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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Herald, 1911-09-22, Page 4S1TUAIION; OR, THE IND CROWNS ALL. CHAPTER XIX.—(Cont'd) Again Mr. Strachey shrugged his shoulders, but the other lawyer, Mr. Deane, a small man, with bright dark eyes, leant forward and said quickly— "You see no striking likeness to Sir Jasper in either of the young ladies ?" "No—o," Gertrude spoke with a sudden hesitation, as there flashed into her mind a hitherto forgotten memory, the memory of some of • Joy's gestures and movements ,which had seemed to her vaguely fa- . miner, which had made her wonder whether she had ever met the girl before their first interview in Lon- don. "I cannot say that I exactly see a likeness," she said, still with some hesitation, "but in looking back now over the last few mouths I do remember that I have now and then been startled by noticing in Joy some turn of the head, some touch of manner, some ,gesture, which reminded me of someone. I know now that they reminded me of my husband. But, on the other hand, Violet is extremely like the miniature of my husband's first wife. • The coloring of eyes, hair, and complexion is identical. Sbe , is far more like the miniature than Joy could ever be supposed to be, even by a wild stretch of imagin- e ation. Joy is not nearly so- fair." "Legally, I am afraid that the resemblance you have observed be- tween the young lady and Sir Jas- per would not hold good," Mr. Deane answered, "those 'resemb• lances may be' merely coincidences. And, as we have discovered, the es things belonging to the poor mo- ther of one of the girls seem to have been evenly distributed between the two. That is so, I believe?" Be turned from Lady Martindale to Roger., - "Not quite evenly distributed," Roger said;. "one rouse own that the bag 'given by Mrs. Dawson to Lady Martindale contained more valuable and important articles than Were in the trunk sent to my. aunt's by Doctor Torson. In the bag were poor Marjory Marsh's marriage lines, a prayer -book, and a miniature of Sir Jasper; whilst in the trunk there was nothing to point to the child's identity, ex- cepting the photograph of Marjory's brother, Thomas Palkner, and the prayer -book which was exactly like the one in the bag. The evidence weighs most heavily in favor of Miss Violet Martindale, don't you think so, Mr. Strachey ?" "I cannot honestly say that 1 think the evidence weighs heavily either way," was the cautious re- sponse. "I can only repeat, •ad nauseam, 'we are at a deadlock.' If I might venture to advise, I Eighli Years of Bad Eczema en Hands should suggest that things were for the present allowed to remain in statu quo, pending further enquir- ies; and that the young ladies should be left in the 'respective po- sitions which they have hitherto oc- cupied." There seemed to be no reason for disregarding the, lawyer's counsel, and, as Gertrude Martindale said afterwards, things might have re- mained in state quo for the rest of the natural lives of all concern• ed, if a motor -car Iiad not skidded upon the steep hill of a northern London suburb. Such big issues lie sometimes in such small happenings. For that motor -car that skidded, merely backing itself onto the pavement and knocking down an elderly wo- man who chanced to be passing at the time, seemed to do her no dam- age whatever. She picked herself up anti walked on, apparently un- hurt, turning into a narrow court out of the main thoroughfare, and admitting herself with a latchkey into a small white house. Never- theless, it was entirely owing to the motor -car that skidded on High- gate Hill, that a fortnight later Lady Martindale received an ur- gent letter from the matron of St. Patrick's Hospital. s "Could you possibly come and see a patient in one of our wards?" the letter ran, "she calls herself Mrs. Baines, and says she has something of urgent importance to tell you. The poor thing is. dying from the after-effects of an accident that at the time seemed to - have done her no damage. She asks for you incessantly, and we do not think she can possibly live many more days." "I never knew anybody of the name of Baines," Gertrude said thoughtfully;. "but there can be no question about what I must do. Of course, I shall go 'apelr see this poor thin and I onI ,hoe I am really the person she wants to see." But after she had walked down the long ward of the hospital, and was taken to a screened -off bed in the furthest corner, Gertrude Mar- tindale no longer doubted that it was actually she for whom the dy- ing woman had asked. For, prop- ped up by pillows, breathing great difficult breaths, and with death written plainly on her face, Lady Martindale saw , the woman for whom they had all been searching in vain. Mrs. Dawson's shrewd eyes looked into hers : it was Mrs. Dawson's face, lined and seamed with pain, that turned wistfully towards her. "I—had to send for you," the sick woman said, with no preamble, no greeting; "I'm going to die, — they don't need to tell me. I know it. And I had to see you first—I couldn't die peaceful—unless--" Her hands picked restlessly at the sheet; her eyes wandered from Gertrude Martindale's face, her mouth twitched painfully. "I never thought—it--would—lie —so heavy on my mind—when I— came—to die—I never thought of that," she said, almost dreamily. "What is it you want to tell me?" Gertrude asked gently, seating her- self: on a chair pushed near the bed by one of the nurses. "Can I do anything for you?" "I'd like to see her before 'I go." Mrs. Dawson's eyes grew very bright. "Perhaps I'd oughtn't to ask it, after all that's come and gone—but—I'd like to see her," Tosshfrg, l "To see whom?" Lady Martin - A. neuticy eliontreai dale asked, with a passing thought that, the woman's words 'owed their Cured by Ccticura Soap and Ointment origin to the delirious wanderings lips, and Lady Marale \?7,; leered : "Ought she to go o tel' Shall I leave her, and come la "She will be better prose was the reply, "she has so lollecli to see you, that I think if yon 01,4 stay with her it would be leesfe t stay now, and let her say all '1,4 wishes to say." And : indeed, 7,r nurse's words had scarcely ended„ when Mrs. Dawson's eyes openat' again, and she put out a gr.oiaix: hand towards her visitor. Miss Mary A.:Oen:ley, i33 tniversity St.; 1 of •her brain. Montreal, writes, in a recent letter: Some nine years ago I noticed small p mples break. ing out on the back of my hands, They became veryg irritati , and gradually became worse so that 1 could rot steep at night. I consulted a physician who treated me a long time but it got worse, and 1 could not put my time, in water. T was treated at the hospital, and it was lust the same. I was toll that it was a very bad case of eczema. "IV ell , I just kept on using everything that Z could for nearly eight years until I was advised to try Cnticura Ointment. I did so, and I found' after • a few applications the burning sensations were disappearing, XX could sleep well, and did not have any. Itching [luring the night. I began after a while to use. Calms. Soar. I stuck to the Cutieura treatment, and thought if I could use other remedies for •sever seven years with no result and after onTy having a few applications and finding ease • from Cuticura Ointment, it deserved a fair trial with a severe and stub.' born case. I used the Cuticura Ointment and Soap for nearly six months, and I ant gad to say that I have hands as clear as anyone. It is my wish that you publish this letter to all the world, and if anyone doubts it, let them write me." Cuticura Soap and Ointment are sold by druggists and dealers everywhere. For a liberal sample of each, with 32..p. book send =t i Potter rt:g & Chem. Corp., Dent. $P 13rstcn, L'. S. h. "Why, Violet!" There was a slight accent of impatience in the weary voice. "My girl—Violet — can't I see—her—before—I go ?" Gertrude's heart beat quickly, but her manner and voice were both very quiet, as touching the restless hand on the sheet, she said, slowly and very distinctly -- "You shall certainly see Violet if you wish." "Perhaps I hadn't ought to have asked ,for her,"—the sick woman .moved , uneasily—"but—you—want —your own—when you're dying — your own!" she repeated weakly, her eyes closing; an expression of intense fatigue sweeping over her face. The nurse, who stood just out of earshot, but within sight of her patient, came forward to hold a alms of stimulant the woman's U co eadache afers stop the meanest, nastiest, most persistent headaches in half an hour or less, We guarantee that they contain no opium, morphine or otherpoisonolisdrugs, 250. a box at your druggists', or by mail from 29 Notional Drug and Chemical Co. of Canada. Limited, . . • Nfrmtreal. "I've tried to make her happy,r "Yes," the ether answered. "we aael--" and Gertrude, seeing and ( have found her, and she and' Vio- o+a!derstanding the shadow that all let are friends, She willbe very at once fell ever the white face, good to your girl, I can 'safely and spoke impulsively, "we will try surely promise you that: r think ;ti• ll to elo all' we can for her. • She it was a good day for all of us— when we found—Joy." ' (To be continued.) "Don't go," she panted, ' I' A ,lid not know the truth—herself ?" got to tell you the truth—now , j`No—xio" Mrs. Dawson made I've got to ease my—conscience � an unavailing effort—to raise herself Violet's --my own girl -let me s.ry lin eager protest; "she's as ignor- it—quick—she's my own—bone; a:,i ant about it as the babe unborn. my bone—and flesh . of my fir sir She thinks I spoke the truth, she She's nothing to do with Yet'''''' , thingat all." In the 'feeble vtyita thinks she's really Miss Martindale, and a swell like ',you ! But she's there rang a note that was almost onl -mine and m triumphant: dormant mother leve what died just beforeshe Tom's,s triumphant was reasserting itself at this mo- ment of bodily anguish: moth f'Will you tell me why Mrs. love shone in the woman's hard. ; Marsh's child was registered as pain -stricken eyes; and in the E i',�i;olet, too'I" Gertrude put the smile that hovered over her lily t ..il "Violet is your child 9" Gertrude j ' "Lor'',, aio tpit funny you should spoke quickly there was nos sur- s; k that" ?—a faint laugh broke prise in her accents—she felt .eery from the dying woman's lips. "I little surprise. Froin the first u was thinking about it this very min- stant that her eyes fell on Mee. etc. My Violet was just over a Dawson she instinctively foresaw ' month old, when the lodger's baby what the woman intended to tell 1 was born ; and when the poor thing her. died and the husband was like a "Violet is your child She - i'maclinan with grief, there was only peated, her hand touching ii 1me to go 'round and register the birth. I'' was all .in a• flurry—I re- member it as if it had been yester- day, and the man at the registry office says to me, sharp like: " 'Name of child ?' and I answer- ed quick, without thinking, 'Vio- let,' giving him my own child's name. I only knew the names of voice growing stronger,, her roan-;. ner more animated, perhaps be- cause of the relief of her tardy; con- fession. "It.didn't seem as if; lviiu knew anything, about the child you'd come after at all, and.' I'nl got those bits of things in ` lyres Marsh's bag, and there !—it seemed a chance for my girl—a cliancc , for Violet—and—I took it. There ;'yogi, are—my lady I just took the chance -and. now—with death reek- ing me in the face—I'm sorry ; for what' did." "Would you tell,me"—Lady ar-' tindale spoke all the more g'ttiy: because of her rising e teitemert- 'would you tell me hir & to e e - have that ling b l• uiiAng Marsh, her marriage litter, a miniature of her husband? Why.' were not all those things you gave me with Violet, giver;t to. Doctor. Torson, when he took'MTa. Marsh's baby away ?" "So you know about Doctor Tor - son ?" The woman, who was .near' to death, was beyond surprises. "I was a wicked woman -I can see that plain now. I just stuck to Joy will never let her suffer." that 'bag and to those • things of Joy's name dropped involuntar- the poor creature who-died—and I ily from, her lips, but Mrs. Daw son caught at it instantly, with strange eagerness. "Joy—did you say, Joy?" she cried. . "Why that was the name the poor thing who died kept on telling me she meant to call her baby. Before ever it came, she'd Say to me, 'And I shall call her Joy, Mrs. Dawson, because my husband and I` have been so very, very hap- py. I want her to be a happy soul.' " "I want her to be a happy soul." Those words echoed in Gertrude's heart, and the face of the girl for whom they had been spoken rose before her—Joy's face, sunny, smiling, and sweet, with its serene eyes and crown of sunny hair. "I want her to be a happy soul." Surely the mother's wish—that prayer as well as wish—had been amply fulfilled in her child. "And you've 'found—the--baby —they wanted to call Joy?" Again the weak voice broke in on Ger- trude's reflections. ":Eve you found—Joy ?" rough hand, whose restless move-, ments never ceased. . "When del the idea come to you: to pass her off as my husband's daughtev when I first went to pee you, wa>' that it ?" The sick woman nodded. "It seemed to jump to my mind all of a minute," she said, lrc" her father and mother from hear - ng them say to each other, Jasper and Marjory. I didn't dare to ask the poor young man a single thing, he was that wild with misery—like a mad thing. And the day of the funeral he went away, and he never came, back." "Wild with • misery—like a mad thing!" Gertrude's heart con- tracted with the old pain that time bad somewhat deadened. Jasper, her husband, had been wild with grief—like a mad thing—because another woman had died 1 What had he ever felt for her that could compare in even the most remote degree,' to the love which he had felt for his first. wife?—for. �Mar- j•ory Falkner?-=what The sick woman's voice intcr- 'eupted her chain of thought. "You won't—visit—it on—Vio- let," she panted, "sheeenever knew—you won't—let her suffer— ter what I did ?" "No," Gertrude answered, a great pity surging over her soul, a her eyes met those wistful, ag- onized eyes, "I am quite sure that never told the doctor about them at all. He didn't know they were. there. I got a kind o' feeling they's maybe come in handy some day ; and Doctor Torson—all be said was: " `Let me have Mrs. Marsh's box,' and I never mentioned a word about there being a bag, too. I packed the box for him, and kept the bag." A Iong, breathless silenee follow- ed this speech—a. silence during which the watchful•, nurse again came forward to administer a sti- mulant, after which the weak voice continued speaking, rapidly— "Doctor Torson—he took the baby right away, and. I never knew where she was taken. Him •and me, we weren't too good friends, and after he came with his nurse, and took the baby, I never saw hien again. Ile died a year or two af- ter. And—Violet—I wanted her to have the best. -1 did it for the girl's sake. I wanted her to have the, best—same as all mothers want for their girls." A tiny gleam of defiance looked out of her eyes, then she whisper- ed brokenly : "But I didn't ought to have done it—I see that now very plain. -4 didn't never ought to have done it—many's the time its bung heavy on my mind—and now—I've told you all the truth." "I think I can understand -what a great temptation it must have been," Gertrude said softly, with a glimmering knowledge suddenly coming to her own upright steel •of the sudden temptation she must herself have *presented' to this wo- man when first visiting her in Gdw er. Street. "I know how ranch one wants to get the best of everything for somebody one loves. Taut -4 am very glad you have told me the truth now, '"You do take it nice," the other answered wistfully, "some would have been mad with me for dohig as 1 did—but you haven't said anti angry word -and you've been good to Violet, too:" 0UTWITTING III:kISELF. An Irish Landlord Enjoyed the Joke Immensely. In stories that reflect the idiosyn- crasies of the Irish character, the smile usually gets the better of the sigh. The story below, found in a recent number of the Cornhill Ma- gazine, is happily illustrative : An Irish gentleman of another generation took it into his head that those in his employment were not serving him as they ought, more especially in the early morning, be- fore any one was stirring. He de- termined, therefore, on a series of matutinal visits. The second time he, went abroad in the early morning he saw in a field, known 'as Skinnegan, which bordered the avenue leading to his residence, and which had been emp- ty the previous day, six unknown cattle quietly grazing. He promptly drove the offending animals out of the field and down the avenue to the gate. There some barelegged boys from an adjacent cabin lent him ready and joyful as- sistance ; and at the head of his ragged company, armed with sticks and branches, he personally con- ducted the trespassers to the vil- lage pound, and saw' them securely shut in before returning, heated and incensed, to breakfast. "That's the way I'm served," he complained to his family, "that lazy herd of mine not troubling to mend my fences, and half the• cat- tle in the county allowed to trample in and out of my best grazing -places as they please! Wait till T find Master Ned after breakfast, and I'll give him the best dressing down he's ever had in his life r' There was, however, no need to go in search of the delinquent, for before breakfast was ended a mes- sage was brought in that the herd- er was without, desiring to see the master. Ned was upon the hall steps, much crestfallen and alarm- ed. "I'm sorry to have to tell it to your honor," he began, humbly, "but there's six of your honor's cattle in the pound. I put them in Skinnegan late last night, an' shut the gate on 'em meself, an' how they got out an' went shtrayin' on mHe'got no farther, for the mas- ter, who had with difficulty re- strained himself until then, beat a hasty retreat to the dining -room, where he collapsed into a chair, and laughed until his family had fears of an impending apoplectic seizure. Thenceforth he gave up his early inspections, and left the care of his property to his underlings. NOT FOR HIS. The "Angel" (about to give beg gar a dime)—"Poor man ! And ai you married?" Beggar— me,"Pardon e, madam D'ye think I'd be relyin' on tots strangers for support if 1 bad wife ?" ,e 1 a On the Parra SCOURS IN CALVES. Scours in calves or calf cholera in many instances differ from diar- rhoea in grown animals, and has special features of its own, taking the form of infectious, intestinal ca- tarrh, which is far more serious than the diarrhoea of the full grown animal. Scours in calves generally appear suddenly. A perfectly healthy calf may be seized all at once, appar- ently, without any change in food or care. The symptoms of this infantile diarrhoea usually •appear during the first two or three weeks of life. In many cases scours appear with- in a few hours after the animal is born, and the calf .may die within from 24 hours unless at receives prompt and proper treatment. It is common for the calf to be afflicted with scours immediately at birth, even before it has had time to suck or take any nourish- ment • whatever. The faeces of manure is very thin and watery. It has a sour, dis- agreeable odor and is usually light colored. The evacuations are fre- quent and expelled with force. The first indication of scours is the ,soiled condition of the tail, loss of appetite, sunken eyes, sometimes the saliva flowing from the mouth, no attempt being made to swallow. They have a staring coat, grow thin, and lose strength rapidly. Death usually follows in from twelve to twenty-four hours unless prompt measures are taken td check the disease. If allowed to continue • for , any length of time the scouring will be. accompanied by congestion and ul- ceration of the intestinal mucous membrane caused by the irritating secretions. As a result of this disease partial or double . blindness is sometimes brought on. To prevent scours in calves, pro- per care should be given to the' mother while pregnant, that ehe may be able to give birth to a heal- thy calf. As scours is a germ disease, it is important that the calf be free from this disease when :barn. Cows afflicted with the disease of abortion convey this disease to their offspring. It is for this reason that calves so often die of scours before they have taken nourishment. It is therefore very necessary that the cow be kept free from dis- ease in order to obtain healthy calves. Calves born, afflicted with the germs of this disease in their sys- tem, are in a position to spread the disease to other calves that they may come in contact with in the sante herd, or if shipped to other herds. This is another proof of its infectious nature. To prevent and overcome scours in calves, they should be given me- dicines that prevent fermentation of feed, to ally irritation and con- gestion, soothe and heal inflame& mucous membrane, act as an anti- septiu, as this is quite necessary. when the disease is due to a germ. The most important factor in the raising of cattle is their care while young. Do not think you are do- ing the co -meet thing if you are only managing to keep the life in the calf until it is three months old, 'and then have it get fat oa grass before the winter comes. If you do this; you will be apt to have a lot of stunted calves with their digestive organs destroyed which will never make strong, heal- thy cattle and will not be good for either dairy, beef Roberts.r breeding ani- mals.—Dr. David o Men wouldn't have time to earn a living if they had to put their hair up as women do. WHEN USE ni Are.ritSox+ 're4::?'�Iw:�i ...14,,t`rlk`I *I RESERVING �:��!»lv»,�tds� EXTRA GRANULATED SUGAR "TIE SUGAR OF HAW 60 YEAR, 1 Since 1854 this prime favorite has made the preserving season a fruitful source of pleasure in thousands of Canadian homes. ORDER MOH YOUR GROCER: THE CANADA SUGAf REFINING CO.; LIMITED, IMlentrea I Established in 1854 by Sohn iledpatb. • A MOVABLE CORN CRIB. A good movable corn crib may be built of barrel staves, that is the walls, the roof of lap siding or any, kind of roofing you wast. For the side walls use two lengths ., of staves and run a pole on the middle to nail the staves on, and run the two rods through the mid- dle of the crib, one through polea. and one through plates. The size of the ceib is according to how much corn you raise. The walls must slant out a little, toward the top, as this will keep out the rain better. The floor is tight. This kind of -a crib is quite cheap and may be' builtof small poles nailed dose together 'if no barrel staves axe of hand. Such a crib keeps the corn iik good condition. It dries quickly' and keeps dry all the year around, which is not possible for corn kept'. in a tight granary where it mold* and spoils at once.