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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times, 1895-2-7, Page 6ow D E THEOGOKS BEST FRIEND LASOEST +SAL* IN GANADA* 1 Xti 1803 11.52,074 gallons of beer leer merle taittinele*. TILE EXETB11 A. WOMAN'S.• STQRY. CHAPTER XIX. i Contempt for the man for whom hs had I worked, and by whom he had no cloebt Deraa's nreleat tmen liberally paid. , hen I wee a obild, and even last aeue "Mr. Arden is over the way, Etb 1110 i I used to think a July day could not COttagO," 1 Said. "You eau l': to him there, if you like. that Q long, provided, of course, at July you wiltOD es , edmibted into my metheraS ved as July, and one could bask in the house." bine on the lawn or en the river, and one's eelf in the shade of willows in edema backwaters, where the sedges full of bloom and the lilies lie in a 14 of lovlinees, lilting their milk -white to the -warm blue eky. This year I I am growing old, and that we can toe much even of July, a monotony of E110085 that preys upon one's spirits, a etual sunshine that irritates oue's es. have only lately discovered what it ie aye nerves ; and since I made that dike ry I seem to have nothing but nerves, her asked me yesterday what had be- e of my sweet temper. She hardly gnized her daughter of a year ago in fretful young person of te-dey, Was I sweet tempered? I asked myself won- ingly . I know I an very unamiable . I was snappish to my dear old outfield this very morning. I snatched white frock out of he d shillyr hand while she He looked at me from head to foot with a very insolent expression, but as his eyes inet mine his coentenance changed suddenly, and there was more of fear than of insolence in his look. His olive com- plexion changed to a grayish pallor, and he turned on his heel abruptly, muttering something which I did not hear, He walked quickly back to the gate and weut out, and the shrug of his shoulders as he swung the gate opeu might mean any. thiug in the world. My study window overlooks -the lane, and I saw him nearly an hour afterward leave the cottage. lie looked bah angry and crestfallen ,• and I fancy Uncle Ambrose had not proved so amenable as the appli. cant had expected. I wonder whether he bad mentioned oar meeting in Ctsuroh Street this tirne. I think not. The part he played in that encounter would seercely recommend him to my step -father's gen- erosity. • CHAPTER XX. SCATTERED TO THE WINDS. I have seen that man again. He -shallying and prosing about it Was lounging on the grassy bank above the TINES leek thisg n the sunset, as Cyril her dear old, rambling way, debating and I came throuell in our wherry. There evening 1 her it was or was not fresh enough for to wear. What does it matter?" I cried, im- iently. "There is nobody to see my 'Nobody, Miss Daisy, when teir. Cyril is •rohing up and down by the boat -house this very moment waiting for you?" 'Cyril is nobody; a fiance doesn't count," dL hen the silence was at last broken, it that dear mother of mine who broke in just the way which of all others red upon my irritated nerves. 1 Daisy," she Bald, "it is absolutely emery to arrive at some definite idea out your marriage. Cyril Ilse been acling veith me very earnestly, poor low. He is tired of his solitary exis- ce in chambers; tired of bachelor usements. He is devotedly attached to u, and he wants to begin hie domestic 0.e And then she went on in her sweet, der way, which brought the tears into eyes, to remind me that,. though very ung, I am no younger than she was when e oast in her lot -with my father ; and to 11 me again, as she has so often told me, w completely happy her wedded life was. sabout that perfect union the creature sprawled, looking hideously metropolitan in his black cutaway coat end black felt hat, against the background of flowering grasses and the ragged old hedge- row tangled with wooabine and starred with blackberry blossom. I pointed him out to Cyril. "That is the book -binder man who haunts your father," I said; and then 1 told him how this detestable person had been at River Lawn inquiring for Uncle Ambrose. "Did my father see him?" asked " Evidently; for he was nearly an hour at the cottage. I saw him leave.' "My father may have kept him waiting for the best part of that time," answered Cyril. "You know how absentminded he is when he is among his books." " Yes, indeed," said I, "and I hope that odious man was sitting 'on the little oak bench in the lobby nursing his hat all the time." The last entry is two days old ; and now I have to record the strangest event in my life, since I hare come to womanhood— an event so startling that I am almost too aeitated to write about it, although it happened yesterday. But the record must be written ; for this book is to be all my life, a faithful history of the romance and reality of my existence, of hard facts and idle dreams, of every act of folly and every gleam of sense. In a word, this book is to be a photograph of me, a photograph in pen and ink, by an unskilled photo- grapher. I awoke yesterday morning with that e more sheaid. work -basket WOn ES CU e side of her chair, her hook -table on the other; but she was neither reading no working, and I thought she ieoleed worried and anxious, "Thiele Ambrose amoug his books ae 4sual. suPpeae," said I, feeling myself a, dreadful hypocrite, though after all there had been tune enough for him to get hack to the library since he passed me in the lane. "No doubt," answered mother. " went across. to the cottage soon after breakfast." Mothor," aaid " if I were you I would teke •him away from Berkshire. Let us all go to Salzburg, or the Dolomites, or Auvergne, or somewhere, at least •until October. This piece doesu't suit Uncle Ambrose. He is not happy; and you are not happy. Our lives are beginning to be a failure. There is something wrong some- where. " Yes," answered my mother, gravely, there is something wrong. Your step- father le put of health. There is some de- pressing influehee at work. I have done all I can—but I ecu not make him happy." Poor mother 1 There was such a settled aedness in her tone that the tears rushed to my eyea, and it was all I could do not to sob aloud. understood her secret thought so well. She had done all she could. She had emeri- ficed her freedom, her fideliey other first love, the idolized husband of her youth, out of gratitude to this faithful friend. She had put every thought and feeling aside in order to reward his devotion, and the sacrifice had been useless. He was not happy. ln one vivid glance I saw my own future fashioned after the semblance of my mother's lite to -day. I saw myself the wife of a man whom I could not love, and I saw him unhappy in the discovery which no loyal effort of mine oduld keep from him. Poor mother 1 poor daughter. 1 - It was nearly three o'clock When mother and I went into the dining-rootn, and by that time I had contrived to cheer her with talk about the books we had been reading lately, and about a possible run to the Con- tinent in the early part of September. We talked of Auvergne and of Ca.uterets, both ef which districts were still untrodden ground for us, and untrodden ground has always the attraction of an earthly paradise. There was no sign of Cyril. curious feeling -with which I have so often •e more miserable I felt, until at last the awakened of late—a feeling of vague wond- ers rolled down my cheeks, and my er. As 1 float gradaelly from sleep to ndkerchief became a mere wet rag, and waking, 1 -ask myself, " What ie it ?" I felt that if I waelike any bride at all it as the Mourning Bride in somebody's ay, of whom all I know is that her exia- nee gave occasion for a much -quoted line out music, and an overpraised descriptive, assage about a temple. "Do you think you could make up your Ind to be married in the autumn, Daisy 2" other asked at Iast. I believe she took my tears to be only the pression of a general sof t-heartedness— ere are some girls whose eyes brim over t a tender word—and not as indicative of rrow, for she asked the question quite heerfully. "Which autumn ?" inquired 1. "This coming autumn, naturally." "Why, mother, that would be direct- •" "No, dearest; we are still in July. Sup. ose we were to fix upon October for the know there 18 something amiss in my lire ; but what, but what? And then I remem- ber that I am engaged to be matried and that October is very near. And then I think how good it would be for everybody if I were to fall ill and die, and leave Cyril free to marry somebody who would really love him, and be honestly glad to be his wife. There are such girls, no doubt I believe I could name seven between Hen- ley and Reading. "Is it my mother who is trying to part us 1" Daisy, your mother has nothing to do with this matter, She knovie nothing of my determination yet, and I am going to ask yolla aVor." "What is that V' "I want you to let your mother suppose that it is you_who have broken the engage. went. 1 don't think as society ie consti- tuted nowadays, there vrill be very much astonishment at the alteration of our plans, I hope before a year is Over that any darling will have found a worthier lover; and ao 1 shall be far away, no doubt people will Boon forget) me." "Yon will be far away?" 1 echoed. "Where ?" di In Auetralie. I shall try to begin a neW life on the other side of the world ; breed sheep on the Darling Downs, or turn wine grower, Heaven knows what; but anyhow, my future shall be as far remote from my past as distance can make it." A new light flashed upon me, and I be- gan to think that the question of money was tit the bottom of poor Cyril's trouble. "I begin to suspect your motive," I said, seriously. " Uncle Ambrose has lost his fortune. Its coming was like a fairy tale, and it haa vanished like gold in fairy -land. Oh, Cyril, surely you know that I never oared about your father's wealth,or thought whether you were rich or poor. Mother and I have plenty of money for all of us." "My deterest I know your generous heart. No it is not a money trouble that has dark- ened my days; but there is a trouble; and it is one which I must keep looked up in my own breast till I die." It was a delicious afternoon, with a hot sun and a bine sky—a sky flecked with faint, feathery oloudlets. It was the kind of afternoon which used to mean unquali- fied bliss ; and even in spite of My troubles I could not help feeling a kind of sensuous content as I lolled back in my pet wicker chair and watched the ripple of the river, and the gentle movement of the willows where the opposite bank curved inward toward' the broad reach over which the church tower casts its solemn shadpw. The second quarter after four chimed freen the dear old tower,the tea -table stood ready, the little copper kettle hissed gayly, but still there was no sign of Cyril. 1 began to feel just a little uneasy about him, for it was unlike his usual way to be anywhere within reach and not come to hunt rue out every hour or so, either for a ramble or a ride, a single, or a row, on our beloved river. It was nearly five when I saw a young man corning across the lawn to the terrace where I was sitting—a young mau in tennis flannels, such as those I had. seen Cyril wear when he started for the tournament that morning; a man of Cyrirs height and bulk, but not the least like Cyril in figure or walk, as I saw him in the distanee ; for this man stooped as Cyril never did, and this man's step had none of the elastic force for Cyril's rapid movements. Yet this man with the bent shoulders and heavy walk was Cyril, and no one else—Cyril trans- formed by ,some heavy trouble. That was the feeling with which I awoke "y.esterday. A lovely day, and the church clock striking six with a clear and silvery sound that means a west wind, and my room filled with the sweetness of the white clematis, which grows over all this end of the house I was out in the garden by seven, and breakfasted with mother, Uncle Ambrose, and Cyril at eight. Then I went for a long, long ramble, The church clock stauck one as I came across the meadows, in sight of the village. The aftermath was deep and full of flowers, and the narrow footpath between the tall edding. That would give us three months 1 grass and the hedgerow was the quietest or your trousseau. All other things are eady ; your charming rooms in Crosvenor quare, and at least half this house. Your tep-father and I will be overhoused even hen; especially as Ambrose does not love ee• his place, and would like to travel during ome part of every year." "les, there is room enough tor us all," said; "and as for the trousseau, I don't are a straw about it You have dressed e so well all my life thet I never hunger or new clothes. It is only the badly reseed girls who are eager for wedding nery." "Leave the trousseau to me, then, Daisy," said mother, "and I will take are that it is worthy of the dearest girl in he world. I may tell Cyril that he shall begin his new life before the end of October, ay I not?" "Tell him just what you like, mother," answered, with a heart as heavy as lead. "You must be the best judge of what is ight." I left her a few minutes afterward to go back to the garden. I felt a thstleseness which made it impossible for me to stay in he house, a perpetual fever and worry hich seeme a a part of the heavy burden hat weighed on my spirits. And, oh 1 I had been so happy, so happy in that very garden only a year ago. I went back to the house, too restless to tay long anywhere, and on my way to the all door I was startled by it most hateful haven in which to think of one's troublea. I felt sorry I was so near home when I came to the little gate that opened out of the meadow in a deep lane ,leading directly te • our own road. River Lawn was in front, between me aild the Thames, and Uncle Ambrose's cottage was on my left hand as I turned my face to the river. . I was lingering at the gate, in a dreamy mood, when I heard footsteps in the lane. I thought they might belong to one of those everlasting Reardons, and, as I wasn't equal to meeting a Reardon, I drew back behind a bushy blackthorn that grew beside the gate, and watched the passer-by. There was more than one ---two men went slowly by, in earnest, and, as I thought, in angfreonvereation, though the tones of the one who was talking when they passed the gat were suppressed almost to a whisper. These tyro were T_Tnele Ambrose and the French bookbinder. Scarcely had they passed the .gate when another man followed stealthily, evidently liatening to their conversation. • The third man was Cyril—Cyril, my bethrothed husband; Cyril, the pattern of honesty and honor, creeping at his father's heels, and acting the degrading part of a listener. I could hardly believe my eyes 1 was shocked, horrified, dieguitted ; and yet, after thinking the whole thing over during a. most painful reverie'I was obliged to confess to rayeelf thatif the opportunity had occurred to me I might have done the " It is something about yourself," I speculated, pitying him too much to leave the mystery unquestioned ; "some mortal disease, perhaps. You have consulted a physician who has told you that you may die auddealy, and yon fear to make me un- happy." "No, Daisy, medical men and 1 have had few dealings since 1 was vaccinated. Don't ask any more questions, dear. I dare not tell you more than I told you at first All is over between us; and my life must be spent thousands of miles away. I could not trust myself within reach of an 'express train that would bring me back to you. He bent over me sal sat motionless with wonder, looking at the bright water and the lights and shadows on the opposite shore. He pressed his lips upon my fore- head in a farewell kiss. • "Good-bye my Daisy, my pearl, mine no more," he said, and turned away, and walked slowly across the lawn by the way he had come. I heard the gate in the fence open and shut, and I knew that he had gone across the road to Ins father's cottage. I sat looking at the water in a mute,dull wonder. The footmen carried away the tea -table in their horrid mechanical Way, which makes one think that they would clear the table and arrange a room in just the same leisurely fashion if one were lying dead upon the carpet. The evening darkened, and still I sat there wondering and musing. I Was free—free to love or marry whom I pleased. And yet I could not feel glad. I felt such an impostor. Surely I ought to have Confessed the truth. There might have been some consolation for him in knowing the worthlessness of the thing he surrendered. And yet, and yet—it might have been cruel to undeceive him. It was better for him, perhaps, to believe that he had re- ceived n-easure for measure, that I had loved him ta the last. "If elver I marry, it will be years hence, I dare say," I told myself, "and he will be in Australia,happily married himself before that time." "This was a gomforting thought, but even this could not prevent me feeling very unhappy about Cyril and his mysterious trouble? Had he gambled? Had he kept race -horses? Had he foeged ? The trouble was obviously a very eerious one. It might be some casual forgery, executed after a wine at Christchurch, when the poor dear fellow hardly knew what he was doing. He came slowly to the empty chair at my side 'and seated himself in silence, and looked at me witheeyes whose expression I can never forget. All frivolous words died on my lips. I could only watch him in mute expectancy. "Daisy," he began, in a voice that was even stranger than his altered looks, "1 think you know that I loved you,honestly, truly, and dearly." . "I ana sure you have, dear," I answered, with a sinking heart, knowing that I my- self dared not have said as much of my own truth and honesty. pparition in the person of that odious same thing, renchman who attacked ole in Church The pertistent intrusions of that French- treet, and who seeing to have interwoven man are not to be endured without protest imself into our lives by his persistent of some kind ; and I thirik Cyril wee justi- W eats to thy step-father'a charity, I fled in listening to any eonversetion in hich that man bore a part, in order to know hOw kihd Uncle Ambrose is; and yet I should Wive gieren him credit for more rimless of mind than to &HOW hirintelf to be hunted down by a needy impostor of this kied. The man was owning from the gate toward the hall door When We met face to face, and he looked considerably abaghedat enemunterieig me. "Ah, you May well feel ashamed of yourself," I said, indignantly. Yes, I am the lady you had the audaeity to waylay in the street whele yea were tipsy." " Yen are Mho Hetrell." he faltered, looking an absolute craven. "Yes, 1 eirk KiSS nistrell. What do you want 0,t iny Mother's house.? "I want to Stee+-40 eMpleyets-your step -lather." He.said those two worcla, ulvty employ - Me" 180 Meet detestable manner, implying proteot his good, easy, and most unwordly- wise father from being imposed upon. (es, after serious reflection,. I found 'ex, curies for my ,poor Cyril, although the sight of that creeping figure, With head bent for- ward to listen, mitre me a dreedfal thock. A greater shock was to come a few hears after, a Shock Which agitates my heart and nerves at tine nrannent, net knowing how ought to take it, whether / ought ta be glad or sorry. Glad I can not be recalling my poor Cyril's white,agonieed face as he talked to rhe by the river at ,five o'clock yeeterday afterriocen Sorry / can not be, when reirtezriber how cruelly the tie with Which had bound myself weigbed upon myspirits. It WAS late when / hito the hoisee, but nci one had gone to 'lunch. Mother was Sitting alone in the morning-rooni, lier • "1 have not gone into hysterics about my passion, or writteti verses, or done any other of -the wild things that I might have done had we met as strangere at Venice the other day and fallen in love with each other at first sight. I have taken eveiy- thieg for granted—too much for granted, perhaps. I grew up loving you, from the time I was a lad at School and you' a. kind of household fairy in a white frock, with bright hair and dove -like eyes. I went on loving you, and olaimed you as my own almost as if I had a right to you—as if the trouble of wooiug and whining were not for me, since my own true love had been born and reared and educated expressly to make me happy. That is how I felt about you, Daisy, and perhaps I have seemed a tame wooer in consequence." "Nol no 1 no 1" I exclaimed, eagerly. "You have been all that, is good and true. It is 1 who am weak and changeable and frivolous; it is I who am to blame—" My too -ready tears stopped. me. I thought he had discovered my guilty secret, that he had found out somehow that I had left off caring for him, and had begun to care for Gilbert Florestan, I was going to throw myself on my knees at his feetwhen he stopped my uncertain movement with a hand laid heavily upon my arm. I doubt if he had heard one word of my self- accusation. "That is all over and done with, Deity,' he said, "our wooing at Venice and else- where; and all the happy days and hours we have had together; and all our plans for the future; and the rooms that have been made beautiful for us to live in ; and the life we were to lead. All those things must be as a dream that we have dreamed, and yon mint teach yourself to forget me, and to forget that you were ever my promised wife," There was another idea which struck me afterward, as I walked back to the house. What if Cyril,in a weak,goodma.tured way, had got himself engaged to another girl, a girl he detested,and felt that honor obliged him to marry her because she was of inferior rank and because he detested her? This would account for his resolution to go to the other side of the world and begin a new life. He would marry this person and take her straight off to the antipodes, where no one belonging to his own world would ever see him in his disgrace. Poor Cyril ! My heart bled for him. Mother came out of the drawing -room window to meet me as I drewnear the house. She had just returned from her visiting, having tasted half a dozen cups of tea in half a dozen tiny sitting -rooms, and had heard no end of sad stories. Yet she looked happier than usual, for she had been giving happiness to others. I had been keeping my heart locked against that dear mother for months ; but now I was determined to tell her as much of the truth as I was free to tell. I put my arms round her neck, and laid my be- wildered head upon her shoulder. Ye8, he had found out all the truth, I told myself. My head drooped forward upon my °leaped hands, and 1 had what the Reardon girls call a good cry. 1 felt so sorry for Cyril, so ashamed of myself. I did not for one moment doubt that he had discovered my inc0001anc3r, and that he was setting_me free to marry Mr. Flores. tan, if Mr, Florestan cared to have the reversion of isueh a Worthlees weather - 000k - " My darling, don't ory so bitterly," he pleaded, more tenderly than evet I remem- ber him to helm done in all our foolish little love E08008. "YOU are breaking my heart, and / have boa to be Strong and 'stern to faec aoruel future." You think that, 1 am" fickle• 1 said at lett, "end not worthy of your trust t" "You fickle t you unworthy ?"10 °tied, "Why, my dearest, 1 know yott are the • truest and purest of Creatures. There is go tikaaParable bar to Our Morriage40 liniMISIMIMIMMIMIMMIZIPMMMIMMISMEMMIMMEMP for Infanta and Children. "Castorlaissowenadiptedtochndrenthat recommend it as superioreo any prescription known to me." H. A. Amman, IL D., 111 Bo. Oxford St., Brooklyn, N. Y. " The USE of 'Castoriaa to universe, and Its merits so well known that it seems a work of supererogation to endorse it. Few arethe intelbgent families who do not keep Castoria within easy reach." Cennos Tderners, D. D., New York City. Late raster Bloomingdale Reformed Church. Castoria vireo Collo, Constipation, our Stomach, Diarrhoea, Eructation, 'Worrell, gives Bleep, and promotes di mdon, • Witut injurious medication. "For seveial, years I Wive , recommended your Castoria,a and shall always continue to do 8088 ithal invariably produced beneficial results." Merle De PARDEE. M. D., "The Winthrop," 125111 Steeet and I'M Iva, New York die, arms CENTAUR COYPANY, 77 MERRAE.STEELIT, XXIV YORE, MiefflnaliMg1372592"2"2541"1"MIMMEMMIWigigglininaM OlUILC-H1.14-13 ," UNACCOUNTABLY LOSING FCESTI S REFUSIND TO TAKE ITS FpOD LISTLESS AND DEMITATED WilY DONTe"°- iftr--1::1250111INICM? I. WILL, HELP WONDERFULLY • YOU TRY Severe Pain in Shoulder 2Yearis Cured by"The D.8c11.7tenthol Plaster. My wire was afilieted.for Iwo years with a severe pain under the left shoulder and through w the Istan; after using many remedies without relief, she Weds "D.& L." Menthol Plaster, it did its work. and osving so this cure hundreds of these planers have been sold by me here, giving equel satisfaction. J. B. SUTHERLAND. Druggist, River John, N.S. Sold Everywhere. 25C.each. MINE1111a. I could not tell her a deliberate false- hood, but I could prevaricate, which I dare say is just as bad. • "There was no necessity for me to ask him," I said; "he understood my feelings —we understood each other perfectly. Don't ask any more questions, mother darling," I pleaded; "fib least not about poor Cyril. He will be leaving us very soon I fear. Indeed, indeed, there ia no need for you to grieve," I urged, kissing her sweet, anxious face. "It is better as it is,' "Is it, Daisy?" she exclaimed, sadly. "I can not quite think that. The change seems light to you, but it is a sad breaking up of home and family ties. The nest has been made ready for the birds, and now they are to part and scatter 'far and wide. This will be a blow for your step -father. He was do proud of your engagement to Cyril, so happy in the thought of year future union , The dissappointment will be bitter for him. Aud he is out of health, and hardly in a condition to bear a great sorrow." My mother looked at the clock en the ohimney-piece. ' "A quarter to eight, Daisy, and we must dress for dinner, and after dinner I must tell your step -father what has happened. He has no idea of it I suppose ?" "I think not." ' "Poor Ambrose, I am sorry for him. No, love,I don't blame you or Cyril," she added, hastily, as she saw my look of self-repreaoh. "It is not your fault, either of you, if you do not love each other well enough -to take life-long vows. It is better to have found out the truth in time ; but the disap- pointment will not be less bitter to Cyril's father. It pleased him to believe that his affections for me would be in a manner continued in the coming years by his eon's union with my daughter. hear Ambrose going upstairs to his dressing-roorn. We ahall be late for dinner." I ran to my room, three steps at a time, I felt happier than I had been at any time since we leftVenice, in spite of all that had been done to reek° me happy. I was sorry for Cyril, honestly and sincerely sorry, but a berden was lifted off my heart, and I could not wonder that it beet less heavily, (To BE CONTINUED.) "Mother dear, you have no need to trouble about that horrid trousseau," I said, half laughing and half crying ; " change has come over the spirit ot our dream—mine and Cyril's. We have agreed that we don't quite suit each other—or at least that we answer better as brother and sister than we .ever could as husband and wife—and so, in the friendliest way,eve have agreed to part. He is going to Australia to look about him, and I am going to stay with you." I believe was slightly hysterical after this, and I felt very much ashamed of my- self as I heard myself making a ridiculous noise without the power to stop. Poor mother kissed and comforted tete, and scolded me a little, till I quieted down, and then she sat by my side on our favorite sofa to discuss the situation, "This is very sudden, Daisy," she said; and I saW that shelooked grave and troulde "It seems sudden," I answered; "but it has been: in the air for some time—ever mince viNeft •Paria." inother,iis if she saw a light. "You must have seen that I was relifo. teat to name any time for my marriege,and that I didn't take the faintest, interest in my trousseau." "Yee, I saw that, and 1 thpught it only meant that my Daisy was 1008 frivoloue than Most girls," "It meant that I was a hypocrite and impostor; that I allowed myself to he en- gaged to Cyril Ont of sheer frivolity -mete idle Vanity, which made me pleased to have tsR admirer. For months pest I have been ehafing against my bonds, and I can not lie too grateful to Cyril for having sot Ine free." "Did you ask him to release you 2" in, quired mother, looking at me searchingly With het Sat, derietie eyes. Children Cry for Pitcher's CestorW "tnce you lef1 Paris 1" repeated SET RULES AT DEFIANCE. No Railroad Company Could Prevent Her Seeing Melinda ern When the train for the west was called, there was a rush of passengers at the door, and among them was a small, thin young wo man about 20 years old, who had a humble and resigned expression, and e sharp -nosed iron -jawed female of 45, who was evident- ly her mother. The small thin woman had a bundle end a ticket to St. Thomas. The sharp nosed woman had a basket and two, bundles and no ticket at all. "Ticket, ma'am" said the gatekeeper, as she attempted to follow her daughter out. "I'm jest goin to see Melinda on the train," she replied. "Ticket, ma'am, ticket ; got to have a ticket." "I've got to put Melinda aboard of the train, I tell ye 1 She's never traveled be- fore in her life, and is jest as apt to gie under or on top of the car as into it." "Show your ticket ma'am 1" persisted the gatetender as he waved his ticket punch around. " rho.ve to do as I am ordered you know." „ flow he Got it. De Boist—" How did you catch your cold ?" Is Bristle—" Yam know col& no con- tagious 2" "Yes." " Well, I caught it asking other people how they caught their colds." A Plan of Letters. Examiner—" Spell(cue," Policeman a That's What I " "Well that's what Q.' " Yea. " I know it. I went you te spell it" "Thunder 1 Ain't I spellin' it. Yell be &skin' me to spell ‘1" next I" Nas "1 tell ye," replied the woman, as ?she growded closer. " I'm bound to see Me- linda off! It won't hurt yer ole railroad any to let me through. 'Melinda, don't yeh ory, fur I'm amornina The idea thee a mother can't see her daughter off 1" 'Ticket, ma'am ! You are detaining fifty passengers. Please show your ticket or move back 1" " I've got to put Melinda on that car 1" sheeted the woinan in a high key, "I've got twelve eggs, a bottle of skunk's ile, two lamp chimneys, a pumpkin pie, a bottle of hair dye and a pint of buttermilk in this, baaket, and I either go through or bust this basket right here'and now!" ' She dropped the bundles and began swinging the basket around her head, but * it made only two circles when the gate - tender smilingly said 2 "Wish to ECG your daughter off? Pass right in, lady a and etay as long as you wane "Yon bet I will:" /withered the old leayr, as she joined lelelintia, "but I'm a little sorry he give up So quick. Good lands, but 1 oeuld hey made sick a wreck of that depot that no treine could her gone out, fur a week!" • Who He Was. Mr, Lightweight (airily, to conduotet1 I wonder what that shabby old codger finds ettatttractive in this direction. He'd been eying me foe ten initiates." Conduotor (thonghtfully)—" I guess he's wondering how you 'happen to be travelling on a pass, Ile's the preeident of the road. • I CURE e - 0. on ueiatessegrnatee• Shiloh s F. cent& Re TenueoeStra MY .E.I.F.N. aegi ws eter t. ' V CATARRH ,,twill you. Price treatmRemedies Shuoir s satistaction. , „,,„_, 113 ...yr be beha Buns 4 0001 dney mys are tanE nun e 50 te hav ent i. s . 1 per Iv tt .. 0vcmenaher, I 1 Mo ma eve der nor Br, my sto in wh 2118 . Pat fro 4 Mil at . sai , V78 . in jar nue ab , pit e 1 '(''' tel ELII yo lif te 9c , 8' te h' T ti tE h I p ti a p n n n t a a c f X E E I t E ] ' 1 i ( I ' 411.E• ri , w5v8,40., eyelet, n.at Laster $ fra, le motaeritthebestrentadeeradeWatedeseeml osee ratable • R," a iiave entitively ekes furnished ree, _its . ' om ' Sokitty allleruggets Lamp aiee, Back orPhest will give great satisfactione-ses annr....................... MUM'S VITALiZE T. S. Hawkins, Chattanooea, moss Vitra tzar 'SAVED siscciet For DeeneWsla le eXotare Deice Va ma. • 'LOWS youestarrhV Try'thisItemedy. relieve and Cure I -Wee -tor. for its successful free, B o seed, re- t euarantee t ease ter LEGAL. to 1. H.DICKSON, Barrister, Soli- cov ll 4 • oitor of Supreme Court, NotarY Public, Octuveyaneer, Oommissioner, ,te Money to Leen, Ordeal n. auson'sBlook. Exeter, rem -The R. COLLINS, the .rt 0 Barrister, , Solioitor, Conveyancer, to nelETEB, - ONT. OFFICE: Over O'Neil's Bank. 11LLIOT & ELLIOT, i 1 / Barristers, Solicitors, Notaries Public, Conveyancers 85c, 850. "Money to Loan at Lowest Rates of interest. OFFICE, - MAIN - STREET, EXETER. REDERICK LLTOT. B. 4. ELLIOT. FE lemetorms 4mommorAssalcommi MEDICAL, T W. BitOWNING M. D., M. 0 e., • P. S, Oraduate Victoria Univeri ty; office and reaidence, Dominion Labe e. tory ,Exe ter. DR. RYNDMAN, cor,oner for Lie Comity of Huron. Oftlee, oppesits Darling Bros. s tore , Exe ter. a DRS. ROLLINS le AMOS. eparate Offices. Residence same as former- ly, Andrew. st. Offices: Spackinan's building. Main st; Dr Rollins' same as formerly, noith floor; Dr. Amos" tame building, south door, J. A. ROLLINS, M. D., T. se. _AMOS, M. D Exeter, Ont AUCTIONEERS. T- EAR DY, LICENSED A LIO- 4 A • &neer for the Qs) untY of liuron. Charges moderate. Exeter P. O. 1_41 BOSSEIst.BERRY, General Li- 8 'A*censed Auctioneer Sales condected in allparts. Satisfactiougues:anteed. Charges moderate. Hensel' P 0, Oat; T_TEKRY EILBER tioneer for Licensed Ana- the counties of iTuron eonducted at mod.- at Post -office Ore. =0.......11,12...it an& Midillesex o. saies erate rates. Office, tom Out . 1101.....t, MONEY TO LOIN. . Loaning Provinotal Office, ONETO LOAN AT 6 AND percent, Uwe() PrivateFunds Best Companies represented. L. H. DIOLCSON Barrister. lxoter. ,M............. SURVEYING. FRED W. FARNO0 NIB, Land Surveyor, aud. Civil MST G-TINTM M R._ 323TO.. Upstairs, Sainwell's Block, Exetor.Ont years • Ontario, damage insurable the Cash issued amount in 3.w.vrA.T.DEN., Beorstary VETERINARY. Tennent& EXETER, Grttonstes of the :eye. OFFICE : One nom. Tennent ONT. CM Hall, Ontario Vecerivaw south of To wn rtlielE WATERLOO MUTUAL 1 FIRE INSURANCE 0 0 . Establishedin 1863. WEAD OFFICE • WATERLOO, ONT. This Company has 'been over Twentv-eigh in successful (mention in Western and continues to tnsure against loss or by, Fire, Buildings, Merchandise Manufactories and all other descriptions of property., Intending insurers have option of insuring on the Premium Note or System. During the past ten years this company has 57,096 Policies, covering property to the of $40,872,038; and paid in theses alone S709,752.00. Assets, stet:aleph)°, consisting of Cosh Bank Government Depositand the unasses- fed Premium Notes on hand and in force 31.D., President; 0 M. TAYLOR : J. B. Timms, Inspector. . Ofetee SNELL, Agent for Exeter and vieini ar • , t Nettralgie Dizzi- also pured . TARK'S POWDERS Clue S1OK HEADACHE le ad) ppyraroriAls, also ness,Bniousitess, Fele 12 Torpid Liver, Bad St ath, regelaee Me hewea. veiny foRteNr 20 ORM S it' and Csoaiee Toegue, the Side, Constipation, to stay knifed Mon fib DRUGP $roitieso ---- FOR TWENTY-FIVE ' D B YEARS N17? s N a ow D E THEOGOKS BEST FRIEND LASOEST +SAL* IN GANADA* 1 Xti 1803 11.52,074 gallons of beer leer merle taittinele*. TILE EXETB11 A. WOMAN'S.• STQRY. CHAPTER XIX. i Contempt for the man for whom hs had I worked, and by whom he had no cloebt Deraa's nreleat tmen liberally paid. , hen I wee a obild, and even last aeue "Mr. Arden is over the way, Etb 1110 i I used to think a July day could not COttagO," 1 Said. "You eau l': to him there, if you like. that Q long, provided, of course, at July you wiltOD es , edmibted into my metheraS ved as July, and one could bask in the house." bine on the lawn or en the river, and one's eelf in the shade of willows in edema backwaters, where the sedges full of bloom and the lilies lie in a 14 of lovlinees, lilting their milk -white to the -warm blue eky. This year I I am growing old, and that we can toe much even of July, a monotony of E110085 that preys upon one's spirits, a etual sunshine that irritates oue's es. have only lately discovered what it ie aye nerves ; and since I made that dike ry I seem to have nothing but nerves, her asked me yesterday what had be- e of my sweet temper. She hardly gnized her daughter of a year ago in fretful young person of te-dey, Was I sweet tempered? I asked myself won- ingly . I know I an very unamiable . I was snappish to my dear old outfield this very morning. I snatched white frock out of he d shillyr hand while she He looked at me from head to foot with a very insolent expression, but as his eyes inet mine his coentenance changed suddenly, and there was more of fear than of insolence in his look. His olive com- plexion changed to a grayish pallor, and he turned on his heel abruptly, muttering something which I did not hear, He walked quickly back to the gate and weut out, and the shrug of his shoulders as he swung the gate opeu might mean any. thiug in the world. My study window overlooks -the lane, and I saw him nearly an hour afterward leave the cottage. lie looked bah angry and crestfallen ,• and I fancy Uncle Ambrose had not proved so amenable as the appli. cant had expected. I wonder whether he bad mentioned oar meeting in Ctsuroh Street this tirne. I think not. The part he played in that encounter would seercely recommend him to my step -father's gen- erosity. • CHAPTER XX. SCATTERED TO THE WINDS. I have seen that man again. He -shallying and prosing about it Was lounging on the grassy bank above the TINES leek thisg n the sunset, as Cyril her dear old, rambling way, debating and I came throuell in our wherry. There evening 1 her it was or was not fresh enough for to wear. What does it matter?" I cried, im- iently. "There is nobody to see my 'Nobody, Miss Daisy, when teir. Cyril is •rohing up and down by the boat -house this very moment waiting for you?" 'Cyril is nobody; a fiance doesn't count," dL hen the silence was at last broken, it that dear mother of mine who broke in just the way which of all others red upon my irritated nerves. 1 Daisy," she Bald, "it is absolutely emery to arrive at some definite idea out your marriage. Cyril Ilse been acling veith me very earnestly, poor low. He is tired of his solitary exis- ce in chambers; tired of bachelor usements. He is devotedly attached to u, and he wants to begin hie domestic 0.e And then she went on in her sweet, der way, which brought the tears into eyes, to remind me that,. though very ung, I am no younger than she was when e oast in her lot -with my father ; and to 11 me again, as she has so often told me, w completely happy her wedded life was. sabout that perfect union the creature sprawled, looking hideously metropolitan in his black cutaway coat end black felt hat, against the background of flowering grasses and the ragged old hedge- row tangled with wooabine and starred with blackberry blossom. I pointed him out to Cyril. "That is the book -binder man who haunts your father," I said; and then 1 told him how this detestable person had been at River Lawn inquiring for Uncle Ambrose. "Did my father see him?" asked " Evidently; for he was nearly an hour at the cottage. I saw him leave.' "My father may have kept him waiting for the best part of that time," answered Cyril. "You know how absentminded he is when he is among his books." " Yes, indeed," said I, "and I hope that odious man was sitting 'on the little oak bench in the lobby nursing his hat all the time." The last entry is two days old ; and now I have to record the strangest event in my life, since I hare come to womanhood— an event so startling that I am almost too aeitated to write about it, although it happened yesterday. But the record must be written ; for this book is to be all my life, a faithful history of the romance and reality of my existence, of hard facts and idle dreams, of every act of folly and every gleam of sense. In a word, this book is to be a photograph of me, a photograph in pen and ink, by an unskilled photo- grapher. I awoke yesterday morning with that e more sheaid. work -basket WOn ES CU e side of her chair, her hook -table on the other; but she was neither reading no working, and I thought she ieoleed worried and anxious, "Thiele Ambrose amoug his books ae 4sual. suPpeae," said I, feeling myself a, dreadful hypocrite, though after all there had been tune enough for him to get hack to the library since he passed me in the lane. "No doubt," answered mother. " went across. to the cottage soon after breakfast." Mothor," aaid " if I were you I would teke •him away from Berkshire. Let us all go to Salzburg, or the Dolomites, or Auvergne, or somewhere, at least •until October. This piece doesu't suit Uncle Ambrose. He is not happy; and you are not happy. Our lives are beginning to be a failure. There is something wrong some- where. " Yes," answered my mother, gravely, there is something wrong. Your step- father le put of health. There is some de- pressing influehee at work. I have done all I can—but I ecu not make him happy." Poor mother 1 There was such a settled aedness in her tone that the tears rushed to my eyea, and it was all I could do not to sob aloud. understood her secret thought so well. She had done all she could. She had emeri- ficed her freedom, her fideliey other first love, the idolized husband of her youth, out of gratitude to this faithful friend. She had put every thought and feeling aside in order to reward his devotion, and the sacrifice had been useless. He was not happy. ln one vivid glance I saw my own future fashioned after the semblance of my mother's lite to -day. I saw myself the wife of a man whom I could not love, and I saw him unhappy in the discovery which no loyal effort of mine oduld keep from him. Poor mother 1 poor daughter. 1 - It was nearly three o'clock When mother and I went into the dining-rootn, and by that time I had contrived to cheer her with talk about the books we had been reading lately, and about a possible run to the Con- tinent in the early part of September. We talked of Auvergne and of Ca.uterets, both ef which districts were still untrodden ground for us, and untrodden ground has always the attraction of an earthly paradise. There was no sign of Cyril. curious feeling -with which I have so often •e more miserable I felt, until at last the awakened of late—a feeling of vague wond- ers rolled down my cheeks, and my er. As 1 float gradaelly from sleep to ndkerchief became a mere wet rag, and waking, 1 -ask myself, " What ie it ?" I felt that if I waelike any bride at all it as the Mourning Bride in somebody's ay, of whom all I know is that her exia- nee gave occasion for a much -quoted line out music, and an overpraised descriptive, assage about a temple. "Do you think you could make up your Ind to be married in the autumn, Daisy 2" other asked at Iast. I believe she took my tears to be only the pression of a general sof t-heartedness— ere are some girls whose eyes brim over t a tender word—and not as indicative of rrow, for she asked the question quite heerfully. "Which autumn ?" inquired 1. "This coming autumn, naturally." "Why, mother, that would be direct- •" "No, dearest; we are still in July. Sup. ose we were to fix upon October for the know there 18 something amiss in my lire ; but what, but what? And then I remem- ber that I am engaged to be matried and that October is very near. And then I think how good it would be for everybody if I were to fall ill and die, and leave Cyril free to marry somebody who would really love him, and be honestly glad to be his wife. There are such girls, no doubt I believe I could name seven between Hen- ley and Reading. "Is it my mother who is trying to part us 1" Daisy, your mother has nothing to do with this matter, She knovie nothing of my determination yet, and I am going to ask yolla aVor." "What is that V' "I want you to let your mother suppose that it is you_who have broken the engage. went. 1 don't think as society ie consti- tuted nowadays, there vrill be very much astonishment at the alteration of our plans, I hope before a year is Over that any darling will have found a worthier lover; and ao 1 shall be far away, no doubt people will Boon forget) me." "Yon will be far away?" 1 echoed. "Where ?" di In Auetralie. I shall try to begin a neW life on the other side of the world ; breed sheep on the Darling Downs, or turn wine grower, Heaven knows what; but anyhow, my future shall be as far remote from my past as distance can make it." A new light flashed upon me, and I be- gan to think that the question of money was tit the bottom of poor Cyril's trouble. "I begin to suspect your motive," I said, seriously. " Uncle Ambrose has lost his fortune. Its coming was like a fairy tale, and it haa vanished like gold in fairy -land. Oh, Cyril, surely you know that I never oared about your father's wealth,or thought whether you were rich or poor. Mother and I have plenty of money for all of us." "My deterest I know your generous heart. No it is not a money trouble that has dark- ened my days; but there is a trouble; and it is one which I must keep looked up in my own breast till I die." It was a delicious afternoon, with a hot sun and a bine sky—a sky flecked with faint, feathery oloudlets. It was the kind of afternoon which used to mean unquali- fied bliss ; and even in spite of My troubles I could not help feeling a kind of sensuous content as I lolled back in my pet wicker chair and watched the ripple of the river, and the gentle movement of the willows where the opposite bank curved inward toward' the broad reach over which the church tower casts its solemn shadpw. The second quarter after four chimed freen the dear old tower,the tea -table stood ready, the little copper kettle hissed gayly, but still there was no sign of Cyril. 1 began to feel just a little uneasy about him, for it was unlike his usual way to be anywhere within reach and not come to hunt rue out every hour or so, either for a ramble or a ride, a single, or a row, on our beloved river. It was nearly five when I saw a young man corning across the lawn to the terrace where I was sitting—a young mau in tennis flannels, such as those I had. seen Cyril wear when he started for the tournament that morning; a man of Cyrirs height and bulk, but not the least like Cyril in figure or walk, as I saw him in the distanee ; for this man stooped as Cyril never did, and this man's step had none of the elastic force for Cyril's rapid movements. Yet this man with the bent shoulders and heavy walk was Cyril, and no one else—Cyril trans- formed by ,some heavy trouble. That was the feeling with which I awoke "y.esterday. A lovely day, and the church clock striking six with a clear and silvery sound that means a west wind, and my room filled with the sweetness of the white clematis, which grows over all this end of the house I was out in the garden by seven, and breakfasted with mother, Uncle Ambrose, and Cyril at eight. Then I went for a long, long ramble, The church clock stauck one as I came across the meadows, in sight of the village. The aftermath was deep and full of flowers, and the narrow footpath between the tall edding. That would give us three months 1 grass and the hedgerow was the quietest or your trousseau. All other things are eady ; your charming rooms in Crosvenor quare, and at least half this house. Your tep-father and I will be overhoused even hen; especially as Ambrose does not love ee• his place, and would like to travel during ome part of every year." "les, there is room enough tor us all," said; "and as for the trousseau, I don't are a straw about it You have dressed e so well all my life thet I never hunger or new clothes. It is only the badly reseed girls who are eager for wedding nery." "Leave the trousseau to me, then, Daisy," said mother, "and I will take are that it is worthy of the dearest girl in he world. I may tell Cyril that he shall begin his new life before the end of October, ay I not?" "Tell him just what you like, mother," answered, with a heart as heavy as lead. "You must be the best judge of what is ight." I left her a few minutes afterward to go back to the garden. I felt a thstleseness which made it impossible for me to stay in he house, a perpetual fever and worry hich seeme a a part of the heavy burden hat weighed on my spirits. And, oh 1 I had been so happy, so happy in that very garden only a year ago. I went back to the house, too restless to tay long anywhere, and on my way to the all door I was startled by it most hateful haven in which to think of one's troublea. I felt sorry I was so near home when I came to the little gate that opened out of the meadow in a deep lane ,leading directly te • our own road. River Lawn was in front, between me aild the Thames, and Uncle Ambrose's cottage was on my left hand as I turned my face to the river. . I was lingering at the gate, in a dreamy mood, when I heard footsteps in the lane. I thought they might belong to one of those everlasting Reardons, and, as I wasn't equal to meeting a Reardon, I drew back behind a bushy blackthorn that grew beside the gate, and watched the passer-by. There was more than one ---two men went slowly by, in earnest, and, as I thought, in angfreonvereation, though the tones of the one who was talking when they passed the gat were suppressed almost to a whisper. These tyro were T_Tnele Ambrose and the French bookbinder. Scarcely had they passed the .gate when another man followed stealthily, evidently liatening to their conversation. • The third man was Cyril—Cyril, my bethrothed husband; Cyril, the pattern of honesty and honor, creeping at his father's heels, and acting the degrading part of a listener. I could hardly believe my eyes 1 was shocked, horrified, dieguitted ; and yet, after thinking the whole thing over during a. most painful reverie'I was obliged to confess to rayeelf thatif the opportunity had occurred to me I might have done the " It is something about yourself," I speculated, pitying him too much to leave the mystery unquestioned ; "some mortal disease, perhaps. You have consulted a physician who has told you that you may die auddealy, and yon fear to make me un- happy." "No, Daisy, medical men and 1 have had few dealings since 1 was vaccinated. Don't ask any more questions, dear. I dare not tell you more than I told you at first All is over between us; and my life must be spent thousands of miles away. I could not trust myself within reach of an 'express train that would bring me back to you. He bent over me sal sat motionless with wonder, looking at the bright water and the lights and shadows on the opposite shore. He pressed his lips upon my fore- head in a farewell kiss. • "Good-bye my Daisy, my pearl, mine no more," he said, and turned away, and walked slowly across the lawn by the way he had come. I heard the gate in the fence open and shut, and I knew that he had gone across the road to Ins father's cottage. I sat looking at the water in a mute,dull wonder. The footmen carried away the tea -table in their horrid mechanical Way, which makes one think that they would clear the table and arrange a room in just the same leisurely fashion if one were lying dead upon the carpet. The evening darkened, and still I sat there wondering and musing. I Was free—free to love or marry whom I pleased. And yet I could not feel glad. I felt such an impostor. Surely I ought to have Confessed the truth. There might have been some consolation for him in knowing the worthlessness of the thing he surrendered. And yet, and yet—it might have been cruel to undeceive him. It was better for him, perhaps, to believe that he had re- ceived n-easure for measure, that I had loved him ta the last. "If elver I marry, it will be years hence, I dare say," I told myself, "and he will be in Australia,happily married himself before that time." "This was a gomforting thought, but even this could not prevent me feeling very unhappy about Cyril and his mysterious trouble? Had he gambled? Had he kept race -horses? Had he foeged ? The trouble was obviously a very eerious one. It might be some casual forgery, executed after a wine at Christchurch, when the poor dear fellow hardly knew what he was doing. He came slowly to the empty chair at my side 'and seated himself in silence, and looked at me witheeyes whose expression I can never forget. All frivolous words died on my lips. I could only watch him in mute expectancy. "Daisy," he began, in a voice that was even stranger than his altered looks, "1 think you know that I loved you,honestly, truly, and dearly." . "I ana sure you have, dear," I answered, with a sinking heart, knowing that I my- self dared not have said as much of my own truth and honesty. pparition in the person of that odious same thing, renchman who attacked ole in Church The pertistent intrusions of that French- treet, and who seeing to have interwoven man are not to be endured without protest imself into our lives by his persistent of some kind ; and I thirik Cyril wee justi- W eats to thy step-father'a charity, I fled in listening to any eonversetion in hich that man bore a part, in order to know hOw kihd Uncle Ambrose is; and yet I should Wive gieren him credit for more rimless of mind than to &HOW hirintelf to be hunted down by a needy impostor of this kied. The man was owning from the gate toward the hall door When We met face to face, and he looked considerably abaghedat enemunterieig me. "Ah, you May well feel ashamed of yourself," I said, indignantly. Yes, I am the lady you had the audaeity to waylay in the street whele yea were tipsy." " Yen are Mho Hetrell." he faltered, looking an absolute craven. "Yes, 1 eirk KiSS nistrell. What do you want 0,t iny Mother's house.? "I want to Stee+-40 eMpleyets-your step -lather." He.said those two worcla, ulvty employ - Me" 180 Meet detestable manner, implying proteot his good, easy, and most unwordly- wise father from being imposed upon. (es, after serious reflection,. I found 'ex, curies for my ,poor Cyril, although the sight of that creeping figure, With head bent for- ward to listen, mitre me a dreedfal thock. A greater shock was to come a few hears after, a Shock Which agitates my heart and nerves at tine nrannent, net knowing how ought to take it, whether / ought ta be glad or sorry. Glad I can not be recalling my poor Cyril's white,agonieed face as he talked to rhe by the river at ,five o'clock yeeterday afterriocen Sorry / can not be, when reirtezriber how cruelly the tie with Which had bound myself weigbed upon myspirits. It WAS late when / hito the hoisee, but nci one had gone to 'lunch. Mother was Sitting alone in the morning-rooni, lier • "1 have not gone into hysterics about my passion, or writteti verses, or done any other of -the wild things that I might have done had we met as strangere at Venice the other day and fallen in love with each other at first sight. I have taken eveiy- thieg for granted—too much for granted, perhaps. I grew up loving you, from the time I was a lad at School and you' a. kind of household fairy in a white frock, with bright hair and dove -like eyes. I went on loving you, and olaimed you as my own almost as if I had a right to you—as if the trouble of wooiug and whining were not for me, since my own true love had been born and reared and educated expressly to make me happy. That is how I felt about you, Daisy, and perhaps I have seemed a tame wooer in consequence." "Nol no 1 no 1" I exclaimed, eagerly. "You have been all that, is good and true. It is 1 who am weak and changeable and frivolous; it is I who am to blame—" My too -ready tears stopped. me. I thought he had discovered my guilty secret, that he had found out somehow that I had left off caring for him, and had begun to care for Gilbert Florestan, I was going to throw myself on my knees at his feetwhen he stopped my uncertain movement with a hand laid heavily upon my arm. I doubt if he had heard one word of my self- accusation. "That is all over and done with, Deity,' he said, "our wooing at Venice and else- where; and all the happy days and hours we have had together; and all our plans for the future; and the rooms that have been made beautiful for us to live in ; and the life we were to lead. All those things must be as a dream that we have dreamed, and yon mint teach yourself to forget me, and to forget that you were ever my promised wife," There was another idea which struck me afterward, as I walked back to the house. What if Cyril,in a weak,goodma.tured way, had got himself engaged to another girl, a girl he detested,and felt that honor obliged him to marry her because she was of inferior rank and because he detested her? This would account for his resolution to go to the other side of the world and begin a new life. He would marry this person and take her straight off to the antipodes, where no one belonging to his own world would ever see him in his disgrace. Poor Cyril ! My heart bled for him. Mother came out of the drawing -room window to meet me as I drewnear the house. She had just returned from her visiting, having tasted half a dozen cups of tea in half a dozen tiny sitting -rooms, and had heard no end of sad stories. Yet she looked happier than usual, for she had been giving happiness to others. I had been keeping my heart locked against that dear mother for months ; but now I was determined to tell her as much of the truth as I was free to tell. I put my arms round her neck, and laid my be- wildered head upon her shoulder. Ye8, he had found out all the truth, I told myself. My head drooped forward upon my °leaped hands, and 1 had what the Reardon girls call a good cry. 1 felt so sorry for Cyril, so ashamed of myself. I did not for one moment doubt that he had discovered my inc0001anc3r, and that he was setting_me free to marry Mr. Flores. tan, if Mr, Florestan cared to have the reversion of isueh a Worthlees weather - 000k - " My darling, don't ory so bitterly," he pleaded, more tenderly than evet I remem- ber him to helm done in all our foolish little love E08008. "YOU are breaking my heart, and / have boa to be Strong and 'stern to faec aoruel future." You think that, 1 am" fickle• 1 said at lett, "end not worthy of your trust t" "You fickle t you unworthy ?"10 °tied, "Why, my dearest, 1 know yott are the • truest and purest of Creatures. There is go tikaaParable bar to Our Morriage40 liniMISIMIMIMMIMIMMIZIPMMMIMMISMEMMIMMEMP for Infanta and Children. "Castorlaissowenadiptedtochndrenthat recommend it as superioreo any prescription known to me." H. A. Amman, IL D., 111 Bo. Oxford St., Brooklyn, N. Y. " The USE of 'Castoriaa to universe, and Its merits so well known that it seems a work of supererogation to endorse it. Few arethe intelbgent families who do not keep Castoria within easy reach." Cennos Tderners, D. D., New York City. Late raster Bloomingdale Reformed Church. Castoria vireo Collo, Constipation, our Stomach, Diarrhoea, Eructation, 'Worrell, gives Bleep, and promotes di mdon, • Witut injurious medication. "For seveial, years I Wive , recommended your Castoria,a and shall always continue to do 8088 ithal invariably produced beneficial results." Merle De PARDEE. M. D., "The Winthrop," 125111 Steeet and I'M Iva, New York die, arms CENTAUR COYPANY, 77 MERRAE.STEELIT, XXIV YORE, MiefflnaliMg1372592"2"2541"1"MIMMEMMIWigigglininaM OlUILC-H1.14-13 ," UNACCOUNTABLY LOSING FCESTI S REFUSIND TO TAKE ITS FpOD LISTLESS AND DEMITATED WilY DONTe"°- iftr--1::1250111INICM? I. WILL, HELP WONDERFULLY • YOU TRY Severe Pain in Shoulder 2Yearis Cured by"The D.8c11.7tenthol Plaster. My wire was afilieted.for Iwo years with a severe pain under the left shoulder and through w the Istan; after using many remedies without relief, she Weds "D.& L." Menthol Plaster, it did its work. and osving so this cure hundreds of these planers have been sold by me here, giving equel satisfaction. J. B. SUTHERLAND. Druggist, River John, N.S. Sold Everywhere. 25C.each. MINE1111a. I could not tell her a deliberate false- hood, but I could prevaricate, which I dare say is just as bad. • "There was no necessity for me to ask him," I said; "he understood my feelings —we understood each other perfectly. Don't ask any more questions, mother darling," I pleaded; "fib least not about poor Cyril. He will be leaving us very soon I fear. Indeed, indeed, there ia no need for you to grieve," I urged, kissing her sweet, anxious face. "It is better as it is,' "Is it, Daisy?" she exclaimed, sadly. "I can not quite think that. The change seems light to you, but it is a sad breaking up of home and family ties. The nest has been made ready for the birds, and now they are to part and scatter 'far and wide. This will be a blow for your step -father. He was do proud of your engagement to Cyril, so happy in the thought of year future union , The dissappointment will be bitter for him. Aud he is out of health, and hardly in a condition to bear a great sorrow." My mother looked at the clock en the ohimney-piece. ' "A quarter to eight, Daisy, and we must dress for dinner, and after dinner I must tell your step -father what has happened. He has no idea of it I suppose ?" "I think not." ' "Poor Ambrose, I am sorry for him. No, love,I don't blame you or Cyril," she added, hastily, as she saw my look of self-repreaoh. "It is not your fault, either of you, if you do not love each other well enough -to take life-long vows. It is better to have found out the truth in time ; but the disap- pointment will not be less bitter to Cyril's father. It pleased him to believe that his affections for me would be in a manner continued in the coming years by his eon's union with my daughter. hear Ambrose going upstairs to his dressing-roorn. We ahall be late for dinner." I ran to my room, three steps at a time, I felt happier than I had been at any time since we leftVenice, in spite of all that had been done to reek° me happy. I was sorry for Cyril, honestly and sincerely sorry, but a berden was lifted off my heart, and I could not wonder that it beet less heavily, (To BE CONTINUED.) "Mother dear, you have no need to trouble about that horrid trousseau," I said, half laughing and half crying ; " change has come over the spirit ot our dream—mine and Cyril's. We have agreed that we don't quite suit each other—or at least that we answer better as brother and sister than we .ever could as husband and wife—and so, in the friendliest way,eve have agreed to part. He is going to Australia to look about him, and I am going to stay with you." I believe was slightly hysterical after this, and I felt very much ashamed of my- self as I heard myself making a ridiculous noise without the power to stop. Poor mother kissed and comforted tete, and scolded me a little, till I quieted down, and then she sat by my side on our favorite sofa to discuss the situation, "This is very sudden, Daisy," she said; and I saW that shelooked grave and troulde "It seems sudden," I answered; "but it has been: in the air for some time—ever mince viNeft •Paria." inother,iis if she saw a light. "You must have seen that I was relifo. teat to name any time for my marriege,and that I didn't take the faintest, interest in my trousseau." "Yee, I saw that, and 1 thpught it only meant that my Daisy was 1008 frivoloue than Most girls," "It meant that I was a hypocrite and impostor; that I allowed myself to he en- gaged to Cyril Ont of sheer frivolity -mete idle Vanity, which made me pleased to have tsR admirer. For months pest I have been ehafing against my bonds, and I can not lie too grateful to Cyril for having sot Ine free." "Did you ask him to release you 2" in, quired mother, looking at me searchingly With het Sat, derietie eyes. Children Cry for Pitcher's CestorW "tnce you lef1 Paris 1" repeated SET RULES AT DEFIANCE. No Railroad Company Could Prevent Her Seeing Melinda ern When the train for the west was called, there was a rush of passengers at the door, and among them was a small, thin young wo man about 20 years old, who had a humble and resigned expression, and e sharp -nosed iron -jawed female of 45, who was evident- ly her mother. The small thin woman had a bundle end a ticket to St. Thomas. The sharp nosed woman had a basket and two, bundles and no ticket at all. "Ticket, ma'am" said the gatekeeper, as she attempted to follow her daughter out. "I'm jest goin to see Melinda on the train," she replied. "Ticket, ma'am, ticket ; got to have a ticket." "I've got to put Melinda aboard of the train, I tell ye 1 She's never traveled be- fore in her life, and is jest as apt to gie under or on top of the car as into it." "Show your ticket ma'am 1" persisted the gatetender as he waved his ticket punch around. " rho.ve to do as I am ordered you know." „ flow he Got it. De Boist—" How did you catch your cold ?" Is Bristle—" Yam know col& no con- tagious 2" "Yes." " Well, I caught it asking other people how they caught their colds." A Plan of Letters. Examiner—" Spell(cue," Policeman a That's What I " "Well that's what Q.' " Yea. " I know it. I went you te spell it" "Thunder 1 Ain't I spellin' it. Yell be &skin' me to spell ‘1" next I" Nas "1 tell ye," replied the woman, as ?she growded closer. " I'm bound to see Me- linda off! It won't hurt yer ole railroad any to let me through. 'Melinda, don't yeh ory, fur I'm amornina The idea thee a mother can't see her daughter off 1" 'Ticket, ma'am ! You are detaining fifty passengers. Please show your ticket or move back 1" " I've got to put Melinda on that car 1" sheeted the woinan in a high key, "I've got twelve eggs, a bottle of skunk's ile, two lamp chimneys, a pumpkin pie, a bottle of hair dye and a pint of buttermilk in this, baaket, and I either go through or bust this basket right here'and now!" ' She dropped the bundles and began swinging the basket around her head, but * it made only two circles when the gate - tender smilingly said 2 "Wish to ECG your daughter off? Pass right in, lady a and etay as long as you wane "Yon bet I will:" /withered the old leayr, as she joined lelelintia, "but I'm a little sorry he give up So quick. Good lands, but 1 oeuld hey made sick a wreck of that depot that no treine could her gone out, fur a week!" • Who He Was. Mr, Lightweight (airily, to conduotet1 I wonder what that shabby old codger finds ettatttractive in this direction. He'd been eying me foe ten initiates." Conduotor (thonghtfully)—" I guess he's wondering how you 'happen to be travelling on a pass, Ile's the preeident of the road. • I