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[No title]
THEKK ARE FEW HOMES in which the preparation of the Christinas Pudding is not as regular as the advent of Chriattuas itself, and the notion among the juvenile members of the family that a vigorous stir at the compound means good fortune during the coming year, still holds its own. We think onr lady readers may like an excellent recipe for a Christmas Pudding, I and therefore give the best we knowTake three- quarters of a pound of flour, two large teaspoonfuls of Borwick's Baking Powder, two ounces of bread crumbs. one and a half pounds of suet, two pounds of r.tisins, one pounds of currants, ten ounces of sugar, two ounees of almonds one pound of mixed candied two ounees of almonds one pound of mixed candied peel, and spice to taste. ]Yli\ ingredients well together and add >i\ eggs well beaten, and three quarters •♦f a pint of milk, divide in two and Ijoi ■•"jfht hon-r- AD\'(.
ON NEW YEAR'S NIGHT.
{Copyriglt.) ON NEW YEAR'S NIGHT. By HORACE LASHBROKE, Author of "To the Rescue," "Poor Cousin fiIa," "Forsaken," &c. CHAPTER I. Squire Quinton was a cold, hard man; as cold and hard as the grey stones of the old Manor House in which he lived. The villagers of Minton-Lea feared him almost to a man; not one of them loved or really respected him. There was not a house nor cottage in the place that did not belong to him, and woe unto the tenant who got in arrears with his rent. Few country gentlemen ever had a better oppor- tunity of endearing themselves to those about them than Squire Quinton. He was monarch of all he surveyed," and, if he had only behaved himself, he might have been as popular as he was detested. He had resided at the Manor House for five-and- twenty years when our story commences. He bad taken up his residence there two years after his father's death and a few months after his marriage. His wife had made herself greatly beloved by the humble folk of Minton-Lea; but her sojourn amongst them had been comparatively brief. Within four years of her arrival at the Manor House the had left it, suddenly and mysteriously. No one in the village had seen her take her departure, and no one knew, ipparontly, the actual date on which she had gone. But the general impression was that she had left her home on a New Year's night. From the time of his wife's disappearance the Squire had led a very secluded life. Even while she was with him he had kept but little company; after she left he had ceased entertaining altogether. lie had an only son, now four-and-twenty years of age. On him he bestowed all the affection of which his stern, unbending nature was capable. Arthur Quinton had no remembrance of his mother; he was but two and a half years old when she went away. He had been tended from the time of his sever- ance from his mother by a highly respectable middle nged woman, whose services Squire Quinton had secured a few days only before his wife's departure. He had dismissed the nurse who had previously attended upon his child a very short while before Mrs. Quinton left home. > roung Quinton was the very opposite of his father. He was open-hearted, lively and generous. "There's no pride nor nothing stuck up about him," the villagers would say. "Master Arthur is one of the right sort, bless his young heart. Should he live to step into his father's shoes, times will be better and happier for the folks of Minton-Lea." Young Quinton went from Eton to Cambridge, and obtained all the advantages of an excellent education; but he did not follow up these early advantages by taking up a profession. "You will find plenty to occupy your time as a country gentleman," said his father; and so. being passionately djvoted to field sports,he was perfectly willing to fall in with the parental suggestion as to his future—a sorry suggestion for any parent to make; A life devoted entirely to pleasure might have utterly ruined Arthur Quinton, as it has ruined many more but happily this was not the case. He hunted, shot, and fished with as much zeal as any young sportsman could evince, and his father's hard proud heart rejoiced to hear that he excelled in all he undertook. But the time came when Arthur Quinton did more than hunt, shoot, and fish-he made love! Stolen kisses, they say, are the sweetest. And so, too, surely, love made in secret is the most romantic. Down by the river, in secluded paths, the squire's handsome eon and the miller's lovely daughter breathed their vows of love. Down by the river Grace Romayne listened with willing ear while Arthur Quinton whispered the old, old story o'er again. How it had come about, this reciprocity of hearts, neither could well have told you. They had known each other from childhood, but the thought of love had not entered the mind of either until they had reached years when that absorbing passion becomes serious. Possibly their relative positions had caused the delay. Was it likely a squire's son, with a pedigree as long as a lawyer's bill, and broad acres in prospect, would deliberately fan an innocent admiration of a humble village girl into a dame of devoted love ? Or was it likely a poor miller's daughter would encourage her natural liking for a frank, open-hearted young country magnate until it developed into ungovernable devotion ? No. The love that had sprung up between theee two had not been wittingly developed from any minor feeling; it had grown unconsciously to them, and had finally blossomed forth with surprising irresistibility. From the moment the dawn of love came, with all its sweetness, they recognised the rock ahead. Grace Romayne saw it and trembled. Arthur Quinton saw it and defied it. tirace beheld in it an insurmountable barrier betweeu her and the consummation of her fondest hope: she was prepared to give in without venturing to overcome it. She was annoyed at lie)., own temerity in having so nearly approached contact with such a terrible obstacle; but love had proved her master. Arthur Quinton beheld in it a stern difficulty, but he never for an instant entertained the thought of retiring from it. He resolved to face it, whatever the conse- quences might be. He determined to win the prize on which his heart was set, let him lose what else lie might. It was idle for Grace to suggest a retreat; it was idle for her to reproach herself for having encouraged him in a passion that invited such dangerous consequences. He vowed that nothing could harm him, nothing take the sunshine out of his lifp, so long as she remained faithful to him, but if sho, out of any generous but fallacious belief that she would shield him from evil conse- quences by abandoning him, were to withdraw her allegiance, then would his life be ruined indeed. And so the clandestine meetings went on, the secret love-making continued, Hut the day of discovery came. Some mischief-maker, probably a secret rival, saw the happy pair arm in arm at their trysting-place more than once, and soon afterwards an anonymous letter reached Squire Quinton. Directly he had read it he rushed off to the miller's houQe-nnhed off without waiting to see his son and hear what he had to say about it—and attacked Mr. Romayne. On that same day, late in the afternoon, Arthur Quinton, ignorant of what had befallen, called at the miller's house. For years he had been a welcome guest there; and, indeed, for very many months past, seldom had a day gone over without his putting in an appearance. Mr, Romayne was the quietest and most inoffensive man imaginable, and a man of the strictest integrity. If he was not actually a gentleman by birth, he was-which is better .till-one of Nature's gentlemen. He was fairly educated, and of more than ordinary intelli- gence. His wife, a neighbouring farmer's daughter* was an industrious, sweet tempered woman, whose beautv her daughter Grace had inherited. It it necessary to mention one other inmate of the miller's home—Mrs. White. Mrs. White was a widowed sister of Mr. Romayue'e. She had mado a bad marriage, and being left penni- less at her husband's death (he had been a farm bailiff, who had drunk himself to death), her brother hal given her a home beneath his roof. She WM a keen, intelligent woman, seme years older than her brother. With Arthur Quinton she had always got on excellently. Indeed, she seemed to take quite a motherly interest in him. Mr. Romayne met Arthur on the threshold. He was pale and agitated. Let us have a stroll before we go indoors," he said. "I have something im- portant to say to you." Young Quinton felt the colour mount to hit cheeks. Had Mr. Romayne heard of hit clandestine meetings with his daughter ? "Your father has been here," said Mr. Romayne. "Indeed! He came early in the afternoon, nearly beside himself with passion." "What about P He has heard that my daughter Grace and you have been carrying on clandestine meetings for Ojonths pa3t, and that you evidently have it in your Inind to marry her. Is that true, Mr. Quinton, 01 U it not? "It is true, Mr. Romayne." Vbero was a brief and painful silence, JIa. Romayne passed his hand across his face in evident mental distress. "And do you consider," he said at last, "that you nave been acting honourably towards me or any of my household in so behaving ? "I have meant honourably by you, sir, and every inmate of your house," cried Arthur Quinton, with intense fervour. "My conduct may seem on the first blush of this disclosure underhand and injudicious, but when you have heard my explana. tion I am sure you will no longer think so. Fearful that there might be objections raised to our engage- ment, I held my peace, and induced Grace to hold her peace also, as to the determination we had both arrived at. When I considered the proper time had arrived for me to speak out. I should have done go. Mr. Romayne, I love your daughter sincerely, faithfully, with all my heart and soul' Sho loves me with an equal love. and we have resolved to link our lives together and face thp world its n.nn Pno wife." "I am erieved to hear vou soeak like this." r • n.svrercd Mr. Romayne, with a ring of femin nc J I at hi >s in his voice. "You must l'orgct, (irace yo 1 must indeed, Mr. Quinton. "Forget her P cried the young man, passionately. "As well ask me to forget my o»vn exis'ence! Ah, Mr. Romayne, you could not ask anything so uu reasonable, so impossible, if you knew how 1 tov" lier." "You think it unreasonable and impossible now, my young friend, but time tempers the ardent flame j I of early love, and when separation comes you will learn to forget her." "Never! Never! And even if what you say he true, I have no intention of putting my affection t* such a test. I am not going ti be separated t'rorw your daughter!" "Mr. Quinton," answered Mr. Romayne, with something approaching sternness, "I have respected you, indeed, I may add, have entertained an affection for you from your boyhood upwards. Do not, I pray you, discount that feeling by proposing tjie inevit. able. You cannot marry my daughter." "Why not, Mr. Romayne? Do you object to me as a son-in-law ? Do you doubt I should make her e good husband ? Do you imagine she might make oj more advantageous match ? "I certainlyobject to you M a son-in-law; but not out of any personal dislike to you, nor do J suppose you would make a bad husband, nor dfi I imagine from a worldly, that is a social, point of view my daughter might make a better match There are other reasons, Mr. Quinton, for my objec- tion. I do not believe in people marrying out « their social sphere. Socially you are my daughter's superior, and were she to become your wife iSh. would be constantly reminded of the fact by tn* class amongst whom she would then have to move. Besides, your father would never recogniss her, and if he is a man of hit. word would disown you ii you married her. But why multiply objections i There are other reasons rendering such a union I impossible, which I cannot mention." "And what," cried Arthur Quinton, "if my father (Hi disown me! Am I not able to labour for my own livelihood ?" A sad smile passed across Mr. Romayne's face. "Perhaps you are," he answered, "but, having been brought up as you have been brought up, it would go terribly against the grain to become another man's servant for a trifling remuneration. Depend upon it, you would soon repent the step yon betaken." "I should not regret it with (irace as my wife; I could endure anything for her sake," cried young Quinton, with enthusiasm; then added: "As for my father disowning me, that is all nonsense, a mere threat uttered in the heat of pasjion. When í have talked the matter over with him he will take a very different view, I assure you. And should ha raise no further objection to my engagement to your daughter, I suppose I may rely upon your sanction, Mr. Romayne ? "Your father will not alter his present views,' answered Mr. Romayne. "Whether he alters them or not," replied young Quinton, "I shall take my own course. The iirsi thing to be done is to see him. There is no ill feeling between us, at any rate, is there, Mr. Romayne ? Arthur Quinton held out his hand as he spoke. Mr. Romayne took it with a look of mingled sadness and pity on his kind face. "No, no," he said, "but I am sorry, more than sorry, all this should have happened. It cannot possibly lead to anything but pain aud trouble." "We shall see! answered Arthur Quinton. "Wait until I have had a talk with my father." With this they parted. CHAPTER It. Arthur Quinton made his way with rapid strides to the Manor House. His father was at home in trie library, where lie passed much of his time. lIe looked up as his son entered. There was a stem expression on his hard face, and an angry glitter in his cold grey eyes. "You have, I believe, received certain informa. tion concerning me that has not pleased you ? said I young Quinton. "I have, sir," replied the Squir "From whom, may I ask ? "It matters not from whom." "Surely I have a right to know who has been meddling in my private affairs ?" "I am not in a position to tell you, even if I deemed it necessary. How, pray, came you to know I had been communicated with ? "Through Mr. Romayne." "So you have been to his house this afternoon ( The Squire said this with vehement bitten.e •». "I have." "You are au infatuated idiot," cried the Squire, "if what I have been told of you is true. I would rather the mill had been burnt to the ground, aud everyone within its walls had perished, than thitt you should have mixed yourself up with such a lot." "They are most respectable people, worthy to be called friends by anyone." "Pshaw!" exclaimed the Squire, contemptuously. "But I will listen to no argument. Do you deny you have been insane enough to engage yourself to Romayne's wretched daughter ? "Pardon me," replied Arthur Quinton, subduing his anger with a groat effort, but you must not speak of (irace Romayne in that way. She is a puiv and blameless girl, to whom the respect of all, no matter what their narrow prejudices, is due." "Answer my question, tiir!" "With pleasure. It is quite true that I am engaged to Grace Romayne." "And so," answered the Squire, "you were quite j prepared to disgrace your name, to disgrace me, your father—the father who has made all i(i,.] of you, and spared no pains to gratify your every wish ? "I had no intention of disgracing you or my name. I deny that, in marrying Grice Romayne. 1 should be doing anything of the kind." "You are a love-stricken idiot!" oriel hie father, rising from his seat and pacing the t\) )U) furiously. "Take care, sir, take care, into what your folly leads you. l'o i, with some of the best blood in England in your veins, to contemplate yoking yourself to an ill-bred miller's daughter—to the daughter of one of your father's miserable, poverty-stricken tenants! Madness, absolute mad- ness. I would rather fullow you to your grave; by heaven, I would sooner ?pe you buried: Arthur Quinton was about to r<>; ly, but his father resumed passionately: "Now. mark me, sir, He it is t)o late. Unlesi you abandon this folly i,t, once—at once, inin(i-I will turn the Romayne's .-i' of house and home; I will do my utmost t) era e thc u < ff the face of the earth. This is no idle boas; my power to carry my threat into exe utir-u is greater than yov imagine. I can at loa-t c\.st them adrift upon the world." "That," answered his ton, "would be a far more wicked and inhuman act than gratifying your un- reasonable wrath and indignation by disowning me." "So the miller told you I had threatened that. did lie ? "Mr. Romayne told me so." "And, by heaven, if you persist in clinging to this wretched girl, and dare to defy me, I will keep my word." "You can do as you please about that," answered Arthur Quinton hotly, "but I must again request you not to speak of Grace Romayne in disrespect- rul terms. She is of highly respectable parentage, and when you married, sir, you dttmed that sufficient." The Squire staggered as though he had been shot under this terrible and unanticipated home thrust. He sank into a chair. "What," he gasped, "do you know of my marriage ? "What," answered Arthur Quinton, "say rather, do I know of my unhappy mother ? Nothing from your lips—absolutely nothing. Her name has been a forbidden word." "And ever will b; in this house," cried the Squire passionately. "Not while I have a tongue to utter it," said his ion. If tradition does not lie, she received as little mercy and justice at your hands as you seem eager to evince towards the innocent girl I mean to make my wife. I will tell you what I have heard on unimpeachable testimony—perhaps it may soften your heart. You married my mother seven-and- twenty years ago. bhe was then the daughter of a retired tradeiman. Her beauty and virtue attracted you. You brought her to this house to be the mistress of your Tionie, thinking her compara- tively humble origin would never be known. But somehow it got to be known in the village here, where, through good works, she had nade herself beloved. Your false and overbearing pride was wounded. Having tired of her beauty, and not appreciating her sympathy with the poor, you laid a scheme to get rid of her. You throw her into the constant companionship of a friend whom you had invited to stay with you, and on his suddenly taking his departure accused her of having secretly bestowed her affection upon him. This you made the excuse for driving her from her home. Her parents were dead; she had neither relatives nor friends to fight the battle for her, neither had øb. the strength to do battle for herself. So, protesting t.«r innocence of the cruel suspicions you had advanced, and comforting herself with the one merciful promise you made her, the promise that ihe should see her child three times in the ye»?» you drove her from your doors, Poor beateD dow*, oeienceJess creature, you thrust her from these doors one New Year's night.' "And you believe this etorv?" said Squire Quinton, huskily, after a brief but terrible *il«nc». "Perfectly," answered his son. You believe in the mother who never troubled to set eyes on you again after she left you in your cradle ? "I do! Probably she never had the chance given her of seeing me again." Squire Quinton rose from his scat quivering and white to the very lips. "Who told you this story ?" he asked. "I am not at liberty to say. It only reached me a few days ago. 'Iell me where she is, that I may go to her and test its truth." "I know not where she is; dead and buried years ago, in all probability. But did I know she were living and her whereabouts, and you elected to seek her, I would never admit you within my doors again." "Father," said Arthur Quinton, with deep emo- tion, "I recalled my pcor mother's unhappy story thinking it might move your heart and teach you mercy towards the woman whom I mean to make my wife. Your pride broke one innocent woman's heart and ruined her life—that woman was your wife. For God's sake, do not let that aanne f-»t*I pride cast a shadow over the innocent girl who has given her love to your eon "You shall never marry Grace Romayne," cried Squire Quinton unrelentingly. "I am resolved to marry her." "Defy me at your peril! "I will defy anyone who ventures to interfere between me and the woman I love." "Then go. &ir," cried the Squire, pointing to the door, "and see who"ll conquer in the struggle. Leave my house. I disown you "Retract those words, father, or you'll repent them to your dying day. Retract them, or we rart for ever." "1 retract nothing. Go! In another moment Squire Quin'on was alone. CHAPTER III. Mrs. White, Mr. Romayne's widowed sister,who, as already stated, was warmly attached to Arthur Quinton, had supplied him with the particulars of his mother's unhappy career. A niece of her late husband had been employed in the capacity of Mrs. Quinton's nurse until within a few days of that unhappy lady's departure from home. From her Mrs. White had obtained her information During Mrs. White's own married troubles she had received many kindnesses at Mrs. Quinton's hands, and deep had been her sympathy and regret when her benefactress had been cruelly driven from home. Mrs. White had watched with more than ordinary interest Arthur Quinton's career; from her inmo-t heart she had ever pitied him the deprivation of a mother's care and influence. When, on his reaching years of maturity, she had through their confidential chats satisfied herself that he was earnestly interested in his mother's history, she had resolved to some day satisfy his curiosity. And thi-t sue had done only a few weeks prior to his father's discovery of his engagement. On quitting his father's presence he made all possible haste to prepare for his departure. Hav- ing directed his servant to pack his things and remove them to the railway station at the neighbour- ing town of T- he quitted his home resolved never to cross its threshold again. He at once m?dc his way to Mr. Romayne's. Mr. Romayne opened the door to him. ;1 I have had it out with my father," h« said. "and he has fulfilled his threat; he has disowned me." Poor follow his voice broke as he said this. "Come in. Come in and sit down," said Mr. Romayne, kindly, but with obvious nervousness. Arthur Quinton followed him into the familiar sitting-room. Mrs. Romayne and Mrs. White were thfre, but not Grace. "We are all friends here," began the young fellow, excitedly, "so I can speak freely and tell you what has happened; but where is Grace ? 5. must hear everything too." He looked from one to the other, but no one answered him; no one'even ventured to return his inquiring glances. "Where is Grace ?" he repeated. Mrs. Romayne, with tears in her eyes, rote and left the rcriii hurriedly, while her husband took a letter from off the mantelshelf. Mrs. White sat motionless. "Here," said Mr. Romayne, "is a note for voii from Grace." He gave it to Arthur Quinton, who opened it with a trembling hand; and this is what he read: "Dear Arthur,—This is to say good-bye and Hod bless )ou. That we must be parted in this life is inevitable, if not for your sake, for the sake of others most dear to me. Blame no one for mv departure but me. I leave of my own free will. My unchanged love rests with you. — GRACR ROMAYNE. He threw the letter from him with a gesture of mingled anger and despair. "Who," he asked, "has tricked her into writing this ? "No one has tricked her into doing anything," raplied Mr. Romayne, with dignity. "That is an improper word to us in connection with anyone beneath this roof. My daughter left her home to save it." He uttered the concluding words with evident emotion, and left the room. "What does it all mean ?" asked Arthur Quinton, turning to Mrs. White. Mrs. White beckoned him to a seat At her side. "My dear," she said, "it means that your father would have put an execution in this house to-morrow morning, and sold every stick of furniture in the place, if Grace had not gone away. Times have been very bad with my poor brother for months past, and he is behind hand with the rent." "Why did you not tell me of Mr. Romayne's diffi- culties before ? I could have helped him," said young Quinton. "I did not know how bad things really were until your father threatened him this afternoon; besides, my brother is a proud man, and would not have accepted your help. Neither would he have pardoned me had I mentioned his difficulties. But how about yovr future, my dear ? She took his hand in hers. "Can you tell ms where Grace has gone ? If you cannot, my future will be devoted to seeking her out. oil "I cannot tell you where she in; only her father and mother know. She left here within two hours of your father's visit. They wouldn't tell me where they were sending her because I spoke in favour of your engagement rather than against it, after your father had revealed the secret." "You are the only friend I have left in the world," he exclaimed. Then he asked her if she would let him know when she did learn where Grace had gone. All the would promise was that she wculd do everything for the best. If she found out where the "poor darling" was, and it was expedient to tell him, she wigat do so. And then he spoke of his mother. Could she tell him more of her ? Not at present; no, not at present. What more was there to tell, indeed, save, perhaps, trivial incidents of a. painful nature in connection with what she had already told him ? Besides, had he not betrayed her former confidence scarcely an hour since ? "All," he pleaded, "but I did not tell my father who my informant as to my mother's history was; and I only revealed what I knew in the hope of moving his hard heart and securing Grace's htpp ness." "I understand," said MM. White, kindly. "But what of your future ? What are you going to do t "I shall go to London to begin with, and seek employment of some kind, while I prosecute inquiries for Grace. When she learns that I have turned my back upon home, never to return, and she finds that it will serve no one's purpose to evade me, she will surely prove faithful to her vows of love and constancy! "You will take lodgings in London Mrs White, as if a sudden idea had struck tie,. "Yes, something of a modest kind. I shall have to economise now." "I think I know of the very place that will wit you. I have a friend living in London who Ie: 8. 1 wili write to her at once, and then communicate with you; for, of course, you will let me know where you are, dear "Of course. "When do you leave for London ?" "To-morrow morning early. I f-top at T to. night. I shall put up at an hotel for the first few diys, and will write to you from there. But remember, you keep my address a secret." Trust me." "Say good-bye to Mr. and Mrs. Romayne for 11.e," he said, as he rose to depart. "It is better I should leave without seeing them again. Tell them I shall ever gratefully remember their many kind- nesses. The closing scene in this brief story is reached. Two years and a half have passed away since Arthur Quinton left his home to face the battle oi life with a slender purse and a small knowledge of the world. Ue had taken advantage of good Mrs. White's introduction to her friend in London, and had lodged with her from the time of presenting it, In Mrs. Morrison—such was the lady's o-one—he had found one who leit no stone unturned to render his altered «node or life happy. She attended with motherly care to his every want. She was. too, a companion to him in his leisure hours, for she was a lady of education and refined thought. I The deep lines 011 her own beautiful face told of heavy sorrows endured in that past of which she never spoke. She earned a livelihood by dress- making, and had a small but good connection in tne I North of London, where she resided. I' Arthur Quinton had not been in London many weeks ere he obtained a situation as correspondent in a City merchant's office. The remuneration was small, but he stuck to his work manfully, and at the expiration of twelve mouths his salary was raised. With Mrs. White he corresponded regularly, and at last, through her ingenuity, he had the joy of finding Grace Romayne beneath the same roof with him. Mrs. Morrison was in want of an assistant, and Mrs. White secured her one in the person of Grace Romayne. Arthur Quinton now believed the consummation of his fondest hopes would he realised. Surely t Giace would no longer hesitate to become his wife ? Alas! he was doomed to disappointment. "If," she persisted, "we were to marry, there could be no hope of a reconciliation between you aid your father; whi'e we are apart there i < a hove." ¡ Try how he might, he could not move her 1 (solu- tion. So he had to content himself with living t'e- neath the same roof and hoping almost against hope. Grace had been at Mrs. Morrison's eighteen months, and Arthur Quinton two years aud a half, when Mrs. White wrote imploring the immediate presence of Mrs. Morrison and (irace Romayne at Minton-Lea. The letter containing this urgent ap- p«al was addressed to Mrs. Morrison, and in it Mrs, White requested that Arthur Quinton should not b« acquainted with their destination. Accordingly they I left for Minton-Lea, agreeably to Mrs. White's in- structions. Two days later Arthur Quinton received a tele- gram from Mrs. White requesting his immediate presence at Minton-Lea. The message reached nn on the last night of the old year. He left early the next;morning,but the 6unwas setting by the t r.e I he re-ched Mr. Romayne's house. Mis. White was there to receive hint. Through her he was already aware his father had hrra in failing health for some time. Had the end cornel-' he wondered. Mrs. White relieved his mind on this point at once. Squire Quinton was not dead, but he believed he was dying. "We must go to the Manor House at once," said Mrs. White. Arthur Quin'on hesitated. "Come," said Mr*. White, "I cannot accept a refusal. I have never yet deceived you trint in me." He obeyed her. WIlen "they haJ crossed the threshold of his home Mrs. White led him into his father's study, but h « father was not there; the room was occupied by Mrs. Morrison and (irace Romayne. What did it all mean ? he wondered. "During your father's illness," said Mrs. Wh'tfe. "I have nursed him. What I am now doing is dot-.e at his request. It is his wish to see you in Mrs. Morrison's presence; she will take you to him." Mrs. Morrison moved towards the door, and Arthur Quintou followed her almost mechanically. She conducted him to his father's bedside. "Mv boy! my own boy! brought back to me, brought back to me at the grave's brink." The old Squire's tears fell, and so did these of the two who stood by him. After a short silence the Squire spoke again. "Arthur," he taid, "years ago I turned your sweet injured mother from these doors 011 a bittej New Year's night. A cruel, cruel deed, as crue as the accusations I made against her were false* The pecuniary assistance I offered her through my solicitor was declined; she would accept no a¡,i from the husband who had wronged her. She went her way, to face the world alone and unaided. When she appeared, without disclosing her address, at my solicitor's offices in London to demand the fulfilment of my promise in respect to seeing her child, she was handed a letter which I had written and had directed to be given her. In that letter I informed her that her child was dead. It was a cruel lie, which she, through a friend of hers living in this village-I mean Mrs. White—soon detected. But she never made further application to see her child, fearing that were she to do so she might prejudice me against him, and bring sorrow and perhaps ruin on his head. Her silence led me to suppose she might be dead, for I did not know of her correspond- ence with Mrs. White. I haye only come to know of that lately. You will now understand why your mother never sought you. Her love for her boy kept her away." The Squire paused for a moment; tiieu, taking Mrs. Morrison's hand in his, placed it in that of his son. "The forgiving, having woman," he said, "whom you have known ?s Mrs. Morrison is in reality my wife and your møtlll'l' Oil, Arthur, my son, even as she has forgiven me, so do you pardon me on thir New Year's night." Let us drop the curtain on that solemn ana affecting scene, to raise it only, and that but for an instant, to find good Mrs. White and Grace Romayne at the Squire's bedside also, and to hear him ask Heaven's blessing on the lives of those about him. Thus ends our story in sweet reconciliation on New Year's Night £ TH* END. J
MERTHYR POLICE COURT.
MERTHYR POLICE COURT. THURSDAY. — Before Mr. W. M. North (stipendiary A PAY-TICKET.—Susan Jones, 17, was charged with stealing the pay-ticket of James T. Lloyd, an engine diiver at the Dowlais Woiks, 1 i\ ing at Penydarten.— Fined 30s., or a month. STEALING CLOTHING. John Williams, collier, Tie- liarris, was charged wiih stealing a suit of clothes, the property of J. B. Fine, outfitter, Treharris.—'The Prosecutor said the suit was hanging outside the shop and he saw the prisoner in the act of carrying it away. Witness ran after him and caught him. The value of the suit was £ 1 19s. 6d.— He was fined LI, or H dRY". DAMAGING A CEu.Hannah Lowe, a Merthyr un- fortunate, was charged with drunkenness and with damaging the window of a cell at the police-station. Fined 10s. and costs for drunkenness, 2s. 6d. and 3s. damages, for her conduct in the cell. ALCOHOLISTS.—David Llewelyn, AbL'reanaid. was charged with being drunk and disorderly ill High- street, Merthyr, and fined 10s. and costs, or 14 days he Was found lying on his back in the street, shouting that he was the best man in Merthyr, aud, when that he was the best ma-n in Merthyr, and, when accosted by P.C. Lamb, was very anxious to fight that constable.Arthur Wntkins wasf-ned IDs. for drun- kenness in Lower High street. BEHAVED LIKE A WILD BEAST. Richard Wolfe, laltourer, of Cwmtaf, was charged with being drunk and disorderly in Pontmorlais, and with assaulting Sergeant Thomas and P.C. Coleman. damaging the helmet of the latter to the amount of 61. 3d.Fined 10s., or 14 day, for drunkenness 5s. and 6s. 3d. for the damage to the helmet au(I for the assault a month's hard labour in respect to caeh constable, making ten weeks altogether. — The Stipendiary re- marked that men who acted like wild beasts must be shut up like them. MONDAY.—Before Messrs.*W. M. Xo-th (Stipen- diary), Thomas Williams, and C. H. James. THE TII'SEY BRIGADE.—The following were the defendants charged with, and fined for being drunk and liehaving disorderly — William Hadge, Michael Dempsey, Patrick Christopher, W allace Hsillioay, Robert Cole, John Lewis Thomas, Charles Stanton, John Griffith*, Dennis Sweeney, Joseph Griffiths, William Samuel, George Davits, and William Sasrarason. OBSCENE LANGUAGE.—Margaret Keefe failed to clear herself of a charge of using obscene language, and was mulcted in a fine of 5s. and costs, or seven days. DIUVING WITHOUT LIGHTS.Morpran Lewis was summoned for driving without lights on the evening n of the 28th February, and fined 10s. and costs.—John Rogers, a darkie, stepped forward to answer the same charge.—However, t!ie KUU set at 6.37 on the evening the defendant was caught, and it was only 6.45 when he committed the offence, he was let off with a caution. ORSTKft-TtOX.- H. G. Puluiaii, sugar hoi!<T, Poiit- morlaise obstructed the pavement ot High street, on 29th ultimo, by placing thereon an empty -He. was fined 6s. TIIEFT.John Smith was charged with stealing 2s. lOd. in money, a ixmdant, and magnifying gla, on 7th March, the property of Eliza btuekey, 54. Picton-street, Caedraw.—Prisoner pleaded guilty, and said he committed the act while under the influence of drunk.—1' ined £ 1 and costs, or one month. MAKIUED IN HASTK AND REPENTING AT LEISURE, iertrude Ellen Davies summoned her husband, Da rid Da ies,to *how cause why be should notmaintain her. Both parties were about the age ol 21, and had only been married six month- It was stated that defendant left her three weeks after marriage. Even- tually they agreed to lixe together again.—Knas Dav ies was another ervitig hunband, and was ordered to pay 10s. per week towards the maintenance of ms wife, Mary Jane Da\i ;s. ASSAULTS. John Davies was summoned by hi,. better half, Hannah Davies, for assaulting her o i 29th Febmarv, and fined £1 and costs, or one month. -Frank Powell was summoned for assaulting Mrs. Emma Jones, the landlady of the Crystal I alace Inn, Penydarren, and fined 10s. and cost-, or 14 da\s. B\STVUI»Y.John Ferris was summoned by Rachel Da\ ies to show cause, &c.-Mr. Beddoe defended, but withdrew from the case oefore it concluded.—An order to pay 2s. 6d. per week was made.
[No title]
RUP-TUIIK.—Important Notice. -S. J. rmau, Hernia Specialist, ,till remains at his old addusses— 64 Chancery-lane, London, and 26, King-street, Man- chester. Send for his new book of full information, 7jd. p^ot free.
THE JUNIOR MEMBER RETURNING.
THE JUNIOR MEMBER RETURNING. On Tuesday morning Mr. John Yaugkan, solicitor, Merthyr, Mr. I'ritchard Morgau's election &gent, received the following cable —" Pritchard Morgan and daughter sailed from Albany, Western Australia, for home on Saturday, the 17th inst. All well. Will arrive home shortly after Easter." ow.
SUICIDE OF A PAINTER AT RHYMNEY.
SUICIDE OF A PAINTER AT RHYMNEY. On Sunday morning a paintei named George Reed Hancock, aged 35 years residing at 2, High-street, Rhymney, committed suicide hy throwing himself into the Newtown Pond, :i large reservoir near Rhymney Bridge. Deceased had lately suffered very seriously from delirium tremens, when it seems he has 10 shown a tendency to suicide, having made a previous attempt to do away with himself by cutting his throat with a pair of scissors.
GELLIUAER DJSTRICT COUNCIL.
GELLIUAER DJSTRICT COUNCIL. At a meeting of this authority on Saturday, at the Boardroom of the Workhouse, Mr. Matthew Truran, chairman, presided.—In reference to the Gelligaer water supply, a reply was received from Mr. T. H. Bailey respecting the terms upon which the Beacons' Farm spring could be leased, and considered satis- factory.—I pon the motion of the Rev. Aaron Davies, seconded by Mr. David Hopkins, it was agreed that, subjiet to Mr. J allies Jones residing in the parish of Gelligaer, his salary be fixed for 12 months ending June 1st, 1897, at £ 200 as inspector of nuisances ana £ 98 10s. as surveyor, his whole time to be devoted to the service of the Count il.—Mr. George Seaborne gave notice of motion for the next meeting at Hen- goed in favour of public offices being erected at Hen- goed for the Council.—It was agreed, after protracted discussion, to write to the Rhymney and the Bute Companies with reference to opening a new line to the Cylla Valley.
CARDIFF COLLEGE BUILDING FUND.
CARDIFF COLLEGE BUILDING FUND. A preliminary meeting for the purpose of devising means to rai!e fuuds for the college buildings to enable the college authorities to take advantages of the conditional grants by the Treasury and the Drajitrs' Company, was held at the Central Hotel, on Friday evening, Mr. D. W. Jones being in the chair, and amongst others present were Messrs. Thomas Williams, J.P., William Edwards, M.A., W. L. Daniel, V. A. Wills, E. Stephens, and the Rev. J. (y. James. Mr. Roberts-Jones, the organising secretary, attended, and explained the present position of the movement, and arrangements were made for a public conference at Merthyr in April, when Principal and Mrs. Viriamu Jones and others will attend. The following subscriptions were pro- mi:!ed )fr. Thomis Williams, £100: Messrs. William Edwards, Vuzie Simons, W. L. Daniel, and D. W. Jones, jBlO each, and Mr. LI. Reynolds, £5 5s. rs1, ;i '.i ■ w
DEATH OF A DOWLAIS WOMAN AT…
DEATH OF A DOWLAIS WOMAN AT SWANSEA. THE INQUEST. An inquest was held on Monday on the body of Elizabeth Christiansen, a married woman of about 33 years of age, who died at the Bird-in-Hand Hotel, High-street, Swansea, under peculiar circumstances. From what can l>e gathered the inquest has been necessitated by the suspicion that the cause of death was an illegal operation. The deceased woman Iwrlongcd to Dowlais, and was the daughter of Mr. John Evans, shoeing smith, &c., in the employ of the Dowlais Company. She is a married woman,-but had parted from her husband for some time, and her career since that time has not been an enviable one. On February 3th she was taken seriously- ill whilst at the Bird-in-Hand, and a medical man who was called in declared that her removal would probably 1>6 fatal. After lingering in great pain till Thursday she died. The police took the matter in hand, and a post-mortem examination was held on the body, in preparation for the inquest. The inquest was held before Mr. E. Strick on Mon- day at the Bird in Hand.—Mrs. Margaret William-, sister of the deceased, said she lived near Ponty- pridd, and was the wife of a collier. She came down to Swansea because her sister was ill, and saw her at the Bird-in-Hand. She told witness she had been under an ojjeration, and had been attended by Dr. Jones and Dr. O'Sullivan. Shealsosaid that five or "ix months ago she had some medicine from a doctor at LlaneHy.—Elizabeth Lewis, a single woman, said she used to see deceased frequently. She asked wit- ness to go with her to a doctor at Llanelly. They went to Dr. Price, who said they should see his partner, Dr. Roderick. Next day, she saw deceased, who said she was with the doctor for two hours. The doctor said she had an abscess in her womb. She had gone very often with deceased to Llanelly. but only once to see a doctor. On the other occasions they went to see a Mr. Griffiths, who, she was after- wards told, went with deceased to Dr. Roderick.— Mary Ann Owen, married woman, living at Cockett, said she knew deceased, and had fetched Dr. O'Sullivan to see her at the Bird-in-Hand. She did not know what she suffered from.—Mary Ellen Thissen, landlady of the Bird-in-Hand, knew deceased a-* a customer. She applied for a bed. and a tjed was given her. A gentleman from Llanelly, named Griffiths, had stayed there with deceased. She knew of no operation being performed at her house.—Mia. Davies, High-street, Swansea, knew deceased from childhood, and did what she could for her at the Bird-in-Hand. —Dr. Timothy Jones described the operation he had performed upon her. He had removed a clot from the mouth of the womb. The clot was the result of an incomplete attortion, and the remains produced the blood jmison- in., which was thecau-e of death. The atiortion had taken place within eight or ten days, whether done by deceased herself or not, witness could not my. Deceased had been pregnant about three months. The visit to Dr. Roderick at Llanelly could have had nothing to do with the abortion.- Dr. Elsworthy then gave the tesult of his post mortem examination. There was laceration of the womb, and this had induced blood-poisoning from which, in his opinion, detceased had died. Deceased had not been pregant at all.—Dr. O'Sullivan agreed with this view.—The following was the jury's verdict :That the said Elizabeth Cristiausen died on the 5th inst., at the Hit d in-Hand Hotel, High-street, Swansea, from blood poisoning, caused bv laceration of uterus, due to some iolence, but by whom done there i-, no direct evidence before the jury to show.
MOUNTAIN ASH COUNCIL.
MOUNTAIN ASH COUNCIL. Monday. Present: Messrs. W. Little (chairman), M. Morgan, J.P., J. Long, T. Jones, A. Clark, E. Mogn, G. Jones, W. James T. Edmund-, Rev. .1. t. Williams, Mr. H. P. Linton (clerk), Mr. J. Williams (surveyor). CEMETEUV EXTENSION.—A letter was read from Mr. M. Morgan, agent to Lord Aberdare, agreeing to sell the !and alnive the present cemetery for an e,\tension of the cemetery, at JB80 per acre, the Council to pay for the conveyancing of the Innd. Mr. W. Little proposed, and Mr..T. Long seconded, that the Coun- cil purchase the necessary land for the extension of the cemetery at the price stated. The Council agreed to the proposal, and the surveyor was instructed to prepare a plan oHhe land necessary, and submit same to the Council, SUAIIFITY or WATI:K. A memorial was read from the residents in Rock-street, drawiug the attention of the Council to thu scarcity of water in the houses in Rock street.- The clerk was instructed to write to the memorialists to the effect that the Council is- altending to the matter. IJKN'I' or HAI.I.. —A memorial was read from the secretaries of the Duffryn-Powell Lodge of Ancicnt, Britons," held at the Glancynon Inn, asking the Council to make an abatement on the charge for the Town Hall. It soems the lodge applied at the last- Council meeting fw an abatement on the charge for the use of the Town Hall for an eisteddfod being held in aid of the funds of the lodge, when the Council resohed that they could not entertain the application. —Mr. A. Clark gave notice to rescind the resolution of the Council at their meeting, and to propose that an abatement be made. CAP DIUVERA' BADGES.The Council re obed to draw the attention of owners of hackney carriages licensed by the Council that the drivers must wear a badge, and that all drivers not wearing a badge as ordeied by the bye-laws be summoned. CEMETERY ion AT!EI:DAI;V JUNCTION.The Rev. J. F. Williams brought forward his propositi for a cemetery7 at Aberdare Junction, and proposed that the Council take action to get the necessary land. —The Council resolved t lut land be purchased for a cometery at A1 erdare Junction, and It committee was appointed to attend to the matter, and select a site for the cemetery. GAS AND WATER EXTENSION.—A letter was read from the Local Government Board sanctioning the loan of £ 3,490 for gas and water extensions in the district.J— The clerk was instructed to take the necessary action for borrowing the sum. LAMPS .\T ABKUDATU: JUNCTION.—The Rev. J. F. Williams dtew the attention ot the Council to the urgent need for the prompt erection of a lamp on the Canal Viaduct at Aberdare Junction.—The Council at the last meeting decided that A Jam JI should be erected at that place. There had already been one person drowned there, and only oil Saturday la-t there was another person nearly drowned.—The Clerk replied that an application had been made t. the Glamorganshire Canal Company for permiefion to erect a lamp on their viaduct, Rnd a reply was received from the secretary to the effect tha.t the matter would be attended to after Sir NVilliam I. Lewis'return home.- The Council ordered the clejk to write again to the Canal Company pointing out to them the great danger to pedestrians, and asking them to grant permission for the erection of a lamp. OUTSIDE TAPS. -The Council resolved, on the recommendation of the surveyor, that the owners of the houses in High-street- be served with notices to have the water taps placed in tliehou es. VEW STIIEET AT MISKIN. The application of Messrs. Nixon's Navigation Company for permission to have, the street 30 feet wide, with the houses set back from the street boundary three feet each side, was granted. YNYSYIIWI, CKMETEUY. The surveyor was in- structed to atteud to the matter of providing a shed for implements. SAND ) ou RKSEUVOU;.—The surveyor was author- ised to got the sand required for filtration purposes. NutsVSCE. -The Council resolved that the owners of ten houses in North street be summoned for creating a nuisance by emptying their cesspool into a channel. SCAVENGING AT ABF.UD.MIE JUNCTION.—'The Coun- bit ordered the clerk to write to Mr. Taylor to the effect th it unless the scavenging is properly done at Dowlais-terraee. A c that the inspector, under the direction of the surveyor, be empowered to get the work done by another contractor, but at the expense of Mr. Taylor. PKUiiiTVCT. FLVVOI r. --Cracroft's Ar-v-a-Nut Troll, *v{«tp This delicious Aromatic r-n! inaWps t' » of thf Tcfth white, sound, a«<l peinor. it is exceedingly fragrant. Craeroft's Ta»t« is now sold in M. J Tota.