The Pontypridd Chronicle and Workman's News

^VAGABOND'S HONOUR, BY ERNEST DE LANCEY PIERSON, iUTHOR OF t A SLAn OF CIRCUMSTANCES," "THE SHADOW Of THE BARS," THE BLACK BALL," ETC. Presently one aoor openea, auct title enocs- headed little boy entered, staggering under the weight of the pitcher, now crowned with a wreath • of snowy foam. Ah said Mr. Fogarty, sitting back in his chair and smacking his lips, there's the stuff. Why, the half of it's foam," he exclaimed, as he poured out a glass. Have yez been makin' love to it on the way here, ye spalpeen—eh ?" shaking a red forefinger in close proximity to his hopeful'* nose. Come, now-out with it, or ye'll get a taste o' the strap when mother gets home." I-I didn't drink none of it, pop. It was jusl this way. Missus Moggs-" The cross-eyed gerl that married the drunken fiddler? Oh, yes, I know." Well, she met me as I was comin' up withths beer." "Oh, she met you, eh ? Yes. And she said as mom was alluz borrow- in' thinks of her, and as we 'uns never had nothin' worth borrerin' What's that? what's that?" cried Mr. Fogarty, jumping to his feet excitedly, though he musb hav« understood the little boy perfectly. Nobhin' worth borrerin', is it? Faix, the next thing I do will be to borrer her husband's face and break it. Well, well, well what else did she say ?" She said she thought it was a good time to get square, so she ups with the pitcher and drinks near the half of it," rubbing his nose with the back of his hand, tearfully. "May it pizen her," said Mr. Fogarby,heartily; then, conscious that he had been forgetting me, ha Baid, hastily: "Well, there's no use of lebtin'j what's left get flab. Dinnis, go get the fancy moog ] for the gintleman." Thank you," I said, looking at my watch, I must be going presently; and, besides, the doctor has ordered me nob to take any stimulants for Awhile." Well, I'm sorry yez can't join me. He drank, however, with as much relish as if he had oompany. He bad jusb laid down his glass when the clock struck six. "Time for me to visit my hospital," he said, [ wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Do I you care to see him before you go ? I'll give him I his medicine now." I You will find me in here when you come back. There was something else I wanted to speak to you about." All right, I won't be long. Dinnis, fetch the lantern. I don't want to break any more legs this year. And with the bottle of red medicine under his arm he stumped out on his improvised crutch, while the little boy shuffled on ahead with the light. After this strange couple had disappeared I wenb over to the [window and looked down into the court. The red-haired woman had disappeared, and in her place some ragged boys were howling around a burning tar barrel they had dragged in from the street. In the doorway of the opposite tenement a young man was idling, smoking lazily on a cigarette stuck in the corner of his mouth. He wore a velvet coat and plaid trousers, and a rakish-looking hat was cocked over his right ear. That's what you were and that's what you must return to," I said, addressing myself. And indeed there was much about this good-looking loafer that reminded me of my old vagabondage. And as I stood there I recalled the Irishman's words that if Henley were left alone all night without the sedative he would never recover bis mind again. Never again How the future unfolded itself before me as I repeated over and over those simple words, "Never again I need never again go back to the old wild life—never again be an outcast and a wan- wild life—never again be an outcast and a wan- derer, straying here and there like a strange dog without a home. I should marry Sylvia, and we could go away to some quiet place where I was not known and I should taste for the first time the joys of living. The dangers that menaced such a scheme were few. Major Carriston was suspicious, but I was confident that I had a stronger hold of the hearts of Aunt Fanny and Sylvia than he, and in time I could rid our little circle of his presence for ever. As for Henley—the real Henley—I could send him away into the country with Mr. Fogarty, where he would be out of the way in case any signs of re- turning reason showed themselves. As I turned away from the window the white top of a bottle protruding from my coat pocket caught my eye. It contained a powerful narcotic which I had bought to cure all attack of insomnia I took it out and held it for some moments in my hand, thinking. Then my eyes roamed slowly around the apartment. I saw the pitcher of ale on the table where Mr. Fogarty had left it. Half of the contents of the phial poured into that jug would cause the one who drank its contents to sleep for hours and hours. He would sleep-sleep and forget his patient down the corridor. It was an easy thing to do, just to spill some of the brown contents of the bottle into the pitcher, and yet that simple act would make my future secure. Sylvia would be mine for ever, and the desire of my heart for rest and a home would be gratified. I uncorked the phial. The light from the lamp struck the glass as it quivered in my nervous hands. Just then, like an echo from underground, came the sound of the violin playing that gloomy dirge with its sad refrain Miserere Domine." I turned with a guilty shiver towards the door as if I half expected it to open and that pale, vacant face in its frame of ash-coloured hair ap- pear before me like an accusing angel. I set the pitcher away from me, where I could not see it. Why, this thing that I was about to do was worse than murder. I was condemning this poor fellow, who had never done me an injury in his life, to a living death—to walk in darkness all his clays. Then I argued, in my own selfish philosophy, that his chances of his recovery were slight, any- way, and that I had so much at stake. I wanted to cling to the present; it was my desperate hope. All beyond was a blank. What risks would I nob run to keep the place 1 had so strangely won A neighbouring clock struck the half-hour. I must hurry home: they would be waiting dinner for me Sylvia would be wondering at my delay. Then, before I quite knew what I was about, I had poured half of the contents of the phial into the pitcher. Footsteps along the corridor warned me that they were returning. I thrust my hat on my head and dashed breathlessly out of the room. Only when I found myself on the corridor below did I pause to listen. In the tenement every- thing was as quiet as death; but as I turned away, fainter, sadder than before rose the wailing sound of the song: "Art, thou lonely in thy tomb Art thou cold in such a gloom ? Rouse thee, then, and make me room, Miserere Domino Then a cry broke from my lips as I ran out into the ui lit. CHAPTER VI. ALMOST A CONFESSION. You enter as mysteriously as if you had been making a surreptitious call on a sweetheart," said Aunt Fanny, as I came in late to dinner. "I would say you were it love, if you were not such a cynical and coldhearted individual." "Now, Aunt Fanny," said Sylvia, you mustn't be meddling with Jack's affairs, or the first thing we know he will be flying off to the North Pole or the South Sea Islands. You ought to be grateful if he only takes his meals here." My dear, you will spoil him," grumbled the old lady, with a twinkle in her eye. I am quite satisfied that lie is 'married to some young lady from the bush, with a wooden ring in her nose, whom lie is afraid to present to us, and whom he visits secretly." I had to laugh with the others, though her badinage did not affect me at all humourously. There is nothing half so romantic as a woman in the case," I said. My calls are on a most un- poetic-looking Irishman, with red whiskers and a wooly voice." "Perhaps he has a daughter," said Aunt Fanny. Yes, I believe lie has." All, J thought so triumphantly. "And yon are very good friends, I suppose ? Excellent! Though I have only seen her once. she insisted on climbing into my lap." What exclaimed Sylvia. GIt, I forgot to say," I smiled, that the young lady is between four and five years old." "Oh!" relapsing into silence, with a relieved sigh. "The Major is not hereto-night?" I asked; and I was glad of his absence, because I felt un- nerved and dispirited. He dines at the club," said Aunt Fanny. The idea of his preferring a parcel of men and a smoky dining room to a pleasant meal in such a delightful place as this said Sylvia, with a shade of sarcasm in her voice. You say that as if you envied him," I put in. I don't wonder the Major- likes a change. I get tired myself of this routine, the solemn silence of a dinner at home. Some night I am going to jump upon the table and dance a fandango among the dishes." Olt, Sylvia, how can you say such things!" exclaimed Aunt Fanny, with an attempt to ap- pear horrified. Whab will your Cousin Jack think of you ? Remind him, I dare say, of the young savages he met in the bush," with a laugh. Can you wonder I am get,ting desperate, when never a soul has been near us this week?" Why, only this morning the rector of St. In- nocents and Mrs. Brighton Cashmore called on us." They came for money, as usual; they always do, armed with subscription papers and diplomatic smiles. I wonder why it is no one ever comes to see us unless they get paid for the trouble?" with a pout My dear cousin," I put in, if you want to attract society you must get yourself talked about. Do something eccentric and expensive. Give an entertainment that will set the gossips' tongues wagging. Everyone will want to know who you are. Once knowing you, I am sure the gate to the sacred circle will always be ajar." Delightful! she cried, clapping her pretty hands together. Now, you promised when you firsb came here that you would help me. What kind of an entertainment must I give ? A ball— I a masquerade No, it musb be something new and striking, or it will attract no attention whatever. Society leaders never have any ingenuity. They go from year to year through the dreary round of balls, card parties, and dinners, and no one ever thinks of producing an innovation. Now and then, tired of seeing each other's faces, they devise a masquerade, but that is the extentof theirintellectual endeavour. I must think up something new and startling. A friend of mine gave a card party in the head of the Statue of Liberty, once, but that would be too eccentric under the circumstances." You have been so much on the continent, why can we not reproduce some entertainments you have attended there." I thought a moment, and then added "I have it The weather is just cold enough t! We will have a fox hunt on skates." Both Aunt Fanny and Sylvia looked aghast. What they exclaimed, in one breath. A fox hunt on skates. The most exciting sport in the world, I assure you. I attended one on Lake Malar, near Stockholm, when I was in Sweden. At intervals along the edges of the lake were ranged men and dogs to keep the fox from taking to the woods. The lake was several miles long and dotted with islands, where the fox would seek refuge when pursued by the dogs A light layer of snow on the ice gave him a foothold when running—we had a glorious day! I should be afraid the fox might turn back and bite me," said Aunt Fanny, with a shiver. You don't mean to say ladies enjoyed this sort of thing? Why, bless you, they were the most enthusi- astic members of the party. Swedish women are the best skaters in the world. They are never seen to better advantage than when skimming over the ice, their cheeks, generally so pale, flushed a ruddy rose colour, their eyes flashing in the cold air." ^0U be enthusiastic on the subject of the Swedish ladies," said Sylvia, with a pout. We!), the fox hunt let it be. I will consult with Mr. Rossiter about the invitations. It will be a novelty, anyway. Since you made the proposi- tion, you shall arrange the other particulars. What will be the next step after the fox hunt?" Let us not borrow trouble of the future," I remarked, sagely. "You will find your quiet home life here, with the visits of a few friends, preferable to swinging monotonously around the circle. Still, I don't see the use ot having money if you can't enjoy it," writing on the table with her finger in an absent-minded way. Well, the question arises, is it necessary to be one of a crowd in order to enjoy money ? with some asperity "I suppose you agr-ee with Omar Khayyam: A book of verses underneath the ijoogh, A jug of wine, a loaf of bread—and thou Beside me singing in the wilderness. Oh, wilderness were Paradise enow with a laugh, as she quoted the lines. Well, it would depend a good deal on the thoo whether the wilderness became a Paradise. I should not care to be left there with some people I have met." So we joked with each other throughout the meal, I trying very hard to talk, to make conver- sation, because it helped distract my mind from the memory of the man at Fogarty's. I had no appetite. I felt a sense of oppression. I wanted to get out doors and be alone with my thoughts, "so I hardly gave heed to what I was saying, but rattled on in a brainless sort of way, surprising both Sylvia and her aunt by my peculiar, nervous way of speaking. I was glad when the dinner was over. It had been a terrible ordeal to sit in the glare of those lights and try to appear comfortable and at my ease, while all the time a dreadful picture rose be- fore my eyes, and in my ears were ever ringing the incoherent ravings of the maniac. When Aunt Fanny had gone up to her room vo write a letter, Sylvia and I returned to the draw- ing-room—I slowly and wearily, she dancing on before me, a vision of grace, humming gayly to herself. I was glad that the parlour was dimly lit, or she might have read in my guilty face a premonition that something unusual had happened to me. I sat down in the shadow, suddenly overcome with a consciousness that I had done something shameful and beyond atonement. The excitement generated by hopes of success had all disappeared. I felt as if my support had been withdrawn. I was weakly conscious of my sin, and shuddered miser- ably in my corner, thinkiogof the dreadful life I had condemned a fellow-being to live—an unfor- tunate man, whose only crime had been uncon- sciously to cross my path. Sylvia was twirling around on the piano stool, pausing now and then to strike a few lively notes in the treble, that seemed to be in tune with her spirits. After my idle chatter at the table, she looked at me now and then curiously, as J sat silent in my corner, with my thoughts far away. As I did not speak, she stopped turning on the stool and confronted me. "Jack, you have something on your mind," with an air of authority. "Something very light then," I said, with a faint laugh otherwise my mind would not sus- tain the burden to-night." How lovely she looked in that clinging white cashmere dress, as soft and billowy, in its trim- mings of lace, as foam of the sea-an Iceland god- dess, fashioned out of snow How I longed to kneel down and worship her No evasions," she said, with a pretty wrinkle of her smooth forehead. I have noticed for several days past that you have been fretting over something. I believe that you are getting tired of us here; that you long for your old adven- turous life again." I made a deprecating gesture, but she did not appear to notice it. I cannot blame you," half sadly. For a man of the world our life must be stupid indeed. You are used to excitement, to live in a gay atmos- phere. We have none of it here." I thought—it may have been fancy—that her eyes filled with tears. My dear girl," I said, earnestly, I will not deny that of late I have been worried. Some time -noti yet—you may learn the reason. It has been my dearest wish that I might end my days here, for here I have known the happiest hours of my life." You—you speak as if the time were near ab hand when you must leave," striking a few plain- tive chords on the piano. "Aunt Fanny was as quick to notice your restlessness as 1. 8he-" hesitating. Well ? Of course, it's a very absurd conjecture," look- ing at me long and earnestly. She thinks thab perhaps another pause. I am listening." Why, that there might be somebody that you liked a good deal better than you do us—someone whose face beckoned you away." As I did not answer, she went on. Confess, now, that you have not been wander- ing all these years through the world without fall- ing desperately in love with somebody." Her face is turned towards me now eagerly, ana I am almost tempted to tell her all—my deceit, my love for her, everything, everything But I nod my head with mock solemnity I must confess, I have met one young lady in my travels, for whom I feel an uncommon fond., ness." She is not looking me full in the face now hers is half averted, and her fingers are wandering over the keys. "And is she very, very beautiful?" she asks, after a moment' silence. So beautiful, that all my thoughts flow like the measures of a song when I think of her so pure, that I dream of higher things whenever her memory fills my heart." "What a silly question for me to ask you!" picking nervously at the lace on her dress. Of course she is a paragon of beauty and virtue, or you would not love her as you do." I thought a sigh was smothered in the chord she struck on the piano, but I may have been mis- taken. I suppose I shall see her some day?" I do not know." She swung arouna on the stool and confronted me with a surprised air. You don'b know i ♦ I have never had the courage to speak to hei of love," I said, earnestly. "Ob, what a goose! Why not?" thrumming gently again in the treble You want to know ? Why should I ask ? Because I don't) think I am worthy of her." She burst out laughing. I "Now I know you are smitten, and badly too. Humility is the first and most serious sign of a bad attack. Not worthy of her, you say, my dear Jack ? Why, you are worthy of any woman You say that to be kind. I am sure, if I were to tell her what an idle, dissipated dog I have been, she would turn from me in disgust; she would hate me if she knew but half my history Why have you really been such a hopeless scamp? "she asked, with a twinkle in her eye. "One would think, to hear you talk, that you had run the gamut of all crimes, pardonable and un- pardonable. I am getting to be afraid of you," drawing herself away with a pretty gesture, and folding her hands over her bosom. Really, I don't know whether it is safe for me to be sitting here in the same room with you alone." "It is running a great risk," I add, with bitter emphasis. Oh, if she knew everything, she would draw away from me in sober earnest. So you are afraid to speak to her—to tell her your love-because you have been such a bold, bad ma I nod "Don Ð you believe, Jack, that she will hate you just because you have sown a few more wild oats than your neighbour. No woman is going to throw a man over, if she really loves him, just because he happens to have been a little wild. There is a certain proportion of devil in every man, I be- lieve; and sooner or later it must come out. Better before marriage than after, I should think." I She rattled off the sentences nervously, with an attempt to appear at ease. I saw she was stirred, by what I had said, more than she cared to ac- knowledge Why, you little parlour philosopher!" I cried, with an affected gaiety, "you don't mean to tell me that you would marry a man who had gam- bled, and drunk, and associated with queer people for years ?" It was a question I had longed to ask her before this; but no such opportunity had offered itself. "It would depend a good deal on the man," she said, after a moment's pause. I should first want to find out if his love for me was stronger than his love for the world, the flesh, and the devil. Often a woman's love supplies the missing support in a man's moral nature many have been ruined just for the want of it. I don't suppose that you, for instance, sought out a wild life and wilder companions. You were thrown among them and could not resist the temptation." "Sylvia, you have said it. My life has been a failure because there was no hand reached out to point me towards the right road." "Poor Jack!" said Sylvia, sympathetically. I'm afraid we-that is, my father, was responsi- ble for sending you adrift in the world but then the provocation was great," shaking her head a little sadly. I had never been able to find out why Jack Henley had been banished from her father's house, but I had to say something. "Yes—as you say, the provocation was great. I deserved to be punished. After all, thosefidle years may not have been wasted. They have made me know the value of a home and what it is to starve for need of sympathy and love." "Poor old prodigal she said, softly, tapping my hand that rested on the edge of the piano. "Well, your troubles are over for ever, dear boy. You have found a home, and, what is better, a loving heart." Found her perhaps to lose her," I murmured, half aloud. If she hears me, she shows no sign. She dashes off a lively galop on the piano, with nervous, flash- ing fingers. Her bosom heaves tremulously, I can see by the way the laces are stirred, and about her mouth there is a quivering contraction. She pauses in the midst of a brilliantjfnaZe, and wheels around on the stool, facing me again. Her face is very calm, and yet it seems to me it is very pale. Perhaps the lamp by the piano, with its blue shade, gives her face such a ghastly hue. Tell me more—more about her," she says, softly. There is no more to tell," I say, almost sadly. You might, laugh at me if I were to tell you all the thoughts that fill my heart when I think of her. Sometimes I feel that she is too pure a memory to mingle with my baser thoughts. And yet I cannot help but dream of her." Such devotion is worthy of reward," Sylvia says, with a nervous little laugh. "Don't abase yourself too much before this idol, my dear Jack. She is a woman after all, though you endow her j with the attributes of a goddess. A woman is very apt to take a lover at his own valuation. If he will pose as a rug at her feet and be satisfied if she only deign to step on him, in all probability my lady will look around for someone who aims for higher privileges. Take my advice, 0 humble lover Summon up your courage. Iam sure that, if she knows you as well as I do, she will not doubt your sincerity and goodness, though you have been twice as bad a man as you would make yourself I out to be.' The pressure, or rather the reassuring touch, of her fingers upon my arm, the kindly, sympathetic look in her eyes, sent the blood coursing through I my veins. "I hope you are right," I said, a little faintly, for it was a struggle to stifle the words that rose to my lips-to restrain myself from falling at her feet and confessing that she alone was the angel of my dreams. I wanted to take her in my arms, and, with my cheek pressed against hers, c mfess myself the impostor that I was, and tru-st to her gracious mercy. Then I started, as these thoughts rose rapidly in my mind. One thing I could never tell her. Of what I had done to day—my attempt to wreck poor Henley's mind for ever. She might forgive the past, with all its sorrowful shadows the present, with its deceptions; bub she could not forgive me for trying to ruin this helpless human being, whose only crime was that he stood in the way of my success. Since I had spoken with. Sylvia, since I had heard her speak of love's forgiveness, I saw what a wretch I had become. Her fingers were straying here and there over the keys, waking sad and mournful strains from the minor chords and soon the notes, as if thrilled by my own thoughts, blended into the music of a song—that haunting song that echoed through my brain with dreary reiteration. She sang as he had sung—low, sad, and yet distinct: Art thou lonely in thy tomb? Art thoo cold in such a gloom? Rouse thee, then, and make me room. Miserere Domine I shuddered, thinking of the wild figure I had heard singing those words in the gray room. What strange fancy had led Sylvia to choose such a song? Was it part of my punishment that I was to hear that dreadful dirge from time to time through my life, a mournful reminder of my sin ? Does my singing sadden you ? asked Sylvia. Do you remember this song ? I have heard it before," I say, feebly. It was jusb such a night as this. You have forgotten, I can see but I shall never forget. The night before you went away we sat in the parlour at Barry town it was not as modern as this, and the piano was old and rickety. I played this dirge. I was sad, because you were going away; and you -your eyes filled with tears." "Don't—don't—"I exclaimed, starting to my feet; it. is more than I can bear." She looked up at 1>11e, somewhat surprised ab my emotion. She misunderstood me. She thought I suffered because of the picture she had revived. Ye8-1 was wrong to recall the past. It will never come back. That was a farewell for ever. Oite lives to remember and one to forget. It is always so in this world," with an echo of grief in her voice. I I felt as if I were choking. The room was I whirling around me, as I rose dizzily to my feet. I am not feeling quite myself to-night," I stammered. "I am poor company for anyone. I will take a walk in the night; the air may do me good. Before I knew what I was about I sboopdd and kissed her bare arm. Another moment) and I should have poured oub a confession at her feet, and the time had not come for that. She started back as my Hps touched her skin. Good night," I said, softly, as I turned towards her when I reached the door. She did not answer. She was staring at the spot where I had kissed her. Whether she was glad or angry I could not determine, for her head was drooping like a broken lily on her breast, and the look in her eyes I could not see. CHAPTER VII. THROUGH THE DARK. I walked upstairs thoughtfully to my room, wondering somewhat over the manner in which she had received this first open demonstration of love. It gave me pleasure to think that she was not wholly sorry for that caress, for before this she must have known the secret my tongue dared not utter. Was ever man in such a tormenting posi- tion? I knew not how to act. I loved Sylvia, yet I was ashamed to tell her so. I wanted to stay in this house, and yet honour demanded that I should go; and every day my resolution to leave grew weaker. But I had more serious thoughts and more un- pleasant ones vexing my mind just then. I was eager now to get back to Crimmin's Rents and endeavour to undo the work of the afternoon. The excitement of the moment had blinded me to the enormity, to the contemptible cowardice, of my crime. Sylvia had shown me unwittingly a true picture of myself during that conversation. I must hurry back to Fogarty's perhaps I might be still in time to save Henley's reason. I could not take any credit to myself for this tardy repentance. I had tried to drug Fogarty in cold blood. If I was in time to save Henley, Sylvia alone was the one lie must some day thank. Why was I so eager to blot out this cowardly act? Did I think there might come a time when I should enter the confessional and unburden my heart to her ? Perhaps so. There would be a long list of weaknesses to re- veal if that. hour of explanation were to come—a monotonous story of moral lapses and unsavoury details, but, up to the present, no crime or dis- honour on that strange record of youthful follies. What momentary madness had tempted me to act as I had done that afternoon ? It was quite evident that I had not passed the rubicon of re- formation, that my moral veneering was a very thin coat, or I should never have yielded to the temptation. As I was going out of the front door, I paused by the parlour and peeped in through the half- parted curtains on the scene I had just left. Sylvia was still seated by the piano. But her fingers no longer strayed among the keys. She was leaning forward, her face half hidden by her hands and from the quivering of her white shoulders I could see that she was sobbing softly to herself I did the best thing possible under the circum- stances—I incontinently fled. If I had lingered, if I had given way to the impulse of the moment, I should have rushed in there and tried to comfort her, and made a still greater fool of myself. So I took refuge in flight. Again I asked myself the question, when I found myself in the street, How long is this going to last ? For the crisis in my affairs, the last act of this strange comedy drama, seemed drawing to a close a sad one, I feared, for me. Did she love me for myself alone, or only because I was surrounded with a nebula of romantic memories, a dream of her happy girlhood ? I wanted to believe that the past had nothing to do with it, that personally I had inspired the love she undoubtedly felt for me. Was that love strong enough to endure, un- shaken, such a confession as I should make to her ? I hardly dared hope so. I must be sure, before I took that momentous step, that her faith was on such firm foundation that nothing I might say would change it. For the present I would say nothing. I had enough to do in keeping off the Major. His sus- picions were excited the thought had often crossed his mind, doubtless, that I was an impostor but lie wouid think twice before accu- sing Sylvia's cousin of being a humbug. He was collecting evidence, secretly weaving a snare in which he hoped to catch me at last; but before that time I might I-avo won her heart and carried her away out of his reach for ever. Such were the troublesome thoughts that vexed my mind as I hurried through the night, trying to find a way, a satisfactory path through the maze where I had unwittingly wandered, not knowing what I should meet at the end of my journey—a desert, or a garden of delight. Surely, I argued to myself, Providence had some object in throwing me among these people and what other object could it be but that I should fali in love with Sylvia and marry her and be happy for ever afterwards. By this time I had reached the shadowy walls of Crimmin's Rents. I looked up towards Fogarty's room. There was no light there. A sudden fear possessed me, and the thought would shape itself in my mind What if Henley be dead ? No, it could not, should not be I wanted him to live now. His death would be a bar between my love and me that time could never break away I bounded up tne stairs. Pausing at Mr. Fogarty's door, I listened for a moment. No sound I pushed the door open and entered. On the table was the empty jug, and on the floor lay Fogarty, senseless. I dragged him towards the light in a fever of trepidation. What if I had given him an overdose of the drug ? I had read of such things in the papers. He might have had a weak heart, which narcotics would affect in a deadly way. The very thought made my own heart stand still. (To be continued.)

The Rational Atilung announces the approaching publication of a comprehensive work by Dr. Koch on an improved method for the use of tnberculine, nnd the diagnostic pioperties of that preparation for the recognition of tuberculosis in its very first stages. A telegram from Bresinu to the Lokalanzetgcr =1 at.es that while a large crowd of children were • htying on the ice covering the river Ohle it sud- i-uly gave way, and many of them were thrown <no the water. Two boys were drowned.Ibut the rest were saved. A telegram from Windsor states that Sir George E'vey tJiud ti-e other morning. The deceased musi. fiun was for many years organist at St. George's Chapel, Wind sor Caetle. In 1871 he was knighted hy I he Queen after the marriage of the Princess Louise. A large and disastrous fire is reported from An'worp, some grain warehouses covering 80,000 square yards have been burnt, the total losses heing estimated at from 5,000,OOOf. to 6,000,OOOf. The file is believed to have been due te incen- diarism. According to a Berlin paper, numerous addil ional arrests I,:ove been made in connection with Nihilist plots, and the prisoners have been knotued and on IIreli for the purposes of eliciting confessions. A boat, was stopped 011 the Neva and found to con- I a in tlnee small cases of dynamite. The London and South-Western Company have come to the determination io proceed with the work of their new giaving dock at Southampton, the largest in I he world, in till ee sections, and thus, ■n^tead of it, remaining in hand for two or (.Iiie,, '/iiars, it, is hoped it will be finished by July or August next, Colonel Stanley Clarke, Equerry to the Prince of Wales, will soon obttiin promotion to a inajor- goner«l«hip. Colonel Clarke has been attached to 'he Prince's household for about twenty-five years, iiUt he i-aw some service during that period, as lie commanded the Camel Corps in the Soudan expedi- tion. The death is reported of James Maxwell O'Dono- van Rossa, son of the well-known Fenian Hr- was a young man, twenty-eight years of ag<», boir i hroo iniiiMiiH IIfler hie father was sentenced to penal servitude for life. He served in the Ameri- can navy, whore he was injured in a boiler explo- sion. Letters received Rt Buenos Ayres from Rio de Janei: o st at e t lnd. the Govern men tints t a ken posses- sion of the Gfiieial depnt of the at Armacas. Arrests on political grounds continue to be made daily. Only two newspa[H>r £ are now allnwnd hi appear, the remainder having been sup- press

THE LADIES' COLUMN. V AIR YOUR CLOTllIN Everyday garments, particularly those that are not laundered, should be disinfected. Brushing is not sufficient, as it does nllt remove the unpleasant) oioure that come from long usage. Some women sprinkle thew waists and dresses with scent and use sachet powders to perfume their bonnets and wraps. All this would be admirable were it, availing. Scenll needs to be overpowering to conceal the unfragranti emanations from an old gariueub. Then the bouquet is fulsome and vulgar. «> HOW TO PREVENT WRINKLES. U Wrinkles are to a certain extent, preventable. It id the habit of raising the eyebrows in speak- ing, turning the corners of the mouth down in contempt or discontent, the frequent frown hi reading or thinking, or other needless grimaces which carve ugly lines even on very youthful faces. Harper's Bazaar gives some practical suggestions on this subject, Many wrinkles may be avoided by the woman who will take some pains with her expression when she is by herself. She who bends over her book, her desk, OR her sewing with kiiit tell brow and compressed or working lips need not be surprised if her face refuses to smooth itself when she turns to other employments. It would cost her very lit t le trouble to avoid such tricks of feature. There are other ways too of retarding the approach of wrinkles. The woman whose face lines have a downward droop should wash and dry it from the chin upwards—so say the wise ones—and she should wipe the eyes from the outer corners towards the nose. She should avoid all such habits as lifting the eyebrows, drawing down the corners of the mouth, mak. ing moues or, in plain English, grimacing. A potent aid in preventing wrinkles is said to be a few moments of absolllte facial repose titken several times a day. Willi closed eyes and relaxed features, the wriukle-hater should remain in perfect placidity, resting her soul on the thought; that she is retarding the march of time—or, at least, its visible progress upon her physiognomy." But, as thought is the chisel which is con. tinually at work with the features of every human being, would it not- be wiser not to think of the wrinkles at all, lest such anxious thought- taking should be all the more plainly manifested in the deepening of the disagreeable lines. Looking away from the self and the condition so feared, directing the thought to something especially restful and soothing would be a more profitable use of time and it would assuredly be ptouiotive of better results. Serenity of mind is made to serenity of expression, and fretful, distressed, or worried thought leaves more unsightly lines ou brow and cheek than the flight of I he years. CHILE'S SKIRT IN RED AND WHITE YARN. Use kii.tung yarn and XI. 10 needles, standard gauge. Cast on 216 stitches with the red yarn. First row-Pllrl; second, knit plain third, [>inl fourth, knit plain. Fifth IOW- Slip one, knib two together, knifc tlnee, make one, knit one, make one, knit three, knit two together, make one, knit two together, knit three; repeat from to the end of the row Sixth row — Purl; seventh, like the fifLb; eighth, purl ninth, like the fifth. Tenth row—Purl eleventh, like the fiftb; twelfth, purl; thirteenth, like the fifth. Fourteenth row-Juiu in the white yarn, aud purl the row. Fifteenth i-ow-Poirl sixteenth, knit plain; -oventeenth, puil; eighteenth, purl. I Nineteenth row—Knit; plain; twentieth and blowing lows alternately like the firlh and -ixth rovv, until thirteen rows of whito have been knitted then join on the red yarn and repeal from the fourteenth row. Repeat these patterns until there are tttreepntternfuf white and three of red. Join on the white ynrn and knit forty-eight; rows in brioche stitch"; in the tii st row take tlnee stitches together at the end of I he row. Brioche knitting is done as follow@; Slipl*, Lroad before the needle, elip 1, as if about to pu'l, knit two ingether; .epent, from To inutthe band lvnit 1, kni. 2 together and repeat to the end of (tie band, then knit six tows of moss stitch, thus Knit, 1, purl 1, tak- ing care to arrange the stitches so that a puil tnes under a plain stitch. Join the shirt by ■sewing from the bottom tin to tile brioche stitch. TO CLEAN FEATHERS. V\ ,i*h the feathers in a bath of warm watef ui soap, applying the soap particularly to ii.i.-e puts which are dirtiest, and always wash- •r doirawai-da so as to avoid breakage. Nexll a-o nit, the soap inabitt-inofcteanwarni lie and then dip iii r u w-atei j ist slightly acidified with sulphuric (vitiiol) Filially draw through a half- (•■nit of cold water in which a teaspoonfui of beet, mixed. Draw each feather <-r-d limes through the "starch," afterward# l -i-iog lite jiqllUr out with a clean cloth. S uke the feathers over the back of the baud ii "pair" ihetn, hanging them up by a string dry where the wind will blow through them* L'-t!y pas* them through the steam escaping "u t'ile spnut, of a kettle, and comb out the roods on a fiat, table. TO WHITEN THE HANDS AND ARMS. liaise a paste with the following ingredionte: 'T." II' ounces strained honey, two ounces I't-iinw wax, six ounces of rosewater, and one >urice of myrrh. Melt the wax, honey, aud -o-ewater togei her in a dish over boiling water. W hen melted lIlId hot, add the myrrh stir mill smooth. Auply to the skin before relir- "g-

To prevent peispiration of the hands the .11 ¡. wdio pack needles in needle factories use vi'np odium. It quite stops perspiration. It ".(Hld, however, be very injurious; to use ifc vet any large surface, such as the face and neck, perspiration, conscious or unconscious, is r.e of the I most important functions in keep- the budy in good health. Cieau the lint from a clothes wringer wibh a doth saturated in kerosene. I.. Chemists say that) it. takes more than twice 's much sugar to sweeten preserves, sauces, &c., d put in when they begin to cook, ae it does to hweeten them after the fruit is cooked. KNITTED CURTAINS. Cast on sufficient stitches for width of curtain to be divided by eighteen for each pattern, and extra for edges. First row: Slip one, knit one, make one, knit two together, repeat from begin- ning to end of row. Second row: Slip one, knit one, purl twelve, keep the cotton forward, and knit two together, make one, knit two to* getlier, make one, knit two together, knit one. Repeat. Third row Slip one, knit one, make one, knit two together three times, then knife the rest plain. Repeat. Fourth row: Slip one, knit one, purl twelve, keep the cotton for- ward, and knit two together, make one, knifc two together twice, knit one. Repeat. Begin again ahnrstrow. Always knit three at the beginning and end of each row, KNITTED SUSPENDERS, With purse silk of any colour and coarse steel needles, cast on 14 stitches for each suspender, and then knit 5 rows plain. Now divide the stitches even, to form the button holes then knit plain back and forward the leugth of the button-hole on each needle, taking care to have each side with the same number of rows, to make the button-hole even. Now slip all the stitches on one needle again and go on with the suspender li inchest then make another but- ton-hole by knitting the divided stitches like thenrstone. After this button hole iacI<Me<< by putting the stitches again on one needle, you proceed thus :-18t row Knit plain to end of row, increasing one stitch at the end of the second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth rows like the first row, with the increase at the end of each row, until you have 20 stitches on the needle, then knit the middle of the suspender. Second row—Over, elip, 1 narrow, repeat from until long enough for decreasing at each end of row until only 20 stitches are left to finish the suspender part by knitt ing plain five times. For the straps yon divide the stitches even, 10 on each needle; knit each one separately Ii inches before dividing for the button-hole 0Ia each strap, then close by kuittiug plain four K five times, and then bind off.