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g¢6e0e0+ޢ9eeeaeoeoeo: The mystery I? . . ,2 t The Vlllllll ~33 3 i mfiveeeeoeoeoeo+oec¢oeo “Yes! name!” "Aâ€"a gentleman, sir,” hesitated £110 servant, his fascinated glance UP- on that still, tragic woman’s figure framed in the balcony window. “In the hallâ€"a, Mr. Geoffrey Arnold. He asks you to see him this onceâ€"for five minutes in a lifetime, he says- He will never trouble you again. It’s A, life or death to him, I was to say.” “Very clever; a dramatic touch! Just request the gentleman to step from my premises, say that Mr. Bede Grafton declines to see his niece shackled for life to a fortune-hunter, musical genius or not, and thenâ€"” "No! Uncle, you could notâ€"you "dare not send these words to him-â€" no!" "Stand back, Annabel. cuss that afterwards.” Old Bede Grafton waved his arm; the wild sob was lost, the im-ploring white face shrank back; the servant disappeared. In that pause, till the dull hang of a door below sounded, it seemed that the beat of awe- man’s heart could be heard in the silence. Then, one hand groping out as If in a mist, she was moving toâ€" wards _the door. ' “One moment!” A trille unsteady, still grim, the retired ironmaster’s .voice came from the armâ€"chair in the shadow. Something in it riveted her attention, even at such a moment. "Now! I promised .that poor father of yours I would stand square be- tween you and the mistake so many Women make. Is this the result of all my efforts to that end? No, stand still; all the sobs in thy world cannot alter the fact" that this man is an adventurer, whose dramatic ways and violin-playing have Worked upon you successfully. Here is. your golden chance to pause and realize. You cannotâ€"or you will not? You intend to become this man’s playâ€" thing for life?” ‘ “His wife! I must; I have promâ€" ised,” the steady, far-away whisper floated across. “I trust him; no we- ' Imam could give a greater reason. One dayâ€"one day he will prove to you that he was worthy all the love and comfort I can give him now!”’ “Very good; that should end it." -- He rose stiflly. "Well, I need not say a Word-as to what. I meant to do for you; that’s past. I will write you a cheque for a Hundred, and you can go and marry him when and how you choose." {He had sunk back into his arm- chair, eyes closed and lips set. A pause, and then two soft, trcm'bling arms came round his neck from beâ€" hind and held him still, with a whisâ€" per that he was never to forget. "Goodmiglit, dear uncleâ€"and good- bye. No, I cannot take the cheque; leoll‘rey and I do not ask itâ€"trust that We shall never have to. You need not fear so for your Annabel. It may he a struggle for years yet, but is not that the time when he needs most a wife’s help and comâ€" fort? And may you liveâ€"yes, may you live to share our happiness, and to know that it is you, not Annabel, who has made the ntista‘ e!” She kissed his forehead, smoot'hed back the thin, grey hair, and seemed to wait. Some flint-like lump was in his throat, but no word could pass. And then the door had closed and he was alone. The last man to own it, he could have said that in that moment the sunlight seemed to fade out of his life and leave it in eternal (IIISIC. , I ‘ It might have been six weeks; later that Mr. Bede Grafton startled his Coachman more than ordinarily by savagely directing him to drive to Who is it? Let us hear his We'll dis- an obscure suburban street. It was dark. At the corner Mr. Grafton alighted, turned up his coat-collar, muttered something, and moved along the row of absurdly small villas: Now he drew a sharp breath at Sight of a nameâ€"plate shining boldly in the lamplight. “Goofl‘cry ‘ , Arnold, Teacher of Violin. ’1 arms low and tuition thoro11gh.” Mad fool! There. was firelight flickering through the iron tâ€"room Venetian blinds. Old Grafton bent and peered almost like a prospective criminal, peered until he made out the soft, unconscious profile of the girl who had crept out of his life. She had gone from himâ€"gone to this other man, whose spinal weakness preventâ€" ed him from following any real busi- ness, who taught music and begged stray engagements for a living, and whose sole assets in life were a rare old violin and a reputed talent for playing it. Repmted? r That was a Shearing Word. As if to shame it, there wailâ€" ed suddenly from that room the longâ€"drawn, haunting sound of a bow 'drawn lovingly, caressineg down four strings. It thrilled old lraftâ€" on, held him to the spot: it was like the sound of a loved and lost wo- man‘s voice heard echoing in dreams. He could not ace the player. but he had to hear the musicâ€"such music. _I-Iark! the flood of fast, trembling notes swelled and swelled as if it were a crescendo prelude to the outâ€" burst of some mighty celestial choir; then suddenly tin-Y dropped to a more murmur like the wimd’s moan among far-«3!? trees. And so on and [on through" mazes of melody, till, with a rich sweep of chords, it had ended and left a moment’s silence like that of a dead world. Old Grafâ€" ton stumbled back as out of a sleep, realized that other people besides himself had been snared by the spell, and walked away to his carriage. No; he would never forgive that other man his presumption in tempt- ing away his Annabel. Never! Nev- er! He had seen her face once again, as he wished to do; had heard, in- cidentally, the man's violinâ€"playing. Now they Were both blotted from his life for ever! it * Ni {‘ * 'I For seven years the bitter, incredible blank in 'his life has lasted. It was a bent, stooping, white-haired man who tore open the letters addressed to Mr. Bede Graf- Sh'e had written his Seven years! ton that morning. onceâ€"only once! He had kept wordâ€"never answered it. Nerve shocks were rare in his grim, qjuiet existence, but two were waiting him this morning. The writing upon one envelope caught his eye and set his hand trembling strangely. He hes- itated, half inclined to tear the thing into fragments; then he Obeyed the Yes; fromâ€"from Anna- in this faScination. bel, who had once breathed very room. "Dear Uncleâ€"if I may write that Word! I had prayed that the time might never come when I should need to ask your help, but it is here, and for the sake of my dear husband I risk your refusal. We have been Véry happy. but Geoffery’s health has brought us to a memeutary crisis. He does not know I have written, and I dar’e not say more than that the loanâ€"not the giftâ€"at this moâ€" ment of one half the stun you once offered me might mean more than you may ever understand. Dare I hope for a reply? If you cannot do so much, it would be much' to know that you had forgiven. Oh, Goal" uncle, every day I have longed to write that life is too brief for bitter- nesslâ€"Your Annabel." He stared, the flinty'lump forming crumbling in his throat; t'hcn letter awayâ€"it seemed that Her clear, chiming brown eyes looked up from it into his. No! He took up his newspaper, and alâ€" most the first words he saw have the name of that very manâ€""Geoffery Arnold." Shock number tWO. He read through the paragraph, and it told him that Geoffery Arnold was one of five amateur violinists who had emerged successful from all preâ€" liminary tests and entered upon' the final stage for the great llaucsib-ury prizeâ€"one thousand pounds and a professorship. Musicians from all quarters of the world had competed andâ€"and this obscure Arnold fellow was one of five left in the struggle! The crucial hearing was announced for only ten days hence . . . And yet she was writing in suppressed terror and agony to ask his financial and pushed the help? No! In any case, she had taken her choice of two men, and should consistently abide by it. Mr. Grafton's servants reported him as pacing his room half that :Samc night. Twice his hand had gone to his cheque-book, and twice was stubbornly withdrawn. He had won, but the. struggle was none the. less deep. In crushing her he had come near crushing himself. flow dared she write? What were the words she dared not put in the letter? Three days of the ten had ticked by, and old Bede Grafton realized that the uncertainty was a little more than he need bear. He would 'go and just snatch a look at the house, and possibly catch a glimpse of Annabel, to see wl‘lether the man's selfishness was killing her; noâ€" thing more. He put a cheque for just fifty pounds in his pocket, but not to give herâ€"or only upon such conditions that her husband could not benefit by it. This time he took a cab stealthin as far as that street corner, and then :ilightedâ€"~pl‘ecisely as he had done once on a neverâ€"forâ€" gotten night seven years ago. Eh, whatâ€"only seven? There it was still, hold and bright as everâ€""Geol'fcry Arnold." The ver words irritated himvâ€"of compo, 'her name was Arn‘old now! He walked quickly by, hesitated, glared at the blinds, fought the final bit of a fight, and turned in at the gate. 110 would knock just once. All“ would depend upon who answered. If Anâ€" nabel, he might hear her story and make her a proposal; if the man, he could stride away in contemptuous silence. Yes! 'Rat~aâ€"tat! gible sound. For a minute no tanâ€" ’l‘hen, as he brought himself to stoop and peer through the letterâ€"slitâ€"just the onceâ€"he beâ€" icame aware of a queer sensation 'dowu his spine. Eh, what? Some- thing was bcnding anllml‘eathing on the other side, an inch away; wide brown eyes seemed to be staring in- to hisâ€"he could be almost positive of a glazed, scared expression in them. “Who‘s that, pray?’.’ he blurted out. shakily. “Is that you, Annabel?" He waited; and thenâ€"â€" “011', however did you know my iname‘?” came back a slow, amazed llittle voice, soft and clear. “That is funny; I hadn't made a sound. Yes, I'm little Annabel. PleaSc, whoever are yon?” “Little Annabel!” gasping it, he stood back and glared at the letter- -slit. The possibility of a little An- nabel, strangely enough, had never ;occurred to the grim old bachelor in 'this case. "Oh, indeed! Then I'm lâ€"erâ€"-II shall be told I’m your grandâ€" ‘ I ‘ I unc;c. I suppose! ' “You are?- Really! A grand one? Oh, I’d give worlds if I could let you in just to look at you all over. Why, you must be the one I told Fa- ther Christmas to sendâ€"the one mam- ma kept crying about; but you’re very late, you know. I daren’t open an inch; I promised momma I wouldn’t even go near the door,- be- cause of thieves. You might be a. burglar just saying that on purpose, mightn’t you?» Could you stoop a bit lower?” ' He stiffened with indignation and yet had to chuckle; the situation sudâ€" denly appealed to him. He did stoop, to speak with deliberation. “Now does my voice sound like a burglar's?~ Where is your father? Out? I-Iumuph! Mother out too? Ah! Well, I’ve called to see you. Leave the door wide open if I’m such a terâ€" rible figure. That’s it!” Doubtfully, dramatically, the door opened a few inches. He pushed im- patiently with his stick, but his queer sensation tingled again as he found himself staring down into a wee, oval face with starry, brown eyes, and framed in fair hair. The years seemed to roll back, and he was looking down at the little Annaâ€" bel his hand had drawn away from a father’s «loathâ€"bod to his owu quiet mansion. This little duplicate was full of combined fear and wonder. "I’m six next week,” she breathed, in awe, as he closed the door and granted his way along to a kitchen. I-I‘e might burn out to be a burglar yet.’ “Mamma went out after breakâ€" fast. She cried and kissed me, but I Said I’d be brave as anything and mind the house. She had to go. Oh. Yes, momma cries a good deal lately but she doesn’t let him see, because he’s miserable and can’t sleep.” "Humgvh! and why can’t he sleep?” he asked gruffl'ly, as he walked round; “why. I say?” “How do I know? Because lie can’t play his violin, I think. I heard them talking, and his forehead went down on this table with such a bang. and he said it would kill him if he conl-dn’t play for his prize after all. I don't know where it is; I expect the strings have broken again. So wretched when the strings break, isn’t it? I'm su,1‘c, I don’t think there’s anything, to oll'or youâ€"unless â€"unlcss you like to cut the cake that mother put away. I’d tell her you felt 'hungry, and made me have a bit. Dzudv'dy? Oh, he goes out every morn- ing, and comes home late, and alâ€" ways says he’s met someone and had 'his dinner out. Mamma Went be- cause sh'e had this letter. Daddy’s not to know, mind. that cupboart.” Mechanically, certainly not realizing old Bede Grafton took down the letâ€" ter from behind a vase. Next' mo- ment he had sucked in his lips sharp- ly, as if to keep back a word. Only a few lines, but luminous ones. “Dear madmanâ€"I. understand from a friend that you are anxious to obâ€" tain occasional mnploymcnt in fancy- work. If you call here to-morrov/ at ten o’clock I can employ you for :3, few hours. I pay fairly, but do not (“are to be disappointed.” And she had gone; it was to help her Geoll'ery, who must not know. He turned again to little Annabel. Small as she was, it struck. her that he had never put his hand nicely on a little girl’s head before, because he did it with his eyes half shut, as if unwillingly. “Doesn't your father work? Where docs he 9:0 every day? Is he â€" does lie still have these pains?” “Oh, yes!” she wl'ziszpercd, surprised at his ignorance. "And haven't you heard? The doctors said he must stop using his eves as something was growing over tlicm. I’m sure of it, because, you know, he often looks at me and doesn’t see me standing! there. One great, big doctor thought he. could do something if daddy called. at his house, but he said two guincas for a beginning, and daddy couldn’t pay thatâ€"not till he wins llie prize. 011', he does want to! Ami yet he hasn't played a note for over a week â€"i5:n"t it funny? I thinkâ€"«I half be- lieve he goes out to try and find some friends who'll let him have some money. liiut he doesn't find themâ€"I think they must have movâ€" ed!" ~ I “ll‘umplhl That sort of friend has a, knack of n'ielting away.” old llcdo Grafton drin commented. Lips p’lll'SOd, he looked round again. The place was neat, but its appointments would not. bear too much analysis. Then came a question that staggered himself. “What’s he like? Iâ€"â€"I’ve never seen him yet!" "Nex'er seen daddy! Herc!” She led the way into a parlor, clutching his hand Confillently now. "There he is, on the wall, beside mamma. Oh. you’d like my daddy! If you could only stay a little and hear him play his pieces! The people clapped him and shouted. and the newspapers said he would win the prize. Then we'll all be. so happyâ€"and then you, can come to tea and supper, loo Won’t it be nice? But daddy had to pay such a lot of money for debts and doctors!” I-Ie glared into the clever, delicate, sensitive face of Annabel’s hero â€"~ lthis man who was to win the Danes: bury prize. Nearer and nearer he was drawn; it didn’t matter -â€" he should never see the man's features again. Thenâ€"then his eye fell upon :1 little casket at the back of the mantel- sholf. In it lay a slip of (Mn (ard- board, and a word upon it had caught his attention as being coinâ€" tixlcnial. llc stumbled back -- went Ital-ward to peer again; and turned The. cake’s in. r”... ....._......._ a. e amps‘.';;__:.;‘;;.;;‘l-.w.___l_.n.u._c M; a away with something near a. groan, and a hand to his eyes. It _was, of course, the suddenness of the revela- tionâ€"Uhe lightning flash upon the tragedy behind. lle had'starcd at a pledgeâ€"ticket. Geoffery Arnold’s rare old violin lay at this moment in the grip of a Westâ€"end Dawn-broker. The crucial day of the Danesbury prize was next Thursclay. Unless Annaâ€" bel’s husband could raise forty-five pounds and interest by that day, his chance was a (lead one. Now he kneW; now he understood! His own servants would hardly have recognized old (Grafton's face as lie turned once more to little Anna- bel, the duplicate. It was differentâ€" convulsed, yet somehow softened as if 9, mask had fallen away. He stoop- ed and gripped her wrists, jerking forth a husky, penetrating whisper:â€" "Brave, are you? Could you let me in, if I get back in an hour? Will you mind the place till then, and not tell a, soul I’ve been?” She nodded at once; it was becomâ€" ing rather fantastic and dreamlike to 'herâ€"as it was partly to himSell. And then, as.he ‘coughed loudly, his thin old fingers had closed furtivelv upon that ticket, and he had shulllcd out. And little Annabel sat there like a figure of stone, listening, her hands strained together. He had taken something and goneâ€"he was a burg- lar calling himself a grandâ€"uncle. But at lastâ€"at lust came his top and cough. Yes. it. was the same funny 01d gentleman, with some- lâ€"Ie came in, crept into the parlor, left his par- cel there, and tlp~toed out. “Don’t touch it. You can kiss me,” he whispered. “Erâ€"just say that Uncle Grafton came, and might pos- sibly be up this way again, but he doesn’t want any thanks. Remember that? Oh, and this is for little Anâ€" nabel. Buy a patent lock. and keep iOut burglars! Good-bye.” I He was gone, as fearsomer as he ihad come: but she knew he was :real, because a sovereign lay shining in the palm of her hand. And on the table, there, under the cloth-â€" chs, he wouldn’t mind her having Ijust one peep. She looked, and looked,‘ and puzzledâ€"and then sudâ€" ;denly came the quick rattle of a. key 'in the hallâ€"door. She flew out, screaming breathlessly. "Look! Why didn’t you keep away? â€"â€"he. might have come again! My uncle~~such a grand one! A sovereign -â€"â€"an~d something on the table thereâ€"- it looks just like daddy's violin . . . Momma, dear, don't cry! He didn’t â€"J.'ic only took one little thing Off the. mantel-shelf: I watched allihe time; he never touched the cake! Ought I :to have screamed out? . . . Ill-ammo, what’s the matter? Did he steal dadâ€" ithing bulky under his arm. I dy’s violin and bring it back? Can daddy go on playing now? Will heâ€" .will he win the prize?” The mother’s whisper was lost. But the world answered little 'Aunabcl‘s iquestion one week later. And a gruli old “burglar” saw Ethe announcement in the papers. He :hadn‘t looked for itâ€"â€"0Ii, no! it hapâ€" ipcncd to catch his eye. “It's the fiddle, not the man,” he muttered to Ihimself. And that very evening ‘lie alighted gfurtivr'ly at the corner of that Same obscure street. Impossible to tell, but it looked very much as if the isuccess of his first felonious attempt- .harl stimulated him to risk another. lâ€"l.ondon 'l‘itâ€"Illits. may... GREAT WARSIâ€"IIPS. Ab out Three New War Vessels. ‘ Facts British The three armored cruisers of the , current shipbuilding which are to be-laid down at Portsâ€" | mouth, 'llcvonport and 'Peml‘u‘oke will reach the high water mark in cruisâ€" er construction. The new vessels, named lll’inotaur, Shannon, and De- 'I'ence, will practically be battleships. In both power and size they will ex- lccced anything of their class afloat. {The following are the particulars of lthc ships :â€" (lunsâ€"lx‘our 9.2â€"inch; ton. 7.5â€"inch. Shells~380 pounds and 200 pounds liateâ€"-“our shells per minute. . Penetrationâ€"2 1-2 feet of iron. Armor beltâ€"300 feet of six-inch ’steel. Gun protcctionâ€"Eightâ€"inch steel. Speed-â€"--’I‘wcnty-thrcc knots. Horseâ€"power--â€"57 ,000. loilersâ€"Watcrâ€"tube. Displacementâ€"141,600 tons. lostâ€"Aboutâ€"£~800,000. Mr. Philip Watts. the designer, made a study of warship attack when he was in private service at the great firm of Armstrongs, at Yyncside, and his investigation led him to develop a Combination of the speed of the cruiser with the battle- ship’s strength in guns. The broadside discharge will be 100 pounds heavier than in our pre- sent best cruisers. The guns will be longer and more powerful, and their striking power three and a half times as great as that of the latest cruiSers afloat. Plainly described, the new cruisers will be as effective at three miles as other cruisers now are at two miles, and in general power they will be half as strong again as vessels of the County class and twice as pow- erful as those of earlier design. The power of attack with 2.2â€"inch that of the newest French ship, the Edgar Quinet. The 9.2â€"inch guns will be mounted in pairs on barbetâ€" tcs on the forecastle and upper aft decks. The 7.5-inch guns will be in barbettcs on the upper deck, five on each side. programme ‘ which will be' BRITISH RUII‘I IN INDIA MEN ON WHOM EVERYTHING DEPENDS. .â€" The Work of the Constitutes the Govern- ment. England's rule in India does not rest “either upon the sword or up- on‘the eternal moralities,” but ra~ ther upon the practical common sense and hard work of its district officersâ€""the men in the plains,” as Lord Curzon called them, says the Chicago News. The 259 districts into which British India is divided vary greatly in area and their popâ€" ulations range, roughly speaking, be~ Itween 2,000,000 and 750,000. There are infinite varieties of climate, agri- iculture, race, religion and language, but the unit is the same and the district officers discharge similar functions and incur responsibilities, whether they be working in remote Assam or in more acceSSible‘Bombay. The district officer of the plains and the British colleagues live during the summer in the furnaceâ€"like heat which Kipling and others have pic~ tured. Lord Curzon is said to have used no exaggeration in describing the fiercencss of the summer when he said that “the skies are like brass, the earth is like iron and durâ€" ing the greater part of the day every chink and crevice must be closed to keep out the ravening air.” There is not much leisure for the Englishmen, since the work of rul~ ing a. million or so of often helpless people preoccupies them from dawn to darkness. 1n the old- er provinccs the district officer is known by the suggestive name of collector, for he is primarily rcsp0n~ sible for collecting the dues of the Government. _ We is, however, some .thing more than a collector; he is a. gland agent on a grand scale. and is imore concerned in anabling the peo- .ple to live and prosper than he is ~HARD-W0I‘tKING OFFICIALS. ‘ very Iin exacting the the rent or land lrevenue. This, which is England’s oldest. source of revenue in India, is also the most important both to the Government, to which it brings over $95,000,000, and to the people- whose wellâ€"being and happiness de- pend chiefly on moderation in as- sessment and on honesty and huâ€" manity in collection. It is the district ofllcer who must prevent the powerful from throw- ing their burden of taxation on the weak. He must check oppression, unfairness and prejudice on the part of his Indian subordinates in their dealings with the people, and he must detect at once any signs of decadence or symptom of decay in the village and its agriculture. The district officer must be an allu'ound man. lie superintends the excise and assesses the income, license and other taxes, and he is responsible for But the other the finance of his district. collector or land agent has most important duties. lie is the nmgistrate of the district. He re~ lpresents the Government, he main- tains peace and order, he controls the police. and is responsible for the jail. . ~â€"â€"i-â€"â€"â€" MORE THAN IMI’I‘ATORS. Japanese . Are I-‘eople of Great Initiative. Not very long ago the Western world regarded the .l apanesc as mere imitations; it is now generally adâ€" mitted that they are a people of great initiative. But they are also good imitators, as the British Conâ€" ,sul at liobe and Osaka shows in his Ilatcst report. He records that the 'import of cotton yarns again shows {a big decrease, due to the increased {growth of the Japanese industry, {which is gradually but surely, oust- ling Lancashire coarse counts from, ithe market. Among woolen manu- 'factures the outlook for the import- :ed article would not appear to be particularly bright. The consul adds that the manufacture of flannels in Osaka. has greatly improved, and the importation has, therefore, decreased considerably. \Voolen blankets are being made very satisfactorily, like- wise a kind of army cloth which promises to be a severe competitor of the imported article. Supplementing his remarks in last year’s report on the import of indi- go, the consul quotes the following statement, made by merchants hith- erto engaged in the trade: “The Indian article is absolutely driven out of the market, and there can be no doubt that the Java product will follow suit, as it is evi- dent that the strides which the Ger- man chelnisls are making that the Cost of production is beng lessened; So far as we are concerned we have had to give up business. Other British firms are similarly placed, and the whole of the business is in the hands of (-Ierlnans.” The passing of the Government’s Tobacco Manufacturing Monopoly Act will have an important effect on the trade in the fragrant weed, in which British capital is considerably interested. It prohibits the import of all manufactured tobacco except by persons , licensed by the State, I and the manufacture of to- bacco except by the State. The only branch of the tobacco trade still al- lowed to exist is the export of the leaf. ._._.â€".â€"â€"+.__.â€"_ First Physicianâ€"“So the operation was: just in the nick‘ of time?" See- Iond- Physicianâ€"“ch; in another twenty-four hours the patient vvould have recovered without it.” District Ofiicers ,7: v.’ ‘ 191'