chills and Fevern* Tired Feeling,Oenerol Dcblllty,Paln in tb* Side, Baa* *%lmbs,HeadhcheandlVearal«ia—aaa ailments bonis praacrfbad dally. BROWN'S IRON BITTERS.^^ urinate. like all other thoroasrfi nsdieinaa. It acta Slowly. Whan takan by first symptom of benefit & renewed mwrgy. Tha muscles than baoome

ha eyas begin at healthy color oomes to the ehaeke: narvonsnaM appaars functional derangement* become rajp*-

Jarioua, Fhytieian4 and IbmggitU rteommend it. Tha fltonnina has Trade Mkritsnd crossed red Unas TASlE"NO OTHER.

Father, Mother, and Three Sisters Dead. Mr. David Claypool, formerly Sergeant-at-Arms of theN ew Jersey Senate, and now Notary Public at Cedarville, Cumberland Co., J., makes ihe following startling statement: "My father, mother, and three eistefs all died ith consumption, and my kings were so weak I raised blood. Nobody thought I could liva. My work (shipsmith ing was very straining on me with my weak constitution, and: I was rapidly going to the grave. While in this condition I commenced using Mishk-r's Herb Bitters, snd it saved my life. Because it was so difficult to get it in this little place, and 1 had improved so much, 1 stopped taking it for a time, and the result is that hav* commenced going rapidly down hill again. Somehow, Mishler's Herb Bitters give® appetite and strengthens and builds me up, as nothing else does, and I must have ti dozen bottles at once. Use this corn monidation as you please, and if any one wants' to be convinced of its truth, let them write me snd I frill make affidavit to it, for I owe my life to Mishler's Herb Bitters."

TI secret of the almost invariable relief unci ureof consumption, iy*cnt ryf diarrhfca, dyspepsia, indigestion, kidney and *,r liver complaints, when Mi filler's Herb Bitters is used, is tbat it contains simplest harmless, and yet powerful ingrediCTits, that act on the blood, kidneys, snd liver, and through them strengthens and invigorates the whole system. Purely vegetable in its composition prepared by a regular physician: a standard medicinal prepera-g tion endorsed by physicians and drug-^v gist*. These are fonr strong points in favorfe of Mishler'sHerbBitters.

Mishler's

11erbf?

Bitters is sold by all druggists. Price $1.0Qfe per large bottle. 6 bottles for $3.00. Ask root drwe If be Ooai Mt itac »te. botb