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The Huron News-Record, 1896-07-15, Page 6"Sr 31 i4 FATE'S INSTRUMENTS ' ' CHAPTER I to his hansom and drove to Portman 'Square. Neston, pt Tottlebury orange The party was but email, for the in the eonaty of Suffolk, were an an- Neatens were not one of those fam- dept and honourable family, never very distinguished or very rich, but yet for many generations back always richer and more distinguished than the common run of mankind. The men had been for the most part able and upright, tenacious of their claims, and mindful of their duties; the wom- en had respected their betters, ex- acted respect from their inferiors, and educated their brothers' wives in the Reston ways; and the whole race, While confessing individual frailties, would have been puzzled to point out how, as a family, it had failed to live ap to the position in which Providence and the Constitution had placed it. ,:ha other side in one or two cases hTe the other side in one or two cavae. The last owner of the Grange, a gay old bachelor had Boomed the limits of his rents and his banking -account, and added victories on the turf to the fa- mily laurels at a heavy wet to the family revenues. His sudden death had been mourned as a personal loss, but silently acknowledged as a dyn- astic gain, and ten years of the meth- odical rule of his brother Roger had gone far to efface the ravages of his merry reign. The younger sons of the Neatens served the State or adorned the professions, and Roger had spent a long and useful life in the Office of Commerce. He had (been a valuable official, and his merits had not gone unappreciated. Fame he had neither Bought nor attained, and his name bad come but little before the public, its rare appearances in the newspapers gen- erally occurring on days when our Gracious Sovereign completed another year of her beneficient life, and was pleased to mark the occasion by con- ferring honour on Mr. Roger Neston. When this happened, all the leader - writers looked him up in "Men of the Time," or "Whitaker," or some other standard work of reference. and re- marked that few appointments would meet with more universal tpub- ilo approval, a proposition which the public must be taken to have endorsed with tacit unanimity. Mr. Neston went on his way, undis- turbed by his moments of notoriety, but. quietly pleased with his red rib- bon, and when he entered into posses- sion of the family estate, continued to go to the office with unabated regul- arity. At last he reached the pin- nacle oz 'Ilia particular ambition, and as Permanent Head of his Depart- ment, for fifteen years took a large share in the government of a people almost unconscious of his existence, un- til the moment when it saw the an- nouncement that on his retirement he had been raised to the peerage by the title of Baron Tottlebury. Then the chorus of approval broke forth once again, and the new lord had many friendly pats on the back he was turn- ing to publio life. Henceforth he sat silent in the House of Lords, and wrote letters to the Times on sub- jects which the cares of office had not previously left him leisure to study. But fortune was not yet tired of smiling on the Neston, Lord Tottle- bury, before accepting his new dignity, had impressed upon his son Gerald the necessity of seeking the wherewith Co gild the coronet by a judicious marri- age, Gerald was by no means loth. He bad never made much progress at the Bar, and felt that bis want of success contrasted unfavorably with the grow- ing practice of his cousin George, a state of things very unfitting, as George represented a younger branch than Gerald.. A rich marriage, combined with his father's improved position, opened to him prospects of a career of public distinction, and, what was more Important, of private leisure, better fitted to his tastes and leas trying to his patience; and, by an unusual bit of luck, he was saved from any scruples about marrying for money by the fact that he was already desperately in love with a very rich woman. She was of no high birth it is true, and she was the widow of a Manchester mer - disgust ut of hismowan ree latives,nhadothe left disgust her five thousand a year at her ab- solute disposal. The last fact easily outweighed the two first in Lord Tot- tlebury's mind, while Gerald rested his action on the sole ground that Neaera Witt was the prettiest girl in London, and, by Jove, he believed in the world; only, of course, if she had money too, all the better. Accordingly, the engagement was an accomplished fact. Mrs. Witt had shown no more than a graceful disin- clination to become Mrs. Neston. At twenty-five perpetual devotion to the memory of such a mere episode as her first marriage had been was neither to be desired nor expected, and Neaera was very Trankly in love with Gerald Neston, a handsome, open-faced, strap - lug fellow, who won her heart main- ly because he was so "unlike the late Mr. Witt. Everybody envied Gerald, and everybody congratulated Neaera on having escaped the various chasms that are supposed to yawn in the path of rich young widows. The engagement was announced once, and contradicted as premature, and then announced again; and, in a word, everything pur- sued its pleasant and accustomed course In these matters. Finally, Lord Tot- tlebury in due form entertained Mrs. Witt at dinner, by way of initiation into the Neston mysteries. It was for this dinner that Mr. George Neaten, barrister -at -law, was rite tie one May -tb-off Piccadilly. Fiord Tottlebury's father bad died ; " ving a wife, few years, and ad developed in- putting on his w evening in his chamj George was the son younger brother. on service in Irfdiar! Who eurvived hioiabtj one small boy, ohne to a rising lawyer -of wo or three -and - thirty, and was at this moment em- • ployed in thinking what a lucky dog Gerald was, if all people said about 'Mra, Witt were true. Not that George envied his cousin his bride. Vis roving days were over. He had found what he wanted for himself, and Mrs. Witt's beauty, if she were beautiful, wan- nothing to him. So he thought with mingled joy apd re- ltignaYsibn. Still, however much you may be in love with somebody else, a pretty girl with five thousand a year is luck, and there's an end of it! So concluded George Neaten as he got in- ilies that ramify into bewildering growths of bury ot Bourse cousins. wap the ea all, spare, rather stern -looking man, and his daughter Maud, a" bright and pretty girl of twenty and Gerald in a flutter ill concealed by the very extravag- ance of nonchalance. Then there were a couple of aunts and a male cou- sin and his wife, and George himself. Three of the guests weie friends, not relatives. Mrs. Bourne had been the chosen intimate of Lord Tottlebury's dead wife, and he honoured his wife's memory by constant attention to her friend. Mrs. Bourne brought her daughter Isabel, and Isabel had come full of curiosity to see Mrs. Witt, and also hoping to see George Newton, for did she not know what pleasure it would give him to meet her ? Lastly, there towered on the rug the huge form of Mr. Blodwell, Q C., an old friend of Lord Tottlebury's and George's first 'tutor and kindly guide in the law, famous for rasping speeches in court and good stories out of it, famous, too, as one of the tallest men and quite the fattest man at the Bar. Only Neaera Witt was wanting. and before Mr. Blodwell had got well into the famous story about Baron Samuel and the dun cow Neaera Witt was announced. Mrs. Witt's widowhood was only two years old, and she was at this time al- most unknown to society. None of the party, except Gerald and his father, had seen her, and they all hooked with in- terest to the door when the butler announced her name. She had put off her mourning altogether for the first time, and came in clothed in a gown of deep red, with a long train that gave her dignity, her golden hair massed low on her neck, and her pale, clear oomplexion just tinged with the sus- picion of a blush as she instinctively glanced round for her lover. The entry was, no doubt, a small triumph. The he menrls re weret in startled.; and enerous admiration; Blod- well, finishing the evening at the blouse of Commons, remarked to young Sid- mouth Vane, the Lord President's pri- vate secretary (unpaid), " I hope, my boy, you may live as long as I have, and see as many pretty women; but you'll never see a prettier than Mrs. Witt. Her face! her hair I and Vane, my boy, her waist 1" But here the di- vision -bell rang, and Mr. Blodwell has- tened off to vote against a pro- posal aimed at deteriorating, under the specious pretence of cheapening, the ad- ministration of justice. Lord Tottlebury, advancing to meet Neaera, took her by the hand and proud- ly presented her to his guests. She greeted each graceful and graciously un- til she came to George Neston. As she saw his solid jaw and clean -shaved keen face, a sudden light that looked like recollection leaped to her eyes, and her cheek flushed a little. The change was so distinct that George was confirmed in the fancy he had from the first moment' he came in, that somewhere before he had seen that golden hair and those dark eyes, that combination of harmonious opposites that made her beauty no less special in kind than in degree. He had advanced a step, his hand held half out, exclaiming— " Surely— " But there he stopped dead, and his hand fell to his side, for all signs of recognition had faded from Mrs. Witt's face, and she gave him only the same modestly gracious bow that she had bestowed on the rest of the party. The incident was over, leaving George sore- ly puzzled., and Lord Tottlebury a lit- tle startled. Gerald had seen nothing, having been employed in issuing or- ders for the march in to dinner. The dinner was a success. Lord Tot- tlebury unbent; he was very cordial and, at moments, almost jovial. Gerald was in heaven, or at least sitting direct- ly opposite and in full view of it. Mr. Blodwell enjoyed himself immensely : his classic stories had never yet won so pleasant a reward as Neaera's low rich laugh and dancing eyes. George ought to have enjoyed himself, for he was next to Isabel Bourne, and Isabel heartily recognising that she was not to -night, as, to her justice, she often was, the prettiest girl in the room, took the more pains to be kind and amusing. But George was ransacking the lumber -rooms of memory, or, to put it less figuratively, wondering,and growing exasperated as he wondered in vain, where the deuce he'd seen the girl before. Once or twice his eyes met hers, and it seemed to him that he had caught her casting an inquiring appre- hensive glance at him. When she saw that he was looking, her expression changed into one of friendly interest, appropriate to the examination of a prospective kinsman. " What do you think of her?" ask- ed Isabel Bourne, in a low voice. "Beau- tiful, isn't she?" "She is indeed," George answered, " I can't help thinking I've seen her somewhere before." "She is a person one would remem- ber, isn't she? Was it in Manches- ter?" I don't think so. I haven't been in Manchester more than two or three times in m life." "Well, May says Mrs. Witt wasn't brought up there." "Where was she brought up?" "I don't know," said Isabel, "and I don't think Maud knew either. I ask- ed Gerald, and he said she probably drop- ped down from heaven a few years ago." "Perhaps that's how I come to re- member hers" suggested George. Failing this explanation, he confess- ed himself puzzled. and determined to dismiss the matter from his thoughts for the present. Aided by Isabel Bourne, he was very successful in this effrto: a pretty girl's company is the best modern substitute for the waters of Lethe. Nevertheless, his interest remained strong enough to make himoin the group which Gerald and Mr. Blodwell formed with Neaera as soon as the men went upstairs. Mr. Blodwell made no secret of the fact that it was with him a case of love at first sight, and openly regretted that his years pre- vented him fighting Gerald for bis prize. Gerald listened with the com- placent happiness of a secure lover, and Neaera gravely apologised for not having waited to make her choice till she had seen Mr. Blodwell. "But at least you had heard of me?" be urged. "I am terribly ignorant," she said. "I don't believe I ever did." "Neaera's not one of the criminal classes, you see, sir," Gerald put in. "He taunts me," exclaimed Mr. Blodwell, "with the Old Bailey!" George had come up in time to hear the last two remarks. Neaera sinned pleasantly. "Here's a young lady who knows nothing about the law, George," con- tinued Blodwell. "She never heard of me—nor of you either, 1 dare say. It reminds me of what theyused to say about old Dawkins. Old Daw never Ss' ,asaiesnaSeitilie hbad a Wet lAtt 1.t1 Nes netterder o some little borough ' or olitler.t.p1a00 with a risoner once in two years, you. know --i forget the name. Let's see— yes, Peokton," "k'eoktoapn 1" exclaimed George Nee. ton, loudly and abruptly. Neaera made a sudden motion with one hand—a sudden motion suddenly oheoked—and her fan dlrepped, with a olatter on the pollshed boards. Gerald dived for it, so did Mr. Blod- well, and their heads mane in contaot with such violence as to drive all re- miniscences of Recorded Dawkins out of Mr. Blodwell's brain, They were still indulging in recrimination, when Neaera swiftly left them, crossed to Lord Tottlebury, and took her leave. George went and opened the door for her. She looked at him curiously. ton"Will?"she youasked. somand see me, Mr. Nes- e He bowed gravely, answering noth- i i'l'he party broke up, and as George was seeing Mr. Blodwell's bulk fitted into a four -wheeler, the old gentleman asked. " W hhayt did you do that, George?" "Jump, when I said Peokton." "Olid I used to go sessions there, you know." "Do you always jump when people mention the places you used to go ses- sions at?" Generally," replied George. t "I see," said Mr. Blodwell, lighting his cigar. "A bad habit, George ; it excites remark. Tell him the House. "Good -night, sir," said George. "I hope your head is better!' Mr. Blodwell snorted indignantly as he pulled up the window, and was driv- en away to his duties. CHAPTER IL "How could I ever have forgotten?" said George, aloud, as be walked home. "I remember her now as if it was yes- terday." Memory, like much else that apper- tains to man, is a queer thin, and the name of Peokton had supplied the one link missing in his recollection. How, indeed, had he ever forgotten it? Can a man forget his first brief any more than his first love?—so like are they in their infinite promise, so like in their very finite results! The picture was now complete in his mind: the little, muggy court at Peck - ton; old Dawkins, his wig black with age, the rest of him brown with snuff; the fussy clerk; the prosecuting coun- sel, son to the same fussy clerk; he himself, thrusting his first guinea in- to his pocket with shaking hand and beating heart (nervous before old Daw! Imagine!); the fat, peaceful po- liceman; the female warder, in her black straw -bonnet trimmed with dark -blue ribbons; anti last of all, in the dock, a young girl, in shabby, nay, greasy, black, with pale cheeks, disordered hair, and swollen eyelids, gazing -in blank ter- ror on the majesty of the law, strange- ly expressed in the Recorder's ancient im- person. tion of Anda be doubt, the girlond all doubtof was Gerald's bride, Neaera Witt. "I could swear to her to -day)" cried George. She had scraped together a guinea for his fee. "I don't know where she got it from," the fat policeman said with professional cynicism as he gave it to George. "She pleads guilty and wants you to address the court.' So George bad, with infinite trepidation, addressed the court. The girl had a father—drunk when not starving, and starving when not drunk. Now he was starving, and she had stolen the shoes (ohl the sordidness of it all!) to pawn, and buy food—or drink. It was a case for a caution merely—and—and—and George himself, being young to the work, stammered and stuttered as much from emotion as from fright. You see the girl was pretty) All old Daw said was, "Do you know anything about her, policeman?" and the fat policeman said her father was a had lot, and the girl did no work, and -- "That's enough," said old Daw; and, leaning forward, he pronounced his sen- tence: 1'11 deal lightly with you. Only"— shaking a snulfy forefinger—"take care you don't coma here again! One calen- dar month. with hard labor." And the girl, gazing back at honest old Daw, who would not have hurt a fly except from the Bench, softly mur- mured, "Cruel, cruel, cruel!" and was led away by the woman in the black straw bonnet. Whereupon George did a very unpro- fessional thing. He gave his guinea, his firstborn son, back to the fat police- man, saying, "Give it her when she comes out. I can't take her money." At which the policeman smiled a smile that convicted George of terrible youth- fulness. 1t was all complete—all except the name by which the fussy clerk had call- ed on the girl Le plead, and which old Dawkins had mumbled out in sentenc- ing her. That utterly escaped him. He was sure it was not "Neaera"—of (nurse not "Neaera Witt;" but not "Neaera Anything," either. He would have re- membered "Neaera." "What on earth was it?" he asked himself as he unlocked his door and went upstairs. "Not tbat it matters much. Names are easily changed." George Neston shared his chambers in Halt Moon Street with the Honor- able Thomas Buchanan Fillingham Myles, commonly known (as the peer- age has it) as Tommy Myles. Tommy also had a small room in the Temple Chambers, where the two Nestons and Mr. Blodwell pursued their livelihood; but Tommy's appearances at the lat- ter resort were few and brief. He did not trouble George much in Half Moon Street either, being a young man much given to society of all sorts, and very prone to be in bed when most people are up, and vice versa. However, to -night he happened to be at borne, and George found him with hi t on the mantelpiece, reading theevee ing ppapper. Well, what's she like?" asked Tom- myShe's uncommonly pretty, and very pleasant," said George. Why say more, before his mind was made up? "Who was she? pursued Tommy, rising and filling his pipe. "Ahl I don't know. I wish I did." "Don't see that it matters to yen. Anybody else there?" "Oh, a, few people." "Miss Bourne?" "Yes, she was there." Tommy winked, sighed prodigiously, and took a large drink of brandy and soda. tV here have you been?" asked George, changipg the subject. "Oh, to the Escurial—to a vulgar, really a very vulgat entertainment— as vulgar as you could find in Lon- don." "Are you going out again?" "My dear George' It's close on twelve!" said Tommy. in reproving !tones. "Or to bed?" "No. George, you hurt my feelings. Can it be that you wish to be alone?" 5., "Well, at any rate, bold..`gaur ton* Elle Tommy. 1 want to think. "(July one word. Bala she been gruel?'! "Oh. get out. Here, glue roe a drink." Tommy subeided into the Bull's-eye, that famous print whose motto is Lux in tenebris (meaning, of course, pub- licity in shady places), and George set himself to ognsider what he had best do in the matter of Neaera Witt. The diffioultles of the situation were obvious enough, but to George's mind am going to see Mrs. Witt." they consisted not so muoh In the ques- Mr. Blodwell's person expressed mor - tion of what to do as in that of how al reprobation. George, however, re - to do it. He bad been tolerably clear mained unmoved, and the elder man from the first that Gerald must not stole a sharp glance at him. marry Neaera without knowing what "1 don't know what's up, George," he Blodwell% unbounded indignation,George alio was brushing_his bat with the manifest intention of departure. "Ill my time,rising juniors." said Mr. Blodwell, with sarcasm, "didn't leave chambers at four." "Business," said George, putting on his gloves. "Women," answered his leader, brief-' ly and scornfully. 'It's the same thing, in this case. I he could tell him; if he liked to do it afterwards, well and good. But of course he would not. No Neston would, thought George, who had his full share of the family pride. Men of good family made disgraceful marriages, it is true, but not with thieves; and anyhow no- thing of the kind was recorded in the Neston annals. How should he look his uncle and Gerald in the face if he held his tongue? His course was very clear. Only—well, it was an uncommonly dis- agreeable part to be cast for—the de- , nouncer and exposer of a woman who very probably was no worse than many another, and was unquestionably a great deal better -looking than most others. The whole position smacked un- pleasantly of melodrama, and George must figure in the character of the villain, a villain with the best motives and the plainest duty. One hope only there was. Perhaps Mrs. Witt would see the wisdom of a timely withdrawal. Surely she would. She could never face the storm. Then Gerald need know nothing about it, and six months' tra- vel—say to America, where pretty girls live—would bind up his broken heart. Only—again only—George did not much fancy the interview that lay before him. Mrs. Witt would probably cry, and he would feel a brute, and-- "Mr. Neston," announced Tommy's valet, opening the door. Gerald had followed his cousin home, very anxious to be congratulated, and still more anxious not to appear anx- ious. Tommy received him with effu- sion. Why hadn't he been asked to the dinner? Might he call on Mrs. Witt? He heard she was a clipper; and ea forth. George's felicitatipns stuck in his throat, but hq got them out, hop- ing that Neaera would free him from the necessity of eating them up at some early date. Gerald was radiant. He seemed to have forgotten all about "Peckton," though he was loud in de- nouncing the unnatural hardness of Mr. Blodwell's head. Ob, and the last thing Neaera said was, would George go and see her? "She took quite a fancy to you, old man," ho said affectionately. "She said you reminded her of a judge." George smiled. Was Neaera practis- rag double entente on her betrothed? "What an infernally unpleasant thing to say!" exclaimed, Tommy. "Of course, I shall go and see her," said George—"to-morrow, if I can find time." So shall I," added Tommy. Gerald was pleased. He liked to see his taste endorsed with the approbation of his friends. "It's about time old George, here, followed suit, isn't it, Tommy? I've given him a lead." George's attachment to Isabel Bourne was an accepted fact among his ac- quaintance. He never denied it; be did like her very much, and meant to mar- ry her, if she would have him. And he did not really doubt that she would. If be had doubted, he would not have been so content to rest without an ex- press assurance. As it was, there was no hurry. Let the practice grow a little inure yet. He and Isabel under- stood one another, and, as soon as she was ready, he was ready. But long engageinents were a nuisance to every- Neaera's face expressed blank aston- body. These were his feelings, and he isbment. She rose, and made a step considered himself, by virtue of them, towards the bell. George was tickled. to be in love, with Isabel. There are She had the amazing impertinence to many ways of being in love, and it convey, subtly )out quite distinctly, by would be a want of toleration to deny that motion and her whole bearing, that that George's is one of them, although she thought he was drunk. it is certainly very unlike some of the "Ring, if you like," he said, "or, rath- others er, ask me, if you want the bell rung. Tommy agreed that George was west- But wouldn't it be better to settle the ing his time, and with real kindness matter now? I don't want to trouble led Gerald back to the subject which Gerald." filled his mind. "I really believe you are threatening Gerald gladly embraced the oppor- me witla somet.hingl" exclaimed Nea- 9 era. "Yes, by all means. Go on." She motioned him to a chair, and stood above bin, leaning one arm on the mantel -piece. She breathed a little quickly, lout George drew no inference from that. (To Be Continued.) said, "but take care of youreeif. "Nothing's up." "Then why did you jump?" "Timms, a hansom," cried George. "I'll be in court all day to -morrow, and keep you straight, sir." "In Heaven's name, do. That fellow Pounce is such a beggar for dates. Now get out." Mrs. Witt was living at Albert Man- sions, the "swell villa" at Manchester having gone to join Mr. Witt in lim- bo. She was at home, aud, as George entered, his only prayer was that he might not find Gerald in possession. He had no very clear idea how to proceed in his unpleasant task. "It must de- pend on how she takes it," he said. Ger- ald was not there, but Tommy Mylan was, voluble, cheerful, and very much at home, telling Neaera stories of her lover's school -days. George chimed in as best he could, until Tommy rose to go regretting the convention that drove one man to take bis hat five minutes, at the latest, after another came in. Neaera pressed him to come again, but did not invite him to transgress the convention. George almost hoped she would, for he was, as he confessed to himself, "funking it." There were no signs of any such feeling in Neaera, and no re- petition of the appealing attitude she had seemed to take up the night before. "She means to bluff me," thought George, as he watched her sit down in a low chair by the fire, and shade her face with a large fan. "It is," she began, "so delightful to be welcomed by all Gerald's family and friends so heartily. 1 do not feel the least like a stranger." I came last night, hoping to join in that welcome," said George. "Oh, I did not feel that you were a stranger at all. Gerald had told me so much about you." George rose, and walked to the end of the little room and back. Then he stood looking down.at his hostess. Nea- era gazed pensively into the fire. It was uncommonly difficult, but what was the good of fencing? "I saw you recognized me," he said, deliberately. "In a minute. I had seen your pho- tograph." "Not only my photograph, but my- self, Mrs, Witt." "Have 1?" asked Neaera. "How rude of me to forget) Where was it? Brighton?" George's heart hardened a little. Of course she would lie, poor girl. He didn't mind that. But he did not like artistic lying, and Neaera's struck him ea artistic. "But are you sure?" she went on. George decided to try a sudden at- tack. "Did they ever give you that guinea?" he said, straining his eyes to watch her face. Did she flush or not? He really couldn't say. "I beg your pardon. Guinea?" "Come, Mrs. Witt, we, needn't make it more unpleasant than necessary. E saw you recognized me. The moment Mr. Blodwell spoke of Peckton I rec- ognized you. Pray don't think I mean to be hard on you. I can and do make every allowance." tunity. "Where did I meet her Oh, down at Brighton, last winter. Then, you know, 1 pursued her to Man- chester, and found her living in 110 end of a swell villa in the outskirts of that abominable place. Neaera hated it, but of course she had to live there while Witt was alive, and she had kept the house on:' "She wasn't Manchester -born, thehe" "No. 1 don't know where she was born. Her father seems to have been a romantic sort of old gentleman. He was a painter by trade—an artist, I mean, you know,—landscapes and so on_" And went about looking for bits of nature to murder, eh?" asked Tommy. "That's about it. I don't think he was any great shakes at it. At least, he didn't make much; and at last he settled in Manchester, and tried to pick up !i living, working for the dealers. Witt was apicture-fancier, and, when Neaera came to sell, he saw her, and—" "The late Witt's romance began?" "Yes, confound him! I'm beastlyeal- ous of old Witt, though he is dead." "That's ungrateful," remarked George, "considering--" Hush! You'll wound his feelings," said Tommy. "He's forgotten all about the cash." It's all very well for you—" Ger- ald began. But George cut in, "What was his name?" "Witt's? Oh, Jeremiah, I believe." "Witt? No. Hang Witt! The father's name." Ohl --Gale. A queer old boy he seems to have been—a bit of a scholar as well as an artist." "That accounts for the 'Neaera,' suppose," said Tommy. Neaera Gale," thought George. don't remember that." "Pretty name, isn't it9" naked infatuated Gerald. "Oh. dry up!" exclaimed Tommy. "We can't indulge you any more. Go home to bed. You can dream abrut her, you know." Gerald accepted this hint, and retired, still in that state of confident bliss that filled George's breast with trouble and dismay. I might as well be the serpent in Eden," he said, as he lay in bed, smok- ing dolefully. I "I the CHAPTER III. The atmosphere was stormy at No. 8, Indenture Buildings, Temple. It was four o'olock, and Mr. Blodwell had come out of court in the worst of bad tem- pera, He was savage with George Nea- ten, who, being in a case with him, had gone away and left him with no- body to tell him his facts. He was savage with Tommy Myles; who had refused to read some papers for him; savage with Mr. Justice Pounce, who had cut up jiis speech to the jury,— Pounce, who had been his junior a hun- dred Limesl—savage with Mr. Timms, his clerk, because be was always sav- age with Timms when iie was savage with other people. Tommy had fled before the storm; and now, to Mr. STRUCK DEAD WHILE CURSING: A Man Who Won a Bet on the Weather Killed By Lightning. An Arkansas man named Charles Ward, who had been •working near Pecan Gap, in Texas, was killed Satur- day nightin a way which leads church people here to oall it an interposition by Providence. There was a protracted meeting at Linens the previous night, and Ward, who Ls said to have been a had man of t he worst type, was in attc $dance, Several of his friends urged him to the mourners' bench to be prayed for, but. to no purpose. He treated the invitation lightly, and after service made a wager that it would rain in ICES than 24 hours. Next evening Ward and Three other farm hands were engaged in the field when the rain began to fall, and he began to rejoice, and with a volley of oaths announced that he had 'won his bet. Scarcely had Ward got the last oath out of hie mouth before he was struck by a holt of Lightning and in- stantly killed. GRAINS OF GOLD. The miserable are sacred.—Seneca. Humor is wit and love.—T'hackeray. Happiness is a rare cosmetic.—G. J. W. Melville. I believe in great men, but not in demi •gods.—Ilovee. The mother's heart is the child's school room.—Beecher. Ideal beauty L9 a fugitive never lo- catecl.—Mme, Sevigne. Our possessions are wholly in our pe r f o rma ncee.—Simms. Calamity i9 a man's true touchstone. —Beaumont and Fletcher. There are follies as catching as con- tagious disorders.—Rochefou.cauld. Money i9 like manure, of very little use, except it be spread.—Bacon. Pleasures bring effeminacy, and ef- feminacy foreruns ruin.—Quarles. The deldly Indian hug, in which men wrestle with their eyes.—Holmes. Other men are lenses through which we read our own minds.—Emerson. NOT LiKELY TO BE AROUND. Mr" Societie—Are to call on the bride? Mrs. Societie—I would be perfectly willing to call on her, but I don't want never saw any one else who could to meether husband. it' He turned out to be an old sohoc Oh, I give? there's no danger of meet- fellow I had not met for over 20 years. Lae him. They've been married aix you not going WATERLOO AND N,Fo AN EYEWITNESS OF THE ORION BATTLE DESCRIBES THE EVENT. " - James It. Green, a Suitor in !pa MJi,;IUtIs1R Navy, Remembers During SUVA t1* Duke of Wellington. George 111%n Blucher, and Queen Victoria as BUM, Girl. The battle of Waterloo was fought Olt June 18, 1815, and the hundreds of thou' sands of men who struggled that day, for supremacy have all passed away ex cept two in America, four in the British! leles and six in France, and most of these men are centenarians. James R. Green, ninety-eight year$ old, a resident of Ellsworth, Mahoningl uuuty, Ohio, while not a participant w the great battle, had the privilege of witnessing the thrilling events on that week in Belgium, which marked) the downfall of the Napoleon dynasty) and who viewed that battle from al better vantage ground perhaps than' any of the participants. He gave a vivid desafkption recently' of the battle of Water p. and possesses a striking personality, which impresses all who come in cone tact with him. He was born in Bolton, Lancashire, England, July 25, 1798, and entered the English navy when sixteen) years old as a midshipman. The next year his ship was employed in trans- porting English soldiers from Welling- ton's army across the Channel from Southampton to Antwerp, and it wen' at this time that he accidentally wit- nessed Waterloo. He described the battle as follows:— HlS 1JESCRdPTION. "1 was a sailor lad of King George( III., and was employed as a midship- man on a war ship in June, 1815. After the British fleet had transported Wele liugton's army aeross the channel to the seaport of Antwerp, my vessel was anchored in the harbor at that place. The soldiers had told me that -'great fighting was expected, as they were about to meet Napoleon, who was mak- ing a !desperate effort to regain the power which he ha,d once held oyezEurope. Securing permission, fiveQ boys, myself included, left the ship and started across Belgium, in the direc- tion we were told the British army wail camping. We came first to Ligny, where the preliminary battle of that m terrible week in Belgiutook place. We were two utiles distant from then left flank of Napoleon's army after Ligny, and we concluded to follow and watch t. be encounter. "At Qualm liras Napoleon attacked the outposts of the; Duke of Welling- ton, but, he wus repulsed,bachl to Waterloo that night, whele he de- termined to make ins final !trench army bivouacked in of rye, which was almost rips, on t pretty plain of Waterloo, On the night of Juno 17 there was a continu- our rainstorm, making it very dis- agreeable for the soldiers. The clouda cleared away on the following morning, and with a sea gloss which we had tak- en from the ship we stood on the heignts some distance away and saws the great struggle. "\1 e Could sew Napoleon on his charg- er, riding along his lines preparing for t fie battle. The lines were formed, and soon the field was filled with smoke and the roar of cannon reverberated through the hills of Belgium. In the afternoon the fierce struggle ceased, and the field was a sickening sight. The green rye had been trampled down, and the field was nothing but dust, like the middle of the road, while the dead and wounded lay scattered thick- ly over the great plain. "After the battle we went over the field and saw some dreadful sights. SAW NAPOLEON. "1 can remember distinctly seeing 13lueher, Napoleon, t he Duke of Well- ington and George IV. I remember seeing George 111. and his couriers riding down to the London docks upon many a morning. During the reign of William IV. 1 remember having' seen Queen Victoria in a villa near London, playing in a garden, and I have distinct remembrances of the last four ruling monarchs of the House of Hanover."Nap "Napoleon was a cruel tyrant, and, if you had known him in the age which I knew him, you would have thought so, too." m Mr. Green is a rear able character nd. the to fields STRANGE MEETINGS. People Luckily Bewailed After Mani Years' Separation. , The world i9 not so very large when friends become separated in one part of it and suddenly come face to face with each other in what we generally term "a far-off count ry." There are many such instances that nevi/ find their way o print. AEnglish iodical basintrecently gathered❑ togetherper- a number of I hern, from which the fol- lowing are taken: "I was once making a call at a friend's house, when a lady caller was announced, who was introduced to me as Mia? H. The ladies of the hours) asked her to play the last piece of music she had composed. She con- sented, and its beauty made a great impression on me. —fen years Tater 1 was settled in In- dia, living in a tent" up country, 40 miles away from any town, buying cot- ton for a Bombay firm. One night my. ppugee (watehrnan) woke me. An Eng li9h lady and gentleman in a bullock cart, he said, were asking the way tq the nearest town. They were strangers to me. but I asked them to stop until daylight.. and did my beat, to make them comfortable for the night. Next morn- ing atbreakfast, talking of one thing and anot her, i found t hat t he lady knew Cbelte.nham wel;ys and i suddenly then recognized her as the musician who had played her own composition before me in Cheltenham 10 years previously. When I recalled the circumstance to her she recalled my name perfectly. I have never seen or heard of her again." And here is another, though along a different line: "While waiting on a railway plat- form in the North of England a abort time ago, with some friends, we were passing the time away with sleight -of. band tricks when I casually remarke4 that I could' show them a trick whiof none of them could do—namely, re- volving the hands in opposite direction* —when a stranger who had joined 1)r remarked: Why, it must be Jim —, ea * •