Loading...
The Herald, 1910-07-22, Page 2Now Blanche Leroy watched for an onportneity to catch her mete alone, safe .from interruption, without the for- mality of asking "to speak to him," a;nd tills' was difficult. to find in a country ]louse where both Dr. Clifford and her ,pretty, coquettish self were in requisi- tion. However, ozie morning, a few days be- • fore ]lie visit was to close, a riding par- ty was proposed, from winch the doctor excused himself, as he had letters to write in his own sitting more. Blanche seized the chance; her .head ached; "it's so hot, etc.," and she re- mained behind also, like a veritable venomous viper. *. * * * "Come in.." said Dr. Clifford, in an- swer to a timid tap at his sittiug room door;, and his niece entered. "You, my dear; want a little doctor- . ing for your head, eh? You look rather queerish." She felt rather "queerish" too, for she was afraid of her honest, quick, down- right uncle; and "conseience, which which cowards of us all," told her that her motives were very wide from what site had to make them. seen. Still, she had braced herself to the sticking point, and would not shrink. "My head doesn't ache at all, Uncle Bolo, thank you, bat I do feel exactly what you see—queer. I—I have some- thing to tell you which you ought to know, but which it is most painful to tell you." The doctor leaned badk in his chair and looked at her as she sat down near. "What in the world is it, then, child?" he said. "Out witllt it; I hate any round- abouts." "Why, a few nights ago," began Blanche, purposely meaning him to think it was after Sr. Maur's departure, "I woke up, a little before one, from a hor- rid nightmare, and missed my pearl ring —mamma's keeper,you know. I was in such a fright, and thou ,ht I must have dropped it in the drawing room; but I was such a goose as to be afraid to go down alone in the small ]:tours, so I went to Mrs. Eriixigtou's room." "Whet for`:" "To ask her to go down with me," said BIanche, gathering courage; "but she wasn't there. Of course, I thought she was below in the..Library reading, as sbo 'often is, late. I sat down by the win- dow to wait for her, Uncle Roland, just then I sale her going quickly aoross the lawn toward the park. I saw her dis- tinctly in the moonlight." "Coed gracious! is that all?" exclaim- ed Clifford, relieved. "rein pulled such a tearful, solemn face, that I thought_ the French were timing. -.Mrs, Brringe ton turned out for a stroll, I suppose; 'after supper, run a mile.' ". ieseeS1i'i'�.:+t7 .ii1, them," said Blanche,. nettled-, "and with a purpose, not eti tirely perhaps that of a. solitary walk, for an hour after, quite two o'clock, I caw two figures, a man and a woman, come from the bolt of trees at the end. of the lawn just a pace into the moon- light.' "Blanche, take care what you are saying," said Dr. Clifford, sternly, his face growing white; ".don't exaggerate or make any mistake in such a matter." "I wish it were e mistake. Uncle Ro- lo. I tell you simply what I saw; you can ask her herself. She and the roan came out a step; then he drew her back into the shadows, and.I am almost sure that," --Blanche blushed and looked down —"that he put his arms round her and stooped as if he kissed her. Then she cane on alone, and he disappeared in the other direction, away, I suppose to the town or station. Mrs, Errington came in by the library window again. I end. for I was frightened." .Slanclle, look at me," said the doc- tor. in the same stern way, and she obeyed instinctively. "Are you telling me the absolute truth? Are you certain you did not drop asleep and fancy some tree - shadow was a man's figure?" "It is all absolute truth, uncle, I was tread awake. Ask her the flat question," "1 certainly will, for her own sake. L'. , nal ma., at ail;" "Not the teat, .Chicle Role; probably some one she has known before; he went nvav, too, you see. You know, uncle— ss—but ouldn't help] the ircoilection that—" I e r' a r SPAVitd CURE Edens Bone Sp y-'2. 'a Rich Ca:try, Alta, May 20th. 1900 "/110.V4 us,d your Spavin, Cure for a long tithe and would not be without it. nave ]tilled a Ilene Spavin by its use." Uen CAR;SUN. ]?riot tolls the whole story. A.nd hundreds of thousands have had the same experience lo the past 1.0 yearn. For S laving Illagbone, Curb, Sp€ail, Swellings aiad all Lameness, zendatt's 'Spavin Ciirria aures the trouble -snakes the horse' sound end well --and saves mectey for'tfs earner because it removes the 'cause of the tr00b1e, zieep a bottle always at hand- $1 aro for 05. Good for man and beast: Mk your dealer for free copy of our hook "A Treatise on 'rho Anise" or write us, De It d. riel 9Al,i: to. Seashore fain, v'es t. Se `r+ n5 ;Ai Yr chid + "Well," he said, lloarscly, "what, in .heaven's name?". "That you have never sten—or Mrs. Errington offered you --her marriage- oertificate. Nor has she ever scarcely alluded to her marriage, or husband, or early life, The .little she has, and her life :since eighteen, has been a wander- ing Bohemian existence, evidently, Such a painful incident as I saw calls up' things," added Blanche, sorrowfully; ^t' may have been quite deceived in her." nee doctor, who had, as usual, when much vexed or deeply moved, been pac- ing up and dowel,, now stopped, tall and imposing. "If I am," he said, striking his strong, -true hand ou the table, "I will cut off my right hand. That woman may have been singled against, but she has never sinned willingly." There was a pause. "You were quite right to tell me," he said, then, "and of course I shall speak to Mrs. Errington, as I have 110 doubt, she cora explain the whole thing. She may have been mot by armee by one of the gamekeepers, and had a long chat in leer cosmopolitan, fraternizing way; the embraee you may have fancied easily." But Blanche shook her head sadly, and truly enough dealt that theory some knock -down fillips. "Uncle, the ratan was no gamekeeper; even at that distance the pose, move- ments, the whole figure, were unmistak- ably those of a gentleman; secondly, if that had been the case, she would nat- urally have spoken of it; this -dig, she had deliberately changed her evening - dress for a black velveteen morning, cos- tume. If she had merely intended to read or write in the library- she would, as at other times, simply have put on a robe de Chambre—a woman's, or at Ieast a feminine reason against your idea, but a good one for all that." "You are sure the fellow was a gen- tleman, then?" said the doctor, curtly. "Yes -emphatically yes, uncle!" "Very well. Now, go; but remember this, Blanche"—how terribly stern the genial physician could be—"that not one word, one hint of this is to pass your lips to any living soul !" "Not to Mimie, Uncle Role?" He looked at her a moment. "Yes, you may chatter to her," he said contemptuously, "and to her only, mind, as a safety -valve; or else you will babble your secret to the trees, or into' a hole in the ground, Iike Ring Midas' barber." Ile turned on his heel, but when he was alone he sunk into his chair with a; - most a groan. afTAPIlER, XXV1.. Blanche Le4ry's eseigestielet sex about Mrs. Erringtoewere unde. ab y true, however much suggested by jealous spleen rather than au honest desire to acquaint her uncle with wrong or impru- dent acts in the woman he trusted. The references Dr. Clifford had received, and the high opinion he had early formed of Christine Errington, had been confirmed by his further experience of her, and was unshaken still. Unquestionably the whole story of her early life rested entirely on her own unsupported testimony, and plainly it was a part of her life elle did not care to speak of, nor of her mar- riage, nor of her dead husband; but that she had had far deeper troubles than she had ever said, tete keen -sighted, tender- hearted physician had always been cer- tain, both from her face and several "Trifles light as air." • She faced., him nov fully, though the red anti burning b ad that looked so like guilt and Alza ne dyed cheeks and brow, "Yes',"' Dr. Clifford almost staggered, He had unconsciously so hoped for, $o reckoned aon, an shookiri.etant and easy denial, that that one miserable wets came upon bins Ilk "Blanche tc ild rue," he said, when he could epeak'stestaily, '`that she woke up, missed her ring, artd went to your i'eenl to get yo..0 to help'her to search in the drawing -room for' it; that you were not in your room, and, thinking you were in the library, reading, she sat down by the window to wait for you. Then she saw you crossing the lawn alone; but an hour later she saw ,you come out of the, copse a few steps into the moonlight with a gentleman whor she did not re- cognize at all, and thinks went away toward the village, She saw him draw you back into the shadows, and, she thought, take you into his :arms. Then you came back alone to this house, and she went away." "She played ,spy on my actions to some purpose." said Christine, with bitter scorn. "But she told you the truth, and you have a right to' believe the worst of me you like ;fox• ':au see I admit the charge." "Heavens, child., I make none against you! I believe in my soul that you are the victim of some! satsnpl" broke out the doctor, in a blast el! passion; "and I will see you righted, whether you will or man?no" Mae, if I can. at and who is this She shrunk visibly; her eyes fell dry and tearless; her lips closed in hard, des- perate defiance --closed all the more ir- revocably by hie .generous threat of righting her against her will. She dared not trust him. "You will not tell me?" "I—cannot," fell from her white lips. "In Heaven's name, my dear, unsay those words! Wille,you explain, if ever so little?" nigges The doctor eanse shiightrto her, fling- ing aside the chair het: seen them almost roughly in his stern l:i•lignation, and laid his hands heavily 0n „er shoulders. "You are saerii:enig yourself for this man, whoever he is," he said, hoarsely. "But though I cannot force you to -admit the fact, I have the right to ask now for that which' I have never before required of you, accepting its existence naturally, as a natter of course.. Show me your marriage certifi- cate "I—have—none to show you!" "Then, by Heaven, it is what I fear- ed!" said Dr, Cllffurd, with a passion tbet shook his .powerful frame. "You have been basely dneii•ed and wronged, and, woman-like, y': i are sheltering the villain who has bro:en your heart at your own bitter Best. It shall not— inust not be! ;My eilild—my poor child —for pity's sage, teas, me and let me ou!" ("' .c may have pei'ltaps, some day, right done you as far as can bo, will you tell. me?" "Yes." A sudden light flashed into the dark eyes that met his. "And it may be yet, perhaps—oh, it tray be sothminek." day—more entirely than 'you "Heaven grant it, my child," said the e doctor, low and huskily, as Ile clasped her little white hand in both his own, "I would give my right hand, T think, to hear that," Theis he stooped, kissed Iter brow gravely, gently, and,let her go. Once in her own room site flung her- self on her knees by the bed in a par- oxysm of agony and relief. "0h, the misery, the shame, of it all!" she cried. "But it is for thy sake, my heart's life—mv darling! Ah, than!, Heaven! that false, jealous girl did not recognize you, and if her jealousy sus- pects, compels her silence thus at least, Thank Heaven, too, you were gone, and know nothing'of this, or you would 'have spoken. She has no eiuspicion— he thinks it was the day after my darling left. Oh! where will it end? Where will all this shame and miserable trou- ble end?" How little she dreamed then of the anewer to that cry! •* o * * * Just as Mrs. Brrington was dressing the next morning a little tap came to her door; and at her `.`Come in!" Minta Clifford, in her dressing -gown, entered, and, springing forward, threw her arms round Christine, clinging to her closely, "My own sweet darling," she half sobbed, "I don't care what Blanche says; I'II never believe you are wrong or wicked! It's all some mistake; or, if not, you were right in what you (lei. "Ah, Mimie, dear Mirruel you are like your father!" whispered Christine; deen- Iy moved; "but it is not a mistake; and when we go from here I must leave. All, my dear --hush! don't cry so, for my sake, for I need all my strength. 1 will talk to you more presently, and you will see that 1 must go—even your fa • ther sees it." Poor Mimie clung closer, refusing to be comforted for a long tilue, It is one tbing to hear of misery and sin, and quite another to be brought face to face with its grim form. "1 shall never feel the same to Blanche," she said to herself later. "It was such mean spying—such mean jeal- ousy, that made her do it, because Mrs. Errington is so beautiful. But 1 shall go and see her exactly the same, wher- ever she is; father said I might, and 1 will, too. She Inas done nothing wicked, my poor, ereully wronged darling!" A few days more, and the party at Nest Hill broke up, the Cliffords return- ing to town for the time. Helen Addi- son's farewell to Christine was especially cordial. Somehow, she had a vague feel- ing, arising from Blanche Leroy's man- ner lately, that there was something; a little "out of gear" in that quarter. "She is jealous of Mrs.•Errington's su- perb beauty, Frank,"' said she.. "I've t soli e 'r a paean Of course, all :ratite, to ee. Idohoe Mr. Orde won't bother rale to marry that girl; he cha'n't do it; I don't think he would, either; he on]y flirted because she did. I know what I wish, though—" "What, any, dear?" "Never mind yet, nzon mari." "You women are enigmatical," said Frank. "Don't you want him to mar- ry?" Helen laughed. "Oh, yes, if he finds the right person. But that person is certainly not Blanche Leroy!" said htrs. Addison, emphatical- ly. "0h, dear, no! not Blanche Leroy!" CHAPTER XXtiII. "Now is my time, then," said Benton Morley to himself one morning, as he glanced again at a few lines just receiv- ed by the country post after his own re- turn to town. "While you are at Grass- Rowdon, my young friend, I will see your wife. I'Ii beat round the bush first to see what she will say. She is proud, that beautiful woman, and may not brook interference from me." He wrote a letter: And it had crossed him more than once that her husband had been a wild scamp who had but ill repaid her love. That she had deliberately met some man that night, as Blanche stated, he could net doubt—who and what he was to her, and what her real story was, was a matter of very painful conjecture; that she would give some explanation the doctor never doubted; he was not a mora eueily deceived, and he was not, he felt sure, in Christine, All Mese and a hundred other thoagltt i filled the doctor's mind and heart that night, as about eleven he waited for her lei his own stiting-room. He had whis- pered quietly to her when the party broke up, and he had not taken molly turns when Christine came in, still in her rich, sweeping robe of old -gold and black satin, with her pearls to set it off. She saw at once that Clifford was much. and unusually disturbed, and his re- quest, too, had startled. her. She was living on as volcano, as those ever niest who are living under a false identity, with a secret to keen; but she knevr site should not be kept long in suspense, for Roland Clifford was a straigbi.fer- ward, even blunt man, who called a spade a spade, and went direct to his point. He did so now. a rear, I wish to ask you a ques- tion about something which B;anclte tells me she saw a few rights ago, and which you can doubtless either deny as a mis- take or explain." The woman's very heart stood still with sudden deadly fear as it instantly flashed upon leer what he alluded to, She laid her two hands on the hark of the chair 1hy which she had paused to steady herself; but her White teeth were set in the instant desperate resolve to guard her husband's secret at whatevr cost td h.rself. She steed at bay like a hunted wild animal, With the agony of her soul • in her eyes. • - • "Wall," she said, "peer question,, doc- tor?" "Is simply this, and if you answer me no, I shall believe you: Did you or slid you not ge out a few m linings ago, he. tween one and two o'clock, into the park and meet a men?" completel , erril' -such . mpest o anguish asmight well =nerve a strong mase to see, and ti.c physician made no attempt even sent taspeak or check the racking sobs, but only folded his arms about the quivering form, and laid the poor, stricken head against his breast as he night have done his own daughter's. "Forgive me," she whispered at last. "I—I eould not help it. Your generous goodness was too much. I don't de- serve it! I cannot bear it! Let me go, and to -morrow I will leave." She tried to draw herself away. The doctor plaoed her in a chair. "You will not leave to -morrow t". he said, gruff in his deep pain. "You have suffered enough hem one man's wicked- ness without another putting you to public scorn and shame, I think. You will stay and Iet me help you." She took his hand and kissed it with a deep sorrowful gratitude infinitely pathetic. "Heaven reward you," she said:, "for I never can! But you cannot help me, and ---and I must leave now this has happened, as soon as we leave here." "Do you think my opinion of you --- my trust in you, le shaken?" said the doctor, folding his arms, and looking down on the beautiful face uplifted. "You have been sinned against, not sinning, in some way, and nothing will ever undo that opinion. You have done your duty by me and mine, and I will simply tell the girrls that your explana- tion has quite satisfied rale. Such a meet- ing will not oecur again, of course'!" "Ah, stay there!" she interrupted, hurriedly, her' cheek crimson, her lips quivering. "I cannot deceive yon! I met that ratan once 'before secretly in London, and I must again some time; I can't help it, and :C could not promise you I would not see him again!" "Christine, Christine, don't tell me that!" • Falconer's wife stood up, locking her hands. "Think of 1ne what you must; but after --after what has happened and what I have inn: said, it is impossible, in justice to yon, for me to remain in your house as I have been; nor could I remain where T know there is a spy on my actions. You must see both rea- sons are valid. near, noble Doctor Clif- ford. 7 must pass 'out of your lives as unknown as I came, and be forgotten" "Never!" said Clifford, setting down his foot. `Neither the one nor the other! I will never lose sight of you _ bceanse yon leave tray house; wherever you may be, 1 rust know some address ebi thatild?will" field you. Promise rue that, "I prom]se. And if ever --herr voice fD,itered -"I am in dire iteo"d of a, true friend, T. will dare to come to you, noblest, best of moll" "You w, ? • ward, on that, Christiillne!"reallyAil, your is'A?y sacred word!" Ah, child, if, in Heaven's ltastiee, you "Madame,—Will you kindly call Isere tomorrow morning, if convenient, on business. If not, please appoint time. No reply needed unless in the latter case. "Yours obediently, "K. Morley." The paper was stamped in the corner with a name and address: "Mr. Morley, solicitor, No.. 12 street, city." He had that posted at once, and wait- ed for a reply. None came. All the bet- ter. She would come, then. The next morning, at half -past tett, Robinson came into the private room, and said that a lady wished to see Mr. Morley. "Show her in, Robinson" ero be continued.) The destruction of the house fly is a public duty. Almost all hoards of health are now carry, ing on a crusade against it. A bulletin recently issued. by the Dominion Government states that no house fly is free from disease gems. 'Use Wilson's Fly Pads freely and persistently, and do your share towards exteruwget. ing this menace to the public health. Too Generous, "What're ye tonin' home with your milk nail empty for?" demanded the farmer. "Didn't t11' old cow give any- thizig?" "Yep," replied his chore boy; "nine quarts and one kith.- :VG*'teopolitan Mag- azine. AN O:RCAN FON 2J GENTS A WEEK We have on hand thirty -.five organs, taken in exchange on Heintzman .& Op, pianos, whleh•we must soli regardless of toes, to make room iu our store. .Every instrument has neon thoroughly over- hauled, and is guaranteed for five years,, and full amount will be allowed on ex- change, The prices ran from $10 to $35, for such well-known makes as Thomas,. Dominion, Karn, Uxbridge, Goderieh ani 13e11. This is your chance to save money, A post card will bring full particulars,— Heintzman & Co., 71 King street east, Flas:mam , GROWTH OF RURAL TELEPHONES, To anyone who travels the country roads, one of the most striking features is the continuous evidence of the growth of the ;'ural telephone. Even the most remote and sparsely settled parts of the country have their strings of ' wired poles, spreading like a network along highway after highway, and branching off here and there to take in some farm house that. were it not for the connect- ing link of electricity, would indeed be isolated. The call of the telephone bell is no un- common sound in the farm house to -day. Men are called for the threshing, prices are learned, buying and selling is done, orders go to the butcher and the grocer and friendly gossip and chat are all among the many things that keep the busy rural lines buzzing. The farmer with a telephone is no more isolated than his brother in the city—indeed, of- ten far less. so, for the city man as a rule does not know his next door neigh: bor, The farmer kuows everybody, and, thanks to the wonderful invention of Prof. Graham Bell, can talk to them all any day or minute of the night. To com- ment on the value of the telephone to the farmer, from the standpoint of prices and markets, would be almost superflu- ous when one considers to how great an extent the instrument is used for this purpose. "My telephone," says one farmer, "has, I calculate, paid for itself fifty times over since it has been installed. The times when it has told me to sell and , the times when it has told me to hold for higher prices are numerous. "More than that, our company is only a little independent unlearn owned just among ourselves. Yes, I suppose you can credit me with a good part df its or- ganization," ne said in response to an in- quiry. "You see, it happened this way: I noticed the advertisements of one of the big electrical supply houses and got interested., I wrote to these people for their book on the organization of rural telephone companies, and they sent me full information on how to proceed. They told me everything I wanted or needed to. know—told one a lot of things that I never even knew there was to know. They told rale, not only about their tele- phones themselves, but posted me on the step{ -Uta;e I had to take to organize. All I had td de when 1 got that informa- tion waste go oiit to my neighbors, and, you bet," I seas able to answer anything they asked me. Say, we had a tele- phone company organized and operating almost before you would know it, and there's not a single one of our men to- day who would go back to the old way of doing without a 'phone for anything. "No, it didn't cost us much, There's nothing prohibitive about the .cost, and, as I told you, we own the company among us. Last year we paid a good dividend, and it will only be a question of a few years till we have back every cent we invested and a telephone service into the bargain. Our running expenses are almost nothing—just the cost of maintenance and the salary of a girt at rcentral. It is not worth speaking of. That's one advantage, you see, of a co- operative company such as ours. "It's a surprising thing to me that more farmer's don't organize telephone companies of their own. I believe they are doing it now more generally than they used to, but there are lots more that would and could organize if. •they knew how simple it was to get started and how great the benefits were. "If there's one thing that I would ad- vise more ,than another, it would be for S03/10 farmer is every locality to write in to one of the big telephone supply houses to find ,out what they have to tell him. There's no reason either, why one man should put it off expecting an- other to do it; write yourself. Rural telephones are a thing a farmer can't know too much about—especially when there are concerns, who are ready to tell him everything and not charge Hint a cent for the information. . "All I even' invested for the knowledge was a two -cent stamp and I 'tread over the books they sent me in the evenings. .. MY pease ease • '+loopy ~g (t toesew - wiete e'S ret- 1 monies -I, 'tib \ Iti Tire wATS:R' , NO miaow. re monies -I, MA -.A -err- elkA^W wse NAw- sa , 5rvrlVEDt A MY Toe �tri't,, vat 41111 iny!fiit-Jag cilli �tt \fir pN •t f!I i! } , rl , WHAT A DAY IT WA5 FOR MOTHER! MOTHER'S PICNIC. Why does mother go to a picnic tiias a question that formed otze Loos lure of the .----- 1>it"ni,;r