HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Herald, 1912-01-26, Page 7OR, THE MEMORY OF A BOYWITH
DARK EYES.
QHAPT'ER •!'III:-(Cont'd)
"Rosalie;: will :you, let me try.; to make;
..y0
happy? Will age:try to core for me
a
e? I lee you -I have -loved you
-since the first moment I saw your taco.
;Don't you think I could make you happy,
•lovin'g you so much as that?"
I do not think of it for a moment, :I
-ale not seriously •entertain the 'thought
•even for ono second of time.. A year ago
it might have seemed to me a very de-
sirable arrangement. It would restore
Woodliay to the man who I always felt
-aught to have had it. But a year ago I
did not care for any one else. Now my
:heart lies buried in the grave that was
.dugfor it down among the tangled ferns
anleaves and grasses in my shadowy
•.comb° one day -a grave whose fresh sods
I have never visited -a grave where with
my dead love I have buried all hope, all
pleasure, all desire of life.
"I am sorry,if you really care for me,
'Cousin Ronal. I don't know how you
•oan"-smiling slightly -"knowing how
.cross' I am!"
"May I ask you one question, Rosalie?"
I know what the question iS before X
'look round into hie face.
"Yes," I answer slowly; "I suppose you
'have a right .to ask."
I do not want to ask it by reason of
any right, and you are not bound to
renewer me."
"No; I am not bound to ;answer you."
"Rosalie, have you ever fancied that
yon -oared for any other man?"
The question to put so gravely, so com-
posedly, that it does not startle me.. I
answer it just as gravely, just as com-
posedly, looking straight before me at the
eemooth: gray terrace -walk.
"Not fancied it, Cousin Ronald! I have
-oared for another man so much. that,
-though you may be a hundred times
better, a thousand times worthier, you
•oan never be to me what he once was."
'I am not going to ask you, his name.
But this man, Rosalie, it cannot be but
-that he loved you in return?"
"Oh, yes, he loved me!" •
"Then is he dead?"
"No," I answer, with a strange little
+smile; "he is married."
For one moment Ronald Scott stands.
'beside me in dead silence. I do not look
..at hint; but I can fancy the astonishment
—the disgust, perhaps -in his grave stern
face -his silence might mean either or
'both.
"Poor child," he says at last -and his
-tone is only pitiful, not disgusted at all
"poor'nhildl'
I do not look at him. and I do not think
le is looking at me. But two great tears
well into my eyes and fall upon my ashy
purple gown.
I will not trouble you any more,
dear," he says, gently. I would never
have asked that question if X•had dream-
ed what your answer would be. But I
could not think you oared for any one -
It seemed so unlikely that -he would not
.care for ' you."
I hold out my left hand to him -the one
next to him -without turning my head.
The foolish tears drop down my cheeks and
-fall upon the gown whose dead violet
shade Olive abhors.
"I shall be your friend - always, Rosa
"lee -remember timer'
Yes," I:say vagu'tely„ .not dreaming ho�v
Re make :trial' 5f` his fgisodshipr
r.
'.:!ikon
. . �,�, I
�. ...,. u .•,
al lilsses lily; .sisals; �rk'vcls«
iy :'and walks -'oat ':of. the
stilt as' Olive and. Mr. Lockhart come
F ' . - *. ..•' t ' * *
"There is no news inthe paper to -day,"
Olive says; picking u • the "Times from
the floor whore Ronald Scott had thrown
it.
"Is there not?" I answer languidly, still
standing in the deep bay window looking
out.
"Nothing that I call news. Oh, what
is this?"
She does' not speak again for a minute
or two. I suppose she is studying the
paragraph which seemed to have attract-
ed her attention. I am studying the sun.
set colors be the sky, the mystic glory
of my sunset hill, the deep ruddy green
of my shadowy woods. Mr. Lockhart has
Suet wished us good-bye and leftthe
teem; Digges
es has carried away thtea
things; Olive has more than once sug-
gested that it is time for my antepran.
dial drive; but I am in no mood for ex-
erting myself -even to the extent of put-
ting on myhat.
"Such a horrible thing!" Olive ex-
claims. "Allie, did you know that un-
fortunate Gerard Baxter was married?"
"'Yes,' I answer calmly, without turn-
ing my head; "I knew it some time ago."
I declare I. don't like to tell you anout
it -it is enough to shook ;you if you had
v
B
never known the wretched boy."
"'What is it?" I ask, confronting her,
The girl is sitting on the corner of the
sofa, looking up at me with a white
startled face.
"Why he was arrested the day before
yesterday on a charge of having murder.
ed his wife!"
CHAPTER Ig.
Olive . Deane went away this morning,
and Ronald Scott left after l.unoheon-
the house' seems quite lonely and desert-
ed. • `But I am not thinking of either my
Mead or my cousin, as I sit alone in my
brown -paneled morning room at Wood -
hay, holding n my hand the "'Times" of
yesterday. I had hidden the paper away
that I"•might study something in it at•
my 'leisure to -day --something that I al-
ready know by heart. As 1 sit in the
deep old-fashioned bay -window, with the
paper in my hand, my eyes are on the
blaze of color without, intently staring.
X see no sunny garden precincts shut in
by tall green hedges topped by the blue
airy. I see a man in a prison -cell -gaunt,
haggard -the man whom X still love with
all the reckless obstinacy of my nature -
the boy whose weakness of purpose hie
spoiled both his life and my own.
I believe every word of the story he
told to the magistrate before whom they
took him,, though, in the face of such
overwhelming evidence as was produced
against aim, I do not see that there was
any course open to the magistrate but
the casino he adopted, of committing him
to prison to take his trial at the Octo-
ber Sessions for the, murder of his wife.
The account„, of the examination before
the magistrate ie given in full in the
diaper in my hand, under the heading of
• Police Intelligence." 1 have mastered,
every particular of the ease, weighed
ei`ery grain to be 'brought home to the
'wretched lad who is to 'stand his trial
in O'atober, I am as entirely convinced
that he had no hand or part in it as I
Wmthat I had no hand
or !tart in it
myself.
Three weekse
before the day. Gerard
Baxter was arrested on,the charge of
having made away with his Wife -on the
twenty-third of July hie mother-in-law,
Bliza White, de oeed to :.]taxing gone to
,lisg• .lodgingBs 'to her''dau visitter The
'stoner . Opened od the door for her, • ,and
1d her that her daughter hadgone out,
't
' bor hal f an hour
before to
buy "some•
thin in n '
g a exghbbring street. She' had
.!!Sone lionise perfectly, satisfied and:, fully
iiotending to' call° agate. iii the evening,
tit -someI e
bus n ss of her own
er'
pr
e
venue
d
er doing thisltied, when �h rapeatc
vi it An the
'
folla1 Vi
ng morning, alo
woe rather ern -extend te
hear from her
Sola -in-law that her daughter- had again:
f carved window -settings of my quaiut(cr
house. I cannot bear to look at 'tial,
thinking how little happiness they w,
given me. If X had been what 1i
ined me, the penniless: girl learning naRi a
as a ;means of future livelihood, 1 wotllet
have married him and we should haste;
been happy, But f refused him, beoau a,
1 was Mies Somera Scott of Woodli:{i
Mauor. And now all my woods and mootn.
and meadows have turned to ashes betweee
my teeth. ,
gone ' out. Qn neither occasion bad • he
invited her into.. the room, but had• stood.
in the doorway''to' answer ber. inquiries.
Re said her daughter wee quite' well :and
that he expected' her in every minute; but
he did not ask her to wait; nor had she
time , to waste :. waitingfor her. She
thought Gerard Baxter's manner rather
odd and surly; but thenhe-never had a
very pleasant manner, and it made no en -
preseason upon her. She was sosure that
he had been telling her the truth on both
occasions that she never thought of mak-
ing any inquiries among the neighbors.
In answer to the magistrate, she said the
lodgings were very poor ones. Gerard
Baxter was an artist, and could not al-
ways sell•his pictures; but he had made
some A
of copies pictures ctu es f or churches she
p
thought, h
g and they had brought. ixl some
money. They never were in actual want.
She went on to say that she had not
called again for several days, being ra-
ther hurt with- her daughter for never
coming near her. She bad been in the
habit of running into her house every
evening almost when her husband went
out. They had not got on very well to-
gether. Her daughter was a child al -
moat, and very thoughtless, and Gerard
Baxter was soured by disappointment and
poverty, and had lately begun to drink
-not hard, but more than was good for
him; but he was never cruel to his wife
at the worst of times, so far as she knew.
Mrs. Eliza White'e evidence was so impar
tial that it produced a strong impression
in her favor in the court.
For a whole weekshe saw nothing of
her daughter, nor did she go to her lodg-
ings to . inquire after her. She blamed
herself very much for it afterward; but
she had to earn her own bread by wash-
ing, and had lodgers to look after. At
the end of a week she went, however,
and found the door locked; then she
turned into the room of a neighbor on
the next floor, a woman named Haag,
the wife of a German who played the
violin in the orchestra of some timers -
she forgot what theatre. Mrs. Ilaag said
that she was sur•Iirised to hear her mak-
ing inquiries for her daughter, since Bax.
ter had told them all she had gone to
stay with some cousins in the country.
They had not seen or heard anything of
her in that house sience the twenty-sec-
•oud of July; Mrs. White herself had seen
her on the twenty-first.
'Mrs. White then resolved to wait till
her son-in-law should come in; but,
though she sat with Mrs. Haag for more
than two hours, Baxter did not make his
appearance. Meanwhile Mrs. Haag told
her all she knew -how for three days
Baxter had told them, when they inquir-
ed for his wife, that she had jest gone
out and would be in presently, and on
the fourth had told her -Mrs. Haag -that
she had gone to visit some cousins in
the country. The neighbors suspected -
nothing. When they.asked.for her later
on, he said he had had letters from her,
and even gave them messages which she
sent to them in the letters, He looked
dark, Mrs. Haag said; but then he always
did look dark, and kept himself very
much : to himself. She did not think they
had got on very well of late. He left his
wife alone very much, and they ail .pitied
her -she, was'sa' young -et mere child, and
so pretty. Ou•'the moaning of the twenty-
nd, the ,had words about: something;
rr7i, a
are 01,ntsea+n::to
!` s
r
he
se ," B= ;'h0 swirl'; ,but•s'oh :threats were
'oommbu•ebough in that tenement -home -
she had never given them a second
thought.
Mrs, White, finding Baxter did not come
back, left arra. Haag., and went home.
She knew Lily -her daughter's name was
Eliza -the same as her own, but she al-
ways called herself Lily -had some sou•
SIDE in Kent; and, though she was sur-
prised to hear she had gone to pay them,
a visit, it was not outside the bounds of
probability that she should have done
so. And, being troubled with her own
concerns, she gave no more thought to
the matter until the afternoon of tho
fourteenth day of August.
Here the witness was so overcome by
grief that it was some time before the
examination
couldn reseed.
On the afternoonf
o the fourteenth of
August a liceman m
B AO came to her, to take
her to the mortuary. A body had been
found floating in the river near Black-
friars Bridge; Mr. Haag had happened
to see it, and at once recognized it as the
bodyof Mrs. Baxter,and the girl's mo-
ther o
ther was sent for identify to it, ae her
husband was not to be found.
Mrs. White had no difficulty in identt-
fying the body, though it had been in
the water a considerable time -three
weeks, the surgeon said, who made the
post-mortem examination.
The face was
much disfigured from the action of the
water; but the beautiful red gold hair,
the small even teeth, the girl's height
and age, the wedding -ring on her finger,
were all conclusive 'evidence, Her clothes
were poor,aand had no mark upon them-
e black cashmererest, black jacket, and
a little brooch with hair in it, which Mrs.
White at once recognized as having been a
present from herself to her daughter -
she had • put the hair into it herself -it
was Iter father's hair. Mr. and Mrs. Haag
had alto identified the olothee,'but could
not remember the brooch.. • Mrs. Haag
being called up, corroborated Mrs, White's
evidence in every particular. Thoprl.
Boner obstinately refused to answer any
gnestions•but to him by the bench, and
Maintained all through the inquiry a sol•
len demeanor, which had considerably
prejudiced the court . against him.
So much I had read, studying every
word -I think the sentences have burned
themselves into my brain. They were
no marks of violence on the body, so far
as could be ascertained; but, from the
state it was in when 'found, this could
scarcely be satisfactorily proved. It was
supposed that Baxter bad pushed hie
wife into the river on the night of the
twenty-second of July -the day Mrs. Haag
had heard him threatening to take away
her life,
X believe Gerard Baxter to be innocent
of the crime imputed to him. I have not '
asked. -Ronald Scott his opinion, nor
Uncle Tod --I could not trust myself to l
ask them any questions. But I had heard
Olive ask Uncle Tod at breakfast what
they would do to Gerard Baxter, and
Uncle Tod said they would try _ him, find
him guilty most probably, and condemn
him to death, The guilt seemed most
conohisively brought to him -whether he
would be recommended d
co to meroy or :not,
he could not say. ' It might come out that
there had been extenuating eiroumstane-
et; but, to Uncle nod's mind, there were
no extenuating circumstances. It was
a horrible business altogether.
It is a horrible business I think, Sem
as X sit tarn t
t
a into m diet i
staring y q sunt Y gar.
don, into which even the echo' of such
evil deeds has Paver come. .It is all so
peaceful, so orderly -the blackbirds and
thrushes hop in and but of the tall thick
walls of: yew • and beech, my peacock glim•
mere upand
dew the i n b
n x,� data c, faint
pearly clouds float ',strocs the sown° sky.,
Row different It 18
fromthe
wretched
Londonstreet, perhiPs• m, re.
wretched
court or alley where the man to whom
I, . would have as freely given.-"Wodltay,
wits! all'its is adens and terraces, wo
ods
and meadow
e, leas worked Starved
a d
n
till it seems' that' hie miscry hat elriven,
slim mail .I bate the blue shy,' the op
der'ly flower -beds, the ruddy gab).es, and.
- "Aunt Rosa, X am going up to London..'`
"To London!"' Aunt. Rosa repeats, etas%
ing at me through., her speotael'es abort
••' Yes. I am going; up on business."
"But, my"dear Rosalie; you are no snare
fit to . travel--" , • .
"My dear' Aunt Rosa, it. fa' duet wail; I
want-;eome variety, "I have telerrapliii,i'
to Mrs. Wauolrope to have my old;realu
in Carleton street ready for: me to -mor-
row.
You have telegraphed to Mrs. W;t;:
chops! Do you mean to:tell me that er a
are going up to those dreadful lodgings'
again -alone?"
`Where Dine would you.have me go,
Aunt Rosa?'
"Why, .I thought you might be goi;tr
to Olive's, or to the Rollestona'. " •
"The Rollestons are in Denmerlc, and
I don't want to 'catch another fever ..In
Dexter
Soars."
q
"Dear i forgot or of that!"
B
"Not that I am afraid of the fever," I
am bound to add honestly. I am not
in the least afraid of it; but I prefer go-
ing to Carleton Street for a great MAny.
reasons."
If you go, I shall go with you," Aunt
Rosa, says decisively..
"And. leave Uncle Tod with that cold
on his chest? My dear Aunt Rosa, I ;as.
sure you I am very well able to take care
of myself."
"You will take Nannette with you, of
course?"
Indeed I shall do no suck thing," I'
answer at once. My new maid le a wart.
nese to ma If old nurse Marjory lied
not been past her work, I would never
have installed her in the lodge and hired
this pert French soubrette in her stead.
"But, my dear child, It is an unheard-of'
thing for a girl in your position to go up
to .lodgings in London alone."
"Nobody need know. And it Is not as.
if Mrs. Wauchope were not an old friend;
and I shall only be gone a day or two
probably. If anything should happen to
detain me in town, you may follow me -
if you like, and if Uncle Tod's cold is
better."
Aunt Rosa dons not Iike the arrange-
ment from any point of view.
"You are very self-willed, Rosalie. You
were always headstrong, since you were
a baby of three years old. If ever a girl
wanted a father or mother to control' her,
I think you wanted them. - As for your
Uncle Todhunter, if you had cried' tor
the moon, he would have tried to get' it
for you. I often told him he spoiled yen,,
and so he did."
•
"I think I was always obstinate, wine -
then Uncle Tod spoiled me or not. Aunt
Rosa, do you know Cousin Ronald's Ad-
dress 'in town?"
Aunt Rosa stares at me, scandalized --
this time over the rim of her spectacles. half as pretty as that."
My dear Rosalie,. are you going to air "But what had her face to do with it?"
Ronald Scott's hotel in London to call I ask vaguely.
upon him?" "Why, they say he was jealous, you,
"Not unless t should avant him, auntie, know. She was a flighty little thing, and
But it is always well to know the ad- some artist was painting ,her picture, and
dress of a friend in London." ' I M. Gerard didn't like it.' That was what
' He is staying at the hotel your meek
always goes to in London. But I do hope,
Rosalie'
"That 1 will not do anything unbecom-
ing. My dear Aunt Rosa, I can ,be very
steady -when I like; and I am euro you
can trust to the chivalry ,ofyour friend
Ronald Scott."
'Sir -Ronald' -Scott le to a fect .ra'tle-
p
ipso. "Wh"t -will •h . t i
li a ki nk
@..
of yours, s „....,
tq"'alie�': .Da km a .� . e
will approve of deur going sap to.
doe ' alone like this?" -.1
"Ronald Scott's opinion of my procegd'-
ings is not of vital importance," • I en-
awer, throwing up my head. , 'Whether' Early' the next morning I transgress all
he is pleased or displesed =toes very Aunt ltosa's rules of propriety by taking
little to mo.. I am going up 'o London a cab and driving to my Cousin Ronald
on business which nobody else wield men- Scott's:hotel. I find him finishing break-
age for me. If he chooses to .disbelieve fast, half a dozen business -lettere scat -
my assertion -should I feel called upon tered about the table.
to make it -it is nothing to me.""Ronald," I say, in my honest fearless
"I wish it were something to trot" ,Aunt way, 'I have come to put a promie° you
Rosa ears a little wistfully, looking at made me to the test."
me. "He is a fine fellow -a true gel•
tieman; and he cares for you, Rosalie --
he asked your Uncle Todhunter's permit-
sion to pay hie addresses to you. " • But .I
suppose you snubbed him, as you snubbed
all the rest."
"Dear Aunt t Rosa " I answer ravel:
"you cannot like Ronald better than yI
do; and what I said to him I acid os
gently as I could."
"Why must you have said it at 411,
child?"
"Because se I could not rare enough for
S
him to marryhim rare
kant Rosa ighs, She would be so glad
to hand me over to some good steady man
like Ronald Scott, who could keep me in
order. She would be so thankful to wash
her hands of me and my vagaries, fond
as she i of
sme, once and for over,
"I don't despair
but that t you will come
to your sense"; some day, and marry
him," she says, deliberately, getting up
from the luncheon table. X think year
Unole Todhunter would die happy if Ile
knew that you were married to such s a
man as Sir Ronald Scott." �{
• * * * * • *
"You're looking poorly enotigh stilt,"
Mrs. Wauchope says, regarding me bo
the light • of the gas in her great dingy
drawing -room. I don't know whether it;s,
the bonnet, or what; but" you look tin.
years older than you did when you were
up here with., me in the spring:: r
Mrs. Wauchope is truthful, if she is net'
complimentary: Glancing at.' myself in
the sea -green depths of the mirror over
the mantelpiece, I am forced to aoknoaO
ledge that I do look ten years older thee
when X last saw' myself reflected betweeli
the tall vases of imitation Bohemian glaeS
which grace the mantelshelf, 'In defer-
ence to Aunt Rosas old-fashioned notion.!,
and for other reasons, X have endeavored
to give myself as staid an appearance so
possible, -wearing the close blank bonne
which Olive always said gave me a de-
mure look, though me, dimples were
against me. .And I are wrapped up it;
my long furlined cloak, and have ;Rao
gether the look of a respectable• young
widow, as I say to Mrs, Wauchope, laugh•;
Ing, tviiile she gets my tea ready wit.11
her on clump hands: i'
"Isn't this a terrible business abottl
Mr. Baxter?" she remarks presently. ";f,
!lover got such a turn in my life as when
1 saw all about it ie. the paper. Jizlr.I
i•iuch a young lad as he is, too; and' 1.
believe she was little more than a childf'.
"Do you think he did it?" I ask, ataxia:
ing on the rug. My landlady is busied
at the table, with. her' back toward ate.
she does not look round, though I cat
scarcely' keep my voice steady while C.
speak the six words. '
'Oh, everybody knows he did it1"•
How £tilt they ]snow?" ;',
19
-B1 peat
r
it there
w n'
as b on, �
0 e e
Ise to d a
"The
o i
t
t proves n
s nothtn
g.
"Oh, but he was hearts to threaten he:
And then the stories he made np! .A''
I believe she was a flighty little thin e, at is only for 0110 moment.'
and too pretty for her station in lith • "For what?" he asks rather sharply,
Those pelotas had spoiled her, for. eve: a question."
paid!
,"Merely to ask him single
tin '•h
her e oture:
t," It
ha
p Wasr s
on h ]t • i . faro 1 t doubtfully. Iris Ile at Y R s y
other da I: foundk
y her photograph a-n-�a
t r ,hi1t un u s
g upsown n:tinder all s s b x
1Pile'
i B
p
his studio -pinned to' the walla" as Stay own.
A thrill - of something like .jealous , ... "X • ,will keepm promise, Rosalie: But
the dead •girl: whose ihotograp h Gei a, , will at o ether in defiance of tny
Baxter had•oared to in u it i roo,' ` t id altogether
p hie better nt.
p It .te judgment.'
runs kik a n
1Y ' 'Then B
b heels through
m heart. v , ea B. , )~heli .so nisch �thn`'more 1 thank you
what 'right have I to be jealous of herr', forfkeeping it. If 11 sleet one nothing to
the wretched:, ohlld who had Neon lie tee a promise, there world not be o»-
wffe? - i gratitude, .iC,xon for noels g e, would there?"
Why doesn''t•Alm take {
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"Have you seen him since ho gave up
painting here, Mrs, Wauchope?"
Once or twice -not more than that. I
heard be was married; and I was sorry
to hear it, knowing the kind of persqn
ho married. There was a great deal of
good in him, poor lad; but he was as
unstable as water -he never finished any-
thing. There are upward of twenty pie-
tures upstairs, not one of them finished.
11 they were any good, I'll sell them to
pay up his arrears of rent;.but they're
nothing but useless lumber."
"I wish you would let me see them,
Mrs. Wauchope. I shouldn't mind taking
some of them out your hands. And, if
Mr, Baxtet ever comes to claim them,
yon can refer him to me."
"You are welcome -to see them, Miss
Allis. The studio is just as he left it -
I never even let the bedroom since. You
see I had a regard for him, having
known him so long; and I thought he
would come back to me some day till I
heard he had married that girl-"
After tea, Mrs. Wauchope takes me
upstairs. If the studio had had an un-
tidy look when I first saw it, it looks
like nothing now but a gloomy attic full
of lumber -the emilty easel pushed into a
corner, the unfinished canvases covered
with gray cobwebs, every chair and table
covered inch -deep with dust.
"Here is the photograph," Mrs. Wau•..
°hope says, taking something from the
table, and wiping it with her black apron.
"A pretty face, isn't it? I've known a
man to lose his life for a face that wasn't,
they were quarreling about on the morn-
ing of the day it happened."
I stand in the light. of Mrs. Wauchope's
mold candle, looking at the photograph
in my hand. 11 is a beautiful face -au
exquisite faee-soft and bright and inno-
cent as a child's.
'"I Will keep thisfor the present, Mrs,
Wauchope: May I?" •
lilts. Wauchope- nods- ,Lily Baxter's
'`i1'ftallaV Xf� is Dia tar thi - shot `Windows;
but the does.not ogre to .have it at all.
CHAPTER X.
He does not answer, standing before me,
still leaning on the table, still studying
my face. "Then, since that is settled,
I shall wish • you good-bye, Cousin Ron-
ald."
"Where are you going?"
"Back to Carleton street, I have writ-
ten to Olive to come to see me."
"It was to -to see this man that you
came up to town?"
"Yes."
"But what is he to you, Rosalie, that
you should concern yourself in his af-
fairs?"
He is nothing to me."
"Then why mix yourself up in such a
disgraceful business?"
"13ecause the man ii innocent, and I
must prove it."
"Prove it, my poor child! How could
you prove it?"
There must be some way to prove it
-if the man is innocent."
I believe he thinks my mind has not
quite recovered from the effects of the
fever -he certainly looks at me as if he
thought me slightly deranged.
"I have not studied the case. But my
,awn impressions aro that the man is
guilty If I can manage what you want
me to do, where shall I meet you?".
•'• If you come to Carleton Steeet for
me. I shall be ready to go with you." .
"It will very likely be tomorrow."
"Then I shall remain at home all to-
morrow. And, if you fail, you will let
me know?"
"I will let you know. I hope you are
taking care of yourself, Cousin Rosalie.
You look thoroughly worn out."
"Oh I am very well -a little tired from
the journey perhaps!"
-I wrap my fur cloak about me, shiver-
ing, though it ie August. Ronald walks,
down the hotel -stairs with me across the
hall, in a silence which I do not care to
break. He puts me into the cab in the
same almost stern silence. I do not
glance back at him as the cab leaves the
door, though he stands there bareheaded,
looking after me. I am thinking of a
man • in prison -a man whom I seem to
love the more the world' hated him -the
more he seems to have made shipwreck
of hig ow most miserable life
I have', seen Gerard in prison. Ronald
Scott managed it all for me --came with
me himself to the prisoner's cell.
I have heard Gerard's story -I have.
asked tho single question I wanted to
ask; and the answer has confirmed my
own belief -Gerard Baxter Is innocent of
the horrible crime imputed to him. I
believe every word of the story he has
told me, as firmly as I believe that I
am a living woman. Ile known no more
of the manner in which his wretched wife
met her death than I do, except that he
"I am glad to hear it, Rosalie," he an- had no hand or part in it.
ewers. standing by the table. "I have (To be continued.)
refused the chair he offered me, with the
plea that my cab was waiting below.
"Do you remember the promise, cola
pin?"
have forgotten nothing," he says,.
smiling a little.
in
"I want you to mina" a an tc rvi, Pw
y g
with that man -Gerard Baxter -who is in Royal
prison for murdering his wife."
Ronald Scott looks profoundly surprised.
For
me or Forou?' he asks,Ilia es o
yy
on m white face.
'Tor me. You can be present, of course;
I should wish you to be present. And
it need not last more than five minutes,
if so long."
Ronald Scott makes no answer what-
ever for a minute or two. Re is standing
by the table, one hand resting upon it,
looking down at me as I look up at him,
"Do you think you can do this for me,
Ronald?"
I can try. Was he an acquaintance
of yours?"
"He was a friend -was, and is,"
"I should say wan,'' Ronald observes,
Shrugging hie shoulders.
"I say is," I repeat stubbornly. "Ger-
ard Baxter le a friend of mine.
Ronald's dark brows met in a rather
heavy frown.
"May I ask how you made hie acquaint-
ance, Rosalie?"
.We lodged in the same house in Lon•
don -the houso in Carleton Street where
I' am staying. naw.
"tut bow-"
I cannot hello laughing outright at tbo
exceeding gravity of hie face. I think of
the bunch of violets; but I do not tell
Ronald about them -it is so different re-
lating a piece of thoughtless folly like
that -it would seem so much more helm
nus sit offense repeated under the cold
unsympathetic eyes of my judicial cam
sins 1
I cannot think how you ever made hip
acquainta.nee, Rosalie. If you had been
lodging in the same houso for fifty years,
wool Broad have had no acquaintance
"Oh, he was quite respectable! Y met
him in other places -fn society. The
Rolleatees knew him -he was at their
house every day."
"As to his respectability," Ronald saga
coldly, "that must be a matter of opin-
ion. Subsequent events have proved that
he could net have been a very respect
table acquaintance for you or any one
claps"
subsequent. events!" .,
"But supposing there were no subse-
quent events. This Baxter was a poor
artist -a Bohemian -not exactly the kind
of friedd, lilies Scott's friend's wouldhave
closest for her -at least, I think not."
"Wo will not quarrel about that, Ron-
taalidl. r darn basynsoYh Yt81y0 rioigdhit; OHGt-
sivenese now. What I want you to do is
I `4 to manage that I may see my friend -if
Canada diad
Beeord Year
Net Profits amounted to 18,58% on
Stook, while Liquid Assets
now stand at 49% of
Total Liabilities to
the Public.
Once more The Royal Bank of
Canada is able to report in its
Forty-second Annual Statement all
previous records broken.
Deposits increased over $16,000,
000, which brings the total up to
$88,294,000. Liquid assets amount
to $47,138,000, being 4934 per cent
of thetotal liabilities to the public.
Actual cash on hand, balances on
deposit with other banks, and call
loans in New York and
London,
England, exceed 32 per cent. of the
total liabilities to the public. Total
assets increased during . the year
�'
from $92,510,000 to $110,528.,000. Net
profits amounted to
p $1,152,249,
showing an increase Of $2001a
overthe pxe�ioLs y'efr—egLati
18.58 per cent. on the capital stock
of $6,200,000. Commercial' loans
amount to $59,646,000, being 67,55
pper cent, of
1 the deposits.
As will be seen from these com-
parisons, the Bank ,has 'exper ent ed
r
a wonderfully �
d 1111 aro
y 1 sperozs year,
44
n♦ 5 ISSUE 4-12
OOMME !CIA -L li EB,TILIZI+l1.l$;
The use of 'commercial fertili'
ex's has ,been'gne of the most i
fling questions with which this farxb
or has had to deal, If the a,ppI
cation of ,commercial fertilizers
the land had generally resulted`1
success; there need be very litt
said, because they have been
somewhat general use for 'a qua
ter of century or more. It is es
to And farmers who are not lei
in their praises of suoh fertilizer
and the reason probably is th
they have not always ,been-aU:
s
cess. Millions of dollars 'amine
annually in the United States, a
s
hundred of thousands in Can
for commercial fertilizers, and: it .1
safe to -say that at least half of th
large amount is wasted, not becaus
the fertilizers have, or have no
certain. elements in their compos
tion, but because they are not a
ways suitable to the land to wlic.
they have been applied.
There is generally an erroneo
notion regarding infertile soil, e
hausted soil, or over -cropped soi
The prevailing idea is that sue
soil in • infertile because it la,
plant food, (I have never yet m
a man who could give a fair de
nition of "plant food") whatov
that is. This is in nearly all cal;
entirely. wrong. Soil is inferti
because of something it has, rats,..
than because of something it lack
Plant excretions are the chief can;
of infertility, and it is in the deco,
position of4 such material that ti
application of fertilizers of a
kind proves of value. Commere
fertilizers mi'> remedy such con•
tions but, in the majority of ca•
they do not, hence a loss and was
of time.
To apply a commercial fertiliz
with some prospect of success
least three things are necessar
(1) a knowledge of the effect of t
previous crop on the soil, (2)
knowledge of the crop now to
grown and its relation to the
creta of the previous crop, (3)
knowledge of the biology of t
soil.
Up to the . present time th
things are only ,very , vagus,
known, .: consequently . the use;
olliitliercial: fertga.rer :,ji11, -0,re,
less likethe e o patent :
u � of last n rile
cine. The defect is only .oecasi
ally remedied.
Moreover, many of the comm
cial fertilizers, in the process
manufacture, have been heated
a temperature so high as to be
structive of all bacterial life. Su
are of very doubtful value. In t
sale of, and in the inspection
commercial fertilizers, the chemic
composition is usually given,
so much phosphoric acid, so mu
potash and so much nitrogen, as,
g,
r
the value depended upon the
things. The value depends chief
upon whether the original baste
ial life has been preserved, a
whether the constituents ofthefe
tilizer are favorable to the deve
opment of nitrifying bacteria of th
soil, and to those organisms whic
prey upon plant excretions.
Certain fertilizers a • adapted Certain 'zea ted t
P
certain crops, and to certain soil:
and the only way to find out whit
is to try them by using them o
part of the field so as to compare
Another common error in thi
connection that organic matter i
taken in by the plant roots. As
matter of fact roots absorb inor
ganic matter and water, but no or
ganic matter excepting possibly i
the rarest eases, or under the mos
peculiar circumstances. There is n•
question as to the benefit to be de'.
rived from barnyard manure, an•
this is not because it contain
"plant food" (for you could carry in
your vest pocket all the "plan
food" that a load of barnyard ma-
nure eontains) but because it al-
ways supplies abundant favorable
bacteria, and abundant nutritive
material for them: It has also a,
neutralizing effect on all plant ex-
creta, and it produces in the soil a
good phpsieal condition relative to
the water supply.
No mistake is trade in applying
barnyard manure or other excre-
ta, but in bringing and using com-
mercial fertilizers, "patent medi-
cine changes" are taken, 'renew-
ing
ellow-ing this vh.11 appear an article on
fertilizing the apple orchard,---
Bowmanvillo States.man,
yre
Elderly Relative—h1”, }viii±.+'
the tiSe 1!":! e hill �rii � 1
l; •��t
wife over small matters?' e
e S'1' Give LLS:."
the contention rather than pro-
long a fruitless argument. Mr..
Dorkins—Blame It,
Aunt u � d'
y.
that's what I do! 1 always 84y. to:
her,;"Maria, Z see you're bound to
have the last went!
Well,
you c
aA
l
have it 1" And thea f. tan
walk away,