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BETWEEN MIDNIGHT AND DAWN M CONTINUED FROM TENTH PAG®. and bound witbin the limits of his narrow sphere, whose lore was of the field and racecourse, whose horizon was bounded by a covert, whose sweetest music was “Tally ho!” and “View halloo I” Herbert must have been duly conscious of his wife’s superiority to himsetf, and the jeal* ousy of an ignoble nature doubtless stirred within him and lent poig nancy to his resentment against her. But how was it that she had ever supposed him capable of responding to the needs of such a temperament as her own? She was surely above being deceived by mere physical attrac tions; and could his devotion—real enough probably at the time—blind her to the absolute lack of sympathy between his character and hers? There appeared to be only one solution to the mystery—that Una Bertram had thrown around Grantley Herbert a mist of her own imagination, which had hidden from her eyes the very man as he was; so that, in truth, she had given her love and her band to a being of her own creation, not to the Grantley Herbert of re ality. How harsh, how ineffably bitter must have been the swift and sure awakening! Before the honey moon was old she must have seen the golden mist roll away, and realised that she had loved a phantom—a creature as unreal as a dream. It seemed to Desborough unlikely that such a woman as Una Bertram de liberately “ran counter” to her hus band; but she must have found it as impossible to understand him as it was to him to comprehend her, and his coarse and selfish nature could only see willfulness where there was simply inability. Poor Una! her lot was perhaps harder than that of the heroine of “Locksley Hill,” because if Herbert was superior to the “clown” of that noble poem,Una was no Amy the gros ser nature would have no force to drag herdown; she would never sink to its level, and so at least lose the sense of pain; for her there must ever be the keen knowledge of the wide, im passable gulf that separated her from her husband; a knowledge embit tered by the memory of a mistaken love, crushed and trampled to death. CHAPTER 111. THE LADY OF BRCILDOVNK. “ A form more fair, a face more sweet, Ne’er hath it been my lot to meet ’* —Whittier. It was not a very cheerful trio that the ladies left behind them when they withdrew to the drawing room. Lau rence Desborough, though he liked a good glass of wine, would have great ly preferred the society of his hostess to the choicest vintage ever grown; Herbert, whatever his faults, was no devotee of the decanter, and Lord Darnleigh did not seem in a very con vivial mood. They kept up a dropping sort of con versation for a little while, each feel ing rather bored, and both guests were glad when the host gave the signal for departure. He himself oared little enough for the society of his wife; yet he was proud of her, r 4 nd pleased to see her shine above all other women. She belonged to him; it reflected cre dit on huh that his wife should carry off the palm, “You’re smitten with Una, eh?” he said, laughing to Desborough, as the two men repaired to the urawlng room, Lord Darnleigh having preced ed them. “Who could fail to be 'smitten/ as you put it?” returned the otter. “She is the most beautilui woman I ever saw, and possesses what beauty has not always—a mind and a soul,” “ Too much mind and soul for my taste, ” said Herbert, drily, “a woman should be more malleable; that girl has will enough for a dozen men, and a host of fantastic notions, nut one of which she will yield to reason; but women never do yield to reason,” he added, with true masculine assumption of invariable superiority in this particu lar. Desborough was not called upon for a rejoinder, for Herbert, almost as he spoke, opened the drawing-room doer, and the sound of piano and singing greeted the two gentlemen. Evelyn Barrington was at the piano singing one of Molloy’s ballads, and Lord Darnleigh was turning over her music, Una Herbert sat on a low lounge near one of the windows, list ening, or seeming to listen, to the song, which Evelyn was rendering in good taste, with a clear, sweet, and carefully taught soprano. Desborough paused to listen awhile; then, before the song was finished, he crossed the room, and seated himself by his hostess. “Are we not to have the pleasure of hearing you, Lady Una?” he asked. She turned towards him, smiling a little. “I wonder,” she said, “if you ask that question under a sense ot obliga tion, or if you are fond of music?” ignorant fashion, lam afraid, but I am quite of Congreve’s opinion re garding it.” “You do not go so far as Shake speare, I suppose? That is, if Loren zo speaks Shakespeare’s mind. What style do you prefer—in singiujr, I mean?” * “Will you think me a barbarian if I say ballads—an English ballad? I have no proficiency in foreign tongues, and I like a song that I can under stand.” “Why should I think you a barba rian? You do not know that I can sing anything but ballads—or that I can sin? at all.” “No, I do not know it, La<lv Uaa: but I am utmost as sure as if I did ; and I hope you sometimes sing Eaglish ballads ” “Yes, I do, sometim-s,” she answered, laughingly. She rose as she spoke—her friend bad now quitted the piano—and turned to her cousin. “Darnleigh.” she said, “please bring me my portfolio. I left it in my boudoir this morning.” The Marquis left the room, and speedily returned with the portfolio in question. Herbert threw himself int > an arm-chair and took up a mapazne; he liked the fan fare of a military band or a dashing cho rus, but the playing of a Joachim or a Rubinstein, or the singing of an Albani, would have bored him. “Sing ‘When Sparrows Build,’ Una,” said Evelyn Barrington, approaching her friend, and Unaccmplied with the request She had a rich, full contralto voice, and sang with a passion and pathos that did full justice to the words and more than justice to the music. “How could I tell I should love thee today, Whom that day I held not dear ? How could 1 know I should love thee away, When I did not love thee anear?” Desborough glanced at his host, loung ing in handsome indifference while the pathetic music of his wife’s voice swelled through the room. It gave him no pleas ure to listen to her; perhaps he hardly hardly heard her, for he seemed to have found something that interested him — probably an article about hunting or horseracing. Una rose from the piano, and Desbor ough thanked her with an enthusiasm entirely real, begging for another song, which she promised “present ly,” and approaching her husband, she asked half carelessly, “What have you found in that magazine to interest you so much, Grantley?” She laid her hand, not on his shoulder, as might have seemed natural, but on the bank of the chair, bending forward a little to see what he was reading. Perhaps she was surprised that he should r»ad Black wood, but if so, her tone betrayed no shade of surprise. Herbert tossed the magazine on to the table withanimpatient “Pshaw! I never read such trash in my life! It’s a pity you trouble your head about nonsense of that sort!” She had seen the page that momentarily o copied her husband’s a’tention, and had drawn back with a slight color mounting in to cheeks usually very pale; the colour deepened at Herbert’s scarcely courteous words, and she said a little quickly, but almost coldly. “I do not consider it non sense. It i» far too wide a subject to be dismissed off-hand.” “What’s that, Una?” asked Lord Darn leigh, unintentionally interrupting Her bert, who was about to make a possibly somewhat sharp rej under to his wife. “That article in Blackwood,” she said, turning towards her cousin, “that we were talking abjut the other day—Caerlyon’s article.” “Oaerlyons?” exclaimed Desborough, taking up the magazine; “is that any rela tion of Maxwell Oaerlyon, the barrister, or ie it the man himself?” “The man himself. Dq you know him ?” “Only so much as every one knows of a famous advocate. I have not seen this month’s Blackwood. Is it a political arti cle?” "Oh, no; it is a strange 'subject*, one might think, for a lawyer to choose, but the title, 'Two Worlds,’ does not tell you mnch, dots it? If you do not care for psychological studies, I do not suppose the article will in terest you greatly.” "Psychology! Certainly a curious study for a lawyer; and yet I scarcely know why one should say so.” "Nor I,” said Una, smiling. “I should like very much to know him, and if he is down at Bramblemere for the assizes, I shall have him introduced to me. That will be easy, for he is a friend of Mr. Westlake, the chairman of the Quarter Sessions, who is a friend of curs.” “Isn’t it odd, Mr. Desborough,” said Ev elyn Barrington, coming up at this mo ment, “for a man whose head must be full of ‘briefs* and 'cases’ to be dealing in the ories about ‘sympathies* and supernatural rapport, and things of that sort?” “He is not a Uumtist, then,” asked Des borough, “with doctrines of affinity?” Miss Barrington puckered her pretty brows and laughed. She had probably never heard mnch more of Comte than that he was a man with “queer theories of some sort,” but Herbert struck in— “lf you make head or tail of Caerlyon’s article, Desborough, you’ll be clever. I wouldn’t have believed a clear-headed fel low like him could have written it; but it seems the authorship is an open secret in some quarters.” “Have you read it?” asked Desborough, without, apparently, intending to be iron ical. “Bead iti Not I. I have read a few bits of it.” “A royal road to criticism,” observed Una, quietly. “It is very strange to me,” she added, turning to Desborough, “that the two subjects of which the majority of people know least—theology and the su pernatural—should be those on which every one thinks himself competent to lay down the law.” “I quite agree with you in the first case, Lady Una, and I daresay you are right in the second; but the supernatural is a mat ter in which we have no law or data—the wisest and the most ignorant meet on the same ground.” “Do not say that," said she, with a Bud. southern farm den flash in her deep-violet eyes. “I know that we can ascertain nothing for certain in the supernatural world that surrounds us; psychological problems cannot be formulated into an axaet science; but w e may build upon external and internal ev idence a body of proof that almost amounts to certainty; and are there not infinite possibilities in what I might call supernatural ethics?” She spoke earnestly, seemingly carried out of by h-r enthusiasm for theo ri s which evidently had a strong hold upon her mind; but she paused rather ab ruptly after the concluding question, and bit her lip, as if suddenly recol lecting that she had betrayed too much feeling in a matter generally treated with ridicule or hardly veiled contempt. Des borough noticed the change, and divining its cause said quickly— “ Believe me, Lady Una, I am'no scoffer, though I frankly confess to being scepti cal with regard to the supernatural. Cer tainly, I have never given the subject an hour’s serious thought, and I should think it rather a dangerous study.” "Why dangerous?" asked the girl—she was no more, being scarcely twenty years old—looking at her guest with a curiously soru inisiug glance that somewhat discon certed him, and his gaze sank before those clear, singularly luminous eyes. It is so purely speculative,” he said, “and may so easily lead an inquirer into a land of wild and morbid fancies.” “You wish to warn me,” she said, smil ing slightly, and moving her eyes from Desborough’s countenance, as it seemed to occur to her that her scrutiny was hard ly oolite; but she showed no confusion or embarrassment. “I daresay you imagine,” she went on, “that lam a ghost-seer, and pore over mysterious tomes and horrifying treatises on the unseen, such as Edgar Allan Poe enumerates in one of his tales. lam no such awe-inspiring creature, and I do not know that I believe more than many wiser men and women than I am have believed in the past, and will believe in the future.” Hostess and guest were virtually alone; Herbert had strolled out on to the ter race, to smoke a cigar, and Lord Darn leigh and Evelyn Barrington, having more interest in each other than in a con versation in which both were out of their depth, had retired to a little distance where they pretended to be looking at pho tographic views. Desborough had no desire to cut short a discussion with so beautiful and so fas'-inating a woman; and he was, besides, beginning to feel that attraction which the supernatural rarely fails to ex ercise. He rejoined immediately— “l did not imagine you to be a ghost seer, Lady Una, but you seem to have paid a great deal of attention to super natural lore, and even to have arrived at some definite conclusions —if you employ the word ‘believe’ advisedly.” “I do employ it advisedly. You think, then, that there is not sufficient data in the science—perhaps I should not use that word, but let it pass—of the supernatural to justify belief; at the most we can only attain to what in theology is called 'pious opinion’?” “I think so—yes.” “You only agree with the majority. Even demonstration would not convince you?” She was looking at him again with that searching, penetrating g*zs, which this time affected him even more strongly than at first. A strange tremor went through him; there flashed confusedly across his memories of those theories concerning mesmerism and “thought reading” thatin these days fill the air. He had always considered mesmerism "charlatanry” and thought-reading a figment; yet just now a vague idea that Una Herbert might lay claim to these faculties gave him precisely that unen viable sensation which the staunchest sceptic experiences when he shears wholly unaccountable noises in his bedchamber in the dead of night. "Are you a medium?” he said, involun tarily. He han not meant to say it; he bad no form of words in his head at all. What he actually did sty sounded quite foolish the moment the question nad passed his lips, ana seemea to be the utterance of his thoughts escaping the control of will Una’s soft, half-mock ng laugh interrupted his al most instant attempt to correct his error. “I have frightened you, Mr. Desbor ough,” she said; “you imagine I shall summon a ghost from behind the window curtain, or tell you all your thoughts A mediuml Do you mean by that—no I. xi speaking gravely now—l am not a bit offended at the question—do you mean by that word to convey the idea generally as sociated with the name?” "Scarcely,” said Desborough, who had recovered himself while Una spoke; "I was rather thinking of the notion that there are people who possess above their fellows a faculty of piercing into the Un known ” "A facultyin which you have no faith,” said Una, quietly; “but perhaps you are weary of the subject?” “Not in the least. lam growing deeply Interested.” ‘‘Well, then, ‘let ns clear onr minds of cobwebs,’ as some statesman once said, and abjure terms which have come to be abused or misused. My own personal ex perience and reading have taught me that there are Individuals for whom the veil between the two worlds, as Casrlyon calls them, is thinner than for others. Some times it is by dreams or by visions; some times by the appearance to them of the dead, or even living people, that these in dividuals are proved to possess these mys terious faculities; but they need not seek after knowledge; it comes to them —often it is their curse. Do you believe that the DERFECT Condition of leather comes of Vacuum Leather Oil; 25c, and your money back if you want it. Patent lambskin-with-wool on swob and book—How to Take Care of Leather—both free at the store. Vacuum 911 Company. Rochester, N Y. glamour—the second sight—is a mere su perstition? You look at me in amazement. I am making your flesh creep ” She laughed again “You see,” she added, “how deep rooted is what you call super stition In our human nature.” Before Desborough could reply, the cur tain that partially veiled the window near which the speakers were sitting was pushed aside, and Grantley Herbert stepped into the room- "What, at it stll?” he asked, with a sneer, as his wife rose quickly to her feet, “fouwilibe afraid to go to bed, Des borough, if you listen to my wife’s ghost lore.” “I think not,” returned Desborough, irritated by this interruption and greatly annoyed for h<s hostess, who had turned away; "we were enjoying a most interest ing discussion, and I am not easllv frightened.” y “Lucky for you. Has Una told you about our family banshee? She devoutly believes in that young woman—or old wo man—who plays the harp at odd times, hut never shows up. Tell him the story, Una ” “Not tonight,” said Una, coldly. “Evie, come and join me in a duet, and then you and I will court the sleepy god: it is grow ing late.” It was long before sleep visited Lau rence Desborough that night. The expe riences of the evening were so new and so exciting as to banish all sense of bodily fa tigue. Uua Harbert presented a problem as in teresting mentally as she was beautiful personally, and resolving to become as mnch as poisible acquain ed with that Eroblem, Grantley Harbert’s friend was yno means blind to the danger of the study. But his conscience was not of the hyper-sensitive order, and gave him no trouble on the score of the above-men tioned danger. TO BE CONTINUED. The Train Wrecker. There is no legal punishment pro portioned to the enormity of the crime of train wrecking. An inhuman disregard of the lives of others and a most cowardly fear for self must characterize the train wrecker who is actuated by the hope of robbery; but there are no words burning enough to stigmatize the malevolence of the wretch who could wreck a train through motives of re venge or hatred. The utmost degra tion of all that pertains to manhood is necessary to the contemplation of such a heinous crime by a mind not disor dered and diseased. The lowest class of criminals only can supply the sort of monsters vi cious enough to wreck a train at the peril of death to innocent persons, and there should be short shrifts and little mercy for any miscreant guiky of the crime. There is no use in wasting sentiment on these men. If it be pos sible to shoot them down as they seek to escape from the consequences of their misdeed, so much the better. That is the gentlest wise way of deal ing with them. The purpose of trials by law is to ascertain whether the ac cused be guilty and deserving of pun ishment, and they imply the possibil ity of innocence. No such considera tion need be shown the utter scoun drels who deliberately contrive the wrecking of a train hurrying along with its freight of human lives. The sbot-gun argument is the best possi ble in cases where men are caught in the act.—lnter-Ocean. One curious effect of the hard times has been to diminish the revenues of the postoffice department so much that a deficit of $8,000,000 is look ed for. The usual amount that Uncle Sam is out through bis mail service is something like 4 000,000. Hundreds of houses have failed or gone out of business, and that stopped thousands of letters, it is not likely that pri vate individuals have left off their letter writing sufficiently to cause'a drop of millions in the postoffice re venues. 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