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Sela aaa a a Rae, A Broken Vow; -OR +49 FFH4+4 44H CHAPTER IV. Out from the darkness and the hor- ror and the tumult of thal accident Olive Varney emerged to a new life. In far-off Antwerp she had stood beside the dead, and had snatched from Tis hand, as it were, the hateful purpose that was thereafter to be the one ob- ject of her life. Sarcely losing a mo- ment, she had plunged into the pur- suit of this unknown girl; remember- ing her father and his wrongs only, she had been quick to feel that thers was no time to be lost. In fact it had all seemed lo be one long nightinare --the dea'h of ther falher--the fierce letter she had wrilten proclaiming her purpose--the hurried flight to Eng- land. And now, quite suddenly, her jour- ney was stopped. She had come for the second time face to face with Death; and had, by a miracle; stepped aside and let another die in her place. A woman less set upon a desperate er- rand might have hesitated; might have regarded this extraordinary escape as a warning--teaching her not to go on. Olive Varney, however, regarded it merely as an instrument to assist her purpose; saw in it only some better chance to carry out what she had in- tended from the first. There had heen varied reasons in her mind for allowing the poor unknown governess to be taken for herself. In the first place, as has been said, in the shock of the time she had not cared to claim what the dead woman held s0 strongly; and in the second place, the sheer horror of being written off the world's list, as it were, like that had paralyzed her. In that still, silent figure, reverently covered and carried away, she had seen what might have been Olive Varney; almost she came to think that it was Olive Varney. She had get away as rapidly as possible, ir the darkness, from the scene of the accident; she wanted ebove all things io think, and to decide what to do. She got down a bank, and into a field. Al" the world seemed very still, after the uproar through which she had Dy he sat down and looked up Ds ai 2 Sl Shape Gut ius thing that had happened to her, and its consequences. Keeping firm hold «© the thought that she was Olive Var- ney. she began to reason out what would happen if the blunder that had been made by the doctor and the sta- tion-master were allowed to stand. and Olive Varney {o be counted as dead. A sobering thought; but she was strong enough to face it, and to reason it out quietly. Let it be remembered that at that time her life held the one purpose, and the one only. Although her father was dead, she was yet under his dominion; she felt that, even from the grave, he guided her and subdued her will to his © own. as he had done in life. Her pur- pose was to discover in what way thi» accident could assist her. "It was a bitter blunder to send that letter," she thought to herself, as she sat in the darkness under the stars, in that lonely country place. "I show- €( my hand--gave the girl time to pre- pare for my coming, perhaps even lo consult friends. More than that, it may seem to be a mere vulgar threat-- a thing of which I may be called to ac- count before I can do anything. How much belter to have crept into her life in some fashion--wormed my way into her confidence, perhaps--and so have gained a power over her I don't hold now? Yes; I'd give much to recall that letter," The great difficulty, of that she wanted money. carry out what her father beyond that she had no the future. And all the money that was hers was in the bag held by the dead woman; save for a few shillings {11 a worn purse in her pocket, she had nothing. Of course, the simple and di- rest plan would have been fo go lo the authorit'es, explain what had happened, and prove her identity; but she was not engaged on a simple or direct busi- ness. More than that, she was still groping in her mind for some way in which this accident shiould help her; and as vet she had not found it. Then, all in a moment, the latent hcnesty of the woman came to her rescue. and showed her, or seemed to show her, what to do. She had wril- ten to this girl, whose very name was hateful tc her, saying that she would le in London that day, and implying that she would very soon make her presence known; in that threat, at least, he would not fail. Without a moment's hesitation, she returned to the station, feeling pretty certain that after the re- cent confusion no one would remember having seen her there, and careless as to whether she were recognized or not. She would get to Londen if possible; time cnough afterwards to decide in whal way she should set right the mis- {ake that had been made as to the ideniily of the dead woman. The lize had not been cleared, but course, was in order lo had devised; thought for BETTER THAN REVENGE. + RRR RR EERE aan ae Sasa Raa FHEEFFERRE traffic had been diverted to another line, and the train--a slow affair--was expected very shortly. She discovered that the station was not so far from London as she had imagined; she went out on to the platform, and looked about her. A flare or two along the line showed where the men were work- ing with the wreckage, and she shud- dered to think of what they might have found there had she not got out of the train when she did. The train came in due course, and she took her place in it. So much had that thing she had resolved upon become a part of her life, that the ac- cident, the loss of her money, and the blunder which had been made, seemed to fade away as mere episodes; the riearer she came to the great city, the more she burned to confront this girl; the more clearly was she set upon this real business of her life. The great station received her. From it she drifted out into the busy roaring sireets, and was swallowed up in that London towards which her face had been set so long. Bewildered and at and no place to which to go, she steod for a moment looking about her. A man with a sheaf of papers under his arm, and with a flaring contents biil hanging before hin} snalched out a paper and thrust it at her. The bill bere the words: "Accident to a Great Fastern Express: Loss of Life." She groped for a coin and paid for the paper. Standing there under the light of a lamp she looked at the para- graph the man had indicated as he gave her the paper. She read the brief particulars of the train that had bcen cut in two owing to a mistake; she read the name of the one passenger who had been killed. "Otive Varney!" She was dead. She saw for the first time that she had not really understood before. Here it was in prnt; here she was proclaimed to the world as done with--cut out of life in a moment. She l~aned against the wall and tried lo 'lize the effect of that news upon TS. cculd be in BeRRMG ii 0 TTT announcement of her dean woz. that had most cause to fear her, The girl Lucy Ewing, and any friends she might have, would be expecling that this woman who had threatened the | girl might appear at any moment; they would read the announcement, as all the world must, that she was. dead. Never having seen her, might they not, if she ever put in an appearance, re- fuse to believe that she was the real Olive Varney? That was one side of the question; then there was her own. There was ne one she had ever known likely to appear on the scene, or to declare that the dead woman was not Olive Var- ney. Her father had known but few people during the later years of his life, and all of them abroad; that pos- s'bilily might be dismissed at once. The thing narrowed itself down to this: that Olive Varney was expected al a certain place, on a certain matter of venge- ance--and that Olive Varney was sup- posed to be dead, and yet was very much alive, Truly a problem requiring some anxious and careful consideration. Obviously mothing was to be done that night. She turned into the broad world of London. Remembering her sender purse she wandered a long way before finding, in a mean little street, a place dignified by the title of "hotel"; here, in a sort of cubicle. she tried to s.e2p, hearing all about her the sounds made by other sleepers almost within tcuch of her. And all night long through her brain seemed to sing the song that Olive Varney was dead and that someone must take her place. Who was that someone to be? She woke in the morning with that question still unanswered; she carried it with her into the streets. She pos- sessed in her own eyes and in her own thoughts a new dignity, and yet a new terror. For she was dead, and yet alive; she might be passing someone in the slreet--any one of these bright, pretty girls hurrying to work--who might be Lucy Ewing, with every reason to fear her, and yet with a heart at rest be- cause Olive Varney was dead. That thought gave her strength; that thought set her upon the way she had not quite discovered yet. She never swerved for a moment in her purpose--and she began to sce in this supposed death an advantage. Lucy Ewing would believe her dead-- would be lulled into a false security. There would be nothing more to fear; the threat sent in that unfortunate let- ter would be a thing to be jeered af. row that the writer was dead. But if someone else took up the burden; if someone else {ook the place of the dead Olive Varney, and stepped in and work- ed oul the scheme of vengeance in spite of that interposing hand of Death -- what then? "l think I see more clearly the way at last," she thought, as she went on through the streets. "They'll believe a loss, especially with no belongings J Sst, 1808 ...c o.cs PREMIUMS: First year ...... Renewals AnUIlY 7vove vive iene Less Re-assurance INTEREST .... PROFIT AND LOSS .... . tace eee Mortgages ere Debentures and Bonds .... Loans on Policies Cash in Banks Cash at Head Office .... Interest due and accrued Audited and found correct. J. M SCULLY the | New . 5 written ~~ allo vy Surplus (3 over 1906, HEAD OFFICE, - INCOME. NET LEDGER ASSETS, December «oo. $ 230,636.63 .. 1,519,322.77 $1,753 400.40 20,367.52 esses ssees sree sees ASSETS. Premium Obligations .... . Real Estate (Company's Head Office) Due and deferred premiums, (net).. , F.CA., Waterloo, snuary 29th. 1908. CASH ACCOUNT vee 0eee8 9,890,477.70 Death Claims Surplus .... 3,450.00 Annuities .... 1,733,041.88 509,240.02 1,288.25 tes sess $12,134,047.85 BALANCE SHEET : LIABILITIES. veeeeseees $5,756,070.85 | Reserve, 4p.c., 3¥p.c. and 3p.c. tees oe 3,593,905.84% standard .... .... .... .... ..$10,019,563.89 ve eesee. 1410,130.87 | Reserve on lapsed policies on which vas eve 22,534.21 surrender values are claimable. 4,171.22 30,875.79 | Death Claims unadjusted .... ..... . 39,350.00 Tinea . 280,494.29 | Present value of death claims pajy- 1.595.19 able in instalments .... ..... " 38,506.93 319.277.97 | Matured Endowments, unadjusted . ® 1,693.45 coed sens 241,554.91 | Premiums paid in advance .... .... 12,737.18 Due for medical fees and sundry accounts .... rua pea 10,936.75 Credit Ledger Balances .... .... "cs 25,730.£2 Surplus, December 31st, 1907 ...... 1,503,719.63 811,656,400.92 Auditor Matured Endowments Surrendered Policies .. veees oe 10,714.93 EXPENSES, TAXES, ETC .... BALANCE NET LEDGER ASSETS, December 31st, (Surplus on Government Standard of Valuation $1,897,358.28.) GEO. WEGENAST, Thirty-Eighth Annual Report TO JANUARY 1st, 1908, OF THE Mutual Life of Canada WATERLOO, ONT. DISBURSEMENTS. TO POLICYHOLDERS: .. $317,776.50 . 178,785.00 92,138.68 80,805.19 ceeee a $§ 680,220.30 383,981.33 1907 +... oe... 11,060,840.22 $12,134,647.85 caer) $11,656,409.92 Monaging Direcio:. ' ve $300,341) - - oT % 3 ® a Qe) : - lorce {gain over 1906, $4,179,440) - - yy RR Bookletsci ining full report of the Annual Report, held March 5th i908, are being publishea and will be distributed among Policyholders in due course. Be me to be dead; I can ci ep into this girl's life as an utter siranger, hiding the knowledge I have of her in my cwn heart, and doing what I like with her. That poor fechbie cieature who travelled with me will carry to the grave the name Lucy Ewing dreads; I have no name now, and may start again. It is as though I had been blot- ted out, and yet left alive to do my father's bidding. I see it all; the God af vengeance has put into my hands a new weapon against this girl." The first thing to be sure of was that there could be no mistake as to iden- tity. The thing must be planned here. There must be no blunder afterwards. no sudden discovery of her real iden- tity. In other words, she must know that the blind world accepted this dead woman as Olive Varney and hid her away under the earth in that name; af ter that her course was clear. Firm in that intention, she spent some of the little money she had to carry her back, ai tho end of a long and weary day, during which she had fought out the problem, to that little town near which the accident had occurred. Arriving there, she got a bed at a coltage and visited the seene of the accident next day, only fa discover the pright steel rails, fair and straight and smooth again, as though no tragedy had ever happened there. Making en- quiries, she found out where the in- quest on the luckless woman was to re held, and actually had the daring t+ attend it. It was a mere formal business; and a jury who received their strict instruc- tions from the coroner went to view the body. Evidence was given which showed that this lady had been travel ling, apparently alone; that in death she held in her grasp a bag, the con- tents of which clearly established her identity. No papers, and but little money were discovered on the body it- self; but in the bag was a sum of ever {two hundred pounds. No one had come forward to identfy the body, and the unfortunate passenger had appar- ently no friends. Their duly was clear enaugh: they had merely to declare the cause of death, and to say who the dead lady was, according to the evidence be- fcre them. All a very solemn business, with one white-faced woman watching at the tack of the little Court and waitind for the verdict. And a curious feeling stirred in hor breast when she was solemnly pronounced as dead and done with. f She wanted to be so certain of the business that she lingered for another day in the litle town, until a new mound of earth had appeared in the litle quiet churchyard, and the poor unknown governess had been laid to rest, Then, sure of the fact that Olive Varney was done with, unless she should care, in some remcle future, to resurrect herself, she returned to Lon- don. There, of course, a new diflicully presented itself. She had yet to get into the life of Lucy Ewing; and she was an utter stranger to her. In what capacity should she present herself lo this girl she had never seen; in what way could she, an unknown woman, creep into the girl's confidence. Olive Varney had held a cerlain power, if only one of fear; this siranger, who ance had been Olive Varney, held no power at all. She had no thought of that. There was one thing to be done first; she mus! view the future batile-ground. She found her way to Chelsea. and to Greenways' Gardens; she watched the house; and watched particularly those who came and went. She saw the heavy figure of Odley appear at a win- dow or two, and also at the door; and at Tast she saw the bright, neat figure of a young girl come out. There could Fe no mistake as to whom she was; grimly enough. Olive Varney swore lo herself that she would change that bright look, and bow that erect little head in shame, in the time to come-- if only she could find the way. She ate but little; the few remaining ccins must be husbanded, until at least she knew what she was to do. She remembered that she stood--a stranger without a name--in the great world of London, of which she knew nothing; she remembered that she had a purpose to fulfil, and must keep herself alive, at least unlil it was accomplished. But she never ceased to watch the house; she never ceased to Leat her brains to find some opportunity for gelling into it. And, watching the house herself, became aware ab last, in a dull way, that someone else was walching it also. It was some time before she noticed this other person; and then she saw that it was a little thin, faded, frail- looking old woman with a genile face. A frightened old woman, who scurried away at once if anyone came to the door, either going in or not; a sad old woman. who shook her head, and sighed, and scemed perplexed. Bul always she walched No. 3 Greenways' Gardens, with that half-frightened, half wistful expression on her face. At last Olive made up her mind te speak to her. Waiting until it was dark, she suddenly approached her and laid a strong hand on the weak, tremb- ling arm of the old woman. The old creature lurned her gentle face up to- wards the younger woman, and tried to get away. "Don't be frightened." said Olive Var- 'ney, in her calm, slow voice. "Why do you wat h this house?" "Well, you see, my dear," said the old woman, reassured a little, "I want lc go inside." "Why not do so, then? You have only fo knock at the door, surely." "1 can't do that," said the old wo- man, beginning to cry in a helpless way. "I'm afraid to do that--beceuse I, carry bad news. I've come here to find a young fcllow--a mere boyv--who lives' here. Name of Dayne," she went on! garrulously, "and I'm afraid to meet] him. I shall never get up couragei enough to look him in the face, poor! boy." "What is your name?' asked Olive, lcoking steadily into the wavering cyces: beneath her own. "They call me Aunt Phipps," said the little old woman, with a smile. "Come with me." said Olive, quickly, "1 think I can help you; I think I can show you a way. For I want ln get intr that-house myself--and I'm afraid, too." (To be Continued. NOT A FINANCIAL SUCCESS. Mrs. Munro was reading ilems of ine terest from the weckly paper, and mak- ing frequent exclamalions of surprise or pleasure or dismay. "Why, Edward, listen to this!" she cried. "Here's a man who makes a Fus'ness of taking new tables and chaird and trealing them in some way so they lcok as if they were a hundred years old. "And he makes a great deal of mons ey by it." she added. reading on. "Does he indeed?" said Mr. Munro. "Well, I'd trust our Tommy to make a new fable look as if it were a good deal more than a hundred years old, but I hadn't thought of it as a paying bus'ness." nim ge oe este He--"Woman is a delusion." She -- "Yes, man is always hugging some ge lusion or other!"