County Observer and Monmouthshire Central Advertiser Abergavenny and Raglan Herald Usk and Pontypool Messenger and Chepstow Argus

A SUSSEX PILGRIMAGE. I The annual pilgrimage to the ruined Chapel of Our Lady in Hastings Castle took place on Mon- day afternoon, and created much interest through the streets from the old town. A number of banners, crucifixes, and a statue of Our Lady were carried. There were male and female pilgrims, and a picturesque scene was added to by. a number of girls clad in white. Amid the Castle ruins a brief service was held, at the close of which the procession was re-formed, the pilgrims returning to the Church of St. Mary- Star-of-the-Sea. The shrine is stated to have been the ancient place of pilgrimage in pre- Reformaticn times, and it is written that an indulgence was granted by a Pope in the Thirteenth Century to all who visited the Chapel. Monday's procession, which was headed by the beadle of the Italian Church, Hatton-garden, was the seventh which has been organised by the Guild of Our Lady of Ransom, of which con- fraternity the late Pope was President.

She "Why has Boston the nauie of being such ft bad city?" He: "Because of the number of crooks in the streets, I suppose." Summer Boarder: "I thought your advertise- ment said something about boating?" Farmer: "Oh, yes. We have a boat and oars-only some- times the creek dries up."

WOMAN'S WORLD. I r CLOTH COATS. < c Phe tan jacket has been almosS jntirely superseded by cloth >oate made with a belt at the waist, and rippling skirts that reach almost to the knees. # PARASOLS. The parasol of the day is plain and has a long handle. There is not a frill about it, although I not a frill about it, although there may be a plain band or so. Smart women have parasol, hat, and girdle to match when they wear white or linen-colo-red gowns. I FOR THE CHATELAINE. To hang on a chatelaine or watch fob jewellers offer a small gold sphere about as large as a wal- nut. Some of these are, pow- I dered with tiny jewels and are especially pretty. The ball unscrews ingeniously in the centre and displays a little powder puff with a gold handle. I INDIAN FASHIONS. A modern Indian wedding in the United States contains a gro- tesque combination of civilisa- tion and barbarism, as will be I seen from the following account of a marriage ceremony which recently occurred in Oklahoma The bride was 'handsomely attired' in pink silk foulard, with pink ribbon sash, blue collar and cuffs, black hat with yellow and lavender trim- mings, a green veil, and black gloves. The bride- groom wore the conventional black, except his coat, which, it being a warm day, he had left at home. He carried an immense eagle wing." SILK STOCKINGS. The mending of expensive silk I stockings is a profession which is not overcrowded, and which pays exceedingly well the few I tfomen who are fitted for it. A single evening s dancing often rubs a hole in a silk stocking, and there are comparatively few women who are rich enough or extravagant enough to discard an expen- sive pair on that account. Nearly all the better class shops employ one or more experts darners, and pay them well. These women are able to match the weave of the stocking so precisely that the darn is absolutely imperceptible. They also "rochet or knit a heel to perfection. RIBBONS. Following the almost universal penchant for floral effects in dress, flowered ribbons are much in demand. They vary in width from three to ten inches. Some are in glac6 silk, in others the flowers bloom delicately on a background of watered silk. Still others are in the heaviest brocades. Lustrous white satin, six and eight inches in width, furnished the foundation for some beautiful hand-painted ribbons. Garlands of violets, roses, pink and purple lilacs, orchids and the graceful trailing wisteria are thus reproducing with the most exquisite skill. There are some pretty pale green and green and white ribbons, for green is to be fashionable this summer. It "ill need only a touch of it to give character to agr tv n. VELVETEEN. Velveteen is one of the very useful materials, both in personal dress and houseliolddecorations; curtains of this, especially in the art shades, are very popular, but it is not always realised how well it washes. A breezy day is the best to choose, as it raises the pile in drying. Use tepid water only, and without soap, rinsing afterwards in cold water. Be careful not to wring velveteen at all, the result would be quite disastrous, and if the colour appears likely to run put a little vinegar in the rinsing water. Shake well and hang out to dry, and iron on the wrong side by means of two people holding it between their hands, to raise the pile. The velveteen should be so ironed before it is quite dry. A LADIES' CLUB. Eastbourne has long been famed as a go-ahead" and up-to-date seaside town, and now it has 5 added another feature to its many claims to that distinction. The other day a new ladies' club was opened. It will, it is thought, supply a distinct want," as it is the only club of the kind in the town. It is intended to make the club a residential as well as a social one. Bed- rooms have therefore been provided for the ac- commodation of visitors, who, on the introduction of members, or being themselves connected with any of the leading London ladies' clubs, can become temporary members at a moderate charge. The clubhouse is admirably situated, being on the Front at a short distance from the pier and Devonshire-park. The electric light has been laid on, and a telephone provided. The club's list of patronesses includes Countess Annesley, the Countess of Londesborough, and Countess De La W&rr. THE TOWN OF FROWN. If you should happen to go some day Anywhere near to the town of Frown, I Some one on guard, so the travellers say, Orders the windows and curtains down, And at a signal the streets are bare, Highway and byway and thoroughfare. For it is said that the town of Frown Hides many smiles in its dreary halls. And a grim watchman in sober gown Paces his round on the outer walks, Warning intruders to keep away, I Having but little beside to say. But we are told there's a way to win Smiles from the dungeons of Frown again. Once let the magic of kindness in, Kindness of word of deed and then Gates shall be opened and walls fall down, Never to use io the town of Frown. WOMEN AND FLOWERS. In all countries women love flowers-in all countries they form nosegays of them but it is only in the bosom of plenty that they conceive the idea of embel- lishing their dwellings with them. The cultivation of flowers among the peasantry indicates a refine- ment of all the feelings. It is a delicate pleasure which make its way through coarse organs; it is a creature whose eyes are opened; it is the sense of the beautiful, a faculty of the sonl- which is awakened. Man then understands that there is in the gifts of nature a something more than is necessary for existence; colours, forms, odours are perceived for the first time, and these charming objects have at least spectators. Those who have travelled in the country can testify that a rose-ti ee under the window, a honeysuckle around the door of a cottage, are always a good omen to the tired traveller. The hand which cultivates flowers is not closed against the suppli- cations of the poor or the wants of the stranger. SHIRT WAISTS. The shirt waist is a comfortable I garment, but it is not an easy one to assume if it is properly put on. There is no roynl road to arrangingl a shirt waist--it must be done decently and in order, with a pin placed carefully here and a pin placed carefully there if it is to look really well. A number of women who regard the shirt as a garment meant for utility, and not for beauty, have almost ruined its reputation by hurrying it on any way and then appearing before society with the back hunched up to make an un- lovely puff just above the belt and the front just baggy enough to look untidy. All who do not do this when they put on their shirts pin them down within an inch of their lives so that the lines presented are extremely unlovely, and there is no shape left either to the shirt-or to the figure of the unfortunate who wears it. Luckily for womankind, the extreme slanting waist line is a thing of the past, and so the shirt waist that once was pinned outside the skirt in front to make a ong and unnatural looking line is no more. ————"

The doctor's wife went to the door. She and the woman next door were not on friendly terms, but the tramp didn't know that. "De lady next door," he said, "give me a piece of her home- made pie, an' I t'ought "I'm sorry," inter- rupted the doctor's wife, "but the doctor isn't at home just now. However, there's a physician in the next block, and if you hurry he may be able to give you relief before much harm is done."

HOME HINTS. I Fruit and tea stains will disappear if they are dipped in clear boiling water. To present doors from creaking apply a very little oil, or rub the hinges with a lead pencil. Soot on a carpet is easily swept up, and without injury, if it is first covered thickly with salt. To soften old putty apply to it a red-hot poker, and then you will find it quite easy to scrape off. A hot and strong solution of soda poured down the sink pipe will clear it of grease, and often save a plumber's bill. To soften kid boots which have been hardened by getting very wet, clean them at once and rub them with castor oil. Nutmegs may be tested by pricking them with a pin. If they be good, the oil will be at once seen to spread round the puncture. To clean a sponge, knead it well in hot soda- water, and when clean rinse it first in plain water and finally in vinegar and water. To clean mirrors and plate glass, rub with a soft cloth dipped in methylated spirit, and polish with another cloth or a wash leather. To clean decanters, place a teaspoonful of kitchen salt in the decanter and moisten it with a little vinegar. Shake well, and then rinse with clean water. To remove grease from materials, cover with powdered French chalk, lay a sheet of blotting paper over, and iron with a warm iron. Renew the chalk more than once if necessary. When choosing a duck, try its beak. If it breaks easily you may be sure that it is young, but if its beak is hard you may reckon on having a tough bird. A young duck has much soft down on the lower part of its legs, and the web of the feet is tender.—"London Journal." Paste is made by adding a teaspoonful of crushed alum to every pound of flour. This should be mixed in the usual way. Fragile glass and china, to prevent chipping, should always be washed in a wooden bowl. Fail- ing this, another plan is to line your bowl by spreading a cloth in it. Never use tea-leaves for laying the dust when sweeping a light-coloured carpet, unless they have been previously rinsed in water; otherwise the carpet may be badly stained. Mashed potato left over from a meal should be at once packed into a cup or small bowl. When needed for use cut it into slices, dip into egg and breadcrumbs, and fry in deep fat. The growth of the eyebrows may be stimulated by brushing them every night and morning with a small soft brush, dipped in half a teacupful of water with which is mixed a little glycerine. For avoiding dust in a room where there are many pictures, ornaments, &c., instead of sweep- ing. wipe the carpet over daily with a flannel dipped in tepid water with salt in it and wrung fairly dry. After the juice has been squeezed from a lemon, the peel and pulp should be saved for cleaning brasses. Dip the lemon first in milk and then in brickdust, and rub it well on to the tarnished brass. To clean soiled papie.r-maeh6 travs, wash with a flannel and warm soapsuds—never in hot water— dry wrell, and sprinkle well with flour. In a little while shake off the flour and polish the surface with a silk handkerchief. with a silk handkerchief. Cabbage and sauce is a good vegetable course. Boil a nice head of cabbage in the usual way. Squeeze it very dry and chop finely. Make half a pint of melted butter sauce, put the cabbage into it to heat, and serve on buttered toast. FOR A HEADACHE.—An excellent remedy for this is to add a teaspoonful of good toilet vinegar to a pint of very hot water. Wring a cloth out of this, fold so that it will lie on the forehead, and apply as hot as can be borne, changing often. To CLEAN WINDOW-BLINDS.—Spread on a table, and rub all over with breadcrumbs. This t, eatment will make blinds look quite clean and fresh again, and they will not be pulled out of shape, as blinds often are in process of washing or ironing. To CLEAN STRAW MATTING.—Put three pints of bran in two quarts of water and boil. When it is nearly cool, wash the matting with it, and afterwards dry it well with a clean cloth. Add a little salt in the water for white matting, vinegar for red. To CLEAN PATENT LEATHER BOOTS AND SHOES.—First remove all the dirt with a sponge or flannel; then rub over the boots a paste consisting of two spoonfuls of cream and one of linseed oil, both of which require warming before being mixed. Polish with a soft cloth. FOR FRONT DOOR STEPS.—A whiting can be made which does not come off on dresses, and is not so easily washed off in the rain as that generally used. Dissolve half a pound of size in a pint and a half of water; when melted in a saucepan, gradually stir in a pound ef whiting. When cold, this will be found to be rather stiff, and will need to be applied with a stiff brush.— Spare Moments." THE CARE OF OILCLOTH.—Clean it with yellow soap and water applied with a house-flannel, and then dry it with a soft cloth. Occasional rubbing over with a mixture of linseed oil and vinegar will help to preserve the colours, or they may be brightened by a simple application of milk. Polish- ing oilcloth or linoleum with beeswax and turpen- tine makes it look very nice, but in houses where there are children or old people, the slipperiness which results may be considered objectionable. To MAKE A STRONG PASTE.—Dissolve a tea- spoonful of alum in a quart of hot water. Leave till cold, and then stir in as much flour as will bring it to the consistency of cream, being careful to press out all lumps. Stir in half a teaspoonful of powdered resin, and pour on to the paste a cup of bailing water, mixing it well. When it becomes thick, put, into a jar, cover, and keep it in a close place. When required for use, take out a little and soften it with warm water. BREAKFAST Disi-i.-Cut as many sausages as you may require each into two pieces; roll the half into thin slices of bacon then fasten with a fine skewer. When ready, put them into a pan of boiling fat, and fry them slowly, turning often. When done, lay them side by side upon a square piece of toast arranged upon a hot dish; fry the number of eggs you would like in the boiling fat. care not to let them touch each other while cooking. Remove each egg with a slice, and place them around the toast; garnish with parsley; send to table very hot. TASTY MUSHROOMS.—Skin one dozen of mush- rooms, all of an equal size; cut the stalks almost level with the mushroom, and scrape the stalk first; not doing so causes them to taste gritty. Lay the mushrooms wrong way up in a buttered frying-pan; pop upon each one a bit of spiced butter, and dredge over a little salt; turn the mushrooms occasionally; when done nicely, pour in a gill of good gravy. When boiling hot, dish the mushrooms upon small squares of buttered toast, and pour the gravy around them garnish with tufts of watercress. TONGUE SALAD.—Have ready some nice crisp lettuce, which has stood in water some hours; dry it in a cloth and pour over a mayonnaise dressing. Chop up finely some capers and hard-boiled eggs. Place the salad in a bowl, arrange slices of tongue on it, and over all scatter chopped capers and the eggs.

CORONATION OF THE POPE. IMPRES&IVE PAGEANT IN ST. PETER'S*. Pius X. now wears the symbol cf sovereignty worn by 256 of his predecessors. The triple crown was placed upon his head on Sunday m the presence of 50,000 people in the cathedral of St. Peter's at Rome. There is nc act of the new Pontiff, however small, which goes unnoticed, and the fact that the coronation ceremonies were not held in the Siftine Chapel received comment on all sides. It was an indication that Pius X. does not in- tend to closely follow the precedents set by Leo XIII. The crowning of the Pope had been anxiously awaited by the people of Rome. All night long they had filled the cafes awaiting the morning in the hope of securing a place in St. Peter's when the doors were opened..Before daybreak they swarmed upon the steps of the great cathe- dral, and many had been there long before then, attempting to get a little sleep. The costumes worn showed that the people came from all parts of the world, and belonged to every social grade. The troops stationed outside had all they could do to regulate the throng. Endless streams poured into the great square, thousand after thousand, never ceasing, until there could not have been less than 100,000 people gathered together. It was not a pleasant morning to be out of doors, as a heavy mist enveloped the city. But, in spite of this, the crowds continued- to cheer for the Pope. When the bells of St. Peter's rang out the hour of six the doors of the Basilica were thrown open and the people crowded in. But there was not room for more than half those assembled, and the keenest disappointment was expressed when two hours later the doors, with- out warning, were again closed. Special accommodation was provided for the relatives of the Pope, the high officers of the Church, and the Diplomatic Body. The rest of the building was filled to its capacity by the public. Notices had been posted on the walls urging the people to refrain from acclamation and to maintain a solemn silence during the ceremony. Usually the congregation shout, "Long live the Pope-King!" The request for silence was another incident in the day's pro- ceedings which was commented upon by those who are watching for indications of the policy of Pius X. It was an exceptionally hot day, and the human masses in the cathedral made the atmo- sphere almost unbearable. Many fainted, and had to be removed. Outside several people had sunstroke, and added to the work of the Red Cross Bureau. One wondered how the Pope and his aged cardinals would fare during the n coronation proceedings, which were to last four and a half hours. At nine o'clock the door from the regal hall opened, and the Papal cortege entered the cathedral. First came the clergy of lowest rank, then the cardinals, and lastly his Holiness, borne aloft in the magnificent ceremonial chair. Four Swiss Guards flanked each side, holding their swords, point upwards, with both hands. A great fan of peacock feathers was waved above the head of his Holiness. At the sight of the Pontiff the notices on the walls were disregarded. The crowd shouted, as was their wont, "Long live the Pope-ILng !» His Iioliness raised his hand in deprecation, but the people, thinking that he was giving them his blessing, cried the louder "Long live the Pope-King!" Then his Holiness, with a ges- ture which could not be misunderstood, com- manded silence, and gave his benediction with impressive dignity. He looked very pale, but his bright eyes shone everywhere in keenest in- terest as the procession proceeded to the Chapel of the Holy Sacrament, where the host was ex- posed. Here the Pope descended, and knelt in prayer for what seemed to be a long time to the waiting congregation. Then the procession re-formed, and proceeded to the high altar, before which stood the great throne 20ft. high, covered with red and gold. Before the new Pontiff pro- ceeded Cardinal Macchi, who burnt three times a piece of tow in a silver holder, the failing ashes signifying that worldly glory is but fleet- ing. His Holiness ascended the throne to re- ceive the homage ,f the cardinals, who kissed his foot. And when">ius had been tendered, the ceremony of high Pontificial Mass began. Finally came the moment of coronation. To the music of the Sistine choir, Cardinal Macchi, as senior cardinal deacon, brought forward the crown upon a velvet cushion, and, addressing the Pontiff, who was seated, said, "Receive the tiara of three crowns, a sign that thou art the father of Princes and Kings, pastor of the world, and Vicar of our Lord Jesus Christ, to Whom be honour and glory world without end." Then, the crown having been placed upon the Pope's head, his Holiness replied: "May the holy apostles, Peter and Paul, whom we trust, intercede for us before the Lord. Amen." The coronation was at an end, and the crowned Pope gave his benediction. It was but just in time. The heat, the tedium of the long ceremonies, the excitement had all told upon the Pontiff. His Holiness half fainted, and Dr. Lapponi, who was near at hand, went to him and revived him with smelling-salts. There were thousands of people waiting out- side as the Papal procession returned to the Vatican. They vigorously cheered his Holiness, who time after time gave them his blessing.

WORTHY FATHER'S WORTHY DAUGHTER. The brave conduct of a girl of sixteen was f.ommended at an inquest at Gateshead on Mon- day on a little boy who was drowned in the Tyne while playing. The girl, whose name is Lily Winship, dived in and tried to save the child. She said she only learnt to swim last year, and had never been in the river before. She- is the daughter of a well-known oarsman, Thomas Winship, who has himself saved many lives from drowning. The Coroner described it a-s an instance of heredity-a brave father having a brave daughter.

TRAIN-WRECKING OUTRAGE. A dastardly attempt at train wrecking on the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railway, between. Rochdale and Milnrow, is being investigated. On Saturday night a passenger train came in contact with a boulder, but luckily the conse- quences were not serious, as the stone, being of comparatively soft substance, was s'nashed by the engine, the life-guard of which was damaged. The noulder was of such a weight that it would have required two men to place it in P £ ;Siti?n' the police and the railway officials are mahing the strictest inquiries no trace of the perpetrators of the outrage has so far been found.

TRAGEDY OF A FORTUNE. Letters of administration were on Monday -granted to Mr. Joseph Sassoon, the widow's brother, to act under the will of the late Mr. F. A. Beer, of Mayfair, who died in December, 1901. By the will, which affected a very large estate, the widow was appointed sole executor and sole legatee, but counsel now stated that in May last she was found to be insane. "Can this be so? exclaimed Sir F. Jeune. "I thought she was editing the Observer. "She was closely connected through her hus- band with the 0"iD server, said counsel, out not now. It is a verjr sad case. It is probably caused through the loss of her husband."

[ARX KIGHTS KESTCRYED.] THE DAllIC HOUSE BY THE POND. BY C. J. HAMILTON, A zit',oi- of "A Poisoned Life," Cut to the Heart," "A Flash of Youth," &c. eke. CHAPTER XV. A STRANGE PROPOSAL. BUT what had become of the manuscript, the source of so many hopes, the treasure which Mrs. Montaubon had guarded with such jealous care, and had clasped to her bosom like a darling child? It was not likely that it had been destroyed. Towards even- ing, Mr. Montaubon came to pay his daily visit. He was so dependable, that it was not, surprising how everyone counted on him and leaned on him. With all his lovable qualities, Colonel Montaubon had not the strength of his younger brother. If he had bad, he would never have made Mrs. Mon- taubon Ins wife! He would have been able to stand out against her. "Selina has made a most extraordinary request," he said, as he came in. "She has written to me to say that she wishes to have that hateful, contemptible manuscript of hers laid in Sydney's coffin, and buried with him in the same grave." And you will refuse ? Most decidedly. 1 won't be a party to such fooling and, as I am my brother's sole executor, she can't go against me." What can be her motive ?" "Who can tell? I knew she would only be wanting to have that miserable thing dug up again. It would cause a sensation, and that is what she would enjoy. Don't you remember that Dante .Gabriel Rossetti had the manuscripts of his poems buried in his wife's grave, and after a time, he was per- suaded Lohave them taken out, and published? That would be the way with Selina. I know how changeable she is I fancy that Mr. Montaubon had rather II, warm discussion with his sister-in-law, for it was late when he left the house. As lie stood at the door, he said to me, softly "Let me look at your face before I go, Miss Bailie. It is something to carry away the memory of your face. Ah If there were more Margarets and fewer Seliuas in the world That night, just as I was going along the passage to my room, I beard Mrs. Montau- bon calling me in a quick, frightened whisper: "Miss Bailie, is that you? Please come here." I opened the door of the room. She was standing by the bedside in a white dressing- gown her face had a scared expression, her eyes looked up durn bly for help. "Did—did Reginald tell you that I wanted to have that manuscript of mine buried along with my darling husband ? Yes he did tell me." And he refused—unkind, unjust as he always is, and has been, to me—he refused even that trifle." And what will you do with it ? That's what I don't know. There it is —she pointed to a mahogany box on the table-" it is in that box. I put it there out of my sight. I—I can't bear to—to look at it. I-I am afraid of it I "Afraid of it? A senseless thing like that "Yes, it seems alive. His alive, I believe. I won't have it here, it rises up before me. It torments me, it will not let me sleep. I have not slept since—since She stopped and put her hand before her eyes. She looked like a woman eaten up by remorse. I can't sleep as long as it is in the house she repeated. You must take it quite, quite away." "Where shall I take it to? Shall I burn it?" "No, no! I won't have it burned. Look, over there in the fields, is a little knot of fir trees. To-morrow, early in the morning, take the box over there and bury it. Then it will be out of the house—out of my reach. Then, perhaps, I may rest-not till then." She motioned me to go, and I went, carry- ing the box with me. Just as I closed the door she called after me You will do what I ask you ? You have not promised yet. You must promise." Very well, I will promise.^It shall be done as you say." It was a silly, childish request, but she looked so piteous, so dejected, that I had not the heart to refuse her. About eight o'clock next morning. I borrowed a spade from the gardener, and half smiling at the extraordinary mission I was sent on, I made for the knoti of fir trees. There was no one to see me but little Tag, and he lay down on the grass and superintended my somewhat bunglingoperations. In less than ten minutes I had dug a very respectable hole, and in it I deposited "Which shall it be? or the Earl's Bride," without any regret. And yet, as I covered in the earth, it seemed to me that I had not yet seen the last of that fate- ful manuscript. I certainly was as ignorant as ever why Mrs. Montaubon should shrink from it, as if it were a living thing, prying at her with invisible eyes. CHAPTER XVI. I A SCENE. I SOME days seem to stand out in our lives quite separate and distinct from any others. Every incident has a meaning. Nothing is unimportant, nothing is trivial. Such a day was that memorable Thursday appointed for Colonel Montaubon's funeral. He had left full directions about it. He seemed to have had a presentiment that he would die sud- denly, though he was in the prime of life. His will had been made several years before his last return from India. He expressed a wish to be buried in the country churchyard of Capel Curig with his father and mother. This involved a tedious railway journey with a change at Llandudno Junction. Colonel Montaubon was a man of many friends. Several of his brother officers who had served with him in India, made long journeys from remote parts of England. and Scotland to be present at the funeral. Two of them, Colonel Peyton and Major Coleimw, arrived early and stood in the hall, talking to each other. Colonel Peyton was a tall elderly man with very grey hair, and Major Coleman was short, smart and brisk. As I passed them, I heard Colonel Peyton say, Very sad thing this! -Never more shocked in my life! I always thought Montaubon was as tough as leather." & "No, no. The doctors tell me quite the contrary. They have been treating him for sonic <urect,ion of the heart. It is suppose*i a lit of giddiness came on. Yes, it is all terribly sad. Mrs. Montaubon is very much to be pitied." "Will she appear to-day?" Yes. T'm told she is going to the funeral. Trying ordeal lor her." Very. It was at our house in Bombay that the marriage took place. Never saw a Hl;tl1 so upset as Montaubon seemed to be that day. He was not himself at all." "Ah I heard some report afterwards ahout a letter going to the wrong person. I daresay it was all an idle tale, but people will talk. One never knows what to believe." "Hush! here comes Mrs. Montaubon." The flower-decked coffin had been carried down. Ali was standing close beside it. He seemed as if he could not bear to tear himself away from his dead master. His face was still and drawn. Mrs. Montaubon came alone, her long crape v eii thrown back, and her face as white as a stone. I saw that a lock of her hair, which bad fallen down from under her bonnet, was Quite grey. She did not seem conscious of anything, she looked c'ts if she were walking in a trance. Her eyes were fixed and unnatural, and her lips were pale. There was a dead silence as she passed, and then a general move. I found myself in a mourning-coach along with Mrs. Walton and Dr. Barker. He was so accustomed to funerals, that this one appeared to him quite an ordinary event. He was full of cbeeriness, and eager to talk. Men of his temperament generally are. In the blackest of mourning coaches, they can smile and even laugh, they can read the newspapers, and have an excellent appetite for sandwiches and sherry. Have you heard anything of the poor Colonel's will ?" he asked Mrs. Walton. "Not much have you?" Well Ayhurst—he's the solicitor, you know—read some of it out to us. Reginald gets most of the personal property and a good share of the Colonel's savings." "And Mrs. Montaubon ? "Oh she has her settlement. Her naynct is not mentioned. But, then, you see she has a good fortune of her own, and this place too. She could sell it to-morrow for a good price, if she chose. Ali gets a year's wages and a hundred pounds, and of course, Mrs. Walton, you have been told that you have been left a legacy of e6500 ? It is truly kind of dear Sydney to remem- ber me—I never thought he would." "He has remembered everyone. Poor Sabina gets X-2,000, in remembrance of the great love I have nl ways had for her.' "Selina will not-, like that." "No, she does not know it yet. Ah, here we are at Llandudno. Now for a wait of ten minutes till our train arrives." I don't know how it was, but the sight of Mrs. Montaubon possessed a strange fasci- nation for me. I watched her attentively as she got out of the mournmg coach, anil walked up and down the platform. She gazed in a sort of dazed way at the coffin as it was taken out, and always the same furtive look on her blanched face. What did it mean? Just as the train was coming up, a carriage with a pair of grey horses drove along the road, and I caught sight of Sabina sitting with her face towards us. "Dear! dear!" muttered Dr. Barker. "That's my carriage. What on earth induced that fool Jenkins to drive this way ? Now there will be a scene, and no mistake." The words were hardly out of his mouth, before Sabina, panting and breathless, rushed on the platform. L She made for the black figure of Mrs. Montaubon, who was standing by the van to which the coffin had just been moved. "Ah!" cried Sabina. "There you are, traitress, murderess I've found you at last, you stole my love—cruel, wicked Selina. How dare you stand there with your black crape, and your grey hair, and your black, black heart. I saw you—he smiled at me. I saw you raise—your hand—your murder- ing hand.——" "Stop! stop!" moaned Mrs. Montaubon. "Will no one take this mad woman awav? Will no one stop her? She is killing me!" Dr. Barker had already seized Sabina by the arm, and was walking with her towards the car riage. When he had put her in, he retraced his steps hastily and reached the train just as it was starting. We had already taken our seats, and the train rapidly moved out of the station. In the carriage we were in, there was a, dead silence. No one spoke, but everyone stole stealthy glances at Mrs. Montaubon, who was seated in ii, corner with her black crape veil drawn over her face, and her black-bordered hand- kerchief in her lap. As we changed carriag »s I heard Colonel Peyton whisper to Dr. Barker: "What a strange seelle! Who was that? She called Mrs. Montaubon a mur- deress, didn't she?" Ah said Dr. Barker, it's a sad story. Poor Miss Griffith is a, patient of minn"- wrong in the head, you know," and he tapped his own bald forehead to emphasize his statement. "A love disappointment, for which she blames Mrs. Montaubon. 'She raves, poor creature, like this, very of'te:i. No one minds her. She is quite out of her mind." After we had laid the flower decked coffin in its last resting place, the mourners slowly dispersed. Colonel Montaubon's officer friends took the train to Chester, and when we readied LIanfairfechan there was only Mrs. Walton, Mrs. Montaubon, her brother- in-law, and myself. We drove silently to Caer Newydd. Mrs. Montaubon's crape veil was drawn closely down, so that no one could see her face. When we got into the house, she threw herself on a low chair, and flinging back her veil, she cried in a choked voice— "Water! water! I am stitle(I-I am1 suffocating!" I gave her a glass of water; she drank it eagerly, then she slowly opened her eyes, and said— '• Does— does—anybody believe what that mad, woman said to-day? Do any of you believe it? She called me a, murderess ,j Her voice sank at the last word as if she were afraid to say it aloud. Mr. Montaubon said, quickly, "We know nothing, Selina,, whether any shadow of guilt rests on you. God and your own conscience alone can tell." She twisted and untwisted her hands, and then, still looking down, she murmured in a low voice am guilty of nothing nothing After Mr. Montaubon had left, she turned her white face up to mine, and said— "Sometimes, Margaret Bailie, I hate you. You came to this house a stranger, and now you are leagued with my enemies—I know you are You are trying to put a brand on me—on me who Joved my darling so well "You are quite mistaken; I am doing nothing of the kind. To-morrow, Mrs. Montaubon, I leave your house, never to return." "I am glad to know it. I was going to ask you to sleep in my room to-night, but I forbid you to enter it. I forbid you to come near me. Everyone in the house is spying oil me-you and Ali, and Reginald, and every one. I know you believe what that mad woman Sabina says: but I will escape from you all. I will not be watched, commented, on-tortured any longer She went out of the room slowly. It is easy to see that same terrible Nemesis is following her—dogging her footsteps, look- ing over her shoulder—giving her no peace by night or by day. What is it? What can it be? CHAPTER XVII. I I LEAVE CAER NEWYDD. I WHEN I saw Mrs. Montaubon next day, there was an evident change in her. The marks of dejection, and, as I thought, remorse, had all disappeared, she did not say anything about her "darling Sydney," her "adored husband;" her face had a hard, defiant look. Colonel Montaubon's solicitor had been with her early in the morning, so she now knew all about the will. It was, of course, a disagreeable shock for her to find that her name had not a prominent place in i L, and also that Sabina had been remembered. But everyone said she was a rich woman, so why should she mind ? Still, she did mind. She was not one to take any slight mildly. When I went to bid her good-bye, the thought of the missing diamond came back to me. Glancing at her hand, I said- "By the bye, have you lost a diamond from any of your rings ?" Yes," she said, looking down on her left hand. "It is a great pity—that ugly gap spoils one of my handsomest rings." I think I have found the diamond you lost. See here I I ii;Jd it out. on the pa.lm of my hand, and she seized it. It fitted into space exactly. Zes that's it. I'm awfully glad to set it. Where did you find it ? Somewhere about the house, I suppose ? No, I found it by the side of the pond." Her face grew white. "Ah! you were looking there! No, I found it by accident." She was never at loss for a lie, and she had one ready at once: "I must; have dropped it a, fortnight or three weeks ago. I remem- her now that I was looking for water-lilies near the pond." I made no answer, but I saw her eyes try- ing stealthily to read my face. After a minute or two, she said: By the bye, I think it would be more convenient if you went by an earlier train, so I have desired the carriage to be at the door by one o'clock to take you to the station. Ali is going by the same train, so you won't mind if he sits on the box?" Ali I Is he going so soon?" "Yes. I could not have him here any longer. There is really nothing for him to do. He is only in my way. He has no reason to complain. He has been left a hand- some legacy, and I have arranged to pay his passage back to India. People talk of his kindness, but he has been amply remuner- ated for anything he may have done for my husband." I thought, as she spoke, that kindness can- not be paid for, but that was a thing that never occurred to Mrs. Montaubon. I was just going out of the room, when Ali came in with a letter on a salver. He could not read English very well, and he hesitated as to which of us the letter was for. Mrs. Montaubon put an end to his hesitation by reaching her hand over for the letter. "From Reginald," she exclaimed, as she took it, "and for me!" Then, after glanc- ing through it, she tore it into a thousand pieces. "There is no answer," she said. "Say there is no answer." "Montaubon Sahib said to be sure and wait for an answer. The boy waits out. side," said Ali, with a puzzled look. "Don't I tell you there is no answer?" cried Mrs. Montaubon, impatiently. "Thaf is enough. You may go All the time this little incident was pass- ing, a suspicion came to me that something was wrong. It was not for some time after- wards that I discovered how wrong. After I bade Mrs. Montaubon goodbye, 1 turned to little Tag and took him up in my arms. He Hcked my hands consolingly. "Good-bye," I cried, "dear little Tag, my constant companion, my best friend, so lov- ing and true." Please, Miss Bailie, do not make such a fool of yourself. Please remember that Tag is my dog, not yours. He is nothing to you, nothing whatever." It was the old story she could not bear anyone to interfere with what she called hers. And so I left Caer Newydd—the house in which I had spent six eventful weeks. I had been sometimes very miserable, and sometimes at the height of happiness. The misery now seemed to predominate. There was one face that I missed; and one voice that I yearned to hear alas! they did not come—why, I knew not. Kind Mrs. Walton turned up at the station to say goodbye. The rain was pouring, and her cloak was wet through. "I will write and tell you everything that goes on, my dear," she said. I can't think why Reginald didn't come, too. But never mind, we mustn't judge by appearances." I knew she was right. As the train bore me away I tried to think of those words spoken only a week ago at the old church of Llanrhychwyn "Can you trust me, Mar- garet, trust me in spite of everything? And I resolved to trust the man who seemed to me the truest and noblest in the world, though I often wondered why he had never spoken the last word of farewell why he had let me leave Caer Newydd with- out even wishing me God speed! Was Mrs. Montaubon to blame for this? I felt confident that she was, but I could not tell how. There was no one at the flat when I arrived. Susan was still away on her holidays, so that I had to get the key from the caretaker. Then I lighted the gas-stove and made myself a cup of tea. A dirty, half-starved grey cat came to the door and mewed to be taken in. I let her lie on the rug, while I went out to buy milk and bread across the road. She was even more solitary than I was. When I hurried back she was at the door to meet me, with her tail erect, purring me a welcome. And all that desola,te evelling she kept me company, while I went over the events of my visit to Caer Newydd, extract- ing all the bitterness and sweetness out of them. Three or four questions kept tor- menting me, writing themselves on the wall in letters of fire, and demanding an answer. Was Mrs. Montaubon guilty of her husband's death ? Did Mr. Montaubon really care for me, or was it only a passing fancy which he would forget as soon as I was out of his sight? Should I ever see or bear from him again ? What would Mrs. Montaubon do, and would the manuscript ever come to light again ? All these questions danced up and down through my brain, whilst the noise of cabs, trams and omnibuses in the busy street outside kept up a cea,seless roar. Yes, I was indeed back in London again. Had my visit to Caer Newydd been only like a fevered dream ? Ah! I knew it had not, it had been the centre—the culminating crisis of my life which could never be for- gotten. ( To be continued.J

The appalling railwav calamities which have recently taken place, the frequency of cycle and motor accidents, make it desirable to call the attention of tourists and travellers to the ready means which exist of insuring against them free of cost by means of the various free insurances which are issued in connection with popular journals. The claims for free insurance paid by "Csssell's Saturday Journal" number upwards of 300, and sums are being paid every week under the free insurance coupons issued in each number of this journal. The sums already paid include amounts of £ 100 and £ 1,000, according to the nature of the accident.