Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 18, Number 40, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 24 March 1888 — Page 2

i"-

Begun in The Mail Dec.

The girl shrugged her

VALERIE

5 5 CT1 APT KB XLVI.—VALEniB'8 CHOICE. It was a very keen glance Mux Beauregard gave Viil.Tic, and his hand closed over here with unconscious fore as be u'e her Kood-mornin?. "Taou^h!" he aldel, gently, whether will'nlly or not, still keeping tier hand in ht«, on don't look as if yon had slept wt U, Fulry Qjeen!" "No, I did not!" she answered, trying to speak carelessly, and failing, wishing, too, that he woull drop her hand, and yet glad that he held it "but a bad night now and then does no harm." "Perhaps not—now and then!" said Beauregard, gravely. Then seeing the change

In her face, he added, quickly, "Forgive me, Fairy I suppose I ought not to have said anything beyond the nsu.il greeting. My role of surgeon is over, your foot seems quite well!"

He released her hand as he spoke, and turned away. Valerie answered him: "Yes, I feel as if 1 could walk mflssnow: and it was kind in you to say the other." "Kind iu me: why?" He dfew her to a low chair, and sat down bv her. "Rather, why not?" "Kind to take any interest in you, is that it?"

Mrs. Langley was not down to breakfast but when the young people had drifted out onto the lawn, and someone suggested tennis, Valerie being asked, said she could not join. "1 shall be busy this morning!" she said. ss"Amy, do^roukuQWlf auut Constance is up?" "Yes! Writing letters in her dressingroom." "Thanks! Then," said Valerie to herself, "I will go to her now!" She paused, and her face softened. "Poor aunt Constance!" she addel, with a heavy sigh, "she nnant well by me, but she has mf^e shipwreck of my life."

She went on to her nunt's dressing-room, 1 and knocked at the door. "Come in!" cried Mrs. Langley, seated at her davenport she turned round, and the sight of Valerie's face puzzled her.

Was the girl come to throw down the gage of battle, or to make dogged submission? Valerie closed the door behind her, and came forward. "Are you busy, aunt?" she askeJ. "No, my dear. Do you want me?" "Why, yes, to give you my answer!"

She paused, leaning against a cabinet a couple of yards from where her aunt sat. Mrs. Langley looked at the girl as she stood, her hands behind her, her head a little thrown back. The attitude was gracefully nonchalant, the face set like a flint there was a quiet consciousness of power, which might be called calmness but Mrs. Langley saw and felt that the girl was not inwardly calm. The woman of the worli, however, betrayed no apprehension, as she said, gently: "I hope, dear Valerie, you have thought the matter over, and will answer me carefully!" "Thought the matter over!" repeated Valerie "I did not need three days for that, not three hours, nor three minutes. I only deferred answering you because I thought it best to wait until we should be leaving this place. My mind was made up before you had done speaking the other day I "Valerie!" "Stay! aunt Constance," the girl stood erect now, "I don't want to speak ungratefully, or with any lack of respect but let me explain myself. You have meant kind ly by me from the beginning, but your kindness was mistaken—at least for me some girls would appreciate it b.'tter. 1 am not flitted to be a success, as you understand success. I am a failure and a discredit to you, and so matters have come to a crisis!" "Valerie!" cried Mrs. Langley, "you are talking wildly. What do you mean?" "1 will tell you what I mean. You spoke plainly enough to me the other day, aunt Constance you must let me speak plainly to you. You wanted me to become the wife of Aston Lawford, because he was rich my heart was to have no part in the bargain. You encouraged him, you did all you oould to bring about a marriage but the Instant Max Beauregard became owner o? Abbot's Leigh you were ready to throw a over Lawford, and urge me to fly at the higher quarry. I refused Lawford because

I did not love him. I did not know even is that Gerald Beauregard was ill, mad you— when you knew 1 had sent the letter, reI joked. Instead of rebuking me. Yon I thought I fell in with your scheme you 1 thought that when we came here I would 1 do my best to win a man had neglected when he had only a younger brother's por1 tioa. The world called me jilt already how should it judge otherwise? How should it know that I care not one Jot or

tittle

1 fe~

for wealth? What!" as Mrs. Langley roe* to her feet, actual bewilderment in her fn** and mien, "yon are beginning to understand me at lsat but hear me out I 1 was 'capricious'—that was your word I 1 would not try to win Colonel Beauregard then Lawford oame back to my f«**» and I tore his letter into fragments and than you told me that I was a failure that must ohooee between MAX Beauregard

HALF A TRUTH.

BY "THE DUCHESS."

17tA.T

Bhoulders,

and

like a Bu ldea flash that reckless look came into her face, fitte laughed, and ro^e to her feet. "Ohl I only spoke conventionally," she ai said.

Beauregard rosa, too, turning de.vlly white. A moment he paused tie 1 he put his hand oil the girl's shoul I jr, and turned her with gentle force round to him. *'Val?rie!" he said, in a low vole?, "you did not mean what you said hist. Come! your hand again, we must not be othez than good friends now, whou you are so soon going you know I must always have an interest in you, Fairy Queen, for the sake of old times!"

His voice broke a little he turned away abruptly, and stepped out onto the terrace but Valerie moved slowly across the room, and sat down. She felt dizzy—suffocating but she would be better presently. The old times!—the old happy times! if one could only forget—only forget! Oh! the curse of memory, when to remember is but to ba stretched on the rack.

Valerio, Lady Elinor thought at breakfast, meant to put a good face on the failure with Max, for she was brilliantly gay, and rattled nonsense, as if she had never had a care in her life. Had she made up her mind, after all, her hostess wondered, to put up with "the iron man?"

qyt Amttm Lawford that I feiMLwIi Max that it hid!

'K I V€

Beauregard if 1 chose, and if 1 did not choose, I should be doubly branded as a jilt so I must fall back upon Lawford, pick up the rejected lover who was grovelling at my feet, or you would wash your hands of me!" "ValerieJ—girl—are you mad?" exclaimed Mrs. Langley, passionately. "How dare you so take me to task? You utterly forget yourself!" "You do deny, then, that you put that alternative before me?" asked Valerie, quietly. "I ask you to be reasonable. Good Heavens, Valerie, do you willfully fling away a splendid future?" "Which splendid future?" said the girl, with fine irony. "The fplendid future Max Beauregard can give me, or that which Aston Lawford offers?" "I cannot answer you when you speak in that manner, Valerie!" "Very wel.! Then there is not much more to be sal I. I will not marry Aston Lawford. and I will not throw myself at Max Beauregard's head. The alternative you gave me I accept, and if you had not given Itl would havj taken it. I wrote to uncle Will when you left me the other day when I leave herj to-morrow I shall go back to him!"

You will go back to your uncle!" repeated Mrs. Langley, as if she hardly comprehended the words. "There is nothing elss to be done!" returned Valerie. "Aunt Constance, you think me ungratefu' I am not. 1 know

you

wls!ied to do the best for me. as you understood it, only your ideas and mine ure at variance. As to what the world will say of me, that can hardly touch me at Welford."

Valerie!" cri?d Mrs. Lnngley, "this is preposterous, impossible you are flinging away your life, blighting your future past redemption. What can be thought—said if you go away like this into the country? We have engagements that cannot be broken It will be said that you have simply gone off in chagrin because you cannot get Max Beauregard!"

Ungrateful—deceitful!" she said, through her teeth. "You have deceived me wickedly. Valerie. You told me that you did not care for Louis Charteris, that you never had cared for him, and I sometimes hoped that you did care for Colonel Beauregard more than you chose to admit, and that pride or caprice made you obduiv ate but in your heart you are clinging to that old folly and you regret ever having thrown over young Charteris—regret it the more now because your own folly has hardened Max Beauregard against yon. I understand you—you can go your own way, I wash my hands of you!"

She flung the girl's hand from her, aud turned away, walking stormily to the other side of the room. Valerie had stood perfectly still, not blenching at the cruel words that burned her like fire, though she grew as white as the gown she wore. She was even relieved by the accusation which spared her the dreaded charge of the truth. Ungrateful, deceitful, chagrined by failure, and falling back on a love spurned when Ambition was in the ascendant—was this it? A half smile flitted over the girl's lips. Well, better so better all the world should think this of her than that the woman who falsely accused her should say,

You love Max Beauregard, and because you love him, you hide your heart from him, and go back into exile!"

Valerie turned toward the door without a word as she laid her hand on the handle, Mrs. Langley spoke once more: "You have no answer?" she said, sternly "Yon do not contradict me?" "Nol" Valerie satd "I have no answer!"

She opened the door, and went out, going straight to her own apartments. There, twenty minutes later, Angela Musgrave came up to her. They were all going tor a ride, would Valerie come also? But Valerie feit this was impossible, and excused herself she was busy, she said, and Angela went away, secretly not displeased. Her pleasure was short-lived, for, on returning with Valerie's message, she heard that Colonel Beauregard was not going. "He had letters to write, he said," said Travers. "So we most do without two of oar party?' "I shall try and persuade him to oome!" exclaimed Angela, and she ran to Ben tire gard's study, which was near the library, and being admitted, tried her persuasive powers, but in vain. "I am sorry," he said, "but Indeed I can't come tL2s morning, Angela!" "Valerie isn't coming, either!" pouted Angela. "Isn't she?" said the soldier, indifferently, though his heart gave a sudden hound. •'How do you know?" "I asked her live minutes ago, and she •aid she was busy. You iwm'tcome, Max?" "I prefer to say cant."

And with that answer Angela had to dapart. Beauregard, alone onoe more, covered his face. "I will not go today," he muttered, "because I could not endure to be with her, knowing how soon we must part and now that fate puts in my hands the chance of seeing her alone, I am ready to meet the temptation. Yeal it may be madness, it madness but if can see her—if but for one minute alone—I will, nwutf

CHAPTER XLVTL—TH* WHOLE TBTTH. Valerie paced up and down her room tor half an hour after the riding-party had deputed. Sbe felt as if the world had dissolved aroaad her, even her uncle, she knew, would be vexed, if not angry with her, for having so made shipwTeck ot her life. But the die wee cast—there was no help posts her immediate need wn* to •chool and mien to meet the others the luncheon tabte without betraying that she was in any trouble. The mask moat •till be worn, howcm hitter the suffering

my

9

"What do 1 care for that?" said Valerie, with a reckless laugh. "Since he believes that I came here to win him, can there be any worse shame? For your sake 1 willgo with you, if you like, to London and you can make any excuse you choose for my not fulfilling my engagement to the Mortons. From London I go back to Welford. I wish to Heaven," she said, clasping her hands, passionately, "that I had never left itl"

Mrs. Langley's face grew hard, desperately hard: Valerie's last words, misunderstood, seemed to blot out all kindly feeling from her heart. She walked straight up to the girl, and grasped her wrist.

TEREE HAUTE SATURDAY EVENING MATTi

"Perhaps 1 had better have gone with them!" she said. "One cannot, when nlrmo, keep from thinking. But I could not he with him—no, I could noti I must read—anything to lessen this mad beating in

brain, this sickening pain at my heart—or I shall go mad!" She left the room, and went down to the library. She would be safe from intrusion there die knew Lady Elinor and Mrs. Langley never went to the library, and everyone else was out.

The great bouse seemed very silent as the girl flitted down the broad stairs but that was better than merry laughter and cheerful voices. She passed into the library, a room that Beauregard loved, and which she would have loved for that reason alone, if there had been none other.

This would ba her last visit here, she said to herself, as she moved slowly round the room, touching the books tenderly now and then. She would see it again often, in her waking thoughts and In her dreams, but never as now.

The burning tears that gathered in her eyes warned her, she took up a book at random, and went and sat down in a low chair, laying the book on her knee, and opening it mechanically. What was it? A copy of Schiller's "Piccolomini." Valerie turned to the fly-leaf, and saw, in Beauregard's free, bold hand, the name, "Max Eustace Beauregard." She looked down at that name till 1c became blurred and dim then she kissed it reverently, and began with trembling fingers to turn the pages. It was something to touch whafche had often touched.

Ahl What was that? Who was that? The girl started like a guilty thlug, bearing the door-handle move. One of the servants, perhaps, flashed across her as she looked toward the door, or had Mrs. Langley been speaking to Lady Elinor, and Lady Elinor

But Valerie got no farther than that, for the door opened, and she saw the tall figure of Max Beauregard.

The girl drew one breath and stopped her heart seemed to cease beating. If one word would have snatched her from the presence so ineffably dreaded she could not utter it. She was for a moment paralysed.

Beauregard closed the door, and came forward, and as he did so Valerie rallied. What strength came to her she never knew it must have been the sheer terror of self-betrayal, yet her voice did not eound to her like her own she looked at him, but not at his face. 'Col. Beauregard!" she said "I thought you were out with the others!" "No," he said, pausing. "I told them I could not go but I thought then that you were going. Angela told me afterward that you had stayed at home."

Something suppressed and constrained in his voice made Valerie's heart turn sick with fear it crossed her, too, that he had heard her enter the library, and had sought her. Why did he do this? It was cruel!

Still not daring to look at his face, she laid her book on a chair near, and rose. "Yes," she said, trying to speak carelessly, but hardly succeeding. "I was busy, and I 'Are you going to run away from me, is that it?" interrupted.

Beauregard, laying a

light touch on her arm. "Don't do that yet, Fairy Queen. I heard you enter here, and I came—to say—to say good-bye!"

He took her hand in his, folding it dose ly in both his own, looking down on thi lovely face with such agony ty his dar' eyes, that if she had seen it she must hav lost utterly the self-control that his clinging clasp, the pain in his voice, had wellnigh robbed her of, "It is hard," he said, and his lips paled even as he spoke, "to say good-bye and it may be perhaDs years before we meet again!" "I suppose It may be!" the girl said, in a mechanical, passionless way "or perhape never—that would be best!" •Why do you say that, Valerie?" said the soldier, almost sternly. "Tell me one thing: you are not going toglye yourself to Aston Lawford?" "No!" she said, suddenly wrenching her hand from his hold. "I have not sunk quite so low as that!"

She made a quick step forward to go, but Beauregard did not move. "Valerie!" he said, under his breath, forgive me—forgive me!"

The girl stopped, and,half turned toward him. "I have nothing to forgive!" she said, chokingly. "You have always been kind to me, Colonel Beauregard let me than* you now—and go!"

Still he did not move—did not speak—nis face was

aBhen

white he strove hand to

hand, foot to foot, with the passion that was burning in his veins like molten fire— melting even his iron will as iron is melted in the urnaee.

Valerie's lips moved there was no sound, but he saw that they formed the words "Good-bye and it needed only this. As she turned away once more Max Beauregard flung himself before her, and caught her in his arms, locking her to his breast in an embrace that left her powerless, even if die had had the will to strive with him. covering her face with passionate, despairing kisses. He had courted temptation, and it had mastered him. In those wild moments everything was forgotten, swept away like gossamer, everything but the

love he bore this girl blotting out the sin he had told her oould never be blotted out wrecking t»6 stern resolve to trample his heart in the dust, rather than to accept love lees pure than he gave. Onee fcefore he had tasted the joy, the anguish, of holding to his breast the woman he so worshipped but then she was unconscious she knew not that his lips touched her brow, her heart gave no answering throb to his but now his kisses were pressed not on her brow only, but on warm lips that trembled under his it was no senseless form he held to him, but one that quivered with the fnll MBWIWIIBIWT of the lore enfolding it. Yes, for those few moments even honor Was forgotten—honor that should have stood between Max Beauregard and the woman he loved, yet would not make his wife it was the one irresistible impute: "I have gone mad—I love you!" and terrible, when it came, was the shock of the revulsion.

Valerie, who had so clearly, by act if not by word, told him the value she set upon a comparatively poor man—who had been ready to sacrifice her youth and beauty for wealth, and east that, too, aside when the man aece despised became a more dealt** bie "match"—it was this Valerie

1M

was

holding to his heart with such passion of loves whom he was claiming as Us one ireat earthly treason.

He kneed his clasp, be put the girl from him, and flung himself into ehair, oovarlaghtofhea. -Oh, Heaven!" la mattered, haamsly, **I whs mad—mad, Forgive me, ValertaL ttyopsaa. tooa*de%lyj mesriber (to* I

loved you ay. and I shall love you while I have life—love you beyond the grave!" But Valerie was blind and dlzxy with joy so great that it was almost a terror. Max Beauregard loved her! She knew it now, knew it by his own confession his clasp, his if words had been unuttered, had unsealed her lips, had given her the right to break down the barrier between their lives she could tell him the truth now Ah! but would he doubt her? She had moved a step toward her lover, but at this unhappy

thought

she shrank back, sinking into

the chair from which she had risen. Her trembling hand stole into her bosom, where her talisman rested if she showed him this would he not believe?

Beauregard dropped his hands, and, rising, approached Valerie. Her head drooped, the burning color suffused her face. He laid his hand on the back of the chair, and bent down to her, speaking low and brokenly: "I asked you just now," he said, "to forgive me. I have no right to ask that—I have done you a great wrong, it was madness to seek you I should have tetter known my own weakness and yet Oh, Valerie!" he said, passionately, 'if you could love me for myself alone—if even now—but no! the test is wanting. If I could strip myself of all that dazzled your eyes—if I could ba once more what I was, when you unconsciously won my heart from me—then 1 might know, but now it Is too late! You love me ay, I knew it When I held you this minute in my arms ad my lips clung to yours but not as I jve you. Oh! my darling—my life,'' lower the bright head drooped, the girl's face was hidden in her clasped hands, "if you had been true to yourself, true to the nobler nature you have never wholly crushed if you had known

how

I loved you, Valerie,

almost from the first, almost from the day I carried you through the rain in my arms! Your image was always with me on the battlefield, in the camp, by day, by night waking, dreaming, you were with me still. I heard your voice I felt the touch of your hand your dear eyes looked into mine, and 1 grew to hope that those dreams might yet be reality. Your love for Louis Charteris was but a girl's love for a boy. I dared even to dream sometimes that I had perhaps sowed in your heart the seeds of a deep and lasting love. It was happiness to imagine that you sometimes thouscht of me, sometimes wished for my presence and when at last I came home, oh! the bitter—bitter awakening! You met me—ohl no, I cannot speak of it!" He turned aside pressing his hand over his eyes. "It is my punishment that I love you with all my strength, ay, though I know that yon would have sold yourself to Aston Lawford, and cast him aside for my sake in the very hour that made me owner of the broad lands of Abbot's Leigh."

A

Now Valerie sprang to her feet "and faced him her eyes taet his with clear, fearless gaze but her lips quivered, her whole form trembled with the passion of emotion that possessed her. "No!" she said "you wrong me you have wronged me from the beginningl" "Valerie!" "It wa8.my woman's pride that forced me to seem all that I was not," she went on, not heeding him. "But I may speak now I may tell you the truth, for I know that you love me your own lips have told me! Stay! hear me out, and then her head drooped, the crimson rose to her brow, voice faltered "if yeu can take me to your heart again she broke off abruptly, her hand stole into her breast once ^mor«b her voice sank lower, but she spoke passfonately, "It was you who taught me what love was, Max it was you who showed me clearly what I had only felt vaguely, that it was only a sister's love I gave to Louis Charteris. When I rejected his flowers for yours, it was not only because you had been kind to me—I did not know it then—but—but I knew afterward, and I kept those flowers I have kept them ever since, and a few of them I kept apart—here —always—day and night, on my heart!"

The flush of shame was on her cheek the last words were scarcely whispered, for though she knew this man loved her now, she had not known it then.

-t.

She so loved him even then, so treasured his gift, so wore it on her heart—alwaysl Beauregard had almost obeyed the Impulse to clasp her once more in his arms, but he mastered it, setting his teeth. She might have loved him, and yet given heed to ambition.

Valerie went on, not raising her eyes, her hands pressed on her bosom now. "When you were away in Egypt, my heart was with you you hoped that I sometimes thought of you. I thought of you always you liked to imagine that 1 wished for your presence I longed to see you again, as a woman can only long to see the man she loves. I treaafured every line that was published about you, If only your name was mentioned. I did not know at first that I loved you I did not think all this was disloyalty to Louis. It was one night, In Paris—that she stopped. "No—never mind," she added, hurriedly. "Go on!" said Beauregard, huskily, still mastering himself. "Go on—tell me allall!"

Valerie sank Into a chair, dropped her clasped hands on a table near but after a moment's silence she went on, falteringly, with changing color, not once raising her eyes: "It was one night, when I saw in the evening papers that you had been made Colonel, and I was so happy—so proud! I— I had a picture of you, one I had bought, aud I used to look at it often and that night I went to my desk for it, and there was a letter of Louis' that I had forgotten to answer, and it seemed to startle me, for I had no thought for him, only for you, and I knew then that I loved you. Ohl the shame of it! for I was giving my love unsought That was why I was so cold to yon when you came back it was my pride I so feared you would read my secret! If I had been older, wiser, I could haye trusted myself better but I dared not be with you. Ohl the pain I gave yon that night broke my heart!" She bowed her face down with a bitter sob. "I turn from you because you were poor!" She sprang to her feet again, pressing her hands to her temples. "Not would have knelt at your feet and bleased you for one word of lore. I would have begged my bread by your side. Max. I would not have accepted kingdom from any hands but yours!"

CHAPTER XLYIIL

One step, and Beauregard was at Valerie's side, grasping her hands in his. "In my arms," he said, "you shall tea me the rest, Valerie." as she strove to free herself, "you must come to me!" "Not yet," she said, under her breath. let me go!—not yetTT

Boamrigani released bear, and drew hack. Ton think," he said, bitterly, "that I doubt you still? I have deserved this? Ah! fool, and blind that I was to believe jou eo falser "No-no!" cried the girl, clasping her lasdi "how oould TOtt-beltsye me ogHKr

wise? I set myself to deceive you. I let even Louis believe that I broke my word to him for Aston Lawford's sake I so feared the accusation that I loved you! And it was to keep my secret that I led yon to believe I was willing to marry Lawford for his money's sake. For your sake I refused Aston Lawford ay, but not as you thought,

Max—Heaven

be my witness! When 1

sent back to him the answer that refused him. telling him I did not love him—that I could never be his wife—I did not know even that Gerald, your brother, was ill. I wrote that answer soon after Lawford's letter cAtne. 1 kept it to show aunt Constance first, but when she did not return I 3ent it It had left the house half an hour when she came home, and told me Gerald was dangerously ill she was asking me what answer I had sent to Lawford, for they had told her of his letter to me, when your telegram came. I seemed to yon base indeed why should you not believe even this scathing shame of me? Why, I lent it further countenance when I came here. I knew what aunt Constance wished, and yet I came I was. afraid to defy her in words, it was the old horror of being charged with the truth and she might have spoken to you! Ah! anything—anything but that, and then—then—I am keeping back nothing, Max, I am laying my heart bare to you—there was happiness, through all the criiel pain, in beiug with you but oh! your own heart will speak for me, that I had no part or lot in the wretched scheme that brought me here! In this at least I can prove my truth Aston Lawford wrote to me a few duys ago, asking me again to be his wife. I tore his letter into fragments, and flung them on the floor —that was ray answer to him. Then aunt Constance spoke to me plainly. I could win you if I chose, she said I would not do that, and I would not marry Lawford. No matter in what words she bade me choose between you and Lawford, or she would wash her hands of me. I told her I would irfve her my decision to-day, and that day I wrote to uncle Will, and said I was earning back to him. I told aunt Constance to-day that I had made my choice.. Tomorrow I return to Welford. Max!" her voice faltered and broke now, "I have been wrong and foolish, but I was young and iguorant, and there was no one to guide and couusel me: but it was my love for you, not love of the world, that made me seem false and mercenary. I wronged you, but it was in wronging myself first. Can you believe me. Max?"

For answer, Beauregard threw himself at her feet-. "Valerie! Valerie! Oh, Heaven!" he cried, with an agony that shook him like a reed, "how cf£n I atone to you? I might have known—I might have known! But, oh! my darling, even when I believed you unworthy yourself. I could not judge you harshly, I loved you too well. Ah! how my blindness has made you suffer!" "Max! hush!—hush!" she whispered, laying her trembling hands on the man's bowed head. "I am to blame—I alone. Ah! you were always so kind and tender to me thinking what you did—what you only could think of me, you were so generous and you loved me through all! Ahl nothing can take that joy from me—you loved me through all!" "Loved yout I worshiped you! A hundred times I had been ready to fling everything to the winds, and el dm you but always came the hideous thought that, if you loved me, it was not for myself alone but now—now," he rose, and once more

Lower he bent, and again their lips met. Dizzy with happiness, the girl clung to her lover was it a dream that all the shadows were swept away, all the heart-break, all the bitter weeping, the endless pain—that Max held her to his heart, called her his own, kissed her lips, folded her life into his! Ahl she had dreamed of this, but on the dream there was always a shadow she wept even while his lips pressed hers, but there was no shadow now it was all glorious sunshine that dazzled by its brightness and made her senses reel.

And when Max spoke

again—Heaven

knows how long he could only hold the loved form to him, with the rapture those alone can know who have suffered as he had suffered, and kiss the dear face he had never hoped to pillow on his heart!—when he spoke again his voice at first Sounded far away, like a voice in a dream but it was a dream of wondrous light. "I feel as if could hold you here forever, my treasure, and never let you leave my arms. Ah! Heaven! to think how nearly I lost youf Yes! cling closer—closer to me dearest but I could not have parted from you forever, Valerie always my heart warred against the falsehood you forced upon me. I must have followed you —you knew I loved you, Valerie before today!" "Yes," she said, softly, "I knew, I tried to put the thought away but that day, when you would not let Zoe leap the gully

"Ah," he said, with a quick-drawn breath, "the mad happiness of that ridel and when you yielded to me, and gave me your dear hand. Fairy Queen, you almost conquered me then! 1 knew—I felt that your heart was mine, and yet that cruel thought always sealed my lips, that were I stripped of wealth you would not listen to your heart. It is like treason to yon to speak of this, and yet 1 must make confession to ease my conscience," he added, with the old bright* tender smile. "I have the most to confess, Max," said the girl, wistfully. "Indeed, yon have nothings you spared me what I deserved, or seemed to deserve!" "Spared you because I loved yon, and you but a stripling, cast alone on a brilliant world, a reigning beauty, an idol. Ah! yours was a rare nature not to be spoiled, Valerie, and if I had known you better I should never have doubted yon but how little I knew of yon after all!"

He sat down as he spoke, drawing her to his side, and as Valerie nestled to him, he added, softly: "If I told yon that bsfore to-day I had held you in my arms and kissed you, as I do now," bending down, and touching his lips to her brow, "would you forgive me?" "Forgive youf' she said, coloring deeply "but—but. Max, when?" "The day you sprained your ankle—yon tainted and I caught yon, we were alone, and the temptation was too strong for me 1 did not touch your lips, sweetheart, hot your brow I kissed many, many time*. Am 1 forgiven!" -Yon know you are, Max." the girl whispered, hiding her face. "Mors than forgiven P'

By-«nd-by shs spoks again, not BfMnf her head: CbmUmutd on Omfemmtk Fog*.

and

manentcure.

miHoij If sals

vi

&-•

la Consumption Incurable. Read the following: Mr. C. H. Morris, Newark, Ark., says: "Was down with Abscess of Lungs, and friends and physicians pronounced me an Incurable Consumptive. Began taking Dr. King'a New Discovery for Consumption, am now on my third bottle, and able to oversee the work on my farm. It is the finest medicine ever made."

Jesse Middle, Decatur, Ohio: "Had it not been for Dr. King's New Discovery for Consumption I would have died from Lung Troubles. Was given up by doctors. Am now in beet of health. Try it. Sample bottles free at Carl Krietenstien's Drug Store, s. w. corner 4th and OhioBtreets. 5

Electric Bitters. \f "•VxV

This remedy is becoming so well known and so popular as to need no special mention. All who have used Electric Bitters sing the same song of praise,—A purer medicine does not exist and it la

fllectric

uaranteed to do all that is claimed. Bitters will cure all diseases of the Liver and Kidneys, will remove Pimples, Boils, Salt Rheum and other affections caused by impure blood. Will drive Malaria from the system as well as cure all Malarial fevers. For cure of Headache. Constipation and Indigestion try Electric Bitters. Entire satisfaction guaranteed or money refunded. Price 60 cts. and fl.00 per bottle at Carl Krietenstein, s. w. corner 4th and Ohio streets.

r'?'

Huokton's Arnica Salve.

The Best

Salve in the world for Cuts,

Sores,

Braises,

Ulcers, Salt Rheum. Fever Sores,

ter,

Tet­

Chapped Hands, Chilblains, Corns,

and

all akin eruptions, and positively cures Piles, or no

pay

required. It Is guaranteed to

give

perfect satisfaction, or money refunded. 25c. per box. For sale by Carl KrletenBtein, ft. W Cor.

4th

and Ohio.

^INFANTILE SKIN DISEASES

Our oldest child, now 8lx years of age. when an infant six months old was attacked wttb a virulent, malignant skin disease. All ordinary remedies failing, we called our family physician, who attempted to cure it: but it spread with almost increditlble rapidity, until the lower portion of the little fellow's person, from the middle of hla back down to his knees, was one solid rash, ugly, painful, blotched, and malicious. We had no rest at night, no peace by day. Finally, we wcreadvlsed to try the Cuticura Remedies. The effect was simply marvelous. In three orfour weeks acomplete cure was wrought, leaving the little fellow's person as white ana healthy as though he had never been attacked. In my opinion your valuable remedies snved his life, and today he is a strong, healthy child, perfectly well, no repetition of the disease having ever oecured.

GEO. B. SMITH.

Att'y at Law and Ex-Pros. Att'y, Ashland, O. Reference: J. O. Weist, Druggist,|Ashland, Ot

THOUSANDS OF CHILDREN. Tl Are born into the world every day with tfoftie' edematous affection, such as milk crust, scald head, scurf, or dandruff, sure to develop into an agonising ecxema, the itching, burning and disfiguration of which make life a prolonged torture unless properly treated.

A warm bath with Cuticura Hoap, an ex-

qulsite Skin BeauUHer, and a single appllca- ~ftlon of Cuticura, the Great Skin Cure, with

v-

a ~A

little Cuticura Resolvent, the New Blood Pur- *4 lfler, is often sufficient to arrest the progress t') of the disease,

point to a speedy and per-

Hence, no mother who loves her children, who takes pride in tholr beauty, purity, and health, ana ia bestowing upon them a child's reatest inheritance,'

greatest inheritance,—a skin without

make

locked the slight form in. passionate em*' Price, CutlcursT 50 cents Resolvent, {1.00 brace, "now," he said, his deep voice trem- *y prog bLtag. and he drew the golden head back ?P/^emlcal_Co., .Boston, Mass. Send.for on his breast, and looked down in the dark eyes, that sank beneath the passion of his gase, "I know that my darling is minewas mine always—my Fairy Queen—my own, only love!" •.

•f Taste a«!

fossil,

Try UM Cat*.

a

blemish, and a body nourished by pure blood, —should fall to

trial of the Cuticura

Remedies. Cutloura Remedies are sold everywhere.

How to Cure Skin Diseases." 04 pages, 60 111 ustratlons, and 100 testimonials. UIDV'Q Skin and Scalp preserved and beauOAOl 0 titled by Cuticura Medicated Soap.

Constitutional Catarrh.

fto single disease has entailed more suffering or hastened the breaking up of the constitution than Catarrh. The sense of smell, of taste, of sight,of hearing, the human voire, the mind,—one or more, and sometimes nil, yield to Its destructive influence. The poison it distributes throughout the svHtem attacks every vital force, and breaks up the most robust of constitutions. Ignored, because but little understood, by most physicians, impotently assailed by quacks and charlatans, those suffering from It have little hope to be relieved of It this side of the grave. It is time, then, that the proper treatment of this terrible disease by remedies within the reach of all passed into hands at once competent and trustworthy. The new and hitherto untried method adopted by Dr. Sanford in the preparation of his RADICAL CURB has won the hearty approval of thousands. It is instantaneous In affbrdlng relief In all head colds, sneesing, snuffling and obstructed breathing, and rapidly removes the most oppressive symptons, clearing the head, sweetening the breath, restoring the senses of smell, taste and hearing, and neutralising the constitutional tendency of the disease towards the lungs, liver and kidneys.

Sanfoid's Radical Cure consists of one bottle of the Radical Cure, one box of Catarrhal Solvent, and one Improved Inhaler price91.

POTTER DRUG A CHEMICAL CO., BOSTON.

KIDNEY PAINS,

Strains and Weaknesses,

sfes

Relieved in'one minute by that marvelous Antidote to Pain, Inflammation and Weakness, the Cuticura Anti-Pain Plasters. The first and only paln-killlng strengthening plaster. Especially adapted to In­

stantly relieve and speedily cure Kidney and Uuerine Pains and Weakness. Warranted vastly superior to ail other plaster*. At all druggists,26cents five for #1.00, or, postage free, of Potter Drug and Chemical Co., Boston, Mass.

ORATKrUL-COMrORTINO.

ISfl

Bpps's Cocoa

BHKARVA8T.

by a careful applica­

tion of the fine properties of well-selected Cocoa, Mr^Epps has provided our breakfast tables with a delicately flavored beverage which may save us many heavy doctors' bills. It is by tbe Judicious use of such articles of diet that a constitution may be gradually built up until strong enough to resist every tendency to disease. Hundreds of subtle maladies are floating around us ready to attack wherever there is a weak point. We may escape many a fatal shaft by keeping ourselves well forttfledwlth purebloodand a properly nourished frame."—(Civil Serviee Oasette.

Made simply with boiling water or milk Bold only in half poand J1 nsbygrocers, labeled thus: JAMES KPHTS CO.

A particle is ap piled Into each nostril and

MistTesabls.

a*

ChfwiMl. I^mdon. tog

ZEI/Y'S CREAM BALM

CATARRH

Cleanses tbe Bfasal Passages, AUay»| Pala aswl Xnfla-

PrfosfiO cents at Drnjjistet

by mall, registered, SO cts. ELY BROS, MB Greenwich at, Mew Yoi%