Newspaper Page Text
-«sSC
(Continued from 3d page,)
T k.i. e ]oee to tbe door lor the rake of ooolnesg,
■ad old Margaret, baring replenished her fires
outside, sat down on the door step and puffed
her pipe. The night was clouded, the
■oon shone feebly; through the stillness eame
sounds of people talking, as they passed along
the lirer-side road in front
•It's niggersgoin’to Little Dan’s buryin’,’ old
Margaret said. * Goin’ to bury him to-night
under de pecan tree in his cotton flel\ what he
to lore to sit under an’ over-see his hands.
Day'll see. His sperrit gwine ter baunt dat fiel’
til judgment day, and dey dassent pass troo it
at night, or hunt another possum in it agin.
Ought to buried him in de fam’ly grave-yard
on de hills, only he told ’em he did’nt want to
K dere—too lonesome in dat piney woods, for
n. Dan born on de riber and he love de red
dirt. He tole ’em he didn’t want to lie out o’
bearin' of de steam-boat’s whistle. Poor Dan !
De black people grieved after him mightily.
Dey nuBsed him, well too—nobody but dem.’
• Had he no relations ?’
• Sisters, but livin’ further down de river, and
got sickness and death wid dem too. And Dan
was always one to himself, never had no wife,
no sweet-heart, nor went off anywhere, jes’ stay
ed up yonder in that old house, where most all
his folks died. He’s lyin up dere now—what of
him hasn’t gone below.’
* Gone below ? Why do you say such a thing ?’
• Cause it’s so. He died awfuL Dey all die
so—hollerin’ and jumpin' out 'er bed, and say-
in’ de imps is after ’em.’
• Because they are delirious- or crazed with
pain. It is the nature of the disease.’
She shook her head incredulously. To her
mind, and the minds of her race, all who do
not die • happy, go below.’
•Him up yonder is hollerin’ now; I heard
him,’ she said presently, with a gesture of her
head towards Derrick's house.
Adelle started up in terror and self-reproaoh.
Derrick might be dying as Little Dan died, with
no friend or relative near him.
• I will go to him,’ she cried.
As she reaehed the door, she ea^e face to face
with the negro who had broug! t the tray. He
g ut a slip of paper in her hand anu disappeared,
he hurried to the light, and read:
* Tour brother is no worse. I have hopes, but
the fever must run its course. The crisis will
not be reached before to-morrow. You shall
know when there is any change.’
She sat down again and strove to quiet her
self. An hour went by; old Margaret nodded
in the chimney corner, Adelle had thrown her
self across the bed, over whose white sheet had
been spread a clean, faded quilt. She lay,
looking about the little room with bright, sleep
less eyes, and listening. Presently, she thought
she heard a cry. She rose softly, undid the
door-latch and went out. The night had grown
gloomier; thick fog lay upon tbe river, Marga
ret’s fires had burned low. Looking towards
the dwelling house, she saw the dull gleam of
the sick lamp in the upper front room. So it
was there her brother was lying. As she looked
and strained her ears to catch some Bound, the
light at the window was intercepted by a man’s
form. She knew that tall, spare figure, that
attitude, the arms folded, the head slightly
bent. He was standing, looking out at the
night Presently, he turned quickly as if at a
•all from within. He had gone to her brother’s
bedside:—he had promised to watch him faith
fully; he would fulfill his word; she had perfect
trust in this. And he had said there was hope;
she clung to his words, even while she won
dered at herself for feeling Buch confidence in
the man she had despised.
Again she heard the sound that nad first
startled her. It did not come from her brother’s
room. It was farther off. Looking,' she saw,
across a bend in the river, torches moving slowly
as if in a procession, and notes of wild singing
eame to her ears. Tke negroes were burying
* little Dan,’ (jk> called, because his father, who
was dead, h'aa boriie the same Christian name;)
they were burying him in the middle of the
cotton field, under the pecan tree, where he
had loved to sit on the cool grass with his dog
beside him, and exchange friendly words with
the handB as they passed up and down the long
rows wielding their hoes, or dragging their
cotton sacks. They were burying him there
with none of their kin or color to see the rude
ceremony, and that wild, mournful strain was
the sound of the hymns they were singing as
they bore him to his grave.
Heart-sick, Adelle went back to the eabin.
Old Margaret was awake and had resumed her
pipe.
‘You’ll catch your death out dere,’ she said
placidly; ‘Yallow Jack likes de whitest skins
de best. They’Be buryin little Dan; 1 hearn ’em
aingin. It’s better’n dey did by poor Tom Wal
lace back here in de swamp. Dey had got
skeered; and didn’t like him much nohow.
Most dey’d do was to dig a grave in one corner
de yard, and knock up a cypress coffin, and
slide it onto de gallery. His young wife and
her father— him wid de fever on him too—bad
to do de rest—to git de body in de coffin some
how, and den roll and push de coffin till dey
roll it into de grave, and cover it therselves.’
Shuddering at the gloomy picture, Adelle lay
down and buried her face in the pillow. Sleep
came to her at last- the deep, sweet sleep that
comes to the relief of over-wearied body and
over-burdened brain. When she awoke, it was
broad daylight. A breakfast of eggB and bis
cuits, fried cnicken and odorous eoffee was
smoking on the little table near her, and old
Margaret stood by her bed.
She started up in dread. *My brother,’ she
cried, looking wildly at Margaret. The old
negress smiled grimly, and handed her another
leaf of the little pocket note-book. Bhe read
•n it:
‘ Nothing that can be called a change. The
disease is approaching a crisis. Dr. Mercer is
here. Have courage.’
(to bu ooimnjTO.)
TAKE CARE WHOM
YOU TRUST.
BY COMPTON READE.
Unquestionably it was a fine performance,
and it enlisted not merely the sympathy of the
audience, which is not always of very great
value (for the same money-payers will go into
warmer raptures over a music-hall impostor),
but, better still, of the orchestra and chorus.
The people around the Lovetts were by no
means chary of their praise. ' Quite a second
Reeves! Fine chest voice. A little bit nervous,
but will get over that in time. Wonderful power
for on6 so young. Capital crescendoAc., Ac.
To all which remarks they listened with more
than ordinary interest Perhaps it was his suc
cessful art, perhaps the force of association, or
the result of their own good-heartedness, but
they certainly quite forgot at that moment the
fault he had committed. They remembered
only their old friendship as they participated
in the pleasure of his present triumph.
‘ If with all your hearts’ is unquestionably a
glorious song, and, so to speak, very vocal in a
large room. Mendelssohn wrote it for one of
the most magnificent tenors that the world will
evf.r hear, and he meant to electrify.
With all its brilliancy, however, it is almost
surpassed by that wonderful commixture of pas
sion and tenderness, ‘Then shall the righteous.’
THE CORAL SNAKE.
It is in the districts of Central-Ameriea that
we must look for the swiftest death-dealers.
Foremost among them is the coral snake. It is
not a large snake, being only about four feet
long, with a thick, blunt, stumpy tail; but its
colors, its rich iridescent markings of coral and
pearl scales, that actually seem to glow and
3 arkle, make it the most beautiful of reptiles.
te East-India diamond snake is nothing to it.
Unfortunately, the coral snake abounds in Cen-
tral-America, and, more unfortunately also, it»
one of the slowest moving reptiles of its kind.
It can scarcely wriggle. Believers in spas
modical providences maintain that nature has
thus deprived it of the power of quick motion
in order to restrain the exercise of its terrible
poison. If so, nature made a great mistake; for
it is a fact that more fatalities are recorded from
the bites of coral snakes in Central-Ameriea,
than from the bites of all the other snakes put
together. The truth is, that the other deadly
reptiles, the tuboba or la dama bianco, can and
do fly at the first noise of coming footsteps;
the coral snake literally cannot. He hears the
footsteps coming, but finds it impossible to get
out of their way; he can neither rattle nor hiss,
to warn away the approaching victim; and unless
the latter can see the glowing oolors of the rep
tile in the grass, he is a dead man within a few
minntes if his step strays within three or four
fleet of a coral snake. All the premonitory
symptoms of dissolution set in almost instantly
infer the bite; and death almost takes place, it is
laaid, within half an hour.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
In the scantily furnished bedroom, which
Adine had hired at five shillings per week for
their future habitation, she told her whole story,
from beginning to end, to her lord. Needless
to add, both felt intensely relieved by this dec
laration. He was full of faith as of forgiveness;
she more intensely bapp> than she had been for
a long time. The loss of all things was forgot
ten; poverty itself seemed tolerable; they were
both so truly at one.
Then she gave a list of her adventures, pro
posing that they should go to Exeter Hall for
the debut of their quondam friend and protege
that evening.
To this he assented readily, although, inas
much as the Sheriff of Middlesex had abstracted
the irrespective toilettes, it became necessaay
to change the front places, so carefully secured
Captain Hawder, for less agreeable seats at came on | 0 p 0ur forth this divine song, that beat.’
the back of the hall. | his powers yould be taxed to the uttermost. He j ‘ We have no home. We have no place to go
With this intention, he set out for the Exeter j collected himself, therefore, for one giant effort, j to,’ faltered Mr. Lovett, who perceived the ne-
wbich he hoped would at once and for ever place | cessitv of finding something like a temporary
his name on the roll of art-interpreters of the ; abode for his poor wife, now changed to the
first class, thereby exceeding his fondeBt ambi- j color of death.
| tion. His cheeks became tinged with a hectic { The man beckoned to them to follow. Then
‘It’s a case of oan’t pay rent,’ observed the
woman.
‘Hum ! better get rid of them,’ observed the
policeman drily.
‘They must pay,’ grunted Bob.
To this remark the officer condeseened no
answer, but advancing towards Adine, whom
her husband had all but succeeded in restoring
to consciousness, stared hard with little pity
and muoh admiration.
‘ You must take that fellow into custody,’ said
Mr. Lovett, his usually gentle features distorted
with anger.
Bob, however, thought otherwise, for scarce
had Mr. Lovett uttered this threat, than he
squared up, and hit out at him, rather to the
alarm of the policeman, who, though authorita
tive, was not brave.
‘You’d better be quiet, both of you,’ he ob
served. ‘ You, sir, unless you wish to come to
mischief, will leave the place at once.’
‘ We want our money,’ shouted Bob and the
landlady in unison.
But the polioeman took Bob aside, and by
whispering something in his ear, induoed him
to retreat below. After which he hurried forth
Mr. Lovett and Adine, who was barely able to
Mr. Lovett looked forward to this trial of art for i stagger,
his protege with hope but not without anxiety, j ‘iNow,’ said he, ‘if you take my advice, you’ll
Indeed, Ralph himself seemed to be aware, as , slope. That’s the most dangerous man on my
Hall ticket office, where en route he passed a
bookseller's shop, at the side of which, Happing
on a string was visible, ‘ The Guardian ’ news
paper.
Parson like, ^he could not^ refrain from stop- ■ his eye grew strangely bright, the more he led them down a court yard, teeming with
*“ ~ 1 " so, as when he dared throw one glance on Lady
Montresor he fancied she encouraged him with
one of her sunbeam smiles, and then, whilst the
audience were hushed to earnest expectation, he
began his task.
The nervousness which had partial’y disfig
ured his previous song was gone. Rising might
ily to the moment, he gave such a rendering of
this most delicious passage in the grand tone-
| poem, as to carry every soul with him. A storm
I of applause succeeded the last notes, and con
trary to the stern etiquette of oratorios he had
to repeat his performance.
Somehow Ue would have given worlds to have
escaped this transcendent honour. He was ex
hausted, and felt ill.
The applause, however, grew more and more
stormy. The artistes in their enthusiasm, well-
meaning but unobservant, forced him on to the
platform, and he again essayed to interpret the
meaning of the Master.
This time effort was painfully apparent, whilst
all the nervousness of his first song seemed to
From his lips he learned how that Horace j have revived. Aware that he was on the verge
Blackley had scld him theadvowson of Coldbole ; of afvsco, he nerved himself to one grand at-
for eight thousand guineas, being, as Mr. Gub- tempt at the crescendo on the word ‘ shine —the
ping a moment to glance at its pleasant gossippy
pages, when the first thing that struck his eye
was:
‘ Pr.EFHRME.NTS AND APPOINTMHHTS.
‘Rev. A. Gubbins, to Gold hole Rectory, Es
sex.
‘Rev. J. M‘Grady, to be minister of St.
Mary’s, Lingeville.’
‘Gracious heavens V he exclaimed. ‘When
was this published ?’
* Yesterday,’ replied the shopman.
‘Will you lend me a law list?’
The man handed him one of two years back.
He hastily looked out the name of Gubbins
among the list of attornies, discovering at length
the address ot Clinton Gubbins, Esq*, 101,
Buckingham street.
To rush aoross the Strand at the risk of his
neck, was the work of a moment. He literally
flew down Buckingham street to Mr. Gubbins’
office.
As luck would have it, the worthy attorney
was within, and gave him audience at once.
Horace
bins said, a very outside price. Tbe contract
to sell was entered into before Mr. Blackley
accepted Mud flat, thereby avoiding the sin, or
crime, or blunder, of simony. By special
agreement his son was not to be instituted until
Mr. Blaokiey had quite cleared out of the rec
tory, ana had given notice to that effeot. This
notice came last week, so that his son had been
instituted forthwith.
‘ I might have saved you fourteen hundred
pounds, had I only known of this before.’ And
Mr. Lovett told his piteous tale of how be had
been heartlessly swindled.
Mr. Gubbins heard him in amazement. ‘The
Peculiar,’ he cried. ‘Well I should not have
thought—no—I should not. Plumley most re
spectable. And your chapel, too !’
‘Yes, St. Mary’s is forfeited to “The Peculiar,”
or Blackley, cr whoever the principal rogue may
be; and they have sold it, almost, if not quite,
before it was forfeit, to a Mr. M‘Grady. Thns
I come out of this negotiation in debt heavily
to Mr. Blackley and Mr. Bulps, and also with
the loss of an income of some three hundred per
annum.’
‘ Devilish !’ exclaimed honest Mr. Gubbins.
‘ My dear sir, in future put not your trust in
parsons.’
‘ Is there no remedy ? Could I not recover
climax of the song—when suddenly and ab
ruptly his voice ceased, blood poured from
mouth and nostrils, and he sank to the floor in
a dead faint. The scene was horrible. Women
screamed, men sprang on the seats, and the
whole concert room became chaos. Half-a-dozen
infant life and squalor of all sorts. A very in
ferno. Selecting the dirtiest house, he asked a
woman if she had a room to spare.
‘ No !’ was the answer.
‘Gentle-people;’ he said. ‘ Trust ’em to-day,
and they’ll pay handsome to-morrow.’
The woman looked them up and down, and
all over.
A glance at Adine’s dress, the last of one of
those pretty oostumes she had purchased not so
long since in Lingeville, decided her.
‘ They may ’ave the top hattic,’ she grumbled
forth, and accordingly the policeman led the
way to that horrible chamber, where first we
made the acquaintance of our hero and heroine.
‘Policeman,’ said Mr. Lovett, ‘I’m deeply
grateful to you. You will, of course, arrest that
ruffian Bob, and I shall appear againRt him.’
‘ Better not, sir. You wouldn’t like to see
your name in print in such a mess. It would
look so bad. Wish you good day, sir;’ and
without waiting to argue the point, the officer
marched off, having, as he conceived, performed
the whole duty of a man and a policeman.
On the wretched bed Adine sank like one dead,
while her husband kept racking his brain as
to how he could raise a small sum to allevi
ate this horrible misery. Mrs. Chowner ? Yes.
He could write to her, but then—she had already
the expense of their child and his nurse. His
old friend the port-winey Minor Canon ? Yes.
But he had the gout, and during that temporary
doctors of various inefficiency, who happened [ affliction was a raging demon. The pious Minor
to be present, rushed for the artistes’ room, to
which poor Ralph was carried; whilst Theodore
Lovett, regardless of consequence, leaping over
barriers, made a determined dash to the front.
So dense was the crush of humanity that for
all his struggles, which were regardless of eti
quette, politeness, everything, he could not for
live minutes advance farther than Captain Haw
der in the front row.
‘ Please let me pass !’ he cried to that gentle
man. ‘ I am trying in vain to reach him.’
• You axfc-Aoo late,' replied the Captain. I’ve
just hejprY'at he has been taken away in Lady
Montre.*r's carriage.’
Biting his lip with vexation Theodore Lovett
returned to Adine.
CHAPTER XXIX.
One step further in the descent to Ave: nus.
Our ill-starred couple have not yet drunk their
bitter cup to the dregs, and the draught grows
more and more nauseous. Money has failed
some portion at least of my losses ? Could I not j them, and as a consequence they are unable to
at all events save Mr. Bulps the large sum he j pay their rent. Adine has been trying in vain
has sacrificed ?’
*My dear sir,' replied the lawyer, ‘you have
the power of actionising those people for con
spiracy, but that would not benefit you. On
the contrary, they would retaliate by attacking
you on the ground of simony.’
‘ I resigned my living unconditionally. That
cannot be simoniacal!’
‘Wrong, my dear sir, wrong. You probably
wrote letters to Mr. Blackley, which would go
to show that you expected a quid pro quo. That
in the eye of the law is simony.’
‘ But then—surely Blackley would implicate
himself as well as me?’
‘I don’t know about that. Prima facie. I
think that he would escape scot-free. However,
supposing the contrary, I don't imagine that
such a man as you describe Mr. Blackley junior
to be—very unclerical and possessed of a large
fortune—would break his heart about the loss
of clerical position. It might perhaps vex the
father, not the son.'
‘ So that the oonolusion of all is, that I am re
duced to beggary ?'
‘Not so bad as that,’ rejoined Mr. Gubbins,
‘ let us hope for something better. You are
young, honest, and active. You have all' the
world before you. Pick out a kindly bishop—
there are such. Confide to him your hard case.
Ask for a curacy with reasonable stipend. Work
well, and you will get preferment.’
‘ There are no bishops of that kind,’ sighed
Mr. Lovett ‘ I have had too bitter an expe
rience of the superior clergy. Besides which
ydu little imagine how bishops hate the order
of minor canons.’
‘ But you are a gentleman.’
‘ That again is against me. If only I had the
priggish manner of that spurious imitation of
gentility, the ’
‘But,’interrupted Mr. Gubbins. ‘If I mis
take not, you are a man of unaffected piety. I
should say, that in j ou the poor would find a
friend, the rich a kindly neighbor.’
*1 can’t answer for that,’ sighed the sad soul,
•all I know is that I am no hypocrite, so you
may regard my chances of preferment as hope
less.*
With which bitter wordB he left the good
lawyers’ office, and having exchanged his gol
den tickets for brass—after the fashion of the
Homeric heroes—returned to tell Adine the last
item in this history of duplicity and swindle.
They were at Exeter Hall in good time, and
thereby secured excellent seats. A neighbor
civilly lent hiB opera-glass, and they awaited
with curiosity the first appearance of Ralph.
‘See!’ cried Adine; ‘there is Captain Hawder,
and there, too, is his wife. Just look at her
Cashmere shawl, with its bordering of diamond
beetles. Ah ! Dore, what a glorious and beau
tiful thing money is. Heavens 1 why there is
Lady Montresor; and looking so ill, and Mr.
Barwyn is with her, and such a pretty girL
You remember Mr. Barwyn at Blankton ?’
And then her husband took the glass, and a
suavey of the assembled company. Whereafter,
Sir Miohael appearing, the oratorio began.
They could but remark that Ralph wore a
very pale and haggard appearanoe, but this cir
cumstance they charitably put down to nervous
ness, ignorant ot the ravages which a careless
life had made upon that delicate young consti
tution. Had they watched Rosa, Lady Montre-
sor, they would have observed that she gazed on
his countenance with an aspect of pain as he
thrilled forth the sublime melody, ‘If with all
your hearts.’
to induce their landlady to allow them to de
part
‘No, mum, yer don't go without my rent’s
paid,’ says the woman, backing the door with
arms akimbo.
‘ But I promise it you on Monday.’
‘ And yer promised it last Monday, and broke
yer word.’
‘It's only fifteen shillings,’ pleaded Adine,
wistfully.
‘ You may leave your coat,’ said the woman,
turning to Mr. Lovett. ‘That is, if you likes
to; if not, I’ll have that dress off your back, my
pretty lady.’
‘You told me this was a respectable house,’
sobbed Adine.
‘And do you mean, yon hussy, to say as it
isn’t? I don't own no money, I don’t ’
* Stop,’ said Mr. Lovett, firmly. * Enough of
this. You'Ve no right to detain us as prisoners,
or to take the clothes off our back.’
‘ Aven’t I just ? You dare step either on you
outside.’ The woman’s words evidently were
pregnant with meaning.
With quick feminine perception Adine realized
this much: not so her husband, who moved un
concernedly toward the door, beckoning to her
to follow.
Instantly the woman poked her head out of
the window into a court yard below, shrieking
‘Bob!’
Obedient to her summons, a great hulking
bully, of the police-court and prize-fighting
type, lsmbering up the stairs, collared Mr.
Lovett, who in vain essayed to shake him off.
‘ Take off your coat and waistcoat,’ grumbled
the bully.
‘ But my coat is my livelihood,’ responded
Mr. Lovett! • How am I to do duty on Sunday
without a epat ?’
■Don’t know. Don’t care. Off with’em. They’ll
fetch five bob at the shop.’
Mr. Lovett was about to obey helplessly, when
Adine, actuated by one of those wild impulses
to which women are subject, rushed to the win
dow, crying ‘ Police!’
The man relaxed his grasp on Mr. Lovett, and,
with a cry of ‘ Would you ?’ dealt the poor lady
such a buffet as stretched her senseless on the
floor. Infuriated by thiB barbarous action, Mr.
Lovett, grasping the poker, aimed a sudden
blow, which, had it struck the man, would have
killed him. The man at once dodged and closed,
when the door opened, and a policeman, attract
ed perhaps by the toneB of a lady’s voice, enter
ed, whereupon ‘ Bob,' instantaneously putting
forth his brute force, sent Mr. Lovett bleeding
to the opposite wall.
‘ What again, Bob ?’ said the officer, whose eye
could not comprehend the scene.
Bob looked half sulky, half defiant. The
landlady pretended to be solicitous for Adine,
who lay motionless. x
‘I am a clergyman,' said Mr. Lovett, ‘and we
have been assaulted.’
The policeman, glancing at the speaker, ap
peared dubious. It is a peculiarity of the met
ropolitan police force, that they obstinately side
■gainst s gentleman, unless bribed.
• On 1’ returned the policeman, ‘ You’re a cler
gyman, are you? Then I should advise you not
to kick up this kind of rumpus, or you’ll find
yourself in the station-house.’
‘ I tell you I've been assaulted, and my wife
is seriously hurt by that ruffian. I’ll take your
number.’
At this Bob burst into a roar, in which police
man and landlady joined.
Canon? No. He was much too mean. His
quondam superior the Chapter of Blankton?
That would entail a certain refusal, coupled
with some stinging insult. Ralph? No. He
was in all likelihood ill in bed. Roper? Could
he ask the man whom he had so grievously in
jured ? He believed in Roper’s goodness. Yes.
As he looked on the face of bis beautiful wife,
he felt that this lowest depth of humiliation was
inevitable. As soon as Adine was able to talk —
she had begged for quiet—he would > sk Roper’s
address. That two pounds five, which the good
farmer hau paid, was iu fact a gift, not a debt.
He would ask Roper for ten pounds, throw him
self once more on Mr. Bulps’ mercy, and move
to a country curacy.
Night came, and Adine Btill slept. On the
morrow both were struck with typhus, so the
letter was never written.
Now, you know all.
CHAPTER XXX.—Ultima Liuba.
‘ He will recover, said Sir Joseph Toadie; ‘but
be must not do this again.’
' Must he give up singing ?’
‘ As a profession, certainly. Do not underrate
his critical state. My dear Lady Montresor,
you are delicate—very. You, however, are giv
en to imprudence. This gentleman, in the face
of a solemn warning, has been trying his con
stitution in a way calculated to damage the
strongest. Can you wonder at this disastrous
result? For the present, I prescribe perfect
quietude. In a week he will be in apparently ex
cellent health; then you may give him a few days
at the sea. Blankenberghe is a quiet place; and
the trip across the Channel will do him good.
As soon as his appetite and elasticity of spirits
are restored, bring him back to my care, in
London; and when the leaves begin to fall, we
must pack him ofl to Algiers.’
Love had triumphed. In the ‘Redoubte,’ at
Spa, Lady Montresor stumbled against an ad
vertisement of the new tenor-singer in the ‘Eli
jah,’ at Exeter Hall. At once, to the dismay of
Poodle, she gave orders for a return to England.
She was resolved to hear him in his hour of tri
umph, for well she knew that his voice would
carry the public by storm. Within twenty-four
hours they were in Westbourne Terrace, and on
the following evening, in Exeter Hall. There,
when she beheld him fallen and bleeding, pent-
up affection broke all bounds. Her voice it was
which first reoalied his consciousness; to her
home he was borne by the swiftest blood horses;
she herself was his nurse. In the dark and si
lent hours of the night she learnt, by compar
ing notes with him, how cruelly they had been
deceived; and her first act on the morning fol
lowing was to discharge the treacherous Poodle,
who wept sore, vainly pleading for forgiveness.
This fever of excitement had its influence for
evil on Rosa Montresor. It was so intensely
happy to sit by his bedside, and listen to his
voice, still marvellously sweet, though hollow
and unearthly; to tend him awake, and watch
by him during the hours of slumber. Too
much of entrancement for a woman in her state
of health; and Sir Joseph Toadie’s practiced eye
detected the mischief, although his oily tongue
was far too prudent to say, ‘Fie!’ to one so lav
ish of guineas. For his own sake, and her gui
neas’ sake, ho resolved, however, to diploma
tize. He told her ladyship, very plainly, that
a praiseworthy solicitude for her patient was be
ginning to injure herself; that it would be bet
ter for both if he were to enjoy for a brief space
the benefit of sea breezes, whilst she courted
complete repose in London. He would send a
young friend of his—a former pupil, in fact—
as compagnon de voyage to Ralph; and he could
pledge his word that within a short period he
would feel restored to a new life.
Reluctantly Lady Montresor acquiesced in
this arrangement. Had the dootor been less
firm she would have assuredly rebelled. As it
was, she feared to face the truth which her
heart kept repeating every hour of the day; viz.,
that life to her was far too precious to be trifled
with. Hence she could recognize the wisdom of
the advice which insisted on perfect quiet;
hence, too, an obedienoe which she dared not
refuse.
Ralph had arrived at that strange condition of
dreamy plaoitade habitual to those whose lives
hang by a thread. Nature provides for these
sufferers the strongeft anodyne against mental
agony. To them the fear of death is seldom
present The lassitude of their bodies seem to
affeot their souls. Calm and smiling, this sick
man reclined smoking a sweet cigarette, as he
listened with lazy blessedness to the soft tones
of his flair nurse’s voioe.
‘You will obey 8ir Joseph, Ralph, won t you,
for my sake? And then come back quite a
strongman?’ . ._
‘ I had rather remain here, he said.
‘ But that is foolish. Life is too precious for
you to riBk its loss. Sir Joseph positively or
ders sea air tor you.’
‘Yes,’ he sighed. ‘ Yes, my life is pnoeless
now; and yet but a short time ago, I valued? it
at less than the applause of an ignorant au
dience.’
‘For shame, for shame! Ah! Ralph! we—
sworn brother and sister—we are but very spin
drift of circumstances. For that reason ’
‘ I am to undergo banishment from London.’
And, for a moment, he was silent. Then, a
thought flashing through his brain, he added
impulsively, ‘ I do wish that I had made it up
with Mr, Lovett.’
‘ It was very naughty of you to quarrel with
them on my account,’ laughed Lady Montressor,
aF ° All the more reason why I should apolo-
gise. ’ _ ,
‘ Write them a note,’ she answered, ‘ and you
shall see them on your return.’
‘But I'm afraid they are in sad trouble,’ he
added.
* Ah ! yes, I am sorry for them, but remember
the orders are that you are not to be worried.
Put off all this superfluous excitement for a few
weeks, and I will buy Mr. Lovett a living, or
do anything else you may suggest’
4 You are always so kind.' he murmured, whilst
tears of grateful joy welled to his eyes; ‘so kind,
dear sister.’
On the morrow, as the tidal train moved state
ly out of the Charing Cross Station, two faces
smiled an earnest farewell. To say that there
was a loss of hope in either would be false, yet
perhaps both realised acutely tke uncertainty
of life; a feeling which, though it did not
amount to a presentiment, nevertheless cast a
gloom over their spirits.
‘ Home,’ said Rosa Montresor.
At the door ot her habitation in Westbourne
Terrace 9tood the carriage of Sir Joseph Toadie.
The chirurgical baronet wore a grave counte
nance. In his hand was a telegram, which he
handled with an air of mystery. Evidently the
great man was bursting with a secret
‘ Bring some Moselle for your mistress,’ he
observed, authoritatively, Moselle had been to
this man, through life, the philosopher’s stone.
A doctor who orders ‘ phiz’ for all maladies of
his female patients, be it helpfal or harmful,
will live an epicure, and die a Croesus.
‘ What is that telegram ?’ she asked sharply.
* My dearest Lidy Montresor, be calm; let me
implore you to be calm.’
‘Yes. If you will put me out of suspense.’
‘ But how can I ? We have news of Sir Yin-
cent, your dear husband, and '
‘ He is dead !’ she said with astonishing eool-
ness.
Sir Joseph Toadie stared dumb-foundered—
not at the absence of feeling, oh, no; to that he
was thoroughly acclimatised—but to the absence
of hypocrisy.
‘Eh ?’
‘ Well ah this telegram would appear
ah ’
‘ Give it to me. Yes. He is dead. Poor old
gentleman ! I hope he did not suffer. Would
you kindly telegraph for me to our lawyer, Sir
Joseph ? Thanks. I have business which must
be settled without one moment’s delay;’ and she
scribbled an address in Lincoln’s-inn Fields,
adding that time was an object.
* What a very extraordinary woman!’ muttered
the doctor to himself, as he hastened to obey her
behests.
Strange to say this extraordinary woman, no
sooner was his back turned, flung her form on
the sofa, and sobbed aloud. She was convulsed
by mingled emotions; indeed, when the lawyer
appeared, he found her all but prostrate, and
barely able to attend to business.
Nevertheless, she did contrive to oonvey a
definite meaning to the attorney’s ears, and
when he left, having, as he said, work cut out
for a good fortnight, his fair employer retired to
her chamber, from which she did not emerge
for many days.
(CONCLUDED NBXT WEEK.)
RELIGIOUS DEPARTMENT.
Non-Sectarian—All Chnrches and all
Creeds.
Our Druggists: Is it Sis?
There is not among us a better or more honora
ble class of citizens than our druggists. They are
courteous and accommodating. In order that they
may serve the people, they forego necessary sleep
and rest, and sacrifice their ease until it amounts
to a martyrdom.
It is probable that this very self-abnegation hae
betrayed them into a grievous sin, and miserable
neglect of their spiritual necessities. We refer to
their habit of keeping their stores open on Sunday.
The practice has an evil effect of a two-fold force.
It prevents these worthy men from attending on
the services of the churches. These they cannot
neglect without incurring the danger of deolension
iu the divine life. Many individual histories
among us sustain this proposition* We have known
good and pious young men come to our city and
engage in the drug trade ; very soon they lost all
interest in religion, and fell away from the faith.
Non-attendanee on church would cause an elected
man to fall from grace.
Over and above this sin of neglect, they expose
themselves to a sin of commission. Many of them,
if not all, keep such articles as tobacco and oigars.
There is always on the streets on Sundays a class
of rovers, who have no more sense than to be loaf
ers, and no more conscience than to violate the
Sabbath, who will “ drop in” and want a cigar to
“set off” the disgusting picture of their oontempt-
ibility with the air of effluenoe. How easy it is
for a man who stays away from church services,
until his religions and moral sensibilities have be
come indifferent, to fall into the sin of buying and
selling on Sunday.
Other than the damaging effect on the druggist,
there is another evil consequence flowing from the
practice.
It furnishes a place ef resort for “commercial
travelers,” who ought to go to church, or at least
stay in their room* on the Sabbath ; and it affords
a place for local loafers to do nothing but smoke,
and retail trivial jokes or impure anecdotes. We
have this fact from some of our most reliable drug
gists, and we have seen it with our own eyes.
The practice is rapidly preparing the public
mind for the reception of the continental Sabbath
with all its horrid customs and revolting scenes.
Who shall stop it ? The legislature ? No. If
that body should attempt to act on it they mast
utterly forbid the drug stores being opened cn
Sunday. This we do not want, and would result
disastrously to the sick.
The druggistB alone can act in the matter. They
can put on their doors a plate or card with the
street and number of their residence. This would
meet the demands of the sick. It wonld relieve
the druggists of all other cases which are profes
sedly a burden and a bore to them. There is no
more necessity fur a druggist to remain at his store
all day Sunday than for a physician to ait on his
hone or in his oarriage all day.
One druggist alone cannot inaugurate the re-
form. They must ect in concert.
They have an organization by which they i