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TI DANVERS M
CHAPTER X.'
1, !i / J % \‘ CM
8) k wot standing up, nervously playing
icith her ring s.
The room seemed strangely quiet after
the stormy interview in the sick cham
ber which we had just left. The pale
winter sunlight was stealing in aslant
through the low windows. The Are had
sunk to a deep red glow, and in an arm
chair drawn up in front of it, newspaper
in hand, was Carr, evidently fast asleep.
“Oh, my prophetic soul!” whispered
Charles, nudging Marston, and then he
went forward and shouted, “Luncheon!”
in a voice that would have waked the
death
Carr started up and rubbed his eyes.
“Why, I believe you have been here
ever since I left you here, hours ago,”
said Charles, in a surprised tone, though
really under the circumstances it did not
require a great stretch of the imagina
tion to suppose any such thing.
“Yes,” said Carr, still rubbing his
eyes. “Have you been gone long? I
expect I fell asleep.”
“I rather thought you were inclined
for a nap when I left you,” replied
Charles, airily: “and now let us go to
luncheon.”
It was a very dismal meal. Lady Mary
did not com® down to it, and Aurelia sat
with red eyes, tearful and silent. Ralph
was evidently out of favor, for she hardly
spoke tq him, and snubbed him decidedly
when he humbly tendered a peace offer
ing in the form of a potato. Evelyn, too,
was silent, or made spasmodic attempts
at conyersaboa with Mrs. Marston, the
only unconstrained person of the party.
Evelyn and Aurelia had appeared to
gether, and it was evident from Evelyn’s
expression that Aurelia had told her.
What conversation there was turned
upon Sir George’s illness.
“We must go by the afternoon train,
my dear,” said Marston down the table
to liis wife. “In Sir George’s present
state all visitors are an incubus.”
Carr looked up. “I thiuk I ought to
go too,” he said. "I wished to arrange
to do so this morning, but Mr. Dan
vers,” glancing at Charles, “would not
hear of it. lam sure when there is ill
ness in a house strangers are always m
the way.”
“I have seen my father rince then,”
Charles, "and I fear his illness is
much’more serious than I had any idea
of. That being the case, I feel it would
be wrong to press any one, even Middle
ton, to stay aud share the tedium of a
sick house."
After a few more civil speeches it was
arranged that Carr should, after all,
leave by the train which he had proposed
in the morning. It was found that there
was still time for him to do so, but that
was all. He was evidently as anxious
to be off as the Danverses were that he
should go. The dog cart w:is ordered, a
servant despatched to the lodge in hot
haste to pack his portmanteau and in
half an hour he was bidding us good-by,
evidently glad to say it. Poor fellow!
He little guessed, as he shook hands
with us, how shamefully he had been
suspected, how villainously he had been
traduced behind Iris back.
Somehow or other I had not had a
moment of conversation with him since
the morning, or a single chance of telling
him how I had stood up for him in his
absence. Either Charles or Marston
was always at hand, and when he took
leave of me I could only shake his hand
warmly, and tell him to come and see
me again in town. I watched him spin
ning down the drive in the dog-cart,
little thinking how soon I should see
him again, and in what circumstances.
“We shall have more snow,” said
Ralph, coming indoors. “I feel it in
the air."
General and Mrs. Marston were the
next to leave, starting an hour later and
going in the opposite direction. I saw
Marston turn aside when his wife was
taking leave of the others and go up to
Charles. The old hand and the young
one met and were locked tight.
“Good-by, my dear hoy," said Mars
ton.
“Don’t go," said Charles, without look
ing up.
“I must,” said Marston. “I am due at
Kemberley to-night, on business; hut,"
in a lower tone, “I shall come back to
morrow, in case I can be of any use.’’
They were gone, and I was the only
one remaining. It has occurred to me
since that perhaps they expected me to
go, too, but I never thought of it at the
time. I had been asked for a week, and
to go before the end of it never so much
as entered my head.
There was no chance of going ont. The
early winter afternoon was already clos
ing in. and a few flakes of snow were
drifting like feathers in the heavy air,
promising more to come. Every one
seemed to have dispersed—Ralph up
stairs to his father. Charles out of doors
somewhere in spite of the weather. I
remembered that I had not written to
Jane since I left London, and went into
the library to do so.
As I rtne in I saw Evelyn sitting in a
low ct .by the fire, gazing abstracted
ly into it. She started when she saw me,
and on my saving I wished to write some
letters, showed me a writing table near
the fire, with pens, ink and paper.
“You will find it very cold at the big
table window," ghe said, looking at it
with its broken drawer, a cHinic open,
| with a visible shudder.
I installed myself near the fire, talk-
J ing cheerfully the while, for it struck
j me *’i“ was a little low in her spirits.
She did not make much response, and I
was settling down to my letters when
she suddenly said:
“Col. Middleton!”
“Yes, Miss Derrick."
“I am afraid lam interrupting yonr
writing, but”
I looked round. She was standing up,
nervously playing with her rings. “But
—I know lam not supposed to —but I
know what happened last night: Aurelia
told me.”
“It is very sad, isn’t it?" I said. “But
cheer up. I dare say we may get them
back yet." And I nodded confidentially
at her. “In the meantime, you know,
you must not talk of it to any one."
“Do you suspect any one in particu
lar?” she asked very earnestly, coming a
step nearer.
I hardly knew what to say. Carr, I
need hardly mention, I had never sus
pected for a moment; but Charles—Mars
ton had evidently believed what Charles
had said, but i am by nature more cau
tious and less credulous than Marston.
Besides I had not forgiven Charles yet
for trying to incriminate Carr. Not
knowing what to say I shrugged my
shoulders and smiled.
“You do suspect some one then?"
“My dear yonng lady,” ' I replied,
“when jewels are stolen one naturally
suspects some one has taken them.”
“Bo I should imagine. Whom do you
naturally suspect?”
I could not tell her that I more than
suspected Charles.
“I know nothing for certain,” I said.
"Cut you have a suspicion?”
"I have a suspicion.”
"She went to the door to see if it were
shut, and then came back, and said in a
whisper—
“So have I.”
“Perhaps we suspect the same person?”
I said.
She did not answer, but fixed her dark
eyes keenly on mine. I had never no
ticed before how dark they were.
1 saw then that 'oe knew, and that she
suspected Charles, just as Sir George had
done.
I nodded.
“Nothing is proved,” 1 said.
“I dared not say even as much as this
before,” she continued hurriedly. “It is
only the wildest, vaguest suspicion. I
have nothing to take hold of. It is so
horrible to suspect any one; but”--
She stopped suddenly. Her quick ear
had caught the sound of a distant step
coming across the hall. Iu another mo
ment Aurelia came in.
“Are you there, Evelyn?” she said. “I
was looking for you, to ask where the
time table is. I want to look out my
journey for tomorrow. Ralph ought to
do it. but be is upstairs,” with a little
pout.
“You ought not to have quarreled with
him until he had made it out for you,”
said Evelyn, smiling. “It is a very cross
journey, isn’t it? Let me see. You are
going to your uncle in Dublin, are not
you? Yon had better go to London and
start from there. It will be the shortest
way in the end."
The two girls laid their heads together
over the Bradshaw, Evelyn’s dark, soft
hair making a charming contrast to Au
relia’s yellow curls. At last the journey
was made out and duly written down,
and a post card dispatched to the uncle
in Dublin.
“Have you seen Ralph anywhere?”
asked Aurelia when she had finished it.
“I am afraid I was a little tiny wee hit
Cross to him this morning, and I am so
sorry.” {
Evelyn always seemed to stiffen when
Aurelia talkod about Ralph, and under
the pretext of putting her post card in
the letter bag for her she presently left
the room and did not return.
Aurelia sat down on the hearth rug
and held two plump little hands to the
fire. It was quite impossible to go on
writing to Jane while she was there, and
I gave it up accordingly.
“I am glad Evelyn is gone,” she said,
confidentially. “Do you know why I
am glad?”
I said I could not imagine.
“Because,” continued Aurelia, nod
ding gracefully at me, “I want to have
a very, very, very serious conversation
with you, Col. Middleton.”
I said I should be chunned, inwardly
wondering what that little curly head
would consider to l>e serious conversa
tion.
“Really serious, you know,” continued
Aurelia, “not pretense. About that!”
pointing with a pink linger at the inlaid
writing table. “You know I was with
Ralph when he found it out, and I am
afraid I was a little cross to him, only
really it was so hard and they were so
lovely, and it was partly his fault, now,
wasn’t it, for leaving them there? He
aught to have been more careful.”
“Of course he ought,” I said. I would
not have contradicted her for worlds.
“And you know I am to be married
uext month, and Aunt Alice in Dublin,
who is getting my things, says as it is to
be a winter wedding I am to be married
in a white frise velvet, and I did think
the diamonds would have looked so
lovely with it, wouldn’t they?”
I agreed, of course.
“But I shall never be married in them
now,” she said with a deep sigh. “And
I was looking forward to the wedding so
mneh, though I dare say I did tell a
naughty little story when I said I was
not to Ralph the other night. Of course
Ralph is left,” she added, as an
afterthought, “but it won’t be so per
fect, will it?”
I was morally certain Charles would
have to give them up, so I said, reassur
ingly:
“Perhaps you may be married in them,
after all.”
“Oh!” she said, clasping her hands to
gether, “dS you really think so? Do you
know anything? 1 have not seen Ralph
since to ask him about it. Do you think
we shall really get them back?”
“I should not wonder."
“Oh! Col. Middleton, I see you know.
You are a clever, wise man, and you
have found out something. Who is it?
Do tell mef
- Y/UHjaH EEamis? Ul t tQ tdl URT oner
••Mayn’t I tell Ralph? I tell him every
i thing.”
“Well, yon may tell Ralph because he
knows already; but no one else, remein
| ber. The truth is we are afraid it is
Charles.”
There was a long pause.
“I know Evelyn thinks so," said Aure
lia in a whisper, “though she tries not
to show it. because—because”
“Because what?"
“Well, of course you can't, have helped
seeing, can you, that she and Charles"
I had not seen it; indeed Iliad fancied
at times that Evelyn had a leaning to
ward Ralph, but I never care to seem
slower than others in noticing these
things, so I nodded.
“And then, you know, people can’t be
married that haven't any money, and
Charles and Evelyn have none,” said
Aurelia “Oh! lam glad Ralph is well
off.”
A light was breaking in on me. Per
haps it was not Charles after all. Per
haps—
“l am afraid Evelyn is very unhappy,”
continued Aurelia. ‘ ‘ Her room is next to
mine, and she walks up and down and up
and down iu the night. I hear her when
lam in bed. Last night I heard her so
late, so late that I had been to sleep and
had waked up again. Do you know” —
and she crept close up to me with wide,
awestruck eyes—“l am going away to
morrow, and I don’t like to say anything
to any one but you; but I think Evelyn
knows something.”
“Miss Derrick!” I said, beginning to
suspect that she possibly knew a good
deal more than any of us, and then sud
denly remembering that she had been on
the point of telling me something and
had been interrupted. I was getting
qnite confused. She certainly would not
have wished to confide in me if mv new
suspicion were correct. Considering
there was a mystery, it was curious how
everyone seemed to know something very
particular about it.
“Yes,” replied Aurelia, nodding once
or twice. “I am sure she knows some
thing. I went into her room before
luncheon, and she was sitting with her
head down on the dressing table, and
when she looked up I saw she had been
crying. I don’t know what to say about
it to Ralph, but you know”—with a
shake of the curls—“though people may
think me only a silly little thing, yet I
do notice things, Col. Middleton. Aunt
Alice, in Dublin, often says how quickly
I notice things, and I thought as you
were staying on, and seemed to be a
friend, I would tell you this before I
went away, as you would know best
what to do about it.”
Aurelia had more insight into charac
ter than 1 had given her credit for. She
had hit upon the most likely person to
follow out a clew, however slight, in a
case that seemed becoming more and
more complicated. I inwardly resolved
that I would have it out with Miss Der
rick that very evening. Lady Mary now
came in and servants followed shortly
afterward with lamps. The dreary twi
light with its dim whirlwinds of driving
snow was shut out, the curtains were
drawn and tea made its appearance.
Evelyn presently returned and Charles
also, who civilly wished Lady Mary
good morning, not having seen her till
then. She handed him his tea without
a word in reply. It was evident that
she also was aware of the robbery, and
it is hardly necessary to add that she
suspected Charles.
“How is my father?" he asked, taking
no notice of tho frigidity of her manner,
“He is asleep at this moment,” she re
plied. “Ralph is remaining with him.”
“He is better then, I hope?"
“He is in a very critical state and is
likely to remain in it. His illness was
quite serious enough without haring it
increased by one of his own household.”
“Ah! I was afraid that had been the
case,” returned Charles. “I knew you
had been doctoring him when he was
out of sorts yesterday. But you must
not reproach yourself, Aunt Mary. We
are none of us infallible. No doubt you
acted for the best at the time, and I dare
say what you gave him may not do him
any permanent injury.”
“If that is intended to be amusing,”
said Lady Mary, her tea cup trembling
in her hand, “I can only say that in my
opinion willfully misunderstanding a
simple statement is a very cheap form
of wit."
“I am so glad to hear you say so,” said
Charles, rising, “as it was at your ex
pense.” With which Parthian shot he
withdrew.
I endeavored in vain to waylay Evelyn
after tea, but she slipped away almost
before it was over and did not appear
again till dinner time. In the mean
while my brain, fertile in expedients
on most occasions, could devise no
means by which I could speak to her
alone and without Charles’ knowledge.
I felt I must trust to chance.
CHAPTER XI.
Evelyn tank into a chair and covered her
face with her trcmblinij hands.
When I came down before dinner I
found Ralph and Charles talking earn
estly by the hall fire, Ralph’s hand on
his brother’s shoulder.
“You see we are no further forward
than we were,” he was saying,
j “We shall have Marston back to-mor
row,” said Charles, as the gong began to
sound. “We cannot take any step till
then, especially if we don’t want to put
our foot in it. I have been racking my
brains all the afternoon without the ves
tige of a result. W© must just hold our
hands for the moment.”
Dinner was announced, and we waited
j patiently for a few minutes and impa
tiently for a good many more, until
Evelyn hurried down, apologizing for
being late, and with a message from
Lady Mary that we were not to wait for
her, as she was dining upstairs in her
own room, a practice to which she seemed
rather addicted.
“And where is Aurelia?” asked Ralph.
“She is not coming down to dinner
either,” said Evelyn. "She has a bad
headache again, and is lying down. She
asked me to tell you that she wishes par
ticularly to see you this evening, as she
is going away to-morrow, and if she is
well enough she will come down to the
morning room at 9; indeed she said she
would come down anyhow.”
After Ralph’s natural anxiety respect
ing his lady love had been relieved, and
he had been repeatedly assured that
nothing much was amiss, we went in to
dinner, and a more lugubrious repast I
never remember being present at. The
meals of the day might have been classi
fied thus: Breakfast, dismal; luncheon,
dismaller (or more dismal); dinner, dis
mal lest (or most dismal). There really
was no conversation. Even I, who,
without going very deep (which I con
sider is not in good taste), have some
thing to say on almost every subject—
even I felt myself nonplused for the
time being. Each of us in turn got out
a few constrained words and then re
lapsed into silence.
Evelyn ate nothing, and her hand
trembled so much when she poured out
a glass of water that she spilt some on
the cloth. I saw Charles was watching
her furtively* and I became mgra and
more certain that Amelia was right
and that Evelyn knew something about
the mystery of the night before. I must
and would speak to her that very even
ing.
“Bitterly cold,” said Ralph, when at
last we had reached the dessert stage.
“It is snowing still, and the wind is
getting up.”
In truth the wind was moaning round
the house like an uneasy spirit.
“That sound in the wind always
means snow,” said Charles, evidently
for the sake of saying something. “It
is easterly, I should think. Yes,” after
a pause, when another silence seemed
imminent, “there goes the 8 o’clock
train. It most be quite a quarter of an
hour late, though, for it has struck 8
some time. I can hear it distinctly.
The station is three miles away, and you
never hear the train unless the wind is
in the east.”
“Come, Charles, not three miles—two
miles and a half,” put in Ralph.
“Well, two and a half from here down
to the station, but certainly three from
the station np here,” replied JBharles;
and so silence was laboriously avoided
by diligent small talk, until we returned
to the drawing room, thankful there at
least wo could take up a book and be si
lent if we wished. We all did wish it, ap
parently. Evelyn was sitting by a lamp
when we came iu with a book before
her. her elbow on the table, shading her
face with a slender, delicate hand. She
remained motionlees, her eyes fixed upon
the page, but I noticed after some time
that she had never turned it over.
Charles may have read his newspaper,
but if he did it was with one eye upon
Evelyn all the time. Between watching
them both I did not, as may be imagin
ed, make much progress myself. How
was I to manage to speak to Evelyn
alone, and without Charles’ knowledge?
At last Ralph, who had gone into the
Rooming room, opened the drawing room
door, and put his head in.
“Aurelia has not come down yet, and
it is a quarter past 9. I wish you would
run up, Evelyn, and see if she is com
ing.”
“She is sure to come!” replied Evelyn,
without raising her eyes. “She said she
must see you.”
Ralph disappeared again, and the
books and papers were studied anew
with unswerving devotion. At the end
of another ten minutes, however, the
impatient lover reappeared.
“It is half-past 9,” he said, in an in
jured tone. “Do pray run up, Evelyn.
I don’t think she can he coming at all. I
am afraid she is worse.”
Evelyn laid down her book and left
the room. Ralph sauntered hack into
the morning room, where we heard him’
beguiling his solitude with a few chords
on the piano.
Presently Evelyn returned. She was
pale even to the lips, and her voice falt
ered as she said:
“She has not gone to bed, for there is
a light in her room; but she would not
answer when I knocked and the door is
locked.”
“All of which circumstances are not
sufficient to make yon as white as
a ghost,” said Charles. “I think, even
if Aurelia has a headache, yon would
bear the occurrence with fortitude.
My dear child, you do not act so well
off the stage as on it. There is some
thing on your mind. People don’t up
set water at dinner and refuse all food
except pellets of pinched bread for noth
ing. What is it?"
Evelyn sank into a chair and covered
her face with her trembling hands.
“Yes, I thought so,” said Charles,
kneeling down by her and gently with
drawing her hands. “Come, Evelyn,
what is it?”
“I dare not say.” And she turned
away her face and tried to disengage
her hands, but Charles held them firmly.
“Is it about what happened last
night?” he asked, in a tone that was
kind, but that evidently intended to
have an answer.
“Yes.”
“And do you know that I am sus
pected?”
“You, Charles? Never!” she cried,
starting up.
“Yes, I. Suspected by my own fa
ther. So if you know anything, Evelyn
—which I see you do—it is your duty to
.tell us. and to help us in every way you
can."
He had let go her hands now and had
risen.
“I don’t know anything for certain,"
she said, "but—but we soon shall. Aure
lia knows and she is going to tell Ralph.”
“Miss Grant!” I exclaimed. “She
knew nothing at tea time. She was
asking me about it.”
“It is since then,” continued Evelyn.
“I went up to her room before dinner to
ask her for a fan that I had lent her. She
was packing some of her things, and the
floor was strewn with packing paper and
parcels. She gave me my fan, and was
going on putting her things together,
talking all the time, when she asked me
to hand her a glove box on the dressing
table. As I did so my eye fell on a piece
of paper lying together with others, and
I instantly recognized it as the same that
had been wrapped round the diamond
crescent when Col. Middleton first showed
ua the jewels. I should never have no
ticed it—for though it was rice paper it
looked just like the other pieces strewn
about —if I had not seen two little angu
lar tears which I suddenly remembered
making in it myself when Gen. Mars
ton asked me not to pull it to pieces,
which I suppose I had been absently do
ing. I made some sort of exclamation
of surprise, and Aurelia turned round
sharply and asked me what was the mat
ter. As I did not answer she left her
packing and came to the table. She saw
in a moment what I was looking at. I
had turned as red as fire, and she was
quite white. ‘I did not mean yon to see
that;’ she said at last, quietly taking up
the paper. ‘I meant no one to know
until I had shown it to Ralph. Do you
know where I found it? 1 and she looked
hard at me. I could only shake my
head. I was too much ashamed of a
suspicion I had had to be able to get out
a word. ‘I am very sorry,’ continued
Aurelia, ‘but I am afraid it will be my
duty to tell Ralph, whatever the conse
quences may be. I have been thinking
it over, and I think he ought to know.
I am going to show it him to-night
after dinner,’ and she put it in her
pocket and then began to cry. I did
not know what to say or do. I was so
frightened at the thought of what was
coming, and as the dressing bell rang at
that moment I was just leaving the
room when she-called me back.
“ ‘I can’t come down to dinner,’ she
said. ‘I hate Ralph to see me with red
eyes. Tell him I shall come down after
ward, at 9 o’clock, and that I want to
see him particularly; only don’t tell him
what it is about or mention it to any
one else. I did not mean any one to
know till he did.’
“She began to cry afresh and I made
her lie down and put a shawl over her,
and then left her, as I had still +o dress,
and I knew that Annt Mary was not
coming down. I was late ah it was.”
“Is that all?” said Charles, who had
been listening intently.
“All,” replied Evelyn. “We shall
soon know the worst now.”
“Very soon,” said Charles. “Ralph
may come in here at any moment.
Evelyn and Middleton, will you have
the goodness to come with moT And ha
led the way into the hall.
We could hear Ralph in the next
room humming over an old Irish melody
with an improvised accompaniment.
"Now show me ber room,” said
Charles, “and be quick about it.”
Evelyn looked at him astonished, and
then led the way np stairs,along the pict
hre gallery to another wing of the
house. She stopped at last before a door
at the end of the passage, dimly lighted
by a lamp at the further end. There
was a light under the door, and a bright
chink in the keyhole, but though we list
ened intently we could hear nothing
stirring within.
“Knock again,” said Charles to Evelyn.
“Louder!” as her hand failed her.
There was no answer. As we listened
the light within disappeared.
“Bring that lamp from the end of the
passage,” said Charles to Evelyn, and
she brought it.
“Hold it there,” he said; “and you,
Middleton, stand aside.”
He took a few steps backward and then
flung himself against the door with his
whole force. It cracked and groaned,
but resisted.
“The lock is old. It is bound to go,”
he said, panting a little,
“Really, Charles,” I remonstrated —“a
lady’s private apartment! Miss Derrick,
i wonder you allow this.”
Charles retreated again, and, then
made a fresh and even fiercer onjAught
on the door. There was a sound of
splintering wood and of bursting screws,
and in another moment the door flew
open inward, and Charles was precipi
tated headforemost into the room, his
evening pumps flourishing wildly in the
air. In an instant he was on his feet
again, gasping hard, and had seized the
lamp out of Evelyn’s hand. Before I had
time to remonstrate on the liberty that
he was taking we were all three in the
room.
It was empty!
In one comer stood a box half packed,
with various articles of clothing lying
by it. On the dressing table was a
whole medley of little feminine knick
knacks, with a candlestick in the midst,
the dead wick still smoking in the socket
and accounting for the disappearance of
the light a few minutes before. The fire
had gone out, but on a chair by it was
laid a little black lace evening gown,
evidently put out to be worn, while over
the fender a dainty pair of silk stockings
had been hung, and two diminutive
black satin shoes were waiting on the
hearthrug. The whole aspect of the
room spoke of a sudden and precipitate
flight.
“Bolted!” said Charles, when he had
recovered his breath. “And so the mys
tery is out at last! I might have known
there was a woman at the bottom of it.
Unpremeditated, though,” he continued,
looking round. “She meant to have
gone to-morrow, but your recognition of
that paper frightened her, though she
turned it off well to gain time. No fool
that. She only had an hour, and she
made the most of it, and got off, no
dcubt, while we were at dinner by the
8:08 London train, which is the last to
night, and after the telegraph office was
closed, too! She knew nothing could ko
done till to-morrow,
Hiaa I gave her credit, for." mOT * wf*
“I distrusted her before, then u
no reason for it, but I never thr
was gone,” said Evelvn.
lenily, and still looking round
"I knew it,” said
moment I saw the light
keyhole. A keyhole with a k
would not have shown half th* 14 *
of light through it; and a loefe!? 1 ? 181
without a key in it is safe to hav* ri*
locked from the outside wJ r**
maid with her?" t
“No." replied Evelyn, “she ,
come to me, next door, when she *7 *
help—but not often-because I thirls
knew I did not like hen, S
not to show it."
“ Well, we have seen the last of w
or I am much mistaken,” said cWi
-And now," he added,
kmj suppose I mnst g „
“Oh, Ralph, Ralph!" gasped Evelyn
with a sudden sob. “And he waT’
fond of her!”
“And so you distrusted her
Evelyn. And why did you not mention
that fact a little sooner?” 00
“Without any reason for it? Ai>s
when Ralph—oh, I couldn’t! I
said the girl, crimsoning.
Charles gazed intently at her as she
turned away, pressing her hands tightly
together, and evidently struggling yyJ
some sudden emotion for which there
really was no apparent reason. She was
overwrought, I suppose; and indeed the
exertion of breaking in the door had
been rather too much for Charles, too
for, now that the excitement was over
his hand shook so much that he had to
put down the lamp, and even his voice
trembled a little as he said:
“I don’t think Ralph is very much to
be pitied. He has had a narrow escape.”
“Don't come down again either
you,” he continued a moment later in
his usual voioe. “I had better go and
get it over at once. He will be wonder
ing what has become of us if I
much longer. Evelyn, good night. Good
night, Middleton. If it is too early f or
you to go to bed you will find a fire i a
the smoking room.”
I bade Evelyn goodnight and followed
Charles down the corridor. He replaced
the lamp with a hand that was steady
enough now and went slowly across the
picture gallery. The way to my room
led me through it also. Involuntarily I
stopped at the head of the great carved
staircase which led into the hall, and
watched him going down, step by step,
with lagging tread. From the morning
room came the distant sound of a piano,
and a man’s voice singing to it, wT-ging
softly, as though no Nemesis were ap
proaching; singing slowly, as if there
were time enough and to spare. But
Nemesis had reached the bottom of the
staircase; Nemesis with a heavy step
was going across the silent hall—was
even now opening the door of the morn
ing room. The door was gently closed
again, and then, in the middle of a bar,
the music stopped.
[to be ooirrmuux] ~jJ
One of Ingalls’ Gems.
Kansas papers are now engaged
in printing gems from the tongue
and pen of John J. Ingalls. The
following masterpiece is from the
oration delivered by him at the
grave of the late Congressman
James N. Burnes: ‘‘ln toe demo
cracy of the dead all men at least
are equal. There is neither rank
nor station nor prerogative in the
republic of the grave. At this fa
tal threshold the plilosopher ceases
to be wise and the song of the poet
is silent. Dives relinquishes his
millions and Lazarus his rags.
The poor man is as rich as the
richest, and the rich as poor as the
pauper. The creditor loses his
usury and the debtor is acquitted
of his obligation. There the proud
man surrenders his dignities, the
politican his honors, the worlding
his pleasures, the invalid needs no
physician and the laborer rests from
his unrequited toil. Here at last
is nature’s final decree in equity.
The wrongs of time are redressed,
injustice is explained, the irony
of fate is refuted, the unequal dis
tribution of wealth, honor, capac
ity, pleasure and opportunity,
which makes life so cruel and in
explicable a tragedy, ceases in the
realm of death. The strongest
there has no supremacy and the
weakest needs no defense. The
mighty cat>tain succumbs to the
invincible adversary who disarms
alike the victor and vanquished.
BL001) POISON CXIiED B 1 B. B. B.
Bottle Fret to Siifl'erg.
Deep-seated, obstinate cases, the kind
that have resisted doctors, hot. springs
and patent medicine treatment, quickly
yield to B. B. B. (Botanic Blqod Balm),
thoroughly tested for 30 years. Have
you mucuous patches in the mouth,
Throat? Eruptions? Eating sores?
Bone Pains? Itching Skin? Swollen
Glands? Stiff Joints? Copper Colored
Spots? Chancres? Ulceration on the
body? Hair and eyebrows fall out? I*
the skin a mass of boils, pimples am
ulcers? Then this wonderful B. B B.
specific will completely change the
whole body into a clean, perfect condi
tion, free from eruptions, and sk in
smooth with the perfect glow ot healt i
B B. B. drains the poisin ont of the
system so ths symptoms cannot return.
At the same time B. B. B. builds up t e
broken down constitution and itnpro :es
the digestion. So sufferers may tes
B . B. B. a trial bottle will be given
awav free of charge.
B. B. B. for sale by druggist at P P*
large bottle, or 6 large bottles (full lrea
ment) $2. Complete directions wu
each bottle, address BLOOD BAL- •>
Atlanta, Ga. Describe trouble and <-
medical advice given.
When vou say your blood is
and appetite poor you are
vonr need of Hood’s Sarsaparilla,
gin taking it at once. _ w