Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 19, Number 48, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 25 May 1889 — Page 2

fici/isM

CHAPTER XVIL

"WHAT son BAVX FOtnrD HO »1 Meanwhile, thing* at the castle were going •«ty pleasantly for everybody. The squire wax as kappy in attending to the various dotails connoted with the transfer of the mortgages as though be had been lending thirty thousand pound* instead of borrowing it. The great George was happy in the unaocustomed flow of borrowed cash, that enabled him fc» treat Jantey with a lofty scorn not unmingled with pity, which was as balm to his harassed soul, and also to transact an enormous amount of business in his own peculiar way with men up trees and otherwise for bad he not to stock the Moat farm, and was not Michaelmas at hand'

Ida, too, was happy, happier than she had been since her brother's de*th. Besides, Mr. Edward Cossey was out of the way, and that to Ida was a

very

shadow

ing of her chains. Therefore she was the more thankful for her respite. Harold Quaritch was happy, too, though in a somewhat restless and peculiar way. Mrs. Jobeon, the old lady who attended to his wants at Moleehill, with the help of a gardener and a simple village maid, her niece, who smashed all the crockery, and nearly drove the colonel mad by banging the doors, shifting bis papers, and even dusting bis trays of Roman coins, actually confided to some friends in the village that she thought the poor dear gentleman was going mad. When questioned on what she batted this belief, she replied that he would walk up and down the oak paneled dining room by the hour together, that then, when be got tired of that exercise, whereby, said Mrs. Jobeon, be had already worn a groove in the new Turkey carpet, he would take out a "rokoy"1 (foggy) looking bit of picture, and set it upon a chair and stare at it through his fingers, shaking his head and muttering all the while. Then—further and conclusive proof of a yielding intellect—he would get a half sheet of paper with some writing on it, and put it on the mantelpiece and stare at that. Next he would turn it upside down and stare at it so, then sideways, then all ways, then he would bold it before a looking glass, and stare at the looking glass, and so on. When asked how she knew all this, she confessed that Jane had seen it through the key hole, not onoe, but often.

Of oourse, as the practiced and discerning reader will clearly understand, this meant oAly that when walking and wearing out the carpet the colonel was thinking of Ida when contemplating the painting she had given him, he was admiring her work and trying to reconcile his admiration with his own conscience and his somewhat peculiar views of art, and that when glaring at the paper he was vainly endeavoring to make head or tail of the message written to his son on the night before his execution by Sir James de laMolle in the reign of Charles I, and confidently believed by Ida to contain a key to the whereabouts of the treasure he was supposed to have secreted.

Of course the tale of this worthy soul, Mrs. Jobeon, did not lose in the telling, and when it reached Ida's ears, which it did at last through the medium of George—for in addition to his numberless other functions, George was the solo authorised purveyor of village and country news—it read that Col. Quaritch had gone raving mad.

Ten minutes afterward this raving lunatic arrived at the castle in his dress clothes and his right mind, whereupon Ida promptly repeated her thrilling history, somewhat to the subsequent discomfort of Mrs. Jobson and Jane.

No one, as somebody once said, with equal truth and profundity, knows what a minute may bring forth much less, therefore, does anybody know what an evening of say two hundred and forty minutes may produce. For instance, Harold Quaritch—though by this time ho had gone so far as to freely admit to himself that he was utterly and hopelessly in lovo with Ida, in love with her with that settled and determined passion which sometimes strikes a man or woman in middle age—certainly did not know that before tbe evening was out he would have declared his devotion with results that shall be made clear in their decent order. When he put on his dress clptbce to come up to dinner he bad no more intention of proposing to Ida than he had of not taking them off when he went to bed. His love was deep enough and steady enough, but perhaps it did not possess that wild impetuosity which carries people so far in their youth, sometimes, indeed, a great deal further than their reason approve*. It was easentiaUy a middle aged devotion, and bore the same resemblance to the picturesque passion of five-and-twenty that a snow fed torrent does to a navigable river. The one rushes and roam and sweeps away the bridge* and devastates happy homes, while the other bean upon its placid breast the Argosies of peace and plenty, and is generally serviceable to the necessities of man. But, for all that, there is something attractive about torrents. There is a grandeur in that first rush of passion which results from tbe sudden melting of the snows of the heart's parity and faith and high unat&tne* devotion.

But both torrents and navigable rivers are liable to one common fate, they may fall over precipices, and when that happens even the latter cease to be navigable for a space. And that was what was about to happen to our friend tho cokwwL

To ber'" with, he had dined well, and what ever an twenty-three may think of so great and material a fact, it is certainly true if a man is in love before dinner, he is •-and-twenty per cent, more in love

**WeuT Harold Quaritch had dined, and ha had bad a pleasant as well as a good dinner. The squire, who of late had been cheerful as r, rrlcket, was In besfr '"rm, rtrrd told long ies with an ii itea :-il ut In anybody elseV mouth these stories would have I a wearf- tn degree, bt* a I,—to,an and a

perkd

BY H. RIDER HAGGARD.

great thing, for his pres­

ence to her was what a policeman is to a ticket of leave man—a most unpleasant and suggestive sight. She fully realised the meaning and extent of the bargain into which she bad entered to save her father and her bouse, and there lay upon her the deep ehadow of ovil that was to come. Every time she saw ho* father bustling about with his business letters and parchments, every time the universal George arrived with an air of melancholy satisfaction and a long list of farming stock and implements he bad bought at some neighboring Michaelmas sale, the

deepened, and she beard the clank­

ik,-.1 :..

flavor about the old gamOeiaan w:

l!,

leb -'A! I st'TT ...vrrtiabia tii oqr J. had coma oat in a most unaraal way. He bad a fund of dry bunwr to

v.

1 irely

wrodae^ hat wfe-w he wJL •.: of a a-. eatW-.-ary' onu-r. Ont par* ticuter night it was all on r. greatly to r-.^on of T-% wV* a witty V. |M.I iir wool1 A ie® It cams to «qi thai tbe #aaor ww wy pi *aa| on*

and the squire wer»~st£II sitting

over their wine, and the latter was for the fifth giving to the former a full and ~.rfiwilar account of how his deceased annt, Mn. Masaey, had been persuaded by a learned antiquarian to convert, or rather restore, Dead Man's Mount intoltBBUpposed primitive condition of an ancieut British dwelling, and of tbe extraordinary expression of her face when the bill came in, when suddenly the servant amwnnmni that George was waiting to see him.

Tbe old gentleman grumbled a great deal, but finally got up and departed to enjoy himself for the next boor or so in talking about thing* in general with his retainer, leaving his guest to find hi* way to the drawing room.

When the colonel reached the room he found Ida seated at the piano, singing. She heard him shuttbe door, looked round, nodded prettily, and then went on with her singing. He came and sat down on a low chair some two paces from her, placing himsrlf in such a position that be could see bo* face, which, indeed, be always fouad a wonderfully pleasant object of contemplation. Ida was playing without muiiio—the only light in the room was that of a low lamp with a red fringe to it Therefore, he could not see ery much, being only with difficulty able to trace the outlines of her features but if tbe shadow thus robbed him, iton tbe other hand lent her a beauty of its own, clothing her face with an atmosphere of wonderful softness which it did not always possess in the glare of day. Tbe colonel indeed (we must remember that be was in love and that it was after dinner) became quite poetical (internally, of course) about it, and in his heart compared her first to St. Cecilia at her organ, and then to the Angel of the Twilight. He had never men her look so lovely. At her worst she was a handsome and noble looking woman but now the shadow from without, and though be knew nothing of that, the shadow from her heart within also, aided, may be, by the music's swell, had softened and purified her face till itdid indeed look almost like an angel's. It is strong, powerful faces that are capable of the most tenderness, not tbe soft and pretty ones, and even in a plain person, when such a face is in this way seen, it gathers a peculiar beauty of its own. But Ida was not a plain person, so on the whole it is scarcely to be wondered at that a certain effect was produced upon ,Parold Quaritch.

Ida, to outward appearance at any rate, all unconscious of what was passing in her admirer's mind, went^on singing almost without a break. She fhd a good memory and a sweet Voice, and really liked music(for its own sake, so it was no great effort to her to do so.

Presently she came to a song from Tennyson's "Maud," the tender and beautiful words bereof will be familiar to most of the readcrj* ^f her story. It began:

Oh, let tho solid ground

4

Not fail beneath ray feet, Before my heart has found What some have found so sweet. The song is a lovely one, and it did not suffer from her rendering, and the effect produced upon Harold by it was of a most peculiar nature. All his past life seemed to heave and break beneath the magic of tbe music and the magic of the sing#, as a northern field of ice breaks up beneath the outburst of tbe summer sun. It broke up, and sunk, and vanished into the depths of his nature, those dread unmeasured that roll and murmur in the vastness oi human heart, as the cloak of ice, that roll and murmur here, set toward ashore of which we have no chart or knowledge. The past was gone, the frosen years had melted, and once more the sweet strong air of youth blew across his heart, and once more there wits blue sky above, wherein the angels sailed. Under the influence of that song tbe barrier of self broke down, and his being went out to meet her being, and all the possibilities of life seemed to breathe afresh.

He sat and listened, and, as he listened, trembled in his agitation, till the sweet echoes of the music died upon tbe quiet air. They died, and were gathered into the emptiness which receives and records all things, the oath and the prayer, the melody and the scream of agony, the shout of triumph and the wail of woe, and left him broken.

She turned to him, smiling faintly, for the song had moved her also, and be felt that he must speak. "That is a beautiful song," he said "sing it again, if you do not mind."

She made no answer, but once more sung: "Oh, let the solid ground Not fail beneath my feet,

Before my heart has found What some have found so street,"

and then suddenly broke off. "Why are you looking at mef she said. "I can feel you looking at me, and you make me nervous."

He bent toward her and looked her in the eyes. "1 love you, Ida," he said "I love you with all my heart"— and he stopped suddenly.

She turned quite pale—even in that light heooold see her pallor, and Jjer bands fell heavily on tbe keys.

Tbe echo of the crashing notes rolled round the room and died slowly away—but still she said nothing.

CHAPTER XV11L TAWS. Vv»L

At last Ida spoke, apparently with a gnat effort. "It is stifling in here," she said "let us go out," and she raw, took up a shawl that lay beside her on a chair, and stepped through the French window into the garden. It was a lovely autumn night, and tbe air was as •till as death, with just a touch of frost in it.

Ida threw the shawl over her shoulders, and followed by Harold walked on through the garden, till she came to tbe edge of the moat, where there waa & seat Here she sat down and fixed her eyes upon the hoary batr dements of tbe gateway, now dad in a solemn robe of mwmlight.

Harold looked at her and frit that if be had anything to say tbe time bad come for him to say it, and that she bad brought him there in order that sbe might be able to listen undisturbed. So he began again, and told her that be kited her dearly. "I yn some seventeen veers older than you," he went on, "and I su] that tbe most active port of my life lies in the past and I don't know if, putting other things aside, you would car* to marry so old a man, especially as I am not rich. Indeed, I feel it psesumptnoos on my part, e—^ what you are and what I am, to ask you sa And yet, Ida, I believe if you ».th God's bieet*rr. w* e*u-u:.i hp- !•.-•• :t together. I i.ie,a: iiad little to do with sei, many years agoi, I waa r- trendedpainfalty*,and iace I first saw your face in tbe dr. i: years and more ago., it then

OP

«n« tr. live here and I have hirnad to love yon, heaven only knows how much, and I should be ashamed to toy to put It into words, for they would sound foolish, kll my life is wrapped up in yoa, and IMai though, abould you see me no more, I should never be a happy man again," and be paused and anxiously at bar face, *fckh was set KnH drawn as though with pain, "I cannot say

4yee,'

CoL Qiaritch," aha

answered, at length, In a tone that punled him, it was so tender and ao tufltted to th* words. "1 suppose," ha stammered, "lauppoee that you do not care for mef Of course, I have no right to expect that yoa wvald." "As I have said that I oaxuofcsay •yes,' CoL Quaritch, do yoa not think that I had better leave that question ananxwaredf* she replied, in tbe same soft notes wtdch neeinf to draw the heart oat of him. "I do not understand," he went on. "WhyP "Why!" rite broke in, with a bitter little ^ngh, "shall I tell yoa why! Bscaase I am in pawn. Lsok," aha went on, pointing to the stately towers and the broad landa beyond, "yoa see this place, I am security for it, I mysslf in my own person. Had it not been for me it would have been sold over our beads after having dewnanrtwri in our family for all th—» centuries, put upon the market for what it would fetch, and my old would have been turned tut to die, for it would have killed him. So you see I did what unfortunate women have often been driven to do, 1 sold myself body and Boob and I got a good price too—thirty thousand pounds and suddenly sbe burst into a flood of tears and began toaobas though her hqprt would break.

For a moment Harold Quaritch looked on bewildered, not in the least understanding what Ida meant, and titan be followed th* impulse common to mankind in similar circumstances and took her in his aitua. She did not resent the movement, indeed, she scarcely seemed to notice it, though, to tsB tbe truth, for a moment or two, which to the colonel seemed the happiest of his life, her bead rested on his shoulder.

Almost instantly, however, she raised it, freed herself from his embrace and ceeaed weeping. "As I have told you so much," die said, "I utppose that I bad better tell you everything. I know that whatever tbe temptation." and she laid great stress upon the words, "under any conceivable circumstances—indeed, even if you believed that you were serving me in go "doing—I can rely upon you never to reveal to anybody, and above all to my father, what I now tell you," and she paused and looked up at him with eyes in which the tears still swam. "Of course you can rely upon me," he said. "Very well. I am sure that I shall never have to reproach you with the words. I will toll you. I have virtually promised to marry Mr. Edward Coesey, should he at any time be in a position to claim fulfillment of tbe promise, on condition of his taking up tbe mortgages on Honham, which he has done."

Harold Quaritch took a step back and looked at her in horrified astonishment. '•Whatf' he asked. "Yes, yes," she answered, hastily, putting up her hand as though to shield herself from a blow. "1 know what you mean but do not think too hardly of me if you can help it. It was not for myself. I would rather work for my living with my hands than take a price, for there is no other word for it It w&s for my father, and my family too. I could not bear to think of the old place going to the hammer, and I did it all in a minute, without consideration but," and she set her face, "even as things are, I believe I should do it again, because I think that no woman lias a right to destroy her family in orc^er to please herself. If one of the two must go let it be tbe woman. But don't thinjt harder of., mo for it," she added, almost 'pleadingly, "that is if you can help it."

I am not thinking of you," he answered lyHeaven,I honor you for what .vtf don^ffor however much I may disagree with the act it is a noble one. 1 am thinking of tbe man wBo could drive such a bargain with any woman. You say that you have promised to marry him should he ever be in a position to claim it. What do you mean by that! As you have told me so much you may as well tell me the rest."

He spoke clearly and with a voice of authority, but his bearing did not seem to Jar upon Ida. "I meant," she answered, humbly, "that I believe—of course I do not know if lam right—I believe that Mr. Coesey is in some way entangled with a lady, in short with Mrs. Quest, and that the question of whether or not he comes forward again depends upon her." "Upon my word," said tbe colonel, "upon my word the thing gets worse and worse. I never heard anything like it and for money, too. The thing is beyond me." "At any rate," she answered, "there it is. And 4ow, CoL Quaritch, one word before I go in. It is difficult for me to speak without saying too much or too- little, but I do want you to understand how honored Mid how grateful I feel for what yoa have told me tonight—I am so little worthy of all you have given me—and to be honest, 1 cannot feel as pained about it as 1 ought to feeL It is feminine vanity, yoa know, nothing else. I am sure that you will not press me to say more." "No," he answered, "not I think that I understand the position Bat, Ida, there is one thing that I must aak—you will forgive me if I am wrong In doing soy but all this is very sad for me. If in the end circumstances should alter, as I pray heaven that they may, or if Mr. Cossey's previous entanglements should prove too mnch for him, will you marry me, IdaP*

Sbe thought for a moment, and then rising from the seat, gave him her hand, and said limply? "Yea, I will marry JOSL"*

He made no answer, bet lifting her band, touched it gently with his lips. "Meanwhile," she went on, "I have your promise, and 1 am sure that you will not betray it, come what may."

MHo,"

be said, "I will not batny it."

And they went in. In tbe drawing room they foond th* squir* over a sheet of paper, on which were scrawled some of George* accounts in figures, which at first sight bore aboutae much resemblance to Egyptian hieroglyphics as tbey did to those in use tinlay. "Halloor he said, 'there ywi are. Where on earth have you beenf" "We have been looking at tbe cutle in the moonligfat,* answered Ida, coolly, "ft is beautiful" «tUm—ah," said tbe squire, dryly, "I have no doubt that it is beautiful, "but isn't the grass rather dampf Well, look here," and he held op the sheet of hieroglyphics "per haps you can add this up, Ida, for it is mors than I can. George has bought stock and all sorts of things at the sale today, and hers Is his account three hundred and seventy* two pounds be make* it, but I make it foer hundredaz»dtwenty, and bang meif 1 cam find oat which is right. It is important that these aexttUBtsshoukl be kept straight. Most important, and I cannot get this stapldfiiiiow to do IS."

Ida took the sheet of paper and added it op, with tbe result that she discovered both totals to be wrong. Harold, watching her, eouldnot wondering at the nerve of the woman after going through sack j*

frnrn HAtTTE SATURDAY EVENING MAIL,

scene as that 'which had just occurred, could deliberately add up long rows of badly written figures.

And this money which her father was expanding so oheerfully was part of the price for which she had bound herself.

With a sigh he roes and said good night, and went home with feelings almost too mixed to admit of accurate description. He had taken a great step in his life, and to a certain extent that step bad succeeded. He had not altogether built his hopes upon sand, for from what Ida had said, and still-more from what die had tacitly admitted, it was necessarily clear to him that she did more or less regard him as a man would wish to be regarded by a woman whom be dearly loved. This was a great deal, mors, indeed, than be had dared to believe, bat then, as is usually tV In this imperfect world, where things but too often seem to be carefully arranged at and sevens, came the other side of tbe Of what use to him was it to have won this sweet woman's love of what use to have put this pure water of lawful happineas to his lips in the desert land of his lonely life, in order to see the cup that held it shattered at a blow! To him the story of the money loan—in consideration of which, as it were, Ida had put herself in pawn, as the Egyptians used to pat the mummies cf their fathers in pawn—was almost incredible. To a person of his simple and honorable nature it seemed a preposterous and unbsard of thing that any man calling himself a gentleman should find it possible to sink so low as to take such advantage of a woman* dire necessity and honorable desire to save her father from misery and her race from rain, and to extract from her a promise of marriage in consideration of value received. Patting aside his overwhelming personal intenet in the matter, it made his blood boil to think that such a thing could be. And yet it was, and, what was more, he believed be knew Ida well enough to be convinced that she would not shirk tbe bargain. If Edward Coesey cants forward to claim bis bond it would be paild down to the last farthing. It was a question of £80,000 the happiness of his life and of Ida's depended upon a sum of money. If the money were forthcoming Coesey could not claim his flesh and blood. But where was it to come from! He himself was worth perhaps £10,000, or with tho commutation value of his pension, possibly twelve, and be had not tho means of raising a farthing more. He thought the position over till he was tired of thitiking, and then with a heavy heart and yet with a strange glow of happiness shining through his grief, like sunlight through a gray sky, at lost ho went to sleep and dreamed that Ida bad gone from him, and that he was once more utterly alone in the world.

CHAPTER XIX.

"OOOD-BY TO YOU, EDWARD." I

It was on the day following the one upon which Harold proposed to Ida that Edward Cossey returned to Boisingbam. His father bad so far recovered from his attack as to be at last prevailed upon to allow his departure, being chiefly moved thereto by tbe supposition that Cossey & Son's branch establishments were sufhring from his son's absence. "Weil," be said, in bis high, piercing votso, "business is business, and must be attended to, so perhaps you bad better go. They talk about the fleeting character of things, but there is one thing that never chunges, and that is money. Money is immortal men may come and men may go, but money goes on forever. Heel heel money is tbe honey pot, and men are tbe flies and some get their fill and some stick their wings, but the honey is always there, so never mind the flies. No, never mind me either you go and look after the honey, Edward.

Money-

honey honey—money, they rhyme, don't theyfs And look here by the way, if you get a chance—and the world is full of chances to men who havo plenty of money—mind you don't forget to pay out that half pay colonel —what's his namet—Quaritch. He played our family a dirty trick, and there's your poor aunt Jfelia in a lunatic asylum to this moment, and a constant source of expense to us." ,,

And so Edward bade bis estimable parent farewell, and departed. Nor in truth did he ^require any admonition from Mr. Cossey, senior, to make him anxious to do Col. Quaritch an ill turn if tbe opportunity should serve. Mrs. Quest, in her numerous affectionate letters, bad more than once, possibly for reasons of her own, given him a full and vivid resume of tbe local gossip about the colonel and Ida,who were, she said, according to common report, engaged to be married. Now, absence bad not by any means cooled Edward's devotion to Miss de la Molle, which was a sincere one enough in its own way. On the contrary, the longer be was away from her the more his passion grew, and with it a vigorous undergrowth of jealousy. He bad, it is true, Ida's implied promise that she would marry him, if he choose to ask her but on this be put no great reliance. Hence his hurry to return to Boisingbam.

Leaving London by an afternoon train, be reached Boisingbam about half past 6, and in pursuance of an arrangement already made, went to dine with the Quests. When be reached tbe house he found Belle alone in the drawing room, for her husband, having come in late, was still dressing but somewhat to his relief be had no opportunity of private conversation with her, for a servant was in the room, attending to the fire, which would not barn. Tho dinner passed off quietly enough, though there was an ominous look about tho lady's face which he, being familiar with these signs of the feminine weather, did not altogether like. After dinner, however, Mr. Quest excused himself, saying that he bad promised to attend a local concert in aid of tbe funds for tbe restoration of tbe damaged pinnacle of tbe perish church, and be waa left alone with tbe lady.

Then it was that all her pent up passion broke out. Sbe overwhelmed him with her affection, rite tokl him that her life bad been a blank while ho was away, sbe reproached him with the scarcity and coldness of his letters, and generally went on in away with which he was but too well accustomed, and if the truth mast be told, heartily tired. His mood was an irritable one, and to-night the whole thing wearied him beyond bearing. "Come, Belle," be said, at last, "for goodness sake be a little more rationaL You are getting too old for this aort of tomfoolery, yoa know."

She sprung up and faced him, ber eyes flashing and ber breast heaving with jealous anger. "What do you mean!" sbe said. "Are yoa tired of mef **1 did not say that," he answered, "but as you have started tbe subject, must tell you that 1 think all this has gone far enough. Unless it is stopped, I believe we shall both be rained. 1 am sore that your husband Is becoming snspfcrioos, and as I have told you again and again, if once the business gets to my father's ears, be will disinherit m&"

Belle stood quite still till be bad finished 8be bad assumed her favorite attitude, and eroMMd her arms behind her bock, and her sweet, childish face waa calm and vry white, "What I* the good of making exposes and taSiag me what t* not brae, Edwsrdrsbe said. "One ar bears a man who krres a woman talk lu» that prudence comes with weariness, and men grow virtuous when there is r.' *.:dng to You arc tind of ma. I have seen it a tang time, to like a noor blind fool 1 have tried not to be­

lieve i£ It not a who has given her whole life to a man, but perhaps it is as much as she can expect, for I do not want to be unjust to yon. am the most to blame, because we need never take a false step except of our own free wflL" "Well, well," be said, Impatiently, "wtaft ofitP "Only this, Edward. I havo still a Utile pride left, and if you are tired of me, why —ga"

He tried bard to prevent it, but do what he would, a look of relief struggled into his face. Sbe saw it, and it made ber wild with jealous anger. "You need not look so happy, Edward it is scarcely decent and, besides, you have not beard all that 1 have to say. I know what all this arises from. You are in love with Ida do la Molle. Now there 1 draw the line. You may leave me if you like, but you shall not marry Ida whilo 1 am alive to prevent it That is more than 1 can bear. Besides, like a wise woman, she has fallen in love with CoL Quaritch, who is irorth two of you, Edward Cossey." V: "I do not believe it," be answered "and what right havo you to say that 1 am in love with Miss do la MolleF And if I am in love with ber, bow can you prevent me from marryiug her if 1 choose?" "Try, and you will sec," sbe answered,with littlo laugh. "And now, as tbe curtain has dropped, and it is all over between us, why, the best thing that we can do is to nut oat the lights and go to bed," and she laughed again and courtesied with much tssnmed playfulness. "Good night, Mr. Cossey good night, and good-by."

He held out his hand. "Come, Belle," he said, "don't let us part like this." Sbe shook ber bead, and once more put her arras behind ber. "No," she answered, "I will not take your band. Of my own free will 1 will never touch it again, for to me it is like the hand of the dead. Good-by, once more good-by to you, Eld ward, and to all the happiness that 1 ever had. I built ap all my life upon my love for you, and you have shattered it like glass. I do not reproach you you have followed after your nature and I must follow mine, and in time all things will oome right—in the grave. 1 shall not trouble you any more, provided that yoa do not try to marry Ida, for that I will not bear. And now go, for I am very tired," and turning she rang the beU for the servant to show bim out

In another minute he was gone. She listened till she heard the front door close behind him, and then she gave way to her grief, and flinging' hersolf upon the sofa, covered her faco with her bands and sobbed' and moaned bitterly, weeping for the past, and weeping, too, for tbe long desolate years tltt were to come. Poor woman! do not let us judge ber too hardly, for whatever was tho measure of her sin, it had assuredly found ber out, as our sins always, do find us out in the end. She had loved this man with a passion which has no parallel in the hearts of well ordered and well brought up women. Sho bad never really lived till this fatal passion took pos session of her, and now that its object had deserted her, her heart felt as though it had died within ber. In that short half hour she suffered more than many women do in their whole lives but tbe paroxysm passed, and she rose polo and trembling, with set teeth and blazing eyes. "He had better be careful," she said to herself "he may go, but if he tries to marry Ida I will keep my word—yes, for her sake as well as his."

When Edward Cossey came to consider tho position, which he did seriously on tho following morning, be did not find it very satisfactory. To begin with, be was not altogetlier a heartless man, and such scene as that whicb be had passed through on the previous evening was in itself quite onough to upset bis nerves. At one time, at any rate, ho bad been much attached to Mrs. Quest bo had never borne her any violent affection— that had all been ou her side but still he bad been fond of her, and if bo could have done so, would probably have married her. Even now bo was attached to her, and would have been glad to remain her friend if she would have allowed it. But then came the time when ber heroics commenced to weary him, and he on his side began to fall in lovo with Ida de la Mo!le, and as be drew back so she came forward, till at length he was worn out, and things culminated as has been doscribed. He was sorry for her too, knowing bow deeply she was attached to him, though it is probable that be did not in the least realize tbe extent to whicb sbe suffered, for neither men nor women who have intentionally or otherwise been the cause of intense mental anguish to one of tbe opposite sex ever do quite realize this. They, not unnaturally, measure the trouble by the depth of tneir own, and are therefore very apt to come to erroneous conclusions. Of course, we are now speaking of cases where all tbe real passion is on one side, and indifference or comparative indifference on tbe other for where it is mutual tho grief will in natures of equal depth be mutual also.

At any rate, Edward Coeeey was quite sensitive enough to feel tbe parting with Mrs. Quest acutely, and perhaps be felt tbe manner of it even more than the fact of tbe separation. Then came another consideration. Ho was, it is true, free from his entanglement, whicb was in itself an enormous relief, but tbe freedom was of a conditional nature. Belle bad threatened trouble in tbe most decisive tones should be attempt to carry oat his secret purpose, which she had not been slow to divine, of marrying Ida. From some occult reason, at least to him it seemed occult, tbe idea of this alliance was peculiarly distasteful to ber, though no doubt the true explanation was that sbe believed, and not inaccurately, that it was in order to bring it about that be was bent upon deserting ber. Tbe question with bim was, would sbe or would sbe not attempt to put ber threat Into execution! It certainly seemed to him difficult to imagine what stepe she could take to that end, seeing that any such steps would necenarily involve ber own exposure, and that too wben there was nothing to and wben all hopes of thereby securing bim fen* herself had passed away.

Nor did be seriously believe that sbe would attempt anything of tbe sort It is one thing for a woman to make such threats In tbe acute agony of ber jeakmsyand quite another for her to carry them out in cold blood. Looking at the matter from a man% point of view, It seemed to him extremely improbable that when tbe nrraaioa came sbe would attempt such a move. He forgot bow ranch more vi--!"Utly, wben once it has taken possession of ber being, tbe storm erf passion •weeps through such a woman's heart than through a man's, and bow utterly recklew to all consequence tbe former sometimes becomes. For there are women for whom all melt in that white beat of anguished jealousy—bcuor, dnty, conscience, and the rettraint of religion, and of tbeso Belle Quest was one.

Bat of this be 4 not aware, and though reoirmieed

T.

saw In it no sufficient

•oa msl: K,ay bis For day by day v- Ktr wgdsstaetomii Ida: wifo I gr ujxri, F-n, till at !*•'. it y....Mwd -i b'-'. For a while the inior.t fcvl bw r-nH/.^-ring in bis breast, and

I '•.* ucard, totbeeffn~t that t... been beforebai. I with i,ri, b.-1 oi'Wn it to aflame. Ida was ever his t' aghts, even at night he

ner vision, dark eyed and beautiful, came stealing down bis dreams. She was bis heaven, and if by any ladder known to man he might climb thereto, thither bo would climb. And so he set bis teeth and vowed that, Mrs. Quest or no Mm Quest, he would set his fortune upon the hazard of the die, ay, and win it, even if he loaded tbe dice.

While he was still thinking thus, standing at his window and gating out on to the market place of the quiet little town, he suddenly saw Ida herself driving up in her pony carriage. It was a wet and windy day, and the rain was on ber cheek, and the wind tossed a little lock of her brown hair. The cob was pulling, and ber proud face was set, as she concentrated bar energies upon holding him. Never to Edward Cossey *""i sbe looked more beautifuL His heart beat fast at the sight of ber, and whatever doubts might have lingered in his mind, vanished. Yes, be would claim her promise and marry her.

Presently the pony carriage pulled up at his door, and the boy who was sitting behind got down and rang tbe belL He stepped back from the window, wondering what it could be. "Will you please give that note to Mr. Cossey," said Ida, as tbe door opened, "and ask him to send an answer!" and she was gone.

The note was from the squire, sealed with bis big seal (tbe squire always sealed his letters in the old fashioned way), and contained an invitation to himself to shoot on the morro«r. "George wants me to do a little partridge driving," it ended, "and to brash through one or two of the small oovers. There will only be Col. Quaritch beside yourself and George, but I hope that you will have a fair rough day. If I dont hear from you, I shall suppose that yoa are coming, so dont trouble write."

3

While he was atill thinking

"Oh, yes, I will go," said Edward. "Confound that Quaritch. At any rate I can show him how to shoot, and what is more, I will have it out with bim about my aunt.' [7b be Continued.]

Balmy odors from Hplce Ialamlf*, Wafted by the tropic breeze SOZODONT In henltnfnl fragrance j---" Cannot be surpassed by these, 4A Teeth it whitens, purifies 5 You will use It if you're wise.

One ftreat Merit

of tbftt Beautifler of the teeth, S07.0DONT, is that its effect upon tbe mouth is refreshing, while as a means of cleansing the teeth, and improving tbe breath, it stands alone.

"SRARR.MNA'S GLITK," handy about the house, mends everything. 47-41.

Used one bottle of Mother's Friend before my first confinement. It w«mder/nl remedy. Looked and felt so well afterwards friends remarked it. Would not be without Mother's Friend for any consideration. MKK. OH. B. ANDKBHOJJ, Ocboopee, Ga.

Write The Brad field Regulator Co., Atlanta, Ga. Sold by J. E. Somen, 6th and Ohio. 4tt-4t

Baeklen's Araloa Salve.

The Best Bahrein tbe world for Cats, Braises, Bores, Ulcers, Halt Rhenm. Fever Bores, Tetter,Chapped Hands, Chilblains, Corns, and all skin eruptions, and positively oures Piles, or no pay required. It is guaranteed to give perfect satisfaction, or money refunded. »0.

II-

box. For sale by Carl Krietenstein, 8. W ir. 4th and Ohio.

BS

Not a Pimple on Him Now.

Had with Eesenia. Hair all gone. Scalp covered with eruption*. Thought his hair would never grow. Cared by

Catlcurs Kemedien. IXalr splendid and not a pimple oa him. I cannot say enough in praiMtof the Cuticura Keinedies. My boy, when one year of age, was so bad with ecsema that be lost all hair. Hisseelp was covered with eruptions, which the doctors said was scald head, and that his hair would never grow again. Despairing of a cure from physicians, I began the use of the Cuticura Remedies, and, 1 am happy to say, with the most perfect success. His nair Is now splendid, and there is not a pimple on him. 1 recommend the Cuticura Remedies to mothers as the most speedy, economical, and sure cure for Ml skin diseases of infants and children, and feel that every mother who has an afflicted child will thank me for so doing.

MRS. K.K. WOODHUM, Norway, Me. A Fever Sore Eight Years Cnred. I must extend to you the thanks of one of my customers, who has been cured, by using the Cuticura Remedies, of an old sore, caused by along spell of slcknes of fever eight years ago. He was so bad he was fearful be would have to have his leg amputated, bat is happy to say be Is now entirely welV-sound as a dollar. He requests me to use his name, which is H. H. Cason, merchant of this place.

JOHN V. MINOR, Druggist, Ualnsboro7Tenn.

Severe Seslp DJseaee Oared. A few weeks ago my wife suffered very much from a cutaneous disease of the scalp, and received no relief from the various remedies she used until sbe tried Cuticura. Tbe disease promptly yielded to this treatment, and In a short while she was entirely well. There has been no return of the disease, and Cuticura ranks So. 1 In our estimation for diseases of tbe skin.

Rev. J. Pressley Barrett. I. D„ Raleigh. X. V. Caticara Remedies

Are a pOiiiUve cure for

every form of skin,

scalp, and blood disease, with loss of hair, from pimples to scrofula, except possibly Ichthyosis.

Sold everywhere. Price, Cuticura, SOe. Soap, 26c. Resolvent, ft. Prepared by the Potter Drug and Chemical Corporation, Boaton»

MTfSend for "How to Cure Hkin Diseases,' pages SO illustrations, and 100 testimonials. I OV'Q ttkln and Scalp preserved and beauDaDl 0 tided by Cuticuraftoap. Absolutely pure.

EVERY MUSCLE ACHES.

Sharp Aches, Dull Pains, Strains, and weaknesses relieved la one mlnnte bytbe oUcu ra Anti-Pain Plaeter. The first and only Instan-

eous pain-killing, strengthening plaster. cents.

If: