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The Wingham Times, 1911-06-08, Page 7riff WINOTIA111 TINES, JUNE 81 1911 y�� it f, n F `t' � ` Ct ,' _^� /W ��. te"l�t'J�#ul��u'� e��l:a i� ° 4 � s el�reti� e�17''��' e� �cA� e�tti�� e m Parted at the Altar By LAURA JEAN LIBBEY, Author of "When Lovely 1Vlaideta.Stoops to Polly," "Olivia's Court- Shipp" When His. Love Grew Cold," Etc, to - ;thief, an tmpostor, or worse. I am sorry took her tn. I shall never know a moment's peace, With watching her night and day, wh'ne she hi under this .roof. She must be taken away." "I cannot bring myself to believe that there is anything wrong about her," de- •elareii Karl, imtluls#vely. "I wally can- not." Mrs, Morgan looked at him sharply. "I should say her pretty face has be- witched yon, Mr. Lancaster," She little dreamed how near the truth these words wore. "As I said before, out of the house she goes to -morrow, Mr, Karl I am sorry for her; but I cannot have her here. She must be taken to the hospi- tal." "I will call to -morrow, then, and see about effecting the change. if you must have it so," said Karl, disappointedly ,and coldly, When the morrow Dame, Doris could 'not be moved. A high fever set in, and her condition was quite alarming. In a -week's time, however, the fever had .abated, and the danger was past. But in those Pew days Karl had been ,a daily visitor at the house. Whole hours he spent at his patient's bedside. skill- -fully battling with the fatal fever, until .at last it was under control. And. in those days Karl had learned :to love the beautiful stranger with all • the ardor of his nature. She was his first „and only love—and first love is the sweetest dream of life. At the end of the week, again Mrs. Morgan insisted upon having the lovely ;;young stranger removed. ' Thengh weak, Doris was conscious. She had' refused to divulge her name to Mrs. Morgan, saying simply, "Call me Doris; only that. More I cannot tell god. I air very unhappy. No young girl itis sufferedmore than I have in this world, and more unjustly." One day, when Karl called, he found :Doris's eyes heavy with unshed tears, ;and he felt then that Mrs. Morgan must have spoken to Doris about wanting her .apartment. "I am going to leave you to -day, Mr. Lancaster," she said, holding out a mite of a slim, white hand to him. "You have been very kind to me. I shall never forget what you have done for me. I can never repay you for 3t, save by my most heartfelt gratitude." "But where are you going?" he asked, earnestly. "You are too weak and ill to face the world. What will you do?" "I do not know," responded Doris, ,.drearily. In a moment handsome, 'impulsive Karl was beside her. "Let me tell you what to do," ho • cried, eagerly "Marry me. I love you. When I first looked upon your fade I said •to myself: She, and no other, shall be my bride if I can win her. Our acquaint- ance has not been long, still, it has been tong enough for me tb know. If, I lost qou, life would not be worth the living. Yes, I love you with all the deep, earn - .est -affection of a heart that has never ',throbbed with love for any woman be- fore. Marry me, and let me take you to ;telly father's home, and present you to ,him and to my mother as my cherished ;bride. My, life will be devoted to you. 'Yon shall never know one wish metal - "Stop! stop!" gasped Doris, incoher- ently, as she endeavored to check the 'torrent of his impassioned words. "Do pot, pray you, ,speak so to me. It can Bever be: .I-1 am sorry, for you have been so kind to rhe. While I am most grateful to you, I repeat that 1 can hover, never marry you." The young man started to hiss feet, ,dropped the little hand he held, and looked at her. Never had she appeared ,so fatally lovely to him, as in this mo- ment in which she told him she never ' ,could be his. "Tell me," he cried, approaohing a ,,step nearer to her, his face paling, '"1i my pause hopeless? Do you love any one else?" "Yes," she said, simply, "1 love an- other, and love as hopelessly as you Iove me. For that reason my heartaches with . the keenest sympathy for you: You must learn to forget me, Mr. Lancaster." "It will be hard for hie," he said, gently. "I have learned to love you so well. If ;you were to ask me for my life et this moment I would give it to :you; and if you ever want a friend, remember my words. I will give my life to serve you.,, ' "Thank you," she faltered. "If the time should come when I want you, I • shall not forget." "You veil;, at least, give the your full name?" he said, sadly. "It is crud is ''know you only as Doris." "Then know the as Doris Brandon," . she murmured. The name had a strangely familiar sound to it, but he was too much per- turbed just then to think of it. "if I knew you were goring to home and friends 1 could feel happier," be said. And he never forgot the sad voice in Which she replied:— "On the whole face of the earth X have neither home nor kindred. I am alone in the World! Alone l" Those were the, words which haunted hien as he left the hoose and walked slowly toward his home. 1116 father was in the library. Karl paused on the threshold as his father called his name. "Still pdring over those papers, fatliei?" be asked, as he drew ` upn chair to the table. "I have advised you, in ley opin- ion, the only way to find this long -lost heiress, Miss Fielding, is to advertise in all the leading papers for information concerning her." "Many an adventuress, tempted by so magniflcorab a fortune, might respond,' tleclarod the doctor. ' No; 1 prefer to ;go about it in a more methodical way, by tracing Miss Fielding, or Miss Bran- don—Miss Doris Brandon, the nanie she Was Balled there by—efronit the sehooI In a flash inert Lancaster had sprung le iris feet. "Doris ilrandon I" he gaspbtt. "Groat 4eaven' am i man, or not (mam — In an instant he had seized his hat and rushed from the house. Dr, Lancaster stared after his son's rapidly vanishing form in the greatest astern -bluetit, "I cannot think what is getting over the boy of late," he mase". "Now, why should he start off in that ,abrupt fas- hion?" Meanwhile Karl had hailed a passing coupe and 'sprang into it. "To Number — West Twenty-third street!" he Dried, "Make it as quick as you can, driver." The man whipped up his horses, and the vehicle fairly flew down the avenue, , but to the impatient young man it seemed to fairly creep along, "Doris Brandon!" he cried, hoarsely. "Heaven! ! how strange it is that the name did not strike me as the one by which Mr. Hulbert Brandon, Fielding's, long -lost heiress was known by while at boarding-echooll And her face! Alt! there could be no mistaking the lovely childish face, framed in its rings of soft golden curls,• so like the face of Mr. Brandon's wife, only younger, sweeter, fairer," There remained no doubt in Ms mind but what Doris was the long -lost heiress for whom his father was searching so diligently. .A moment later the coach drew up in front of Mrs. Morgan's boarding-house.. In a flash Karl was up the steps, and the vigorous peal of tho bell brought the landlady herself to the door. "What1 Is it you back so soon again, Mr. Lancaster?" she said, looking curi- ously into the flushed, eager, handsome face. "Yes!" he answered, impetuously. "I must see Doris at once, please. Tell her it is a matter of the greatest importance." "You are too late, Mr. Lancaster," she replied. "Doris is gone. She left the house about. twenty minutes ago." Gone! The word smote him like a blow. Sone! Be could'scarcely believe he had heard aright. • CHAPTER XXIV.—THE GYPSY GIRL. Since the night of the sad tragedy Frederick Thornton was a changed man. He grew morose and silent, spending his time shut up in the library, or whole hours by the river bank, gazing thought- fully, and with bitter regret, on the sun- Iit water, beneath which he believed Doris lay in all her sweet, young beauty. The discovery of Vivian's true disposi- tion, beneath that mask of smiles; lead been a severe shock to him; his wliole soul revolted at the thought of marrying her now. He concluded to leave home for awhile, and seek such solace as a life of travel would bring him, and forget, as far as he could, the sweet, fair face of the love- ly young bride whom he had won only to lose on their bridal day. One morning, coming down to break- fast a little earlier than usual, Mrs. Thornton seep her son standing, buried in deep thought, by the lace -draped win- dow. "Mother," he called, wheeling sud- denly about, "will you see that a few necessary articles `are packed up in my valise with as little delay as possible? I am going away for a few months." Mrs.. Thornton trembled. This was an unlooked-for procedure. In vain she pleaded, coaxed and argued with her handsome son. He was inexorable. "I must go away for a time, mother," he said. "Po not oppose me." "But Vivian!" she said. "Your going will break hen heart." A scornful smile curled his 'cynical lips. He was just about to reply: "You aro mistaken there, mother; she lute no heart," but he checked the impebuouC. words. Ilis mother had scarcely quitted tho morning -room ere he saw a small lad approaching the house In a hesitating manner. Frederick drew back the heavy lace curtain, and palled to the boy, "I want to see Mr.' Frederick Thorn- ton," said the lad. "Oan you tell me where I can find him, sir?" "Right here, my boy I am Frederick Thornton. What. can I do for you?" "I am to place this letter in your hand, sir, and wait for a reply," he said, touching his cap: "The gentleman who gave it to me is pacing up and down the ravine yonder, waiting for tht answer." "I will not keep you waiting long," said Frederick. Ile had noticed that the envelope bora Mr. Courtney's chirography'. and was Written in pencil. He tore open the envelope, and ran his eyes over the note it contained, hie handsome face turning strangely pale al he reed. It was brief, to the point, and read ar follows:— "Mr. Frederick Thornton—Sir: The announcement of the dissolution of the engagement of marriage which has ens isood between rey daughter Vivian and yourself has just reached use(. You have annulled that bond coolly and deliberate - le, it seems, without just tattoo or provo eation (as there is no barrier between you and Vivian), exposing her to the comment of the whole social worldly this outrageous conduct. I, as her father and protector, demand that the marriage shall go on. She must bo your wife ore the sun sets, or X shall demand, on yocs refusal to comply witty se perfectly rea- sonablo a roqurast, the only satisfaction tiro gentleman ern accord another—a deal. And Within the hour in the deep ravinekthat skirts the cliff down the road, there I await your answer. Will you snnrry Vivian, or shall the thiel rtgo on? COLONEL COURTNEY. Not a muscle of Fredetiok Thornton'd We changed. A stern expression crept Int° the grave, dark eyes and around iris "mouth. He knew that the colonel was perfectly Well aware of the conditlone utader Which that engagement With Viva lan was contracted; that, owing to that fatal aceldent, all memory of a bride waiting for hint, or :all trace of her pree- onto, had been obliterated completely from bis mind, -Ifl' all Irutii;ind honor, ybf pati Welted himself free to woo and win the old soldier's daughter, It was quite true, since Boris's death (as he believed her to be dead), no bar- rier rose between hims lf end Vivi n save his own inclination. lie was too, honorable to wed Vivian wttbout love, and love her he did not. He had no heart to offer her. His heart Was buried he poor little Dorla'a grave. He would not be coerced into marrying Vivian. He would be true to poor little Doris's. memory•while his life lasted. He tore a leaf from his memoranda,, book and penciled the following worda upon it: -- "Let the duel go on, I will be upon. the ground at the appointed time. "FREDERICK THORNTON." This ho hastily folded up and handed to the lad, who quickly disappeared With the fatal message, i"'ive—ten—minutes passed. Frederick Thornton still stood by the window, mo- tionless, gazing 'out nate the brilliant stinshinc►, then he turned away with a sigh, and set about making his prepare - tions for the coming event. The time was short, but he completed his business arrangements, and wrote out the direc- tions for the distribution of his effects The whole earth looked so peaceful, so , smiling, under the light of the summer's sun, that poor Frederick told himself it evened be hard,Indeed, to leave it. Mrs. Thornton never forgot how pale her handsome son looked as he came into the room, took her in his arms and kissed her, saying that he was going to stroll down the road a little way, the morning was so fine. Was it instinct, a forewarning of some dread calamity, that caused his mother to follow him to the porch, refusing to be comforted? ''I don't feel right abort your going out this morning, Frederick, my son," she sobbed. "Something tells me I shall 'never see you as I see you now. Some- thing tells me you should not go." "Nonsense, mother. I Will come back to you in an hour's time, if my life is spared," he said, with stiff, white lips. Would to heaven she could have under- stood how fatally true those words were. He tore himself from her clinging clasp, and kissing the white hands that would have held biro back from ruin and destruction, with swift footsteps walked rapidly clown the paved walk, and out of the grounds.. He stopped a moment on the brow of the hill and looked around him. When that same sun rose again, ho might never. see it, or if he lived, bis hands would be dyed with a fellow -creature's life -blood. Frederiek Thornton shuddered, then a reokless sort of laugh broke from his lips. How green the sloping hillside looked, dotted here and there with brilliant wild flowers and spreading beech trees. The river danced in the sunlight beyond and its music sounded like a dirge in his ears. Toward the right of the stream the greensward was dotted hero and there with gypsy tents; swarthy men and maidens making the air ring with their rolllcksome songs. Quite apart from the rest, and directly in the path before Frederick, it young girl sat. A tambour- ine, decked with bright, gay ribbons, lay on the grass beside her, and her gaudy, picturesque dress, her long dark hair, and bright, blank, glancing eyes betokened her race. A gay, dashing song broke from her crimson lips, and Frederick Thornton stopped short in the path, his arms folded across his chest, his head droop- ing upon his breast, and listened. The gypsy girl raised her eyes sudden- ly, and saw the stranger standing in the daisy -studded path. She bounded to her feet with the agil- ity of a graceful young gazelle, and cour- tesied low before him. "Have you come to us to have your fortune told, handsome youth?" she asked, raising her dark, lustrous eyes to his face. "I can tell you all the myster- ies that llo in the future, and -the dark shadows that have gathered in the back- ground of the past." Although he knew better, Frederick stood for a moment irresolute. At any other time in life he would have scorned the proffered offer; but now, when life and death bung in the balance, a fever- ish unrest possessed him to hear what she would tell him. Long and earnestly the gypsy girl gazed into the palm of the white, shape- ly hand she held in her own small dusk ones. "You are unhappy in your love,'; she said, slowly. Frederick Thornton laughed a mirth- less, reckless laugh but a strange, brooding shadow crept into his oyes, and a flush rose to his pale, handsome face, which told, the crafty maiden that her shaft had struck home, as it usually did. "Do you see a long Iife or a speedy leath for me?" he questioned, ouriously. And although he spoke earelessly, bis lips whitened perceptibly, "Death," she said, in a whisper. "Let it come—I have courted it," re- turned Frederick, impatiently. "I have nothing to live for. any haw." ' "as Terribly Afiiicte d Fth Lame Back - Could riot Sweep The Floor. 1t is hard to do• house work with a veal: and aching back. liu,lkache comes from side kidneys, and ,vitae a lot of trouble sick kidneys cause. But they can't help it. If more work s :'tt. on thea; than they can stand it is nett...) tso 1,e wondered that they get out of . Doan's Kidney Pills are a specific for erne. It mat or aching backs and for all adage Mott rtes, :firs. Nat,;t,eo:t Larmour Smith's Falls, 'hien writ ce: —"I take pleasant in writ - en stating the benefit nave received • v tri,,;;; Dh..u's Kidney Pills. About a ,.ar.t,;.t I was terrinly gfllictal with lathe acrd was so bad I could not even demmy own floor. I was advised to •v 11oan s ;kidney fills, Which I did, and ;in the greatest benefit, I only used a' Y boxe.e :std 1 ani as well as ever, f . eller rero.unend these pills to any reryrfrom ;erne back and kidney )o tta's Kidney fills are SO cents per 0i 3 for *1.25, at all dealers or mailed x ct u I re: iiia aC price by The T. Mil - .v; tit Co., Limited, Toronto, Ont. Whoa orderiug.direct specify "Doan's. " Although he spoke bravely, he could realise liow hard it was to die in the spring lime of youth; to bid farewell to the green earth and, fair, smiling hea- vens; to e rushed, s b1 r at unprepared-. where? Ile could, hear lee more. 'Untried" ly tossing a handful of bright silver cold into her lap he moved: on. For some minutes the ,gypsy girl stood staring after the tall, mastly" figure hurrying so rapidly away. "Can it lac that be Is the ono they are waiting for down in the glen?" ohm mut, tared, under her breath: "lie le hand, souseas a prinoe. They must not tight the duel I heard them talking about," Swiftly as a shadow the gypsy girl glides: after him, "Where are you going, Meth'?" cried a gruff voice in the girl's ear, and e heavy hand Was laid on her shoulder; and looking tip she saw her 'father standing before her. "Let inc go," she cried, struggling to free herself from his grasp. "Let me go quick—I must;" "I want yon in tho tent. Where is the silver you had just now—come, where is it?" She threw the handful of coins on the ground. "There—it is all there," she cried. "Let me go." "And I day there is more hidden in your pocket. Coyne into the tent and we shall see," he declared, gruffly. Ten minutes litter 'Latta was speeding like a storm -driven swehow Hewn the path, Would she be too late to carry out eel, daring plan to stop the duel, if one was intended? Ten minutes! Many a life has been jeopardized and lost in one half of that time. As she reached the sum- mit of the hill she gave a piercing cry. Ah, she was too late! She had heard no sound of shot or sabre, yet a group of men were gathered around a prostrate figure lying prone on its face upon the ground. CHAPTER XXV.—COLI), LOVELESS AND DREARY. For one instant Karl Lancaster stood quite still like one stricken dumb. Doris was gone! Gonel How the words smote upon his ear! "Why, how white you look, Mr. Lan- caster!" said Mrs Morgan, looking curi- ously into the young man's white, hand- some face. He turned abruptly away and flung open the door. Mrs. Morgan was at his side in an instant, laying a detaining hand on his arm. "What are you about to do, Mr. Lan- caster?" she cried, anxiously. "I am going to search for her until 1 find her," answered Karl, hoarsely. " will search the whole world over for her, if ,needs be." And with these words he rushed from the room and out of the house. "The poor fellow has gone clear daft," sighed Mrs. Morgan. "It was well that I sent the girl away before he returned. Why, he would actually marry that girl if he could' find her. And, oh! what a stormy scene there would be under the old doctor's roof! I am surehis father would disinherit him on the spot. He would never forgive hint for snaking a mesalliance. Never!" Meanwhile Karl Lancaster, with his heart on fire and his brain in a whirl, was threading his way swiftly along the crowded thoroughfare. Which way had pcor, pretty Doris gone? Where should he find her? Sud- denly a thought occurred to him that almost took his breath away. He remem- bered Doris had been on her way to an employment agency on that day the acci- dent had occurred which had so nearly proven fatal. What more natural or prob- able than that she had bent her steps in that direction now? He remembered the number, and lost no time in making his way there at once. And the first person whom his eyes rested upon as he opened the door was Doris herself. She started in surprise as she saw him. What! had he followed her there! And, like Mrs. Morgan, she was struck by the strange pallor of his face. "Doris --Miss Brandon!" ho said, com- ing up to her and patching one of the little white hands that lay so idly in her lap. "Thank God, I have found you! "I have muoh that is of the greatest importance to say to you, Doris," he went on, "but I cannot speak here." The reception -room beyond was almost deserted at this hour of the d ay. Karl pointed toward it. "Come. there with me, Doris," he said; ""I have that to tell you which will sound more like the pages of romance than reality; but it only serves to illus- trate the old adage that truth is indeed stranger than fiction." Doris shrank back from him, with the memory of that scone, in which he had madly declared his love for her, beseech- ing her to marry him, rushing over her mind. Had he followed her to repeat that scene? she wondered. Karl saw her hesitancy, and read her thoughts and drean aright. "It is not of myself I wish to speak— not one word," he said, flushing deeply. "That which I have to say concerns you, and you alone, Doris. Come!" In wonder and dismay, Doris followed him to the reception -room beyond, He placed a chair for her, and stood leaning against the mantel, seemingly in no hurry to begin. Doris sat twisting her little white hands nervously together, wondering what new oalainity was about to befall her now. "It Was fate that led you to me, Doris," began Karl Lancaster, huskily. "But before I proceed I must be sure that I am on the right track—beyond any • possible shadow of a doubt ere I raise your ;topes. "In the first place, aro yon tho Doris Brandon whose life, up to a few weeks ago, was passed at Madame Delmar's seminary at Beech Grove?" lie scarcely breathed in his intensity to catch her answer. "Yes, I am that most unhappy girl!" breathed florid, faintly. "But why do you task? How could you have found out that!" Like one in a confused dream, Doris listened while he told het the wonderful story-Wof her father and mother's return, after long years, to roalaim their child, only to find her gone,nono knew whither; of their grief, her mother's death, and the fatal aceldent which caused her fattier to follow hor soon after, having barely time to ivake his will, leaving his vast wealth to his danghter, with the earnest pr,'teer she should be sought for, night grid day, until rho was found, "This fortune Was to be kept In tiust for Afr. Hulbert Brewton Fielding's daughter rtittll she is' eighteene sly father has beeit searching for the lost heiress over since. "I thought when X heard the name, 'Dort* Brandon,' 11 .had, a litenhfeely familiar sound; but not until to -day --ax he* since --did the astounding, revelation occur to inc that the young girl fate d rit mya a h t had drifted. tbd across p th, and the kW heiress my father was arohine fenr were one and the same, Allow m t• be the, first, Mips Fielding. to oot+gratdatr you upon the good fortuma that bas be' fallen you,,t The beautitul, dreamy, blue eyes were expanded fit the . greatest amazement, All the color had, faded from the fail young face, leaving it paler than the petals of a wi"l"e lily, He believed -aha; had not comprehended what be had said, and he repeated:-ee - "Yon are an heiress, Mise Fielding—, heiress to a mrilion of dollars in you' own right, which my father, as yours guardian, is to held in trust for yon un+ til you are eighteen." "Ob, Mr, Lancaster, do you really 6a- ;levo it?" cried Doris, breathlessly. "Is there no mistake? Surely there must be, Fate has been so unkind to hie all my life it must be playing some Welt on me now," she declared. "If you are the Doris Brandon who has lived with Madame Delmar up to a short time ago, there can be no possible mistake." Doris sprang to her feet, trembling 'with emotion. "I can scarcely believe that 1, Doris Brandon, whom the world has used so cruelly, am indeed an heiress," she cried, pushing Lack the riugs of golden onr s from her flushed face in a bewildered sort of way. "1 am only a poor depend- ent, whom nobody has ever tared for," she went on, piteously. "I have never had any money." I am unused to wealth and luxury. My life hum been hard, lone and dreary. I should not know what to do with money," "After you have seen a little more of the world, you won't say that," mailed Karl. "Why, ladies know how to make money fairly fly, I am not surprised at your agitation. A disclosure such as I have rade to you would turn almost any young lady's head. No wonder you are bewildered. Perhaps no young girl ever had more cause, But you must bear pros- perity as von have borne adversity. From this time out your whole life will be changed. Your future will be brilliant; for, with wealth and beauty combined, life is full of golden promise." A dazzling smile parted the girl's beautiful crimson lips, and the color surged back to the sweet young face in a burning tide. In her great excitement. she forgot what Karl was saying to her. She (lid not hear one word. Doris's thoughts had drifted back t0 Frederick Thornton, and her heart ryas cretng ont:— ' "Would he have turned from me had he known I was one day to become a great heiress—quite as much of an heir- ess as Vivian, whom he loved? "Oh, Frederick," she moaned • out in the bitterness of her own heart, "what would all the wealth in the world be worth to me without your love?" Doris offered no resistance when Karl proposed that she should accompany him home at once. Dr. Lancaster was more than amazed when, a little later, a cab stopped before his palatial residence, and from it stepped his son, leading by the hand a young girl, plainly dressed, almost to shabbi- ness, but with a face as gloriously beau- tiful its an angel's. It had been the one secret fear of his life that some day his son might marry on the impulse of the moment, attracted by the pretty face of some lovely work- ing -girt chance might throw in his way. And he meant that this handsome son of his should marry an heiress, or not marry at all. Like his wife, he had the secret hope that the heiress, Miss Field- ing, might bo found, and that she and his son might be mutually attracted to- ward each other. His brow grew dark and stormy as the quick footsteps drew near tho library. As the door opened he rose to his feet coldly. confronting the two who stood en the threshold. He expected to hear the words: -- "Father, bid us welcome. I have brought you home a daughter. Welcome my bride, father." Instead, his son stepped foward, load- ing the pretty, timid, shrinking , young girl by the hand, saying, hurriedly:— "Father, behold Miss Doris Brandon Fielling l I have discovered the long -lost heiress—at last! Sid her welcome, father." "What!" cried the old gentleman, quite believing his ears had' deceived him —"do I hear aright?" "I hope so father," said Karl, smil- ing. "I said I had found Miss Fielding, for whom you have been , searching so long and patiently. Bid her welcome." "I—do not—compehend," exclaimed the old gentleman. "How and where did of meet this young lady, and what rea- son have you for believing her to be the child of my poor friend Fielding and his heart -broken wife?" "Her face—in which the resemblance to both is so strongly marked—night answer that question—even if I did not," laughed Karl, and in a few brief words he explained to his father, and his mother also, who had been summoned, the story of his meeting with Doris. Then there was no lack of warmth in the doctor's hearty greeting. "Why, it sounds just like a romance, my dear," declared Mrs. Lancaster, tak- ing the lovely young orphan in hor arms and kissing her delightedly: "Welcoine— a thousand times weloome—Doris! You will permit me to call you that, will you not? It does sound so cold and formal to say Miss Fielding, and you are to bo one of the family, for at least a year yet, dear, until my husband's guardianship of you expires." "Call rite Doris, by all means," the girl replied. "I should like that best, 1 --1 ant afraid I ran never get used to being addressed as Miss Fielding; ,even now,1 ani afraid I shall wake up and,fine all this but a dream,'" said Doris, pite- ously. CHAP'T1 Lt XXVI.—DOBiS IN L'GX- TJitY. The sadden change front earning her own living to the ;usury in which Doris found herself, wontd have deezied almost any young girl older and wiser than Doris, and she wondered how she had AVM' Iived through that cold, dark past-- tivtt desolate past, which was left behind her forever:pore. ]lies. Lane:ester made all essence baste in attending to I)crri,s's wardrobe. "Yon must disear•"i that blue merino (leen of yours at once, my dear'. The tte'i';hboty would never forgot it if they atv you in that " cteelerl'd the lady, r<lt the nest. fortnight Was emelt in .'.utly e cnrsions to he dry goods 'ri• tees end Intel Leh nerds rr the leading int ; t es, Ii ^ !le retail "c..veely Itrtl]tti that !Ise ateituit Tittle fisur: wltl:h her it;suer . IIIIIIIII•III m1111111111111111111111111'n ellerretteltene�„ VegefablePreparationforAs- sltnitating theFoodandReg Ilia - ting the Stomachs and e s',4C mnitIEN' PcomotesDigestion,Clleerful- ness and Rest.Contains neither Opnlrn,Morpbine 'nor IYTfneral. NOT N.AB.0 OTIC. lkcrpe arOld fr-YAKUf2PIICINI,! I3unpkin Jeed- oduiii Shcr - efniap .Eed-. ' in n�a.fadmd JlirmSced - C('loarad Ju9ar A perfect Remedy For Constipa- tion, Sour Stomach,Diarrhoea, I Worms evenh- W s,G�nvu, tons s .i: s ness and LosS OF SLEEP. Inc Simile Signature of NEW YORK. EXACT COPY OF WRAPPER.. STORIA For Wants and Children. The i . �C o� You Have a :s Bought veh Bears the Signature of In Use For Over Thirty Years ASTO IA THE CENTAUR COMPANY. NEW YORK CITY. fleeted, robed in shimmering silky -in whose tiny, shell-like tars, and on whose small White hands costly diamonds glit- tered like sears, was the same Doris vrhe had sobbed herself to sleep, many and many a• night, with Aiadamo Delmar's cruel, taunting words ringing in her ears:— ears:— "You ars:— "You are a miserable, dependent crea- ture; you ought to be thankfnl far a crust of bread, and a roof to cover your. bead—content with my cast-off dresses, and that you have been given any edu- cation whatever." Now all the world was changed. for Doris. She was courted, petted and flat- tered; a widely different personage from the timid young girl we first introduced to our readers. "I am proud of you, Doris," said Mrs. Lancaster, complacently, one day. "Your beauty will create quite a commotion in society; you will turn- the beads of all the marriageable young fellows. Young girls of your age generally have some ideal herb pictured in their minds. But when your Prinee Charming comes along, you must not be in a hurry to marry. A year or so will be plenty of time for that." '"1 shall never marry," said Doris, pal- ing to the very lips, and a look of keen distress in her dark blue eyes. "Please do not mention marriage se, me again, Mrs. Lancaster. I shall never marry.", "Fie, Se, my dear. No one but old maids whom nobody wants, or some creature who has been crossed in love, ever make such a remark as that. It sounds ridiculous on the lips of a pretty girl. You cannot rule your own heart, my dear Doris. Love goes where heaven intended it should go, and when the right one comes along you will say to yourself, 'I can never be happy without him,' and it will end as it should—in a marriage." But Darin shook her curly head with a dreary sigh. That night Dr. Lancaster and his wife held quite a lengthy debate in their own apartments in reference to Porte, and, as usual, the determined little lady carried the point. "Doris is pretty, and is graceful as a wild flower is graceful, I grant—but she lacks the Culture that fits ono for soci- ety," declared Mrs. Lancaster, energetic- ally, "and it must be attended to with out delay. Her education in music and the higher branches has been sadly neg- lected. We must engage competent per- I4sons to remedy this defect at once." And so they settled the matter. Doris was an apt pupil, and progressed won- derfully with her studies. There vies one incehtive above all others that urged Doris on in her desire to fit herself for the social world that lay before her—she would be sure to meet Frederick Thorn- ton there; that was the beginning and the end, the goal of her ambition. She told herself she must see him just once; then she would bo willing to shut herself away from the gay world forever after that one hour of triumph. No timid young girl likes to discuss those vague, sweet heart -thoughts to a matter of fart old lady, and Doris shrrtnk from even mentioning that pitiful, hyo - ken love -dream to practical Mrs. Lan- caster. Remembering, ltratiame Delmar had de- clared Doris had e'ln ped from the senlin- tu•y, este, Lancaster two:mime very care- fully whether or not Doris had over had a lav',, and how she happened to leave the seminary to seek a position of gov- crn.v in New York. "1 will tprak of this matterjest once," I,`els milled, with ,t little sub in her voles. "1 do not lilac t'l think et it. It le like ":l ening an c 17 wound. eisttiame ID, team nutted 100 front the seminary (eons, !wends she Was tired or keeping; tee 1•. thnilees girl ---wen wits depetldent on bee twenty—under her roof longer. 1 'ri'::s 1+rrce(1 to ge nut into the world Ansi :at for ct 141,sr---sh, Airs. sanest:+ter, 1 i,;:,i no lots'. No one i:eved l0,' no ole1,l" .e time mane at last When Alis Fe 1,1:0: De 't •r Lsn,'r:stsr's lovely hared, wee tuh,,Ily lame '••m thetitial wave ofr":•i: t', As A. - .master had foro- c,':•r, she created •. t farmer Rttp- t!, tie, parties, b,::'., ileervte(i e,tch ether in meta sneccseil,n, end pretty Doris nets qu en of them cell. Yet sin alw.sys clone home with the %Into piteous pain ru her luta i}, ri, h]!Ah twee. tt bads been :M- other everting lost out of her life, for ripe ihud not met Frederick 'Thornton. L(11:ving i,t.r ds:id, had he married Vivian and taken her abreact? wrote, Tae moment this idea occurred to her, Doris had a feverish desire to go abroad. An opportunity soon presented itself; Dr. Lancaster received a letter one day, urging his immediate presence in Lon- don, and it was arranged that his wife and Doris should accompany him on this flying trip. The next steamer brought Karl, • "I though father might need me, per- haps," he said; but his mother knew better. She was errs Doris's bright eyes had been the magnet. As time rolled on, Mrs. Lancaster began to grow anxious over her son; his deep adoring love for Doris was so ,narked, while she, in return, gave him only a sister's kindly friendship—nothing more. All in vain pretty young girls gazed, at the tall, handsome, fair-haired young American; he had no eyes for them; his whole thought, night and day, was of Doris—only of her. "My patient love, my great devotion, must win love in return. I can wait for it," he told himself over and over again. Three long years passed, and it seemed to Karl Lancaster he was further than ever from Doris's love. If ever a woman had been born without a heart, or it had turned to marble in her breast, that woman was Doris. The three years spent abroad had done rattail for Doris; it had expanded her from the bud of girlhood into the bloom of perfect womanhood. She had been pretty as the child of seventeen. At twenty, taller by almost half a head, she bad grown into the full, dazzling beauty of perfect womanhood. Suitors sought her hand, laying love, fame and fortune at her feet; but to one and all she gave the sante gracious an- swer :— "I thank you for the kind compliment you pay me in asking me to be your wife. I am sorry you lova rhe. I shall never marry—never." When' Mrs. Lancaster saw Doris dis- miss ono lover after another, a strange smile carte to her lips. "She must really like Karl, 1 am be- ginning to believe," she told herself. She did not know that long since her handsome son had cleelaree his love for Doris, only to be kiddly hat firmly re- fused. And he knew that which his rn't- ther never dreamed or—lung ettitte, in the shadowy past, Doris had elven her heart to one who had not returned ht r love. "It watt only a curl's foolish erotic 1,ve-bream," he 101.1 himself. "In r v+o 1c w311 fade away Go .1 h a 1 • rv; then I may stem I some rhe^c o ie - nine her,'- lsr was true to his prosniee. Id„ : t•; -(-h' kraal.;•;, nnr weed of love to h •e: yet; Deets could read it itt isle farm ,i sue spnke one kind word to him, in the wist- ful expression of his tees itt tie y lowed her ahut,t, and the trend ding (Af Me hand as it clasped hers in greeting, "I tun sorry for poor Karl!," tars often murmured, Yellen elle was alone with her thoughts. "1, of all others is the world, knots how tta pity it person w11o, level one who cannot return that love, He is so patient, so kind; I am sorry far hin, —so sorry. Poor Karl!" , Leaving Doris for a little while. eve roust roturh to Frederick Thornton, and to that critical moment when he turtle!. from the narrow path into the open glade, where Air. Courtney awaited hire, in company with the gentlemen who pati been selected to act nt secur;ds itt the duel which wits to ta1:1,1 place. Ito had barely reached Lite elegant! era rc strati!*o sight burst upon hie view. Scarcely it rod irottt where ho ,sled rev- . teed to the spot In antazem(+rtt and ate - may, he beheld the prostrate form <.i lys e would -bo opponent etrctelted, Lew (lawn - ward, on the greensward, rw•itli Itis friends bending: over pint 1.v::!t grave,. white fares. "Mai foul play been done le eet If r'.o, he of all ()there would be .ie:e.'ted," lireeericl, told hint.:elf- Iiut h0 wee no cuw.u'd. 1?al,nly lte nettle his wan up to the grove gett:analg 811 0)511 his prit.;'.:ate 1()', They in:tde way for hint. "Titans, will be no Intel, ea '1 )01'2c- 1,11," eclrl:tined Otte of the (r ,1, ate int friend:,. "It serene that "'•assn a e rt:: y Wool al. him: elf into 8tt"1lt 1.on lien, OC'Onbc1; tit" t} Q,`':a{J (To be dOlitinued4