Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 18, Number 39, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 17 March 1888 — Page 7

Lift

{Seffwn in The Meal Dee. 17A.]

•CHAFTKB mil.—AH KVCL06UBK VOB VALERIE.

"Mademoiselle, Colonel Beauregard wishes to know if it will please you to go •down to the drawing-room?" said Fanchon, who had gone to the dr essing-room door in .answer to a knock. "Ask Colonel Beauregard to oome In,

Fanchon," said Valerie, quietly, though her heart was beating fast and as Fanchon -opened the door and admitted the Colonel,

Valerie looked up, half laughing, half deprecating, in his face. "I meant to hare given yon the slip," she «aaid. "Indeed, rou need not hare troubled yourself though It is rery kind of you *to come." I "I said I would look after yon. Fairy •Queen, and you would be clever to steal a march on an old campaigner." "But I can walk. Colonel Beauregard— •much better with you than with Fanchon, •since you are so much stronger." "Well, you shall try."

He raised her up. and, slowly, leaning «on his arm, she succeeded in reaching the •corridor. "You see," she said, smiling "my sprained foot hardly touches the floor." "Yet even that little hurts you," said her •cavalier, gently, "though you try to hide it from me." "But a little

pain

He suited the action to the words, taking "her up in his arms as he spoke, Valerie yielding without fnrther remonstrance, as was best besides, she knew it made him •suffer to see her endure pain. "Thank you so much," she said, gratefully, as he gently placed her on the ground •outside the drawing-room door. "Thank yoti, Fairy Queen, for giving in to my man's weakness. It Is so cruel to «ee a woman suffer! but it was easier so, wasn't itf" "Much—much easier!"

Cruel to see a woman suffer! Yet she made him suffer, and for what?—as he must think. His words were a sharp stab •to her, though he had not meant them so.

Valerie on her couoh was like a queen on 'her throne they all gathered around her —all save Max Beauregard, who resigned her to others, and, while he talked with Mrs. Langley, tried to Bteel his heart .against the girl he loved so madly, and yet all the time he was vividly conscious of her •very change of expression, and listened for her worts or her lnugh.

And presently Lady Elinor, who had been watching her opportunity, beckoned her brother-in-law to her side, where she sat somewhat apart. "What is it, Nell, dear?" he said, as he -seated himself on the lounge. "Nothing very special, Max. Did you know that Constance Langley had a letter from Lawford this afternoon!" "How should I know? and what is it to me?" "With an enclosure for Valerie," continued Lady Elinor, agitating her fan gently, 'but glancing edgewise at the soldier's dark :face.

He turned to her with a half smile. "Well," he said. "Is that all?" "All! Upon my word, Max, I can't make you out!" "Hadn't you better leave off trying?" "impossible! I really began to think Valerie's wiles were succeeding you have been leading her to think so, anyhow." "I think Valerie can tnkecnreof herself, Nellie," said Beauregard, very quietly. "Certainly she can!" said Lady Elinor, trying to turn off with a laugh words whose meaning, as regarded hcraolf, was perfectly clear to her "no one better. Lawford Is, of course, resuming his offer, he can have nothing else to write to Valerie about. Mrs. Langley told me sho had the letters." "That you might tell me?" "I don't

know

HALF A TRUTH.

BY "THE DUCHESS."

but I only repeated this

for you sake, Max." "VraitncnU Well, by yonr leave, we'll talk of something else."

But, ail the same, the news was another iBtab to nn open wound. Had Valerie done anything to "lure this tassel-gentle back again," so that if she failed to win the greater prise she could still fall back on the suitor so remorselessly thrown over?

No, he would not think this of her but he did not doubt that Mrs. Langley had taken some such steps.

Was Valerie consenting? Had she read Aston'a letter, and was she holding over .a reply until she saw whether—even at the •eleventh hour—she would

score

a triumph,

and bring the owner of Abbot's Leigh to her feet, or close her visit to the Hall without succeeding in the object that took her 'there?

It was maddening even to ask such mental questions concerning Valerie and yet, horrible as they were, he could not quite dismiss them he could not say such deliberate calculation of chances was impossible to her and yet, there was ever the paradox which the girl presented to all that she had done—all of which she might (arguing from past acta) seem capable. She made

110

effort to win the man for whom

•he had abandoned a rich suitor (yet that might be profonndest coquetry) she was ••0 fresh, so pure, so innocent in her face no guile In her acts, in her looks, none of the arts of the coq- ette. Could design so completely, so successfully, wear the mask •of innocence?

No wonder these tilings perplexed Max Beauregard, lacking, as he did. the key to the truth—seeing only "through a glass darkly."

It was n6t till near the close of the evening that he approached Valerie's couch, jindaske^er If they should finish the chess-gain-• sometime to-morrow. "Yes," she sakt, "any time you like." "Nay, j»nt it the other way."

Valerie shook her head. "It would be all one to me," she said. "I shall hare to keep still, so one time would be like another, and ytm may only have a few times yon can call your own." "An ingenious plea for me—thank yon for it and if you are not Inclined to play when I ask yon, will you refuse?" •'But I shall like to ?lay anytime." -Suppose you irate reading a fascinating •ovel?" "I would prefer checs." "Very well, I see I must take you at your word."

So they rted for the nighk

The next morning Valerie's foot was mnch better and Max told her that another day's complete rest, and partial rest for a day or two afterward, would make "Richard himself again," though of course, she sould not walk any distance for a fortnight or more.

In the morning nothing was done but general pottering, of which Valerie was the center, and Mrs. Langley waited patiently tor an opportunity of seeing her niece done. It came at last, just after luncheon, when the girl had gone to her dressingroom to change her dress, and was resting her foot a little before going down again. Valerie looked up, vaguely apprehensive, is her aunt entered the room, but she said aothlng. Mrs. Langley sat down by the couch, facing her niece. "I hope your foot will be quite well by Saturday." she said—this was Tuesday— "as we bare to leare on that day." "Oh, it will be all right betore that!" said Valerie, carelessly, "Well enough, at any rate, to trareL We ore due at the Morton's on Saturday •veiling, you see."

'**»•*,

Yes. fQ,

Mr*. Lnngley drew from her pocket an •nvelop?. "I

receive!

doesn't matter. Colonel

Beauregard." "It does to me, very much," he answered: "Come, Fairy, let me carry you to the •drawing-room door, I will put you down there."

these letters," she said, "ves-

terday, while you were out. Read this." She placed an enclosure in Valerie's hands, and, rising, walked to the other side of the room.

Valerie looked at the address on the envelope, and the blood rushed hotly to her brow. Aston Lawford!

She opened the letter hastily, her fingen trembling, a bright scorn in her eyes. Not many words—asking her, begging her to reconsider her decision—she was still free—to give him some hope of winning her.

If Valerie had been the coquette she was believed to be, here was a triumph indeed to make her heart swell without an effort on her part, this man whom she bad cast aside so coolly for a higher prize, came back to her feet again—abased himself to the rery du»t before her.

But Valerie clenched the letter in her hand, setting her teeth hard to keep back from her lips the scorn that blazed in her dark eyes, that made her bosom heave, her whole frame tremble.

Mrs. Langley seeing that her niece had read the letter, came back to the couch. "Well," she said, nothing of the girl's aspect lost upon her, nor yet the crumpled letter still held in the little hand. "He is a constant lover, is he not?"..... "Lover!"

Valerie proved, by theTfiEfciUer In which she uttered the word, how much cont^tQpt can be thrown into a single word "What then, my dear?" "What then?" Valerie laughed, and tearing the letter up, scattered it on the ground. "Infatuated slave! Don't call such slavery love. This man believes—told me—that I befooled, tricked him, led him on—then threw him over for a more brilliant prize— and now he thinks I have failed to grasp that prize he comes back and grovels at my feet a spaniel would have more spirit —a whipped hound might have more pride!"

Heaven pity the man of whom a woman spoke with such ineffable scorn! Mrs. Langley grew white, and rose.' "I hardly thought, Valerie," she said, almost sternly, "that you would regard a man's devotion in this light! You are not just to Lawford!" "Don't talk of him, please," returned the girl, flinging back her head on the cushion. "If he wants an answer, you can tell him what I did with bi9 letter."

Mrs. Langley rose once more, paced twice slowly through the room, and came back to Valerie's side but this time she did not sit down.

The girl raised her head, and looked steadily in her aunt's face. She knew perfectly well what was coming, but $he ,did not speak.

CHAPTER XLIV.—TOO LATK.

"Valerie," said Mrs. Langley, "I am forced to put matters clearly before you, and it is better for both of us that I should do so. When you broke off your quasi engagement to young Charteris, you did so partly because you did not love him but also you saw the folly of a marriage between you and him. Then you gave Aston Lawford encouragement—and I certainly hoped to see you become his wife. Circumstances changed, and I made it no secret from you that your rejection, when it came, of Lawford was not unwelcome to me. But my hopes have not been realised. Let Colonel Beauregard think what he will of you, it was in your power to bring him to your feet the more that I believe he is far from indifferent to you. What your feelings for him are I will not ask, but certainly he is a man for whom many women would be willing to face even poverty, nay, Mrs. Dudley is not the only woman who loved him enough to count it happiness to have become his wife when he had nothing but his pay and a younger brothers portion. Yet, so far as I can see, there is no nearer prospect of my hopes and plans for you being crowned than when we first came here! and it Is your fault that this is so! I am bitterly disappointed in you, Valerie—more than disappointed! I have done everything for you, and you have repaid me by caprices you have earned the name of a jilt and for what? When you leave here it will be said of you that you threw over Aston Lawford for Max Beauregard, and that Max Beauregard's pride was proof against even your charms. Will you care to face society with Mich a repute as that? You, who carried all before you, a failure after all! And here," pointing to the torn fragments of the letter on the flow, "where there is triumph—a loTer scorned kneeling eg*fo your feet—you trample on it—spurn him a second time. You are making shipwreck of your life, Valerie I warn you before it Is too late to retrieve the past. Think also of me—I have aright to ask this—a rights to ask why 1 should be so disappointed in one tor whom I have tried to do my best— of whom I was justified in hoping so much."

After the first words of this singular manifesto. If so tt might he called, Valerie had turned her eyes from ber aont's face, and sat gaslng steadily into space but to fan never altered once—not even when Mrs. Langley spoke of Max Beauregard peraonally no color even for a second changed the livid pallor that qptead even to her lips her teeth were set, her

brow,

every feature, might have bee* hewn In

nuurSle, she never moved, only her bosom rose and fell with the slow, labored pulsation of her breathing, and her eyes slowed with adeep inward fire—the fire that burns like living agony in heart and sou!.

Se she sat for full a minute after her aunt had ceased speaking and Mrs. Langley, perplexed, almost frightened by the girl's aspect, yet knew not what to say or da How could her nature compass Valerie's?

Then, without turning round or moving so much as her hand, Valerie said, slowly, quietly: "I understand you clearly—quite clearly. I will answer. you on Friday morning." "ValerieP' exclaimed Mrs. Langley, "if I hare

Valerie lifted her hand. "I said I would answer you on Friday moaning, aunt Constance. Leave me alone now, please."

Mrs. Langley turned mechanically toward the door. Had her threat—it amounted to this—taken effect? Was Valerie about to re-consider her position? Whatever was in the girl's mind her aunt felt that a word more now might be dangerous. She simply bowed her head in acquiescence and left the room.

Then, with still that set, rigid look on her face, Valerie rose, went to her davenport, and sitting down, wrote, with unshaking hand, a letter. Its last words were, "Please do not write to aunt Constance. I ask you this as a special faror." The enrelope was addressed to "William Herbert, Esq., The Cottage, Welford, shire."

Valerie rang the bell, and when Fanchon appeared, her mistress gave her the letter, saying: "Fanchon, post this letter, please, at once, with your own hand. I can trust you. Let no one see it." "Bien, mademoiselle. Will mademoiselle now descend?"

FancbohVas little, and Valerie was tall, so the girl leaned on the maid's shoulder, and they went down to the drawing-room but as they were half-way down stairs the door of the billiard-room (which was near the drawing-room) opened, 'and Colonel Beauregard appeared. "Allow me," he said, springing up to Valerie's side and taking her from Fanchon. "Why, Valerie, you are getting on famoosly! I was just coming to see If you were in the drawing-room, and would care to finish our game." "I should like to very much," the girl answered. "Honor bright?" "Honor bright." "Shall I wheel the couch near the window?" said Max, when he had placed his young charge on it, and carefully and skillfully arranged the cushions behind her. "Please."

So the conch was wheeled near the open window, and the table brought, and the men set but all this time Beauregard had not failed to notice that something had greatly upset Valerie. She had learned to wear her mask well but Max had rery keen perceptions, and love sometimes brightens even dull perceptions. "I hope," he said, "I am not imposing on your good-nature. You must not let mo do that, Valerie." "You are not, indeed. I should hare to do something, you know besides, I want to finish this game." "But there would be other opportunities." "There might not be."

M«t

drew in his breath silently. "You must leave on Saturday, then?* he •aid, after a pause.

It was folly to prolong his pain, and jet the words fell from his lips, as it were, unbidden. "Yes," said Valerie, quietly, looking at the board as if studying the positions. "We have to go on to Lord Morton's." "And how long do you stay there?" "Till Thursday then the Collingwood's until the following Friday."

It was Beauregard's move. He made it in silence and at random. Valerie was thinking how differently would next Saturday evening be passed by her than anything her companion supposed. There was to be a ball, too, on the Monday evening, and anew ball-dress had been ordered from London, but Valerie would not weai it. She did not feel now as if she should erer wish to wear a ball-dress again. "And after the Collingwoods?" asked Beauregard presently. "Oh," she answered, carelessly, "I don't know what aunt Constance's plans are."

Max glanced at her keenly, and thought of Astoi Lawiiord's letter. Valerie had read it—vis debating whether she should accept tlu offer it made, or maybe intended to accept it. It was this that troubled her—this that made her ignorant of the future beyond a week or two or if not ignorant, reticent. The soldier set his teeth. She made of marriage a mere game of shuttlecock, let lore say what it would. If he—Max BeauregardVwonld not lower his colors to her, she Would not wear the willow. Why should shef#^

The game went on, Max galilk'g surely on his opponent, till by-and-by sllf^lanced up. "No use going on," she said. "I may as well resign. The game is jrours." "I think it is." But he said it coldly. Valerie looked at him again, covertly this time, and with a sudden, impetuous movement, swept up the game. "There was no need for that," said Beauregard, coolly, "since you had resi gned."

Valerie leaned back on her cushions, a little ashamed of her outbreak, but the fact was her whole mental atmosphere was charged with electricity her nerves were at a tension that would not bear much more straining.

Beauregard put the chessmen in their box and rose. "I am sorry I asked you to play," he said, in a changed, a softened manner. "I don't think you were In the mood. Can I fetch any book for you?" "No, thanks. I was as much in the mood for chess as for anything else. I am nqfc good company for anyone just now," she added, a little confusedly, feeling that some explanation was required, but assuredly not making it very happily. "You shall not be troubled with then, Valerie bat I don't think you ha' much chance of solitude here, If that what you wish.** "I didn't mean to be so rude as! Colonel Beauregard." said the poor ch biting her lip hard. "I know I can't alone, and I don't wish to be either. Ihalb been wonted, that's alL" "I know it, Valerie," said Beauregard, In a low voice "ami I think I know—I wish

He stopped, and turned away sbrnplyv crushing back the words on his tongue. He must not say them, be had no {light to M^tlkm-^iMnreoaMhttrait'' "I wish you would be tarue to your nature east off the dross, and let the

ITERKE HAITTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL.

gold come to the surface." No if he spoke like this how much more might he not say? And he could not counsel Valerie as a friend, for it was not as a friend he loved her not as a friend she regarded him.

The girl half divined the unuttered words, anu held her breath, trembling inwardly as she watched Beauregard cross the room.

He turned back in a minute or two, and paused by the couch, looking down on the girl. Her head was drooping she dared not raise her eyes to his. "I have no power to help you," he said, after a moment's silence, and his rolce shook "it is too late for that. And perhaps I may be wronging you, but if not

Steps sounded without. Beauregard bent down and laid his hand on the bowed gold* en head: "Oh, Valerie!"—what passionate pain there was in his voice—"you cannot bios out the past., but you might lire a nobler life in the future!"

He went out through the window on to the terrace as Angela opened che door and ran into the room. "What!" she exclaimed. "You alone, Valerie! I thought Max was here." "He has just gone out," said Valerie, forcing the words from her parched lips. "He is on the terrace—I think." "Thanks!"

Angela vanished, and Valerie leaned back, pressing her hands over her eyes. "Too late!—too late!"

Yes she understood him only too well! He lored her but he could nerer forget or forgire that her lore was tainted with ambition. She could nerer be to him all that he might once hare hoped for but she might yet be true to herself—might lire "a nobler life."

If she could tell him the truth, would he believe her Not now, perhaps. And only his hand could break down the "barrier between them—the barrier that first his honor and then her pride had built up. -1

CHAPTER XLV.—"YOU WILL KHOW BOOK."

"Valerie," said AmyLinwood's roice, an hour later, outside Valerie's dressing-room door, "are you alone!" "Yes—come in."

And Amy stole in. One look at her flushed face and spark* ling eyes, and Valerie held out her hands. "Dear old Amy," she said, "Iknowwhat you hare come to tell mej"

Amy knelt down by the couch and put her arms round Valerie, Riding her face. "Are you glad?" she whispered. "You know I am. I saw how it was long ago, Amy."

Amy looked up. "Long ago!" she repeated. "When?" "Oh! last season," said Valerie, laughing. "Don't color so, you silly darling there's no harm done." "No," r& turned Amy, laughing, too. "And mamma likes Hal she doesn't mind his not being rich. I left him with Colonel Beauregard though of course he knew?" "I should think he did! Where were they?" "On the terrace. Why?" "Nothing only I thought Angela had been with Colonel Beauregard." "Perhaps he executed some strategio movement and got rid of her," said Amy, merrily. "She had best gire up her chase he doesn't care for her one at6m." "Nerer mind Angela," said Valerie, quickly. "I want to hear about you." "What am I to tell you? I only feel awfully happy and I wish you did," said Amy, in an altered tone, and laying her face on Valerie's shoulder again.

Valerie started and laughed in something of the old reckless way Amy had heard before. "Why do you think I am not happy?" she said. "You can't be—and you don't look it." "Look it? Just now-cno how should I?"

Amy

raised her head and looked earnest

ly in her friend's face. "Why do you say 'How should I,' Valerie You are in trouble ab rat something, and you won't tell me." "Hare I erer told you anything, Amy? What's the good it on ly. worries yon and can't help me. Now you'ie looking grare when you ought to look like sunshine! Fancy coming to tell mi that you are the happiest girl alive, and then fretting over me." "Don't talk like that, Valerie," said the other, her eyes full of tears. "My happiness can't make me indifferent to your unhappiness."

Valerie turned aside her boeom heaved. "Why do you care so much?" she said. "You know what I anj you know how little I am worth anyone's love!" "You ard not unworthy of love, Valerie you hate the very part you play you have not the courage of yottr intentions." "I know what you. mean, Amy and it would be no good if I had. You arethinking of—of Coionel Beauregard." "Yes—forgive nze, Valerie." "There's nothing to forgive you can only judge, like the jfeat, by what you see. And yet, after all, IiEm a failure. I have not the courjjgarbf my intentions, you toy, or what wemed my intentions." '-vWere they not, Valerie? Were you not. at any rate, consenting?" "Which is the same thing, isn't it? What does it matter

what

I intended, or appeared

to intend? There will be an end of It all soon—rery soon," she said, clasping her hands above her head. "Valerie!" said Amy, startled. "You are talking very strangely." "YouH understand me in a few days' time. Don't ask me any more questions. I couldn't answer them." "I must ask one or two, Valeria. Angela said you had heard from Aston Lawford." "Who told her?" "Lady Elinor. Did he write to renew his offer, Valerie?" "Yes." "And you—you won't dream of marrying him?" said Amy, earnestly. "No I won't marry Aston Lawford. I haven't answered his letter, and I don't mean to." "I am so glad to hear you say that, Valerie. Bat Mis. Langley?" "I have never followed aunt Constance's lead," returned Valerie, coolly, "and I am not likely to begin now. You open your eyes—mentally I mesa you think she had planned, and I have consented. Have IP You will know soon. Amy. But I have followed my own lead from the beginning, and I shall follow it to the end." "I don't understand yon, Valerie you are talking to enigmas," said Amy, putting herarms ronnd her friend agaiau "I must try and be patient but this I know—that you are not happy." "Never mind," said the other, restlessly, "let me live in your happiness, Amy talk to me about yourself, and your dear old Hal. When are you going to be married, and where will you live? and tell me everything you can think of."

So Amy obeyed, and stayed with Valerie

till tea-time, when she was dismissed, Valerie herself having tea sent up to her she would oome down to dinner, she said but she wanted to be alone for awhile.

Ana

Bhe

lay still, in a kind of dull agony.

There was nothing to be done—nothing! The miserable misunderstanding must go on to the end. How was she to live the life that lay before her? Truly her life hitherto had been a failure, though not as Constance Langley would understand the word.

And Amy, running down to the drawingroom, greatly dreading the chaff, met Max Beauregard. "Fairly caught," he said, holding out his hand, and smiling at her heightened color. "Why, you are not afraid of me, are you?"' folding the girl's hand in both his own. "No, indeed, not of you." she said. "I wouldn't mind even if you chaffed!" "It is

very

good of you to say that but

indeed, I had no idea of chaffing. I want to tell you how very, very glad I am that you are going to be the wife of my dearest friend." "Thank you from my heart," said Amy, gratefully. "I know you mean what you say, though I don't deserve it but I will try to deserve it!" "Try! It wouldn't be easy to change you for the better, Amy. Well, I must not say too much, or Hal may take me to task I hope he isn't anywhere near now!" "Oh, Colonel Beauregard!" cried Amy, laughing merrily, "now you are chaffing!" "About Hal, yes not about you that was sober truth, on my honor as a soldier. Now you may come in to tea, if you like. I dare say Hal is wondering—not very resignedly —where you have been all the afternoon." "I have been chattering with Valeria." "Young ladles' confidences. Is she not coming down?" "Not until dinner tlma."

She glanced up in Colonel Beauregard's face, but could make nothing of it. Just outside the drawing-room doorshe paused, and saM, pleadingly: "Dou't let them tease me too muoh, Colonel Beauregard, will you?" "I will protect you," said he. smiling, "like a veritable knight-errant, if you will give me my guerdon—to be paid bo forehand." "For fear I should cheat you? But knights-errant never sought reward." "Not in gold: but what I ask Is more priceless than gold—this."

He bent down smiling, and just touched his lips to her brow—a brother's kiss. "Dear old Hal's betrothed is my sister, you know," he said. "I am so happy that you should feel so," said the girl, her face radiant and then he opened the door and led the fugitive into the drawing-room.

Valerie appeared at dinner, and was, to all outward seeming, as brilliant as ever and in the drawing-room afterword her soft laugh was often heard. Sho sang some of her best songs, aud one might have thought the girl had never shed a tear. Yet she knew Max Beauregard was not deceived her acting was not for him, but for the others and all the time her heart was throbbing like the throb of a minute-bell tolling the passing hours. Tomorrow—Wednesday, then one day more, and then the promised answer and that answer would be the fiat that parted her from Max Beauregard forever.

And when she went up to bed—having scarcely exchanged half a dozen words with Max the whole evening—Fanchon told her in great delight that the ball-dress had arrived from London, and was a "poem!" Would mademoiselle try it on? "No," said Valerie "It will tire my ankle, to-night. To-morrow morning will do."

Bat Mrs. Langley came in to see how the dress fitted, so Valerie gave in and submitted to the draping process

The dress was made in most artistic fashion—artistic as painters, not &s dressmakers, understand the word—and seemed all lace and silver as it fell around the girl's slender form—a fitting robe for the Fairy Queen. The thought came into her mind with inexpressible bitterness but it all seemed to her like a rehearsal of a play never intended to be put on the stage. She would never wear the dress. Why worry her with it, and go into ecstasies over it? "Take it off," she said at last, impatiently, to Fanchon. "I am tired of standing, and I hate having things tried on." "Mademoiselle has not even looked at herself!" remonstrated Fanchon, ruefully. "I am dressed for other people to look at," returned her mistress, carelessly. "There! bundle the thing away, and take these," pulling off her bracelets and flinging them on a couch. She had dropped into a fanteulL Her aunt came near to bid good nigfit. "You don't s^nv^uito yourself to-night, my dear!" she said, in a low tone. "Don't J?" replied the girl, with a half laugh. "Do you mean this evening, or just now?" "Just now." "Ah, I thought so. You always call the mask the face, and the face the mask."

And of that reply Mrs. Langley had to make the best she could but that "best" was not very satisfactory. Certainly Valerie was an enigma.

Friday dawned with the promise of a glorious day and Valerie, who had scarcely slept during the night, rose before the sun was fairly above the horizon. She dressed quickly, and then began moving about, opening drawers, and taking out sundry articles, which she put altogether in one drawer, previously cleared oat for the purpose. They ware entirely personal souvenirs thus collected—photographs, nicknacks. bought on the Continent out of her own pocket-money, and such things. Jewels were not touched, nor wearing apparel. "I will tell Fanchon by-and-by,M the girl said to herself, "what clothes to pack. The jewels are not miner'

Her face was white and resolute while she went about her strange task, her eyes dry and tearless. One large box mads of satin-wood, inlaid with silver, she took la her hands with a special and reverent care, and was about to put It in the drawer with the rest of her treasures, when she paused —hesitated—her face changed, and suddenly, with trembling fingers, she drew out her purse, and took from it a little key. With this she opened the box, and a faint sweet smell of flowers roes up. Tenderly she removed a dainty lace handkerchief, then some silver paper, and there lay a boquet of faded flowers, still in their fiagree holder. Almost holding her breath, Valerie lifted the boquet from its bed, and laid it against her lips then, suddenly, she put it down on the table before her, and dropping on her knees, burst into a storm of pssrionste weeping that defied all efforts of self-control. With all her stqpngth she strove to check her sobs, but it was In vain the tempest would have way, and only ceased when it had exhausted its victim bejoad the gowsr of weeping any more.

"I shall be stronger now!" sho said, drearily, to herself, slowly rising to her feet, and almost staggering to a

fauteuA

near, into which she sank, weak and trembling. "Stronger—much stronger—better able to say good-bye to him. Oh, my heart! If it would only cease achingl" She stretched, out her hand for the flowers, and laid, them in her lap, looking down on them in passionate woe, as if they had been living things. "Max!" she said, softly, and now th* rich color mantled over cheek, and brow, her breast heaved, her breath came, quick and short, "you love me!—yes!—you love mel Oh. Heavens!" She clasped her hands over her eyes with a smothered cry "and yet we must part! you cannot help me—it is too late! I cannot blot out the past bait I can live a nobler life in the future and

(ft *1 QwMwtfc)

oommencod utinit according to directions fwasonceafta

and used half doren bottles. way st

hare done no wrong—I have done not wrong! Oh, will no roice from Heaven, whisper the truth to him, and save us botit from this misery!"

She rose by-and-by, and put the flowers back in the box again, though not till she had kissed them many times, then she locked the box, and placed it in the drawer and locked that also. "The rest are in town," she said "I must see to them later!"

It was by this time nearly eight o'clock^ but Valerie remained in her own apartments. She knew Colonel Beauregard was always about early, and she had no intention of meeting him alone. When she heard others moving about she left the room, and descended to the breakfast-rooaa first assuring herself that her face told tales.

Only Beauregard, Dallas, and Amy were down as yet, and the two latter were oak on the terrace the former remained discreetly within the room, and read, or seemed to read, a paper, but he threw it down, as Valerie came in, and went forward toe greet her.

In Love's Harness.

Most women naturally look forward

tt»

matrimony as their proper sphere in Ut^ but they snould constantly bear In mind that a fair, rosy face, bright eyes, and ft healthy, well-developed form, are the best passports to a happy marriage. All those wasting disorders, weaknesses^ "dragging-down" sensations and funo* tionallrregularities peculiar to thelxsex* have an unfailing specifio in Dr. Pieroe*tt Favorite Prescription. It is the only medicino for women, sold by druggists, under a positive guarantee from the manufacturers, that it will give satisfaction in every case, or money will be refunded* This guarantee has been printed on the bottlo-wrapper, and faithfully carried out for many years.

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Mr. IX B. Adam*. Union. Sooth OwtoUb% write*: I v«i Doted with terrlbto CMS

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various kinds of remedies, but reoelvedjw substantial relief. I finalur tried the Swtfs Bpeolflo, and about tour Dottles oared as sound and well."

Col. a H. Kieser, editor sad proprietor of the Opellka, Ala., Times, under date et August 8, 18ST, writes: "When I was a young man, through Indiscretion, I ooa traoted a disease which has stuck te me for years. Some five or sU 7*s» sinoe I was troubled with pains, so as make It dlffloult for me to walk. Hartaadvertlsed the 8,tS.f yean, I concluded there was any efflcaoy

ir me to walk. HaThur S. InmypaperforseTeru I would try It to seeS taojr in the medielne. I

1 the

god, 11 feel now like"* yming 'min and catTgo to the oase when necessary and set up fromiU* to eight thousand enu witbout any lncoa•enienoe. I send you this without solicit* tton.

Mr. 7. Wochl, 911 Horth Avenue, Chlcaguy under date of June 13, 1887, writes: "Ide&a It my duty to thank you for the care I rs oelved from your excellent medicine. .1 contracted a Tcry serere case of blood poiso% lag about two years ago. Bearing of you* medicine, I went to a drug store, the proprietor of which persuaded me to buy

mtmrfttlon of hit owe, which be Mid wm a sure cure. I used six bottles of his {tuft and grew worse all the time. At last 190S disgusted and despaired of a cure, I meta friend who told me that your medicine bad oared him. I went to the samo dnij

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again and demanded your medicine. He reluotastly sold me twelve bottled, and 11 now perfectly cured. I write this for tho benefit of sufferer*, to prevent their being deceived by false representations. I thank yoa again for the benefit derived from your medicine."

Dr. J. N. Cheney, a prominent phrsioten, residing in Ellaville, Schley County, Georgia, fa a letter recounting tbe Infallible, suooees he has In curing contagious blood polsoa cases in his extensive practice*, writes •Those who know the almost lnpvluble, peimanently dangerous effects of mercury will welcome your dlsoovery of S. 8. S. M» toon to humanity. The medical profession, always wary of proprietary mcdlclncs, la coming slowly, ana in some ca»Mi secretly, to tbe use of S.S.8.in cases of wxl disorder. Of course a medicine that cures poisoning In its worst form must purify tha

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