CHAPTER XXXIV. Towards Judgment. For possibly a couple of minutes she continued On tbedoorstep immobile, as if she not only did not understand what had happened, but as if she also still failed to realise that her legal ad- viser was at least no longer where he was. She repeated his name, at intervals. Luker. linker." almost as if she were a child who re- peated, carrot-like, a meaningless formula. Then, after a while, when still there came no answer, she thrust her hand, as if mechanically, into the bosom of her dress feeling for some- thing. Presently it emerged, holding a flask. In the same odd, automatic fashion, as if her actions were not the product of her own volition, unscrewing the stopper, she placed the neck be- tween her lips. After a perceptible interval, suddenly slipping from between her fingers, it dropped on to the step with a clatter. It bad contained ether she had Bwallowed its entire contents. What were the exact physical or mental re- sults of what would have been a poisonous dose to an unaccustomed subject, it would be difficult to say. One fact may be baldly stated it robbed her of her senses. Her capacity of judging be- tween the real and the unreal had been tremb- ling in the balance. When she emptied that flask, unreality became all that was real. Not, perhaps, on the instant; but certainly after the expiration of a very few seconds. At first she stood trembling so that one might almost have expected to see her sink to the ground from sheer inaDility to stand. She stretched out her arms into the darkness, as if seeking for support; and found none. Then, putting her hands up to her face, she began to tub them up and down before her eves as if indeavouring to rub away some film whieh ob- scured her sight and she began to cry, softly, beneath her breath. Then, dropping her hands to her sides, sbe began to see—the things which were not; those visions which, in some forms, are the inseparable companions of a mind diseased. "I am coming I heard you you need not call so loud." The words were uttered, not loudly, but with such clearness of intonation that, proceeding from her as she stood there all alone in the outer darkness, and addressed, apparently, to 1 the circumambient air, they might ha.ve pro- duced on unintentional listeners, not an agree- Ableceffect. She turned, making as if to insert As Bhe signed the paperl3abel8lipped from the chair in a dead faint. kite key which she still held, into the lock of the ^behind i«SS ™VfT,nt Iisbt which *aa jmt sufficient «.« lh« .he ft** seemingly opened of its own accord would occasioned her something more than won- she would at least have taken it for granted somewhere in its immediats neighbourhood helping hands and she would promptly j J'ave set -herself to discover to whom they be- i™8!? I an<* iQst wbere their owners might ba her then state no notion of the land to ontor her> brain. That the fact that waa °Pened occasioned ber sorpriso was f ODVlons but it waa surprise of a singular 1 quality r and it waa accompanied? by abjsct | terror. The woman seemed all at once to become stunted to shrink into sheerphysical insigni- ficance. Cuthbert Grahame," she mnttered," why did vou open tha door ? How did yoa get out of your bed to open the door ?" With a sound which was part wail, part sob, she stumbled acroas the threshold into the hall. Where shall I go ? Shall I go into tr.w room into which I first went on that first night Perhaps I'll be v safe in there perhaps I'll be safe. I don't want to go upstairs, not yet not just yet I daren't, jldarea't. Listen, how he calls to me how ha calls." i > She glanced up the staircase, which she ap- sptoaehed even while she shrank from it, and she law, in the dim, mysterious light, leaning over itbe banister, looking down at her from above a woman's face—Nannie Foreshaw. She did not ^stop-to ask herself if the appearance might, by ■' any chance, be real; creature of warm flesh and ■ Wood, It was some moments before she realised ;fco it was that looked at her. When she did, tfce presence there was so unexpected, so wholly Unforeseen, and thrust so deeply at her con- science, that it is not impossible that the mere i ■hock which resulted from the sight was sufli- cieat to disintegrate her few remaining wits. She at once took it for granted that she was /gazing at a spectre a shade returned from the tomb to afflict ?her before her time. Cowering i back against the wall, she broke into screams of -agony. Nannie. Nannie. didn't kill you. I didn't •skill you. Don't look at me Jike that. Don't. 'P0Q'*• Don't." Covering her face with her ? «ands, she began to sob with such violence that one could see her shaking a3 she leaned against 'he wall. When, removing her hands, she again Ventured to look up, there was no one there. "She's gone. She's gone." The words were uttered with a gasp of relief which it was not pleasant to hear. For a foment it seemed as if she might be restored *o something like her proper self. Then, while seemed to waver, without apparent rhyme ?r raason, all her tremors returned. Again she "foke into shrieks and cries. *She's waiting for me in his room—inhisroom, J* bis room. She's waiting for me. My God. J*h&t am I to do ? Help me. Help me. I'll j.^ve to go to him listen bow he calls to me how ha calls. I'm coining. Don't call so She began stumbling up the staircase; ^Qnderingly, blindly, as if she could not Bee *fhere she was going. Stopping every two or isteps clutching at the wall, the rails j ^Hcing back; looking as though if she could would descend. But each time, just as she *^8 about to beat a retreat, there came to her 8h 'nsiflta-ot voice, summoning her to her fate. gasped out expostulations even as fhe tumbled upwards. Don't call 6o loud. Don't a** so loud. I'm coming." And ahe did come a singular spectacle she P'eseated aa sho went. No one woul 3 have re- in that ill-shaped, mouthing, struggling though she alone knew what it was with ^ch #he struggled; who seemed nnable to stand jjjj^taaight, and to experience as much difficulty ascending an ordinary staircase as if it bad ■\»V0 tlle SC8rr°d surface of some precipitous cliff she was forced, very much against the J,i to climb,/ the flamboyant and somewhat lady who was known among a aet 5n London a'i the handsome Mrs r*wb. There were no traces of^fceanty about Br /n she had gained the landing ber terror the thing were possible—to increase. to her knees, clutching the railing sotn hands, she crawled, as if drawn by str '^visible force, against which all the tjj of her resistance was in vain, towards Q ro°m—the bedroom—in which Cuthbert of had passed so much of the latter part 1 life, and in which, through her action, ] iiM died, And all the while she protested. *tani Won t come. I won't come." For an in- fect s^e would cling, not only with her hazels, aa it were, witk her whole body, to the rail- BhomUB s^e had finally resolved that nothing constrain her to advance another inch. a £ &in she was possessed by a paroxysm of r" I ewne. Don't call so lond. fining." 6(je she was in front of the door^jf the room, <U;0- halt for perhaps ipore than a minute, -e *Q a ^eaP on the floor, covering her of her hands, overtaken by such a fury «B J £ ?*P'ng that the violence of her sobs seemed Y would tear ber to pieces. Then, as if *0*3 8<* by some sudden irresistible itnDulso,she •i pQ her feet, and exclaimed, still weeping fiet^V.^hbert Grahame, I hear you calling. I am j, "•orew open tha dead man's becsroctn tsoor. CHAPTER XXXV. Jfcui* Judges' h was tbe same iarcsnoas glow t^ts *|hean noticcablo in the hall and on tha could-havo been no more eloquent ^Cou^hy of her condition than the fact that she } ,ta presence as a matter of course that St^thtE seeaQed to occur to her that there was <» • le*3^ about it which required elucidation .hat a few shrewd, well-directed in- g. ^Rht result in a very simple explana- 6 atood on the threshold, all dishevelled, always before her oyes tbe things nf st-.e stricken with a mad • fe»e by thg horror of the sight, I i I She came a little farther nto the loom, i staring towards the bed. VVben she bad taken a | step or two it seemed as if her legs refused to I uphold her any longer. Down she sank on to her knees again, again she covered her face with her hands as if by such means she could shut off from herself the hideous imaginings of: ber 1. haunted brain. "Don't. Don't. Don't," she wailea. 'f While still she remained in that attitude of humility and penitence there came a voice which- called her by what had once been her name. "Isabel Burney." That she heard it there could be no doubt. At the sound of it she shivered more than ever. But it may be that sbe:was in doubt whether ItwaS a material voice; or whether it was a fresh mani- testation of those too-well remembered.tones, which kept calling to her all the time. *°r !t is possible that a disordered mind may be con- j seious that there is a difference between the real and the imaginary. without being capable of satisfactorily perceiving what it is. She did not answer. It came again not loud, yet distinct and dominating. i Isabel Burney." j This time she repeated her former wail, with I I renewed force of entreaty. Don't. Don't." If it was intended for a cry of appeal to beJeft alone, it went unheeded. The voice returned,, asking what was emphatically a leading question.; Did y*u murder Cuthbert Grahame ? She made not the slightest attempt to shirk the very weighty responsibility which attended. a reply to such a guestion. An affirmative was bursting from her lips ahnostijeforoit waa asked. Yes. Yes. Yes." ( How did you murder him ? Again tbe wail— "Don't. Don't. Don't. How did yon murder bim ?" The wail became hysterical cried. "Oh. Oh. Oh." jt5ut the voice persisted. I?bw did you murder him ?" Confused words came stumbling from her lips, I as if they were being forcibly extracted. The pillows — dragged—from under-he choked." You dragged the pillows from under him, BO that his head fell down, and he was choked ?" (I Ygg^' Why did you murder him ?" Here again camMhe answer came rapidly and: y* "Because I didn't want him to destroy the will' which I had tricked him into signing." •• How did you trick him ? He made me draw np a will which left all his property to Margaret Wallace." And then I drew up a will in which he left everything to illA." And then ? I covered it with a sheet of paper, and got him to sign it, thinking that he was signing the. other." Did he know what ba bad done ?" H Yea I killed him before he could tell any- one else, and have the will destroyed." The voice was still. There was silence broken by the sound of someone moving. The room was filled with a bright light. The voice came again. Isabel Burney." TheAfoman on her knees, dropping her hands, looked round. By a.lighted lamp which tested on a writing table stood Margaret Wallace. Whether Mrs Lamb realised that she was look-. ing at the girl herself, or supposed that she'was confronted by a materialised phantom, baa never been certainly known. She stared at her surlily, unblinkingly, affrightodJy, as one might stare at some unpleasing object in a dream. The girl repeated the questions which had already been answered; as one listened the last remnants of donbt vanished as-to whose was tbe voice which hact already made itself so prominent. Did yoa trick Cuthbert Grahame into sign- ing a will in which he left all that he had to you, when he supposed himself to be signing one in whiah he left it all to me ?" There waa a momentary hesitation then the answer, spoken sullenly,half beneath her breath, yet plain enough— Yes, I did." And did you then kill him because yon feared discovery of what you had done ?" Yes, I did." Tbera was another movement on the other side of the room. When Mrs Lamb looked round she found herself looking at Dr. Twelves, who put a question to her on his-own account. I "So you lied to me when you said thosopillows i must have slipped you knew better. As I sas- pected, you dragged them away—you female fiend." His invective went unnoticed there came-the rather monotonous refrain. Yes, I did." Yes, I did." There were other movements proceeding from aU parts of the room. On one aide of her were ¡ Andrew McTavish and his partner, Mr Brown. Mr McTavish waa evidently very angry. '■ And yon lied to ns when you pretended that you suspected us of robbing you. You knew all along that the only robbery you yourself had committed—you impudent swindler." He only received the Eame reply. Yes, I did." Dr Twelves [wagged his finger at her grue-i somely. You shall hang for it, Isabel Burcey; yon shall hang by the neck until you're dead." Mr McTavish cried- At any rate, yon shall be sent to penal servitude for the fraud you have committed on- us." She showed no signs of resentment, as only a very short time before she undoubtedly would, have doue, when her resentment would prob- ably have taken a sufficiently active turn. From her demeanour it was difficult to determine if r she comprehended what was being said to her. She gazed stolidly about the room. Near a window stood Nannie Foreshaw leaning on a stick; holding with one hand the curtain from behind which she had juat emerged. At sight of her she shrank backwards, as if she would withdraw herself as fat as she could. Before the door, as if he would bar her retreat, was Harry Talfourd. When she saw him she seemed to be moved more than she had been by any of the others. She turned aside, with a low cry, and covered her face. Possibly, in some tangled fashion, she rememmbered how, so recently, she bad ul&yed to him the roieof the great lady—the benefactress; how willing she had been to be something more to him than that, and she was vaguely conscious of what a contrast. she was exhibiting to him now. Margaret had been seated at a table writing. Now rising, she turned to the woman who was still on her knees upon the floor. I have set down upon this sheet of paper a short confession of your guilt. If you will sign it you shall not hanK; yon shall not be sent to prison, You shall receive your only puninb- ment from your own conscience. I think that is to condemn you to the greater punishment. I will read yon what I have written." She read aloud from the paper which aha took in her hand— I confess that Cnthbert Grahameinstrncted me to draw up a will in which lie left all that, he had in the world to Margaret Wallace; that, without his knowledge, I substituted for it another form of will, according to which he left his property to me; and that I induced him: to sign this fraudulent form by means of a trick. I also confess that I murdered Cuth- bert Grahame in order to avoid an exposure' of the trick by means of which I induced him to sign the substituted fraudulent form of will. If you will attach your name to this confession you shall receive no punishment beyond that which you award yourself. that will be a suffi- cient one. Come here and sign." Aa if automatically, Mrs Lamb rose to her feet, moved towards the table, seated herself on the chair which Margaret had occupied, accepted, the pen which the girl offered, and wrote her name in full on the sheet of paper which waseet before her. When she httd signed, leaning back, she looked trom one to the other. They waited for her to speak, expecting, perhaps, some borst.of tardy anger. Then, on a sadden, without a. word or a movement, sbe.slidfroro the chair on to the floor. When they gathered round her she lay still. CHAPTER XXXVI. Pleasant Dreams. The^jdnel had been fought to a finish,.and; Margaret had won. When Mrs Gregory Lamb was brought back out of the fit by which she had been overtaken, she was lying on Cothbart Grahame's bed on which he had lived so long, and died, at her hand the bed whose image bad been borne in upon her phantom-haunted brain with such hor- rible persistency. Dr. Twelves was bending over her standing where he had stood many a time to bend over the man she slew. She was little; betterthan a babbling idiot. She iaDot mtlch more than that now. She is a<rertified lunatic under kindly, yet watchful, guardianship the expense of which is paid by the girl whom she* ao croelly wronged. The physical and mental strain which had been placed upon her during that creasing ifnancial pressure had been great; her attempts to relievo it by a resort to ether had made it ten times greater. How much of the spirit she drank has not been exactly ascer- tained. She must have consumed large quanti- ties. Probably only the natural strength of her constitution enabled her to resist its offects.so loi/ft' as she did. Undoubtedly the babitofefcher drinking had increased in her to-sueh an-ex. tent that, in any case, it would nltHnately bare produced insanity. Her reason was already tottering when she was brought face to face with Margaret Wallace on the night of her reception and was put toauch dire confusion. It is be-> lieved that she touched no solid food afterwarda, subsisting solely upon ether. Isaac Laker asserted that she carrfed a large.bottla-of it in- her bag, when they journeyed together from' London, and sbe was sipping itscontenta thEoogh. out the day. It was not strange that when tne.momentcame she was ripe to fall a .ready victim to Margaret's carefully laid lures. The girl fought ber with weapons to which she was incapable of offering resistance. resistance. k Cuthbert Grahame's money; wbicb bag Jbeen searched for so long^in vain, was found deposited in the hiding-place, tbe secret of which she had; revealed to Mrs Lamb, intending, by working on her euilty conscience, and so erfrorting-from bar a confession, which it wascortain could never be obtained from her by any other means -to-destroy her-when she went to-seek it. Mar- garet is now Mrs Henry Talfourd. She is mar- ried to one who loved, and loves her, and for the: love of whom she was wiHmg"to sacrifice-all. Shs is a rich woman. Bearing in mind the sin- gularity of the circnmsatnces nnder which it has come integer possession. she was desirous of having nothing to do with the dead man's j money. But it was pointed ont that, except- ing herself, there was no possible-claimant She regards herself as an. almoner, as-a stewardof CnthbertGrahame'sgreat possessions rather than their owner, and employs by far the largest portion of the income they produce in works of benefaction. She still produces pictures, in black and white, and in cotour; there are.^ew women artists who have achieved a more sob- stantial success. Her husband has not realised his dreams. The Gordian Knot "1has never*been produced. '• He burnt the play with his own hands rand has;,1 never written another he alone knows why 1 thocgh his wife may have a shrewd suspicion.. So far he has been content to act as his wife's | right-hand man, an occupation which hitherto has^ept him fully employed. j Dr Twelves lives, and flourishes. He has been heard to declare that never again will he proffer assistance to any strange woman whom he finds, by the wayside. Nannie Foreshaw is dead. Messrs. McTavish and Brown have, if anything, improved their standing as family soiicitors of undoubted integrity: Mrs Talfonrf onoof their most valued clients. Mrs Talfourd presented Mr Gregory Lamb with a passage to South Africa, and with a sum of money when he landed. As he-has never asked for any mora money, and nothing has been heard of him-since, the presumption is that he has perished in that grave of many reputations. His wife's solicitor continues to exist, and is still a very well-known Kentleman in certain ex- tremely crooked walksof life. Cuthbert Grahame's home,has beeirtarned into a sanatorium and holiday home for children It could hardly be employed for a better pur-i pose. Boys and girls scamper-among the trees their voices, and their laughter, ring through .the house. They people it with freah associa- tions the old ghosts are gone. They find health and happiness in the place where once was < neither. And when at night, they laythair tired heads upon their pillows, they dream only -pleasant dreams. When thsy wake in the morn- ing, whether, actually, the skies be fair or clouded, to them it is alwaya as if the sun waa éshmlDg. If men and women would be content to^rv& as little children insomuch, at least, as to-be care- ml to keep themselves as free as little children from the stam of-mn, they, alao. would dream 0n^ laP easa?' ^dreams to the whole world it "would be as if the son were always shining. Tfaisi thing is Bure tbonRh—peradventrarei for euffi- ■ cient rea.sons-no one has ever proved it. (The End.)
BARGOED TEMPERANCE WORK. REV. J. A. REES ON CLUB tNFLUENCES., Invitation to Colonel Lindsay. A successful demonstration, under the auspices of the Gladys Tent of the Independent Order of iiechabites, was held at Birgoed on Saturday. -*■ principal streets having been paraded, a n? ri'0 tRee.(:'tl £ was held, Sir Alfred Thomas, M.P., Chairman of the Welsh Parliamentary Party, presiding, Sir Alfred, in the courseof a, vigorous speech, condemned the Licensing Act. Contrasting the drinking habits of America. and England, he quoted the report of an American official that the English people drank so much and consequently lost so much time that be regarded five Americans equal to six Englishmen, and he^(Sir Alfred) thoaght there was a. greati deal of truth in the contrast. The Ray. J. A. Rees, curate of Focbriw, said temperance refortmea-s had a grofttTphin fight in the valleys. Drunkenness, scepticism, immorality, and religions indifference-abounded, and it was neces- sary that all temperance organisatioas aliould- acnalgamate for effective work. Dealing with the club question he noticed that Bargoed was afflicted with two of these undesirable institu- tions, and he was anxious that those presents should take the necessary steps to make the, existencs of those ekibs an impossibility.- He had lately passed through an ordeal very trying to himself and his friends, and though he had apparently, or technically, suffered a slight rebuff at the hands of a jury and a. judge, yet he considered it one of the greatest moral victories for temperance. (úoud applause.) With the greatestdeference possible for the administration of the laws of the land, he maintained that clubs. in general were not institutions which any right- minded person would conscientiously claim as factors in the improvement and amelioration of our citi zems, either socially, ethically, or politi- cally, and &urely not spiritually. (Loud ap- plause.) He invited their prospective Conservative candidate, Colonel Lindsay, to pay a surprise visit to the clubs in Glamorganshire colliery dis- tricts between tha hours of 10 and 11 on a, "pay" Saturday night. When be had done so he felt snie Colonel Lindsay's beliefiin the working man's ability to control himself in a. club would have a rude awakening, and he would not be sur- prised to find as a result that tbe colonel would, -.withhold his support from the clubs and Join the speaker in his condemnation of them as instruments for evil rather than good. (Hear hear, and applause.) Addresses were also, delivered by Mr Daniel Thomas, Rhymney Mr Walter Lewis, Mr D. Roberts, and others.
MANNESMAN TUBE WORKS. Alleged Non-Union Preference. A number of employees at the cold draw department of the Mannesman Tube Works, Landore, members of the Dockers' Union, in May last received a notice that their wage States would be reduced, and efforts to settle the-dis- pute were vainly made by Messrs Ben TilJett and F. Merrels. The company insisted that the men should either accept the reductions or that their demand as it stood should be referred to arbitration. The company subsequently dis- missed the whole of the drawers, and some of the oilers and annealers, owing toslacknesaof trade. The men's leaders, who offered a reduction of 15 per cent., say the places are filled by man brought from Birmingham. The Dockers' Union leaders, allege that four men, members of the Dockers Union, have been compelled to reoounce ntem- bershiD, and it is reported that the Union, officials will present a-statement to tbe Trade Union Congress at Leeds, with a view of gotttog, the guestion raised in, the House of Commons.
PONTYPOOL WOUNDING CASE. Scene in a Lodging-House. George Ross, a £ middJe-aged shoemaker, ap- peared at Pontypool Police Conrt on Saturday to answer a. charge of maliciously wounding James; PMsher at Scott's Lodging-house, Pontypool. Prosecutor, who aprreared in thewitneas-box with his head and left eye covered with handages, related how upon his attempüngto take prisoner to bed last Thursday night the latter struck him with something sharp on the eye, causjnghiUl to fall and become unconscious. With tears in his eyes prisoner expressed sorrow for whnt he had done, and said that he acted in self defetce. |Dr. Avsrnasaid :be put four stitches'? in tbe top wound on prosecutor's eye, which waaabont 1im. in length and three in fthe wotnd in tbebottOm of ths eye. The patient was not yet ont of ) danger, as erysipelas might set in at any moment. ^Prisoner was sent for trial at the Quarter Sessions, bail being allowed.
CALVINIST FORWARD MOVEMENT. New Hall for Newport—Fine Site Procured. Astonishing as have been thoteaultaofthe Forward Movement in Wales generally, there is pexhapsno place where it has attained-anch popularity as at Newport, Mon. With itafoar largo centies the town is still lacking in accom- modation to cope with the ever-increasing, demand for seating room in the fine halls thready areeted. For sometime past the-central mission has been carried on at theTemperance Hall, bat despite its size—the building is said to seat some 1,500 people—it has been found alto- gether inadequate in dimensions. A Buitablefcite for larger premises has been sought for in vain, but the Rev John Pngb, the-originator of the movement, hasjnst been offered on a very low rental, a splendid site by Lord Tredegar. It is situated in Commercial-street, and stretchea back to Fathergill-street. The offer has, we understand, been accepted, and at no distant • date a new hall capable of seating 2,5Q0 people wiH be proceeded with at a cost of between £ 6,000 and £ 7.000. Another hall. to accommodate aboot 1,000 persons, is shortly to bee reeled at Pontypool, while yet another of the same Bize is already'in course otconstructionlat Dowlais. It is worthy of note at this juncture that exclu- sive of the three buildings above mentionad, the Forward Movement halls now provide room for 25,490 people. The number of mission centres is 45, irrespective of branches—27 being in Glamor- ganshire, 10 in Monmouthshire, 5 in North Walea, and one each in Mid-Wales, Gloucester, and London. Then there are children's halls to seat 8,130, thnsmaking a total number of seats 34,420. The buildings base cost £74,312 12s, and; one-third of that amount was paid straightaway. Regular bearers attending number 20,500, com- municants 3,880, Sunday school scholars 9,550. probationers 2,975. As the result of but 12 years' work surely these nguresare-eloquent. Another fact which will impress even Noncon- formists is that the average subscription-per member per annual comep to £ 2"9a, as-compared with,.£115a in the rest of the Free Churches. <
ARE LAW DOCTORS ELIGIBLE? Question for Cardiff Guardians. Tlic Cardif fGuardians are advertising for. a resident medical officer for tbe Cardiff Work- house. At Saturday's meeting Mr F, J. Beavan. asked whether lady doctors would be eligible for' the appointment.—Mr AmeB For many reasons I propose that it be a male doctor.—The Chair- man (Mr O. H. Jones) thought that as lady can- didates were not barred-fin the advectiseineots i the guardians had better not now pledge them- selves one way or other. Let lady candidates apply if they chose, and tbeanpJjcations wooH be dealt with inJiheusfttkl way. t No xssQiaUea wwpftssed,
Ceraplete Story, A DOUBLE PLEASURE. BY GERALD (WE R. GLASGOW. CHAPTER I. The room had grown dark by alaroat impe?- ceptibl°roes, and the great painter had been foreed, at last, to lay his brushes down. He did so with a long sigh of regret, because the and" the picture finished 1 —and still he was not satisfied. Thermal), dark bead did not seem graceful ordelicaie -enough—it did not rise out of the mists of whits, -with the flowerJike effect that had always "touched Phoebe's graceful pose with poetry. He set the easel in different lights now, and felt dissatisfied with'each result. At last hetnrned it resolutely to the waH-and came^lowly.across tho room. Let -me forget it, Miss Middleton," heaaid. It is not a success; may I draw the curtains -and sbut it all oat ? Have you ever noticed the decorative effect of a, fire ?" "It is, so myatorioos and uncertain," said Phoebe. Yes, draw the curtain, please, and let us be coay. I am glad yan are so far human, Mr Erie, as to like a fire. But I don't want to shut out my lovely portrait-I long to ba an old woman, so that I may say to other girls, That, is my bescutiful yonth." She had poured out a cnp of tea, and was standing, before him in the dusk, touched by the; firelight. It stained her, hair, and. the straight folds of her grey dress; it shone in her eyes too. and- showed the sweet, pleased smile tipon berlips. As "she laid the cup down on the arm of his chair, her hand brushed bis sleeve, as softly as the wings of a bird, and, with the touch, it seemed as if some sleeping force awoke. He felt himself no longer a great painter, withvag116 dreams and far-away ambitions, but a man who was solitary and sad, who, once, on life's-great highway, had felt as woman's healing toach, and, in that divine moment, had lived a thousand years. Whilst Phoabo was stiHstandfngjstartled. looking down, he rose suddenly and held the small hand in both of his. My dear," heaaid. in a quick, rough voice, I"" I amsnch a fool that I d) not even knew how to ask a practical, every-day question. Ida not know any soft phrases in which to tell a woman that I-love her." "Is that arpractrcat, every-day question T' sai d i^hoebe, with a sort of sob. He loosed her hand, and touched the curly dark bead, holding it against his shoulder. Do TOU love me? Is it possible ?" he asked, in a kind of wonder. ■4 Do you know, Phcebe, I have never dreamt of marriage until this moment—it was the todch of your hand—the look of your dear eyes in the firelight. I have loved you for years, I think, without knowing "But you know it now?'* she asked in a j happy voice. You really-mean it ? It ia not too good to be true V' She-s^ped out of Tils arms, and stood in the 5 nrolight, looking up at him, with sof t, ^reyeyea. Say it again, if it ia-reaHy'trne. Perhaps you will not feel the'satneragain unless"Itouch you. He looked at her with his b>nd absent.eyes, jtbat were always full of dreams. I,think I havealwayg felt that sort of charm I, about i you," he said, "but it used to-be an abstract charm. Sometimes I have felt as if my whole life was a dream, hat.I am awake at last." You will not forget mcV" she said,; in her guick voice. "Surety that is impossible. N, Ob, I hope so, she satd. earnestly. "It igannds uncanny even to tuggest it, fcnt I am not agoing to be an abstract charm any more." "I am improving already he said, holding her at arm's length. >v j w9a' going to kiss yon once more, to prove how real yon were, but I remembered that I have on my old velveteen coat, discoloored with paint and I hayen't-ttee. cheek For all answer she laidl»er flower-like face iagainst the worn brown velvet. "Thatis my. cheek, not yours," she said, with ahappyiaogh. The great painter reaMy^reat, although ihe did not write R^A., «.f^cr ^p. nor was he icatatogued imany^exhi|jit|on He had a curious j ipieturesoue, untidy studio in the Falham-road, in which priceless tapestry was Tailed upon the walls, as a background to gems of painting, or clay or marble<models. The painter's greatcoat hung across the broken arm of a Venus—stacks of forgotten sketches macle a temoorarv shelter, in one corner, for a wire-haired terrier On the mantel-piece a;BiXpenny tobacco jar held a profusion of bank notes, messed down and runn- ing over. When the sordid things of life were presented to him In large folio: letters com- mencing whereas," he fli-mi into the jar, and honestly paid his debts when he was hungry. Polly, the witchlike guardian of his home, cooked mysterious dishes on his stndio^re—when he was thirsty he drank whatever came banèhest- I but through all the disturbances and distrac- tions of daily life, ha livea in a serene atmos- 1 phere of dreams—dreatna traDalated by the genius of his penoil, jnto living creations of tangibiabeanty, crowning hie walls and clothing them with a brief and glowing glory. As to his j manner of life. it was as brilliant and erratic as a comet's. He dined out, when he remembered j his numerous invitations, or when someone was hindenoogh to take bim in charge, and present him at the right moment and at the right door, j That he himself, apart from bis art, was love. able, came to him always as a new, and humbling i revelation, and he worked with fresh inspira- tion whenever the knowledge reached him. Perhaps it reached him most persistently through Lady Middleton and Phoebe. Little as she had been to bim in the past, distinct stages, into Miss Middleton 0f to-day growing out of a rather ugly, pathetic, black-haired gvpsie, into a beau- titul, gentle girl, who found the world a very happy place, but whoconJdnotrale that trouble- soma thing, her heart I As to theL great painter, his heart had never given him any trouble at all. It had never ,any "quicker for a woman's touch—no girlish laugh—no misdirected arrow—from the quiver of a mischievious Rodi had ever reached or stirred it into iifo but, as he saw tbe small beat as he watched the slim hands perform- little homely, womanly duties—as he heard the sweet voice—felt her touch, a very passion of lovehad surged up within him, and he was conscious that his heart awoke I At that moment, for one thrilling hour, he forgot his v bls fotmre. his dreams, and his ambitions, wPfL would willingly have cast them all away, if they had been the price of Phoebe's love. So nestood, as she had left him. leaning up against the mantelpiece, and looking out at the glim- mering square of fading light. He was tall and nanaaome, with a pointed beard, and a capable mouth and chin—a little contradicted by the areamy brown eyes, and the brilliant smile, bomethuig that be had unconsciously missed among the hmrying, jostling, human crowds naa come to him to-night and lay like a jewel, among the hmrying, jostling, human crowds naa come to him to-night and lay like a jewel, in his hand, He looked at it with genuine sur- prise and tenderness, holding it very dear and P""5°°si i not, presently, he walked over to the ,Ii window, drew the blind carefully, and turned the beautiful picture, so that it faced him, agaInst the crimson background. Then he went ?-i ° fire-place, and stood looking at it until a wave of satisfied ambition blurred it be- Even to himBelf it seemed a beau- titui nthing, the pale grey draperies—the touch at the feet—the flower-like look of the small head, the sparkle of the eyes, like an im- ftlso™ sunbeam. He knew that he had touched the supreme point of bis art. Away from the radiant model, he felt almost satisfied, !r the fire died down as he stood and looked, xnen he roused himself with a sigh, and covered it regretfully, He waa no longer a man, but an artist. CHAPTER It. He was still very much the artist when he roae III the gfoy dawn next morning, and superin- tended the packing of the precious picture. Every now and then as he dressed, a conviction came to him that yesterday had not been quite as other yesterdays, and that there had been something particularly pleasant about that twi- "ghthoM he had spent with Phcahbe, but when he tried to fix and analyse the sensation, it etadedPhim. That he ilad asked her to be his: wife, he would have regarded aaaridiculoas suggestion, for the whole scene had faded from ms naind as entirely as the dead aBhes of last had disappeared from the grate. He telt annoyed that, with his usual stupidity, ne "I had forgottento bidber a definite good bye, but there was no particular reason why he should base done so l they would meet again bafore Jong, and in the meantime the picture must be finished, and he bad dreams of spending the winter in someeot of the way Cornish village. where he intended to make studies of a stormy sea. Lady Middleton was reallysorry toeee the last of him, and she confided her misgivings to her daughter. He ia so reckless, Phoebe, and that delicioar tnanner is so unsuited to this world, that I ai ■ waysvexpect to hear he has been translated to a more appropriate milieu,' or has fallen over a cliff whilst he was studying the stars. lie,1 went off this morning quite serenely, with my garden hat in his band, and his own banging on the pegs in the hall. Frederic had to run after the carriage for nearly a mile, and he told me the hat wason the opposite seat, and he wasj gazing at it, but he had never noticed any dif- ference. It was just Providence that made me, think of it. He was quite capable of putting it on, and wearing it up Piccadilly it makesme: hot to think of it." Phoebe waa staring blankly at her mother. 'Do youJmeaEuto stay he has gone?" she said.. Why didn't someone tell me? I never said, good-bye." Why. Phcebe, it was all settled last-week. I thought yon knew. My dear child,-dont afc&re, at nothing in that ghastly way. I declare your eyes aie getting exactly like his." Has he gone ?" said Phcebe again, stupidly. She had pat on a pale blue gown, and had stolen a late rose from tbeconeervatory to-fMid to the effect. Phoebe had had nonpreviouslove affair by which to gauge her feelings, and the 'I' soddenrebuf fseemed "like a slight. She was distinctly conBciousthat no one need know of > t butlreweif. She did not realise theteH-tale colour of her face, or thatiier mother was look- ing at bet curiously. She roused lierself 'to force astitfsmile. "Iåmso dieanpointed," she said, stumbling a little over the words. I wanted to see my lovely picture again. Of course, I was told, bat that wasagea ago. He had not men- tioned it for days. I thought he had.\forgotten be was going." M And very naturally, dearest," said her mother. He would forget his own head if a Provideow had not sorewed « on. > However, we musn't destroy our nerves, what- ever happens, and the tea has beenmade for ages. 'you must write to the poor thing and give himra piece of your mind—is will do him good." Phoebe sat eating her breakfast with a visible effort, in the silenca that folicwed. Then she- spoke with a nervoct3 laugh. I Mammy, you don't think of him as yoa speak, do you ? He isn't a poor-thing "jnst to ba pitied ?" I Lady Middiston gave a shrewd glance at her daughter from behind the urn. i No, Phcebe," she said, seriously heaven | forbid I should scoff at genius, or class myseif l with the illustrious company. He is a flight /above tlS, my dearest, but I fancy the finer air S he 'breathes is cold." '• Ye3, mother." He is rather loveable, Pheobe, and rather ■dangerous.' Asrain that quick look, but Phoebe's colour had I faded, and she met her mother's eyes calmly. I only wanted to be sura yoa apprecig,ted him, mother now I am satisfied." But the slow autumn days passed and be did not write—not one word came from the great 1 Babylon either of love, or ambition, or hope, and PboebeV own hopes died with the dying year. It made no outward difference-sbe was jnst as pretty, just as charming—but her faithin human nature was never qnite so strong again. In the next few months she went through all -the gamut of feeling, and, at every stage, life In the next few months she went through all j -the gamut of feeling, and, at every stage, life I seemed a little duller, and less successful. She maddened-hsrself making every possible excuse for him, but she only seemed to plunge into deeper mystery, and was wounded, angry, and miserable by turn?. At the end of six monthsof absolutesilenceshe formed an hypothesis for herself, which was con- vincing, if not satisfactory. She imagined that what he had said was said on a sudden impulse, regretted as soon as spoken—-that, in the scheme of his life. there was no place for love; and, if he had loved unwisely, ha bad found it quite easy to break the light chain that bound him. He bad chosen this way of teaching her, hoping it would hurt the least. But it was a cruel way," she said under her breath, whilst the passionate: tears lay hot upon her cheek. CHa.PT.EK ILL CHAPTER Ill. So Pbcebe closed her Pandora's box, feeling perfectly certain that no hope lay at the bottom ,I of it. She found the wintersurprisingly lopg, and the autumn visits dull bat, as the spring: days lengthened her spirits rose, and she longed for London—dear, noisy London—wh^re,amongst j the careless, happy crowds.it was always possible i.that one might meet someone that one-knew. "Your picture is to be exhibited, you know, iJjady Middleton said to her as they drove from Euston to Grasvenor Gardens. I bope-it will be a success—that ha hasn't gone on working at it in that den at Pulham. We must ask him to II dinner directly we arrive." Will he come ?" said Pbcebe, donbtfnlly. My dear, of course-he will, if we send yotu* father to bring him." The wound in '.Phoebe's beart had healed, but.1 it had left a scar. In the weeks that followed, 1 she found that it had learnt an expectant atti- ;| I tude and grown used to disappointment. With a great effort she trod the dull round of social [iduties, anxiously, careful that her mother should see no change in her, and so April lengthened .into May, and theclimax of the long winter came i unexpectedly—as so often happens. Phoebe was riding down the Row alone, in the early morning, with tbe groom following her, and her eyes arrested by the blaze of colour in the beds. She-said to herself, with almost pas- sionate insistence, that there was still so mnch to enjoy, when,, saddenly, a child with a peram-a buiator, made a run out of the side walk, and, caused Tommy to start and swerve. He threw ,back his head, and galloped off, with a frightened .,j snort, but] Pbcebe had him well in hand, and she had all bar wits about ber. She guiddd him ■ down the ride, whilst his pace quickened, and people began to stand and stare, and tosooutout directions as he flew past. It was exhilarating whilst she kept that sense of mastery, but, in a few minutes, she knew that he bad-got beyond her OOtltrol, and was thundering down upon the: Albert Gate, and the great overwhelming-sea of traffic outside. All the world round her seemed deadly quiet as she leant back, with her hands. twisted in the reins, and pulled steadily, with all her strength. She felt herhat go, and^lieirtoot swing free in the stirrup, her breath came m heavy pants, anda Bickening senseofbelplessness. possessed her, when she waa conscious of another thud besides the thunder of Tommy's hoofs, and a voice on her right hand spoke, in quick, decided, accents. Hold on, Miss Middleton-be is tiring now— give a jerk to tbe rein—so.—Keep him to the left—get%im past the gate." < She could not turn her bead, but she knew the horseman beside her was pressing up against Tommy, and bearing to tbe left, They were past the Albert Gate, and his pace was slackening. A man's hand was on her saddle, and she watched it, as it crept down, and seized the curb. Tommy snorted and shivered, and tried to shake it off, bnt it was quite useless, and gradually he fell back into a canter, and stopped. Phoebe knew perfectly well wboeeJiand it was that was on the curb, but she was too tired to speak. Her own bands fell slafikly from the reins, and she swayed forward clutching at the 1 pummel. In a minute she heard tbe quick, im-, perative tones again. '■ Don't be: nonsensical, Plioebe. Gather up your reins, and let us get out of the crowd you bad better ride home, and Tommy will behave like a lamb." He was standing beside her, smiling into her dazed eyes, holding her tired hands in both of his. Someone had coma Danting up with her bitt-a, policeman had brought a glass of water —people were talking and gesticolating round 1 her. With a tremendous effort she fixed on her hat j and gathered up the reins in her shaking hands, TIe looked at her narrowly for a minute, and then he mounted and rode beside her. You always were a plucky gicl," he said Tommy mnsn't think he has got the better of you. You will come with ma? It is you, is itruot? Where did you come from ?" I have been out of town. I only came back last night. ? saw the little beast with the perambulator, but I was afraid of frightening Tommy if I came up behind, so I rode across, and cut him off. Never mind about it now- just keep him clear of the traffic. Here we are. Now you may faint or do anything you like." "But I don't want to faint," said Phoebe, j brightly. As Mr Erie lifted her down, he looked j at her. in a serious and perplexed manner. Surely, you have the most brilliant Bmilein" the world, Pbcebe," he said, and stood for a minute, looking at her. ] Twice he bad made the same slip, unnoticed, but Phoebe recalled it, 'sitting in her room, and looking at her dishevelled image in the glass. Phoebe, my dear." she said to herself, you have wasted a whole long^wictep in.regxets. The man forgot—what a humiliating confession— and yet there is a spice of humour in it too, and the fact of the matter is.Phoabe, that he loves, you still." CHAPTER IV. Half an hour later, Phoebe came in to break- fast. wesring a bright face, and the discarded grey frock, that had hung in her wardrobe for nearly six months, to the dispair of her maid. As she-turned the handle, she confronted Lady Middleton standing, with a. pale face and agi- tated demeanour, just on the threshold. She caught at Phoebe's hand, holding her at arm's f length, and"passed a tender hand over her hair. The girl stared at her in utter amazement. "Mother." she said, giving her a little shake. What is the matter ? The water is running out of the urn-it will run over the carpet. Let me turn it off first, and we will be tragic afterwardB." But dearest," said the poor lady, in a. shak- ing voice, they told me that you had had an accident, and that you were severely injured, and had gone straight to your room. And, here you are, without a bone broken." Phoebe's surprised stare softened, and her lips curved into rather shame-faced laughter. I had actually forgotten," she said. Mother darling, it is quite true—Tommy did runaway." FtN-gotten."breathed Lady Middleton tragic- ally. Mr Erie is back," said Phoebe, in a hurried voice. Yes, come and have breakfast and I hear the newpictnre is wonderful. 4 The Shadow of Ourselves,' he ciills it——" I met him thjs morninS!. Jot Ah," said Lady Middleton, and she looked. quickly at the blue dress. I had no idea he rode so well. He helped me with Tommy. 1 think he saved my life." My dear, don't be hysterical," said her mother. No dating, not now." For the first time in his life Mr ErleHEonnd it difficult to settle to his work. He made a tmrrdred excuses to himself for his indolence, but the way Phoebe's lace came between him and his canvas grew, at last, to be positively maddening. After i that morning in the park, "The Shadow of Ourselves came to a standstill, and every "few days theh great artist found it necessary to pre- sent himself in Grosvenor Gardens, just to verify some trifling fact about Phoebe's looks. Lady Middleton was in despair. He means nothing," she said iatorne to all her intimate friends, and yet he compromises my poor Phoebe—and he keeps other men away. Care for him ? Of course she does—that is tbe worst of it—one can't explain one's worldly views, to a girl." Not to such a girl as Phoebe, at least. Her colour had come back, and her high spirits'; i never had there been such a season. She heard,' so mtrebof the great pictures-she had even stood Î in the untidy studio, and looked round her with a. sort of awe, feeling almost afraid of the genius that breathed from the great canvas adding her little mite of criticism to the war of thegoda that raged round it. But aiter that visit she went home feeling dull and cold as Lady Mid- dleton had said, the mountain tops vrare chilly, and difficult of access. Nett day, Erie stood again upon the steps of the house in Grosvenor Gardens, and faced the important batler wbo opened the door. Lady Middleton at home"?*1; Her ladyshipis out." > Miss Middleton.:?'* "She is at home, sir." Mr Erio waa nervous. Parker was atoned, but .respectful. I should like to see her." Miss Middleton is in the library, air. I was to take tea there at five." Parker^geDtly but firmly relieved bim of his hat.and stick, and laid them on tbehul1 table. Then he oreceded him down the ample passage, and flung open a door at the end. Mr Erie, miss." The door shut, leaving the artist inside, and Parker t milrag, on the mat. Her ladyship don't seem to notice nothing." he said to himself, but I've been that way my- self ciany's the time—and there's some gentle- men as waot's tf-bit of a heft. Ill taj^^p tfca J tea. now, and 1 ease-them to theirselvev till^lier ladyshipcoaies in." Phoebe was aittrngintbebright light of-tbe open window, with a book face downwards on her knee, She did not rise, or even look up, until Parker's respectful voice startled ber." | Mr Erie, miss. I mentioned that her lady- ship was not at home." In a minute IJbcebe_had slipped I o lier feet. • How nice of you to come—I made sure you were the tea." Phere was no dreaminess in Mr Erie's eyes as they rested on Phoebe, and no indecision in his j step. He knelt with oTiekneoonthewindow- seat beside her, and looked oat over tha hedge I of coloured roses. The picture wouldn't .go, Miss Middleton, so II turned its face to the wall, and came here for inspiration." The shadow of ourselves," said Phosbe, smiling. The colour still flushed into her cheeks In a tiresome way, when she remembered that day -last autumn, and as she lifted her face now, she found tho artist's earnest eyes watching her. I,He was looking at her in a puzzled way, and he spoke on an impulse, "When you wear that colour.in your face, yon remind me of something —but I cannot remember what-kalways just escapes me." "Perhaps it reminds you of my picture; I wore this dress when you painted me." His kind eyes lightened, and lost their per- nlexed look. Perhaps," he said. It issome- thing pleasant, I am sure." '• And here is tea," said Phoebe, cheerfully. Parker, seemed to make a great deal of unneces- sary noise at the door, but his intentions were excellent, and he was disappointed when he recognised, in one keen glance round, tbat Miss Phcebe was not in the least agitated. She sat on the window seat, whilst be arranged the tea, and then she walked over to the table, and be- gan to pour it out. Mr Erie leant back in a i large arm chair and watched ber. And they won't have above another quarter of an hour," Parker said anxiously to himself, as he took a parting look round. Really sotne gentlemen ha ? next to no sanae." After he had gone Mr Erie sat looking at Phcebe silently. Tbe sunlight stained her hair; and the straight folds ofihet^grey dress. As she J came towards him, with the cup in her hand, he had an indistinct feeling that somewhere, io some other life, he had seen her tlina before. Softly, like the wings of a bird, berband brushed bis sleeve as she leant over him, and, at the touch, somec-dim memory awoke and transfigured him. He was no longer a great painter, but a man who was letting bi3 ambition slip-from him, and was making a desperate bid for happiness. lie rose suddenly, and took her unresisting hand in his. My dear," he said, in the odd rough voice, that had been rinmgin her ears for six long months, I am such a fool that I do not even jknow bowio But Phoebe's voice arrested him. "Oh. no, no, no," she said, half-sobbing. 41 don't say it again—not in the same words." Phoebe." He bad tightened his hold on her hand, and held ber closer, bnt Phoebe's face was hidden on his sleeve. 1 couldn't bear it," came the stifled cry. Say something different, or I shall think it is a dreadfrl aream." He was holding her very tenderly, and one hand touched her hair, but there^was that old perplexed look in-his brown eyes. Dear, I have never said those words to any woman. I had never dreamed of marrying until to-day, but I cannot live without you," Phoebe raised a bright, flushed face, and spoke Lincoherently. "Yon said them to me once, months ago—the day you finished, my picture." "Phcabe, it can't be possible." "Yes it is," said Pbcebe, tearfully. "I tbought. yon were sorry afterwards, and it made me miserable, and then I met you-again^ard.Imw. [ you had only—forgotten." There-was a moment's breathless silence, and then Mr Erie spoke regretfully. I had-forgotten." Well ?" said Phoebs, after another silent minute. I am so-soity.,sdarii«g," he said with a,quick, laugh, but evenjuow Ican't. for the hfe of me,. remember what your answer was." "I said yes,' said Phcebe. -j will you forgive me, and say''yes 'again "If there is, any thing to forgive-1 have-for-: gotten it," said Pbcebe. You have only given j, me a double pleasure." III "We must not let him out Of ourBight until you are married, dearest," Ladv Middleton said when Phosbe told her of the engagement, and we mnst fix on a beat man of great physical strength, and with all his wits about him there are so many possible tragedies in the wedding service. I think, otherwise, be is pretty safe. He could hardly forget that he had proposed to you." Phoebs looked demurely at her mother, but she held her tongue.
ALLEGED HORSE MAIMING. Pontypooi Man's Acquittal. At Pontypool ou Saturday Jacob Twissell, a well-known horse dealer, who has latterly beeu l engaged as a colliet at the Tirpentwys Colliery, appeared in custody on remand charged with maliciously wounding a hoise, the property of I Edwin George, fraiterer, at Pontypool on 26th Aagnstjfey stabbing it with a pair of sheep shears. Superintendent James acted for the police, and Mr W. J. Everett. Pontypool, defended. Theevidence showed that prisoner and prose- cutor bad been drinking together on the day in question, when the latter alleged that when he was selling his goods from door to door in a district known as Trancb, Pontypool, prisoner, who was under the influence of drink, after greet- ing him with How are von getting on, Edwin?" walked round the cart and drove the shears into the horse under its shoulder. Cross-examined, witness said that he and prisoner had been the best of friends. It was true that Twissell wanted to buy the borso, but he refused to give the price, namely, £10. "Doyon think that Twissell was in his right senses when he stabbed the horse ?" asked Mr Everett. No, I don't," replied witness. A married woman named Elizabeth Jane Walters deDosed to seeing prisoner, as she thought, punching the horse with his fist. For tbe defence Mr Everett urged that the animal was of a vicious nature. On the evening in question Twissell went to examine its teeth to ascertain its age, when the horse made a grab at him and he struck it off with the shears. Ho (Mr Everett) submitted that there was not tittle of malicious intent, as the parties been, and were now, the best of friends. Further- more. Dr. Mason would tell the Bench that Twissell had recently ba.d an accident to his eyes, and five stitches had been put in the wound. From that time he had been strange in his manner, and he was practically not respon- sible for his actions. Prisoner, when called, bore out his solicitor's version of the affair, and Dr. Mason expressed the opiuion that thB act was not done wilfully. William Jones, farrier, said the horse would Jia fit for work in about a week's time. The wound inflicted was about four inches deep. The magistrates decided to dismiss the case, Land upon hearing thadecisicn Twissell was taken quite with surprise, and in his hurry to join his friends in court he forgot to take his cap with him from the-dock.
A TRAMP'S CONFESSION. Charged with Arswi at Newport At Newport County Police Court on Saturday James Alfred Smith, a tramp, was charged with malicionaly setting fire to a rick of clover, the pro- perty of Alfred Frost, at Kemcys Inferior on 29th August, and doing damage to the amount of JE50. Prisoner was further charged with wander- ing about without having any visible means of subsistence. Evidence as to the fire and the amount of damage done having been given; P.O. Bale, Christchurch, said that at about 10.30 on the night of 29th ult. he was going from Newport in the direction of the rick fire in plain clothes when he met prisoner, who said, "I want to speak to you." Re added thatcoming along the road a little way back he felt tired, and turned into a Held and lay down by some ricks. After btiing there a little time he felt cotd, and lit hispipe to have a smoke. Ho threw the match down, and it ignited tbe rick. When he fonnd he couldn't pat it oat he was frightened and came a-tong the road. He added that he expected he would be had "before he went far. Witness then told him he was a police constable and that be should arrest him for setting the rick on fire. Prisoner replied: All right; I thought I should be had for it." Prisoner had apipe and matches in his possession. Asked if he had any questjons,prisonsr replied,. No.; it is quite right what be says." Inspector Lewis, who charged prisoner at the poiice station, said defendant stated that when the fire started he tried to kick it out, but failed, The Chairman (Alderman T. Goldsworthy) announced that the Bench were of opinion that no jury would convict, and prisoner was dis- charged. On the other charge the police stated that only a halfpenny wasfonnd-on prisoner. He could give no satisfactory account of himself. In 1901 he was committed for two months' imprisonment at Beverley for damaging workhouse-clothing. Prisoner was committed for two months, with hardlabour-
BULGARIAN ATROCITIES. Family Tortured and Killed. Salonika, August 30th.— The village.of Grade ber, where a Bulgarian band was destroyed in June, 1903, has been the seene of a revolting crime. A band numbering wobafaly not more than a doaeu men, Qndar ..the command ofa. chief named Jovan, entered the village at about 11 o'clock on Sunday night, A portion of the band proceeded to the house of Traiko Cheloot, taking with them a villager named Dimitri Onzoun, whom they compelled to knock at the door and summon Traiko toooen. After some little demur he complied. He and his sons were at' once seized and bound. Before being killed they were tortured, Sterio, one of "Traiko's-sons. had "his eyes gouged out,-and ears, nose, and lips cut off, and there were other nameless mutila- tions. The body of Anastfvs was partly bamed after death, bus there were evidences of torture, and there is no doubt M. Traiko had been treated in all respects like his aon Sterro. Vebko, the wife of Traiko, received three stabs, but waa not killed. The band soon afterwards retnsd unmolested. A fortnight ago the unfortunate Traiko complained to the Greek Consul 'n Salonika of an that he had to endure at tLe hands of the Bulgarians, but the Consul could cctfy advise bim to hawp&tisuae.
South Wales Art Society. LORD WINDSOR ON THE CHANTRET COLLECTION. Appreciation ofMr G. F. Watts. There was a large gathering on Saturday, afternoon at the South Wales Art Society's Gallery in Cardiff, on the occasion of theeere- monial opening by Lord Windsor of the 17th annual exhibition of pictures. Mr G. A. Sec- combe, who presided. in the absence of Coun- cillor W. H. Benwick, in welcoming Lord Wind- sor, said that had it not been for his Lordship's very generous help at various crises in the society's career the society would not have been in the floarishiiig' and sound financial condition it then was. That exhibition had been got to- gether with a great deal of labour and anxiety and patient research, and be hoped the members would find it to be one of the best they had ever held. (Applause.) Lozd Windsor, who was cordially received, said it gave bim keen pleasure to be able to con- gratulate the society once more upon having on thewalta a very excellent exhibition. As to what Mr Seecombe had said, he (Lord Windsor) always bad but very little doubt that after over-. coming the difficulties incidental to the start of societies of that kind they would find in Cardiff a flourishing little society of that sort. He hoped tha.t in succeeding years the position of the society would become still sounder, and no doubt the quality of the pictures exhibited there would gradually get into a. higher standard. So far as he ha.d seen it. the exhibition that year i could certainly be said to be one of the best, if not the best, they had ever seen on those trails, and they were greatly indebted to the artistswho, living at a distance, still had some feeling of in- terest in. and sympathy with, the efforts they wete making in Cardiff. some of them were very eminent artists, and had sent some admirable examples of their work to that year's exhibition. Proceeding, hia Lordship spoke feelingly of the death of Mr G. F. Watts, aud the loss sustained in consequence by British art, and referred to a < visit which lie paid the artist in.,his Surrey home a few months before bis death. All those who knew him but slightly must have felt the ex- treme nobility of his nature. He could",look at nothing mean or petty, and in the whole of hia artistic work that side of life which natoi- ally he knew existed never interrupted the strong intention that he had of* portraying and dealing only with the noble side of his art, (Heir, hear.) What ever the place he might ultimately take amongst the great artists—of course it was too early yet" to forai any judgment as to that—be (Lord Windsor* was convinced that G. F. Watts would permanently remtin as an example of a very great British painter, and that some of his pictures, especially his portraits, would remain amongst some of the finest English portraits that had ever been painted. Speaking of the report of the Chantrey Bequest Committee, his Lordship said there was a general feeling, admitted by several Academicians, as well as by others, that the administration of the Chantrey Fund had not resulted in the finest collection of pictures that conld have been secured during the last 27 years. He hoped that in future those charged with the administration of the fund' would, in purchasing works of British artists, look a little wider afield, and not confine their purchases for pictures exhibited at Burlington House as they had hitherto cione. Perhaps when Sir Francis Chantrey died the Royal Academy was the only society of any im- portance in existence, with theexception perhaps of tha-Soeiety of British Artists: but since then a very great change has taken place. They had :nowmher societies, each as the EugHsh.Art dob, = the International Society, the Society of Portrait Painters,, besides galleries owned -by '< individuals,open to the exhibition of modern, paintings, and it would be more saterfaciory to art lovers in this country if, for theChantreycol. laction—wbich was certainly intended to obtain a representative collection of the best pictures ipaintedjn Great Britain by British artiats- •purchases could be made from all sources. (Hear, -1 hear.) On the motion of Mr Wood-Davey, seconded by Mr H. Itadcliffe, Lard Windsor was heartily thanked for his-attendance and address, and his Lordship, i n responding, expressed gratification ? at the proposed new departure, to throw the exhibition open free-to the public every Friday. Amongst other? in attendance were Mr T. Watkin Lewis, J.P., Mr Atex. JDnncan. J.P., Dr. Prichard. Mr E. H. Thomas, Mr T. E. Heath; Mr S. W. Shellard, and Mr. G. F Harries, secretary,
THE ALPINE DISASTER. Fate of Four Englishmen. Courmayeur, Saturday .—The fatal accident s by which four Englishmen, Messrs, Mearyon, Winterbotham, Clay, and Wright, lost their hves occurred on the Grand Paradis Baage, between Cogne and Valsavarauehe, 31 miles trom this place. After a number of successful ..seer,ts of peaks in the Grand Paradis Range, the four Englishmen, cn August 30th. started with tbe intention of making their way from the Grand Paradis to the Petit Paradis and the Budden Point. They did not take guides with them on anyofthssaexetirsions- At 9 o'clock on morning of August 30th they were seen f^ Cogne on the Grand Paradis, from which they made the descent very carefully to an arete oh the side of thei Petit Paradis, where theylbad breakfast. At twenty minates past 10 they started off again, but were soon lost to sight on going round a rock on the west side of the mountain in order to get over the Petit Paradis. M. Gadin, the cure • at Cogne, was an old friend of Messrs. Clay and Wright, and as he had received no news of the party and feared that something had happened, he organised a search party of guides to look for his friends. Yesterday the dead bodies of the tourists were found on a glacier towards Valsavaranche. 1VC. Gadin immediately tele- graphed to Coarmayear, where tbe four English- men had sent their Inggage, intending to follow • it themselves later on after they bad iiniahpd" their ascent. From Courmayeur telegrams V; were immediately sent to break the aa.d news to the families of the deceased. No details of the state of the bodies, or as to the cause of the accI- dent, have yet been received. M. Gadin thinks j the disaster was caused by a cornice giving way nndertheehmbera* feet. or else by fresh snow "i: having fallen on the frozen surface of the.-?- mountain. The former reason is most probable. -■ All the four Englishmen were fearless and cautious Alpin's climbers. They never took guides. The weather was fire on the morning of?;' the 30th, but later in the day fog came up and snow fell on the mountain tops. The bodies ot;, deceased were taken .to Valsvat&anche to-c^ay.— Renter.
ROASTED TO DEATH, Exciting Scene at Industrial School. The details of a shocking burning fatality-ti the ArdwckGreen Industrial School were given on Friday at the Manchester's Coroner's Court, when an inquest was held on the body of Lewis Moseley (14), an inmate of the institution. On Monday evening Moseley, along with two-other boy?, was engaged in a cellar of the schools 4 removing stains from their clothing by meani of turpentine Each boy had a piece of rag saturated with spirits, and deceased had rubbed his trousers well with it. Having done this, he commenced to put hia hands over the gas so as to make a blue flame. He continued to keep his i hands over the gas, notwithstanding -the warn- ings of the two boys, and the result was that thaÔ piece of rag became ignited. He threw it down and tried to extinguish the blaze with his foot: forgetting probably that there was turpentine on bis toothing. His trousers immediately canght fire, and in a very short time he was a mass of flames. One of the boys ran for a sack, but before this could be put round hrm Moseley rushed up the-i cellar steps and into the yard, screaming all the J time. He ran to an outhouse and jumped into a small cistern which contained a quantity of water. The governor of the school having bees s\ apprised that there was a boy on fire found the unfortunate boy crouching in the cistern, still4 burning. What remained of his clothing was cut ii off, and oil and lint having been applied to hia frizzled skin, be was removed to the Ancoats Hospital, where death subsequently took place. It was stated that he had really no right to be v in the cellar, and that the yard was generally i used when clothing was being cleaned. The I Coroner having remarked tha.t jt was a shocking case, a verdict of" Accidental death was 1.,7: turned by the jury.
MYSTERIOUS MALADY. An Unnamed Cempisunt. Many people in London are suffering from a species of illness to which even the doctors ate unable to give a name. It is not influenza, although the symptoms consist of colds in the head;coughs,alight pains in all parts of the body, and a general feeling of not wishing to do any work. but simply to lie down and rest. At night the sufferers cannotsleep, while in the daytime, they feel drowsy and disinclined to exert them-1-. selves. A London "Express" representative/*? was informed by an eminent physicianjon Fridays' that there are thousands of Londoners iu every erade of socieety suffering from the malady. I" have dozens of these patients," he said. •" They are simply cutof sorts,' andxequire bracing up. Thefactisthett in England we are not accua- tomed to oSuch hot weather as we have had this summer, and now that the ordinary English weather has set in people are feeling ill. The best cure is a blow at theaeMule. If peopled cannot have tbis—well, a visLt to the doctor swill sxin set them right,"
SAID HE WAS A JAP. Affpay Between Foreign Seamen. At Berkeley Police Court on Friday Harming Siobard. Carl Etnil Eatid, and Carl Albert Engblom. Swedish seamen, belonging to the. crew of the Sos. EverUda at Sharpness Docks. were charged with wounding a Danish seaman of the same vessel, named John Eudnekton. Prosecutor is atev&rd of the boat, and the party were at the T. Ml way Hotel on Wednesday afternoon, when tbe i ^ipiainaot wassbccused by the other aide of being t. Jap, and a row ensued, Sjoberd wanting to fight, Prosecutor, on leaving the house, made for his ship, but Sjoberd knock" him down with some d:-up instrument. 1'09- other prisoner also assaulted him. Engblom was fined 10s and 5s costa, the ol&« prisoner feeing pent to gaol ofr 21 days, <