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DCTH *PAGE s/ \ FOR/ LOVE OR CROWN * / CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE TA« OmI and After MAN needs to be very gard ened 'or very reckless, v ho can set his life deliberate ly in peril, and yet feel no qualm of anxiety or alarm. I was reckless enough, in the fire of rage which von Kronhelm had kindled, by his mad and foul words: but I am not ashamed to say that, as I fingered my revolver In the cold mo ments of pause before the Irrevocable act, I had many qualms. / 1 had never had to face death before, and though X do not think X had any pos itive fear, and certainly not the least thought of drawing back, I must confess to vague feelings of disquiet and concern. I think I was even more nervous about the consequences to my adversary than to myself. The thought of killing him was absolutely abhorrent, when it came to ths actual fact, although I knew that he meant to kill me. and felt that he had forced the fight upon me. In every point view from which such an encounter as to be regarded, I think I should have Seen held Justified by the verdict of any ry of honor. /T could not have drawn *k without incurring the stigma of notwithstanding this, I having his death on my urdice. B all again Jiavtrs. I was a piry to one fear, moreover— fear of the sequences to Celia, should I fall. Keebfv as X had guarded her, yet even that help was better than none; and if I were out of the w'ay, I shudder ed to think” what might be the result for her. She would be entirely at the mercy of her me/ciless mother and this unscru pulous villain, who was plotting to sac rifice her/ to his ambition. There Rw® 8 - fortunately, perhaps, but little tllie for the indulgence of such though* as these, and my whole atten tion h/d to be concentrated upon the grim business in hand. arts had been chosen to give the >r us to fire. He was to stand with his back to us. and when; we were ready he was to count three quickly. Then we were to level our pistols and fire. "Are you ready, Sir Stanley?" asked von Kronhelm. "Quite,” I said,'my finger pressing on the trigger of the revolver, as my arm hung down at my side; and I waited for S hwarts's signal, stilling the first quick ening beat o' my pulse: while I kept my eyes fixed on those of my opponent. It seemed an age before I heard Schwartz’s voice; but then it came rapid- lyi&nd regularly. "Or.e—two—three 1 ” Our revolvers spat out their fire simul- uoously. tho.same instant I felt a the chest, By Arthur W Marchmont write to her,” and she hurried away. I | I must keep yoilr mind easy, or your did not even then suspect she was mis leading me, although her manner puz zled me considerably. When the doctor came I questioned him about von Kronhelm's wound, and he told me that it was likely to be very serious. "He is not like you. Sir Stanley, and will make a very bad patient. He has not your physique and constitution, and his blood is in a bad state—the result of a full life. As for the wound, it Is a curious one. So far as I can judge, he had his arm bent when he fired at you. and your ball struck him just at the elbow joint. recovery would take ever so much lon- | ger. I thought it would be useless to attempt to do anything until you had at least some of your strength back again; and worse than madness to do anything which would, perhaps, have endangered your very life." I was still weak enough for the blow to hit me heavily, and I Call back in my chair prostrated by a sense of hopeless pain at the thought that Celia was still in the hands of those so bitterly intent upon sacrificing her to their own purposes. 1 could not blama Blossom, for I could not see what else she could '1 dretv myself into a sitting posture, and looking intently at her, I asked in a loud •voice as I could speak: 4 Why did vou ta’n~ that letter? 4 44 causing a fearful fracture and splinter ing of all the bones. I never saw such a mess. I did the best I could with it; but I advised him either to wire for a special ist or hurry up to London and get to the best man th*:e for gunshot wounds. In my opinion, he will either have to lose the arm, or at best have a stiff jqint for the rest of his life. But I should think the elbow saved his life, as otherwise. Judging the probable direction of the ball. hearing' the rush of those presenHtoward me a/id von Kronhelm's voice. \ "you are ail witnesses that this l was a fair fight,” and then there was blazing of 'lights, vivid In hue and dazzling in. bril liance, a rush of confusing, deafening sounds, a final despairing thought of Ce lia, and. lastly, unconsciousness. I lay in a condition of semi-conscious ness for nearly thirty-six hours, during which time X had a tough fight for my life; and my first clear thought was that of surprise at seeing my sister's face as she bent t>ver the bed on which I lay and kissed me. "Good morning, Stanley,” she said, with a smile. "Blossom?” I whispered. “Yes, Blossom, dear,” and then the tears filled her eyes—tears of gladness, as she told me afterwards, at finding I was conscious. “We're just getting you your breakfast.” All as if nothing unusual were Che matter. “Where am 1? Where’s Celia?” “Shey all right and safe; don't worry. You mustn't talk till the doctor comes,” and she turned away._ I waa too weak to question her further, and the assurance about Celia—which, as It turned out. Was only one of the con ventional deceits of the sick-bed—soothed and quieted me, and I fell asleep. When the doctor came he was surprised at the change in me; told me what a won derful constitution I had, that I was rap idly on the up-grade, and that in a day or two I should be all right and as well as ever. Another conventional statement designed to keep me easy in mind; and it had the desired effect. The next day I began to feel m.v strength returning; and* in the intervals of sleep my mind was busy piecing together and straightening out the broken and tangled threads of my thoughts. I tried to question Blossom, but she pleaded the doctor's orders, and refused to speak on any matters likely to excite me; and when I asked for definite news of Celia, she wouTd not go beyond the same general assurance that she was well and SSfe. "Cant I see her?” "If you keep perfectly quiet, and go on gaining strength for two more days, I may be allowed to write and ask her to come here,” slie answered, as she might have spoken to a child; and, believing, I obeyed her implicitly. The ease of mind add the hope of seeing Celia worked wonders. In three days more I was a man again; and then gradually my sis ter'told me what had happened. I was still at Belpas Manor, because my wound from von Kronheim's bullet had been too dangerous to admit of my being removed. Von Kronhelm had written to- my aunt telling her that I was wounded, and where I lay, and then she and Blossom - had hurried down to nurse me. They found the house empty, except for two women—one an old, trust ed servant cf the Baroness Borgen,' the other a girl hired In the neighborhood. In the utiel von Kronheim had been also wounded, but not dangerously. My bul let had shattered his. right elbow. 'Tut where is Celia?” I asked. "Why Is she not with us?” “It would not have done for her to be here in this lonely place, Stanley, with no one to protect her, except us women; but now that you are getting better. I will write to her. I thought it would be safer for her to be moving about with Mrs. ColUngwood," and Blossom seemed to speak with some hesitancy. "I hope I have not done wrong." "Write to her to come here. She will be safe now,” I said. “What is the ad- Rress? Where are they?" t—at—at Cheltenham, Mrs. Colling- last letter was; but I’ll go and bered^.ft would have entered the body some where ’ on the right side; and with an unhealthy body like his, I wouldn’t put his chance of life at one in a hundred.” “Thank heaven, if the elbow stopped it then!” I exclaimed. "Where is he?" "I don't in the least know. He left here the next morning, looking very ill and bad; and I have heard nothing since. But you are doing magnificently,” he said, cheerfully. "You may get up tomorrow for an hour or two. I wouldn’t have be lieved it possible anyone could pick up strength as yAi have." When he left the room I noticed that Blossom followed him closely, and I heard them speak together outside the door, and caught the closing words of the doctor: “Oh, yes, safely, tomorrow.” “What was that?” I asked her, for I saw her face looked grave and a little troubled. She smiled directly—what cheats women are where those they love are concerned!—and her face brightened. "Doctor says you may get up tomorrow, Stanley,” she said, as brightly as if she had no other feeling in her heart but deep joy and thankfulness. "Yes, he said that here by the bed. You heard him.” "He said it again outside the door,” she replied, smiling again and looking at m8 frankly. “Good news like that will bear telling twice? And now for your medi cine.” "You’re a queer girl, Blossom,” I said, perplexed. "I'm your nurse, if you please, and to be obeyed implicitly,” and as she kissed me I heard her sigh. The incident disquieted me a good deal: and during the rest of thi? day I was mainly in a mood of speculative anxiety and doubt. I observed, too, that Blossom kept away from me; and when I ques tioned my aunt, who sat with me in her place, she told me that Blossom was out. Or busy, or offered some such excuse. I was convinced they were keeping something from me, but I said nothing until the following morning, when I was up and dressed. I was still very weak, of course, but not so weak as the doc tor had expected, and he expressed him self hugely pleased with my rapid progress towards recovery. "You are strong enough now to hear what there may. be to tell you,” he said, looking at me closely. “You mean bad news?” ”1 don't know what It Is. but your sis ter wished me to prepare you for some important news. You are quite fit to hear It, whatever it may be. and I’ll tell her she may speak without any' fear.” ■ "I wish you'd send to me at once," I answered, impatiently. “You understand, of course, that ev erything has been kept back from you by my instructions. I am responsible— solely responsible. My first duty was to get you well." "You'll have me in a fever If I’m kept in suspense much longer," I cried, my impatience growing fast; and he went away then and sent my sister to me. "What have you got to tell me. Blos som? The doctor says that a great deal has been kept from me during my ill ness. What Is it? Where Is Celia? Is she coming today?” '‘It's aboht her, Stanley,” said Blos som, kissing me. “I hope you won't be angry with me. but the doctor—" "Yes, yes; he has told me,”I broke In. "What is it?” “We <To not know where she is. dear. When aunt and I arrived hers, the house was empty, except for the two ser vants, and I have no Idea where Celia has been taken.” "You told nr a she was safe.” "The doctor/ Hid that, ax any cost. have done. The real blame rested with me, for the fatuous , tupidity with which I had bungled my chance of saving Celia. I ought never to have come to the place alone, and bitterly I reproach ed myself for my folly. 'Ts there anything else?” I asked, after a long pause. ‘‘Have you no news at all of her?” \ “There are your letters which have been forvlarded from Crorowell-rorll," “Give them me,” I said, eagerly, think ing there might possibly be some com munication from Katrine, and, taking the packet, I ran my eye hastily over them. There was nothing from her, but there were two which had ths seal of the German embassy. The first, was dated the day I left London, and was an urgent request for me to call at once at the embassy. The second was dated two days later, and contained news. After regretting that I had not called, as the Ambassador had asked, he continued: ‘‘I have now news from Crudenstadt which makes it certain that the young Duchess Celia will be accepted by his Serene Highness Duke Constans, as his heiress to the throne, should the young Duke not recover his health. It Is press ing that the young Duchess go at once to Crudenstadt; and if, therefore, you have any news of her I trust you will use your best endeavors, in her Interest, to see that this is done. The urgency is very great; and you will now appreciate the absolute impossibility of carrying out your original plan.” At first I could not understand the let ter. He knew, because I myself had told him, that Celia had been taken away from me. Why, then, write in this tone, as if she were still with me? Then I re called his suspicions that I had hidden her; and I put it all down to those. v But It was all of no Importance what ever compared with the one great ab sorbing question: How could I find Ce lia? There seemed to be but one possible chance—that Katrine might know and find means to communicate with me; and I could do nothing bub wait, with a dull, leaden weight of fear at my heart. Ten days had passed since the duel, and in that time while I was lying help less on my bed, those with Celia would have ample opportunity to carry out their plans. One obstacle there might have been. Von Kronhelm's wound might have laid him % by the heels as mine had laid me; and as I thought of this. It seemed to me that it might be the cause of Katrine's long silence. In all her desperate anger, she had In sisted upon no harm coming to him; and when she found him badly hurt, she might have turned her resentment against me tor having wounded him. But this brought me no nearer to a solution of the puzzle. “What can we do. Stanley?" asked my sister, after sitting and washing my face as I sat thinking. “I think you had better go to London to the German Ambassador, and tell him plainly all that has happened." “I will go willingly. Shall I go today?” "Yes, as soon as possible.” She ran off to see about a train; and the knowledge that we were at least do ing something served to ease the strain of my anxiety. “I shall go home tomorrow. If possi ble.” I told her. “I cannot stay here.” “I shall come back tonight, in any case. Stanley, and let you know what I do with the Ambassador, and what he says. Bes.ides, I could not let you travel up without me.” and, with a smile and a kiss, she left me. 1 passed the rest of the da}-, sick and weary at heart, and a prey to the deepest melancholy and depression, as I brooded over the whole situation. If I found Celia now, it would be but to lose her again, for. In the face of the news from Cru denstadt, it was useless to hope that 'we should become man and wife—even if she were not already the wife of von Kron heim. It was no wonder that in the evening the- doctor found me feverish and ex cited. and not nearly so well as in the morning, and, he ordered me to bed. ‘‘If you agitate yourself like this, you ,'v will have a relapse, and be til'for many days, perhaps weeks. Sir Stanley," he warned ane. "You must concentrate your mind on the one task of getting well. ’ I took the warning to heart, and tried to shut out all tRoughts of the trouble; and succeeded so well that I slept for some hours. When I awokd Blossom was in the room, and I saw a letter in her hand, which she tried to put out of my sight. "I am back safe, dear," she said- "I will tell you all the news tomorrow. Try to sleep again.” “You have something Important.” 1 said, reading it in her voice and manner. "What is it? You had a letter there.” “We can do nothing tonight. Let it wait till tomorrow,” she said, trying to appear unmoved. "Blossom. I must know now. I can’t rest. What is it?" I cried, sitting up. "I believe it is a letter from Katrine Von Borgen,” she said, putting it into my hand. “I found it waiting here when I arrived." I tore it from the envelope, and my fingers trembled so with eager excitement that I could scarcely hold it steady- enough to- read the first few words. “All is lost, or nearly so. Tomorrow, or at latest, the following day-, will see the worst realized—” At that point a faintness seized upon me, the writing faded from my sight, my hands dropped, and I fell back upon my pillow unaible to read another word be yond this terrible message. * CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO Jtn Extraordinary Dooolopmont My sudden faintness alarmed my sister greatly-, but it passed off quickly under the infleunce of the restoratives which she applied, and then she herself took the letter and read it to me. "All is lost, or nearly so. Tomorrow, or at latest, the following day, will see the worst realized, unless you can even now prevent it I know you are ill, and have been near death, but I hear now that you are getting better; and perhaps you will have strength enough to come or send to prevent this crime—for crime it is. If you do not, something terrible will happen, for I have grown quite desperate. I have nursed Karl now only to be once more laughed at, despised and flung aside. My brain is on fire. I cannot, will not, endure this. You had better come. You will see by the address we are close to London; but I Ifnow that the intention is to go to Saxe-Lippe, to Karl's home there—a wild, inaccessible place, where your chances of doing anything will be hopeless. CStne at once, for heaven’s sake, or I will not answer for the conse quences.” It was a strained, haif-incoherent ;%>- peal; but, knowing Katrine’s wild and vehement nature, I could understand the stress of emotion that inspired it But how was I to respond to it? A glance at the postmark showed me that it had been posted early that tnoming, and thus it gave us a respite until the next day, or, perhaps, the following. To morrow should see me once more face to face with von Kronheim, and this time \backed with sufficient strength to gain my own way: and when I saw this I be gan to gnTWTitfmofu-Jjmist husbahd ipy strength for Celia’s sake, for there would be need of every ounce of it on the mor row. The one question I had to debate now was, whether to give a warning to the German Ambassador that he might send some one with me to represent him; and that question was to be answered for me that night by a singular experience. Blossom was so worn out by her jour ney, , following upon the long .strain of nursing me, that I insisted upon her go ing to bed. My aunt was IJI- and the nurse who was to have come for the night had not arrived, so that my sister wished to sit wiffii mi?. But I would not let her, protesting that I no longer need ed any one. Eventually, as a compromise, and to please her, I agreed to let the old woman, who had been one of the Baron ess's servants, sit lip with me. Blossom telling me that she had found her shrewd, intelligent and very helpful during my ill ness. I lay courting sleep assiduously, bilt it would not come, and my mind flew back to the strange letter from Katrine and the probable consequences of it on the mor row. Then a phrase in it recurred to me: "I hear you are better.” How could Katrine have heard that, I asked myself, and instantly the thought flashed upon me that the woman Who was now watching by my bedside had been left behind as a spy. The train of my suspicions once fired, it did not take me long to jump to the conclusion that I was not safe in hid ing left alone in her cnarge. \ I lay with my eyes fixed on her. She was sitting by the head of the bed in the shadow, and I thought I could catch her eyes watching me now and then furtively. The thought began to have a fascination for me and to .generate fear; and my imagination took it up and began to ply me with strange promptings of the many things she could do in the course of the long night watch. I closed my eyes and feigned sleep to test her, but all the while my nerves and hearing were at the fullest strain. For a long time she sat quite still, and then I heard her move, softly and stealthily, and presently felt her leaning over me as If to make sure I was asleep. Having apparently satisfied herself that I was sound- asleep, she moved away, and I opened my eyes sufficiently to watch her. She walked across the room, gliding with a stealthly, catlike softness, and ob viously commenced to search for some thing; I could not tell what. Ever and again she would pause and look back to the bed to make sure I was still sleeping and each time she did this I seemed to read some evil, sinister purpose In her face. Such fbols can our fears make of ue^7 / ltdSUNNY SOUTH Once when she moved to the ‘opposite side of the room I had to turn, and, feign ing the heavy sigh of a sleeper, I rolled partly over, taking such a position that wherever she was In the room I could watch her out of the corners of my ^Sjies; and as I settled myself I breathed deeply and regularly in Imitation of sound sleep. Not findh.g what she sought, she came to the bedside, the side opposite to that on which she had been sitting, and I felt her hands moving about as she peered hither and thither in her search. It was only with great difficulty that I refrained from opening my eyes or call ing out. But there wa? no danger yet, and I stilfed my beating pulse and com pelled myself to watch without giving a sign. Presently I heard her catch her breath, and the next instant came the rustle of paper In her hands. For the moment I could not see what it was she had dis covered; blit I remembered that Katrine’s letter had been thrust "hurriedly under my pillow, and I jumped to the conclu sion that she had. in some way, over heard some reference to it when Blossom and I had been together, and that she had resolved to learn the contents. My first inclination was to raise an alarm immediately, and prevent her read ing it; but a second's reflection showed me she could do no harm, even if she read it, while it might be of the greatest ad vantage to me to ascertain more of her intentions. It would be the easiest thing in the world on the following morning to prevent her making any use of the knowl edge she would gain. I should be with Celia before she could give any warning, and after that anything she could do would be absolutely useless. She stood a moment by the bedside try ing to read the.letter. But the light from the guarded candle was too dim and too far off for her old eyes; and she stole back to where the candle stood and bent over it. holding the letter up close to her face, on which I could see an eager, ex cited look. Suddenly she started so violently as to shake the little table on which, round the light, were my medicines and glasses, and at the noise and clatter thus made she glanced round fearsomely and nerv ously toward me. I made no sign, but continued to breath as heavily and regu larly as before. I was deeply Interested in her every action and did not lose a movement. Reassured that I was sleeping, she went on with her reading, and at the close I heard her start, catch her breath and almost cry out. And then she gave me a genuine surprise. She pressed the let ter to her wizened old lips and kissed it over and o.ver again, till, with a scarcely articulate moan, she fell on her knees by a chair, and, burying her face in her hands, gave way to what seemed an un controllable burst of grief. Hvhat could it mean? In a moment my apprehensions of any harm from her were allayed while ma^y of my suspicions faded away. This was not the conduct of a spy. Yet why had she searched so diligently for the letter. I resolved to sur prise and then question her. Making as little noise as possible, I drew myself into a sitting posture, and, looking intently at her, I asked in as louii a voice as I could speak: "Why did you take that letter?” She scrambled hastily to her feet and looked toward the bed. her eyes round and staring with fear as though I were a ghost, and her body trembling from excess of fright. "Why did you take that letter? I saw you. I have watched you the whole time. How dare you?” I called again,, my voice sounding loud and stern in the deep still ness of the night. “God forgive me. I am a miserable old woman,” she cried in German, her voice quivering and shaking with emotion. “What do you mean by that?” I re peated. “How dare you stay here as spy upon us all, and crawl a-bput in the dead of the night stealing letters and pry ing into secrets? Tomorrow I’ll give you to the police.” "No police can put right what’s wrong. I am not a spy, Sir Stanley. I did not stay to spy. I stayed—I don’t know why I stayed,” she broke off, wringing her hands helplessly. "If you are not a spy why did you creep around the room just now till you found the letter and then read It?” “I am no spy—I am no spy," she re peated, in a wailing voice, throwing her arms about distractedly; and she came back to her chair at the head of the bed, and threw herself into it with a groan. I sayt that her face was drawn with the strain of her emotion. I didn't understand her, and watched her as s-he sat, staring out in front of her, her hands on her lap holding the let ter, a very picture of dejection and de spair. Presently she laid the letter on the bed. "That is all my fault—all my fault,” she said, clasping her hands before her face and rocking Jierself to and fro in agita tion. “What do you mean? Tell me. How can it be your fault? What have you to do with it? Who are you?” I poured my questions upon her in my surprise. For a long time she made no reply, but continued to rock herself to and from in this wild agitation. “Come, why don't you tell me?” I asked, after a while. “What Is it you are concealing? If you tell me now it may yet be in time to prevent any evil conse quences. What is it?” “I cannot tell you. I cannot—I dare not. I thought it would be all for the best,” she moaned, scarcely coherent in her dis traction. "Thought what would be for the best? What have you done? Come, my good woman, let me know what it Is and what it has to do with the writer of this letter? Is It about her—about Miss Katrine?” "Yes, yes,” she efied, nodding her head, “and Miss Celia.” “Miss Celia?" I exclaimed, my astonish ment greater than ever. “She is not the Duchess’ daughter at all; it's Miss Katrine.” I caught my breath in amazement, and, turning, stared at the woman Speechless for a moment. Then with a rush the full significance of what she said came upon me. “Speak out, woman, for heaven’s sake! Speak out plainly what you mean! Do you want to drive me mad?” “I wanted to tell you. Sir Stanley, but I was afraid,” she replied, and then out came her stqry, told in halting phrases, interspersed with many gaps and pauses and incoherences, and with all the signs of extreme agitation, excitement and man- lfest_fear. And truly a strange story it was, as I got it at/last by dint of stren uous and scarehing/questions. She had been in the service of the Duchess Marie at the time Celia was born, and the child was entrusted to her care. Her Sister had been in the Baroness' Borgen’s service; and, when all the Cru denstadt Court was ringing with the scan dal about the Duchess and my uncle, this woman had conceived the wild idea of saving the Duchess' child froln the fate which, in the common belief await'd her, by changing the two children. An oppor tunity had been found without much dif ficulty. The two babies were sufficiently alike in coloring to make the exchange possible, and when the woman changed their clothes, her sister had not discover ed the difference, but had taken the ducal child back to the. Baroness Borgen's house without any suspicion of what had been done. Soon after that this woman had found means to get taken into the Baroness' service, so that she might have charge of the dhild and watch over her. She had remained with her ever since, keeping her extraordinary secret, and believing that she had saved the child's life, for, when my uncle had brought away the other child so mysteriously, all Cruden stadt believed that in his Jealous madness the Duke had caused her to be put to death. That belief had permanently sealed the woman's lips, partly from fear that she herself would be desperately punished if the fraud were found out, and partly be cause of her conviction that, if the Duke found his child to be still living, he would kill her as she believed he had killed the other. Thus the news that the supposed Celia was alive had plunged the old nurse into a condition of the wildest perplexity and embarrassment until she had been driven to make the confession to me. Her ob ject was no friendliness toward me, re gard for the girl I loved, or even remorse for what she had done. It was her in tense devotion to Katrine, and the fear that if she kept silence any longer Katrine would be deprived of her rightful position and her place be taken by another. When once she had got over the first outburst, she made her tale plain enough, and gave such circumstantial detail that I was anxious to believe it—wild, sensa tional and improbable though it appeared; and when I .had asked every question I could think of and cross-examined her in the. strictest and most exhaustive man ner, I lay back on my pillow thinking of all it meant to me and to the great Issues hanging upon it. I had little sleep that night, but the tonic of the news I had heard did me more good than any sleep. In a moment all the barriers between Celia—for I could not think of her as otheT than Celia—and myself were swept away, and every in ducement for others to keep us apart went with them. And many things that had puzzled me were made plain. It was clear now where Katrine had derived her wild eccentricity; it was her inheritance from he; mother—the grim birthright of mental disease which nothing could check. Her frenzied passion for von Kronheim was but a further symptom, the compan ion picture of the fatal love which had broken her mother's life and destroyed her reason. And with what grim irony had Fata worked out the tangle of their lives! If the girl’s wild story to me were true, the very man whose ambitious brain would have led him to seek out from all the world as his wife had ruined her, and now threatened to cast her off with all the slights of contemptuous contumely. The mother, too. in the blind, egotistic, selfish craving to restore her own repute and honor. wa3 conniving with this heart less rascal to plunge her' own daughter deeper down into the mire of hlshonored neglect and disgrace. j It was indeed a tangled skein which | this wretched old crone had woven for the undoing of the child whom she had ; meant to save. But I had no time to speculate upon the j- Reward of Merit. A New Catarrh Cure Secures National Popularity In Less than One Year. Throughout a great nation of eighty million it is a desperate struggle to secure even a recognition for a new article, to say nothing of.achieving popular favoq, and yet within one year Stuart's Catarrh Tablets, the new catarrh cure, has met with such success that today it can be found in every drug store throughout the L'nlled States and Canada. To be sure a large amount of advertising was necessary in the first instance to bring the remedy to the attention of the public, but everyone familiar with the subject knows that advertising alone never made any article permanently suc cessful. It must have in addition absolute, t ndeniable merit, and this the new ca tarrh cure certainly possesses in a marked degree. Phvslcians. who formerly depended upon Inhalers, sprays and local washes or oint ments. now use Stuart's Catarrh Tablets because, as one of the most prominent stated, these tablets contain in pleasant, convenient fortrf all the really efficient catarrh remedies, such as red gum, blood root and similar antiseptics. They contain no cocaine nor opiate, andi are given to little children with entire safety and benefit. Dr.’ J. J. Reitiger, of Covington. Ky„ says: “I suffered from catarrh in my head and throat every fall, with stoppage of the nose and irritation in the throat af fecting my voice and often extending to the stomach, causing catarrh of the stom ach. I bought a 50-cent package of Stu art's Catarrh Tablets at my druggist’s, carried them In my pocket and used them faithfully, and the way in which they cleared mv head and throat was certainly remarkable. I had no catarrh last winter and spring and consider ntyself entirely free from any catarrhal trouble.” Mrs Jerome Ellison, of Wheeling. W. Va., writes: “I suffered from catarrh nenrlv my whole life and last winter my two children also suffered from catarrhal colds and sore throat so much ‘.hey were out of school a large portion of the win ter. My brother who was cured of ca tarrhal deafness by using Stuart’s Catarrh Tablets urged me to try them so much that I did so, and am truly thankful for what they have done for myself and my children. I always keep a box of the tab lets In the house and at the first aopear- unce of a col-i or sore throat we nip it in the bud and catarrh is no longer a house hold affliction with us.” Full sized packages of Stuart’s Catarrh Tablets are sold for 50 cents at all drug gists. Send for book on cause and cure of ca tarrh, mailed fre-e. Address F. A. Stuart Co . Marshall, Mich. A STEADY WOBKEB. Coffee Works Slow but Sure. Many people use coffee day after day without an idea of the serious work it does with nerves, stomach, bowels, and sometimes with the eyes, heart and kid neys. Its work is done gradually, that is, the poison affects the nerve centers a little today and a little tomorrow, and so on, and finally the nerve cells are slowly- broken down and then Nature begins the call for help. It is a safe proposition that if a man or woman has headaches, stomach trouble, or anv such ailments come on at intervals, something is wrong with the , food or drink, and this question should be in vestigated carefully, for health is the best capital anyone can possess and will fully breaking it down Is a piece of child ish folly. It is eas- to leave off coffee if one will take Postum Food Coffee, properly made, for Postum has a delicious coffee flavor and a deep seal brown color which changes to a golden brown when cream is added, and It satisfies the coffee drinker without any of the bad effects of coffee; on the contrary, the result of using Pos tum is the rebuilding of the broken down nerve centers by the food elements con-< tained in it. Postum Is a pure food beverage made by scientific food makers and can be de pended upon absolutely for its purity and the good resuits that follow its use. To bring out the flavor and food value Postum must be boiled at least 15 min utes after the boiling begins. eccentric muddle produced by this attempt to trick destiny away from Its appointed track. I had to decide what I must do to stay the consummation of the tragedy. I must, act at once and swiftly, if I were to prevent the fulfillment of a tragedy which would be none the less dire be cause futile. Let the Saxe-Lippe throne be filled as it might, my one object and task was to save my love from the dangers still encompassing her and Katrine’s warning, whioh rushed back to my thoughts, appeared a thousand times more urgent and Imperative than before. As soon as it was light I roused the old crone wlto had fallen asleep and sent her to call my sister. A dread had seized upon me that, af ter all, I might yet be too late, and that before I could get to these people their infamous purposes might be executed. This fear excited and fevered me, and my eagerness to be up and doing was fierce and almost desperate. When Blossom came I told her the strange story I had heard in the night, and explained hastily the plan I had formed. This was to telegraph to the German Ambassador, hinting at the extraordinary development of matters, and urging him to send a responsible repre sentative to meet me at a point I men tioned near to where I knew the Duchess was to be found, and to make arrange ments Tor detaining her. Then I wired to Wilson to meet me there also with a number of men, in case of emergency. I would not again venture single-handed into this hornets' nest. It remained only to settle the details of our own departure by the earliest possible means, and this was soon done. (To Be Continued.) “Mammy Ghany,” Loyal To Masted Continued front fifth pago she got in exchange for her-apples, pur chased from the sutler the first' sugar and sure enough coffee we had seen in many a long day. This was very humili ating. to be sure, but my mother asked no questions, and I promised not to tell. Mammy stayed with us until my broth er. broken in health and disabled from a terrible wound received at the battle of Winchester, went to live on the planta tion to take control of affairs there, the negroes refusing to work under the over seer, but would stay if “Mars' Jim” would manage the place. ’ Mammy went down to take care of him. As long as she lived she was our dear old mammy, and was looked after and pro vided for by her “white children,” as she called us. Almost my mother's last words were: “Take good care of Mammy Chany,” and we did. Not long before she died she came to see me at my brother’s house In Salis bury. She was living then with her son In the town, and when she bade me goodby she threw her arms around me, weeping bitterly, and said: "I’m afraid I’ll never see you no mo’, chile, but promise me you won't let them put me away too rough,” and so it Affecting Farewell To Old Mammr The Sonny South's Clubbing List ' "’jrp Sunny South alone can be obtained for only JW cento per year and its weeklycoluml meet the needs of any family tor the field of reading it proposes to cover. There are many publica tions and offers that can be had In connection with It for prices entirely within reach where the combination offer gives our sub scribers many advantages. The prices quoted are net to all parties alike and must be remitted in full with the order. State plainly what you desire sent as your premium and make all remit tances payable to The Sunny South Publishing Company. Select from this list, all yearly subscriptions. 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