Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 16, Number 52, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 19 June 1886 — Page 3

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,r. ''ZJh iwr',

Pauline JDarrell's Revenge.

Continued from Second Page.

"Were I in your place I should try to forget them, Pauline." "You should have seen Sir Oswald's face -when I told him I had read Comte and Darwin. He positively groaned aloud."

And she laughed as she remembered his misery. "I feel very much inclined to groan myself," said Miss Hastings* "You shall have theories, or facts, higher, more beautiful, nobler, grander far than any Comte ever dreamed. And now we mast begin to work in real earnest"

But Pauline Darrell did not move her dark eyes were shadowed, her beautiful face grew sullen and determined. "You are going to spoil my life," she said. "Hitherto it has been a glorious life—free, gladsome, and bright now you are going to parcel it out There will be no more sunshiny hours you are going to reduce me to a kind of machine, to cut off all my beautiful dreams, my lofty thoughts. You want to make me a formal, precise young lady, who will laugh, speak, and think by rule." "I want to make you a sensible woman, my dear Pauline," corrected Miss Hastings, gravely. ••Who is the better or the happier for being so sensible?" demanded Pauline.

She paused for a few minutes, and then added suddenly: "Darrell Court and ail the wealth of the Barrel Is are not worth it, Miss Hastings." "Not worth what, Pauline?" "Not worth the price 1 must pay." "What is the price?" asked Miss Hastings, calmly. "My independence, my freedom of action and thought, my liberty of speech." "Do you seriously value these things more highly than all that Sir Oswald could leave yon?" "I do—a thousand times more highly," she replied.

Miss Hastings was silent for some few minutes, and then said: "We must do our best suppose we make a compromise? 1 will give you all the liberty that I honestly can, in every way, and you shall give your attention to the studies I propose. 1 will make your task as easy as I can for you. Darrell Court is worth a struggle." "Yes," was the half-reluctant reply, "It is worth a struggle, and 1 will make it,"

But there was not much hope in the heart of the governess when she commenced her task.

CHAPTER V.

THE PltOOKKSS MADE BY THE PUPIL.

It was a beautiful afternoon in June. Miy, with it lilac and hawthorn, had passed away the roses were in fairest bloom, lilies looked like great white stars the fulness and beau ty, the warmth and fragrance of summer were on the face of the land, and everything living rejoiced in it

Pauline had begged Mint the daily readings might take place under the great eedaT tree on the lawn. "If 1 must be bored by dry historical facts," she said, "let moat least have the lights and shadows on the lawn to look at The shadow of tiie trees on the grass is beautiful beyond everything else. Oh, Miss Hastings, why will ]eop]o write dull histories? I like to fancy all kings heroes, and all queens heroines. History loaves us no illusions." "Still," replied the governess, "it teaches us plenty of what you love so much—truth."

The beautiful face grew very serious and thoughtful. "Why are so many truths disagreeable and Fad? If I could rule, I would

have

the world

so bright, so fair and glad, every one so happy. 1 cannot understand all this under-cur-rent of sorrow." "Comte did not explain it, then, to your satisfaction?" said Miss Hastings. "Comte!" cried the girl, impatiently. "1 am not obliged to believe all I read! Once and lor all, Miss Hastings, 1 do not believe In Comte Ids fellows. I only read what lie wrote because people seemed to think it clover to have done so. Vou know—you must know—that 1 believe in our great F.ithi\ Who could look round on this lovely world and not do so?"

Miss Hastings felt more hopeful of the girl then than she had ever felt before. Such strange, wild theories had fallen at times from her ll|»s that It was some consolation to know she had still a child's faith.

Then came an Interruption In the shape of a footman, with Sir Oswald's compliments, and would the ladies go to tho drawingroom? There were visitors. "Who are they?" asked Miss Darrell, abruptly.

The man replied: "Sir George and Lady Hampton." "1 shall not go," said Pauline, decidedly "that woman sickens me with her false airs and silly, false graces. 1 have not patience to talk to her." "Sir Oswald will not be pleased," remonstrated Miss Hastings, "That I cannot help—It is not my fault 1 shall not make myself a hypocrite to please Sir Oswald." "Society has duties which must be discharged, and which do not depend upon our liking we must do our duty whetherwe like it or not" "1 detest society," was the abrupt reply— "it is all a sham 1" "Then why not do your best to Improve it? That would surely be better tlian to abuse it" "There Is something in that" confessed Miss Darrell. slowly. "If wo each do our little best toward making the world even ever«o little better than we found it," said Miss Hastings, "we shall not have lived in vain."

Tliere was a singular grandeur of generosity about the girl. If she saw that she was wrong in an argifniont or an opinion, she admitted it with the most charming candor. That admission the made now by rising at once to accompany Miss Hastings.

The drawing-room at Darrell Court was a magnificent apartment it had been furnished tinder the superintendence of the late Lady Darrell, a lady of exquisite taste. It was all white and gold, the white hangings with bullion fringe and gold braids, the white dama.sk with a delicate border of gold the pictures the costly statue* gleamed in the midst of rich and rare flowers graceful ornaments, tall, slender vases were filled with choicest blossoms the large mirrors, with their golden frames, were each and all perfect in their way. There was nothing gaudy, brilliant or d.-uxlitvg nil was subdued, in perfect good taste and harmony.

In this superb room the beauty of Pauline Darreli always showed to great advantage: she was In perfect keeping with its splendor. As entered now. with her usual halfha ity. halMistiess grace. Sir Oswald looked up with admiration plainly expressed on his face. "What a queenly mtelMac she would make for the Court If she would but behave like other people be thought to himsett, and tlien Lady llaraptrm rose to greet the girt. "My dear Ml* Darrell. was getting quits impatient it «eea» an age sine* I saw yo»— rwilly an age.*'

"It is an exceeding short one," returned Pauline "I saw you on Tuesday, Lady Hampton." "Did you? Ah, yes how oould I forget? Ah. my dear child, when you reach my age —when your mind is filled with a hundred different matters—you will not have such a good memory as you have now."

Lady Hampton was a little, over-dressed woman. She looked all tiowers gnd furbelows—all ribbons and laces. She was, bowever, a perfect mistress of all the arts of polite society she knew exactly what to say and how to say it she knew when to smile, when to look sympathetic, when to sigh. She was not sincere she never made the least pretence of being so. "Society" was her one idea—how to please it, how to win its admiration, how to secure a high position in it

The contrast between the two was remarkable—the young girl with her noble face, her grand soul looking out of her clear dark eyes Lady Hampton with her artificial smiles, her shifting glances, and would-be charming gestures. Sir Oswald stood by with a courtly smile on his face. "I have some charming news for you," said Lady Hampton. "I am sure you will be pleased to hear it Miss Darrell." "That will quite depend on what it is like." Interposed Pauline, honestly. "You dear, droll child 1 You are so original you have so much character. I always tell Sir Oswald you are quite different from any one else."

And though her ladyship .spoke smilingly, she gave a keen, quiet glance at Sir Oswald's face, in all probability to watch the effect of her words. "Ah, well," she continued, "I suppose that in your position a little singularity may be permitted," and then she paused, with a bland smile. "To what position do you allude?" asked Miss Darrell.

Lady Hampton laughed again. She nodded with an air of great penetration. "You are cautious, Miss Darrell. But I am forgetting my news. It is this—that my niece. Miss Elinor Itochford, is coming to visit me."

She waited evidently for Miss Darrell to make some complimentary reply. Not a word came from the proud Hps. "And when she comes I hope. Miss Darrell, that you and she will be great friends." "It is rather probable, if I like her," was the frank reply.

Sir Oswald looked horrified. Lady Hampton smiled still more sweetly. "Yon are sure to like her. Elinor is most dearly loved wherever she goes." "Is she a sweet creature?" asked Pauline, with such inimitable mimicry that Misfc Hastings shuddered, while Sir Oswald turned pale. "She is Indeed," replied Lady Hampton, who, if she understood the sarcasm, made no sign. "With Sir Oswald's permission,- I shall bring her to spend along day with you, Miss DarrelL" "1 shall be charmed," said Sir Oswald— "really delighted, Lady Hampton. You do me great honor indeed."

He looked at his niece for some little confirmation of his words, but that young lady appeared too haughty for speech the word "honor" seemed to her strangely misapplied.

Lady Hampton relaxed none of her graciousness her bland suavity continued the same until the end of the visit and then, in some way, she contrived to make Miss Hastings understand that she wanted to speak with her. She asked the governess if she would go with her to the carriage, as she wished to consult her about some music. When they wero alone, her air and manner changed abruptly. She turned eagerly to her. her eyes full of sharp, keen curiosity. "Can you tell me one thing?" she asked. "Is Sir Oswald going to make that proud, stupid, illiterate girl his heiress—mistress of Darrell Court?" "I do not know," replied Miss Hastings. "How should 1 bo able to answer such a question?" "Of course I ask in confidence—only in strict confidence you understand that Miss Hastings?" "I understand," was the grave reply. "All the county is crying shame on him," said her ladyship. "A French painter's daughter. lie must be mad to think of such a thing. A girl brought up in the midst of Heaven knows what lie never can intend to leave Darrell Court to her." "lie must leave it to somo one," said Miss Hastings "and who has a better right to it than Ills own sister's child?" "Let-him marry," she suggested, hastily "let him many, and leave it to children of his own. Do you think the connty will tolerate such a mistress for Darrell Court—so blunt Mignorant! Miss Hastings, he must marry." "I can only suppose," replied the governess, "that he will please himself, Lady Hampton, without any reference to the county."

CHAPTER VI. CAPTAIN IAXOTOIT.'

June, with Its roses and lilies, passed on, the laburnums had all fallen, the lilies had vanished, and still the state of affairs at Darrell Court remained doubtful. Pauline, in many of those respects In which her uncle would fain have seen her changed, remained unaltered—Indeed* It was not easy to unlearn the teachings of a life-time.

Miss Hastings, more patient and hopeful than Sir Oswald, persevered, with Infinite tact and discretion. But there were certain peculiarities of which Pauline could not be broken. One was a habit of calling everything by its right name. She had no notion of using any of those polite "rittle fictions society delights in no matter how harsh, how ugly the words, she did not hesitate to use It Another peculiarity was that of tellliut the blunt plain, abrupt truth, no matter what they cost, no matter who was pained. She tore aside the flimsy veil of society with rest she spared no one In her almost ruthless denunciations. Her intense scorn for alt kinds of polite fiction was somewhat annoying. "You need not say that I am engaged, James," she said, one day, when a lady called whom she disliked. "I am not engaged, but I do not care to see Mrs. Camden."

Even that bland functionary looked annoyed. Mis* Hastings tried to make some compromise. "You cannot send such a message as that Miss Darrell. Pray listen to reason." "Sir Oswald and yourself agreed that she

"Never mind that" hastily Interrupted Miss Hastings. "Ton must not hurt any one's feelings by such a blunt message as that it is neither polite nor well-bred." "I shall never cultivate either politeness or good breeding at the expense of truth therefore you had better seed the message yourself, Miss Hastings." "I will do so," said the governess, quietly.

I will manage it in such a way as to show Mrs. Camden that she is not expected to call again, yet so as not to humiliate her before the servants but, remember, not at any sacrifice or troth." 'Such contests were of dally, almost hourly, occurrence. Whether the result would be such a decree of training as to fit the young lady for taking the position Ate wished to occupy. remained doubtful

"This Is really very satisfactory," said Sir Oswald, abruptly, one morning, as he entered the library, where Miss Hastings awaited hiia. "But" he continued, "before I explain myself, let me ask you how are you getting on—what progress

are

Miss Hastings had already thought the same thing but she knew whoever won the love of such a girl as Pauline Darrell would be one of the cleverest of men. "I am writing to him to tell him that I hope he will remain with us for a month and during that time I hope, I fervently hope, he may fall in love with my niece. She is beautiful enough. Pardon me again Miss Hastings, but has she ever spoken to you of love or lovers? "No. She is in that respect as in many others, quite unlike the generality of girls. I have never heard an allusion to such matters from her lips—never once."

This fact seemed to .Sir, Oswald stranger than any other} he liaif*$n idea that girls devoted the greater part of thfeir tliuuglits to sueli subjects, ,, ... "Do you thinte," he inquired, ."that she cared for anyone in Paris—any of those men, for iustance, whom she used-to meet at her father's?" "No," replied Miss Hastings "I do not think so. She is strangely backward in all such respects, although .she was brought up entirely among gentlemen?' "Among—pardon me, my dear madame, not gentlemen—members, we will say, of gentlemanly profession."

Sir Oswald took from bis gold snuff-box a pinch of most ^ieUcately-flayored snuff, and looked as though he thought the very exist ence of such people a mistake. "Any little»influence that you may posses? over my niece, Miss Hastings, will you kindly use in Captain Langton's favor? Of course, if anything should come of mj* plan—as I fervently hope there may—I shall stipulate that the engagement last two years. During that time I shall trust to the influence of love to change my niece's character."

It was only afresh complication—one from which Miss Hastings did not expect much. That same day, during dinner, Sir Oswald told his niece of the expected arrival of Captain Langton. "I have seen so few English gentlemen," she remarked, "that he will be a subject of some curiosity to me." "You will lind him—that is, if he resembles his father—a high-bred, noble gentleman," said Sir Oswald, complacently. "Is he clever?" she asked. "What does he do?" "Do I" repeated Sir Oswald. "I do not understand you." "Does he paint pictures 6r'write books?" "Heaven forbid 1" cried Sir Oswald, proudly. "He is a gentleman."

Her face Hushed hotly for some minutes, and then the flush died away, leaving her paler than ever. "I consider artists and writers gentlemen," she retorted—"gentlemen of a far higher stamp than those to whom fortune has given money and nature lias denied brains."

Another time a sharp argument would have resulted from the throwing down of such a gauntlet Sir Oswald had something else in view, so he allowed the speech to pass. "It will be a great pleasure for me to see my old friend's son again," he said. "I hope, Pauline, you will help me to make his visit a pleasant one." "What can I do?" she asked, brusquely. "What a question 1" laughed Sir Oswald, "Say rather, what can you not do? Talk to him, sing to him. Your voice is magnificent and would give any one the greatest pleasure. You can ride out with him." "if he is a clever, sensible man, I can do all that you mention if not 1 shall not trouble myself about him. I never qould endure either tiresome or stupid people?' "My young friend is not likely to prove Cither," said Sir Oswald," angrily and Miss Hastings wondered in her heart what the result of it all would bet

rf""

That same evening Miss Darrijll talked ol Captain Langton, weaving many bright faiv cies concerning him. "1 suppose?' She said, '"that it is not al ways the most favorable specimens of the English who visit Paris. We used to see such droll caricatures. I like a good caricature above all things—do yon. Miss Hast' ings?" "When it is good, and pains no one," wai the sensible reply.

The girl turned, w$y \s it(i, a little impatient sigh. "Your ideas are all colorless," she said, sharply. "In England it seems tome that everybody is alike. You have no individuality, no character." "If character means, In of the word. Ill-nature, so much the better," rejoined Miss Hastings. "All goodhearted people strive to»save each other from pain." "I wonder," said Pauline, thoughtfully, "If I shall like Captain Langton! We have been living here quietly enough but I feel as though some great change were coming. You have no doubt experienced that peculiar sensation which comes over one just before a heavy thunder-storm? I have that strange, half-nervous, half-restless sens: tion now?' "You will try to be amiable, Pauline," put in the governess, quietly. "You see that Sir Oswald evidently thinks a great deal of this young friend of his. You will try not to shock your uncle in any way—sot to violate those little conventionalities that be respects so much." "I will do my best but I must be myself— always myself. I cannot assume a false character." "Then let it be your better self," said the governess, gently and for one minute Pauline Darrell was touched. "That sweet creature, Lady Hanftton's niece, will be here next week," die remarked, after a short pease. "What changes will be brought into our lives. I wonder?"

Of all the changes possible, least otjill she

mm

II

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

you making

with your tiresome pupil?" The gentle heart of the governess was grieved to think that she could not give a more satisfactory reply. Little real progress had been made in study less in manner. "There is amass of splendid material. Sir Oswald," she said "but the difficulty lies in putting it into shape." "I am afraid," he observed,

,lpeople

will

make remarks and 1 have heard more than one doubt expressed as to what kind of hands Darrell Court Is likely to fall Into should 1 make Pauline my heiress. You see she is capable of almost anything. She would turn the place Into an asylum she would transform It into a college for philosophers, a home for needy artists—in fact anything that might occur to her—without the least hesitation."

Miss Hastings could not deny it They were not speaking of a manageable nineteenth century young lady, but of one to whom no ordinary rules applied, whom no customary measures fitted. "I have a letter here," continued Sir Oswald, "from Captain Aubrey Langton, the son of one of my oldest and dearest friends. He proposes to pay me a visit and—pray, Miss Hastings, pardon me for suggesting such a tiling, but I should be so glad if he would fall in love with Pauline. I have an idea that love might educate and develop her more quickly than anything else."

expected the tragedy that afterwards happened. The story of Pauline Darrell's Revenge will be found one of the most fascinating that has recently appeared in The Mail. It will be continued in next week's issue.

DEATH. 4

Two travel-worn and weary feet at rest From paths of pain now shrouded in the past: Two cold hands folded on a colder breast

From which the soul has taken flight at last Two eyes from whose dark vacant cells the glow

Of sunlight seem forever to have fled Two mute lips meeting like an unstrng bow From which the final arrow, speech, has fled. This is the subtlest of 'all mysteries: Some call it Death, and others name it Peace. —Daniel E. O'Sullivan. ff

ff||One Heart^^f

[Ella Wheeler.]

To rise early, work late, hurry through his three meals like a hungry animal, and plunge into bed with the first shadows of night*, was John Chester's idea of existence.

To sit and talk a while, to read an hour, to speak a tender word or bestow a tender caress, were follies and nonsense in his eyes. Yet thev would have made Gertrude's life at least content, if not happy. "Poor thing, I don't believe she has ever had any one to tell her she ought not to work so hard," mused Breeee. "Well, I'll do what I can to brighten her dull life while I am here." "Are you fend of books?" he asked her that evening as she bat down at mending. "Very," she answered. "I have never had very many, though, since I came to Iowa." "Would you like to use mine? or would vou like to have me read aloud a little" while every evening, while you sew?" "Oh, if you will only read to me!" Gertrude answered, her cheeks flaming with a sudden glow. "I will," ho answered, and after that he read almost every evening for an hour, while the steady sonorous snore from the next room testified to the undisturbed slumber of John Chester.

Of course there could be but one result for a woman in Gertrude Chester's situation exposed to the constant, delightful companionship of a young, refined and handsome man. She grew to love him with all her heart and soul. For weeks she did not know her danger. Then she began to realize if at first with fright and shame, and then with exultation. "I have done no wrong," she said to her own soul. "I have not by look or word or act brought this upon myself. It has come to me, and it would not have come if it had not been best for me the world is more beautiful than it ever was to me. I am better, stronger, nobler for my love. He does not lcnow—ho need never know its existence. I can conceal it, but I will not try to banish it from my heart.

Breece Borton became indispensable in the Chester household. Heoften lent a strong arm at the ax, and in the hay field. "It develops muscle," he would say, and as he paid his board regularly, John Chester piade no objection. Gertrude grew fresher and younger every day. She had not known what it was to have so much assistance and sympathy in all lier married life. She sang like a bird, her step grew elastic, and her eyes were glorious in their new beauty.

She held a strong rein upon lierself. She was never betrayed into the slightest look or act which told her secret. Her manner toward Breece Berton was that of a blithe, frank sister or comrade —whether in presence of others or alone with him, and this love grew, and filled her whole being like a great light.

Sometimes she thought of the time when lie piust go away. The thought always brought a quick, sharp pain with it, vet only for a moment. "Well, then," he said in a low, slow

Way—"I

am going away becouse I love

you with all my lioart and soul, Gertrude." She covered lier face with her hands. Her heart ceased beating, her whole being thrilled with tho most exqusito dolight as she listened to his words—a delight that was almost agony. He loved her—he loved. Ah! now she was ready to die.

He reached forward and took her hands from her facc. She drow them quickly away, and faced him, white and beautiful as a goddess. "No," she said, "do not stay—go. It is best. But I am not angry with you—I— I, too—I lovo you. No do not speak— do not touch me, Breece. Let it not be profaned. Go, and I will stay. But the love is ours, and will help and strengthen and glorify our lives always. "Yes, and some time—some lime, Gertrude, God will give you to me. I feel it. I know it. I can wait. Goodnight."

The next day he said good-by to her in the presence of her husband a white circle about his mouth and his averted eyes spoke his agony.

He was suffering intensely—it was a voung man's first passion. Ho had never loved any woman save his mother and sister until now. All his heart and soul had gone out to this mature and beautiful and refined woman who was six years his senior

He never liked to think of the weeks which followed, they were so full of the keenest torture and. misery. There was no savor in life—the city sights and sounds maddened him, tne faces of bid friends were hateful to him. He dreamed only of the glory of one woman's eyes.

He wrote occasionally to the (testers, letters which all the worW might see. They were life and light and food to Gertrude. She read between the lines. Her davB were not so full of misery and pain as his. Her love was an exalted sort of ecstacy, which sustained her in his absence as well as in his presence.

He is mine, here, there, in life or in death," she reasoned. "It is a spiritual union which does not depend upon physical presence. Nothing can divide us—now, or never?*

She believed it» this fully, and was happy, but she wrote nothing her husband could not see, and she felt sure Breece would understand all that she left unsaid.

Two years had passed when John Chests went on a protracted land hunt in Dakota. Gertrude had mentioned the fact in a recent letter. Bv return mail came one from Breece, a few brief passionate lines, begging her to allow him to see her. She, too, was filled with a wild longing to see him, but she wrote him a calm refusal. "It is not right, or wise, or best," she said. "Come when he returns, but not during his absence."

Breece Berton's Jealous hatred of the man who called her wife, prevented him from accepting the conditional invitation.

He wrote less frequently after that, but he always sent her books and papers: and she always felt herself remembered, even when six months passed with no letter.

And so two or more years passed away and then John Chester's robust frame

became the prey of pneumonia. At the end of another year ne died. All that tender nursing and constant care could do, Gertrude gave. She slept onlv bv snatches for months before ne died. She sat in torturing positions and held his head upon her shoulders, and dark circles came about her eyes.

Yet her spirits never faltered, some strange power sustained her. After ne was dead and all was over, she was ill for some time.

Two months after John died she wrote her first letter to Breece. It was but a few lines announcing his death and her own subsequent illness.

It brought a letter of conventional sympathy in return. She had not expected more, vet in her heart was anew feeling. She'could not curb her love, now that it was not wrong, yet she waited for him to be the first to suggest meeting.

Eight months went by and no line him. The silence grew unbearable. She wrote again—a formal enough letter, and yet she felt that it would breathe the "fire of her soul in every line. He replied after a month or two, with a letter of some length, but made no reference to anv meeting. "I fancy you will soon be besieged by fortune hunters," he said. "Ybu have my sympathy."

She eiiuled over that. Ah! that was it! he feared to be accused of seeking her fortune. That was why he kept away from her. Well, she could go to him.

She had Sent no intimation to Breece of her visit, but she dispatched a messenger with a note, telling him of her arrival in the city, and asking him to call that afternoon. She found it difcult to await the return of her messenger. Shepaced her room, saying over and over: "It is like a dream—a dream! But O, he predicted it he foresaw it! He said God would yet give me to him." And great tears broke over her cheeks.

The messenger brought back word that Mr. Berton was just going to the matinee with a lady that he read the note, and begged the messenger to say he would cafi in the evening that he was already late, or would write his reply.

Henheart fell. Could she wait until evening? And how could he ask it of her? How could he bear the interval, and she so near?

Ah, but he was acting as escort for a ht\ She called back the messenger. "Do you know to what theater the gentleman was going? she asked. "Why, with the crowd, to hear Gerster, I suppose," the boy answered. "Everybody goes there to-day."

Gertrude rang and ordered a carriage. She, too, woula attend the matinee. She swept the house with eager eyes. And not in vain. She saw him with a fair young girl at his side. She was very young, not more than eighteen, and he was tne soul of devotion.

It was a horrible afternoon to Gertrudo one of slow torturing doubt and fear.

At last he came. He had grown handsomer and grander during tne six years since they parted. His form was more majestic, his hair darker, his face had more expression. Ho was a superb man —a man to win hearts without the least effort.

Her heart heaved with a wild, suffocat insr passion as she looked at him. came forward with easy dignity, ne swift, and gave her his hand, and one all-noting glance he "i am verv glad to see yon again, said "but you are not looking quite well, I fear you are fatigued."

The disappointment in his glance, the formality in his tono, cut her to the heart. Sho glanced at her reflection in the tall mirror opposite. Ah! she had not thought of it before, but sho had grown old, oh, very old, since they parted. Tho physical aspect of their lovo had never entered very largely into lier views. She had dwelt in a state of spiritual exaltation, and had forgotten the years that were stretching betwoon them.

In that old time neither of them considered her six vears of seniority. Now tliev both thought of it, for she lookod in tho mirror, it was painfully evident. "Yes, I am fatigued," she said. "Tho journey tired me, and tlion I attended the matinee, and tho air was close." "Yes, it was close. I did not seo you there." "I saw you," she answered, "and your companion. Sho was a lovely girl.'f

A slow flush crept over his face. "Yes, she is a beautiful girl. A guest of my mother's—and a great favorite at the house." "And liable to hold a nearer place yet," Gertrude suggested, her, own voice sounding strange in her oars. There was a moments silence, and then he lifted his eyes and met hers bravely. "Yes," was all he said. Soon afterward ho arose to go. They exchanged a few commonplaces, and then he returned and took her hands. "We are to be friends always, I hope?" he queried. "Certainly why not?" she responed ... i.i .1 a Luviu with a ghastly attempt at fi stitlle. "Well, I hope as muchi:'Bubit'ssomotimes hard, after an exporl«ace.Hko ours, to establish a friendship. Jt cannot be

vu UffUlUilQII uuiiiivk done unless the passion is wholly outgrown. I knew it was on yrtnf part, four years ago, when you refused my last appeal to see you. I think your feeling was more pitv and sympathy for a mad bov than anvthing else, but mine was a gemlino frenzy. I had to fight for years, Gertrude. During the last two years I fancied I was outgrowing it and during the last vear I have dared dream I was beginning to feel a calmer and more healthful love in my heart. I have dreaded to meet you, though, lest tho old furv should return. But now I am glad I have met you, for I know we will be royal friend^ heretflter—and that the past is wholly buried." Ho paused. "Yes, wholly buried," he replied, "we must always be royal friends, indeed,

1 1 AUa nnfldiAn' in All

"I will see you again, I hope?" "No, not this time. I am on ray way east and only remained over here one day to meet you."

It was quite true—but the plan had been conceived during the last five minutes. She could not let him think she came from Iowa wholly and solely to meet him and risk this result. "Then good-night, and good-by," he said. "Write me at your leisure, and when you return come and visit—us. I think we shall be settled by that time."

She closed the door behind him, sending a blithe good-by after him down the hall. Then she turned the key and was alone with her castle crumbled at her feet, and the happiness of six years lying dean beneath. "My life is all in ruins—all in rnins— God help me," she moaned. Then after a little, she said slowly: "It is not so much that As has gone—bat that it has gone the love which was so beautiful and terrible—so strong with life and passion. And to think it oould be outgrown—and leave nothing, nothing.

Then she arose from her crouching position before the open grate and retired. Next morning a strong smell of gas prevaded the room, ana Gertrude was dead. _________________

Hie pain-banisher is a name applied to St Jacobs Oil, by the millions who have been cured of rheumatism and neuralgia by its use.

3 $ 1

FROM THE FUNNY FELLO WS. Age appears to incroase the value of everything except women and butter—[Lowell Citizen.

The hangman is more fortunate than most people. He seldom falls into tho trap he sets for others.—[Goodali's Sun.

Whenever you see a man with his chin in the air you may know there is nothing in the front of his head.—[Beecher. "Yes," the good old New England dame said, "we've done Chicago and done Milwaukee. After we du St. Paul we're go up to Duluth."—[Siftings.

There are lots of people who mix theirreligion with business, but forget to stir it up well. The business invariably rises to tne top as a result.—[Wobura (Jliss.) Advertiser.

There is a dispute among certain papers as to who owns the most costly painting in the United States. Tlio. painting is right here in Philadelphia on the end of a man's nose. What it cost topaint it would found a dozen art galleries—[Philadelphia Herald.

A "society" paper says "it is now regarded as the correct thing in bridal parties for the bride and groom to arrivo an hour or so late." After marriage the

fate

jroom only will arrive an hour or so but it will not then be regarded as the "correct thing", by the wife.—[Norristown Herald.

The warm weather often has a depressing and debilitating effect. Hood's Sarsaparilla overcomes all languor and lassitude.

A little oatmeal in the w?ater will produce lily-white hands.

"Do YOU KNOW" that "PEDACI'RA. CORN PLASTERS" will cure your Corns?"

It's better to break your word than to break your neck keeping it.

Don't hawk, hawk, blow, spit, and disgust everybody with your offonsivo breath, but use Dr. Sage's Catarrh Remedy and end it.

Wealth may bring luxuries, but luxuries do not always bring happinoss.

For constitutional or scrofulous catarrh and for consumption induced by tho scrofulous taint, Ayer's Sarsaparllla i» the true remedy. It has cured numberless cases. It stops catarrhal discharges, and removes tho sickening odor—indications of scrofula.

A girl bady at Akron, O., has its earn on the lower jaw, near tho mouth.

Tho proprietor of the Great Westerw Poultry Yard, Mr. James E. Goodkeyy St. Louis, Mo., is enthusiastic in his praise of Rod Star Cough Cure, which cured him after all other romedios failed.. He says it neither constipates the bowels,, nor causes sick headache.

There are men whose friends are more to bo pitied than their enemies,

The meed of merit for promoting personal tv.s the ties is duo to J. C. Ayer «S Co., whoso inconlparable Hair Vigor is a universal beautifier of tho lialr. Harmless effective, agreeable, it lias taken rank among the indispensable articles of tho toilet. scan to locks it gives luxuriance and withored hair it clothos with tho hue of youth.

"Our hammocks are stout enough for two," says a thoughtful advertiser.

In It Not .Singular

that consumptives should bo tho least apprehensive of their own condition, whilo all their friends are urging and besoeeliing them to be inoro careful about exposure and overdoing. It may well bo considered of the most alarming symptoms of the disease, when tho patient 1st' reckless and will not beliovo that he is in dangor. Roaders, if you aro in this condition, do not neglect tho only means of recovery. Avoid exposure and fatiguo, be regular in your habits, and use faithfully of Dr. Pierce's "Golden Medical Discovery." It has saved thousands who were steadily failing.

It is not enough to keep tho poor ir» mind give them something to inako them keep you in mind.

FIRE-INSURK YOITR8 KS, It is an established fact that tho finest fire department in tho world is that of Now York city. Their champion (lro engine company can harness up and got out of tho engine house inside of two and one-half seconds. But this record is slow as tho vengeanco of the gods compared to the time made by "I'omoroy's I'etrolin© Poroitsed Plasters" in curing Rheumatism and Neuralgic Affections. '2! cents buys it from any druggist. Jnsuro yourselves at once by purchasing a plaster*, have it in tho house, and "Damp cold, and Rtorm,

From night till morn,"

will not bring on Neuralgia.

ANY1LLE .ROUTE.

Chicago and Eastern nois Railroad.

Illi-

Short and Direct Route

—TO—

Chicago. Milwaukee, Madison, Green Bay, Minneapolis, St. Paul,

Cedar Rapids, Omaha

And appoints In the North and Northwest** THREE TRAINS DAILY Between Terre Haute and Chicago arriving* In time to make clone connections withtrains on all roads diverging. «w Woodruff Palaoe and Sleeping Coacham on all night trains.

Tourist* Ouides giving a description of th« various Hornm«' Resorts will be famished apon application to a A. CAMPBELL, Gen'l Agt.

OH Main st. Tare Haute, Ind. WM. HILL, O. P. A. Chicago, 111a.

Over Henderson Bridge

Evansville Route!

FAST LINE

~%s

To All Southern Points.

Pullman and Woodruff F« lace Buffet Sleeplog Cam to

Nashville Without Change

Where direct connection is made with through bains for Chattanooga,

New Orleans, Atlanta, Montgomery,

Savannah and

'.e

Jacksonville, Fla.

No omnibus or steamboat transfer*, tickets or an^lnformation may be obtained of

A. CAMPBELL. Oen'l SM Main st^ Terre Haute,

CoofbSjrrop- TMtMKOOd. UN

in time. Hold hr drrucxteta.

II

O N S I O N

a I A

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