Terre Haute Evening Gazette, Volume 6, Number 247, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 1 April 1876 — Page 6

Wfcite ot Red.

Nay, maiden, if thou wilt not tell, Nor bid me po, nor bid me stay: If, saying true I love thee well,

No answer wins me, I'll away. Drifting from thee, one appeai: Let a floral ---igii reveal

What I would know, and thou con ceal.

..'j?o flowers I offer for thy choice,— One radiant as a virgin's blush When mernorv recalls the voice

She oft has heard in twilight hush, Wbisp'iing nothings in her ear,— Nothing truo, but yet more dear

Than garnered woalth of sage or seer

The other white, as though its birth Were of the newly-crystaled snow, EJre, in its downward flight to earth,

It sullied grows, and to and fro Chased is by the sprites of frost. Whirled around, and wayward tossed,

Till 'tuiiist its fallen kind 'lis lost.

If, nestlintr in thy midnight liair, The jeweled flower of snow shall^ be Its presence as a presage fair

I'll greet, of brightest hope to me, Maiden, waiting day by day For the word thou wilt not say,

Be whito the emblem of thy yea.

Bat, should it be thou wishest spare The misery 'twould bring to know That I am naught to thee, wilt WOHI-

The flower of red, and bid me go? Words worn needless let the sign Scarlet with the night entwine, li I may never call thee mine.

LACS,

Sad S'rny Thoughts. 3 3[Y LOVK.

A c»ld grave lies between mv love and I for sno and aye I took a white rose from her breast and kissed her lips one day, One dark, and day, and she was lost forever then to tne, Though weary years should stretch out endless as Eternity.

WORLD-"WEARY.

Another dreary day

Has faded into still more dreary r.i^ht, And, kneeling low, I pray That morniau's checkered, golden ravs of light

M*y tremulously fall

Through" boughs of 'casement roses, reach their red, Warm fingers through them all, To touch my sleeping face and find it dead.

TO IUOKKOW.

To-morrow! what can to- orrow bring but wo? To-morrow will come and to-morrow will go.

And the heart will live, And the heart would give

All that to-morrow's to-morrow holds to know If

All

the coming to-morrows will bring but wo.

IN HKAVEN.

Only a tress of gold brown hair, Saved from the sod, Only a tress of gold-brown hair,—

The rest with God.

Only some withered daisies white, Under the scow Only some withered dtusifs white,

That breathe of wo. EDNA.

Gerard Livingston's Grime

OB,

LOVE'S PROBATION.

BY

FRANK LEKOY,

AORMTOF "THE WAK"I*A HAND," "WEALTH MTSKRT," "BROADWAYJ BX OAS

UOHT," ETC., ETC.

CHAPTER XIV.

A THUNDERBOLT

^hile Gerard was busy packing and ^imaging for his departure, a message came xrom the Duke, to say that lie must speak with him early the nejt morning, on important business. There was a state dinner that night, so

wau^

Gerard

r.perforce

knew it was

naeless to try to hasten the interview. He must pot off going till the next day, for

he could not commit such a flagrant cfc of insolence and ingratitude as to tft in the teeth of such a summons.

Gerard waited, and passed

Ejftoeples9 night of misery. IT very early next moming he descended '»the room where he was in the habit of

Biding the Duke. To his surprise, employer was there before him, walkgp and down with uneven steps, lie turned instantly at the sound of the fog door, and stopped short, in his

to stare at Gerard.

The signs of the blow were more evident now than they had been even the night before, and lie looked so tembly waa and haggard, that, accustomed as the Duke was to see him pale and careworn, he started and exclaimed in sur-

^Gertrd passed the matter over as light-tjy-gs b(i could, unwilling above all things that the

Duke should discover the trut

tr,"DukefirstGerardstartled

jBheDoke listened to his explanation, and IKen returned to his own subject of anx-

ie had been by Gerropearance, was not less so

9

Duke's words. Lave sent to ask you about a private he began, abruptly. "The Countess has informed me that she .believe my son is attached to the Countess Constance, and that you are privy to it."

Gerard was so utterly unprepared for snch a discussion, that lie absolutely started. The Duke did not Observe the movement and after a pause. during which Gerard remained silent* he began again. "Answer me frankly," he said, advancafew steps, till he stood .exactly op-

Ite to Gerard. "Is this so?" tere was no escape now.' He must some reply. There was no sufferk6 would not have undergone rather f)e made a party to such a matter father and son. He feared how would take it—he was jealous of infence and, in the present circum-

umu u« —uny

1

*T*\7.IV

give hi«n. Sanderaon,

TACMWW*EQG.*KR?YAG

stances, he knew not what harm he might be doing, or, in "fact, what to answer ss the troth. "I have reason to think that the Countess is correct in her surmise," he replied, slowly.

The Duke drew along breath, and clenched his hand. "And she?—how does she regard him?" "That I cannot say your Excellency." "Tush! You must speak now!" cried the Duke, lashing himself up to a perfect fury. "You have kept silence too long. Do you know that you have played a treacherous, unwarrantable part? You have concealed from me—from me. whom you are bound by every tie to serve r.ll honor—this thing and now—now .when I question you,, you hesitate, and protend not to know! By heavens, I made, an error when I gave you my confidence! I thought you we're an honorable man, in spite'of your reserve. I listened to Karl's entreaties, when I ought to have listened only to the warning of my own experience. lint yon have undeceived me. Yon will dupe me no more. Answer me this, and then go!"

Gerard listened I this tirade almost with indifference. The Duke's reproaches fell almost on deaf ears. What was it to him, now, what he thought or said? After that day, all

:the

present would be as

though it had never been. One thing he had determined from the moment when he recovered from his first astonishment he would strive to remove the Duke's apparent objections to the match—he would (lead his old friend's cause with his fa S

cr, as he had pleaded ir- with Constance herself. "I will not attempt to justify my silence." he said, when, at lasr.lhe Duke allowed him to speak. "Now that this matter has come to your knowledge by other means than mine, I will tell you all I know. Prince Karl loves your niece, and she does not reject him. There is nothing avowed-between them—no engagement. ]5nt lie. hopes: he. loves her fervently, and lie hopes to win her."

The Duke turned paler still, as Gerard spoke, and struck hi' hand upon the table. "Madness—folly—wicked infatuation!" he murmured. "Aud all my fault!" he added, in a low voice—so low, that Gerard scarcely caught fho words. Then, raising it again, he said, "1 tell you this can never be. It is ivri'iblc to listen to your story, but it is your fault," he repeated, glaring at his secretary "you should have told im: before." "You honor ine too much, your Excellency," Gerard replied, roused to resentment at last. ''What right had I to interfere in such a matter? What have I to do with your son's private affairs? What power have I with him or you?" "You have influence over him, and you know it well. But it is not for not exerting your influence that 1 blame }ron it is for your culpable concealment of the matter from me. Your first duty is to me. Why did your not tell me?" "You should rather ask why I should tell youV" cried Gerard. "Surely you must'know I have no right to come between father and son. How could 1 know that j'ou were not in the Prince's confidence? 2'Jsy. it seemed to me that you meouraged him." "Encouraged him!" re-eciioed the Duke. The man is mad!" "How could 1 know that you would so iitf.erly object?" continued Gerard. 'Their-rank is equal, and in person the Countess is worthy of your son." "Silence!" roared the Duke. "You have kept silence enough. DO not dare to fitter another word!" "But 1 must.—I will!" cried Gerard,now fairly roused. "I have yot spoken before, because it was not my place to interfere but now I will try my best to overcome your anger. He loves her passionately. She will—she must yielu to such devotion. Give them your consent. Happiness is sc.ant enough in this dreary world. Do not lessen what, offers to fall to the lot of your only son. Have .you found life so full of sweetness that you would bless the hand that dashed from you the proffered enp of joy? Would you be the one mar his life—to have him curse you for his misery?" "Silence!" cried the Duke, atone of of intense pain: "you know not of what you speak, lour silence was bad enough —your speech is worse. Heavens! that I should have been so mad—so blind!

He struck his forehead heavily, and turned to the open window and looked out. Gerard saw his stalwart frame shake and tremble with emotion, fouddenly as he saw his son pass on^ the terrace beneath, lie called out, "Karl Karl! "Not yet!" cried Gerard. "Let me go first." ,,

The Prince must have been on the staircase almost bofov*1, lii# father spoke, for, before Gerard's words had died away, he was in the room. If the fathe.r was stricken with grief, the son was stricken mad. Gerard shrank from him as he enterep, appalled. "Ah! let you go? he shouted "let you o, indeed! 1 heard you. She has gone lirst, and you want to join her—honest, trustworthy friend who pleaded my cause so valiantlv!"

Gerard listened in silence. What had happened now? Gone! Who had gone?' The Duke turned from the window, and asked the question Gerard's working lips refused to form. "She!" cried the Prince ^lns paramour! Who else would you have it be?" -Do you mean that Constance has fled?"- asked the Duke, slowly. "Ah! fled to wait for him. It was well, arranged! Dupe—fool that I was to trust

k'"You are mistaken," said his father, gravely. "He has not deceived you. If she has fled, it is independently of him

only

this moment he has pleaded your cause with me as if it had been his

0V"Pleaded

with you?" cried Karl.''Why

should he plead with you? Whathas he to do between you and me?" ,. "I-compelled him to speak," replied the Dnke "It was as much against his will, as against yours. Oh, Karl, Karl! why did you not trust me—why did you hide this so closely from me? "I did not hide it!" cried Karl, too excited still to know what lie was saying. "If you did not see it, blame yourself. For all I cared it was patent to all the world. He saw it, and he took advantage of my love to press his suit. I asked him to pray for me, and he stole her from me instead." "It is not so," said the Duke, in evident perplexity. ."If it were as you say, why should he have jrst spoken as he has done?" "How has he spoken?" cried Karl. "What did he ask?" «He asked my consent to your union." "Because he thinks he has rendered it impossible," interrupted Karl. "Nay, by heaven!" cried Gerard, speaking at last, "you shall hear me! I will have justice. 1 have told you once,.and

|ing°PobiuA™*Kim O

rou have not believed me your father shall hear now, and be the jutlgo^ I knew your niece when she was in New York. I loved her, and she refused me. I

came

here and saw her again. The" old love was not dead but I would have died sooner than so bet raj' your confidence as to pursue her. She spoke to me. and, in spite of myself,! could

CHAPTER XV.

If a thunderbolt, had fallen in_ the midst of them as they stood in their angry discussion, it could not have produced a greater effect than did the Duke's last wor

Karl uod for a moment as if stupefied, and the t, with a low groan, sank senseless on he floor. erard's state was scarcely less pitiable. Shaken already to the utmost by the painful scene he had lately gone through, that revelation seemed at once the acme and completion of his misery. Not only himself crushed, but a blot on her fair fame!

The Duke—the cause of all—was as much agitated as the two who had heard this secret for the first time. He had, indeed, reason to blame himself—not for his past sin only, but for. the misery he brought to those whom he loved best, lie idolized Karl, and jret it was his hand that had thus smitten him.

He groaned aloud in anguish. Gerard was the first to regain his selfpossession.

He advanced to where Karl lay, and gently raised him in his arms. "Call for assistance," he said and passively enough, the Duke obeyed.

Gi.vRfl.rd waited till' he had seen Karl laid on his bed,' and tile doctors pjr-nimj tiicuhe felt his task was over. lie might now think of himse.lf—not think, for his brain was in a whirl but lessen the strain that was upon him. As yet, he scarcely knew what had or what had not happened. Only of one thing was he fully conscious that was, he must depart at once.

Eor a moment, he hesitated whether to seek Constlboe. It would be no difficult matter to find a clue to her whereabouts.

But honor forbade him. There could be no rational fear as to her safety the Duke "would be sure to go in pursuit as soon as Karl was restored to consciousness. All he had to do was to go.

When the Duke, after four hours spent by the side of Karl's bed, was able to think of anything or any one besides his son, he went in search of his secretary

He felt that Gerard had been harshly dealt with. He had borne the whole brunt of the storm, and his had not been the fault.

The Duke went to atone—too late. When he reached Gerard's rooms he found them deserted. It was no temporary absence, clearly the rooms had that desolate, untidy look, that indicates hasty packing. Books, pictures, easel, sketches —all had disappeared.

The Duke frowned. He was disappointed, and pained too. He was a just, kindhearted man, and he was sorry that Gerard should be gone away, carrying with liiin a sense of wrong. lie regretted his harsh words that morning, llie man, in 6pite of his reserve, had proved trustworthy. That Karl had loved unhappily was ao fault of his.

But it was to- hte now—the words had been spoken, and Gerard was beyond his reach.

After a slow, almost sorrowful, look round the empty room, the Duke went away,

One matter was ended, though not to his will he must now turn to another. Karl's report of Constance's flight proved true but she had left a letter, to be given to her uncle privately.

It had been put into his hands long ago, but when his anxiety on Karl's account was so intense, he had not opened it.' He remembered it afterwards and one of his reasons for seeking Gerard was to place it still' unopened in his hands, as the best proof of his confidence. Gerard had defeated his intention, and so now, at last, Constance's letter was perused. It was clear and decisive. Karl loved her, and she felt she could never return his affection. It was impossible, therefore, for the two to live under the same roof in constant sbcial intercourse. His place was in his father's house it was for her to go, and so she, unwilling to have discussion on the matter, had taken her own way, and sought refuge with some Sisters of Mercy. Then followed the date, and the name of her place of refuge. That was all not a word about Gerard or her hopeless love—as Gerard had told him truly, that matter was at an end forever.

The silence was creditable to them both, and the Duke never for a moment doubted Gerard's assertion. Karl's accusations were only the fancies of a lovesick brain.

In so trusting, the Duke only did them justice. There was no understanding between them. Constance's only thought was to flee from Gerard, and Gerard's to escape from the presence, which he felt might in the end, be too strong for his self-control.

It Is understood that jramman and Bush will not

urge

new trial.

-V^^Y5 '?V^r~~ T*

not

conceal that

my feelings were unchanged. But nothing passed that was dishonorable. If yon had stood by and heard us, you might have reproached us for our weakness, but not for our guilt.. Then your son came, lie loved her, though she had rejected him. lie implored me to plead for him. I did but it was too much for my strength. He saw me. fail, and, in his rage, he gave me this." And he pointed to his disced face. "I forgave it for he had figurt„_ been good to me. culpable silence. was

You taxed me with my How could I speak?

My'tongue was tied. But when 3rou heard it from other lips, I was honorable to my benefactor's cause him, and "Hush!" said the Duke. "It is enough. You are justified. It is a miserable story, but he is not to blame." Then turning to Karl, he added, "Why she has lied, I know not but he is not her abettor. We owe him an apology." "For having stolen my love?" cried Karl, fiercely. "Never! 1 loathe liim I scorn him I will hate him to my dying day! Beware traitor your life is not safe with me!" "Karl!" cried his father, in avoice taat made them both look up astonished "restrain your wicked words. He has not deceived you he has not torn your happiness from you. Hay be, lie has been the unconscious cause of preventing a' deadly crime. You could never have married Constance. 1-iapp.v for .you that instinct bade her to withhold her love!" "Never have married her?" cried ivarl. "Ah, but 1 would! I will, in spite of you all .so Heaven help me!" "Karl!" cried his lather, in a terrible voice, "cense, if you would not bring down heaven's -wrath upon yotd Consinner is yo sister—my illegitimate) child!"

A few days later, the Duke went to see Constance, and wrung from her the avowal of her love for Gerard.

When she had ended, he had a story to tell in his turn and, pale and trembling, Constance heard the history of her birth.

She did not faint, but it was a great shock. Her first feeling was one of thankfulness. She had had a great escape. Her love for Gerard had been a mercy but for that, she might have listened to Karl's love. By the light of her new knowledge, she read many things which before had puzzled her. She understood now the Countess' avoidance of her—her angry contempt—the mystery that had always been made of her connection with the Clintons. It was all clear now. Of course, they concealed her mother's shame, for she was of their own blood.

The Duke had yet more to tell, and when Constance had finished her searching questions about her birth, he told her of Gerard's disappearance.

That was a great blow and, though she instantly comprehended Gerard's reason, his flight gave her a'bitter pang.

For many weeks Karl hovered between life and death. He was a man of strong passions, and the shock he had received seemed at one time to threaten his reason. When at the end of three months he was permitted to escape from the hands of doctors and nurses, it was sad to see the havoc grief had wrought.

One thing was singular during the whole time of his wild ravines, he had never once uttered Constance's name and now that he was well, he maintained the same reserve.

It was a relief, and yet an anxiety, to 'his father. Karl's silence, however, was not to l"".t forever. Though he had not^ chose:: ro refer to the subject till he telt he had the strength to discuss it in the spirit he desired, he had by no means abandoned .the idea of clearing up what still remained a mystery.

Under the peculiar circumstances of his old friendship with Gerard, his aid when he was friendless, and the way in which the history of his past had woven itself a troubled thread in Jus own destiny—he felt lie had a right to demand his secret. It was no idle curiosity, but a legitimate desire to put an end to the mystery of his connection with Constance, and so prove, to his own satisfaction, that he had indeed considered his love hopeless, and pleaded in all honor for Karl.

Till he. was convinced of that, he could

not

think without bitterness of his old friend. So, to his father's astonishment and secret horror. Karl, one morning, asked for Gerard's address. He had been informed of his absence, but without any of the particulars concerning it. "I do not know it," replied the Duke, shortly. "How!" cried Karl. "Surely you did not dismiss him in disgrace?" "No—he dismissed himself. Immediately after the commencement of your illness he left, without giving any reason for his departure. Very encouraging to future kindness, trulj\"

Karl did not respond to his fathers an^er. He felt that if Gerard had acted as lie declared he had, he had a right to feel indignant at his treatment. "Father, I must see him!" cried Karl, after a short silence. "I must learn his history. I owe it to him and to myself." ... "I don't see how you are to do that, unless you know where to find him." •iiBossibly I can learn that from Con-

a

ft "1. .. 1 /-»Tir Ann 'm nrva

stance," lie said, in a low tone. "I hope Constance could be nothing to him." He could not yet endure the idea of any understanding between her and Gerard without repugnance.

The Duke was silent. "I shall make her tell me all," continued Karl "justice demands it!"

CHAPTER XVI.

THE WANDERER'S KETURN.

While Karl lay hovering between life and death, Gerard pursued his way to New York.

The great object of his life was accomplished. He had been fortunate in disposing of his pictures during the past month, and had earned the sum required to place him once again on an equality with his fellow men.

While Captain Alden was deprived in his old age of the money he had worked so hard for, in order to conceal Gerard's short-comings, Gerard felt there was a stain upon him to great to admit of his returning home to, ask for pardon. But, once free of that, he pined to see them again. Now, above all, when he had tested the bitterness of outraged friendship —when he knew that those to whom he owed most, and to whom lie had given the best years of his life, doubted and distrusted him.

He lingered near, though scrupulously concealing his whereabouts, till he heard that Prince Karl was considered out of danger then he set out on his homeward journey.

One might almost have imagined that the painful excitement h» had undergone would have shown its effects upon his health but it was not so. Whether it was that he had already passed through the keenest of life's bitterness, or that the knowledge of the pleasure it was in his power to bestow on those from whom he nad been so long severed, sufficed to counterbalance his own selfish pain, he never once failed in health or energy.

The events of the last few months he cast behind him resolutely for the second time he banished Constance from the reveries of future happiness, which, even at its lowest ebb, the mind insists on building.

The lirst plate he went to on reaching New York was Captain Alden's modest little house. He did not dare seek his father's till le had heard how it had fared with him during those long years of absence.

And now, for the first time, his heart smote him for his long desertion. As usual, he had thought only of himself.

He had listened only to his pride. Never a care for those whom he had left behind, and whom, may be, had needed his presence and protection.

It was strange how much of misdoing dawned upon him during that hasty journey—carelessness, neglect, and self-indul-gence. What though he had earned the money to refund his theft, had not he made others suffer for the restitution?

As he pondered, his head fell lower and lower, and when at last he reached the Captain's door, instead of the exultant entree he had pictured, he crept out of the cab, and stood in the dark hall— longing for, yet dreading the moment of recognition. He need not have feared Captain Alden was far too generous a man to add his reproaches to those which he saw by Gerard's face were already

nectea mat more "i" be Found

a

their motion for a

day or twofJnvolving

other city* officers. The bribery

fry

sharp enough. He welcomed him affectionately, as one to whom he was nearly connected. erard thanked him in his heart,though his lips refused their office. Timidly^in very different manner to what he had intended—he- produced the fruit of his long labors.

The Captain looked gravely at him. "Was it for this you left them all in. suspense so long?" he asked.

It was the last feather to the overburdened camel. Those words confirmed all Gerard newly awakened feaiw. Pride, selfishness, had been at workrbut no pity or affection.

He covered his face, and shook with •motion. He did not tell the Captain all the bitterness of his self-reproach, but the good man seemed to understand it. "It was a great mistake!" he murmured, pushing aside the package that Gerard had laid before him "but you did it for the best. We will not speak oft his now wait till you have seen them all." "Is he alive?" groaned Gerard. "•Yes he still lives, but feeble and helpless as a child. "Since when?" groaned Gerard, again. "Since you left," replied the Captain. "He was truly sorry for the pain he was compelled to inflict, but there was nO he^) for it."

A man must bear the fruits of his own works. Gerard was silent for a few moments, vainly endeavoring to silence the tell-tale gasping of his" for his mother.

ing of his breath. Then he asked

Captain Alden was thankful to be able to give cheering answers at last. Mrs. Livingston was well—not only well, but wonderfully improved in character since the recent crisis of her life.

She was devoted to her helpless husband, so the Captain told Gerard and ever since she had felt that he must depend on her, she. had given up her luxurious,.fretful ways, and proved herself an affectionate and devoted wife.

And Lot!a? Of Lotta nothing could be told but was delightful. As daughter, wife, and mother, she was perfect, so affirmed Captain Alden and as fathers-in-law are not wont to be' too indulgent to the shortcomings of their sons' wives, this testimony was highly valuable.

At the Captain's urgent request, Gerard stayed that night beneath his hospitable roo'f. He wished to prepare Mr. Livingston otherwise, the joy at his son's return miyht probably be the herald of his death.

Very reluctantly, Gerard consented. He could not regard the Captain but with a sense of shame. He was thejnost prominent character in the drama of that wretched night—the last he had passed in New York.

The Captain, if any such feelings still existed on his side, concealed them so well that the most fastidious pride could not have been offended. Not a word or look reproached Gerard for the past, or reminded him of it. The sole occasion of his even implying blame was in his first words, "It was a great mistake." Gerard comprehended all they meant, and remembered them to his dying day, though without anger or bitterness to him who uttered them.

The next day was a trying one. Reunions are not all pleasure. The voices of the past, the perception of time's changes, the fears for the future,, all thrust themselves in those first stirring horn's when those long separated meet once more.

But the Captain was so skillful in his arrangements, and Lotta was so bright and loving, that it all passed off better than Gerard had even dared to hope.

Mr. Livingston's delight at beholding his son again was heartfelt. As for the mother's joy, it would be vain to attempt to describe it. Gerard had been her idol the only thing for which she ever re-

{lim

jroacliea her husband was for sending away,. His fault had been forgotten long ago by the doting mother, ana she only regarded and welcomed him, as one greatly and unjustly injured.

It seemed strange to Gerard to find how soon he settled down into his place among them. The long years in Germany seemed to have vanished like a dream and, save for the memory of Constance, he would never have wished to recall them.

At his earnest solicitation, Captain Alden accepted the money for which he had worked so hard, and so, at length, lleginald and Lotta received their wedding present.

CHAPTER XVII.

HAPPINESS AT LAST.

Meanwhile, though to Gerard all thoughts of his life and friends in Germany were classed "among the things of the irrevocable past, those friends had by no means.forgotten him.

Though Karl had so long refrained from speaking to his. father on the subject, the time came, as we know, when he asked him the history of the lirst days of his illness..

Karl felt that Gerard had been very illused. The Duke was still angry at his unceremonious departure. He thought it ungrateful of hiin to leave while Karl was in such danger—(of course lie was not aware of how Gerard had lingered till he knew his old friend was safe)—but still his story showed Karl clearly that there was no complicity between Gerard and Constance.

That conviction once arrived at, Karl would net rest till he had asked for his forgiveness.

When Karl first cast about in his own mind for what clue he had to Gerard's history, and remembered that Constance knew it all, he turned a little pale.

But he was resolute and determined. Since his father's revelation of the secret of Constance's Birth,his passion had paled considerably. He believed it was instinct that caused it and, instinct or not, he called his strength to his aid to assist him in subduing his ill-fated attachment.

He was too successful for it to be altogether flattering to the lady. Truth to tell, Karl's loTe tor Constance had been his first experience of the tender passion. It was violent, but brief. And though as yet, he would not contemplate the possibility of her being won by another, he had quite given up all claims to her himself.

It- was with great unwillingness the Duke watched him depart for his private interview with Constance but he knew, by experience, that to thwart him was only to intensify his determination.

Karl had resolved on learning Gerard's history from Constance herself and, if it was an honorable one, he meant—though, as yet, he scarcely owned the fact to himself—to

try

to smooth the way to their

union. Constance was rather frightened when she heard who it was desired to see her. Of course, she knew that Karl could come but iD one relationship now but still, af-

ter 'hat last passionate scene in the lime avenue, she shrank from meeting him. She had suffered acutely (luring the month that had passed since then. Sulf. reproach for her conduct towards Gerard mingled with blame to her father for having so long kept her in ignorance of her birth.. She imagined that she would have acted so differently had she known all but, pos.'iibly, she deceived herself. Constance was naturally proud and she would have been as arrogant, as the avowed natural daughter of the Duke of W as she had been when she believed herself his niece.

The interview between brother and sister wits a prolonged one. The more they talked together, the more Karl became conscious (f the eliange in his own feelings towards her. His vague intention of working for litu* happiness, by bringing about lier marriage with, Gerard, grew clear and well defined.

At first, Constance had refused to tell Gerard's history but she yielded to Karl's pressing arguments. Perhaps, in her secret heart, she harbored suspicions of Karl's intentions. At first hearing, Karl was shocked at the reason for Gerard's flight and secrecj" but when Constance went fully into the whole unhappy story,.throwing a large share of blame upon herself for driving him to desperation, he was softened.

ijreraras nistory HUG sue yielded to Karl's pressing arguments. Perhaps, in IlO tllSCilllU LI II AALIF FLL /A CUNT.'

It was a harder task bring the Duke to his way of thinking—but he succeeded in that too and then Karl set off for New York.

It was not difficult, with his newly-ac-quired information, to find Gerard. At first, Gerard could scarcely believe his eyes when he beheld his visitor. But when Karl, after along talk, and full explanation, touched on the real object of his visit, Gerard's agitation grew intense.

Constance to be his, after that great struggle and fearful ordeal of suffering and crushed hopes!

He was scarcely even convinced of the reality of his happiness, when, a few months later, he stood with Constance before the altar, and heard her pronounced his wife.

But he believed at last—believed, when the fullness of the happiness he tasted told him that at the hand of no one else but his first and only love could he have obtained such.

And so, after sin and sorrow, and absence and repentance, happiness camQ at last.. And though he could never forgive himself the terrible crime which had stricken Lis lather old in the prime of his age, he never regretted the long probation he had undergone, or the fierce lesson which had weaned him from the follies of his youth.

BRAINS IN TIME OS'' i'ERIL.

The Grand Theatre at Vienna was crowed. The Emperor Francis, with several members of his family, Was in the imperial box.. The play, "Schiller's Jobbers," had reached the third act, when a cry arose that the stage was on fire. Emile Devrient signalled at once to the proprietor, who lowered the curtain. The actor, stepping/in front of it ere it wholly fell, in his clear, clarion voice said:—"The Emperor has been despoiled of an aigrette of diamonds. No honest person will object to being searched. You will pass out one by one at each entrance and be searched by the police stationed at the several doors. Any man attempting to go out of order will be arrested." The crowd, deceived by the coolness of the charge, poured out. As each reached the door, he was simply told to hurry on, and just as the last rows of the upper gallery were filing out the flames burst through the curtain. But not a life was lost, though in less than an hour afterward thebuilding was in ruins.

A. PAUI'EK.'S L'ROI'HECr.

Nearly half a oentury ago, a woman- by the name of Loomis, living in the town of Pawlet, Vt.,. was compelled to ask relief from the town which was refused.. She. finally became- a charge upon- the town, and she then, made avow that the town, of Pawlet should not be without,#, pauper for fifty years. She will be one hundred years old in October* 1876, and the fifty years will expire some time next winter.. She has had offers of marriage during her dependency but her answer always, was, "l would not swap the town of Pawlet for the best man living." Hhe town house, where she now resides, is over a mile from, Pawlet village. Last fall she made her annual visit to the vil. lage on foot.

SOCIETY MEETINGS.

KM- WASHINGTON, COUNCIL NO. 3, Junior Order United American Mechanics meets every TU«SURV -veuiug at the American Mechanics' HuJJ, uorU»west corner ot Main and Fifth streets, at 8 o'clock* AH members and visiting members are oordially invited to attend our meetings

A-M

AlcKENMAN.C.

W.H. Worn, It. B.

K*. TERBK HAUTE L.ODQK NO. 2, ANC1KNT ORDER OF UNITED WORKMEN, meet every Wednesday evening in braid's Hall, corner of Seventh and Main streets, *t 7J^ o'clock. All mswbers and visiting ineinUersare respectfully invited to attend ,, w. M. I'UKCEia,, AI. W.

QWDTIHYIK, liecor er.

TAMMANY TRIBE NO. 39, 1. O. R. M., meets Wednesday evenings, at w^S* warn, southeast corner of Main and

Fifth

streets. Members and visiting membexi are invited to attend. •:. F. KODEKUS, Sachem.

VHAS. fKLTXJS, Chief oi Rocords. P. o. Box 516.

WABASH LODOi£ NO. i, A.NCIEN1 ORDER OF UNITED WORKMEN meetevery Thursday evening in their Hall, corner S and Main streets, at half-past 7 o'clock. All meinfcere aiiti visiting mem* bersare respectfully invited to aiteiid.

H. M. VAUGHN, M. W.

J. B. BHIBK, Recorder.

O. U. A. M.—Terre Hauf« Council No 8, Order of United American Mechanics meets every Thursday evening at tbeli Council Chamber, northwest corner Main and Filth streets, at 7% o'clock. All members and visiting members are cordially invited to attend our meetines a JZ' HB°^VEa'

ili 1 VB|

CoaDciUor.

Ot

Forts Saniernanuu .uu ftwiah'a and CaltfarMfife XlnO a fortification in the suburbs of Mata-1 moras by remnant of the Govern- Is the shortest and anu best leute for ply for farther partlcu'

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Wyo miug, ColorCalifornia, Oreaud Australia.

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Northern Wis-

ota, and for Madinneapolis, Dulitfh, the Great North-

it. Peter Hue

»r Winona, Rpchiankato, St. Peter, points in South3ta. Its [arqaeite Iiiuo

Janesville. WaJjac, Oshkosb, "ay, Escanab'u,

Houshton,

Lake Superior

)nbnq«e Line Elgin, Rock ford ts via Frec-

wan E IIIMS

pe.Route, and is through EvansHighland Park, Kenosha to Mil-

HcE CAUS. gh trains of this

Line running Chicago and St. Milwaukee, or a. Sleepers connect Sleepers on the ad, for all points river. the trains from ae trains of the estern Railway oiiows maiia, and all

ally, witliTQTI~ ing Room and igh to Council

limeapolis. Two 'I With Puliman on both trains. Lake Snpcrlo

Pullman Palaud running

Four through n.Cars on night lars on the day

iona and points through train Sleepers to Wi-

IFreeport, two with Puliman

La Crosse, via trains daily, night train, to

Yankton, two Cars to Mis-

ur trains daily, ling, Kenosha, joints, you can rains daily. To. 415 Broado. 5 State St. oham Stieet 121'Montgomiket Offices,- 62 srman House idtion Streets •rtfer W. Kin-

Usf Street DeSinzie Stsr ion not attainticket agents,

'iSNETT, AjEent, Chicago.

Sant, Chicago. in"

arri&ge. natglKeii fro es in early llmentfl to of treattable remedies. 1 free, In OOIATION No. deapnln. I-a.—an reputation for rofeiislon&l skill

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nslng orr Wtll $10® a mon its. Anger bock Co., St.Lonin.

buffering.

send, Iree of •simple mean ability, Frematkness, and all »hs. He hopes remedy, as it !-tt»ay prove an Wishing it will ARSHALL, t, Buffalo, N. Y. with Incipient mchltis. or any ylll find this a

Over the dry Wilson Bros. .C. A for house ifed at C. Mstween Fourth

1STANTED-A flrstc lass salesman at a lnanlnff clothing and taiJoilsg house i,v.

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leaning clothing and tailoring I

to whom theoestaaUra wlUr^paia* ply for farther particular* at this

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