Terre Haute Weekly Gazette, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 21 February 1878 — Page 2

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THURSDAY. FEBRUARY 21, I878

JBE NEGLECTFUL HUSBAND.

How His Wise "Wifs Effectually Lured Him Back to tho Fold.

[From the New Tor It World t.

So te»e were werl, anrl merri'y The bells lung. Young waae/tch He a« Apollo hnmtsome was, £h? i»ret'y as a peach. And soon, their wedUng journny o'^r, l'he C-" pic settled dow", In litt.ehouse. on a quiet street,

In a suburban tow i. Th re was a tiny garden plot Where he conM po ter round, And in no sure and eerta'n hup

Commit unto he ground All sorts o' scdslhat «r" i« J«mes Vlrk's oatalwf ue dc kuown— For only this was pure he »h

Not r«'ap what h«* had sown. For her there was a kitchen w«.c, Thei was a parlor spiall, And to the front door leading thence

A da ll 'K of a hall.

You could not swing a cat in it— But cats who wants to swin?? fcnd when one hears a step without.

Then a lam liar ring When one world is shutont, shut in Another aorld ol two. Such halls, thigh uncaiewiagable,

Will geueraliy do.

This cosy paradise wi The couple I report Were happy as the day was loug—

To apeak correctly, short, F*i'twas Decen. ber.) 'ihus three months Parsed hy without a fr»wn, When in the husband young broke out

The fatal mat de-town. "Cltv. I am truo son of thine," He said with Smith, the poet He found home evening* \.ere a bore-

Worse, he heoran to show it. At first it was a pleasant time YVhen bi Me and hridegioom were Two people with a single thought

And with a tingle chair

The

bri icgroom cared to.hear her plays 0 perfect flow tr oMxivt's young day, Why HI. vou run to seed

Says Chancer wh *n the husband 'gins Of eves to doze and y*wn, The biid of love he beats h.s wings And—farjwe.l 1 hpi is gone. «Jone lievond ach or remedy Not e'en will salt xvail.

Althoughcistilledfrom tears tbe, To lure his fleeting tail.

III.,

Oh, first this husband h«d to go Down town to see a man Then to sit up with at invalid,

A friend both weak and wan And then he joined a mythic lodge Within wiiose mystic gate He and his fellows gathered them

Togetherolt »nd late. He came home with chalk upon His sleeve, W'th cloves upon hi* brcaih, And he would wake his sleeping wife lu the inidr ight still as death. With oriesof "Pool!" and "That bursts me!" 'I call—What have you got "Three aces." itaon he'd naine ihe place

Which Buccher 6a is not.

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Deeply his younp wife sorroved. But the did not shed a tear, Nor wulk off to her ruber's house

On her iny, shell-like car For phe »rew more logic than is writ Reid, Hami nor fehairp in She was. in her own expressive phrase,

Another kind ol hairpin. 8hemerely knit hor pretty brows, And tossed her bra desof silk, And said to herself in low, swe^t tones,

I'li fetchh his uillk

"Oh, here r-re you goli g, my husband she sai l, "Oh, where are you goi"g said she. "Oh to the lodge meeting," n* said, "ameeting of emergency. "Oli, when will vou come back, my husband she said. "Oh, will you come back ea'd she. "Oh, it may be one, or it may be two, A. M.. or it may be three

Bat hie thee to bed at the usual hour, And do not wait for me." "Oh wrap yourself up, my husband,'

"And don't forget the latch-key.,' "But why are you tricked out, my dear," he said.

In unwonted braverie t" "Oh, I thought uiy^nusband.would perhaps stay At home to-night with, me

But go for ihou art an A. F. A. M. Of the 83."

Forth fared he unsupnecting, but soon »8c»vered he Had left at the house behind him

At the house liehind him his key, So home he fnied to get it. v»hen, lol an unwonted sight, His house was bright as ever,

Lodge was upon lodge nigh', "What guest can she be expecting To-nigh?" be hoarsely said. 'Let me not name it to you.

Ye chaste stars,' but I have a dread He rang: heheaid the rustle Ot a dress familiar to m, And a whisper came through the kevbole

Paying quietly, "Is that you. JimT''

VII.

Notone second from his s'gh*. When at night he hears on threshold

As.ep that hath tnere no bis. He taketn his pistol and goeth To see if a burglar 'tis. His lodge's emergent meetings

Tis two months sin he heard that whisper Throi gh that quio* kevho come, But in that iwo mouths that husband

Has not spent one evening from home. On a husb nd s? devoted Tho sun doth not shed its light* His cara sposa be suffers

Have come to a sudden end He hath no more pressing appointments To keep down town with a friend, When his wife plavs the piaoo

He d*th neither doze nor yawn. But thinks about Detdemont-^

i, P. S.—His name is John: New York, February, 1878. U. T. L.

"C.ty, I am truo son of thine."—Alex. Smith, Ode "To Glasgow." +"When Mastery cometh, the bird of Love anon

Beats his light wings and—farewclll—he is go»e."

A FIGHT FOR LIFE,"v-

1XTKRESTING STORY AN EAGLS'S

''*•**. 4i

SUCCESS-OP

letter In Fort Bt and Stream. I once witnessed a singular contest in strategy between a duck and an eagle, which may interest your readers. My friend and I were duck-shooting upon the lakes in northern Wisconsin. We were shooting from a railroad bridge that crosses the northern end of Lake Beau de Mort, through which flows the Fox river on its wiy to Green Bay. Our method was to conceal ourselves as much as possible by crouching low upon the stringers and lo\er timbers on the bridge, and drop our game as it flew over us within easy range. It was a beautiful autumn morning, and I had just fired my first shot, winging a blue-bill, which dropped into the water a few rods above the bridge. I was just about to complete my jmpertect work by giving the duck the contents of my remaining barrel, when I was

air quiverrd with the rush ot lordly wins*, and. almost with the rapidity of lightning, a magnificent bald eagle, swooping from his flight, darted for my wounded duck. But with an equal celerity the duck disappeared beneath the surface of the water. Ana then began one of the most interesting displays of *agacity and determined contests, forfood on one hard and life on the other, that it has ever been my/ortune to witness. It lasted for over an'hour and a half, and, although my fi-iend arid I could have killed both the eagle and duck at pleasure any time during the contest, we seat cd ourbelves on the bridge and watched with peculiar interest the most singular scene which iollowed. The instinct (shall we not call it reason?) manfested bv both parties was remarkable. 'it id a well-known fact that when you essav tocaptnre a winged duck from a boat it will seek to preserve itself bv diving, and in such cases will remain under the wa for a very long time, and when ci.ming to the surface will be far away from vour boat, and thst irequently in the

rear,

having*passed under vou, so

that it requires a skillful boatman, as well us a verv watchful hunter, to capture a duck even when winged. In this case the duck apparently reasoned that the tactics adopted when pursued bv a hunter in a boat would not be suitable, since in that rate it might come to the surface immediately beneath the talons of its daadly foe. It further seemed to con elude that there W2S but one spot ab-o lutely safe, and that was the one on the suface which she had just left, since the momentum of the eagle in his flight wo Id not suffer him to pause at that spot, but would necessarily carry him beyond, so that if the duck should return almost immediately to that spot he might replenish his wasted breath safety. Whether jo reasoning or not, such, at all events, was the course pursued, and. no sooner had the eagle darted over the spot than the duck would immediately reappear in almost the exact location. Nor was the sagacity displayed by the eagly any less the interesting. He adopted a great variety of tactics and methods, and pursued them with unflagging zeal. At times he would place himself so near the surface that his great outstretched winirs would almost dip the water, and, moving slowly, noislessiy and stealthily alon£, precisely like a cat, would try to steal upon his prey. When he thought he had approached as near as he could in this way, he would dart like a flash, with his yreat claws distended ready to seize his victim Then, again, "he would place himself in the zenith of the duck and fall, rather than dart, but still with astonishing celerity. Sometimes he would fly listlessly about, and if he had given up the chase, and as much as to say that he did not care much for duck anyhow. Then suddenly from his listless mood he would bound with electric rapidity.

And now another singular fact appeared. The duck, which at the beginning appeared to have a mortal dread of his foe, gradually grew quite bold and reckless. Alas! how danger, like vice, "seen too oft," makes us losa our caution. Many a poor soul and life is lost because of this. This is what proved the ruin of poor ducK. Instead of seeking safety early,as he had done, he grew reckless, and would wait the quite near approach of his foe before he made his plunge. At last—there always has to be an at last—he waited iu9t a moment too long, and the sharp claws pietced his back ere he had gotten sufficiently beneath tHe surface, and he was borne off in triumph. It was with a feeling of regret that we noted the issue. For although we ourselves were taking duck life without compunction, and although this one had hi# organ of flight broken, so that never again could he sail with companions over forest and stream, yet we felt that such a noble struggle'for life deserved a better fate than the furnishing of a breakfast, even though that breakfast was for that lordly eagle.

When

y-u h^vo a

thing

to do, do it and

when yen have a cough to care, cure i? by uBingDr. Bull's Cough Syrup, tho beat made.

Speaking of dramas, we are reminded vividly of John Pettit's dream. The judge's sense of justice was outraged at some fool decision of the supreme court, and he dreamed a scene in which the folly and injustice of the ruling was illustrated. A little angel girl, three or four years old, all dressed in white, who had died and taken her place in the galaxy of the blessed, was represented as telling the story of her woes resultiug from the application of the objectionable law to her case and in conclusion she is moved to ejaculate, indignantly: "D—n such laws and d—n such counts."—Indianapolis Herald.

During a performance of "Mazeppa" in a country theater the "steed" proved to be the very reverse of "fiiry" "Agai he urges on his wild career shouted the hero of the place again and again but still the four footed actor remained about as "w ild" as a guinea pig engaged in phyilosophical reflection, 'Ere," a^ last cried the anitrial's proprietor, who 6tood in ene of the entrances, "It'll be all right—fetch us a shutter." Upon the latter being brought to him, he banged it smartly clown upon the stage, at the same time calling out'4Full inside!" The horse careered instanter.

"Is this the place," she asked, as she wandered down on the barren sands, "where a young lady—a beautiful young lady—f(Al into the water last season, ana was rescued by a gallant young man, whom she afterward married He looked at her carefully, estimated her at a square forty-seven, with false teeth, and said: 'Ytt, raa'ara, but I don know how to swim."

The Egyptian mummies who settled themselves in their li.tle beds three thousand ve.irs ago, with packages of wheat in their hands, must have had wonderful

THE T^RRE HA

Then he would make a succession of darts, one following the other with the greatest celerity, wheeling and bounding as if he would not ailow his duckship a moment to recover breath, and 60 tire him out. After something over an hour of this maneuvering he seemed to tire of the contest, and. perching himself on a neighboring tree, sat perfectly motionles*. Supposing he had given up in despair, we resumed our sport. But scarcely had we begun, when the same "whirr" tilled our ears as at the first, and the contest was renewed with ten-fold vigor. He used less strategy now, but more bull-dog pertinacity. He seemed to have determined to "fight it out on that line if it took all summer."

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PUT YOURSELF IN HIS PLACE.

A Novel of ThriiKai Interest About the Great Strikes in England.

i=i

BY CHARLES READK.

:y.Mm

$ b'S'

1 "onttnned From Last Issne.l

CHAPTER XLI.

On that

It was the great anniversary da\ Sir Richard Rabv had lost for the Stuarts all the head he possessed. His faithful descendant seized the present opportunity to celebnte the event with more pomp than ever. A month before the day he came from Hillsborough with sixty yards of violet colored velvet, the richest that could bi got from Lvons: he put this down on a table, and *o his 6ister that it was for her an'i :f" wear on the coming anivers" v. "Don't tell me there's not enough.' .n.. he "for I inquired how much it would take to carpet two small rooms, and bjught it now what will carpet two little libraries will clothe two large ladies and yoj are neither of you shrimps."

While he was thus doing the cynical, nobody heeded him quick and skillful fingers were undoing their parcel, and the ladies' cheeks flushed and their eyes glistened, and their fingers felt the stuff inside and out: in which occupation Raby left them, saying, "Fulldress, mind' We Rabyti are not beheaded every day."

Mrs. Little undertook to cut both dresses, and Jael was to help sew them. But, when they came to be tried on, Jael was dismaed. "Why, I shall be halt naked," said she. "Oh, Mrs. Lit'.le, I cou'dn't, I should sink with shame."

Mre. Little pooh-poohed that, and an amusing dialogue followed between these two women, both of them'equally modest, but one hardened, and perhaps a little blinded, by custom.

Neither could convice the oth°r, but Mrs. Liltle overpowered Jael by saying, "I shall wear mine low, and you will mortally offend my brother if you don't."

Then Jael succumbed, but looked for ward to the day with a terror one would haruly have expected from the ge^ral strength of her character.

Little arrived, and saw his mother lor a minute or two before dinner. She seemed happy and excited, and said, "Cheer up, darling we will find a way to make you happy. Mark my word*, a new era in your life dates from to-da^ mean to open your eyes tnight. Thjere,j don't question me, but give me one kiss, and let us go and make ourselves splendid for poor Sir Richard."

When Little came do"stairs? he found his uncle and a distinguished-look-ing young gentleman standing before the fire: both were in full dress. Raby had thi Stuart orders on his breast and looked a prince. He introduced Little to Mr. Richard Raby with high formality but, before they had time to make acquaintance, two ladies glided into the room, and literally dazzled the young men, especially Dissolute Dick, who knew neither them.

Mrs. Little, with her oval face, black brow and hair, and sts^ly but supple fjrm, was a picture of matronly beauty and grace: her rich brunette skin, still glossy and firm, showed no signs of age, but under her eyes were marks of trouMe and though her f«tce was still striking and lovely, yet it revealed what her person concealed, that she was no longer young. That night she looked about eight-and-thirty.

The other lady was blonde, and hid a face less perfect in contour, but beautiful ii its way, and exquisite in color and peach-like bloom: but the marvel washer form her comely head, dignified on this occasion with a coronet of pearls, perched on a throat long yet white and massive, and smooth as a snowy bust and shoulders of magnificent breath, depth, grandeur and beauty. Altogether it approached the gigantic but so lovely was the swell of the broad white bosom, and so exqisite the white and polished fkin of the mighty shoulders adorned with two deep dimples, that the awe this grand physique excited was mingled with profound admiration.

Raby and Henry Little both started at the sudden grandeur and brilliance of the women they thought they knew, but in reality had never seen* and R'by, dazzled himself, presented her, quite respectfully, to Dissolute Dick. "This is Miss Dence, a lady descended, like the rest of us, from poor Sir Richard, Miss Dence Mr. Richard Raby." ael blushed more deeply than ladies with white and antique busts are in the hahit of doinf, and it was curious to see the rosy tint come on her white neck, and then die quietly away again. Yet she courtesied with grace and composure. (Mrs. Little had trained her at all points and grace comes pretty readily, where nature has given perfect symmetry.)

Dinner was announced, and Raby placed the Dissolute between his sister and the magnificent Beauty dead Sir Richard had developed. He even gave a reason for this arrangement. "All you ladies like a rake: you praise sober fellows like me but what you prefer is a rake."

As they were rustling into their places, Mr*. Little said to Dick, with a delicious air of indifference, "Are you a rake, Mr. Raoy?" '*1 am any thing you lUe," replied the shameless fellow.

All the old plate was out, and blazing in the light of candles innumerable. There was one vacant chair.

Dick asked if there was any body expected. "Not much," 6aid Raby dryly. "That is Sir Richard's chair on these occasions. However, he may be sitting in it now for aught I know. I sincerely hope he is" "If I thought that, I'd soon leave mine," said Jael, in a tremulous whisper. "Then stay where you are, Sir Richard," said the Rake, making an affected' motion 'with his handkerchief, as to ke^p the good knight down.

In 6hort, this personage, being young, audicious, witty, and animated oy the vicinity of the moit beautiful creature he had ever seen, soon deprived the anniversary of that solemn character Mr. Raby desired to give it Yet his volubility,his gayety, and his chaff were combined with a cerUin gentlemanlike tact and xterity and he made Raby laugn in spite of himself, and often made the ladies smile. But Henry Little sat opposite, and wondered at them all, and his sad heart became very bitter.

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XfT^WEEKLY ^GIZBITK

tlM?

speak to Jael Dence. He was most anxious to know "whether the had- heard from Grace Qarden. But Jael did not meat him verv promptly, and while he was faltering out his inquiries, up came^ Richard Raby and resuined his attentions to her—attentions that very soon took the form of downright love-making. In fact he staid an hour after his carriage was announced, and being a young man ot great resolution, and accustomed to plea-e himself, he tell over head and ears in love with Miss Dence, and showed it then atid thereafter.

It did not disturb her composure. She had often been mads love to, and could parry as well as Dick could fence.

She behaved with admirable good sense treated it all as a polite jest, but not a disagreeable one.

Mrs. Little lost patience with them both. She drew Henrv aside, and asked him why he allowed Mr. Richard Raby to monopolize her. "How can I help it?" said Henry. "He is in love with with her and no wonder: see no beau til ul she is, and her skin like white satin. She is ever so much bigger than I thought. But her heart is bigger than all. Who'd think she had ever condescended to grind saws with me?" "Who indeed? And with those superb arms?" "Why, that is it, mother they are up to any thing: it was one of tho.e superb arms she flung round a blackguard's neck for me, and threw him like a sack, or 1 should not be'here. Poor girl! Do you think that chatterbox wou'd make her happy?'' "heaven forbid! He is not worthy of her. No man is worthy of her, except, the one 1 mean her to have, and that is yourself." "Me, mother! are you mad?" "So: you are mad, if you reject her. Where can you find her equal? In whai does she fail? In face? why it is comliness, goodness, and modesty personified. In person? why she is the only perfect figure I ever saw. Such an arm. hand, foot, neck and bust I never «a*r all in the name woman. Is it sense? why she ,is wise bevoml her years, and beyond her sex. Think of her great self-denial: she always loved you, yet aided you, and advised" you to get tha1. mad young thing ou preferred to her—men are so blind in chosing women! Then think of her saving your life and then how nearly she lost her own, through love for you. Oh, Henry, if you cling to a married woman, and still turn away from that angelic crea tur« there, and disappoint your poor mother again, whose life has been one long disappointment, I shall fear you were born without a heart.'J d'

CHAPTER XLI I.

"Better for me if I had then I could chop and change from one to another as you would have me. No, mother I tre say if I had never seen Grace I should have loved Jael. Ae it is, I have a great affection and respect for her, but that is all." "And thSse would ripen* into love if once you were married."

They might. If it came to her flinging that great arm arouud my neck in kindness sh? once saved my life with by brute force, I suppose a man's heart could not resist her. But it will never come to that while my darling lives. She is my lover, and Jael my sister and my dear friend. God bless her, and may she be as happy as she deserves. I wish I could get a wo with her, but that seems out of the question to night. 1 shali slip away to bed and my own sad though)s."

With this he retired unobserved. In the morning he asked Jael it she would speak to him alone. "Whr net?"said site calmly

Tnev took a walk in the shrubbery. "I tried hard to get a word with you yesterday* bu: you were taken up with "that puppy." ,f "He is very good company."

"I have seen the time when I war as good but it is not so easy to chatter with a broken heart." "That is true. Please cimc to the point, and tell me what you want of me now."

This said in 6uch a curious tone, that Henry felt quite discouraged. He hesitated a moment and then said, "What is the matter with you You area changed girl to me. There is something about you so cold and severe it makes me fear I have worn out my friend a* well as lost my love if it is so, tell me and I will not intrude my sorrow any more on you." i'here was a noble and manly sadness in the way he said this, and Jaei seemed tonched a little by it. "Mr. Henry," said she, "I'll be frank with you. I can't forgive you leaving the factory that night without saying a word to me and if you consider what 1 had done before vou us td me so, and what I suffered in conseauence of your using me so—not that you will ever know all I suffered, at least I hope not—no, I have tri«:d to forgive you for, if you are a sinner, you are a sufferer—but it is no use, I can't. I never shall forgive you to my dying day."

Henry Little hung his head dejectedly. "That is bad news," he faltered. "I told you why I did not bid you good-bye except by letter: it was out of kindness. I have begged your pardon for it all the same.- I thought yon were an angel, but I see you are only a woman you think the time to htt a man is when he is down. Well, I can but submit. Good-bye. Stay one moment, let me take your hand, you wsn't refuse me that." She did not deign a word he took her hand and held it. "This is the hand and arm that worked with me like a good mate: this is the hand and arm that overpowered a blackguard and saved me: this is the hand and arm that saved my Grace from a prison and public shame. I mu-.t give them both one kiss if they knock me down for it. There—there—good-bye, dear Jael, goodbye! I seem to be letting go the last thing I have to clin£ to in the deep waters of trouble."

There—there, don't let us fret about what can't be helped but iust you tell me what I can do for you."

Young Little felt rather humiliated at assistance being offered on these terms. He did not disguise the mortification. "Well," said he rather sullenly, "beggars must not be choosers. Of course I wanted you to teli m» where. I am likely to find her." "I don't know."

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left her, and she 'old me she should travel huidreds-«f miles from York. 1 have no notion .where she is."

Little-sighed. "She could not trust eveB.jp." .V1.

4Thefewer

one trust} with a secret the

letter." "Will she never return? Will she give up her father as well at me? Did she fix no time? Did she give you no hint?" "No, not that I reme nbe**. She said it depended on you." "On me?"

"Yes." Here was an enigmi. They puzzled over it a long time. At last Jael said, "She wrote a letter to yoj before she left, did she say nothing in that? Have you got the letter?" "Have I got it?—the last letter ray darling ever wrote to me! Do you think it ever leaves me night or day."

He undid one of his studs, put his hand inside, and drew the letter out warm from his breast. He kissed it and gave it to Jael. She read the letter carefully and looked surprised. "Why, you are making vour own difficulties. You have only to do what you are told. Promise not to fall foul of that Coventry, and not to tempt he.* again, and you will heai of her. You have her own word for it." "But how am I to let her know I promise?" "I don't know how does every bodv let e\verv body know things nowadays? They advertise "Of course they do—in the second column of'The Times.' "You know best." Then, after a moment's reflection, "Wherever she is, she takes in the Hillsborough papers to see if there's anything about you in them." "Oh, do you think so?" "Think so? I am sure of It. I put myself in her place." "Then I will advertise in 'The Times' and the Hillsborough papers."

He went into the .library and wrote several advertisements. This is the one Jael prefeired: "II. to G. C. I sea vou are right. There shall be no vengeance except what the law may give me, nor will I ever renew that request which offended you so justlv. I will be patient."

He had added an entreaty that ah: would communicate with him, but this Jael made him strike out. She thought it might make Grace suspect his sincerity. "Time enough to put that in a month hence, if you don't hear from her."

This was all I think worth recording in the interview betweeri Jael and Henry, except that at parting he thanked her warmly, and said, "May I give you a piece of advice in return? Mr. Richard Raby has fallen in love with you, and no wonder. If my heart was not full of Grace I should have fallen in love with you myself, and you are so good and beautiful^ but he bears a bad character. You are wise in other people's affairs, pray doin't be fowlish in you own." 'nank you," said Jael, a little dryly. 'I shall think twice before I give my affections to any young man

Henry had a word with his mother before he went, and begged her not to prepare disappointment for herself by trying to bring Jael and him together. "Besides, she has taken a spite against me. To be sure it is not very deep tor she gave me good a IVICJ, and I advised her not to throw herself awav on Dissolute Dick."

Mrs Litle smiled knowingly and looked very much pleased, but she said nothing more just then. Henry Little returned to Hillsborough, and put his advertisement in "The Times" and the Hillsborough journals.

Two days afterwards Ransome called on him, with the "Hillsborough Liberal." "Is this yours?" said Ransome, "Yis. I have reaoon to think sxe will write to me. if she sees it."

*,:•

"Would you mind giving me your reason?" Little gave it, but with so much reticence, that no other man in Hillsborough but Ransome would have understood. "Hum!" sai he. "I think I can do something with this."

A period of expectation succeeded, hope full at first, and full of excitement but weeks rolled on without a word from the fugitive, and Little's heart sickened with hope deferred. He often wished to consult Jael Dence again he hada superstitious belief in her sagacity. But the recolection of her cold manner deterred him. At last, however, impatience and the seuse of desolation conquered, and rode over to Raby Hall. 11^ found his uncle and his mother in the dining-room. Mr. Rabv was walking about looking vexed, and ever irritable.

The cause soon transpired. Dissolute Dick was at that moment in the draw-ing-room, making hot love to Jael Dence. He had wooed her ever since that fatal evening when »he burst on society fullblown. Raby, too proud and generous to torbid his addresses, had nevertheleis been alvays bitterly averse to tnem, and was now in a downright rage: for Mrs. Little had just told him she felt sure he was actually proposing. "Confound him!" said Henry, "and I wanted so to speak to her."

Raby gave him a most singular look, that struck him as odd at the time, and recurred to him afterwards.

At last steps were heard overhead, ard Dessolute Dick came down

s'aifs. Mrs. Little slipped out, and sooa after put her head into the dining-ru^m the gentlemen, and wispered to them, YEs." Then she retired to talk i: all over with Jael. »,

At tha- in syaUhle Mr. Raby was very much discomposed. 'There goes a friend out of the house more fools we. You have lost her by your confounded iolly. What is the use of spooning all youi days after another man's wife? I woulden't have this happen for te thousand pounds. Dissolute Dick 1 he will break her heart in a twelvemonth."

Then why, in heavens name didn't you mirry her vourselt?"' Me! at my age? No why didn't you

Melted by this sad thought, he held his best frien l's had till a war.n tear dropped! on it. That softened her the hand marry her? You know she fancies you. to which he owed so much closed on his! moment you found Grace married, and detained him. voj ought to have secured this girl, and "Stay where you are. I have told you lived with me the house is big enough my mind, but I shall act jjst as I used toKor y°i,u do. I'm not so proud of this spite I have!

no**°

taken against you, don't you fanev that, said Henry. "But pray don sp?ak to

7°'jr heart, sir,

me of love or marriage either." "Why shout 1 I? Tne milk is spilt it is no use crying now. Let us go and dress for dinner. Curse the world—it is one dissapointment." Little himself was vexed, but he determed to put a good face on it, an to be very kind to his good friend Jael.

She did not appear at dinner, and when the servants had retired, hs said, "Come now, let us make the best of it.

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children. He i« spendthrift, I bear, and *s poor at Job." Mrs Lit'lestared at her son. "Why, she has refused him!"

Loud exclamations of surpaiae and satisfaction "A fine fright vou "h tve given us. You said 'Yes."' "Well, thaj meait he hid proposed. YOJ know, Giiy, I had tokr you he would: I saw it in his eve. Sj f.observed, in a moment, he ha 1, and' I said •Yes.'" "Then wKy doesn't she coma down to' dinner?'

He has upset her. It is the old storv:' he cried to her, and told her he had been wild, and led a misconducted himself, all' because he had never melf a woman he could really love and respect: and then he begged her, and implores her, and said his fate depended on her." "B it she was not caught with that chaff so wiiy does she not come and receive the congratulations of the company on her escape?"

Because she is far too delicate then, turning to her son, "aTtd, perhaps, because she can't help comparing thei warmth and loving appreciation of Mr. Richard Raby, with the cold indifference! and ingratitude of others.** "Oh," said Henry, coloring, "if that] is her feeling, she will accept him the next time." "Next time!" roare 1 Raby. ''There shall be no next time. I have given the scamp fair play, quite against my own judgement. He has got his answer now and I won't have that girl tormented with him anv more. I trust that to yon* Edith."

Mrs. Little pronUed him Dick and Jael should not. meet ag?in, in Raby Hall|f at least.

That evening she drew her son apart! and made an earnest appeal to him. "So much for her spite against you, Henry. You told h'er to decline Richard1! Rahy, and so she declined him. Spite,] indeed! The gentle pique of a lovely,] good girl, who knows her value, though she is too modest to show it openly. Well, Henry, you have lost her a hu*s-| band,

and

she has given you one proof

more other affection. Don't build the mountain of ingratitude any higher:1 do prav take the cure that offers and,] make jour mother happy, as well as your, seif, my son." In this strain she' contin ted and used her art, her influence, her affection, till| at last, with a weary, heart-broksn sigh, 3 he yielded as fi- as this: he said that, if if it could once be made clear to him] there was no hope of his ever marrying] Grace Cardcn, he would wed Jael Den ce at once.

Then he o-dered his traps, and drovei sullenly home, while Mrs. Little, full of delight, communicated her triumph tol Jael Dence, and told her about the fivel thousand pounds, and was as enthusias-f tic in praise of Henry to Jael, as she had| been of Jael to Henry.

Meantime he drove back to Hi!lsbor-| ough, nore unhappy than ever, and bitter against himself for yielding, even so far,| to graditude and maternal influence

It was late when he reached homej He let himself in with a latch-key, went into his rcom for a moment.

A letter lay on the table, with no stamf on it: he took i: up. It contained but one line that line made his heart leap. "News of G. C. RAitaoMK."

CHAPTER XLIII.'

Late as it was, Little went to the Towr hall direct ly. But there, to his bi'ter dis-| appointment, l.e learned that Mr. Ransome had been called to Manchester bi telegram. Little had nothing to do butl to wait, and eat his heart with impa-[ tience. ilowever, next day, towardsl afternoon, Ransome called on him at the! works, in considerable excitement, andl told him ti new firm had rented large! businebs premises in Manchester, obtained! goods, insured them in the "Goshawk,"l and then the premises had caught firel and the goods been burnt to ashes sus-l picions had been excited Mr. Cardenl had gone to the spot, and telegraphed fori him. He had met a London detectivef there, and, between them, they had soon I discovred full cases had come in by dayl but full sacks gone out by night: thel ashes also -evealed no trace of certain! goods the firm had insured. "And nowl comes the clue to it all. Amongst the] few things that surdived the fire was a photagraph—of whom do you think?! Shifty Dick. The dog had kept his wo^d.f and gone into trade.,' "Confound him!" said Little "he IsI alwavs crossing my path, that tellow. You seem quite to forget that all this I time I am in agonie* of suspense. What do I care about Shifty Dick? He| is nothing to me. "Ot course nor. I am full of the fel-l low a liltle mre, and he'll make a monomaniacof me. Mi. Carden offers

£200!

for his capture and we got an inkling he was coming this way again. Let us talkl of what will interest you. Well, sir, have you observed that yo.i are followed and watched?" "No." "1 am glad of it then it has been donel skillfully. You have been closely watch-| ed this month past by my orders."

This made young Little feel queer. Suppose he had attempted any thing unlawful, his good friend here would have collared him. "You'll wonder that a good citizen I like you should be put under surveillance but I though it likely your advertisvement would either make the lady writ:1 to you, or else draw her back to the| town. She didn't write, so I had you watched, see if any body took a sly peep at you. Well, this went on fori weeks, and nothing turned up. But the other night a young woman walked several times around the house, and with a I sigh. She had a sort of Protestant nun's dress on. and a thick veil. Now you know Mr. Carden told you she was ^one into a convent. I am almost sure it ia the lady."

Little thanked him with all his soul, and then inquired eagerly where the nun lived. "Ah, mv man didn't know that. Unfortunately, he was on du'y in the street, and had no authority to follow any body. How ever, if you can keep yourself calm, and obey orders—" "I will do anything you tell me "Well, then, this evening, as soon aft it is quite dark, you, do what I have seen you do in happier times. Light your reading-lamp, and sit reading close to the window only you must not pull down the blind. Lower the Venetians, but don't turn them so as to hide your face from the outside.. You mast promise me faithfully not to move under any ciicumstances, or you would be sure to spoil all."