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THE SUNNY SOblH
THTFZD TAGE
T r istr am
Blent B, AHTHOW HOPE
JLV* JL A W ' C»« Brilliant Author of PRISONER of ZENDA,"
“ROPERTf/BENTZAVt" and othar Fascinating Book*
d Copyright 1900 *
^ Synopsis o/ ^
Preceding Chapters
A DELAIDE, wife of Sir Randolph Edge of
Blent Hall, eloped with Captain Fitzhubert,
Sir Randolph died in Russia, presumably in
time for Lady Edge and Fitzhubert to marry
and so make their son. Harry, legitimate. They
learn later, however, that the date of Sir Ran
dolph’s death has been given incorrectly, and
Harry is not the rightful heir. They keep
the matter a secret, and eventually Mrs. Fitz
hubert succeeds to the barony of Tristram cf
Blent and resides with Harry at Blent Hall,
ttaknown to Lady Tristram, a Mme. Zabrlska
and Mr. Jenkinson Neeld are also in possession
of the secret and Mme. Zabriska, with her
uncle. Major Duplay, come to reside at Mer-
rion Lodge near Blent Hall. Harry learns
from his mother that he is not the rightful
heir to Blent, but they determine to hold the
title fer him at any cost. To further his cause
he decides to marry Janie Ivers, heiress cf
Fairholme, but finds two rivals in Bob Broad-
ley and Major Duplay. The latter learns of
his unfortunate birth from Mina Zabriska. He
informs him that he Intends to tell Ivers, and
they quarrel. Harry winning in a brisk tus-
sel. Neeld becomes the guest of Iver at
Fairholme. Mina Zabriska meets Neeld and
the$ form a compact to protect Harry's inter
ests and maintain secrecy.
*
f CHAPTER EIGHT *
continued
E sat silent, thinking
hard. It was not his
business. Right and jus
tice seemed in some
sense at least on Har
ry's side. But the law'
is the law. And there
were his friends the
Ivers. In him there was
no motive of self inter
est such as had swayed
Major Duplay and made
his action seem rather
ugiy even to himself.
Neeld owed loyally and
friendship; that was all.
Was it loyal, was it
friendly to utter no
word while friends were deceived? With
what face would he greet Iver if the thing
did come out afterwards? On the other
side was the strong sympathy which that
story in The Journal had created In him
since first he read it and realized its per
verse little tragedy; and there was the
thought of Lady Tristram dying down at
Blent.
The long silence was broken by neither
of them. Neeld was weighing his ques
tion; Mina had made her appeal and
waited for an answer. The quiet of the
book-lined room (there were the yellowy-
brown volumes from which Mina had ac
quired her lore!) was broken by- a new
voice. They both started to hear it, and
turned eager faces to the window whence
it came. Harry Tristram, in flannels and
a straw hat, stood looking in.
“I've got an hour off,” he explained;
"‘.so I walked up to thank you for the flow
ers. My mother liked them, and I liked
to have them from you.” He saw Neeid
nnd greeted him courteously. “I asked
■ her if I should give you her love, and
she said yes—with her eyes, .you know;
she speaks mostly that way now. Well,
she always did, a good deal, J expect.”
“She sent her love to me?T
“Yes. 1 told her what jt>u did one
evening; ard sfie liked that, too.”
“I hope Lady Tristram is—A—going on
well?" asked Neeld. r
"She doesn't suffer, thank .you."
Mina invited him in; there was an ap
positeness in his coming which appealed
toi her, nnd she watched Neeld with co
vert eagerness.
Harry looked round the room, then
vaulted over the sill.
"My uncle's playing golf with Mr.
Iver.” remarked Mina. "Tea?"
“No. Too sick-roomy. I'm for noth
ing but strong drink now—and I’ve had
some.” He came to the middle of the
room and stood between them, flinging
his hat on the table where Mr. Cholder-
ton's Journal had so lately lain. “My
mother's an extraordinary woman," he
went on, evidently so full of his thought
that he must speak it out. "She’s dying
joyfully.”
After an instant Mina asked "Why
Neeld was surprised at the baldness of
the question, but Harry took it as natural.
■“It's like going oft guard—I mean, rath
er, off duty—to her. I think." He made
the correction thoughtfully and with no
haste. “Life has always seemed rather
like an obligation to do things you don’t
want to—not that she did them all. And
now she's tlreff. She's glad to leave it
to me. Only she wishes I was a bit better
looking, though she won't admit It. She
couldn’t stand a downright ugly man at
Blent, you know. I've a sort of notion—'
He seemed to forget Neeld. and looked at
Mina for sympathy—“that she thinks
she'll be ab'.e to come and have a look
at Blent and me in it. ail the same." His
smile took a whimsical turn as he spoke
of his mother's flying fancies.
Mina glanced at Mr. Neeld; was the
picture visible to him that rose before
her eyes—of the poor sprite coming eager
ly, but turning sadly away when she saw
a stranger enthroned at Blent and she
knew not where to look for her homeless,
landless son?
"The parson came to see her yesterday.
He's not what you'd call an unusual man,
Mme. Zabriska, and she Is an unusual
woman, you know. It was—yes. it was
amusing, and there’s an end of It.” He
paused and added, by way of excuse,
“Oh, I know her so well, you see. She
wouldn't bo left alone with him; she
wanted another sinner there.”
Mina marked the chance in him-the
new expansiveness, the new appeal for
sympathy. He had forgotten his suspic
ion and his watchfulness; she was in
clined to say that he had forgotten him
self. On her deathbed Add'.e Tristram
had exerted her charm once lucre—and
over her own son. Once more a man,
whatever hts own position, Draught main-
K. 0 [ her—and that man was her son. Did
Neeld see this? To Neeld it came as the
strongest reinforcement to these feclir gs
Which bade him hold his peace, it seemed
an appeal to him straignt from tile .’eath-
bed in the valley be'.ow. Harry found the
old gentleman's gaze fixed interil> on
beg your pardon for troubling you
with all this. Mr. Neeld,” he said, re
lapsing rather Into his defer.s v- attitude.
-.Madam Zabriska knows ray ways
-No I don't think I know this new
wa\- Of yours at all,” she objected. “But
I like it, Mr. Tristram. I feel all you do.
1 have seen her!” She turned to Neeld.
••O how 1 wish you had!” she cried.
Her earnestness stirred a little curios-
jty in Harry. He glanced with his old
wariness at Neeld. But what could he
see save a kindly, precise old gentleman
who was unimportant to him, but
seemed interesting in what he said. He
turned back to Mina, asking:
"A new way of mine?”
"Well, not quite. You were rather like
it once. But generally you've got a
veil before your face. Or perhaps you're
really changed."
thought for a moment. "Things
ehasge a man,” And he added, “I’m
only twenty-two.”
“Yes, I know,” she smiled, “though I
constantly forget it all the. same.”
"Well, twenty-three—come the 20th of
July,” said he. His eyes were in hers.
Harry was with her when she died and stood many minutes looking from her to the picture which hung
near the bed
his characteristic smile on h1s lips. It
i was a challenge to her.
"I shan't forget the date,” she an
swered, answering his look, too. He.
sighed slightly; he was assured that
she was with him.
The 20th of July! The editor of Mr.
Cholderton's Journal sat by listening; he
raised no voice in protest.
”1 must go back,” said.Harry. "Walk
with me to the dip of the hill.”
With a glance of apology to Neeld, she
followed him, and stepped out of the win
dow; there were two steps at the side
leading up to it. "I'll be back directly,”
she cried over her shoulder, as she joined
Harry Tristram. They walked to the
gate which marked the end of the terrace
on which Merrlon stood
"I'm so glad you came. You do be
lieve In me now?” she asked.
'Yes. And I'm not afraid. But do you
know—it seems Incredible to me I m
not thinking of that now. I shall again
directly when it's over. But now well,
Blent won't seem much without my
mother.”
"She couldn't rest if you weren t there,
cried Mina, throwing back the impres
sion she had received, as her disposi
tion made her.
"I haven’t changed about that; but It
will wait.”
“Three days they say now—three days,
or may be four. And then—she goes.”
Together they stood, looking down.
Mina's heart was very full; she was with
the Tristrams Indeed now; thick and
thin; their cause seemed hers; their house,
must stand.
Harry turned to her suddenly.
"Say nothing of this to the major. Let
him alone. That's best. We’ll see about
all that afterward. Goodby.”
Mina returned slowly to the library
and- found Neeld walking restlessly to and
fro. For the moment they did not
speak. Mina sat down and followed the
old gentleman's figure in its restless pac
ing.
“You heard him about his mother?
she asked at last.
He nodded but did not reply.
"You make all the difference,” she
blurted out after another pause.
Again he nodded, not ceasing his walk.
For a minute or two longer Mina en
dured the suspense, though It seemed
more than she could bear. Then she
sprang up, ran to him, intercepted him
and caught hold of both his hands, ar
resting his progress with an eager, im
perious grip.
"Well?” she cried. “Well? What are
you going to do?”
For a moment still he waited. Then
he spoke deliberately.
“I can't consider It my duty to do any
thing, Madame Zabriska.”
"Ah!” cried the Imp in shrill triumph,
and she flung his arms around his neck
and kissed him. She did not mind his
putting It on the score of duty.
*
CHAPTER NINE
Ttsm man in possession
In these days Janie Iver would have
been lonely but for tne major’s atten
tions. Her father had gone to London
on business—showing, to Mr. Neeld’s re
lief. no disposition to take the Journal
with him to read on the way. (Neeld
was absurdly nervous about the Journal
now). Her mother was engrossed with
a notable scheme which Miss Swinker-
ton had started for the benefit of the
poor of Blentmouth; Bible readings, a
savings-bank, and cottage gardens were
so inextricably mingled in it that the
beneficiary, if she liked one, had to • go
in for them all. Clearly Mrs. Iver. chief
aide-de-camp, had no leisure. Harry was
at Blent; no word and no sign came
from him. Bob Broad ley never made
advances. The field was clear for the
major. Janie, grateful fur his attentions,
felt vaguely that he was more amus
ing as one of two attentive cavaliers
than when he was her only resource. A
sense of flatness came over her some
times. In fact the center of interest
had shifted from her; she no longer held
the stage: It was occupied now. for the
few days she had still to live, by Lady
Tristram. Moreover Duplay was puz
zling. Although not a girl who erected
every attention or every indication of
liking into an obligation to propose mat
rimony. Janie knew that after a certain
point things of this kind were supposed
to go either forward or backward, not
to remain in statu quo; if her own bear
ing toward Bob contradicted this gen
eral rule—well, that was an exceptional
case. It is not very flattering when a
gentleman takes too long over consider
ing such a matter; a touch of impet
uosity is more becoming. She would
have preferred that he should have
needed to be put off. and failed to un
derstand why (if It may be so expressed)
he put himself off from day to lay.
But Duplay's reasons were, in fact,
overwhelming. Lady Tristram lived
still, and be had the grace to count that
as the strongest motive for holding his
hand. Harry's campaign was for the
moment at a standstill; Duplay had no
doubt he would resume it as soon as his
mother was buried: on us apparent
progress the major's action would de
pend. It was just possible that he could
defeat his enemy without his secret
weapon: in that event he pictured him
self writing a letter to Harry, naif-sor
rowful. half magnanimous, in which he
would leave the young man to settle
matters with his conscience, and for his
own part wash his hands of the whole
affair. Among the reasons for inactivi
ty which Duplay did not acknowledge
to himself was the simple and common
one that he was in his heart afraid to
act. He meant to act. but he shrank
from it. and postponed the hour as long
as he could. Defeat w’ould be very ig
nominious: and he could not deny that
defeat was possible merely from want
of means to carry on the war. When
the major recognized this fact he was
filled with a somber indignation at the
Inequalities of wealth, anu at the way3
of a world wherein not even truth shall
triumph unless she commands a big
credit at the bank.
And Mina annoyed him intensely; as
suming an aggrieved air and hinting se
vere moral condemnation in every glance
of her eye. She behaved for all the world
as though the major had begun the whole
thing, and entirely ignored her own re
sponsibility. The general unreasonable
ness of woman was his only refuge; but
the dogma cojijJ not bring understanding,
much less conflation, with it.
"What did jfoa tell me for then?” he
cried at last. “You were hot on it then.
Now you say you won’t help me, you’ll
have nothing rtiore to do with it!”
“I only told it you as—as a remarkable
circumstance," the Imp alleged with a
wanton disregard for truth.
“Nonsense, Mina. You were delighted
to have a weapon against young Tristram
then.”
“I can't help it if you insist on misun
derstanding me, uncle. And anyhow, I
suppose I can change my mind, if I like,
can't I?”
“No,” he declared, "It’s ml fair to me.
I can’t make you out at all. You're not
in love with Harry Iristram, are you?”
"With that boy?” asked Mina, attempt
ing to be superb.
“That's woman’s old nonsense.” ob
served Duplay, twirling Ills moustache
knowingly'. “They often fa!l !n love with
young men, and always try to pass it off
by calling them boys.”
"Of course I haven't y'.r.r experience,
uncle,” she rejoined, passing into the sar
castic vein.
“And if you are," he went on. reverting
to the special case, “I don’t sec why >cu
make his path smoothe for Janie Iver.”
"Some people are capable of sc*.f-sac-
riflee in their love.'
“Yes: but I shouldn't think you’d be
one of them," said the major, rather
rudely. He looked at her curiously. Did
his niece object to turning Harry off his
throne because she harbored a hepe of
sharing it with him? If that were so,
and if the hope had any chance of becom
ing a reality, Duplay would have to re
consider his game. But what chance of
success could there he? She would (he
put it bluntly in his thoughts) only be
making a fool of herself.
The Imp screwed up her little lean face
Into a grimace, which served efiectually
to cover any sign of her rcai fcelmgs.
She neither admitted "lor denied the
charge levied against her. the v.as be
wildering her uncle, and she found as
usual a genuine pleasure in the pursuit.
"I don't really know what I feel,” she
remarked the next moment. “But you
can read women, uncle, you've, often
said so. and I dare say you really know
more about what I feel than I do my
self.” A grossness of innocence was
her new assumption. “Now, judging
from what I do and look—that's the
way to judge, isn't it, not from what I
say?—what do you think my real in
most feelings are about Mr. Tristram?”
If the major had been asked what his
real inmost feelings about his niece were
at the moment he would have been at
some difficulty to express them decorous-
ily. She was back at fifteen—a particu
larly exasperating child of fifteen. Her
great eyes with their mock gravity were
fixed on his irritated face. He would
have agreed absolutely with Mr. Chol
derton's estimate of the evil in her and
its proper remedy.
Wherein Duplay was derided hts niece
made very plain to him: wherein his
words had any effect was studiously
concealed. Yet she repeated the words
when he had, with marked failure of
temper, gone, his way and slammed the
door behind him. “In love with Harry
Tristram!” Mina found the idea at once
explanatory and picturesque. Why other
wise was she his champion? She paused
(as they say) for a reply. By being
In love with Harry she became part
of the drama: and she complicated the
drama most delightfully. Janie knew
nothing; she knew everything. Janie,
hesitated; what if she did not hesitate?
A big role opened before her eyes. What
if it were very unlikely that Harry would
reciprocate her proposed feelings? The
Imp hesitated between a natural vex
ation and an artistic pleasure. Such a
failure on his part would wound the wo
man, but it would add pathos to the
play. She became almost sure that she
could love. Harry; she remained uncertain
whether he should return the compliment.
After all—to be Lady Tristram of Blent?
such things, and now I shall be able to
contradict them on the best authority.”
“What do they say?”
"Well, I never repeat things. Still I
think perhaps you’ve a right to know.
They do say that you're more Interested
in Harry Tristram than a mere neighbor
would be, and—well, really I don't quite
know how to put It”
“O, I do!” cried Mina, delightedly, hit
ting the mark. ’’That uncle and I are
working together, I suppose?”
“I don’t listen to such gossip, but it
comes to my ears,” Miss S. admitted.
“What diplomats we are!" said the Imp.
’’I didn't know we were so clever. But
why do I take Janie to Mtngham?”
"They’d say that Bob Broadley's no real
danger, and if it should disgust Harry
Tristram—”
“I am clever! Dear Miss Swinkerton, I
never thought of anything half so good
myself. I’ll tell uncle about it directly.”
Miss S. looked at her suspiciously. The
innocence seemed very much overdone.
“I knew you’d laugh at it," she ob
served.
“I should do that, even if it was true,”
said Mina, thoroughly enjoying herself.
Miss S. took her leave quite undecided to
announce on the best authority that the
idea was true, or that It was quite un
founded. One thing only was certain,
whatever she decided to say she would
say on the best authority; if it turned in
correct in the end. Miss S. would take
credit for an unswerving loyalty to the
friends who had given her their confi
dence.
Mina was left very unquiet; Miss S.
chimed In with the major; the neigh
borhood, too. seemed In the same tune.
She could laugh at the Ingenuities at
tributed to her, yet the. notions which
had given them birth found, as she per
ceived more and more clearly, a warrant
in\er feelings, if not In her conduct. 'Was
she a traitor to her friend Janie Iver? Was
that treachery bringing her back, by a
roundabout way, to a new alliance with
'her uncle? Did it involve treason . to
Harry himself? For certainly It was
hard to go on helping him toward a mar
riage with Janie Iver.
“But I will, all the same, if he wants
it,” she exclaimed, as she paced about
on the terrace, glancing now and then
down at Blent. “If only I could keep
out of things!” she murmured. “But I
never can.”
Major Duplay drove up the hill In a
Blentmouth station fly; he had met the
doctor on the road, and the news was
that In all probability Lady Tristram
would not live out the night.
"Then we shall see. He’ll assume the
title. I suppose. That's no affair of mine.
And then he'll go to Fairholme. That
Is,” he turned suddenly, almost threat
eningly upon her. "You'll have, to speak,
you know. If I can’t make you, Iver
will.” He paused and laughed. “But
you'll speak fast enough when you find
yourself In the lawyer’s office.”
Mina refused to be frightened by the
threatened terror of the law.
“Who's going to take me to a law
yer’s office?” she demanded,
"Why, Iver will, of course." Ha
showed contemptuous surprise. “Oh,
you’ve gone too far to think you can
get out of It now.”.
She studied him attentively for a mo
ment or two. The result was reassuring.
His blustering manner hid, she believed,
a sinking heart.
“You can’t frighten me, uncle. I’ve
made up my mind what to do, and I shall
do It.”
She was not afraid of him now. She
was wondering how she had come to be
bullied into telling her secret at all.
looking back with surprise to that scene
in the library, when, with sullen obedi
ence and childish fear, she had obeyed
his command to speak. Why was it all
different now? How dared she devote
herself to Harry Tristram? He had
asked nothing of her. No, but he had
imposed something on her. She had
volunteered for his service. It was in
deed, “women’s nonsense” when she
spoke of him as “that boy.”
Duplay turned away from her disheart
ened and disgusted. Things looked well
for the enemy. He was alone with her
unsupported story of a conversation
which Mina would not repeat, with his
empty purse, which could not supply
means of proving what he said. He ran
the risk of losing what chance he had
of Janie Iver’s favor, and he was in
sore peril of coming off second best in
his wrestling bout with Harry Tris
tram. Indeed, the man In possession
was strong. The perils that had seemed
so threatening were passing away. Mina
was devoted; Neeld would be silent.
Who would there be who could effec
tively contest his claim or oust him
from his place?
Now that the moment had come for
which all his life had been a prepara
tion, Harry Tristram had little reason to
be afraid.
*
f CHAPTER TEN *
Behold tlx* hair
Addie Tristram died with all her old
uncommonness. Death was to her an
end more fully than It is to most; had
she been herself responsible for It, she
could hardly have thought less of any
possible consequences. And tt was to
her such a beginning as it can seldom
seem. She had been living in anticipa
tion of dying, but in a sense utterly re
mote from that contemplation of their
latter end which Is enjoined on the
pious. During the last day or two she
was delirious at intervals; as a precaution
Harry was with her then. Instead of
the nurse; the measure was superfluous;
there was nothing on Lady Tristram's
mind, and when she spoke unconsciously
she spoke of trifles. The few final
hours found her conscious and Intelli
gent, although very weak. Just at the
end a curious idea got hold of her. She
was a little distressed that the Gains
boroughs were not there; she Whispered
her feelings to Harry apologetically,
well remembering his objection to that
branch of the family and his disinclina
tion to have them or any of tnem at
Blent. “Cecily ought to be here,” she
murmured. Harry started a little; he
was not accustomed in his own mind to
concede Cecily any rights. His mother's
fear of offending him by the suggestion
was very obvious. "She’d come after
you, you see—” she said once or twice;
there did not pass between them a word
of acknowledgement that Cecily ought to
come before him. The barest hint of this
kind would have raised Harry's suspic
ion and anger a few weeks before; the
new mood which Mina Zabriska lmd
marked in him made him take it quietly
now and even affectionately. For this
Addie Tristram was grateful; she had
always the rare grace of seeming sur
prised at her own power over men. Har-
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The Imp looked down on Blent with an
access of interest. Monsieur Zabriska
had left her with unexhausted resources
of feeling. Moreover, she could not
be expected to help her uncle If she was
seriously attached to Harry.
“Some people are capable of self-sac
rifice in their love." That would mean
being his champion still—and letting him
marry Janie Iver. She did not "object
much to her own part, but she caviled
suddenly at Janie—or at Harry’s rela
tion to Janie. Would it be better to
share adversity with him? Perhaps.
But after ali she did not fancy him in
adversity. The. third course recommend
ed itself—victory for him, but not Janie.
Who, then? At this point Mina be
came sensible of no more than the vaguest
visions not at all convincing even to her
self. But a sad deficiency of Imagination
she could give no definiteness to a pic
ture of Harry Tristram making love.
While full of these problems—refusing
Indeed to be anything else—Mina was
surprised by a visit from Miss Swinker
ton, who sought a subscription for the
scheme of which an adequate account
has already been given. Miss Swinker
ton (for some reason she was generally
known as Mis&T&J'a. vulgar style of de
scription possasatag sometimes an inex
plicable appropriateness) was fifty-eight,
tall and bony, the daughter of a rear ad
miral, the sister of an archdeacon. She
lived for good works and by gossip.
Mina’s sovereign (foreigners will not
grasp the cheap additional handsomeness
of a guinea) duly disbursed, conversation
became general; this is to say, they talk
ed about their neighbors.
“A hard young man,” said Miss S.
(Why be more genteel than her friends?)
“And If Janie Iver thinks he’s in love
with her—”
“What do you mean by being In love.
Miss Swinkerton?”
“You know cnou-h English, my dear—”
"It's not a question of English,” inter
rupted Mina, "but of human nature, Miss
Swinkerton.”
“When I was a girl there were no
such questions.”
“What about Lady Tristram, then?”
There was flattery In this,-ten or fif
teen years of flattery. Miss S was un
moved. j
"I am happy to say that Ladv Tris
tram never called at Seavlew.” Miss S’s
house was called Seavlew—Seabackview
would have been a more precise descrip
tion.
“I call him in love with Jane Iver.
He must want to marry her or'—”
’’They do say that money isn’t verv
plentiful at Blent. And there'll be the
death duties, you know."
“What are they?” asked Mina.
"Like stamps," explained Miss S.
vaguely. -For my part I think It’s lucky
he is what he Is. There’s been enough
of falling in love in the Tristram family.
If you ask me who is In love with her.
of course it's poor young Broadiey.
Well, you know that, as you’re always
driving up to Mingham with her.”
“We’ve only been three or four times.
Miss Swinkerton.”
“Six, I was told,” observed Miss S.
with an air of preferring accuracy. Oh.
I should be very pleased to see him mar
ried to Janie—Mr. Tristram, I mean, of
course—but she musn’t expect too much,
my dear. Where’s your uncle?”
"At Fairholme,” answered the Imp.
demurely. As a matter of fact the major
had gone to Exeter on a business er
rand.
“Fairholme?” Miss S’s air was signifi
cant. Mina's falsehood rewarded. Mina
threw out smile; her visitor's pursed
lips responded to it.
“He goes there a lot,” pursued Mina,
"to play golf with Mr. Iver."
“So I've heard.” Her tone put the re
port in its proper place. To play golf,
indeed!
“I think Janie’s rather fond of Mr. Tris
tram, anyhow.” This was simply a feeler
on Mina's part.
“Well, my dear, the position! Blent’s
been under a cloud—though people don’t
seem to mind that much nowadays, to be
sure—but the new Lady Tristram—!
They've always been the heads of the
neighborhood. She’ll have him, no doubt,
but as for being in love with him—well,
could you, Mme. Zabriska?”
"Yes,” said the Imp, without the least
hesitation. “I think he’s most attractive.
Mysterious, you know. I’m quite taken
with him.”
“He always looks at me as If I want
ed to pick his pocket.”
“Well, you generally do—for your char
ities." The laugh was confined to Mina
herself. “But I know the manner you
mean."
With a flash of surprise—really she had
not been thinking about herself, in spite
of her little attempts to mystify Miss S.—
Mina caught that lady indulging in a very
intent scrutiny of her, which gave an ob
vious point to her last words and paved
the way (as it appeared In a moment) for
a direct approach to the genuine object
of Miss S.'s visit. That this object did
not come to the front till Miss S. was on
her feet to go was quite characteristic.
“I'm really glad, my dear,” she observ
ed, hanging her silk bag on her arm. “to
have had this talk with you. They do say
Among the many famous cures of |
Swamp-Root investigated by "The Sunny
South," none seem to speak higher of the
wonderful curative properties of this
great kidney remedy than the one we
publish this week for the benefit of our
readers.
Mrs. H. X. Wheeler, of 117 High Rock
St., Lynn. Mass., writes, on Nov. 2, 1900:
“About 18 months ago I had a very severe
spell of sickness. I was extremely sick for
three weeks, and when I finally was able to
leave my bed I waa left with excruciating
pains in my back. My water at times looked
very like coffee. I could pass but little at a
time, and then only after suffering great
pain. My physical condition was such that
I had no strength and was all run down. The
doctors said my kidneys were not affected,
and while 1
Did Not Know I Had
Kidney Trouble,
I somehow felt certain that my kidneys were
the cause of my trouble. My sister, Mrs. C.
E. Littlefield, of Lynn, advised me to give
Dr. Kilmer’s Swamp-Root a trial. I procured
& bottle and inside of three days commenced
to get relief. I followed up that bottle with
another, and at the completion of this one
found I waa completely cured. My strength
returned, and today I am as well as ever.
My business Is that of canvasser, I am on my
feet a great deal of the time, and have to use
much energy in getting around. My cure Is,
therefore, all the more remarkable, and is ex
ceedingly gratifying to me.”
MRS. II. N. WHEELER.
MRS. H. N. WHEELER.
perform her necessary work, who Is al
ways tired and overwrought, who feels
that the cares of life are more thaa she
— - if.ui ifie cares ui me are mwe ui««. »**»
Swamp-Root will do just as much for 1 can stand. It Is a.boon to the weak and
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H a ■£.. • ^ - It used to be considered that only urinary
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U wwit nearly all diseases have their beginning in the
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^ The kidneys filter and purify the blood—that
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Neuralgia, nervousness, headache, puffy or dark circles under the eyes, rheuma
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If there is any doubt in your mind as t o your condition, take from your urlna on
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Other symptoms showing that you need Swamp-Root are sleeplessness, dizzi
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Swamp-Root is pleasant to take and is used in the leading hospitals, recom
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ing your address to Dr. Kilmer & Co.. Binghamton, N. Y.
ry promised to ask the Gainsboroughs to
her funeral. Addie Tristram’s conscien
tious scruples were entirely laid to rest;
with a sigh of -eace, she settled herself
to die. It was the feudal feeling, Harry
decided, which insisted that the family
must not be ignored; it did not deny their
humble position or the gulf that sepa
rated them from the succession. Yet he
was vaguely vexed, even while he agreed
to what she wanted.
So she passed away in the full tide of
the darkness of night. The doctor had
left her some hours before, the nurse
had been sent to bed; for there was
nothing that could be done. Harry was
alone with her; he kissed her when she
was dead, and stood many minutes by
her looking from her to the picture of
her that hung upon the wall. A strange
Ipnei^pess was on him, a loneliness which
there seemed nobody to solace. He had
said that Blent would not be much with
out his mother. That was not quite right;
it Was much, but different. She had car
ried away with her the atmosphere of the
place the essence of the life that he had
lived there with her. Who would make
that the same to him again? Suddenly
he recollected that In four days he was
to ask Janie Iver for her answer. Say
a week now; for the funeral would en
force or excuse so much postponement.
Jarile Iver would not give him back the
life or the atmosphere. He was Tristram
of B!ent now; that he must and would
remain; but it was not the same Blent
and did not seem as though it could be
again. So much of the poetry had gone
out of It with Addle Tristram.
After he had left her room he walked
through the house carrying a shaded can
dle in his hand along the dark corridors
of shining oak. He bent his steps toward
the long gallery which filled all the upper
floor of the left wing. Here was the Val
halla and the treasure house of the Tris
trams—the pictures of ancestors, the cases
of precious things which the ancestors
had amassed. At the end of the gallery
Addie Tristram had used to sit when she
was well. In a large high-backed armchair
by the big window that commanded the
gardens and the river. He flung the win
dow open and stood looking out. The
wind swished In the trees and the Blent
washed a!ong leisurely. A beautiful still
ness was about him. It was as though
she were by his side, her fair head rest
ing against the old brocade cover of the
armchair, her eyes wandering in delighted
employment round the room she hail
loved so well. Who should sit there next?
As he looked now.at tHe room, now out
Into the night hlS eyes filled- stifldenly
with tears; the love of the; pfaedijeame
back to him, his pride in tt lived again,
he would keep it hot only because >t
was his, but beeause.it had been hers be
fore him. His blood spojee strqng In him.
Suddenly he smiled. It was at the thought
that all this belonged in law to Miss Ce
cily Gainsborough—the house, ,the gallery,
the pictures, the treasures, thfe’very chair
where Addle Tristram had *s£d to sit.
Every stick and stone about the place
was Cecily Gainsborough's aye, and the
bed of the Blent from shore to shore. He
had nothing at ail—according to law.
Well, the law must have some honor,
some recognition at all events. The Gains
boroughs should, as he had promised, be
asked to the funeral. They should be in
vited with all honor and moBt formally In
the name of Tristram of Blent—which,
by the by, was. according to law. Miss
Cecily Gainsborough’s also. Harry had
no name according to law; no more than
he had houses or pictures or treasures,
any stick or atone, or the smallest herit
age In the bed of the Blent. He had been
son to the mistress of it all; she was gone
and he was nobody—according to law. It
was after all a reasonable concession that
his mother had urged on him; the Gains
boroughs ought to be asked to the fu
neral. The last of his vexation on this
score died away with a sense of grim
amusement at Addle Tristram’s wish and .
his own appreciation of it. He had no _
sense of danger; Tristram had succeeded
to Tristram; all was well.
To b* continatd
FREDERIC NIETZCHE
Translated for OM Sunny South by Minnia Robinson
PROPOS of the death of the
German philosopher In Au
gust last, a French review
contributes the following
interesting notes on his
life:
"He was born at Roeck-
en, near Lutzen, Saxony,
the 15th of October. 1844.
His father, of Polish origin,
was pastor at Roecken, and
died In 1849. Frederic, then
twelve years old, followed
his mother and sister to Naumborg, where
he commenced his studies, that he ter
minated at the college of Pforta in 1864.
Raised under Protestant authority, he
character a lively
united to a serious
imagination and an extreme sensibility.
From that time he underwent the lnflu-
ncoef two writers. With the poetHalder-
tburg he learned to admire antiquity; the
reading of Emerson inspired him with a
task for moral reflections. He did not
love the sciences, but poet, in love with
beauty, he wrote verses, gave himself up
with passion to music, and later com
posed some pieces of a mediocre value.
From 1861 to 1867 he went to follow at the
University of Bonn, then that of Lelpslc,
some lectures on philosophy. After hav
ing served in 1867-1868 a year in the army,
he was elected in 1869 professor of phil
osophy at Bale, that he left temporarily
in 1870, in order to take part as nurse in
the war against France. During his years
of professorship at Bale. Nietzche knew
Burckhardt, and linked himself Intimately
with Richard Wagner, whom he saw often
at Friedschen near Lucerne. Wagner ex
plained to him his musical and other theo
ries, and he became his enthusiastic ad
mirer. On the advice of the musician, he
read the works of Schopenhauer, whose
bitter and haughty pessimism exercised,
during a certain time, a real Influence on
his ideas. As professor, he delivered some
lectures in which he glorified ancient
Greece, attacked modern civilization, and
endeavored to show that it is in Ibe'.len-
ism that it is necessary to seek the Ideas
of a superior life. At the same time he
philosophled several works, among which
were “The Birth of Tragedy” and “Inop
portune Reflections.” in which he exposed
and defended the theories of Wagner and
Schopenhauer. _ . .
In 1870 Nietzche went to Bayreuth to
hear the first representation of "The Nl-
belungen Ring,” but its hearing had the
most unexpected effect on him. The ad
miration that he had had up to that mo
ment for the character of Wagner, for
his musical genius, for his Ideas, disap
peared completely.
At the same time he rejected the ro
mantic pessimism of Schopenhauer,
which appeared to him as a fatal doc
trine tending to discouragement, to re
nouncement, like Christianity, and con
ducting only to decadence. That same
year, 1876, Nietzche, who suffered from
pains in the head and eyes, asked for 4
vacation. He then left Bale and trav
eled in Italy. At this epoch he read the
French moralists, Montaigne, La Roche
foucauld, Vanvenargues, whose literary
form he adopted during a certain time,
and gave himself to an enthusiastlc ad-
mlration of French culture which he' re
garded as very superior to the German.
At the end of the year 1877 he attempted
to resume his lectures. Then published in
1878 his book, "Things Human—Things
Too Human,” which brought about be
tween him and Wagner a definite rup
ture. Despairing now of re-establishing
his health, he gave up his professorship
in 1879. From this time, almost constant
ly ill, Nietzche led a solitary life, pass
ing the winter In the south, sometimes
near Geneva, sometimes at Nice, and the
summer in the Ergadine. It was then
that, given up to his own thoughts, hav
ing separated himself more and mors
from previous Influences, he arrived at
his clearly outlined conception of the
philosophical system, and at some theo
ries both powerful and paradoxical. He
presented them to the public from 1881
to 1888 in various books, the most cele
brated of which is "Thus Spoke Zara-
thustra.” The health of Nietzche had
seemed to become a little better in 1882,
but very soon his sufferings began again,
and In consequence of his excessive in
tellectual overwork and his abu«e of
chloral, he was attacked with mental
alienation at Turin in January, 1889. His
family placed him in a private infirmary
at lena; then, when his malady . was
pronounced absolutely incurable, : his
mother brought him home and devoted
ail her care and thought to him When
he died at Naumborg at the age of seven
ty years the sister of Nietzche, Mme.
Forster, continued this work of devotion
and Installed the sick mai)i 4n her villa of
Sllderblake of Weimar. It was there that
the philosopher with the trembling bodv
the extinguished intelligence'.' was carried
away by an excessively severe attack of
apoplexy August 25, 1900.