Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 16, Number 3, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 11 July 1885 — Page 2

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•THE MAII

A PAPER FOR THE PEOPLE.

TSttRB HAUTE, JULY 11.1885.

THERE COMES A TIME.

There ctraeJ ft time to every mortal being, Wbate'er his station or bis lot in life, When hGs sad soul yearns for tbe final freeing

From all this Jarring and unlovely strife.

There come* a time when, having lost its savor. The salt of wealth is worthless when the mind Grow weary with the world'»capricious favor

And sighs for something that it £$.es not And. There comes a time when, through kind friends are thronging

About our pathway with sweet acts of grace. We feel a vast and overwhelming longing

For something that we cannot nauie or place. There conies a time when, with earth's best love by us

LUVR TJJ UA

To feed the heart'r great hunger and desire find not even this can satisfy us

We

UUU L|I/B CTVU M1W VW«

The soul within us cries for something ,•. higher. What gieat proof need we thai men lnheHt

A life Immortal in anothers sphere? It Is the honeslck longing of the spirit That cannot find its satisfaction hers^

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[Susan Hartley Sweet in Harper'sBazar.]

Icibinda.

The river bad freed itself from tbe ice chains which bad bound it so long, and this morning the village in the back woods rang with its melody, which was as delicately joyous as one of Mondelsshoil's spring songs. There was a soft wistfulness in tbe pale northern sky, a faint fragrance of budding leaves and springing grass in the air. The bluebirds were sin ing in the woods youths and maidens were going Maying. A pretty Swedish girl from tbe little colony beyond was driving a cow through the sunuy street, singing a quaint old herd song of tbe father-land as she weut along.

But to a woman \z a strange land, without a servant, the charms of spring are not wholly satisfying, and Mrs. Winsor, tbe wife of the ornithologist, stood in the porch of her cottage and looked about her with a dejection which was akin to dispair. Now the handmaiden who had accompanied the family to this out-of-the-way region, only three short weeks before, had left yesterday, without warning, protesting that to live so "far beyant, where the frogs gave ye misery a singin' at night, 'n' the people were so quare fur Christians," was not to bo endured another day and there seemed to be no immediate prospect of finding any one to take her place. It was useless to try another city maiden, for though tbe melody of the frogs might not be as objectionable to all as it had been to Nora, there were other drawback* in rural life which one of these fastidious and eminently social beings mlght'tiud insupportable. There was not one Swedish girl in the colony who was disengaged, and the nativeborn damsels were prejudiced against city folk, and could not be induced to accept a situation where there was the faintest suspicion that they might not be regarded "as good as one of the family."

The breakfast dishes were unwashed dinner loomed up darkly and well-nigh impossible in tho near future. "What shall I do?" said the lady, speaking loud in her distress. Aud then, as if in answer to her question, a tall, majesticlooking VOUtMC wnm«"

SIgyptlan

So

®l

TURNED LIICO

the

lane which led to the house, aud camo striding towaid her, her red skirts brushing the low branches of the gray willows. As she came nearer, Mrs. Winsor #ftrgot her deprivations in won der and admiration of the stranger's appearance. She moved somewhat heavily, but her shape was like that of a young goddess. Her skin was smooth and white as marble aud her eyes were large and dark, with a sort of a sleepy brilliancy like those of an animal ber mouth aud nose wore like a beautiful bit of carving, though the chin wa» a trifle sharp aud prominent, and the general expression of her face as calm and im-

ertubable as that of tne unreadable lady, the Sphinx. Her garments were hardly of the harmouy and moderation of color which taste demands, but being a mixture of warm purple, llery scarlet, and peacock blue, and bad the appearance of having been fashioned by the wearer, fancy free, but she wore them with a grace and dignity which were truly remarkable. '•Mis* Co pel In was a tellin' me haow yeou was put tew it fur help,*' she re marked, haughtily, stopping suddenly in the walk while still a good distance from the door. "I'm Iclbindy Owen." "Oh yea, I remember Mrs. Copeland did speak of vou," said Mrs. Wlasor, brightening ""but she said she thought it very doubtful whether you would care to go out to service."

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shouldn't leave home only I can't stan' tbe talkln' there is theie. Marui »n' Lueila Maria keens th«ir tongues a goln' from mornltr till night, 'n' wuen pa 'u' the boys comes home, there Is such a laughin^ n' teeheein' yeou nigh abeout loee yeour senxjbleness." "But don't you like to have them laugh aud enjoy themselves inquired the lady, curiously. "This hain't a laughln' world. LaughIn* don't mix no better with it than honey with vinegar. Folks hed better keep quiet, fur there'* always a Wow a-comin' this way or that." "Well, vou certainly would not be troubled by much laughing and talking here you would be almost entirely by

ourself. But do you think you could the whole work of the family There are four of us, and what with the cooking and cleaning, thore la, of course, great deal to be done." •'I reckon I can do the work fur any ten folks livtn\ ef I can hov my own way 'n' not be meddled with. The last place I lived at was Elder Jones's, 'u' she was an awful sarcy woman, 'a' she was alwavs askin' what I was a-goln' tew do, 'u' advlrln' nound, 'n' putterin' over a bit cookin' that the old boy, himself wouldn't eat, 'n' usiu' a bit o' while rag fur a duster. Sh* warn't ab.e tew set up nohaow but seein' abe waa a elder's wife, a'poae aha calkilalad she'd got tew set an example ef nothiu' more. But for me. I'm pertlckler, 'n' I couldn't stan* ber akin' or cleanin'. I don'I know wbeiiwsr ye-ur ways would suit me or not, but 1 thought 'twould do no harm tew neither ov n« ef 2 should come and trr It a »p*H, aeein' veou 'ain't got iy el*e."

Mrs. Wtnaor gladly accepted tbla offor, and Icibinda commenced ber reign at once, taking poeewwS^n of th" kitchen with great majesty, a*km* no questions, and shutting her ear* to all information. Tbe family awaited dinner with misgiving*, but were happily disappointed. If

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mew hat eccentric. It waa savory and served with liberality and aeataee*.

Tbe master of the house voted tbe pudding a masterpiece the mistiess praised everything from a full and thankful heart. But the praise waa received with magnificent indifference, and the only remark which tbe new handmaiden was heard to make that day was to tbe end that she "couldn't stop to eat anything herself nntii she got tbe house into kind of decent order she couldn't utan' such a looking place noboaw."

She scrubbed and scoured and re-ar-ranged for several days, never pansing in ber work for A moment from dawn till bed-time, never speaking or going out for a breath of fresh air and then, evidently being more satisfied with ber surroundings, she arrayed beraelf gorgeously one twilight and went to walk in tbe graveyard. And thereafter, whenever she took her walks abroad, it was to this lonely spot—a little inclosure on a bill-side pasture, where groups Qf sil-ver-bircbes stood like ghosts in the midst of dark evergreen trees. "Have you any friends buried there? Mrs. Winsor ventured to inquire one day. "Nobody thet I know of," was the reply. "Don't yon find it rather dismal wandering abont 'there in the dark I should think you would rather go and visit yonr friends." "Mfost things is dismal, but I'd a heap rutber listen tew the whip-poor-wills aslngin' there than tew hear folks a-gos-sipin'."

The family were quite satisfied with the appearance of their door-yard, though it was still in the eloquent disorder of nature. The mistress would have liked a flower bed, but there were so many stumps and rocks imbedded in the soilVhat it seemed hardly worth the while to attempt such a thing. Then, too, there were wild flowers—violets, anemones, and dandelions—peeping through the clustering ferns everywhere and gay marsh-marigolds following tbe footsteps of a brook that came creeping in under the fence rails and danced off to the river. But Icibinda, after renovating the bouse, announced that she could not "stan' such a lookin' place another minute. She was a-goin' tew clear it up 'n' bev a flower bed by the front door. The door-yards of the back folks warn't a bit'wuss, so ez fur ber part she was downright ashamed of it." Whereupon she set to work with a good will, pruned every tree of its dead twigs, coverod the stumps with creeping vines brought from the woods, scraped every straw and splinter from the ground, and then proceeded to spade up the flower bed with her own strong bands. But though the flower bed proved a great success, and was the gayest thing in the neighborhood from late June uhtil the frost came, it was not wholly satisfactory in some respects.

Being in the front of the house, Icibida's presence attracted the attention' of loiterers, and more than one young man from the village lingured by the gate to gain an opportunity to speak with her. Icibinda was certainly attractive to tbe other sex, though she treated male and female alike with haughty silence. There was one, a dark shadowy youth, who looked more like a crayon drawing than a real flesh and blood man, who was particularly persistent in his addresses to ths gate and the back of his fair one's head. He was the proprietor, of the travelling photograph saloon, and had been brought up ia the same neighborhood with her. "She won't have anything to say to him she's kind of cracked about another feller," said Mrs. Copeland, the neighbor who had been tbe means of sending Icibinda to Mrs. Winsor. "She 'n' Joe Hinton was promised to each other, but he got jealous, 'n: in a fit o' temper went off'n' merried 'Lizy Dlnkins, a shiftless, tiigbtv, good-for-nothing girl from down-river. She leads him a pretty dance, they say 'n' I guess he his oake was dough if ,» J080

{l»d*

As for loiOindii, she hasn't been the same girl since he left her. She was never very lively, but she used tew be sociable enough, 'n' real kind of smiling and pleasant as a general thing, though there was a streak of oddity born in her, 'n' she sometimes acted rather curious. Folks thought the affair would end tragical at first, but I don't see as she's anything more than struck dumb. Her grand mother before her was a great hand for graveyards 'n' being alone, 'n' her mother's almost as masterful as she is, though she's ajways jolly and good natured. John Parker began to court Icibindy before she ever saw Joe, 'n' p'r'aps ef Joe had never turned up she would have had him. But lots and lots of men wanted her 'n' Deacon James, that is worth property, and 'Lisher Hurd, that is a good deal higher up in the world tbau Joe, would be thaukful enough to git her now for, you see. she's not only remarkable good-looking, but smart 'n' capable as a bee, 'n' her folks are as well to do as almost any farming folks in the country. I kind of pity poor John Parker, for I think be really likes ber so much that her treatment Is wearing on him."

The young man certainly looked as if something were wearing on him, but Iclbinda's heart was evidently not at all moved by the sight of bis sufferings. When she saw him approaching she usually turned her back. If he addressed her, she either regarded tbe sunset clouds in a fir of abstraction or applied herself to her weeding in a very frenzy of Industry, and he was often obliged to take his departure without eliciting one syllable from her Hps.

She always kept pins in her mouth. It was quite tbe fashion to do so among the "back folks." They all ate, drank, and slept with several of these useful but dangerous article* under their tongues but one night, when equipped (or her garden work, she was discovered emptving a whole piucusLion Detween her small white teeth, and the mistress of the house regarded her with astonishment and alarm. "Icibinda, aren't you afraid yon will swallow some of those pins?" she inquired. "Oh, lor, no I sha'n't swaller any, 'n' I'm glttlu* my mouth choek-fuil, so ef any fool corner 't»* asks me to go to the circus with bim to-morrer, I sha'n't answer hi in unaware*," sh« replied, speaking with a spaAuuidie effort. "I'm dretful tried by boldness."

The result of this experiment was never known to th* family, but it Is trne that she ana John Parker were the only voting people In tbe community who did not attend tbe entertainment which glorified one summer day at Willow Falls.

Time wore on. The columbines and double buttercups and blue spider-wort In Iclbinda's flower bed had given place a crowd of showier blossom*. There wa a bias* of scarlet popples and yellow marrigolds, a»d, jwtling each other with friendly familiarity airy colonies of larkspur, roses of Sharon, Inpines, bachelor's-buttons, asters, and spicy carnation pinks. Tbe river had grown sleepy, forgetting Its spring joyoosoes*. The wheat was nearly ready for harvesting, filling the broad fields with waves of splendor. Tbe corn ears were beginning to show their bornt-gokl through the bleached and bursting busks.

Icibinda was evidently suited with tbe ways of the booawaM, for she had never manifested the alifbteet Intention of

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EV^N ING MAIL.

of

taking her departure, and, in spite ber somewhat severe rule, tbe household regarded ber as a treasure. Every nook and corner of the house was white and1 fragrant with neatness, and in faprj constant upheavals in the way of cleaning sbe was silent as fate. The food which she saw fit to provide was well cooked and daintily as well as liberally served. Nothing was out of place, and every branch of household labor was performed with tbe greatest skill. it is true, there was a monrnfulness about tbe tall tallow dips with which she decreed the bouse should be lighted, and in tbe sort of penitential fast which she ordained should be kept on Sunday, beginning with brown bread and butter at cock-crow in the morning, qnd endlog with milk poi ridge at quiet, sunset.

There were also objections to breakfasting in the dimness of the dawn. The raw early taste of tbe air would mingle with tbe rolls and coffee, and regrets for lost and broken dreams made a dreary opening for tbe day. But there was nothing lax or capricious in Icibinda's laws, so there was nothing to do but submit, and pray for resignation. Then, too, great embarrassments arose on account of her aversion to company, wbicb she invariably called "clutter," and a way she had of bolting the doors upon all stangers during,the absence of the family.

One damp, misty morning in tbe late August a great outcay from the river was heard, and in the Bda^ Of a fey moments several raftnwn bearloj i*-ijptug buraen to the Win sorcottage. One of their crew had been hit on the head by a piece of loose timber, and was knocked overboard, and as soon as they had succeeded in pulling hftn out of the water they made baste to bring him to tbe house, where they might find means to resuscitate him, if such a thing were possible. Hot water, blankets, and brandy were immediately procured, and tbe victim of the accident, a young fellow with regular features and ablonde beard, was placed upon the lounge in the sitting-room.

Icibinda was absent on an errand at tbe time, but soon returned and catching a glimpse of the pale, apparently dead face of a man, into whose nostrils a stalwart river driver was trying to blow the breath of life, her own face changed to something so wild and piteous as to be hardlv recognisable. "Ob! Joe! Joe!" sbe cried, rushing frantically toward him. "Speak to me! speak to me jest once more! Oh! he can't be dead! He must hear me speakin' tew him!" And with a majesty which trembling Mrs. Winsor had never seen equalled she waved his comrades aside, and taking tbe cold bands in her own, rubbed them with a fierce energv. But still there was no sign of life. Then placing her arm under his body, she lifted his chest with a quick spasmodic effort, and suddenly there was a little flutter of breath from the lips, a faint twitching of the eyelids. "Hurray! he's all right, after all!" shouled the river man. "Jest wet his lips with brandy, 'n' he'll be pert as a lizard in a few minutes."

This Injunction was obeyed, and the man almost immrdiately opened his eyes and looked about him in bewilderment. They f«ll upon Icibinda, and the blood surged into bis cbeeks. Her face assumed its usual sphinx-like imperturbability, and she hastily fled from the room.

A balf-hour later the mistress of the housecamein search of her. "Icibinda," she said, "the roan who met with tbe accident, Mr. Hinton, wishes to speak to you.'' "Is he all right now?"' the girl deigned to Inquire, looking very pale, but as msj^'ic as ever. "Ob yes be seems quite restored only little weak and languid. Mr. Winsor has lent him some dry clothing, and h* going to

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taken to the house

of a friend who lives In the neighborhood. Wants to see me, does he? Can't be 'commodated, then." And Icibinda fell to scouring knives with calm hauteur. "Oh, Icibinda)" remonstrated tbe lady. But nothing that sbe could say would induce her to change her mind.

The young man was not to be foiled, however, and before Icibinda was aware of ft he had found his way ioto ibe kitchen, and was standing by ber side. "I wouldn't *a b'lieved you'd trbat a feller like this." he said, In a voice husky with real feeling. 'Twas your vofcesoundin' like a angel's a-callln' me tew paradise thet brought me tew, *n* •omebaow or 'not ber I knew yeou was a-bendin' over me before I opened my eves *n' aee veou la tbe room. 'Li*y. my wife, died last apring. IciMtidy, 'n' I come up this way a-purpoae tew see jena,"

Ydbtoda calmly (Manned the sky from tbeopeu window. "Iclbindy, bev yeoa forgot-yeou used tew like u»e, anybaow. P'r'aps I waa tbe moat tew blame, but—n "I hain't been 'most drownded, bat I reckon I hain't been Is my proper mind, 'n' I'm cumin' tew myself, tew," ln|w-

rupted majestically out of his presence. "I dew declare!" exclaimed the lover to himself, looking after her with astonished eyes, and twitching nervously at his curling blonde besrd. "But it must be sbe only makin' b'lieve mad. She was in an anful takin' when she thought I was dead, that's certain."

Aftor this episode there was a perceptible change in Icibinda. Her facesometimes softened into an indulgent smile. On several occasions she was known to speak of her own accord, and the "majesty which had attended on all ber steps" was gradually becoming subdued.

A

On one occasion the venerable aunt or Mrs. Windsor, who had arrived unexpectedly by stage, was discovered sitting upon bei trunk in the door-yard, a gentle shower falling upon her miprotected head, while Icibinda, who protested that she thought ber a "lunatic or somethin'," was calmly regarding her from tbe window. On another occasion, beholding the approach of the Free-will Baptist minister one sultry summer afternoon, she proceeded immediately to slam the door, which was open in bis face, and hastily twitched down the window shades. He took his departure in deep wrath, aud gave a vivid account of bis treatment to a neighbor. The mortified lady of the house ventured to question her as to the why and wherefore of this proceeding. "Why, yeou see," said she, "I kneowed by his cut that ef he got in he meant tew stay tew supper, 'n' I hedn't nothin' jest fit tew set ber fore the Gospil. My custards 'n' biscuit was both kinder poor 'n' then ef he'd 'a got me alone, he'd 'a ast me ef I was on the Lord's side, jest ez ef be was 'lectioneerin' fur county Bheriff, or somethin' of thet sort, 'n' I might 'o sarsed him, fur it makes my grace dretful weak tew be meddled with that way."

Her own mother once sat a full halfhour upon tbe door-steps before Icibinda could be induced to admit her into .the house, and even peddlers passed by the gate with mournful reluctance. She never smilled, she never sang, she never spoke unless obliged to do so she never manifested either joy or grief she never glanced into the pages of a book or over the columns of the village paper. But it was evident that she had sometimes used her eyes to good advantage. She knew the precise haunts of the shyest birds in her native woods, their note, their color, the very iuarkB upon their wings sbe knew where and how they build their nests and though she did not hesitate to betray her contempt for what she evidently deemed bis "dretful shif less call iu'," deigned to be of great use to the master of the house in his ornithological researches. And the mistress, whose mind was somewhat given to the pursuit of botany, found that there was no wild flower in the region, however rare, to whose hidingplace Icibinda waB unable to guide her.

One evening she was discovered actually talking with John Parker at tbe gate. Tbe next evening she allowed him to walk with her in the shady sadness of the grave-yard. The next evening, which was stormy, they spent together in the kitchen, which presented a comparatively festive appearance, with the radiance of two candies instead of one, and a huge bouquet of flowers. "Mis' Winsor, I'm a-going tew leave yeou," she announced, about this time. "Not thet yeou ain't fust-rate folks, but yeou see I must git merried." "Must get married?" echoed Mrs. Winsor. "Why, yes yeou pee I must hev John for fear I might hav Joe! I aid like him —I—" "But why shouldn't it be Joe ventured the lady, who had been greatly taken with the young man's winning smile and pleasant blue eyes. He was certainly more prepossessing In his appearance than the crsyon-drawing-like John. "I am sure he cares for you, Icibinda." "I ruther calkilate thet the most o' the likin' Joe does is fur himself. It'scome acrost me lately. Some folk realizes things slow, but wbeu they dew realize, they realize 'em thorough.

TO DO OR TO BB DONE.

In church and in state It is rule or be ruled In courtship and marriage

It is fool or be fooled In logic and law It is nick or be nicked In ganbling and trade it is trick or be tricked In treaty and war

It is beat or be beaten In the struggle of life It is eat or be eaten.

Her Secret.

BY ELLA WHEELEB WILCOX.

When Milton Stanley sent up his card to Alice Hall that morniug, he lutended to ask that young lady to be his wife be foiie he left "the house.

He had reached that stage of ennui which comes to every man with a soul who lives a life of license and freedom into the thirties. The apples of Sodom turned to ashes in his hauds, and every pleasure palled upou him. He had decided that marriage, being the only experiment that he had not yet tried,' was the poe pathway to happiness left open to liim.

And Alice Hall was a girl whom he admired, a belle, of good family and popular socially. She would make a wife of whom he could be proud. He woutd settle the dilemma of his life a« once and ask her to be his wife.

Yet, when he left the house half an hour later, be bad not a9ked her the momentous question and mentally thanked the fates that he had not. She was not tbe woman for him.

pressure of his hand by a gentle yet, warm clasp of her own, and she had taken a seat beside him on tbe divan. She had never before been guilty of such familiarity, and although be came with the unspoken intentions of a lover in his heart—so long as he had not spoken, he felt that she was scarcely modest to exhibit her regard so freely. Then in looking over a collection of pictures which lay on a stand near by, be bad noticed that she had flushed and looked embarrassed when he asked tbe name of one whose portrait represented a man of striking appearance. "A Mr. Ledyard—I knew him one summer at the seashore," she said, aud hastily changed tbe conversation.

Now, like every man who has lived a life of absolute freedom, who has tasted of every pleasure and broken all the commandments, Milton Stanley demanded the utmost rectitude and the strictest observance of every rule of propriety in the conduct of a woman.

He had tempted innumerable women to acts of imprudence and then despised them for their weakness. He bad been the serpent in many a paradisfe, but bad always gone forth, believing it was Eve who first suggested plucking the apple. "They are all alike—weak, frail, vain," he sometimes said, and then, pausing, rememhered his sainted mother, and added: "No, there must be another like her somewhere, one whom Providence intended for my bride some sweet saiut who is to lead me up into a heaven of pure love and peace."

Ab, yes! that was what be wanted. Some spotless angel on wbom the gaze of man bad scarcely fallen some unsophisticeted embodiment of all the female virtues, devoid of all tbe weaknesses of her sex, who should take him, world wetry and sin stained as he was, and lead him into happiness.

And it never occurred to him that such a union would be ununited—no, indeed. That was womati's mission on earth.

AM be went down the steps leading from Miss Hall's home, he felt a sense of anger and humiliation to think he bad been almost betrayed into a confession of love by a woman who had any memories connected with any man wblcb could cause her to blush and look confused at the mention of his name. Yet be bad memories he could not mention in tbe presence of any woman— hosts of them.

He rushed down to the seashore the next day, to a quiet place, where he need not be vexed by tbe sight of a crowd of frivolous and foclish women-. He did not know a soul and meaut to make no acquaintance aside from the fishes cn "Blue Fish Point."

But before he bad been at Surf Bay twenty-four hours he changed his mind. He met two ladies walking slowly on tbe beach ooe morning—one a handsome matron in tbe early forties one a delicate, refioed looking girl in her teens. Tbe latter did not look at htm, the former did.

He bad seen a thousand handsome girls, but never a face which so attracted Elm, be said, after he

went

to his hotel.

Who was she He was not long In finding out. "Mrs*. O. B. Milla and Mies Delphie Mill*, New York City." That was what the hotel register said. A little inquiry brought to light the fact that Mr*. Mills was the wealthy widow of a well known member of the New York bar. Ever since his death, three year* previous, the widow and daughter had been abroad. They bad bat recently returned. The yoang lady waa i» delicate health, bat was highly accomplished and wry admirable.

This Milton proved to be less than the truth ere long. He obtainsd an introduction, after some difficulty, and slowly made his way ioto the good graces of the mother. The daughter had objected to meeting him, on the plea of her delicate health and her indisposition to entertain callers.

But Mrs. Mills overcame her daughter's objections finally. "What,she needs," she confided to Milton, "Is to be brought out of herself. She has brooded constantly over her father's death until she has become an invalid, and a morbid one. I am sure the society of an agreeable gentleman will do her good."

Delphie's reluctance to meet him of course increased Milton's interest in her. And her languid indifference during their first interviews added fuel to the fire she had already kindled in his heart. He was really in love with the girl, and so he told Mrs. Mills one day, and asked her if he might try to win her as bis wife.

Mrs. Mills could scarcely conceal her delight. Sbe had investigated Milton's standing- and financial condition, and found him a most desirable alliance for any ambitious woman. "But you must approach Delphie most carefully," she said. "She is strangely averse to the attentions of gentlemen, and has a queer idea that she will never marry. You can of course win her if you are patient. I am sure, no woman could resist you. But you may spoil all if you are bold. Remember how sheltered her life has been. We sent her abroad with a chaperone a year before ber father's death, to be educated in Paris and since his death she has not been in society at all, of course so she really is a most unsophisticated child quite unlike most American girls of twenty."

All this was sweet music to Milton's ears. Fate bad sent him tbe very ideal of his dreams at last. How delicious would be his task of teaching that sweet girl tbe lessons of love.

He sent her flowers and books, and delicate dishes to tempt her appetite, and, by a super-human effort, remained away from her side himself tor days. Then he joined herself and her mother on tbe beach, and begged permission to read aloud to them from a new book he had just procured.

And slotvly the wooing spead. Delphie grew to watch for his coming and yet she often refused to see him when he came. Her shyness grew with her interest, and Milton was more and more charmed. "In this age of blase misses, it is refreshing to see a young woman like your daughter," he said to Mrs. Mills. "But I really cannot curb my impatience longer. I must know ray fate."

Delphie came into the room as he spoke. Her mother drew her to her side. "Delphie," she said, "Mr. Stanley has something to say to you. You know my wishes. Now let nothing influence you but your own heart—remember, your own heart. Nothing else is to be considered for one moment."

Afterwards Milton recalled the strange manner in which those words were said.

Mrs. Mills left them alone. For the first lime in his life Milton Stanley found himself trembling with fear in the preseuce of a woman.

He stepped back of the chair in which she bad seated herself. "Miss Mills, Delphre," he said, with a tremor in his voice, "I love you I waut you for my wife. Will you let me take care of you? You are the ideal woman for whom I have waited. Can you learn to love me, do you think?

She was trembling from head to foot. nreiaJ08r*er hands in bl&aud bent do«*"--and K/u!cod f«co» "You do love me?" he said. "Yes," she answerd, almost in a whisper. "Yes, but—"

He caught her to heart. "You need say uo more," he cried. "You are mine."

At that moment Mrs. Mills returned. They were married a few months later. Milton snw but little of his sweetheart in the meantime, save in the presence of conventional propriety, he could but yield gracefully, and in his heart was a great joy thinking what a rare flower he had won—a wife who bad never passed more than half an hour alone with even her accepted lover, and of course not that time in the society of any other gentleman.

For several months Milton was tn© happiest of men. He carried bis bride to a quiet country resort, where sbe could regain her health and strength, and where he could have her sweetness all to himself. She seemed to grow stronger in the sunshine of his love. Yet he often surprised her in tears—v tears which she could not explain. But was that not to be expected of a bride? They invariably wept a great deal. So he comforted himself. "Are you regretting our marriage?" he would ask her, only to have ber cling to bim and answer: "Oh, no—no you are so dear. I love you

BO."

Miss Hall drew near tbem." "I met a friend of a friend of yours while abroad. Mrs. Stanley," sbe said, smiling amiably as only a woman can when she is preparing to stab another. "Indeed?" Mrs. 8'antley responded, and waited for Miss Hall to continue. "Yes. The gentleman said be knew of you through bis friend. He was greatly surprised to hear of your marriage."

She paused, and her eyes rested upon Mra. Stanley's face. Milton Stanley eyes also were upon both faces. Tbe expression of Miss Hall's was not pleasant to eee. There was a strange look, too, In Delphie's eyee. What did it mean "I do not understand to whom yon r*fer, Miss Hall," Delphie said, quietly and joldlv. a abe said. Well, perhaps his name may recall bis memory. With new associates 000 firgete old friends sometimes. I mean Count Lancaster's youngest son,

Every particle of color left Delphie's face as Miss Hall pronounced bis name. Bnt b*r *«4*e was steady as sbe replied. ••I remember Albert Lancaiter very well but be Is dead—be died three years ago." "Yes, I know. His friend, Angus Mertism, told me alt about it. He was with him tbe nlgbt be waa killed." Then turning to Mr. Stanley sbe said "It was vary sad, wss It not Of course

Mrs. Stanley has told you all about it Yes, no doubt it was Fate, and kind Fate for you." Tbeu Miss Hall moved away to another part of the room.

Milton Stanley looked his wife full in the eyes without shaking for a second. Her face was snow white, but ber glance did not quail, though there was murder in his. "Are you ready to go home?" she asked wearily. "Certainly, if you desire to go," he answered coldly.

No word was spoken on that homeward drive. It seemed interminable to both husband and wife.

As tbey entered tbeir bright warm parlors, Delphie's face looked worn and haggard in the gaslight. She sat down before the glowing grate aud threw back her costly robes. Milton stood before her with folded arms, his face cold with anger, his eyes murderous. S" "Well," he said and waited. "Will you sit down?" Bhe answered, motioning to a seat. "No," he said, "I will never sit down in this house again until this is explained satisfactorily. If my house is disgraced I never want to sit down under its roof again." "I have brought no disgrace to you," she answered, with a red spot flaming into her cheeks. "But I have wronged you, perhaps. I should have told you —I meant to tell you—but I was overruled."

8

"Go on," he said. She drew a long breath. "I was so young—only six teen "she began,'when I was sent abroad with a chaperone—a lady who bad three young girls in charge. We were to be educated in Paris. Albert Lancaster was on the ship. He was young and handsome and he selected me as the especial object of his ffattery. I was startled and pleased and interested, as any young girl at my age might have b«en. I never expected to see him again after we left tbe ship. But one day, a tew months later, be met us as we were out taking our daily exercise ur.det the supervision of a teacher. He bowed and smiled. I only blushed in return. Every week after that for several months he would manage to meet us. "One day he came close behind us and pressed a note into my hand. I read it when alone in my room. It was a respectful note, begging me to correspond with him. He desired to make my acquaintance honorably, as be had been unable to forget me since that sea voyage. I was full of romance and folly, as most young girls are. I heard all my companions talking of love and marriage, and my noble young admirer seemed to me the Prince of Lovers. I answered his note and I dreamed of him day and night. At last he planned an elopement. I was to meet him at a certain time and place and we were to be married, and I would then be Lady Lancaster and live iu an enchanted palace all my life. The very day I was to meet him 1 received a telejrram announcing and the next day I learned that my lover had been killed in

my father's death,

a steeplechase the very same moring. "This is all the story, Milton. I have been foolish, but not guilty of any sin. I have lived to see how great my error would have been had I made that foolish marriage. It would have broken my parents' heart instead of makiug them proud of my brilliant alliance, as I imagined. And it would have ruined my whole life." "As you have ruined mine," Milton 8*id, coldly. "All my life I had an ideal. A woman, spotless as snow, who had never loved, who was above deception, and whose name had never been asso-

IOU m/iiwr

Apd after

a time sbe ceased to weep and seemed very bappy. They went into society and sbe was very popular and much admired, and Milton was tho proudest as well as tbe happiest of men.

Alice Hall bad gone abroad almost at once after Milton Stanley's marriage. She returned a year later.

Tbe two women met at Mrs. Egbert a reception. It was Milton Stanley's tlrst meeting with Miss Hall also since that morning call. He remembered it, and thanked the fates mentally for saving bim from tbe folly he so nearly committed. His heart swelled with love and pride as he looked at his fair, sweet wife. She was not as beautiful and striking as Miss Hall, "but she was a woman to love and trust and be proud of," he said, and went over to her side.

under this delusion. I have been a proud and bappy man. I have been a fool, a blind fool, to believe you were werthy of the idolatrous worship I gave you. You have deceived me from first to last. It wa« a carefully planned scheme of yours and your mother's. I can never forgive you." "I have not sinned," Delphie answered, in a low voice. "Ctesar's wife must be above suspicion," be replied.

Suddenly sbe rose and faced him. Sbe was very white and ber eye* flared with a fire he never saw in them before. Her rich wraps fell from her shoulders and her jewels glistened in tbe gaslight. She looked like some enraged princess. "1, too, had an ideal once," she said, "a man too noble to stoop to frivolity, with a will too mighty to permit him to have been guilty of any act which I might not know. 1 met you you sought me in spite of my reluctance make your acquaintance. You insisted, you almost compelled me to love you. I did love you. My mother was jour ally—I confess it. But do you know bow sbe prevailed upon me to accept you as my husband, without telling you the one lolly of my life It was in this way: She had Investigated yonr history and she told moof certain events in vour life, events which crimsoned my cheek with shame while I listened, and caused me to lie and weep through tbe night* of sleepless sgony. I did not believe it possible that a man who seemed so noble, so refined as you, could have given rein to bis baser nature, even for a few year«. I had idealized you, you see. But my mother assured me you were not worse than other men, that I would never lind inv ideal in morality and that if I loved you I must not scruple to accept your hand. Sbe bad brought nie tbn most convincing proofs of your past. My own seemed spotless beside it—my experience was a child's play compared with j*our own sin-stain-ed career. I said, I lovehlm well enough to be his wife, knowing all this from other lips than his surely if my past rises before bim In the future be will love me well enough to overlook it. If 1 forgive so much be will forgive so little. But I overestimated the strength of your love. 1 forgot that my judge was a man.

She paused, and Milton stood silent and abashed before the beauty of ber face in its fine scorn and the power of her eloquence.

He bad always fancied that his wife was ignorant of his past. Now to suddenly learn that she had married bim with a foil knowledge of those years of reckless folly and disgraceful adventnrea covered him witb shame for himself and adornatton for the woman who could forgive so much, who could love so mucb.

Sbe had known it all this time, and yet never bad referred to It once, and how petty and mean be seemed beside her. His sense of wrong gave way to a feeling of overwhelming humility snd love. H« looked up and reached out bis arms. "Delphie, can you ever forgive met" he cried. "Can you ever love me again

Sbe sprang Into his embrace, and the lips met In along kiss of reconciliation.

"Thick as leaves In Vallambrosa." This phrase was no doubt first applied to the testimonial of Misbler a Herb Bitters, for they really seem countless. F. Hoffman, of Circlevlile, Ohio, sends along his contribution: "This is t»certify that I have bad thedumb ague, and by oiling one bottle of Misbler's Herb Hit*era a complete cure has been effected."