Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 17, Number 5, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 24 July 1886 — Page 3

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[Commenced in The Mall Jane 19tb. Back numbers can be had.]

Pauline Darrill's Revenge.

By BERTHA M. CLAY.

CHAPTER XXII. I

NO COMPROMISE WITH PAUMNK. It was evident to Miss Hastings thatSlr Oswald felt some little trepidation In bringing his bride home. He had, in spite of himself, been somewhat impressed by his niece's behavior. She gave no sign of disappointed greed or ambition, but she bore herself like one who has been unjustly deprived of her rights.

On the night of the arrival every possible preparation had been made for receiving the baronet and his wife. The servants, under the direction of Mr. Frampton, the butler, were drawn up in stately array. The bells from the old Norman church of Audleigh Royal pealed out a triumphant welcome flags and triumphal arches adorned the roadway. The Court was looking its brightest and best the grand old service of golden plate, from which in olden times, kings, and queens had dined, was displayed. The rooms wore made bright with ilowers and warm with fires. It was a proud coming home for Lady Darrell. who had never known what a home was before. Her delicate face flushed as her eyes lingered on the splendor around her. She coulcl not repress the slight feeling of triumph which made her heart beat and her pulse thrill as she remembered that this wait all her own.

She bowed right and left, with the calm, suave smile that never deserted her. As she passed through the long file of servants she tried her best to be most gracious and winning but, despite her delicate, grave, and youthful loveliness, they looked from her to the tall, queenly gjrl whose proud head was never bent, and whose dark eyes had in them no light of welcome. It might be better to bow to the rising sun, but many of tlietn preferied the sun that was setting.

Sir Oswald led his young wife proudly through the outer rooms into the drawingroom. "Welcome home, my dear Elinor I" he said. "May every moment you spend in Darrell Court be full of happiness!"

She thanked him. Pauline stood by, not looking at them. After the first carelcs» glance at Lady Darrell, which seemed to take in every detail of her costume, and to read every thought of her mind, she turned carelessly away.

Lady Darrell sat down near the tire, while Sir Oswald, with tender solicitude, took off her traveling-cloak, his hands trembling with eagerness. "You will like to rest for a few minutes before you go to your rooms, Elinor," he said.

Then Miss Hastings went up to them, and some general conversation about traveling ensued. That seemed to break the ice. Lady Darrell related one or two little Incidents of their journey, and then Sir Oswald suggested that she should go to her apartments, as the dinner-bell would ring in half an hour. Lady Darrell went away, and Sir Oswald soon afterward followed.

Pauline had turned to one of the large stands of flowers, anil was busily engaged in taking the dying leaves from beautiful plant (waring gorgeous crimson flowers. "Pauline," said the governess, "my dear child!"

She was startled. Sho expected to find the girl looking sullen, angry, passionate but the splendid lace was only lighted by agleam of Intense scorn, the dark eyes flash 1 ng tire, the ruby lips curling and quivering with disdain. Pauline threw back her head with the old significant movement. ".Miss Hastings," sho said, "1 would not have sold myself as that girl has done for all the money and the highest rank in England." "My dear Pauline, you must not, really, speak In that fashion. Lady Darrell undoubtedly loves her husband."

The look of scorn decponed. "You know she does not. She Is just twenty, and he Is nearly sixty. What love— what sympathy can there bo between them'." "It is not really our business, my dear we will not discuss It." "Certainly not: but as you are always so haul upon what you call my world—the Bolie.nlnn world, where men ami women speak the truth—It amuses me to titnl flaws in yours."

Miss Hastings looked troubled: but she knew It was better for the passionate torrent of words to be poured out to her. Paulino looked at her with that straight, clear, open, honest look before which all affectation fell. ''You tell me, Miss Hastings, that I am deficient In good-breeding—that I cannot take my proper place in your world because I do not conform to its ways and Its maxims. You have prtqosed this lady to me as a model, And you would fain see mo regulate all my /bought* ami words by her. 1 would rather die than be like her! She may be thoroughly lady-like—I grant that she Is so—but she has sold her youth, her beauty, her love, her life, for an old man's money and title. I, with all uiy brusqucrie, as you call it, would have scorned such sale and barter." "But, Pauline remonstrated Miss Hastings. "It is an unpleasant truth," Interrupted Pauline, "and you do not like to hear it. Sir Oswald is Baron of Audleigh Royal and master of Darrell Court If a duke, thirty years older, had made this girl an offer, she would have accepted him, and have given up Sir Oswald. What a world, where woman's truth Is so bidden for?" /"My dear Pauline, you must not, Indeed, fey these things they are most unlady-like.' "I begin to think that all truth Is unlike," returned the girl, with a laugh. "My favorite virtue doe* not wear court drew very becomingly." "I have never heard that It affects russet gowns either." said Miss Hastings. "Oh, Pauline, If you would but understand social politeness, social duties! If you would but Keep your terrible Ideas to yourself! If you would but remember that the outward bearing of life must bo as a bright, shining, undisturbed surface! Do try to be more amiable to I*ady Darrell "No!** exclaimed the girl, proudly. "1 have warned her, and she has chosen to disregard my warning. I shall never assume any false appearance of amiability or friendship for her it will be war to the knife! 1 told her so, and she chose to disbelieve me. I atn a Darrell, and the Darrells never break their word." dug at her, the unstudied grace of her attire, the perfect pose, the grand face wuh its royal took of scorn, Miss Hastings fo.t that she would rather have the girl for a friend than an enemy. "I do hope, for your own sake, Pauline." the mid. "that you will show erery respect to Ladv Dirndl. All your comfort will de**:»d upon It. Yoo must really compromise "laattew." "Compromise matters!" carted Pauline. "You had better tell the *aa to compromise viib the winds which have lashed it into fury- Tbera can be DO compromise with

The words had scarcely issued from her lips when the dinner-bell sounded, and Lady Darrell entered in a beautiful evening dress of white and silver. Certainly Sir Oswald's choice did h'm great credit. She was one of the "most del ite, the most graceful of women, fair, ciressing, insinuating-one of those womeu who would never dream of uttering barbarous truth when elegant Action so much latter served their purpose—who loved fine clothes, sweet perfumes, costly jewels—who preferred their own comfort in a graceful, languid way to anything else on earth—who expected to be waited upon and to receive all homage—who deferred to men with a graceful, sweet submission that made them feel the deference a compliment—who placed entire reliance upon others—whom men felt a secret delight in ministering to, because they apiearai so weak—one of those who moved cautiously and eraciously with subtle harmonious action, whose hands were always soft nnd jeweled, whose touch was litfht and gentle—a woman born to find her place In the lap of luxury, who shuddered at poverty or care.

Such was Elinor Darrell and she entered the drawing-room now with that soft, gliding movement that seemed always to irritate Pauline. She drew a costly white lace shawl over her fair shoulders—the rich dress of silver and white was studded with pearls. She looked like a fairy vision. "I think," she said to Miss Hastings, in her quiet, calm way. "that the evening is cold." "You have just left a warm country, Lady Darrell," was the gentle reply. "The South of Prance is blessed witli one of the most beautiful climates in the world." "it was very pleasant," said Lady Darrell, with a dreamy little sigh. "You have been very quiet, 1 suppose? We must try to create a little more gayety for you."

She looked anxiously across the room at Pauline but that young lady's attention was entirely engrossed by the crimson flowers of the beautiful plant. Not one line of the superb figure, not one expression of the proud face, was lost upon Lady Darrell. "I lmve been saying to Sir Oswald," she continued, looking intently at the costly rings shining on her fingers, "that youth likes gayety—we must have a series of parties and balls." "Is she beginning to patronize me?" thought Pauline.

She smiled to herself—a peculiar smile which Lady Darrell happened to catch, and which made her feel very uncomfortable, anil then an awkward silence fell over them, only broken by the entrance of Sir Oswald, and the announcement that dinner was served.

CHAPTER XXIII. A RICH GIFT DECLINED.

The bride's first dinner at home was over, and had been a great success. Lady Darrell had not evinced the least emotion she had married for her present social position—for a fine house, troops of servants, beautiful, warm, fragrant rooms, choice wines, and luxurious living: it was only part and parcel of what she expected, and intended to have. She took the chair of state provided for her. and by the perfect ease and grace of her

milliner

proved that she was well fitted for it. Sir Oswald watched her with keen delight, only regretting that years ago he had not taken unto himself a wife. He was most courtly, most deferential, most attractive. If Lady Darrell did occasionally feel weary,

and

the memory of Aubrey Langton's face rose between her and her husband, she made no sign.

When the three ladies withdrew, she made no further efforts to conciliate Pauline. She looked at her, but seemed almost afraid to speak. Then she opened ft conversation with MissIIasti :gs,and the two persevered in their amiable small talk until Pauline rose and went to the piano, the scornful glance on her face deepening. "This is making one's self amiable!" she thought. "What a blessing it would be if people, would speak only when they had something sensible to say!"

Sire sat down before the piano, but sudden ly remembered that she had not been asked to do so. and that she was no longer mistress of the house—a reflection sufficiently galling to make her rise quickly, and go to the other end of the room. "Pauline," said Lady Darrell, "pray sing for us. Miss Hustings tells me you have a magnificent voice." "Have 1? Miss Hastings Is not so compli mentary when she speaks to me alone."

Then a sudden resolution came to Lady Darrell. She rose from her seat, and, with the rich robe of silver ami white sweeping around her, she went to the end of the room where Pauline was standing, tall, stately, and statuesque, turning over the leaves of a book. The contrast between the two girls— the delicate beauty of the one, and the grand loveliness of the other—was never more strongly marked.

Lady Darrell laid her white hand, shining with jewels, on Pauline's arm. She looked up Into hex proud face. "Pauline," she said, gently, "will you not befriends? We have to live together—will you be friends?" "No!" replied Miss Darrell, in her clear, frank voice. "I gave you warning. You paid no heed to it We shall never be friends."

A faint smile played round l*ady Darnell's Hps. "But, Pauline, do you not see how useless all your resentment against me Is now? My marriage with Sir Oswald has taken place, ami you and I shall have to live together perhaps for many years—it would be so much better for us to live in peace."

The proud face wore its haughtiest look. "It would be better for you, perhaps. Lady Darrell, but it can make

no

difference to me."

"It can, indeed. Now listen to reason— listen to me!" and in her eagerness Lady Darrell once more laid her hand on the girl's arm. Her face flushed as Pauline drew back, with a look of aversion, letting the Jeweled hand fail. "Listen, Pauline!" persevered Lady Darrell. "You know all this is nonsense—sheer nonsense. My position now is established. You can do nothing to hart me —Sir Oswald will take good care of that Any attempt that you may make to injure me will fall upon yourself besides, yon know you can do nothing." In spite of ber words, Lady Darrell looked half-fearfally at the girl's proud, defiant face. "Yon may have all kinds of tragic plans for vengeance in your mind, but there are no secrets in my lite that vou can find out to my discredit indeed, yxm cannot injure me in any possible way." She seemed so sore of It yet her eye# sought Pauitne's with an anxious, questioning fear. "Now, 1, on the contrary," she went on, "can do much for yoo—and I wilL Yon are young, and naturally wish to enjoy your life. Yon ahalk You shall have balls and parties, dresses—emy thing that you can wish foe. il you will only be friends with

She might as well have thrown drops of oil on an angry ocean to moderate its wrath. "Lady Darrell," was the sole reply, "you are only wasting your time and mine. 1 warned yon. Twenty years may elapse before my vengeance arrives, but it will come at last"

She walked away, leaving the brilliant figure of the young bride alone in the bright lamp-light She did not leave the room, for Sir Oswald entered at the moment carrying a small, square parcel In his hand. He smiled as he came in. "How pleasant it is to see so many fair faces P' he said. "Why, my home has indeed been dark until now."

He went up to Lady Darrell, as she stood alone. All the light in the room seemed to be centered on her golden hair and shining dress. He said: "I have brought the little parcel, Elinor, thinking that you would prefer to give your beautiful present to Pauline herself. But" he continued, "why are you standing, my love? You will be tired."

She raised her fair, troubled face to his, with a smile. "Moreover, it seems to me tlint you are looking anxious," he resumed. "Miss Hastings, will you comC here, please? Is this an anxious look on idy Darrell's face?" "I hope not," said the governess, with a gentle smile.

Then Sir Oswald brought a chair, and placed his wife in it he next obtained a footsiool and a small table. Lady Darrell, though half-ashamed of the feeling, could not help being thankful that Pauline did not notice these lover-like attentions. "Now, Miss Hastings," spoke Sir Oswald, "I want you to admire Lady Darrell's taste."

He opened the parcel. It contained a morocco case, the lid of which, upon a spring being touched, flew back, exposing a beautiful suite of rubies set in pale gold.

Miss Hastings uttered a little cry of delight. "How very beautiful! she said.

Yes," responded Sir Oswald, holding them up to the light, "they are, indeed. I am sure we must congratulate Lady Darrell upon iiftr good taste. 1 suggested diamonds or pearls, but she thought rubies so much better suited to Pauline's dark beauty and she is quite right."

Lady Darrell held up the shining rubies with her white lingers, but she did not smile a look of something like apprehension came over the fair lace. "I hope Pauline will like them," she said, gently. "She cannot fail to do so," remarked Sir Oswald, with some little hauteur. "1 will tell her that you want to speak to her." lie went over to the deep recess of the large window, where Pauline sat reading. He had fell very sure that she would be flattered by the rich and splendid gift There had been some little pride, and some little jtomp in his manner as lie went in search of her, but it seemed to die away as lie looked at her face. That was not the face of a girl who could be tempted, pleased, or coaxed with jewels. Insensibly his manner changed. "Pauline," hefsaid, gently, "Lady Dane 11 wishes to speak to you."

There was evidently a struggle in her mind as to whether she should comply or not, and then she rose and without a word walked up to Hie little group. "What do you require, Lady Darrell?'' she asked and Miss Hastings looked up at with quick apprehension.

The fair face of Lady Darrell locked more troubled than pleased. Sir Oswald stood b, a little more stately and proud than usual— proud of his niece, proud of his wife, and pleased with himself. "I have brought you a little present Pauline. from Paris," said Lady Darrell. "I hope it will give you pleasure." "You were kind to remember me," observed Pauline.

Sir Oswald thought the acknowledgment tar too cool and calm. "They are the finest rubies I have seen, Pauline they are superb stones."

He held them so that the light gleamed in them until they shone like tire. The proud* dark eyes glanced indifferently at them. "What have you to say to Lady Darrell, Pauline?" asked Sir 0waId, growing angry at her silence. '.

The girl's beautiful lips curled. "Lady Darrell was irood to think of me." she said, coldly "and the jewels are very tine but they are not suitable for me."

Her words, simple as they were, fell like a thundercloud upon the little group. "And pray why not?" asked Sir Oswald, angrily. "Your knowledge of the world is greater than mine, and will tell you better than I can," she replied, calmly. "Three months since they would have been a suitable present to one In the position I held then now they are quite out of place, and I decline them." "1'ou decline them!" exclaimed Lady Darrell, hardly believing that it was in human nature to refuse such jewels.

Pauline smiled calmly, repeated the words, and walked away. Sir Oswald, with an angry murmur, replaced the jewels In the case and set It aside. "She has the Darrell spirit" he said to his wife, with an awkward smile and she devoutly hoped that her husband would not often exhibit the same.

CHAPTER XXIV. A TRUE DARRKLL.

The way In which the girl supported her disappointment was lofty in the extreme. She bore her defeat as proudly as some would have borne a victory. No one could have told from her face or her manner that she had suffered a grievous defeat When she alluded to the change in her position, it was with a certain proud humility that had In it nothing approaching meanness or envy.

It did not seem that she felt the moneyloss it was not the disappointment about mere wealth and luxury. It was rather an unbounded distress that she had been set aside as unworthy to represent the race of the Darrells—that she a "real" Darrell, had been forced to make way for what In her own mind, she called a "baby-faced strangers—that her training and education, on which her dear father bad prided himself, should be cast in bo* face as unworthy and deserving of reproach. He and his artistfriends had thought her perfection that very "perfection" on which they had prided themselves, and for which they had so praised and flattered her. was the barrier that had stood between ber and ber inheritance.

It was a painful position, but ber manner of bearing it was exalted. She had not been a favorite—the pride, the truth, the Independence of ber nature bad forbidden that She had not sought the liking of strangers, nor courted their esteem she had not been sweet and womanly, weeping with those who wept and rejoicing with th©«» who rejoiced she had looked around ber with a scorn for conventionalities that bad not sat well upon one so young—and now she was to pay the penalty for all this. She knew that peopie talked about ber—that they said she was rightly punished, justly treated— that It was a btontaffor the whole county to have a proper Lady Darrell at Darrefl Gout She knew that among all the crowds who came to ttw Court there was not ooe

sals

.'r

TERRE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

who sympathize*! with lu r, or who cared hi the least for her disappointment No Darrell ever showed greater bravery than she did in ho* manner of bearing up under disappointment Whatever she felt or thought was most adroitly concealed. The Spartan boy was not braver she gave no sign. No humiliation seemed to touch her, she carried herself loftily nor could any one humiliate her when she did not humiliate herself. Even Sir Oswald admired her. 'She is a true Darrell," he said to Miss Hastings "what a grand spirit the girl has, to be suref'

The Court was soon one scene of gayety. Lady Darrell seemed determined to enjoy her position. There were garden parties at which she appeared radiant in the most charming costumes, balls where herelegance and delicate beauty, her thoroughbred grace, made her the queen and of all this gayety she took the lead. Sir Oswald lavished every luxury upon her—her wishes were gratified almost before they were expressed.

Lady Hampton, calling rather earlier than usual one day, foimd her in her luxurious dressing-room, surrounded by such treasures of silk, velvet, lace, jewels, ornaments of every description of the most costly and valuable kind that her ladyship looked round in astonishment "My dearest Elinor," she said, "what are you doins? What Iieautiful confusion!"

Lady Darrell raised her fair face, with a delicate flush and a half-shy glance. "Look, aunt" she said, "1 am really overwhelmed." "What does it mean?" asked Lady Hampton. "It means that Sir Oswald is too generous. These large lxxcs have just arrived from Paris he told me they were a surprise for me—a present from him. Look at the contents—dresses of all kinds, lace, ornaments, fans, slippers, gloves, and such articles of luxury as can he bought only in Pari. I am really ashamed." "Sir Oswald is h.deed generous." Said Ladj- Hampton then she looked round the room to see if they were quite alone.

The maid had disappeared. "Ah, Elinor," remarked Lady Hampton, "you are indeed a fortunate woman your lines have fallen in p'easant places. You might have looked all England over and not have found such a husband. I am quite sure of one thing—you have everything a woman's heart can desire." "I make no complaint," said Lady Darrell. "My dear child, I should imagine not there are few women in England whose position equals yours." ,,: "I know it" was the calm reply. "And you may really thank me for It I certainly worked hard for you, Elinor. 1 believe that if I had not interfered you would have thrown yourself away on that Captain Langton." "Captain Langton never gave me the chance, aunt so we will not discuss the question." "It was a very good thing for you that he never did," remarked her ladyship. "Mrs. Bretherton was saying to me the other day what a very fortunate girl you were—how few of us have our heart's dfsire." "You forget one thing, aunt Even if I have everything 1 want still my heart Is empty," said the girl, wearily.

Lady Hampton smiled. "You must have your little bit of sentiment Elinor, but you are too sensible to let it interfere with your happiness. How are you getting on with that terrible Pauline? I do dislike that girl from the very depths of my heart"

Lady Darrell shrugged her delicate shoulders. N "There is a kind of armed neutrality between us at present" she said. "Of course, I have nothing to fear from her, but I cannot help feeling a little in dread of her, aunt." "How is that?'' asked Lady Hampton, contemptuously. "She is a girl 1 should really delight to thwart and contradict but as for being afraid of her, I consider Frampton, the butler, afar more formidable person. Why do you sav that Elinor?" "She has away with her—I cannot descrrbe it—of making every one else feel smal l. I cannot tell how she does it but she makes me very uncomfortable." "You have more influence over Sir Oswald than any one else in the world if sho troubles you, why not persuade him to send her away?" "I dare not," said Lady Darreil "besides. I do not think he would ever care to do that." "Then you should be mistress of her, Elinor—keep her in her place."

Lady Darrell laughed aloud. "I do not think even your skill could a%il here, aunt She is not one of those girls you can extinguish with a frown." "How does she treat you, Elinor? Tell me honestly," said Lady Hampton, "I can hardly describe it She is never rude or insolent if she were, appeal to Sir Oswald would be very easy. She has a grand, lofty way with her—an imperious carriage and hearing that I really think he admires. She ignores me, overlooks me, and there is a scornful gleam in her eyes at times, when she does look at me, which says more plainly than words. 'You married for money.'" "And you did a very sensible thing, too, my dear. I wish, I only wish I had the manngement of Miss Darrell I would break her spirit, if it is to be broken." "1 do not think it Is," said Lady Darrell, rising as though she were weary of the discussion. "There is nothing in her conduct that any one con!d find fault with, yet I feel she is my enemy." "Wait a while," returned Lady Hampton "her turn will come."

And from that day the worthy lady tried her best to prejudice Sir Oswald against his «roud. beautiful, wayward niece.

TO BE CONTINUED NEXT W'KEK.

Scrofula diseases manifest themselves in the warm weather. Hood's Sarsaparilla cleanses the blood, and removes every taint of scrofula.

The newsboys in the City of Mexico are all girls^ A huge derrick-pole fell and severely injured the foot of mechanical engineer E. R. Hovt at the New Orleans Exposition, and*after onlv three applications of St. Jacobs Oil, all the swelling and pain disappeared.

Plymouth Bock is said to be washing to pfeces. Functional derangement of the female system is quickly cured by the use of Dr. R.V. Pierces "Favorite Prescription." It removes pain and restores health and strength. By all druggists.

A camp-meeting epidemic has broken oat in New England.

A lady writes: "I have used Ayer's Sarsaparilla in my family for many yearn, and could not keep house without it. For the relief of the pains consequent upon female weakness and Irregularities, I consider It without an equal.

The number of idle York la not large now.

Claiborne Kean.

Continued from Second Page.' "There's a minister that comes round here, and he's been talking up his little ground-plan of things to me. He's a clever little fellow, but he tries to square accounts by nutting the cash to balance on the same side of the sheet with all other entries and it won't work. The whole thing's right here, Kean (you know I've always been frank). You'vo gone straight and I haven't, and you're there and I'm here that's about the short meter of it. "You wouldn't even shake hands, I believe and I don't know as I blame you. But how was it? You were made cool and clean, without strong passion, and you got a straight start and went right along, square heel and toe. Oh, I know your score's true I've watched you when vou were off guard. But I'wasn't made or started that way. I was put in a broker's office when I was ten, to help my mother off of three dollars a week: ana I was smart at catching the tricks, and they used to laugh and coddle me when I played it sharp. But I played it a little too sharp for tnem afterward. I've been playing it on somebody ever since, and you can count my winnings easy they're all right here. It hasn't made any difference to you which side of the cent came up it was always 'Heads, I win tails, you lose,' with you. And it doesn't stand to reason to balance the profit and loss by putting more loss on my side, does it?'"

Kean did not respond to the implied invitation to shake hands, and his voice sounded stern, though he felt no enmity toward the poor wreck, but rather a deep awe towrard the author of all the strange issues of life. "Don't build on any such shallow sophistry," lie said. "You are very much mistaken if you believe that about me. You ought to know that if I have kept the straight road, as you say, it hasn't been altogether smooth or llowery. I advise you to listen to what the clorgyman has* to say."

Marcy dropped away then from his forced manner, whimpered a little and acknowledged that henad not deserved well of Kean, and declared that ho was going to make afresh start when he got out again.

Kean did what ho could for his com fort and came away, and in the morning they sent him word that Marcy was dead. ,,,

He had not asked for Edith, and Helen now sent her the first news she had heard of it. Kean came in from mak ing some arrangements for the burial, feeling tired and sore, and found Edith just arrived. Sho was flushed with a pained look. She turned on Clav: "Oh, why did you not tell me? You ought to have told me—I should have been with him!"

Kean wheeled away from her, and when Helen looked in his face sho turned sharply to Edith and spoke for him: "Be still, Edith! You don't knov what you aro saying. You have no right to reproach Clay."

Kean saw that Marcy was decently buried, with as little showing of liis own hand in the business as was possible. Edith knew, however, and one day later she asked his forgiveness for her ungrateful words. He easily forgave, but could not forget.

Helen pursuaded Edith to move into the city, where she could better help her

to

support herself and little Helen and the stream of their lives flowed on with a smooth surfaoe once more. Young Helen and Kean were fast friends, and by degrees he fell into the way of doing many friendly offices for the. girl and her mother.

One Decoration day he met them on their way to a neighboring cemetery, and went with thom. As they walked

among the white stones and green wards of tho sunnv slope, Edith stopped and stood forgetfully before a child's simplo monument. He saw that it bore a boy's nanio and the words, "Of such is the kingdom of heaven." And his thoughts went otr with hers to a faraway church-yard with a sweeter air and meliowcr sunshine brooding over it.

A day or two afterward he asked her ir she knew whether or not tlicro was a stone at her boy's grave. He told her Marcy had been going to have one put up when he left him after the fever. She did not know, and Kean offered to write and find out. Sho said she would like to know very much. Ho did write but it was some time before he reported to Edith, and then he simnly sent her two photographs in an envelope, one of tho church-yard with the little grave, and one of the stone, showing tho inscription with the same text as that which she had seemed to like. Sho spoke about it tho first time ho saw hor, saying that he was very good and the pictures were a great comfort, and remarking how much the inscription pleased her. Something more she had intended to sayf but could not to him but to Helen she expressed remorse toward Marcy, when she showed her the pictures and told her about

Helen spoke to Clay about it afterwited, and he became abstracted and forgot to answer a question sheasked him. When she repeated it more pointedly he laughed suddenlv and got up and went out.

With all the help Helen could manage to give Edith without offense, it was evident enough that she had a sharn struggle to live and keep Ellie at school. After awhile she came in one day upon Helen and Clay, as they sat waiting for George. She was excited and showed them a sum of money which she said she had received from the West, with the information that a like amount would be due her regularly in future. She had no particulars as to its source but, after thinking it over, she had no doubt that it was the proceeds of some mining investments which Marcy had made some years before. He had shown her a large sum of money at one time and told her he was going to invest it in her name. And she asked Clay to let her pay Marcy's funeral expenses now, asshe'had promised to do when able, and she put the money into his hands. He spread it on his knee mechanically

and sat

people in New

Druggists will supply one of "Potnoroy*a Petroline Plasters for 25 cents.

looking at it and after a while

he counted out apart of it, rolled up the rest, and returned it without speaking. Edith took leave quickly, and Helen went down with her.

When Helen came back some time afterward. Clay was still sitting where she had left him. He presently noticed that ahe stood looking at him, and he got up and laughed harshly, as before. He went out without speaking, and Helen found the money Edith had given him on the floor. When she offered it to him, he said: "Can't you spend it for them somehow? I couldn't touch it/'

He seemed a little hard for a time, but soon renewed his friendliness with Edith, consorting indeed much more with young Helen, for whom he assumed the right to buy books and the like, and with whom he renewed his youth by association in her studies and sympathy with her enjoyments and occupations, in which she let him share. In fact, a certain involuntary sternness came into bis manner toward Edith sometimes.

So they drifted on with the stream of the world. And by-and-by there came a great disquiet into all their hearts. Helen was not well thai she was lew well, and •till leas.

SMtM

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One evening George went out early and bade Clav take Helen for a walk. She still laughed nothing could subdue that dauntless spirit of hers. But as they went it made Clay's heart ache to feel how heavily she hung on his arm and how her feet lagged, weary and Slow.

It put him in a sorry humor, and he spoke to her more openly than he ever had of certain matters of his own. Ho complained that Marcy seemed to have been fated to pursue him all his life that even since his death he continued to curse him and fool Edith. "She has been canonizing his miserable memory, and it seems as if I could not turn my hand witHout helping to gild the false god she has made of him."

They were silent for a while, and then Helen said: 'Clay, there are some things I don't quite understand that I think I ought to know."

And she put question after question to which he answered yes and no. Edith was out of town, and on her return found an urgent message from Helen and wont directly. Helen was failing rapidlv thev knew* the end could not be far off. The houso was hushed and drear.

As Edith entered Helen's room softly, she sat propped up languidly trying to eat some waterv-looking food. She looked sadly wasted and faint, but the old light came into her eves, and she moved the dish toward her frieud with such ail expressive smile, and gesture of invitation to partake, that Edith could not help laughing, though both know that death looked on. Helen lav down then and rested awhile. Then she made Edith come close, so that she could hold her hands and look straight in her face. Sho lay still so a little while, and then sho said: "Edith, you love Clay."

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Edith turned white and then scarlet, and sank beside tho bod as if struck down and she cried: "Oh, Helen, do not put me to shame. Oh, I have sufl'erod." "Edith, listen," Helen pursued "I must speak to you. You havo felt remorse toward Charles Marcy since his death, and believe him better than you learned to think him. It's time you knew the truth he was a great deal worse than you evor dreamed. Ho was a forger and a thief. Evon in that first knavery of which he was so frank to you ho added lying to cheating ho did keep ono of the papers, a letter of credit from Clay, and lie afterward altered it and used it. Did you ever miss a pago from vour album on which Clay had written? Well, ho took that and erased all but Clay's signature and forged a draft on it and with the two papers ho robbed Clay again. That was what brought Clay to Franklinburg when you saw him. "And oh, Edith, the annuity you liavo had these years is tho income of what was left of 'Clay's Valley City property when he stolo tho rest, and which Clay would never touch till he ordered it sent to you. You paid him for the funeral expenses with somo of his own money. And Marcy did not put up tho stone to yourbov, but spont tho money which "Clav left for tho purposo. Clay had it put up afterward. I never knew all this till now. I made Clay toll mo tho other night." "Oh, Helen!" Edith cried. Sho was overwhelmed. Helen's phrases beat upon her liko groat wavos and washed awav tho sands on which she had built her life, and there seomed to be nowhoro any ground for her feet. She sat thero helpless and hardly conscious. Sho did not know that Helen pulled hor bollcord and gave a whispered message.

After a wliilo Clay came in. Edith did not move. He stood looking down at Helen sho lay with her eyes closed, thon looked up at him and smiled. "Clay," she said faintly, but with her old humor showing through all weakness, "I liavo been telling Edith how sho has been deceived in you, and ox nosing you to her in vour true character."

He looked at her with pain and reproach. Thon ho turned toward Edith. She sat in a low chair, downcast, with her hands outstretched In her lap. Sho could not get up, but she raised her eyes with painful constraint and said coldly: "I must have seemed very dull and ungrateful. I havo been very blind, but I am not ungrateful."

Her words and manner struck him with a chill pang. Ho turned from her and bent his head low beside Helen's. "Oh, Helen," he cried bitterly, "you must not leave me. My heart is broken sho might have spared me her gratitude. I shall come with you: I shall not live I"

Helen laid her hand on his cheek, the mere ghost of a hand now but her low laugh came still, and she chided: "Oh, you poor, foolish children! Must I do it all? Clay, there is one thing I have not asked her, and one I have not told her, one you must tell her and ask her yourself."

Ho searched her face eagerly, then turned toward Edith and no told hor with one passionate cry, and continuod: "I don't want your pity or gratitude, but—oh, Edith, Edith!*

Ho held out his hands to her, without going nearer and after a moment sho got up and came and put her hands in his and ho drew her slowly, slowly, as if across the gulf of all the bitter years.

And so there came into the house a great grief and a deep, still joy. And both dwell there yet and teniper one another after years have passed.

Edith came to live thero, and lessoned, as far as she might, tho irreparable loss of Helen's children and their lonely, stricken father.

Edith and (Hay go in and out with tho sense of a great peace having fallen on the world after along night of darkness and storm. They are not nearly so suro as thev once were that they know much aboutthe scheme of the world, but aro confident that their more pressing concern is that they should be faithful in little or much. And so, perhaps, it is for all.

The most astonishingly beneficial results have followed the use of Red Star Cough Cure by those afflicted with throat and lung troubles. Price, twenty-flvo cents.

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The former proprietor of Dr. Sage's Catarrh Remedy, for years made a standing, public offer in all American newspapers of $500 reward for a case of catarrh that he could not cure. The present proprietors have renewed this offer. All druggists sell this Remedy, together with the "Douche." and all other appliances advised to be used in connection with it. No catarrh patient is longer able to say "I cannot be cured." You get $500 in case of failure,

Itch and scratches of every kind cured in 15 minutes by Wool ford's Sanitary Lotion. Use no other. This never fails. Sold by Armstrong's Union Depot Pharmacy.* Warranted. 50c. tf.

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