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I-4-F4-F----4 4 ' g Sacrifice er £.4.u.u.u.8.t.s.8. 8.8. eee, Py Sd ila Sh Sah Sain i i SE I it ne te Ee ee Be eo ho i edd eye be ne re a a 7 x OR z A SECRET oad CHAPTER I. Cumberleigh Fair was in full swing. At one time, in the good or the bad old times, there used to be 4 fair, once a year at least, in every town rgo or sinall; there were several in London, for instance. But merry England has somehow or other grown a very sad and grave and serious England, and if you want to see @ fair you must go far down into the country, into those remote districts where men--an women--have not yet grown ashamed of enjoying themselves in the open air. Cumberleigh Fair was held just outside' the market town on a goo sized common; it lasted three days, and during those three days the good folk of Cumberleigh talked, thought, ate, drunk fair. It was the: one event of the year to which the coun- try people--and the towns-people too--looked forward to an back- ward at. They dated from it. was: "I bought that horse Cumberleigh Fair." "They were married three weeks come Fair- time," and so on; just as the Ita- lian: reckons from some grand festi- val, or the Spaniard counts from fome famous bull-fight. It was the third and the last day, and the fair was at its height. The lanes between the booths were crowded with a dense throng of pleasure-makers, men and women in their Sunday best; some of their children on their shoulders. The row was awful and indescrib- able. From one side came tho yells of the-showmen destanting on the merits of their particular shows, and imploring the people to "Walk up!" From another there camo the dull, heavy roar of a lion in the menag- eric; while from many, too many, drinking booths snatches of tipsy choruses floated out and mingled with the general din. Merry-go- rounds and swings revolved and swung to the melodious strains of steam organs, Every showman had a drum, and seemed to be trying to knock the head in. A couple of brass bands played unceasingly. Children blew innumerable tin trum- pets, and the ingenious gentleman with the three thimbles and a _ pea shouted hoarse exhortations to the ' crowd to come and win their for- tunes. There was every kind of show. The fat woman was here, in com- pany With the giant and the dwarf and the living skelton. The spotted nobleman was a great attraction, and the wild man of the woods roar- ed and yelled invitingly through tho bars of his cage A little apart from the rest were half a dozen gypsy cafavans. No fair would be complete' without gypsies, and they were at Cumber- leigh in full force. Every now and then a dark-skinned, black-haired lass, with the usual crimson shawl, draped hood fashion over her lus- trous head would glide in and about the crowd with that easy and grace- ful gait which these strange people have inherited from the days "when Pharaoh was king over Egypt," and whisper, "Let me tell your fortune, kind gentleman. Cross the Gy psy's hand with silver, pretty lady!" Nut-brown children sat on tho steps. of the caravans, or played about the horses' heels with impun- ity, and in the centre of the colony, so to speak, was gathered, around a kettle suspended over a fire, a group of gypsies were eating their afternoon meal as placidly as if they had pitcned their tent on some syl- van island, Just outside this ring around the fire a young girl leaned against the side of the caravan. She was sup- posed to be partaking of the meal with the rest of the company; but she was not eating, and the dark eyes, half veiled by the long black lashes, had a dreamy and far-away expression. In dress there was little to dis- tinguish her from the other women of her tribe, with the exception that the frock of brown wolsey was clean and without rent, or, indeed, darn, and that she wore no gold rings in her ears' or on her fingers, as did the rest. But the dress was well-made and well-fitting, and she seemed to wear it and the shawl with that in- describable air of ease and = grace which is born with some women, and can never--no never--be acquired. She was about the middle height, but slim and well-built; there was youth and strength and health every limb, in the very poise of the shapely head on the slender neck, upright as a column. Her hair was dark; I had almost written black, but remembered that the scientific men have declared that there is no black hair. Her eyes were © large, fustrous, and, unlike a gypsy's, soft with the oe of ong the gypsies, but this y guid loveliness Was of a striking and exquisite or- 'That she wore a Lavi ag dress and wore it with excoptiona peel iat be ascribed to the fact that she was REVEALED fee ieee ee tree the queen of her tribe, and perhaps she owed to the same fact the air of reposeful dignity which sat 580 well upon her at this moment, when, as if unconscious of the surrounding turmoil, she stood lost in thought and her own day-dreams; for even a who lives in a caravan by telling fortunes may have day- dr Presently a man came around the caravan. He was a gypsy like the rest, but was dressed in a shabby suit, which might have been the cast off of a shop-man or clerk. He was a man of about fifty, with the air and expression which dissipation and excess stamps upon gentle and simple alike, and his countenance by a pair of crafty eyes, and which wore a smirk and a sneer by turns, He stopped short as he saw the girl seemed about to speak, then turned ,! and entered the ring around the fire. He walked with a peculiar gait, which was intended to conceal a slight limp, for he had once been strong and handsome, and was still vain "Hullo, Uncle Jake!" said one of the men, looking up with the faint laugh which greets a ne'er-do-well who is half teary half scorned. "How goes it Uncle Jake es his mouth into a contemptuous smirk and shook is ' "Tea? Not while there's anything else going, eh, Jake?" said another, and he held up a stone bottle. The man took it, drank from it without a word, and stood silently looking at the fire; then he glanced sideways at the motionless figure of the girl, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder inquiringly. The man he addressed by the gesture looked in her direction. "Oh Madge," he said with laugh. "She's mooning as aaa - "She's always mooning," aid Jake, half fiercely, half sullenly. 'Why don't she work like the rest of us?"' om was a general laugh at the The day on which Uncle Jako had worked had not yet dawn- a 2 = "Let her alone," said a woman, looking up from the kettle of stew she was inspecting. "Best not in- terfero with her, Uncle Jake. She's been like that most of the day."' Jake emitted a snarl under his breath. "I'm not afraid of her," he said, } with a kind of deflance, and setting his wide-awake a little on one side, thereby giving himself a rakish air, at once cruel and repulsive, he left the ring and appraoched the girl. She did not sce him or hear him, or at any rate did not appear to do so, for a gypsy's ears are sharp as the panther's, until he was close upon her, then she started, but not with fear, and turned her large eyes upon him questioningly. The man's crafty eyes wavered and fell before hers "Well, Madge," he said in a tone that was meant for, but fell short of, a bullying one. "Mooning and star-gazing again, = "There are no stars or moon, cle Jake," she said quietly. "Oh," he said. "You're sharp on a word, you are! It's a pity you don't make use of yeur sharpness. There's mouths to be fed, my girl, and money to be got, and you don't do your share, leaning up agen that van like a wax figger." She drew herself to her full height and looked at him with a ind of smoldering fire in her eyes, then they softencd, and she nodded, as if ac- cepting the reproof "T was resting," "but I'll go now.' She drew the shawl face as she spoke, and moved _ to- ward the crowd, and Uncle Jake looking after her until the slim fig- ure had disappeared in the throng, went back'to the fire, and let him- self down on the ground, 'I've started her," he said with a grin. "You don't know how to manage her, any of you, You spoil her among you. Why shouldn't she work like the rest? Ugh! I hate idleness and loafing. Where's that bottle gone?"' The girl made her way through the pushing, seething mass, repeatin the formal--"Let the gypsy tell your fortune, let the gypsy tell your for- tune Cross the gypsy's hand with silver," but she uttered it mechani- Un- she said simply, around her cally, and without any desire to gain clients, and the people paid no heed. About this time a young man entered the fair. He had been walk- ing with the steady, swinging pace of which puts the milestones behind one, across the common on the cart track which led from the high road to the park and mansion of Monk Towers, and hearing the noise and blare of the fair Mog the slight hol- low to the left of him. he had stop- ped and looked, and listened, mS tated a moment, turned off deed, as ages more very good to him in the matter of good form and features. Beauty has been called the fatal gift, and yet it is the gift which most women de- ters, and the one gift in man which, when it is combined with strength, they admire and worship. This young man had the kind of face which Blair Leighton is so fond, and justly fond, of painting. Every feature truly but delicately cut, dark eyes full of fire and life and the love of life, with brows dark and arched; and hair that, closely cut as it was, broke into short ripples and waves. He was five feet eleven, brond-shoul- dered and straight-limbed, and mov- |; ed only as a practiced athlicte can, -move. He was dressed in a suit of tweed, which seemed to have grown on him, and which bore evidence of a long and dusty walk, (To be Continued.) : A Dying + Promise : CHAPTER XLVI. The sunset splendors glowed be- hind her, she appeared to be descenu- ing toward him out of the very heart of the western glory as she had come to him first from the heart of the war-storm; she came with firm, light steps over a path of incandes- cent gold, with the accustomed proud poise of the head, ber face shadowed by the contrst with glow behind and around her, dark eyes full of light; his face turned to the glory whence she cam it seemed made of light, doubly transfigured by the sctting sun, and the vivid joy that flashed through him at the sweet appari- tion. na moment he had met her, taken her hands and was stand- ing speechiess face to face with her. Both hearts beat quickly, but there was no surprise in Ada's faco "You did not expect to meet me?" she asked, a a little pause. "No ever expected to meet you; but kote things are bad, when the storm is at the worst, you al- Ways appear, an angel of comfort.' "A loyal friend, I hope," she re- plied, gently; "the were dancing, and the news of your mother's fatal illness came----"' were my comfort, even then. "I wish I could comfort you now. We arrived two days before. I am with an aunt whose lungs are weak, You know--perhaps you didn't know? We came home in the autumn. Father has retired. Yes, we actually saw her--how lovely she was! strol- ling in the garden. Oh! it must have been such a shock, though, of course, you knew there was hope.' wAnd now you are here, it is like a sudden glimpse of hoaven in the darkness. This will bea memory for life,"' he replied, at last leaving hold of her hands, and turning walk slowly on her way with so that the sunset was all them, and the mountain spur curv- ing out round the broad bay wore a@ garment of glory, its bare, time- worn summit was transmuted to burning gold against the lucid sky. "But is it really your living self?" he added. "To come so suddenly, and at the very critical moment." "'And now tell me all you wish to tell About this sorrowful business, dear, Philip. What of poor Captain Medway? and what are you meaning to do?"' "We go to England to-morrow. How well timed this meeting is! Yet, I ought not to see you, I sup- pose; though I know that you must ave forgotten by this time any-- kinder--any feclings----"' '"'Women, of course, have no con- stancy, no depth; they can turn on the feclings expected of them at any moment," she answered, with a kind of plaintive disdain. "No doubt it is very improper, but I have not forgotten, I never shall." "Ah! but you must, you will," he cried; "you must help me to do my duty as once before "Did I help you?"' " she asked, in a very soft, low voice. "I think you did not need much helping. ed "You made it easier," he returned. "Tt was har She made no rejoinder, her lips were quivering. The soft deep lustre of her eyes was bent upon his avert- ed head; she kept back her tears with an effort. The sun was lower now, its changipg glory clothed both figures with a rosy radiance; in the silence the low caressing murmur of the quiet-sea was beard from the beach below. They had reached a clump of olive- trees, the gnarled gray roots of which made a favorite way-side seat, and the massive trunks of | which, slightly shadowed by dark looked like rudely hewn stone lars. Here Philip proposed they should sit a while. "For we cannot~ part like this," he added. 'No life must ever be mingled with miffe. All my I must be lone- ly, "'Why?" Ada asked. 'Philip, you are morbid. Yau have suffered; your et for honor is keen; you ft mad all; surely oP dee, St DCVGr bw & mais cae 6 bike alvuk: sire for themselves and their daugh- |V tage of your generosity and unsel- n " fish "No, generosity, ores unsel- fishness,'" she interposed, soft- ly, her eyes were blinded by swift- coming tears. "Dearest," he added, '"'you are y , you don't know what happiness may be in store for you.' 'Then he laid his case before her and satisfactorily proved his unsuitabil- ity from every point of view, es- pecially her father's. 'It will be far easier to forget that you think," he said, in conclusion. "Of course,"" she returned, with "| marry me unless you like. I first time we |® (children 'and a ine Ihis wife, needn't shall though you do per- the old princess air; "you not force you into it, seem to want a good deal of suasion. I shan't even break my 'heart, don't expect that. But IL 'shall be an old maid,"' she sighed, |¢ louking demurely ji) his face with a quaint sparkle in her bright dark eyes, "and that is far worse than a broken heart, I am told. What com- fort is it to be wretched, if one; can't talk about it and be cried over?' "'Ada!"' he exclaimed, ary am a most improper person, no } doubt,' she replied, gravely. 'I shock you, Captain Randal; I think ; I had better wish you pood-even- ing," she added, rsing and making | him a little bow meaOre moving se- | dately away. "Good gracious! Ada! What are you thinking of?" he cried, over- taking her in a state of utter be- wilderment. 'Thinking of going home,"' she re- plied, tranquilly. "And 1 going to England to-mor- row? For Heaven's sake do stop a moment!' | "Well, but what is the use? You} won't have me, and there's an end of it. I am not going to ask you any more, Mahacaj Salaam!"' | Then of course she was detained, and all kinds of vehement protesta- | tions, adjurations, and assurances ot | undying devotion poured into ap-'! parently indifferont cars. She was induced to resume her seat on the olive-roots, her bright face glowing like a splendid flower against the} rugged, stony-looking trunks, her | | dark eyes half-veiled. "Yes," she! was thinking to herself, "it is about time you began. I do think I have aright as a woman, toa little courtship."' As for Philip he knew nothing but that Princess Ada was permitting her hands to be kissed. "This is all very well," she said at ast. "Now perhaps I may be al- lowed to return to my poor -- sick ~ "'Ada, how can you jest? Do you believe in me?' of believe that you are a foolish boy, and don't know what is good for you. From what you say, you can't exist without me," she return- ed. "'And yet you won't----" here she burst into a happy little laugh and did not finish her sentence. ou know,"' she added with a sudden change of manner, "I look on you as a son. I think I adopted you on that first night at the ball. Poor boy," T thought, "he has no mother perhaps by this time. Oh! I was so sorry for you! You are my father, and my mother, and my gon, as the dear H ndoos say." (To be Continued.) aancncney Gone DID YOU WIND THE CLOCKP The Question Need Not Now be Asked Often. The New York Herald has the fol- lowing cable despatch:--The Hon. Richard Strutt, son of Lord Ray- leigh, has made a radiuin clock which will go for two thousand years with- out winding up. In this clock a small piece of gold Icaf is electrified by means uf a very small quantity of radium salt. It bends away from the metal substance and keeps on moving under this influence until it touches the side of the vessel. t the mo- ment of contact it loses its electrical charge, upon which it springs back and is electrified again. The repe- tition of this process over and over again is the whole secret, and Sir William Ramsay considers it might be expected to go on, barring acci- dents, for a couple of thousand years. Asked if such an instrument could bow spado a reliable timekeeper by w 28 a business man could keep his annointiaents, Sir William answered: --"Yes, so far as the principle is con- cerned. You have the energy, and unless the thing stuck at some time or other it would go on and on, and could be regulated to move the hands on be _ clock face to a mechanical nice sin William did not think such 'a clock woulll be a very expensive lux- ury. It ought to be possible to make one for about £200 ($1.000), he thought. A man applied, for an cngagement at a theatre. "IT inclose you a newspaper cutting," he wrote, "to show you that I Have aptitude for the stage."' The cuttir + was as fol- lows: 'The prisoner, who denied the assault, conducted his own case, and defended himself in a Manner some what dramatic."' Papa--'Now Jack, if you will be a good boy until next Saturday I'll give you a nice story book,"" Jac --'And how long must I be a good boy to get a ead papa?"' "ETS Ms A woman tells ;found that ~ © 2 i. er fea THE GASOLINE ENGINE. About 11 years ago I bought a run" down farm, and in order to it to a higher state of cultivation de- termined to keep as many COWS @s possible and supply butter to priv- ate families living in the neighbor- ing city, writes C. W. Weston. The cows purchased, the next step was to build an icehouse and get a cab- inet creamer. 'his outfit worked fairly well but the ice crop was Un- certain, and the distance to draw it long. At this time there were no ream separators in this immediate vicinsty, but 1 bought one. y power at this time was plied by hand and for awhile "the separator appeared to run quite eas- ily, but after the novelty wore off it began to run very hard. I bought a 1§ horse power gasoline engine. It was an experimental machine but ap- 'peared to work nicely. I blocked |the engine up underneath the floor in 'the milk room, put up a line of shafting and was soon separating }and churning with none of that tired feeling which I had so lately been ex- periencing. One morning on attempting to start the machine it absolutely re- fused to go, I made a hurried trip to the city and a good natured in- ventor accompanied me to my home and upon taking off the cylingor cap the olatinum exploding points had simply gummed over, thereby preventing their sparking. Again all was smooth sailing and ;with an eccasional cleaning up of ' points my engine for awhile worked very nicely. But upon one of these occasional cleanings, after it had re- 'fused to work, I found the héat had drawn out the platinum points so that instead of a spark being made as the electricity jumped across tho short interval between them, they touched one another The current passed without sparking and ne ex- plosion took place. A knife blade 'passed between tho points separat them and thus remedied the difficulty and I was again doing business. It is evident that had I been pro- perly supplicd with instructions at the beginning I should have been spared a great deal of trouble. My engine is now working as well as it ever did at any time during its best behavior, although it has been in constant use for five years. I run both the cream separator and a 50- gallon churn at the same time. I ave simply to give the balance wheel a whirl when it starts off like a thing of life. Vhe expense of oper- ating is as nothing when compared to a steam engine. In the same manner belts may be run out through the window and other machinery run. "In fact there is almost no end to the variety of work which @his handy little machine will accomplish. As I have already shown, my engine was an} imen- tal one, and I a green opera 4 out 'proper instructions. Until ex- perience and a little study had given me a knowledge of its principles and workings, it was not a success. Since then two of my neighbors have each purchased an engine though larger in size and vastly improved and both are giving satisfaction. LIVE STOCK IN WINTER, On account of scant means Many farmers who have the desire to do well are deterred from furnishing the necessary shelter for stock in win- ter. Again, many others are renting and of course cannot afford to erect costly and permanent These and other causes operate keep many thousands of stock in the weather, suffering and losing flesh to themselves and money to their owners. In some cases it may be well. nigh the evil, but no doubt in many it might be improved by plenty of fore- thought and just a little work, Even if your threshing is already done and you have no other shelter, it will pay to erect a stout framing on the order of a lean-to with © the open side to the south and cover it well with straw. If threshing is not yet over, it will bo no oxtra work to stack it that way as the straw comes from the machine. Stock fodder, hay or other mater- ial may also be used to advantage in this way, and although it may seem a waste of feed, it will be found to pay in the long run, in the saving of feed which it will to keep up the animal heat increased exposure standing out all kinds of weather. If the farm needs the manure (and what farm doesn't) there will also be a very large saving on that score, There will not only be larger quantity saved, but the quality will at least be doubled and probably, in more than ordinary wet seasdns, even quadrupled by avoiding the leaching rains which ordinarily carry away nearly all the elements which are immediately beneficial to rows ing crops, 3 ' QUALITY OF MILK. ' The majority of inyestigations concerning the improvement of the quality of milk seems to indicate that a dairyman must look to the improvement of breed rather than to the selection of feed. Within tha breed he must select animals which show a high Lge as oth 4 fat in hoe milk, aswell as thas will iproduce a large quantity. impossible to remedy. 2