Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 18, Number 35, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 18 February 1888 — Page 7

HALF

$MtZ (Begun in The MaU Dec. I,7*A.]

A

CHAPTE XXX.—"LORD OF ABBOT'S LEIGH.

"And Max Beauregard is lord of Leigh." "Valerie heard the words, but not their ..sense. She was quite stunned, and stood staring blankly before her, with not yet even a definite thoughtof how Max would feel the loss of his brother. The blow was r*o sadden, so utterly unexpected, so entirely without warning*. A man in the vigor of his manhood, scarcely even ailing -at the time, struck down within a few hours in the morning dangerously ill—no wore in the evening—dead!

And Valerie was young to the young sudden death is always appalling. Only experience can familiarize with these catastrophes which seem to shake and rift the fabric of human existence. The girl had heard of death—read of it she had never met it face to face. On the battlefield sudden death is but in the order *f things. Here it was the crashing overthrow of all the order of nature and, agitated as she already was, this terrible news came upon the girl with the force of a -calamity.

But Mrs. Langley was fifty years old, and of a wholly different temperament. To say that she diet not feel the blow in .-any degree would be to do her injustice And she might have felt it more keenly but for the serious worldly issues following upon the death of General Beauregard: but •Constance Langley was, before all things, worldly, and—in her way—ambitions.

Even in the first shock of the intelligence, the facts that Max Beauregard was now •owner of the broad lands of Abbot's Leigh, and that Valerie had received an ofTer from Aston Lawford, were present to her mind. Indeed, when that day she had heard that Gerald was dangerously ill, the thought at once came: 1 "If he should die, then Max will be a leading man in the world." And all the way home her busy brain was revolving possibilities for Valerie's future. Beauregard, Lord of Abiiot's Leigh, would be a match with which Aston Lawford, ironmaster, could not •compare. The Beauregards had great •estates in their own county and elsewhere, and all the prestige of ancient and illustrious family and Colonel Beauregard had personal charms of a high order, and personal fame. What a future lay before Valerie if only

And lo! possibility had become more than probability! Mrs. Langley rose to her feet, and looked At her niece. "It is very shocking—very dreadful!" she aaid, slowly. "Poor Elinor! and she has no son!" She removed her bonnet and mantle, and began to take off her gloves. "And Max," she added—"he will feel it, Although the brothers were not much together, and had few tastes in common. Still they were always the best of friends."

Valerie sat down by a small table near And bowed her face in her hands, choking with sobs which she tried to keep back. Ah, how bitterly Max would suffer! He would have no thought of the vast change to worldly fortune this death made to him.

Mrs. Langley did not speak. She waited until the girl had recovered herself somewhat, and then she said, gently: "Valerie dear, whon you can attend to me I want to speak to you."

The girl lifted her head and stretched out her hands with a passionate gesture. "Oh, auntie," she cried, "you must not 1)0 angry with me to-night I 1 could not Tear iti" "You are too sensitive, child. How do .you know I am going lobe angry?" "You will be—you must be—but speak to me to-morrow." "I promise that I will not scold you for Anything to-night, Valerie. But answer my question. What did you say to Aston Lawford "I told him," said the girl, resolutely, "that I could not be his wife"—Mrs. Langley started, and drew a quick breath of relief—"because I did not love him," Valerie went on, fully believing that she was piling up for herself terrible wrath for the morrow. "Oh, aunt Constance, I know I have been wrong, but I did not think he really cared for me. I begged him to forgive me, but I could not marry him. I would die sooner! People will call me false—a Jiltthen they must. I know I told you that 1 loved the world, and couldn't marry Louis because he was poor it was the old terror of being charged with another love that made her say this—"but I didn't know what It would be to marry Aston lAwford."

Mrs. Langley, sitting In an arm-chair opposite, leaned her elbow on the arm, shading her face with her hand and even when Valerie ceased speaking, the listener did not move.

The girl rose and stood before her aunt, clasping her little hands. together, and (hough she spoke falteringly, there was not a line of Irresolution in her face. Fragile stripling though she was, her will was set like a vise and the man or woman who hoped to make her yield her ground would have been blind Indeed. "Aunt Constance," she said, "I know you will think me ungrateful, and you thought it would be a great thing for me to be Aston Lawford's wife but I cannot obey you in this—whatever happens. can go back again to the country—to uncle "Will's." "And marry Lonts Charterte?" asked itfrs. Langley. quietly, without looking up.

Valerie's Hps opened for a quick "No, no —not that!" But in the instant she check•ed herself, tor the thought Hashed through her brain Uke lightning: "She thinks I love htm. tf she discovers I do not* she •will say, *You love someone elsef

She was silent* Then Mrs. Langley dropped her hand And rose. "Let us say no more about it to-night, Valerie," she said. "To-morrow, perhaps, or later, may speak to you. But of this 2 can assure you—I shall not send you back tnto the country. Now, good-night."

She kissed the girl affectionately, and •Valerie went wp to her room with a feeling of bewilderment, "What could it mean?" she asked herself. Mrs. langley had promised not to be angry with her to-night bat she did not se«m even much displeased, and she had so set her heart on this marriage. "Does she imagine," Valerie thought, "that I will yield?"

But for a time her brain felt dfatsy and confused, and she could not tbink disti»c^ ly. She waa, however, terribly excited, and felt that el«pjro*ld ha an tmpoast-

TRUTH.

BY "THE DUCHESS.".

bility. So when" Fanchon left her, she wrapped a dressing-gown about her, and sat down, leaning her throbbing temples on her hands.

Her thoughts were growing clearer now, more defined. In the quiet of the night they traveled to Abbot's Leigh, and saw the death-chamber with its tall tapers, and the soldier, stern and calm, in his silent watch by the dead. Long time they dwelt there, and then they came back to the question that had perplexed her.

Had the shock of the terrible news from Abbot's Leigh softened Constance Langley's heart—for a time at least? But that connection of ideas was the flash of revelation. The news from Abbot's Leigh! Gerald's death made Max owner of all!

With the smothered cry of a wounded creature the girl fell on her knees, hidjng her face from the light in shame and anguish.

Was

this it?—that Aston Lawford was to be cast aside for Max Beauregard? The words, not understood at the time, came back to Valerie, and beat upon her brain with pitiless clearness: "And Max Beauregard is lord of Abbot's Leigh!"

Yes, even in that dread moment, Constance Langley, almost in the presence of deuth, thought of the gain of that death, nnd grasped the gold that fell from the stiffening fingers. "And he will think that I, too, schemed to win hirn, in the very hour that I knew he had wealth. Oh, Heaven! he will think even this of me!" Valerie moaned, the burning tears forcing themselves through her fingers. "Oh! how can I bear it? what shall I do? If I could only die! He will know that I refused Aston Lawford on the very day—in the very hour—I knew his brother died! What else can he think but that I am the base, wretched schemer I seem to be? Why should he believe better of me after what he knows already? Oh! the shame burns into my soul—that she should want me to win him after all that has passed—to win him, of all men on earth!"

What could she seem, to Max Beauregard's high sense of honor, better than the hapless creatures who sell their souls for money? Only the Mayfair market is licensed by custom and to the other market custom gives no license, and no open recognition. "I wonder," the girl whispered to herself, drearily, when, hours later, she lay, too utterly exhausted by the tempest of passion that had shaken her, to even feel strongly, "I wonder if he will ever know that I was true and faithful, and loved him from the first, just because I loved him? Oh! it would have been better—far, far better—if I had never known himl"

CHAPTER XXXI.—FOR HIGHER QUARRY.

The sudden death of Gerald Beauregard was, natnrnlly, the theme of conversation in West-end clubs and drawing-rooms the following day but he, personally, scarcely loft a gap in society he was not often in London, and when he was it was only for a short time, and he went out very little his tastes were for the country, nor had he the brilliant qualities which make a man generally popular in London circles.

The event which so abruptly cut off Gerald from among the living was felt rather in its relation to the well-known and favorite younger brother than as a loss.

Already ambitious matrons and maidens began to speculate on the chances of securing Colonel Beauregard, whose laurels were now so richly gilded. At the clubs, and among army men generally, a conventional sigh for "poor Gerald Beauregard" was supplemented by a more or less openly expressed satisfaction that the family honors had come to "Beau." "And I suppose now," said Frank Travers, in the morning-room of the Rag, "Lady Angela Musgrave will be brought forward Lady Elinor was always afraid of Beau before, and kept her sister out of the way but honors change other things as well as manners!" "And Mrs. Langley," added another officer, "she'll surely throw Lawford overboard, and enter Valerie Herbert for the Beauregard stakes!" "Rather late in the day for that!" said Travers, dubiously, "and Bean's just the man to be utterly disgusted with such open tactics." "Still, I'd back a match-maker like Mrs. Langley for. anything. Beau's far and away the best match of the season now, and the girl is not likely to object to the change of owners. The girls are all in love with him as it is and pretty Mrs. Dudley almost made him an offer of herself and her ten thousand pounds a year!" "Likely enough! But who told you?" "Lots of fellows—not Beau, yon iaay be sure! Well, what'11 you bet on the Langley voUe-factT' "H'm! I won't go more thana sov.!" "Done! Shows you're rather doubtful, old man!" ......... "I own it!"

Three days later the two men met again, and the young officer who had offered the bet held out his hand, laughing. "Kowthe& eld man," he said, "fork out!" "I suppose there's no doubt?" said Major Travers, producing a sovereign. "Not the least—it's in all the clubs!" rereplied the other, as if this fact sufficiently endorsed any statement, "and I heard that Mt«w Herbert refused Lawford, either the day or the day after the news of Gerald Beauregard's death reached London. Not bad that, for a young campaigner!" "IPs a regular jilt," said Travers "the Lawford marriage was as good as settled. But, by Jove! she's a glorious creature for such a fellow as Lawford! Hell cut up rough about it lie's made a fool off'

And it must be owned that Aston Lawford had some good ground for "cutting up rough," as Major Travers elegantly expressed it, though his first feeling was one of utter amassment—amassment which foar some moments deprived him of all power speech.

He was stOl sitting In the drawing-room with his sister—when Valerie's letter was brought to him.

His cheek flushed, and his hand actually shook, as h* took the letter from the salver. "From Valerie Herbert," he said, half turning toward Miss Lawford, who, it may ba stated, had never approved of the proposed. alliance, regarding Valerie as a heartleaslUra, and even darkly hinting that »o giddy a wife wouMhaidly be very trustwgrthy.

8

He opened the letter, expecting, of course, a grateful acceptance, and as he read he went livid.

Refused! Impossible! There must be some mistake! He read again but there was no misreading that plain and straight refusal.

He sat staring at the page, the pallor in his face changing to a purple flush while his sister watched him in intense anxiety, and at last broke out with: "Aston, what In Heaven's name is the matter?" "What!" he said, stifling to his feet, crumpling the letter in his clenched hand, and dashing it to the floor, "Valerie has refused meP' "Refused you?" "Ay, refused me! After all that has passed—after leading me on—after the whole world has pronounced it, and justly, almost an engagement, this petted, pampered beauty of eighteen coolly tells me that she can't marry me, because, forsooth, she doesn't love me! Ha, ha!"—he threw back his head with a harsh laugh—"and begs me to forgive her for having trifled with me. But, by Heaven!" he went on, beginning to pace the room, "I'll bring her to her knees! I warned her to trifle no more and in spite of that warning, she is simply trying to coquette—to make me beg and entreat! Refuse mc! There isn't a marriageable girl in society who would not t&ank Heaven for an offer from Aston Lawford!" "Aston!" pleaded his sister. "Does that child imagine," he went on, not heeding her, "that I am to be made a butt of—jilted, as if I were a trumpery lad, fit to hold her gloves or fan, and dismissed when he is done with She must have written that letter without her aunt's knowledge. Yes, surely," he added, pausing, and speaking a little more calmly, "Mrs. Langley has been out all day. Va­

lerie

only had my letter in the afternoon, and Mrs. Langley could scarcely have reached home before the servant who brought this answer left Why, then"— he flung himself into a chair—"the matter is soon settled. The girl, if she means refusal—and I don't believe she does—will soon have to yield."

A knock at the door, and a servant entered. "Please, sir," said he, handing a letter, "this has just come from Whitehall Gardens."

Lawford opened the letter quickly, and read aloud: "SIR: "I have, with great grief, to inform you that a telegram arrived an hour mo from Colonel Beauregard, to say that Mr. Beauregard died at eight o'clock this evening. "Your obedient servant, STSFA* "JOHN WITTER."

A blank pause. Then Miss Lawford, who had started into a sitting posture, said slowly:

"Aston, themeaningof Valerie's letter Is clear. Mrs. Langley dictated its purport, if not its terms. You are

Aston Lawford sat looking at his sister —listening to her without offering to interrupt When she had finished he rose to his feet "I understand it all!" he said, grimly. •'You are right And does that girl think she will make Max Beauregard believe such a transparent falsehood?" "Such a girl as Valerie, Aston," said Miss Lawford, truly enough, "can make any man her slave if she chooses. But she is as worthless morally as she is beautiful outwardly. Tear her out of your heart!" "Ay!" said Lawford, fiercely, "but I will take care Max Beauregard knows to the full what manner of woman it is who intends to spread her net for him!" He stooped and picked up the crumpled letter. "Beauregor I shall see this!" he said, and without a rd more he went out of the room, needless to say, .banging the door after him.

Mr. Lawford waited until late the following day, and then he wrote to Valerie. He owned, he said,that her refusal, after the undoubted encouragement she had given him, very much surprised him but he was willing to accept the decision as final, since he could not fall to see the motives which dictated it Certainly he would not desire to place his happiness In the hands of a woman who permitted herself to be all but engaged to one man, and on the very in* stant that another—hitherto ignored because he was comparatively poor—attained unexpected wealth, the first lover was ruthlessly thrown over, in the hope of gaining as a suitor the man who took higher rank in the social scale in addition to his wealth. Possibly Miss Herbert might find that she had grasped at the shadow and lost the substance and for the rest, she would have done well to omit any pretense of rejecting him (Lawford) because she did not love him, since love had no part or lot In the question

With lips parched and hot, and dry, tearless eyes, Valerie read that letter once, twice, thrice through, every word searing her heart as with a hot iron—not because, in truth, she deserved it, but because she seemed to deserve it. "It hi not chivalrous—it is not generous!" she said, within herself. "Max Beauregard would never have written like this to any woman. It is cruel and yet, if I were the wretched fortune-hunter Aston Lawford must believe me, it is not more harsh than I deserve. I will not stoop to denial. A girl sunk so low as I seem to have sunk would hardly hesitate at a falsehood to save her credit with her new prey. What does it matter?" She rose up and flung out her right arm with a reckless, defiant gesture. "Let all the world think what it pleases call me jfllt. fortune-hunter, anything! Sine* he most despise me—hoM me shameleas, mercenary, heartless—and yet I live! how should I care a jot, though the whole universe cried shame upon aef

CttAPTKBXXXn.-TALEKIE'SOTTEROrO.

Not a word of her new plana did the Jo» dtetoos Mrs. Langley breathe to Valerie. That potnt-htank refusal of Mr. Lawford's suit had considerably startled aunt Cantand she .felt convinced that, in her

FETORE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

Bimply

thrown over for a better catch—for Max Beauregard!" Aston Lawford turned and looked at his

"It is true," she continued. "Mark me! Colonel Beauregard would telegraph direct to Mrs. Langley, as she is so great a friend of Lady Elinor, she would have the news as spon, or almost as soon, as they had it in Whitehall Gardens. Valerie's letter was written at once, and sent quickly, so that it might not appear so operil/y to jilt you for Colonel Beauregard. Now Mrs. Langley and Valerie can say the girl wrote it before she knew even that Gerald was ill and Valerie would easily convince Colonel Beauregard of the truth of this— though on the face of it, it is a falsehood, for she would not, in the first place, dare to refuse you without her aunt's knowledge or sanction and, in the second place, why Bend the letter so late at night—why not earlier in the evening—or to-morrow?"

present mood, Valerie would breathe defiance, and might even rash back to Weiford, or run away with Louis Charteris,

Things should be left to take their own course and as Max Beauregard was a particularly attractive man, instead of being, like Lawford, a cumbersome addition to his world advantages, the desired match might come about without any ostensible wire-pulling.

Nor did Mrs. Langley ask if Lawford had written and when Valerie briefly told her that he had, and that the letter was destroyed, the elder lady expressed no annoyance. She had no wish to force forward the subject she had at heart, and she was infinitely relieved at escaping an interview with Lawford for, to do a dishonorable act is one thing to be convicted of it, face to face, another.

Many a well-known face was missed from Henley Regatta, for not a few among the "Olympian circles" boasted connection with the ancient house of Beauregard and friends, too, held aloof, for on the last day of the regatta Gerald Beauregard was buried at Abbot's Leigh, in the grand old Gothic chapel where slumbered so many generations of brave and fair Beauregards.

Two days previously Lady Elinor had written herself to Mrs. Langley, asking her to be present, and Mrs. Langley went "I almost wish," she said to Valerie, "that Elinor had asked you, too but you are too young for such a sorrowful scene, and of course there are so many." "I would not have gone if I had been asked," Valerie answered, briefly.

Mrs. Langley scarcely liked the tone in which this was said. Was the girl going to prove a failure after all? But the diplomatist said no more.

But when the flowers which Mrs. Langley was going to take with her were being packed, Valerie, looking very white in her morning garments, came in, with an exquisite cross of the loveliest flowers that taste could select "Aunt Constance," she said, her dark eyes full of tears, "will you take this with you, and ask them to lay it in the grave?" "Oh, Valerie!" said Mrs. Langley, under her breath, "what a perfectly beautiful cross! Where did you get it?" "I bought the flowers, and made it myself." "My dear Valerie, no florist could have surpassed this! Elinor, and Max, too, will be very pleased that you sent it!

And for Maxthat cross had beert made, with many tears and infinite tenderness of care. "Ask them to lay it in the grave," th§ girl had said. It might be that Max's own hand would lay it in the grave among the hundreds of floral offerings from relatives, friends, tenants, counting it less worth than any. Never mind it was a precious offering from heart to heart, though only one heart knew it it might wither and die, yet it would be deathless lost, forgotten, in the multitude of Its fellows, but one day, when death was no more, Max would know. -When Mrs. Langley reached Abbot's Leigh she was shown into Lady Elinor's boudoir, where the widow, in deepest weeds sat alone and by-and-by, when Lady Elinor had wept abundantly, and explained how all had happened, and how Max had proved himself "the best of nurses to his brother, and the best of brothers to her (Elinor), Mrs. Langley opened her boxes of flowers, which had been brought into the room for Lady Elinor to see and as she did so there was a gentle tap at the door, and Colonel Beauregard came in.

He looked somewhat haggard and stern, and perhaps even paler than usual but he was not a man to wear his heart on his sleeve, and so there was little outward change. "Flowers?" he said, when he had greeted Mrs. Langley. "This is kindl" "And oh, what an exquisite crossl" said Lady Elinor, clasping her hands. "Ah, that," said Mrs. Langley, "is from Valerie. She made it with her own hands, and begged me to 'ask them to lay it in the grave.'" "Dear child! how kind! how thoughtful!"

But Max said nothing. Was he, too, pleased and touched? Mrs. Langley could not tell. He was bending over the flowers and when he lifted his face it was unrevealing. "Isn't it a lovely cross, Max?" said his sister-in-law, turning to him. "It is perfect," he answered. "Let me take it, Nellie, and this wreath." He raised the two offerings from their snowy bed, and went out of the room, and took his way to the chapel.

Without it was still daylight but day was banished from the chapel by tbe heavy violet draperies but there was light at the altar, and just below the chancel steps stood the bier, and on it the coffin, with its rich, emblazoned pall, six tall tapers at the

head and six at the foot The air was heavy with the scent of flowers, and on the coffin they laid so thickly that nothing of the surface of the pall was visible.

The watchers withdrew as they saw the tall form of Max Beauregard coming up the nave.

He paused by the bier, and reverently laid the wreath at the coffin foot then he moved slowly to the head, and stood some minutes without moving. What passed in the man's heart In those mfnutes, perhaps no other human heart would ever know. Presently he bent his head and kissed twice, thrioe, the cross he held, and laid it at the coffin head, side by ride with another cross, his own offering.

After that he knelt a few moments, covering his face, then rose, and went oat of the chapeL

And the next morning, when the funeral was over, Mrs. Langley went among the crowd of mourners to look down into the grave but now the flowers reached almost to the surface of the pavement, and Valerie's cross was hidden far down beneath the fragrant heaps. Where had Max Beauregard placed it yesterday evening?

Mrs. Langley returned to town the same night and though it was late when she reached home, she was ready to tell (yet not half so ready as Valerie to hear) all that had passed at Abbot's I*igh. But tbe girl took care so to place herself that her face was hidden from her aunt

Who, she wondered, had laid her cram in the grave? She dared not hope that It had been Max himself. "I was never," said Mrs. Langley, "at such an Impressive cenmsdaL It tried me very much indeed.** After proceeding with various details, the lady went on: "Elinor was a good deal affected when I first saw her but, Valerie, she was deeply touched by your offering. Colonel Beauregard said nothing until Elinor appealed to him, and then ha Mid, 'It is perfect? But he took it and a wreath of mine and left the room. Elinor had said nothing, expressed no wish. He mart have taken tbe flowers to tbe chapel but the grave was almost filled up with flowers when I looked, so I don't know where he put your

Vaitfrie was sOsnt her heart stood stfU

with emotion. She had never dreamed of thin—that

M»T

Bhould select her cross, and

with his own hands carry it to the chapel. He would not have laid it on the coffin, among the offerings of the dead man's nearest aad dearest but he must have had a tender thought of her to do as he had done. Yet would he not regret this when he knew of her answer to Aston Lawford? "I don't know what Elinor means to do," Mrs. Langley said, presently. "She said she could not stay long at Abbot's Leigh but of course Mm must remain for a little while, so I think he will take her abroad for a time, when things are settled but he will come to London first—Elinor seems to depend on him very much. For us the season Is virtually closed, and in a week or two we might go to Italy. I shall have to decline all invitations—as a friend of Elinor's and the family generally one could not well visit this autumn—at any rate, not until September." "Oh, no, no!" said Valerie, quickly "and it would be nicer to go to Italy." "And do you more good, child. Yes, we will go."

So right and left sped letters from Mrs. Langley to friends at whose country houses

she

and Valerie were to have visited, excusing their inability to keep their engagements on account of Gerald Beauregard's death and there was not a little grumbling among the men, because the beauty would be absent from houses to which not a few had accepted invitations only in order to meet her.

CHAPTER XXXIII.—LOVED ONCE—LOVED EVER

"Dallas, old fellow, welcome! it always does one good to see your face." So Max Beauregard spoke, rising from a tablo In the library in Whitehall Gardens, said tablo being covered with letters and papers. "But are you not awfully busy, Beau?" asked Hal, as the hands of the two men met in a close clasp. "Busy enough but it would be strange if I couldn't spare you half an hour or more at any time. True friends are scarce, you know! Sit down—there's no hurry!"

Dallas seated himself, and Beauregard resumed his place at the table. "And how is Lady Elinor?" asked Dallas. "Tolerably well." He knew that Lady Elinor's grief was not deep-seated but he would not have said this even to Hal Dallas. "She Is still at Abbot's Leigh, and as soon as I can leave England I am going to take her abroad for two or three months." "That will do her good," said Dallas. "I called in Upper Brook Street yesterday, by the way, and Mrs. Langley told me that she and Miss Herbert are going abroad, most likely until October or early in November." "For so long?" said Beauregard, with a touch of surprise in his tone. "Only three or*four months," replied Dallas. "They don't leave until next week." "I didn't mean that, Hal," returned the other, moving a little so as to cast his face in shadow "but the Lawford affair." "The Lawford affair!" repeated Dallas, staring "haven't you heard, then?" "Heard what?" said Beauregard, quickly then checked himself abruptly, and added: "I have been two days in town and have seen no one except on business. What is there to know?" "Why," said Hal, looking down and changing color a little, "that's all off. Everyone in town knows it."

For a minute there was a mist before Beauregard's eyes. The hideous thought those words of Hal's conjured up

could

not crush

the passionate gladness that made his heart throb so wildly. However freedom had come about—whatever the motive that had made Valerie snap the meshes that surrounded her—still she was free. She was not his, but she was no other man's.

But after that minute Beauregard had mastered himself, and said, quietly: "It was Valerie who broke off the match, of course? When?" "Well, one doesn't like to believe such things of any woman, Beau, especially such a bewitching creature as Miss Herbert but I don't know it looks awfully black. Look here—you won't mind my saying—in fact, it's what a good many are saying, naturally enough." "Go on," said Beauregard, a little huskily." "It's this, then," said Dallas, reluctantly, but bravely be was beginning to fear greatly what he had once or twice suspected, that Max Beauregard's interest in Valerie was deeper than was consistent with his own happiness. "I'll tell you the facts, and you must draw your own conclusions." 'Stay,'' said the soldier. "Who told you the facts?" "Aston Lawford himself. The day your brother was taken ill Lawford wrote to Mills Herbert asking her to be his wife. She had the letter in the afternoon. Mrs. Laiagley, who had been lunching and diningj with some friends, called at the Lawfoid's in the evening rather late, and they told her—she had not known it before— about Gerald's illness. She left them and went straight home. About half-past ten —after Mrs. Langley could have reached home—a letter came to Lawford from Miss Herbert decidedly declining his offer. He had hardly read the letter when he had from the head butler here the news of Gerald's death, which, the writer said, had arrived an hour previously, and which Mrs. Langley and Miss Herbert must have known before that refusal was written, or at any rate sent and Miss Herbert would surely not have written and despatched such a letter on her own responsibility."

Beauregard sat motionless only the heaving of his breast, and the locked sternness of his features told what he was enduring.* If he could only have believed this to be some wretched gossip! And yet it was, after all, consistent with all that had gone before. She bad thrown over Louis Char* terts for Aston Lawford. She had given him (Max Beauregard) clearly to understand, the first night he met her after his long absence, that she had learned bow to appraise younger sons. Was it anything beyond belief—was it not only natural, that when the younger son became a great landowner, and, socially, a more valuable property than the ironmaster, the latter was, in his torn, thrust aside to make way for the "better match?"

V»T SPOKE

at last, though even than not

without an effort "It is the old story," be said, with a flitter "of the Indian girl and the corn, though the ending may not be quite the fMmm She may fall back on the ironmaster after alL" "She's certalnlynot worthy of you, Bean,** •aid Dallas, earnestly, "though it's likely eMmsh thatsheisfondof jobber way." "Maybe," said the other, ^th strange quietness "that is, all other Jungs being equal she would

prefe

"Beau, old comrade, Heaven help yon if you care for this girl." "Careforher? Great Heaven 1 Butnol'* He rose hastily and walked through tha room. When he came back a minute or two later, and threw himself into his chair. again, Dallas saw that his lips were livid, and the drops of agony stood on his brow. "Hal," he said, hoarsely, "forgive me but I can't speak of it—even to you. No, I am not vexed—don't think that only there are some things that must be borne quite alone. Let this be a sealed book between us, Hal." ff?

Dallas stretched out his hand and clasped the hand of his friend in silence. That was alL But the younger man knew now that for Max Beauregord the die was set forever. He would love Valerie Herbert to the latest hour of his life and no other woman would ever fill his heart, no other woman would ever bear his name. To Dallas, unworthiness was the slayer of love the wound might be long in healing, but it would heal at length. But Max Beauregard was differently constitute*! for him there was no "lov'd once given, his love could not be recalled or crushed it could deny itself, nay, did not even dosire possession, rather than accept poverty in return for its boundless wealth its strength made it exact strength but it had the curse of immortality. What evil Fate brought it about, Dallas asked himself, that such a man as this should fling away his heart on such a girl as Valerie Herbert—the creature of an hour—in form an angel, in heart, a more deooroua Phryne!

{To be Cont§NU6d.j

-J. New York, August 1,188(1. 1 '12 E. 27th Ht.

DR. J. C. AYEK & Co., Lowell, Mans., Gentlemen: A souse or gratitude and the desire to render a service to the public impel me to make the following statements:

My college career, at New Haven, waa interrupted by a severe cold which so enfeebled me that, for ten years, 1 had a hard struggle for life. Hemorrhage from the bronchial passages was tlio result of almost every fresh exposure. For years I was under treatment of the ablest practitioners without avail. At last I learned of

Ayer's Cherry Pectoral,?

which I used (moderately and in small doses) at the first recurrence of a cold or any chest diillculty, and from which I invariably found relief. This wsa over 25 years ago. With all sorts of exposure, in all sorts of ciiinateB, I liavo never, to this day, had any cold nor anv affection of the throat, or lunga which did not yieid to AVKU'S CHJCBHT pKCTOnAL within 24 hours.

Of course I have never allowed myself to he without this remedy in all my voyages and travels. Under my own observation, it has given relief to vast numbers of persons: while in acute rasee of pulmonary intiammation, such as croup and diphtheria in children, life has oeen preserved threii^li Its elTeets. I recommend its use in light but frequent doses. Properly administered, in accordance with your directions, it is

A Priceless Blessing

in anv house. I speak earnestly because I feel earnestly. I have known man* case# of apparently confirmed bronchitis and cough, with loss of voice, particularly among clergymen and other piibllo speakers, perfectly cured by this medlr,

ne.

thc"'jiijwARDS

'_r~

i§

sjfpfc

"Othello's occupation's gone." He used to spend days and nights cursing the fates and the rheumatism. Now he only lies down and laughs to think how easily he was cured by Salvation Oil, at 4 25 cents.

Wm. H. Vanderford, Esci., Editor, of the Democratic Advocate, Westminster* Md., writes, that he has used Dr. Bull's Cough Syrup and knows it to be a good medicine. By it. Buy it. 25 cents.

Something for all the Preachers.

Rev. H. H. Foirall, D. D., editor of the Iowa Methodist, says editorially, in the November (1883) number of his paper: "We have tested the meritR of Ely's Cream Balm, and believe that by a thorough course of treatment, it will euro almost every case of catarrh. Ministers, as a class, are afflcted with head ana throat troubles and catarrh seems more prevalent than ever. We cannot recommend Ely's Cream Balm too highly." *-1

English Spavin Liniment removes all Hard. Soft, or Calloused Lumps and Blemishes from horses, Blood Spavin, Curbs, Splints. Sweeney, Stifles, Sprains, Sore and Swollen Throat, Coughs, eto. Jj Save$50 by use of one bottle. Warranted. Sold by W. C. Buntin, Druggist, Terra Haute, Ind.

Hon. C. Edwards Lester^

Late U. S. Consul to Italy* author of "The Glory aodT" Shame of England," ."America's Advancement," etc., etc., etc.* writes as follows:—

LESTER: 'r

Ayer's Cherry Pectoral,.

Prepared by Dr. J. C. Aycr lie Co., l/owcll, Mm. Sold by «ll Drugglala Mid De»!«r» in M«dldM»

KIRK'S

FLOATING SOAP

THE CHIEF

I?or the Bath, Toilet and Laundry. Snow White and Absolutely Pure. If rovr

tiHiH

^measaaappendsga

to wealth and status to another man. Better a wife who offered no love atall J«sa a wife whose love can compass treason, if treason can fill her

han4f

with gold.

d«sl«r doc* not kMp WWW Cload Soijb

MDU

for Mmpl* e&k« to tfc« natei*

JKS. S. KIRK & CO., CHICAGO.

W mromLMEB PARTS

at OM My «Bl*r»*d aad ttnmgtbmU. atas (m*M) tiM. nu Mm OO,