HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Herald, 1912-03-08, Page 26
S'EV
TRIAL;
OR, THE MEMORY OF A. BOY 'WITI-I
DARK EYES.
CHAFTI:1'o XV.
"And I," I echo, but not aloud—"I too
'shalt know to -morrow,"
We find Olive and—Ronald Scott appar-
ently exchanging confidences in the sun-
shiee, Ronald with his elbow on the win-
dow 'ill, looking up, and Olive looking
-down. They cease talking when we make
our appearance, which rather rouses my
suspicion; but Olive kooks eo demurely
unconscious that I Indy be mistaken in
supposing she was telling• tales of me,
And Ronald looks so curiously at Lily
Ms we come forward to the window that
I half fancy they must have been talking
of her.
"Oh, Rosalie, why have you put on that
hideous dress?"
"Hideous!" I repeat, looking down at
at. "Do
verybody doe! hideous, about the
only unbecoming dress you have, Rosalie
Mfrs, Lockhart is always wishing some-
body would steal it, or burn it, or some-
thing,"
Oh, Olive never admired my taste in
dress!"
But it is not becoming to you, indeed,
Rosalie."
My dear, I have ceased to study my
appearance!" which is not true, since I
have studied it particularly this even-
ivAnd • I wanted you to look well," Lily
says, sighing, as she considers me.
If you look well, that is all that is of
any consequence,'
"Do I?" the girl asks wistfully.
the looks exquisite in her dress of
snowy llama softly ruffled with Spanish
lace.
My dear, I have spent the last hour
and a half over your toilet—do you think
it likely I would have ceased my efforts
unless I had been satisfied with the re-
sult?"
She smiles a little at this—her iufantine
innocent smile.
tenderly10ok stroking thevpretty rose."
lhite arm.
"You must have more color in your cheek;
than that, Lily, or else your husband
will think I have been starving you!"
There is color enough in her cheeks for,
a minute after that; but it fades away
again; the deep pansy blue eyes look
darker
n le childish
skbe,even the little gloved hand shakes
as I clasp it closely in my own. I sball
be glad when this interview is over. My
own heart is beating—my own color comes
and goes at every sound without—I am
almost sorry I told Digges to light up
the drawing -room; but I wanted Gerard
to see his wife in a full blaze of light,
to be dazzled by ber beauty, as I know
his artistic imagination will be dazzled
by it, surrounded by every adventitious
aid that I can think of or devise.
eightIt is a eer Xv�snticrhe may be hr; haeeaearia
mkestyiaaoalonigttion;onoat at
thRald
has been out all day shooting; it is
scarcely five minutes since be ran up-
stairs to dress. He too seems rather ex-
cited—I cannot think what has come over
him, He does not seem jealous of my
expected visitor --he seems rather in a
hurry to have him come. His manner
puzzles me a little, because he is gener-
ally so grave and self-contained, so im-
pervious apparently to the mere out-
ward influences which have, such power
to raise or to depress me.
Old Digges has :certainly none his beat
to illuminate the drawing -room. The
w,oe4.ilre or all i;ar e au the
rtlx,efe'
ie
sea
•� .
p tt 'r'
y o how. ain�iha
'wham it belongs, quaint and rich Anda d
fashioned, and it never looks so well as
when it is lighted up at night. And its
warm red tones throw out that white
oftnwarltsinnhfliuhe11711X lights. as ae full
velvet throws out some fair white statue,
rendering its whiteness more purely
white by contrast. I have drawn Lily
into the best light the room affords, un-
eonselouslr to herself, and there I keep
her standing while I listen for the wheels
which seem to my impatience to tarry so
long.
You must stay here if I go out to
meet him, Lily; remember that,"
"Here—alone?" she asks, with frighten-
ed Mye Carl ngk twill only be for a Mo-
ment. But you must promise me not to
stir."
Not even to run to the door, Rosalie?"
"Not to move from where I leave you,
dear—it is X who should welcome him to
Woodhay, you know—"
"Oh, yes! But might I not come with
you?" •
No. I wish to see him first ---for a mo-
ment --alone."
You won't keep me too long waiting?"
she pleads, with a tremulous smile.
"Indeed min•uta probably, smuh
toilet thiseevvening. or long It be that he
does not with to be present at the meet.
inn. of husband and wife? Aunt Rosa
never makes her appearance till the gone
sounds --I do not think there is much
danger of her veering oat of her groove
,to -night.
fancy en I h areFwheeleight—five—three.ithist; but
the clock ticks so loudly that I cannot
be rertain.
"Here he isl" Lily says. putting her
beer] to her heart.
"Are you sure?"
"Oh, quite sure!"
"Then, do not stir—remember wet you
have promised me!" 1 ,say, and cross the
room quietly, looking back at her over
rev shoulder.
The picture is perfect; all the light
1
Gavel
Stamina.
ft will benefit your
children: or your,
invalid.
E•2.13
- ISS[.?I'. 1O---12
J)
seems concentrated' about the exquisite
figure standing in the middle of the•floor
^she lecke more 11lre a vision than a
humanbeing, so pale is she, with all
that glary of light falling full on ilex
goldeu head.
With a long breath, wbich is almost a
sigh. I open the door and walk into the
hall just as Gerard Baxter steps into it
out of the starry darkness of the Septem•
ber night.
Ile catches sight of me in a moment,
and comes forward quickly, his hat in
one hand, the other stretched out to meet
mine.
Welcome to Woodhay," I say, smiling
And the dreaded meeting is over.
"Thank you," he answers, in the voice
I remember so well, and stands there
looking down at me, while I look up at
him with eyes which seem to have end-
denly grown dim.
This is not my boy, this stalwart man.
black -haired and bearded like a pard!
Tbis is not the lad I remember, the lad
whom my imagination had clothed with
every fair attribute under the sun! Surely
I must have forgotten him, or else he
must have changed mysteriously, if thie
pallid handsome man is the boy I Loved
long ago—the Gerard Baxter whom my
god -like fancy bad endowed with per-
petual youth! This man looks old for
his age, is inclined to be stout, is splen-
didly handsome certainly, with a kind
of foreign perfection of feature and col-
oring; but he is not the lad with whom
I fell in love three years and a half ago—
the slender, poverty-stricken artist who
"did win my heart from me" in Mrs.
Wauelhope's shabby house in Carleton
Street, and broke it, here at Woodhay,
the day I came of age!
"Will you go in there?" I say, loosing
my hand from his, close grasp,, and nod-
ding my head toward the drawing -room
door. "I promised not to detain you for
more than a minute,"
Is slie here?" he asks, ie. a sort of
breathless fashion.
"Yes."
Ile hesitates for a moment, looking at
me. I wonder what he thinks of me in the
ugly mouse -colored velveteen which my.
friends wish somebody would steal or
destroy.
I suppose you 11avn forgotten me?" he
says, a little wistfully.
"Quite," I answer, with a cheerful smile
-"as you have forgotten me."
He shakes his head at that; but I put
lmiim toward the open on zt dorm and
anmsee
that he is eager to go in. and yet he hesi-
tates—can it be out of compassion for
me?
Go in," I say smilingly. and usher him
into the softly -illuminated room. waiting
,lust long enough—unnerceived by either—
to see the look of bewilderment on his
face change suddenly into passionate ad-
miration, and to hear her low cry of de-
light as she rushes forward into his out-
stretched arms.
* * *
Dinner is over --such a merry dinner as
had not taken place at Woodhay for many
a long day. Not even the grim portraits
of my
visage could°danpp our butler's
irth aI sol-
emn
not believe any one gave a single
thought to either, Even Aunt Rosa
laughed till the tears ran down her
cheeks at Gerard's adventures abroad,
which he 'related . with a quiet humor
that somehow reminded me of Mark
Twain and the irresistible "Mr. Barris."
He has tray led a good deal, e a of
. _ g:tlwl
entail Scott I never
saw him lookingof hailerbefore as he
has looked ever since Gerard Baxter came
into the house.
After dinner, we three ladies betake
ourselves to the drawing -room. Aunt
Rosa
disposes y herself
for then rug on
MY favorite low -chair, and rests her el-
bow on my knee and her cheek in her
hand, looking into the fire with serenely
bannv eyes.
Well. Lily," I ask at last, "is your silly
little heart at rest?'
long think
th50'"Oh, 1tosalie,,r1 drawingsli a
-
n! " so hap -
Long may your happiness continue,
darling," 1 say, and bend down to kiss
the down forehead,
"Rosalie," she says presently taking
my Band and leaning her cheek upon it,
"I wish you were as happy as I am to.
night."
"Dear, I am very happy," I answer, a
little startled by the unexpected aspira-
tion.
Are you?"—looking up at me with soft
questioning eyes,
"Indeed I am."
She sighs a sigh of the most complete
content.
I want you to be hap»y, Rosalie: you
have been so good to vie—and to him."
And I am rewarded now by seeing your
happiness, Li1y—and his,"
" I think ho is hannv," she says dream -
f1' 1 laoomlri uresure is, Iihe fido not know any-
body who looks happier than lie looked
to -night."
"Sir
i vel;tstedsobess Ronald
but hitime she Lily
not Took up at me,
"Yes; I thought he looked in rather
better humor than usual."
looked in n cst his been lin evenieg di ess eiwith
his grave face and drooping brown
mustache and that laughing look in his
brown eyes. It is certainly very becom•
ing to people to Iook happy, I wonder
if 1 too look happier than usual to -night?
"r wish you hadn't worn this ugly
envsnvroLily
a colored velveteen with smooths
de-
heath band.
"Do I look the]) a show, Lily?"
haveell, you ook d inbn't your i whiok te dress, orcin
the blue flowered one, or in our pink
silk."
Never mind. I can wear my pink silk
to -morrow night."
"13ut Gerard won't be here to -morrow
night,"
Somebody else will, though -1 think so,
with a strange glad thrill at my Heart,
While I 1 never felt thisebefore,1 wondering
s
her head, listening to some sound in the
hall.
You think you will never see him
again," I laugh, pulling her little pink
ear.He is coming," she says, rising from
her place on the earthrug to stand with
her eyes fixed upon the door.
when 11'elooks forRonaldmtotfollo hunt'
into the room, I am disappointed—Ronald
has gone out to solace himself with a
cigar.
*
The terrace le steeped in moonlight as
bright as day, all the flowers in" my gar.
dein stand up like the ghosts of flowers—
white in the white light of the moon. I
have come out on to the terrace ostenaT-
bly to breathe tlo cool delieions night.
air, but is reality to give the lovers in
the
drawing -room a few .momenta to-
gether before Digges comes in with ten,
But T l
ut I ate glad I Baine out, the night fee STOPS COUOI1S S'"RICE. s5
ao serene, so lieaverrlyxu its girt
so unolouded; the air is 80 (10194, S 11
the perfume of ray beds of via
stock arid . mignonette. 1 lean
terrace balcony watching the
from branch to branch of en
y
eb"
ing trees, a
ite knitted i;1a,
"eel ' round my head and
shadowy figure "gray ermine!!
So Ronald rinds me wtien e
round from the dining roofs
Miter, finishing his cigar.
" Do I sleep—do X dreg
Or are visions about?;
the laughs, throwing away t to
lean over the balcony* besidehat
look chance induced you to:'wahfr
ing here tonight, cousin?"
No chance et all, but
nature " 1 answer. em'i'rg "ttr
others what I would have the uiato
me in the same circumstance 0 at wee
alt,,,
I -bless the kindly though',�P. •eteneld
says, looking at my, smiling fee by the
light of the moon, ''We must Ic ea them
a long time together, Allis, Mae at we?"
1 do not think he bee ever ealled'.011
Allie before; if he has, I ale not re-
member it. But I like to latiaaean1 c:xy
it in that grave tender voice :te
"I must give them some teas ag ',tee tare"'
"Tea! Do you think they -will want
tea—or anything else—while they have
each other?"
'But Aunt Rosa will wake up hhe clock-
work and call out for hers—you know she
always does."
I hope her jollity at dinner,a all have
a sportifie effect, Ronald laugh{ shrug-
Ting
hrugming his shoulders. dile, what: a night
it is. X was just wishing 1 Gould per-
suade you to come out when I turned
the aorner of the house and =found you
itching
e tufted
em one's
far, at
t'to. wish
"Were you, indeed?" I say,
the moon glide across from o
tree -top to another. It is s
wishes are so quickly granted
least, as my experience goes '
"One would think you had ori
for very little, AlIie,"
"How so?" I ask, turning ivy' bead to
look at him.
Why. most people would say ;you had
all your heart could desire."
"Has anybody that, I wonder?"
I have gone back to my eontahiplation
of the moon, and I speak ; Inc words
dreamily, not so much a question as an
assertion, yet Ronald answers them as if
they had been a question, e
Do you mean, es there anybody per-
fectly happy in the world?"
"If having all the heart could desire
would make one happy—yes.
"I only desire one thingat this,mo-
ment," m t,"Ronald says, in a ower_ tone.
you Nanny?
"To make me so intolerably 1ienpy that
I would count one hour of socli happi-
ness worth the pain and toil of a life-
time if by that only could I attain it."
He is not looking at me now, but at my
dusky belt of woodland rising densely
black against the faint fair moment sky.
But I ',lance at his grave face—almost
stern it looks as he stands" there erect
in the moonlight—and wonder' why my
heart beats so loudly, and what'hew glory
has come to the soft splendor'of the Sep-
tember night.
"Attie," he says, turning to me sudden-
ly, "you told me once that you eared so
much for somebody else—that, though I
might be a thousand times better—a thou-
sand times more worthy—these _ are your
own words—I could never be tmyou what
that man was."
Yes," I answer vaguely, remembering
the day and the hour when I had said
it, standing in the drawing -room window
at Woodhay—the very windiew which is
glimmering behind us" now in the light
of the moon.
"I did not ask you the name then, and
I am not going to ask it naw," Ronald
goes on, in the same quick ,bassionate
way. "But X am going to ask you if
you will reconsider your answer to me
that day, Allie=if you can find it in your
heart to love me a little now—X, who have
loved you so long!" "
sly . heart! What heart? 1M heart lies
buried under those niixbt la . ;' . ' - in
he, hollow y der'
xrase,a,gli
al"`+l,lut Ilea" 11.0 beal'f;. rr " uti
"Raw. yen not?" e
fling a
little.
g
"A'lt's I
a am.
i
ws'
ex ti
x� you. '.
I think you'hAPe," ' y ' and
In a moment—in a socwnli of, time, it
seems to me—my spirits flies away to that
shadowy combs down •l;y the _ xushinl
river, where the moonlht glimpses so
mysteriously ehreueli tho,moving branch-
es. and searches till it finds that lonely
grave—finds it, and tears away the moss•
es, the long trailing -grasses, the dead
leaves of three sorrowful winters, and
discovers—nothing. It is ,not there, the
heart that X buried there • eree years- ago
—that shallow grave had no power to
hold it—it is free!
"Allle, have you no heart to give me
now?"
He is watching my face, he hes drawn
nearer to me—he holds out bis arms. And,.
with a rapture that is too deep for utter -
and suffertmyselftto haunting
in the
strong arms of the man whom I believe
I have• really loved since the very day
that he ceased fn make love to me!
THE BED.
SENT TO ASYLUA.
Was Deaf and Dumb, and Thonght
Him Insane.
A startling story of a man con-
signed to Nottingham (England)
Lunatic Asylum simply because he
was deaf and dumb, reported to the
Notts County Council, led to Mr.
R. M. Knowles issuing as grave
warning to magistrates to take
greater care that patients they cer-
tify for the asylum are really in-
sane.,
"Recently," he said, "a mein was
sent to the asylum from a . distant
part of the country. The medical
facts were so glaringly deficient,
simply stating he was deaf and
dumb, that when the report was
sent to the Lunacy Commissioners
in due course they ordered the
man's immediate release,,
•
"The sending of a person to an
asylum was a serious mattes," he,
said, "and although the magis-
trates are in a great measure
guided by doctors' opinions, they
must take the utmost care to satisfy
themselves that the person alleged,
insane wasreally a proper person
to be detained," He 'declined to
give the, names of the doctor and
the magistrate concerned
The road is easy if love 'is the
vehicle.
fleG$
CEYLON TEA—BECAUSE OF ITS
UISIVARRYING GOOD QUALITY ,
H,l1G17iRiST AWVAs -g0. L01{3f3, 1904.
014
Sold only In Load 1Paekots. ZU"y all Grocers,
"LADY HELPS" NOW TRAINED.
To .Meet Rousehold Needs in Great
Great Britain.
In order to embark on a career in
England, .mealy girls of fairly good
social position are cheerfully going
in for a six months' training in
housework.
The •girls, who are either bent on
helping g th.ems'elves or who intend to
"go into ,service," as the English
say, mean real business, or they
Would never submit to the, rigorous
curriculum whieh the gently -nur-
tured students at 'these domestic
training ,schools have to undergo.
At. the St. Martha's Guild of House -
craft, London, for instance, the fu-
ture lady parlormaids rise at isix
o'clock and are kept on the, go till
teatime. Throughout the week
they are given demonstrations in
hygiene, physiology, cookery, and
hous'eh'old management.
The student, on finishing her
course, can pick and choose her
position, that of lady -cook being so
far the most popular. Some of the
pupils, however, are prospective
brides, who wish to gain sufficient
practical knowledge to control the
work of their own servants when
they set up housekeeping.
Lady ' nurses are already estab-
lished on the pay roll of many a
wealthy Britisher, and the employ-
ment of lady cooks and lady parlor -
maids is following in natural se-
quence. Those, who have tried the
high-grade helps vote them a great
improvement on the ordinary types,
who now yearn for the factory and
store a.s affording more evening
liberty.
FREE j1 GIRLS
Beautiful French dressed doll, 15 inches
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When sold, send us the money and we
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For selling 40 sets we will give you a
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FEED THE BRUTE.
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Mrs. Grimbattle—I'd make him
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Full information on application to B. IL-,
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SOME PIGGERY COMFORTS.
If the hog is not comfortable h
will not do his.' best. The one ole-
jcet of hog farming is profit. Tile
hog responding most readily to
good eare and that is capable,
best development and .a variety',
foods is the most desirable.:
A hog will not make a profit when,
shut up in a small pan, fed on dry"
corn and 'filthy water,
Be sure to have a good place for
the sows to farrow in. Spring pigs
well cared for will bring the farmer
good money next fall and . he will
hardly know how he came by .it,
One will find the best "fooid
pushing pigs to be : shorts mix
with skim -•milk placed in a sex
ate pen just out of reach, of e
mother; the Iittle fellows sool
learn that it for them.
As soon as they begin to eat it.
up clean, add a little cornmeal.: to
the feed. When three months 'ol
one may add to this an equa
amount of ground oats. .After tha
soak shelled corn and feed it to
slops.
Make slop thick enough to you
readily and add salt, as this aid
digestion. Use old process oil mea
soaked in slops for twelve hours
a substitute for milk.
When being fed heavily, pipe.
should have plenty of exercise:
Early spring pigs grown on wide
grass range having skim milk and
small grain ration cost the owners,
but little, and are the best money
makers.
•
DIRTY EGGS ON THE FARM,
While there are a few egg produc-
ers who take the best of care of
their product, the average farmer.
considers the eggs produced on the
farm a by-product and makes,very
little provision for their earei, aside
from gathering them. A large loss
is caused by dirty eggs.
This loss is very largely brought
about by not gathering• the cogs
often enough. In wet weather
more dirty eggs are found thaflii''i.i'.
any other time. This is cause;
the fact that the hens' feet are o
covered with mud or other 11
and in going on the nest to ).ay
soils the eggs already in the f
An in.stifficient number, to
is. ofteli the cause rif •
thesro nd and Zeleaun
straw stacks, and becoming s a
are classed as dirties. Again,
too many eggs are allowed to
main in a nest some are broken
many of the others become sine;
with broken yolks. This conch
is often brought about by all '
the broody hens to use the e,
nests with the layers. Ona ` rim
where one nest to every four ens.
is provided and the nests are kept'
clean and well bedded, it is found ,'
that very few dirty eggs are pro 4°
d u ced,
After gathering the eggs, eare j1
should be taken not to put them
where they will become heated, oo
near oil, onions or other vegetables;'
as they readily absorb odors.
Although dirty eggs may be l;
feetly fresh, they invariably, sell
seconds, and when but a few cliff
eggs are mixed with an otherw
fresh, clean lot they materially
crease the price of the clean eg
TEACHING THE COLT TO L
You often see a man kick and o.
the colt around every time it hap
pens to get in the way.
After a while you will notice thi
same fellow with the family ou
helping him to hem up a two-year
old colt while he can pltt a halter
on him.
And for the first two • or three
times they get the halter cn ths;y4
have a regular. circus in teaching,
the animal to lead and be halter-'
wise. It's mighty hard and danger-
ous work, too, this breaking in
big, strong two-year-old colts.
Why not take the little fellows in
hand when they aresmall, easily
handled and quick to learn'' Six?
the halter on the colt occasionally
33y slow degrees get it •aocustotaet
to leading up when the lead-stra
is tightened and you . move.
But don't get in a 'hurry. Th
colt has .heen used to going ahea
of you so don't expect at to folio
too soon. A Iunip of sugar or
few oats held in the hand just
front of the little fellow are mi
better trainers in teaching it,
lead than dragging it by the ale
strap and having someone boli
it with a klub 'or .a fishing pole.
shoo it along.