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-an amused smile. 3 QQQQQQQQQ 6: OF CASTE. MééééfiMéifiéMé eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee CONFUSEON g Or g Gentility it e W$¢WW§ obility of Soul. eWeweeeeeW vsaamseeeewwwwwm CHAPTER XXVI. Often. as she talked to Dorcas, Mrs. Harcourt would mention her son’s name; she would even speak of him freely, and when letters came from him she would read parts of them aloud, but she never for a long time madethe most distant refer- ence to the terms on which he and Dorcas stood together, nor gaveher any message from him, nor almost spoke as if she so much as recognizâ€" ed that they had ever met. This ignoring of her position was a relief to the girl at first. but preâ€" sently she began to wonder a little when it would cease, and then at last there came to her almost a longing that it would cease. “Does she want to make terms with me?â€" and has she not courage to do it?” she began to think. "Does she wish to keep me because she thinks she may gain an influence over me, and make me do what she desires, and give Frank up?” And she could not tell. Some- times, during these days, her love made her suspicious, so that at moâ€" ments it seemed to her as if, perâ€"- haps, Mrs. Harcourt was playing a cruel game, and trying to weave a web about her. She thought this sometimes, and then again she be- came ashamed of her suspicions. “Onlyâ€"why will she not speak to me?” she began at last to ask her- self, almost passionately. “I am so weary of this silence. Is she not cruel to let all these days pass, and never to tell me the one thing that concerns me most?” “Yes, I am tired,” she said to Mrs. Harcourt quickly one night, speaking with a sudden impatient impulse, in. answer to a. question that the other asked. “I have been doing nothing, I know, but even living seems to tire one some- times.” “You ought not to feel that â€" at your age,” Mrs. Harcourt an- swered; and then Dorcas laughed ra- ther sadly. “Do you think age has anything to do with it?” slze said. “I think it is only want of food that has to do with it. Whether we are old or young, if we cannot get bread we starve.” . And then she thought she had said too much, and colored, and rose hastily from her seat. _ ‘V‘Child, -is it I, do you mean, who will not give you bread?” Mrs. Harâ€" court suddenly asked. She was ly- ing on her sofa, and Dorcas was not near to her, but she half raised her- self as" she spoke, and held out her handl “Come here, I Want you to sit beside me. Come here. and let us talk together,” she said. Dorcas came, half ashamed, and sat down at her side. , , “Forgive me for being impatient.” she said, abruptly. “I ought not to have said what I did." “Wellâ€"â€"â€"if you felt it. it was as well to say it, perhaps.” “No, I hardly think that. One may feel many things, but it is gen- ,erally foolish to speak them.” “Is that your experience?” Mrs. Harcourt looked at Dorcas with "You are a very reserved woman, my dear.” “Are we not both reserved, per- haps?” . "Wellâ€"possibly; but that 15 not the question, now of myself. I am talking of you. 1 think you are unusually re- served. Or, at least. I should say, you are reserved in general-to meâ€" to most people. Hardly, perhaps, altogether toâ€"everybody?” â€" in raâ€" ther a dry tone, that brought the color in a rush to Dorcas’s face. -“That is not unnatural. One is instinctively more reserved to one person than to another,” she anâ€" swered, half defiantly. "Exactly. And I think in your case I have heard that you make very marked differences indeed. Beâ€" tween two members of the same fam- ily, for instance?” And then, with something very like laughter in her eyes, Mrs. Harcourt looked at llorâ€" cos, and Dorcas, with an expression very far indeed removed from laugh- ter, returned the look. “My dear I am making you anâ€" gry," the elder woman said the next moment, “and I did not mean to make you angry, but sometimes, you know, we jest when our hearts are rather bitter and sad. And I am bitter and sad to-night, Dorcas, 'for I am going to make a sacrifice, and all the natural woman within me is shrinking from making it. Bear with me a little, my dear. I have been fighting with myself all these weeksâ€"more than you know.” And then she became suddenly sil- ent, and the silence lastedâ€"for Dorâ€" cas, with her heart upon her lips, could not break itâ€"for several minâ€" utes. cared for this world,” Mrs. I-Iar- court began again at last, abruptly. after that pause. “I have cared, I hope, for other things wellâ€"but for that I have cared too. I have set store by the good things that the world has been able to give me, And ; for I am not talking, and I have tried to get a large mea- sure of those good things forâ€"my only son. Perhaps I think that there are, on the whole, some worse things than worldliness. I have known many worldly people who are, better than some who call them- selves saints; but still I allow that, when life seems about to endâ€"as mine, you know, I believed was end- ing two months agoâ€"the worldly successes we have striven for most appear small things to us. Dorcas, I make this admission frankly. I confess. to you honestly that if I had not supposed I was dying a lit- tle while ago I hardly think you would be sitting by my side to- night.” She paused again here for a little while, but Dorcas made no answer. There was nothing that she could say. She sat quite still. and with- out even lifting her head until her companion chose to go on speaking. “My dear,” Mrs. Harcourt recom- rmenced, after this second silence, “it was no objection to yourself per- sonally that made me try to op- pose my son when he told me first that he wanted you to be his! wife. I thought from the first time I saw you that you had a sweet face. I could have loved you, and have been glad that he should love you. from ithe beginning, if (you must forgive :me for speaking plainly)â€"â€"if your =position had been different from what it is. I had no fault at all to find with you except that oneâ€"that you were beneath him socially. I wanted him to marry some girl who should be at least his equal; per- haps I thought (for I have been sproud of him, Dorcasâ€"J have almost believed that no Woman he cared for could help loving him)â€"â€"perhaps I thought it not unlikely that he might even make what is called a [great marriage, and I. should have {liked him to do this. But You can“? in his way, and upset all my 11013059 “was that my fault?” Dorcas ask- “Noâ€"I do not think it was your Ifault; I blame you for nothing. I only say that it was so, and I ask you (for I think you have a frank, {fair mind)â€"â€"I ask you if you do not understand my feeling in the mat- ter?â€"if you do not think my opposâ€" ition was natural?f’ “Quite natural," Dorcas said. “I thought and hoped that his affection for you would pass away. for you, Dorcas: ,vou I was sorry Inlay not believe me, but I did think , ,‘of you too, even though I would ‘have sacrificed you for my son. I trusted that you Would each forget n stopped, and only resumed it several moments. "When I was ill I found thatâ€"as far as he was con- cernedâ€"it was not to be so.” “We spoke about you one night,” she said again, presently, "when I thought I had not many more days to live. My son had been with me all through my illness. You don’t know how good he is to have with you when you are sufferingâ€"what a tender nurse he can be. We have loved caCh other, you see. Dorcas, he and Iâ€"we have been a great deal to one another. It was not a light thing, even from the first. to think that any other woman had come beâ€" “You see, I am a woman who hasl ed, in a low, quick vmce. ,‘ Ihim if it would the other. But when I was ill-â€" She began this sentence, and then after I tween us. youâ€"we both believed we were about to part, and I spoke to him of you. We had never spoken of you before for many months. I asked him if his feeling for you had changed. I hardly know whether or not I hoped that it had changed, but I rad made up my mind that, if it had not, I would buy his last love from him by telling him to go to you when I was gone; and, my dear, I did tell him lso; I told him, when he had laid me lin the earth, to go back to“ you. and to say to you that I had sent him. Only, unfortunately, you see, Dorcas, after all this had been done, 1 did lnot die; and after a week had pass- ed, I found myself in a very awkâ€" ward and unexpected position.” She said these last words sudden- ,ly, almost with a laugh, and then lpaused for a moment or two before she went on. “Let my case be a warning to ,you,” she began again, “never to be too sure of anything that is only go- ing to happen. I expected, you per- ceive, to make a very edifying end, xleaving nothing but peace and blessâ€" aing behind me; but 1 made a serious ‘blunder. I enacted my little part- ing scene a trifle before the due time .cameâ€"â€"for it was very odd that, al- most as soon as I had made all my lpious preparations for departure, I began to get hold of life again. I don’t know how Frank felt about it, but I ,am afraid that, when I knew I was getting better. what I had said troubled me a good deal. “For, you see. my dear, I had not the conscience to draw back from it. I suppoSe I Would have drawn back from it if I could, 'but We are sometimes virtuous against our will, and perhaps-â€"well, perâ€" haps in my heart I thought at that time, when I was still very weak, that my boy's gratitude was sweet- er than any other earthly thing: so one day, when Dr. Haswell said I Was out of all danger, I asked Frank what we were to do now, since he had not been able to put me under .the sod; and it was this talk that fended in the suggestion upon winch I acted presently. when I wrote to .you and asked you to come here. I Ipromised I‘rank that I would ask you to come if he would go away, ‘and so he went :I'x“=‘~\--:tll(l l have kept my word. And nowâ€"now, any dear, what is to be the end of it? ’ She turned to the girl all at once, 1and put her hand on hers. There was a. little color in her face, a very little tremor on her lips. “Dorcas. do you love my boy as :well as he loves you?” she said, ‘suddenly. “Do you think 1 should be here now if I did not love him?” Dorcas answered, with hot cheeks. and al-i imost below her breath. “Do you mean that you have found it so hard to remain here?” “I mean it has been hard to come iwhere I know I have been looked idown upon, and haVe not been 3thought worthy of him.” "So hard that you could only have 'done it ifâ€"you loved him?” IAYCS.¥’ “Is that your true answer? Well, iI can believe it, for your face is imore eloquent than your words. .my ,dcar.~ There, turn it away, child; Ewe need not talk any more. . quite ’ lstoop down, if you will, before you [go, and kiss me. I have never kiss- led you yet. I suppose” â€" and she gave a sudden laugh â€"- “I suppose the queen that is abdicating ought ‘to salute the queen that is to be.” i "What can I say to you?" the girl began to murmur. in a. trembling ivoice. “I never wished to marry do him harm. If you will tell me I am selfish to hold 'to him. I will go away now, and 'never trouble him or you again.” I» "My dear,” said Mrs. Harcourt, quietly, “from here to Shepth is lbut a' four hours’ railway journey. gDo you think you could prevent gFrank from going to Shepton, to ilook for you, if. when he comes back inext week, he should find you gone?” i “ls he coming back next week?” 'she said. quickly. "He tells me so.” "And 'he knows that I am here?” “Yes.” “Then you must tell me what to do.” Dorcas spoke nervously and quickly. “You must tell me if I am gto go or stay.” “My dear. you are to stay,” relder woman gravely said. She took the girl’s hand. and held -it, though with a halfâ€"reluctant clasp. ‘ “You are to stay, and takeâ€"~what I cannot keep from you.” she said. “That is the truest way of putting it, I suppose.” the An Old and Highly Respected Resident Cured of Kidney Disease and leer Troubles by Dr. Chase's Kidney-Liver Pills. Mr. Joliii Wilson, a retired carpenter who has lived in Welland, Ont., for 30 years, writes :â€""Some years ago I .was attacked with kidney trouble, and I became so run down and emaciated that my entire ap- pearance was suggestive of physical decline. 1' had bad pains across the back and up the spinal column, bad spells my heart, pain under the right shoulder, bilious headache about half'the time, indigestion, fever and of spirits. plicatcd with liver trouble. lessness at night and depression As time went on the complaint grew worse and became com~ with rest- "At times I Was inCapacitated for work, and had spent probably one hundred dollars in different medl- cines with no perceivable results.- Doctors’ advice proved likewise of no avail. . “Finally on the advice of a friend I began taking Dr. Chase’s Kidney-Liver Pills, and in a short time the had symptoms began to gradually disappear, and by the time I had used five or six boxes I was enjoy- ing better health than I had in many years, all of which is due to the virtues of Pills. Dr. Chase’s Kidney-Liver. "Since my recovery I have advised others to profit by my experience. Some have done so and are well. while others did not and have succumbed to this dreadful disease. 1am a living witness to the value of this great medicine, and I am full of enthusiasm in imparting the good news to others who are afflicted an I was." Dr. Chase’s Kidneyâ€"Liver Pills, one pill a, dose, 25 cents a box, At all deo‘ere or Edmansvon, Baton 8 09., Toronto. Only, I suddenly up from her “Are you tired. Dorcas?” she ask- ed, abruptly. "If you are not tired -â€"lo.ok, the sun has hardly set yet, and I think we have each had as much of the other’s company for the present as will do us good. You can get half an hour’s walk before night! comes.” She put her hand on Dor- cas’s shoulder, with a moment’s half laugh. _“G0 and dream your; dream. Go and be ,happy, my l l i I l | l ! i i 1 '1‘oot‘ crops, fodder crops, and so on. ‘which the sponge fisherman is very ier lies at anchor near by. from which 1a half-dozen or more of these small [when it is loaded or at night, as the dear,” sheqsaid. . (To Be Continued). 1' BABY’ S OWN TABLETS . __ Weak and Sickly' Children During the Hot Weather. For Thousands of children die during the hot weather months, because summer complaints and stomach troubles come suddenly, and mothers do not have the means at hand to promptly check and cure them. In homes where Baby’s Own Tablets are used these , precious little lives can be saved, and no homes where there are infants and young children should be without them. Baby’s Own Tablets will promptly cure all stomach and boxvel trou- bles, and are a great relief to teethâ€" ing ohildren. ThevTablcts are sold under a positive guarantee that they contain neither opiate nor harmful drug. Crushed to a powder they can be given with absolute safety to a new born babe. Mrs. R. Ferguâ€" son, 105 Mansfi‘el'd street, Monâ€" treal, says :â€"â€"“I have used Baby’s Own Tablets and have found them the best medicine I have evergiven my children. My baby has always been small and delicate and suffered so much last summer with his teeth that I did not think he would live. Then he was attacked with dysentry, a feverish skin and cough. As the doctor’s medicine did not help him, I sent for Baby’s Own Tablets and they did him a wonâ€" derful amount of good, and he is now getting on splendidly. I gladly give my experience for the benefit of other mothers.” If your druggisrt does' not keep these Tablets they will he sent by mail post paid at 2.5 cents a box by writing direct to the Dr. Williams’ Medicine ’00., Brockiville, Ont., or Schenectady, N.Y. JOl-IN BULL’S FARM. Britain may be viewed as one farm extending from county to county, interrupted by towns it is true, but surrounding them like the ocean surâ€" rounds an archipelago of islands, Great Britain possesses a. total area of 32,437,389 acres of cultivated land, of which 7,325,408 acres are under wheat. the rest being in perâ€" manent pasture, temporary pasture, It includes over 51,000 acres of hops. 73,000 acres of fruit. and 308,â€" 000 acres of bare fallow. The capiâ€" tal employed is enormous. and may be roughly estimated at $1,185,â€" 000,000, while the amount paid in wages is estimated at $150,000,000 per annum. There are at least 1,- 000,000 men, women. and boys .emâ€" ployed in agricultural pursuits in Ali-eat Britain who not only cultivate the ground, but attend to 1,500,000 horses, 0,805,000 cattle, 26,500,000 sheep. and 2,381,000 pigs, besides countless poultry. Such is John Bull’s farm. s To prom to you that Dr. 5 C‘h'tse's Ointment. is acerfain f; and absolute cure for each ' and every form of itching. bleedingand protrudln piles, the manufacturer: have guaranteed if. eetes- timonials in the daily press and ask your neigh- hers what they think out You can use it and get your money back if not cured. 600 a box. at all dealers or EDMANSON,BATE8 &: Co..Toronfo, ‘ for... Chassis Ointment SPONGE COLLECTING. This industry, wrich is one of the largest in the State of Florida, is carried on almost entirely by no- groes. The sponges are gathered by means of a long pole. with a hook attached to the lower end, with expert. He lies prone upon his stomach in the stern of a boat, lookâ€" ing through an ordinary water bucâ€" ket with a glass bottom. which does away with the glare from the water and allows him to survey the bottom leisurely while the boatman rows or sculls the boat. A schoonâ€" boats fish, which returns to port case may be. The men all share and share alike of the cargo, the captain receiving a larger portion and the owner of the vessel oneâ€"quarter of the profit. “5...... .__._ DON’T BATH TOO MUCH. “I used to take a bath every‘ morning, but two a. week is my lim- it now,” says a well-known athlete. “Instead, I use a fleshâ€"brush every morning for an hour, and I’ve nevâ€" er been in better Condition in my life. I start at the top of my head with a hair brush, then take the flesh-brushâ€"it is made specially for (he purposeâ€"mud finish the job down to my feet until my skin is nearly. the color of a boiled lobster. It' keeps the pores free and open. clears away the dead cuticle, doesn’t enerâ€" vate the system like a bath, and, above all, is the finest exercise you can get. Rubbing the body vigor- ously with the brush, changing from hand to hand as the muscles of the arm tire, will keep you supple and. nimble. It’s a great thing." 1 I M W Butâ€"I was going to tell1 She yoga lsofa. BURN WOOD TO KEEP IT. â€"â€" Best Manner to Preserve Its Du:- ability. In spite of the substitution of iron and steel for wood, in house and bridge building, and in the con- struction of ships, piers, and other structures, the consumption of wood increases yearly. All wood decays. and its value depends chiefly upon its durabilit, . . The simpleSt method of preserving 1s charring. Every old .farmer knows that if he burns the end of a post in the fire until it is covered with a thin coat of charcoal it will last from ten to thirty years longer when set in the ground than if put there in its normal condition. Next to this are the paints, which do excellent work in cold and fem- perate climates. A piece 0f wood painted every two or three years will last centuries; but this does not apply to wood employed on ships 01 111 the piles of wharves and bridges. Marine animals bore through the péunt, and attack the wood beneath ) . _ When you reach the tropics, paint is almost worthless so far as pre~ venting the attacks of white ants is concerned. They bore a hole throuin the paint, go into the in- terior of the log of lumber. and eat out all the tissue without disturb- ing the paint skin on the outside. The only process which seems abso- lutely efficient is to charge the wood with somepoisonous fluid, which i: antiseptic, nonâ€"volatile,» and per~ mancnt. Solutions of zinc, iron, copper, on senic, and mercury have been tried, and have all given good results. The best were obtained by forcing through the pores of the wood a strong solution of the double chlo- ride of ammonia and mercury. Af- ter the wood was charged it was laid aside to dry, during which op- eration the ammonia and the water evaporated, leaving the corrosive sublimate uniformly distributed through the tissue. - â€"â€"â€"4 ORANGE RIVER COLONY. A General Scheme of Small Farms ' Is Proposed. The question of the settlement 0. British farmers on the land in Or- ange River Colony has now entered the sphere of practicability. The subject is one which presents many difficulties. ' Pastoral farming, which is there the staple type, ne- cessitates huge farms, and also en- courages a state of idleness among the farmers themselves]. By placing settlers on large farms their influ- ence is practically nil, since there is necessarily little opportunity for in- tercourse with their neighbors. Sir H. J. Gooldâ€"Adams, the Lieutenant- Governor, has therefore decided on a policy of small farms in cases of set- tlers taking up Government lands. He has at his disposal nearly 300,â€" 000 acres, which he is increasing by purchase and by the lapse of leases of Government farms. At present there exist altogether 160 settlers, comprising those he- longing to the Scottish association, colonials from over sea. and others who served in the late campaign. They are being given an opportun- ity of studying the new features of farming in South Africa, pending their taking up farms permanently. Subject to ‘the approval of the home authorities, farms will be given to such settlers (if approved) on lease or on purchase terms. the purchase price being equivalent to thirty years’ rent. , The difficulty now arises fhat small farms are unable to food sufficient stock to pay a fair profit. nit the Government’s intention is 10 encour- age agriculture. In order to further this end an engineer has been ap- pointed 10 survey the Government property for the purpose of devising a scheme of irrigation. whereby 2 great proportion of the land can In brought under cultivation. 'l‘hf scheme is one which promises suo cess. There is no doubt that the slip shod methods of farming generally adopted by the Boers have resultec in a vast amount of land being lefi practically unproductive. It is tc be hoped that British enterprise wil‘ help in remedy this state of things and signs are not wanting that sucl enterprise is likely to he applied Three thousand applications f0] farms have been received from in lending British settlers. nearly al‘ with capital. One of the most. on- thusiastic supporters of the schenu of settling British emigrentsnnunln of settling British imn'iigrants or the land. Mr. Abe Bailey. is 'rlesiron: of furthering the scheme by purchas ing land both in the Orm'fge liver Colony and in the Cape Colony with the object of placing such in (ligcnt settlers on it. Everytliiftg will he provided for them unfil the: are able to support themselves, am they will he allowed in purchast their farms on easy terms. 41...“. BRITAIN’S OLDEST JUDGE. The oldest judge in the Unite. Kingdom is Sir William Drinkwater who is now in his ninety-first year When he retired from his deemstex ship of the Isle of Man. in 1897, h had the right to celebrate his jubi lee of office, and had created a recort for judicial tenure. He has seen fiv Sovereigns on the English throne and retains suflicient activity t serve on the Isle of Man hospitc committee, to manage his estate (1 Kirby, near Douglas, and to rosum the horse exercise which an acciden some years ago compelled him 7. abandon for a time. .u..........»...~ r..¢sWM¢.-~uawmmm. / I. ,\--‘..M â€"â€"_/ fi’, .‘1. ~â€"â€"â€"-«Il.¢_fig_ ‘; ‘. :._ mfi--‘m'm.,_ _ - .. ...v....-mv-v~..‘~v A < < -A- « {:222;-;t‘:..r.i;.1. ..«.. . a; 7”"...5 "€11. ‘ urâ€" yr v:' â€"r «‘vV‘V‘Q'V vm‘fir 4v'v-vâ€"~ Avrvvvvâ€"vv‘v Ahmkkxx-‘