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ABYSMAL DEPTHS OR BLINDFOLD ON THE BRINK OF PRECIPICES^--^ CHAPTER XXIII. Little less than an hcnty's furious driving brought Montgomery his companion Into a suburban district of London. They pulled u] fore a handsome villa residence, gentleman, who had evidently been watching for their coming, appeared at the door. "How long you have been," he Raid irritably. "Come as fast as horseflesh could go, sir," answered the man, respectfully. "Just look at the mare, sir; she's for all tho world as if you had chucked buckets o' wi ' her!" "This way, MontgomeJ Mr. John Eodwell--for it was he. Ho led the way into a back parlor. "Read that." he said, handing Montgomery a telegram. The telegram ran thus: "From Jonathan Rodwell, Morley's Hotel, to John Rodwell, etc." "Can I have the use of your house *.n Essex for a short time? Police have got a trace of Clara in that direction. Telegraph reply. Montgomery gave a low whistle as he read these words. "That's awkward!" he ejaculated. "What a fool's remark!" exclaimed Rodwell, irritably; "it's ruin, truction! What can be done? you devise any scheme?" "Have you answered this?" "Yes; I have telegraphed to that I will be with him this Can ing.' "And then what do you "That is precisely what I want talk over with you." He went to a cabinet, and took out a decanter of brandy and twe glasses. He filled one with the liquor and drank it off; his companion was not slow in following his example. Then he closed the room door, and, drawing his chair close to Montgomery's, began the aation in a low tone, furtively glancing at his fellow-conspiratoi from time to time from under his heavy brows, to mark what impression his words produced. "You see by that telegram that the police have discovered a clew, and we know that the clew is in the right direction. The hope of gaining one hundred pounds reward will wonderfully sharpen their scent. Perhaps, while we are sitting here, they have spotted the very house." He paused, expecting an but Montgomery, with an unmoved face, remained silent. a," he to England, I was regaroe uncle's heir. But he became infatuated with this silly doll, and left everything to her, except a paltry annuity of eight hundred, chargeable on the estate, which was to be my compensation for my dreams of heirship. Well, the girl's intellect was always weak, and as she grew older this weakness merged almost into idiocy. One night she disappeared, no one knew whither. My uncle was almost frantic. Rewards were offered; the rural police put upon the search; ponds, rivers, streams dragged far and near; but, as you anticipate, without any success she never turned up, I felt pretty confident that the bulk, at least, the old man's fortune would fall my share." "Is it a large fortune?" asked Montgomery. "His income cannot be less than twenty thousand a year, and he does not live up to two. When he retired from commerce he took up the life of gentleman farmer. Tears went on, and I began to feel quite certain that Clara would never again be heard of; when, fancy my consternation upon one day receiving a letter from the old man, which informed me that he was in London, consequent on having obtained some trace of his lost granddaughter. I hastened at once to Morley's, and there I found him, in a high state of excitement. He had given or lent, some tramp a sovereign upon a suit of clothes, and out of one of the pockets had dropped a miniature of Clara, the very same that I lost some years back, and which, I have reason to believe, was stolen from me by Judith. This tramp fellow had told him that he was going to London; and thither, upon the discovery, my uncle had set off at once, to advertise in the newspapers, and to endeavor to gain some tidings of him. He had not been in town many days before he chanced to see a picture of his own cottage exposed for sale in a printseller's window. He bought it, and found the name of Clara in the corner. I dined with him that day; you can imagine how excessively delighted I was at the discovery. That I might check any further search upon his part, I undertook to send round to every picture-dealer center and west of London, to make inquiries Whether they employed any female artist who so signed herself. I called at a number of shops myself, and I sent you to others; you know with what result." "But I did discover her, after all," interrupted Montgomery, "although in quite another way; and had I stayed at Bury so late into the Monday, you would have known it. However, nothing could be neater than the way we managed it. The moment you came and told me that the girl was in front of the theater, I sent one of the supers round with % message to Silas Carston, got him out of the way, and the rest was easy. Luckily your brougham was waiting; luckier still that you had euch a snug place to take her to." "Yea; I have found the house use-) thaD once, although in a An ole? aiaidcn aunt, who used to reside there, left it me as a legacy. Fortunately, it had only been recently vacated by a lady friend of mine, who found the situation too dull; so that it was quite ready for the reception of another. "As soon as I had secured my fair cousin, I began to consider what was the best thing to do with her. After a mature consideration I came to the conclusion that marriage was the best solution of the difficulty. By making her my wife, I should seal her lips regarding the past, and secure my uncle's fortune in the future. To my surprise, she received all my advances with the utmost repugnance. The cause of that, I have discovered, is a connection that has been formed with some low fellow, who actually turns out to be Judith's Stokes' husband. By the bye, how came you to think of introducing those people into my house? You must have been mad to have intrusted my secret in the hands of a woman who has a spite against me!" "A spite against you?" echoed Montgomery. "This is the first have heard of it. I thought that you and she were on the very best of terms. Oh, oh! I begin to smell a rat! Well, I will tell you how it happened. Judith's husband bolted, which, considering all things, was not a surprising circumstance. However, she was not disposed to let him off quite so easily. Having obtained information of his whereabouts, she posted up to London, arrived here the morning after our own little adventure, and found her beloved under an attack of brain fever. Nothing could have been more natural than that she should desire to remove him from tho care of strangers to her own. But the parish doctor, who was there at the time, said that to remove him to any considerable distance would be death, for Judith proposed at first to take him back to Tabernacle House. Well, not wishing him to die just for the present, and considering, besides, that after such a warning, if anything should happen, there might be a disagreeable inquest, that idea was at once abandoned. But then came the question--where was he to be taken? Lodging-house keepers are not particularly ready to take in fever patients. No time was to be lost; for, living within a door or two, was a certain friend of Carston's, who had been, servant at Tabernacle House, and who knew rather too much. This girl would decidedly oppose his removal, make hrougt^ 01 dist\» uano^, and would un.d-o-ai>tfiA- oYiow any conveyance that moved him. Luckily, at that particular time at which Judith had arrived, she was out of the way; had actually gone up to High street, to get a prescription made up for Silas. Suddenly, I bethought me of the house that I had taken the young lady to the night, before. There must be plenty of spare room there, I thought; and as Judith and Mr. Rodwell are old and confidential friends, I don't see that he can possibly object to oblige her so far." Rodwell now broke in with; "And do you not think such an act was a piece of confounded impudence upon your part?" "Not at all," answered Montgomery, coolly. "I had my owi vate interests to serve in the ter--vital interests. I thou myself first, as you did of yourself when, years ago, you enticed from me the girl who was making my living. Tit for tat!" Rodwell glared at him fiercely, that is your mode of dealing he said, "how do I know that "But how do you propose to Induce your uncle to alter his wil whilo he believes that his granddaughter is alive?" "Suppose it could be proved tc him that she was dead?" "Supposing," Rodwell went on, after a pause, drawing closer to his companion, and sinking his voice al most to a whisper -- "supposing '. could hit upon a plan to silence -- to remove both Judith and Clara at the same time? Nothing could then "What do you mean?" asked Montgomery, with a scared look. "You seem excessively dull today," exclaimed Rodwell, irritably; "especially when your own interest and safety are as much concerned ""hJwV "How? -- what a question! Could not the girl prove, if a burst-up came, that it was you who abducted her?--and as you could not furnish your judge with unexceptionable references as to your moral character, that would be enough to give you two years on the treadmill, be sides the loss of all the money ] have promised you. I should not think it would take you long to de cide between the two pictures." "Speak out, and let me know what you want," said Montgomery, "You--to help me to get rid of both Judith and Clara!" cried Rod-well, boldly. "If you mean bloodshed, I'll have nothing to do with it," said Montgomery. "But I mean nothing of the kind," answered the other, quickly; "there would be no blood!" "Explain what you do mean, then and quickly," said Montgomery. "Suppose that the house should catch on fire--I only say suppose -- houses do catch on fire, you know, sometimes, without any one discovering the cause, and people are frequently lost in such fires?" Good heavens, this is abomina-!" cried Montgomery. So I thought at first. The house heavily insured, too; we coulc share the insurance money betweer Montgomery was as pale as death. "But what purpose could such a fearful crime serve? You would not dare to confess to your uncle that the girl was in your house; and, unless you could prove to them that she was dead, her death would be "I have thought of all that. If this thing could be arranged, I should drive off to Morley's at once, tell him that I had traced my cou-taken her under my protection, lodge her safely in the Manor House, offer to drive him over there at once offer he would be sure to accept. When we arrive there it would 3 a heap of cinders." "But how will you account for the girl's disappearance--for your meeting with her?" Montgomery asked. , hundred ways!" was the re-Before she ran away from home, she betrayed symptoms of incipient insanity ^s^jpdifijpc"8 tandi measured by the standard of everyday life." "But you have the police to satisfy," still argued Montgomery. "Nothing easier. I should hurry man back into the iely, in his e fine i •nlng call upon Mr. Jonathan Rodwell hole thing to him? I dare uld pay you uncommonly well for your information." No; I shall not to that,' ired the other, quietly; "honor among thieves. If the plot succeeds, ait ot I know that I shall get "ml possibly could him. Dirty work always co: much more than clean to th ployer. Besides, there is a s bond even than interest that binds ie to you--revenge!" "Upon whom?" "Upon Silas Carston." "In that case, I think we can work together better than I suspected; but, as, you have greatly complicated my difficulties by introducing Judith into the same house, it is "lir that you should be the ready to help me in any way out of them." 'What do you mean?" In the first place, my marriage with Clara would have to be brought about immediately; and as she is not kely to consent, and as the days of enforced marriages are all gone by, it is more than probable that the whole plot will have to be abandoned." "Why?" "Because I am convinced that Judith fully intends to betray me. Her evil disposition would never let such an opportunity of revenge escape." '* 'The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices Make instruments to plague us,' " quoted Montgomery. "This is no time for spouting," angrily cried Rodwell. "I tell you that such a revelation would overwhelm me with destruction. My father, at his death, left me property to the value of two thousand a year. Bit by bit it has been sold tnd mortgaged. My debts amount ;o some eight or ten thousand. If I :ould once show proofs that I was my uncle's heir, my creditors would to press, and I could raise money. On the other hand, if things remain in statu quo, I should have to fly the country, a beggar*" trouble they had taken; intimat-' ■' a same time, that he wish-subject henceforth to be oblivion, and no further inquiries to be made into it. You , I have thought of everything." What part do you want me to play in the tragedy?" asked Montgomery. 'Well, I should have to go over to my uncle. You could do the rest!" "Yes; all the criminal portion of the work; so that, in case of discovery, you could not be incriminated. I run all the risk; you get all the reward! I decline to have any- thing t do vith i me?" I shall have quite enough to answer for hereafter, without adding to my heap sins the villainy you propose." "Very well, then; I shall hand you over to the police as the man who abducted my cousin Clara; also for having assisted in kidnapping and unlawfully detaining Silas Carston." "You would not dare to do it!" cried Montgomery. "A desperate man will dare anything. You do not suppose that I would suffer you to go loose with such a secret between us, unless you were equally implicated with myself.?" There was no hesitation, no embarrassment, about Rodwell. Having fully compromised himself, he ood a "Well, think obay. little give ;r it," he said sullenly, give you half an hour," said Rodwell, looking at his watch. allow me to suggest--no more of this" -- pointing to the decanter, which was nearly empty. "A clear brain is essential to all great undertakings." saying he left the room, and Montgomery heard the key turn in the lock. _ Continued)- KNEW ALL BUT ONE THING. The professor of mechanics at an English college once gave a lecture upon the locomotive, and was particularly struck by the absorption of juvenile listener. He spoke to student after the lecture, and asked him : 'Well, I suppose you understand . about the locomotive now ?" 'Yes," was the reply, "all but one thing." "And what is that 7" said the professor kindly. "I can't mt-ke out what makes the locomotive move without horses." Gilhooley--"Oi jist bought me a bottle of hair restorer." Mulcahey-- "But your hair ain't falling out." Gilhooley-- "Thot's jist it ! If Oi shtart usin' it now, O'i won't git bald when me hair does fall out." TO LEAVE THE FARM. Your boy wants to leave the farm, does he ? He thinks he'll do better in town, and you think he's a lazy, good-for-nothing and simply wants to leave home to avoid work. Don't blame the boy. Just look into his probable reasons for leaving and perhaps you may be able to compromise with him before it is too late. If he once leaves he will never come back--unless he comes back sick or disabled within a year or two. After that, sick or well, the chances are that he will stay away. Now, why does he want to leave ? There are ties binding him to the home which, naturally, must be broken with an effort. Other things being equal it would be more to his liking to stay at home or at least within reach of home. The reason must be looked for in his aspirations, in his hopes, in his ideals. Since he was able to he has worked, faithfully. You have had him up before daylight to do chores about the house and barn. While you attended the circus, the exhibition and the tea he stayed home to look after the cattle. When you didn't get home in time he milked the cows alone. He was always too young to go to places of amusement or to have a little pocket money to spend. When you gave him twenty-five cents you wanted to know how he spent it, and you told him he wasted it. All this time he has had his eyes about him. He has been COMPARING IHS POSITION with that of other boys. His chum, a neighbor's son, about his own age, secured a position in the county town as clerk in a store at three dollars a week. He pays two dollars half a week for his board. The ont is small but is about much cash as he was accustomed ve at home, perhaps more, of hard economizing he is a rt to a hockey match once i j, sometimes to a ten cent tertainment, quite often to a f l connection with one of the churches. There hich he can enjoy a pleasant ng after the store closes. True, he admits he has to work pretty hard, and "the boss" scolds h' yet he sees a little of life and he pects to get a raise in six mom Your boy has been talking to this chap. They have compared What does your boy get ? What does he see ? What is the prospect before him '? To his boyish spii " .fe he has been leading is extremely dull one. You know he cared for, he is kept out of bad company, he is shielded by y from every danger. He does it in that way. To his boyishness it is a monotonous round drudgery without kny of the compensations which town life offers. WHAT OF THE FUTURE ? You can see that the farm will be some day or that you will buy ther for him in the neighborhood. He knows nothing about that. He compares what he believes to be the yearly profit of the farm with salary he sees awaiting him !i. and the balance is prepondi atingly in favor of the latter. I the farm he sees nothing but hard work from morning till night, from one year's end to the other, knows nothing of the profits if there are any. He sees but little money in it. He has never been given insight into the actual business the farm. He sees the farm's products taken away but knows nothing of the returns. In short he thing but work, he concludes there is nothing in store for him c farm but work, and even the pect of one day owning the stead or one just as good sufficiently alluring to overcome that growing yearning to get away from it all, and the yearning will finally conquer. Do you wonder why he wants tc get away from it all ? Place yourself in his position. Blot out the prospect and the incentive which gage in. Ninety-nine per cent. of boys brought up on the farm should turn out farmers. The other one per cent, will seek other employment. If your boy should show an inclination for one of the so-called learned professions look carefully into the matter and find out the source of the inclination and if real, encourage it. This is one of the most serious problems of life. To choose wisely means to lay the foundation of a useful life ; to err is to launch your boy on a cruise which will end in failure or shipwreck. You cannot choose for him. He must choose for himself, but you can assist and encourage him. Remember your boy is a man, with a man's hopes, a man's ambitions and a man's aspirations. Discuss . these with him and the discussion will surprise you and do you good, and it will help your boy. > yom iff en your back to the burden and say for the bare pleasure of work you would continue it. You have an object in view in your work ; you are accumulating property FOR THOSE YOU LOVE, you are providing for those who are depending upon you. Your boy is not inspired by such considerations. All he sees in it is toil without recompense, hard work without hope. If the boy is worth his salt he will leave you and he will do better by going. But you don't want him to leave. You know he will do better at home. You can name a dozen boys who went away and where one of them bettered his position eleven made shipwreck of their lives. Your boy has never heard of the eleven, but he knows all about the one who succeeded. Take him into your confidence. Trust him. Give him the wages you would have to give another if you had no boy of your own, and let him spend it as he pleases, encouraging him to invest wisely, but not placing unnecessary rictions upon him. Let him see how the business is progressing. Let know that he and you together building up a business that ho t conduct alone some day. Let have an occasional holiday, teaching him meanwhile the value of ' and the need of hard work during the busy season. He won't look for a holiday during haying, harvest, digging or threshing. He see as well as you when the work can best spare him and when ill be most convenient for him to take his day ofT. DON'T KEEP NAGGING AT HIM and finding fault with him. Let him feel that he is part of the institu-i and that he has Teach him that farming grandest work man or boy FARM NOTES. When ploughing or clearing ficlls for spring operations a most important matter is to clear out the fence corners. This should be done, evi n if it entails an extra job after the ploughing is performed, as it is such sources from whence come most of the crops of weeds and seeds, which spread over the field and cause endless labor throughout the entire growing season. The old-time "scrub" stock was not affected with nerves as is the pedigreed stock of our best modern dairy strains. Necessity of kind treatment has been bred off. No milker or handler of a good dairy herd should be allowed to care for them who has not a liking and friendliness for his charges. The feed, breed and contentedness will all work in harmony for the end sought. It is not always the best and most elaborate poultry houses that shelter the choicest stock. Success, however, mainly depends on warm dry coops. th proper care and manage.'i it, and freedom from overcrowding. The latter trouble is often the If you wish i flock keep c Let the cow be fed promptly regular times, in the same order a so far as possible by the sa feeder. Feeding should be done quickly as possible, only insur: thoroughness. When the cow is i cited or expectant she is using t tential energy from milk-making. thy PROMINENT PEOPLE. Notes of the Great Actors on the World's Stage. Sir Power Palmer, who has been succeeded as Commander-in-Chie' in India by Lord Kitchener, is familiar^ ly known as "Long P." He is 6 feet 5 inches <n height. The most poetic Sovereign in the world is probably the Emperor of His love of poetry, It is as-lcreases with years. Scarce-ening passes that His _Maj- Japan. ly an'e-esty doe thirty of the thirty-one-llabled couplets called "Wa-ka." The Empress also is very fond of writing verses, but Her Majesty's pen is not so prolific as that of the Emperor. She composes about two couplets twice a week. Dr. Randall Davidson, the new Archbishop of Canterbury, was at a skilful chess player. When staying in India he was in the habit of riding on the railway for hours at itretch with a friend, a railway official, who frequently had to make tours of inspection over the lines. During these rides they invariably played chess without either board or making the «ioves verbally, jither of them would ever for-point or contest the winning of the game. Canon Stratton, the vicar of St. Paul's, Leeds, England, now in his eightieth year, is a generous philanthropist, and ..many stories are told Leeds of tfie manner in which the Dd man has been imposed upon, e night, as he lingered for a moment in a house where he had been ting a very "bad case," he heard "invalid" jump vigorously from bed and call out: "Has " buffer gone? What did he The old buffer hasn't gone," cried tho Canon, "and he doesn't intend > leave anything!" With all his numerous staff 1 Postmaster-General of England 1 who can boast such record as that of George Wright, Bristol postman. In tho thirty years and four months' service he has just completed he has never hac 's sick leave, and never lost a duty until January 1, 1900, he attended his wife's inter-one day s leave on tho ground of family distress being obtained. He never changed a single round of duty throughout his lengthy term, and only four times late to work, separate attendances reach the grand total of 28,170. Lord Crewe is certainly one of forme's favorites, although early in fe he had the mischance to lose his first wife, one of the beautiful Grahams of Netherby; but his second marriage, to the young daughter of Lord Rosebery, his junior by some twenty years, is a very happy one. Crewe Hall, the stately home of the was burned to the ground in The old lord, when the fire its height, ordered a table, pencil, and telegraph form to be brought on to the lawn, and ho sat down and wrote to his architect: Dear -, Crewe is burning. Come and build it up again." is said that the Pope is almost getarian. His early breakfast consists of a cup of chocolate or coffee, the latter but rarely. Two dock is the dinner hour, when he partakes of a bouillon and a couple of eggs cooked in Bordeaux wine. The Pope rarely takes meat, but is ery fond of salad--a dish which does not agree with him, but in which he indulges now and then not-ithstanding medical orders. Sup-21- is served at ten, after whis His Holiness retires to his study, where he oftons works until the earlj-hours in the morning. SCENES II MINE LAND NINE OUT OF EVERY TEN ARE IN WANT. Families of Eigat Living in Small Huts -- Sadness in Sweden. A correspondent of the London Express, writing under date of Feb. 1. from Pajala, Sweden, says: I have now reached a point forty-five miles within the Arctic circle, and to send this message necessitated a drive of forty miles to the nearest telephone office, from which it would be telephoned to Haparanda. I crossed the Arctic circle on Friday night in a blinding snowstorm on the way from Matarengi to Kor-pilombolo. During a sledge tour of the district I noted on all sides evidences of a starving population. The temperature on Saturday was six degrees below zero Fahr., which was considered a mild day in this locality. The population consists of about two thousand persons scattered over a wide area. Practically nine out of every ten are in want, and are barely existing on the starvation allowance of tho relief stations. The majority of the people have not tasted meat SINCE THE AUTUMN, and have had but little of the sour skimmed milk which constitutes, with a hard black Swedish barley-meal bread, their main sustenance. Many cattle have had to be killed on account of the lack of fodder. The relief food in this district will giver out shortly, and, if more is not then forthcoming, the people must inevitably starve. The local sheriff and the pastor told me on Saturday that they estimated it would require about £7 to supply an average family of six with just sufficient food to keep them alive until June, which is the sewing time. During the same period fodder for each cow would cost £9. Both the sheriff and pastor regard the immediate future with the gravest apprehension. All relief food has to be carried abrut twenty miles after leaving the railway. HOW THE. PEASANTS LIVE. During my joirrey on Saturday I saw some most depressing sights. In many cases a family of eight are living in a email hut such as would not be used for sheltering cattle in England. They have scarcely any furniture, and their beds are but a heap of rags. Despite the terriblo cold these poor people are too impoverished to be able to afford proper windows, and the chinks between the logs are often very inadequately stuffed with moss and paper. One may imagine the horrible condition of these single-roomed dwellings. In one hut in Korpilombolo I saw two tea cups wound round with string. They were the only crockery in the place. The huts are picturesque to lijiok at, but, they, hide i/t SUFFERING CHILDREN. In many cases babies are so emaciated on account of their mothers being too weak to afford them sustenance, that in all probability them will die before the The nearest doctor to Korpilombolo lives at a distance of forty-nine miles. d two villages ten miles apart in the forest. Li one hut I seven motherless children, father walked to Gellivare, e hundred miles away, to find Dine months ago, but has not returned, and in the meantime tha hildren have been kept alive by the id of the neighbors, as poor as themselves. The little ones are in charge of Anna, the eldest girl, who ' only thirteen, and the youngest is four. The older children are stint-themselves for the sake of tho younger. The same poverty prevails in all the huts around. SNOW FOR A DRINK. In the other village, I found a woman melting snow for drinking water, of which the supply is very short. Tho bread had nearly given out, and the villagers were overwhelmed with joy when supplied with more. Several starving folk begged for food from mo at Korpilombolo. I gave them bread _ and meat, and an old woman, nearly blind and barely able to walk, wept tears of joy when given meat, of which she had not eaten since the summer. Another woman became almost hysterical with joy when given preserved meat, and - expressed her thanks in the form of blessings in Finnish. Korpilombolo is now one of the poorest districts in the Norr-botten province. The people are bearing their hunger with dumb resignation, which is most pathetic 1 i THE COST OF WARS. Th* announcement that the English Government will make a Transvaal loan amounting to something ke $150,000,000 within the next sw months draws attention to the enormous cost of the Boer war. Its total cost to Great Britain is estimated, by F. R. Fairchild, of Yale University, to have been $1,063,-000,000. A comparison with the other principal wars in which Great Britain has been engaged since 1688 shows that the total cost of this ith African war has been exceeded by that of any one other war, the twenty-three years' war with France (1793-1815). No other war, not even the prolonged struggle waged against Napoleon, reached half tho ' of this South African war. A greater proportion of the cost was met by borrowing than was the case ny of the other important wars. okkeeper--"I would like a little ; salary, sir. You see, I'm mar-now, sir-" Employer -- "And need the increase for your family ?"■ Bookkeeper--"No, sir ; far myself.' You see, my wife kniws Jnst what getting now l'i