The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

 I" JA'i" ja!ii-.^i" m^ 1'S'mit^-^ ;-^ *i*H"""' f • " -_ *v'""^K^I Ufii m M X '** • If- --'â- e [Now FnU* PVBLIBBSD.1 [AU. BI3BXB RiSXBTKD.] LIKE AND UN LIKE. By M. B. BRADDON. r AuTHOB or " Lady Auduct'bISxcbxt, Wyllaxd's Wmsd, Era.Eta, CHAPTER. XXXVniâ€" (CoKtiinJiD) ColoDel Deverill did not go back to Devon- thin next day aa he had promiaed. He waa absent from Myrtle Cottage for nearly a week, and when he retomed he waa accom- panied I^ a gentleman whom he introduced to lira. Baddeley aa bia old firiend Melnotte, the famous African traveller. Leonora waa not learned upon the subject of Africa or the Royal Geographical Society. She bad beard such names as Cameron and Stanley, which she associated vasnely with sand, camels, black men, and yellow fever. She had no love for the Dark Continent. It gave her neither silk gowns nor high art furniture and she was proud to remember that her diamonds were genuine Brazilians. She yawned when her father expatiated upon the interesting experiences of his guest, and put bim forward as a man whom it was an honour to know. " He seems an inoffensive little person," said heo, " and Tory evidently likes him. But I cannot imagine him gettinsr the better of a liion, or discovering the source of a river. And then he is so dreadfully lame 1 How did be ever get about Africa with that lame leg?' " He was not always lame. His gun burst one day when he was shooting antelopes, and wounded him in the hip." " Well, he is rather nice little soul, and I hope he will put yon in better spirits," an- swered Leo bghtly. Her father told her nothing about bis in- terview with St. Austell. He was unusual- ly grave and silent after bis return from London, but on the arrival of an invitation to dinner from Lady Belfield, he hastened to accept it. " My friend, Melnotte, the African tra- veller, is staying with me," be wrote, " and I should much like to be allowed to include him in our party." The messenger who carried Colonel Dever- ill's note brought back Lady Belfield's reply. " I shall be charmed to make Melnotte's acqnuntance, chough I confess to a lament- able ignorance about Africa. I am prepar- ed to be interested, but not intelligent." Leonora Baddeley bad described Mr. Mel- notte inaccurately when she spokeof him as an offensive little person. He was small, with a small round bead, close cropped hair, and rather insignificant features. Bat bis eyes were remarkable â€" luminous, keen, quick, and yet steadfast. Those rather prominent blue-gray eyes bad a kindly look something more important to talk about. I have seen St. AnstelL" Valentine'a browdarkraed, and his oekmr slowly faded, till even his lips were ashy white. " Whenâ€" where " was all he aiked. The Colonel described the meeting at the BadmiLtui. " There has been a mistake," he said in conclusion. ** I no longer ask you to divorce your wife â€" ^for in all probability she is inno- cent of any sin against you, except the error of snfiiaring her affection to be won by an- other man. I ask you now to find her. It is your duty to do that, and without an hour's loss of time." " That is all mighty fine," exclaimed Va- lentine savagely. " My wUe chooses to run away and hide herself after penning a delibe- rate avowal of her love for another man â€" and you tell me it is my duty to fiad her. I tell you that from the hour she wrote that letter, she was dead to me. It was our final irre- vocable parting. Living or dead she was my wife no longer. You are her father she has not outraged you â€" she has not cast you off with scornful words, as she did me. It was for you to look after her." " You may be sure, Mr. Belfield, that I shall not fail to do a father's duty," an- swered the Colonel, throwing down the end of bis cigar, and grindiug it under his heels somewhat savagely, to the detriment of the polished parquet. Hecouldnotbutf aelthatValeutinehadsome justification for repudiating all obligation towards a wife who had written such a letter as that in which Helen had declared her intended flight. That her courage had failed, or that her conscience had been awakened at the last moment, would hardly make atonement to an angry, insulted husband. CHAPTER XXXTX.â€" A Decided Case op Dbt Rot. too, keen as they were. Mr. Mtluotte was not handsome; bat he was a pleasant-look- ing little man, and seemed thoroughly at his ease in a dress coat, in spite of Africa. " I almost expected to see you with a circle of ostrich feathers standing straight up from your head," said Leonora, laughing, as she stood ready for her fur cloak, gorgeous in black and gold, one of those gowns which defy description and leave only a vague impreesion of Brussels lace, brocaded velvet, and bullion. " I left my feathers in Bishuto Land," answered Melnotte, " but I sometimes regret a continent upon which I was not obliged to dress for dinner." He seemed to enjoy himself at the Ab- bey, whatever his prejudice against civilisa- tion. He was graciously received by Lady Belfield, and Sir Adrian talked to him for a great part of the evening, and questioned him closely about his African experiences. " I have read most of the books upon Africa," said Adrian, " but I blush to say I have not read yours." " 1 have not written any book. I have been content to jog along in a very quiet way. I am pretty well known in a certain part of Africa, but I doubt if anybody has ever heard of me or my adventures, I am not a Fellow of the Geographical." Sir Adrian knew this beforehand, as he had looked up the list of Fellows, and had been surprised at not discovering Mr. Mel- notte's name. The traveller's conversation was not the less agreeable because his fame had been samewhat exaggerated by Colonel DeverilL He told a good many interesting anecdotes, some of which were rather faniliar to Sir Adrian's ear but then there must needs be a reumblance between all adventures in a primitive world, where the changes had to be rung upon blacks, buffaloes, lions, alli- gators, and fever. Mr. Rockstone, Mr. and M». Freemantle and their daughter Lucy, wei« of the party, and every one at the table, except Valen- tine, seemed interested in the lion and buf- falo stories, the serious aspect of desert life bsing relieved by recollections of a comic American, who had been Mr. Melnotte's fel- low traveller at one period. Mr. Belfield heard these anecdotes with a gloomy brow, and did not trouble himsdf to be particular- ly civil to the narrator. It was the first time Valentine had seen is father in-law since the Colonel's journey to London, and when they were in the bil- liard-room after dinner. Color el Deverill took occasion to mention St. Austell's return. Mr. Freemantle and Mr. Melnotte were S' kyins billiards, while Valentine and the lonel sat on a raised settee at the end of the room, in a pannelled recess decorated with breech-loaders of the latest fashion, and rapiers that bad been carried by bucks and bloods in the days of Addison and Chesterfield. Mr. Melnotte played a heat game, but he waa a very slow playerâ€" aggravatingly slow, Mr. Freemantle thongbt, whoihe had to wait through a longiah break, his oppcment deliberating before every shot, and looUng down bis cue meditatively before he took his aim. " A man who can play as well aa he does needn't be so confoundly slow," thought Mr Freemantle. ColMiel Deverill smoked half his oigur in sHenoe, while Valentine sat by his side, ap- parently engrossed by watching the game. "Have you known your Afiricaa friend long ' he asked, preantly. "AlongidHanw." " He waa never at Moroomb, wm he " "No, he waa in Baahnto Land whui Ihad Morooinb." "Ah, to be rare. He is net vecy yellow, co n dde ri M he haa been » long nacwraaAf' " Oh, ho hM bMB bade over a kBoddi« about la babad;" QOaari. "Birt ^^hJ' .^'?/^7. After that brief convertation with Colonel Deverill in the billiard-room, Valentine Bal- field withdrew himself still more from the society of his fellowmen. Even his appear- ance in the hunting field became spasmodic. He was rarely seen at the meet, but would contrive to fall in with the hounds about the middle of the day, and would ride till the finish like' a modem Zamiel, or any other demoniac character, with a reskless disre- gard of his own bones which was only a litt'.e less offensive than his carelessness about other people. " I believe Belfield must offer a premium for kicking horses, or he would never get such brutes as he rides," said Mr. Free- mantle, who rode a sober well-mannered weight carrier, in a sober and gentleman- like way, and who contrived to keep pretty near the hounds without exerting himself much. There was a general feeling that Mr. Bel- field had gone altogether to the bad since his wife's disappearance. People pitied him, but wantea to see as little of him as possible. He had never been a favorite m the neighborhood, and of late. Lis sullen manner had been calculated to alienate even friendship. And now it had become known that St. Auatell was in London, and people â€" especially the feminine poitlon of the com- munity â€" began to be exercised in mind as to what could have become of Mrs. Belfield. Had she eloped with St. AuEt;ll, and had they quarrelled and parted after brief union Or had she never gone off with him That was tbe question debated with hushed breath over many an afternoon tea table. " Has she any old aunt in Ireland with whom she would be likely to be living " asked one of the Miss Traduceys. " Most girls have an old aunt that they can go toon an emergency." " I don't believe Mrs. Belfield has anything so respectable as an old aunt belonging to her," replied D jrotbyToffstaff, who was sour- ed ty three unsuccessful seasons in London, during which all the attentions she had re- ceived had been too obviocsly inspired by her father's wealth rather than by her own charms. ' My idea is that she went off wit^h St. Austell, as everybody thocght at the time of her disappearance, and that ;he has grown sick of an empty-headed beauty, and has lefc her in India. She would be sure to get picked up by somebody," added Miss Toffstaff, with the air of consigning Mrs. Belfield to the Oriental gutter. Thus lightly did society at Cnadford dis- cuss the problem of a fallen sister's fate but it waa not so lightly that Lady Belfield con- sidered the mystery tf her daughter-in-law's disappearance. In a conversation with Col- onel Daverill, she drew from him much that had passed between him and St. Austell, and the idea that Helen had changed her mind at the last, alter writing that terrible Ut'er, filled her with a new hope. What more likely than that the erring girl had turned to some conventual sanotnary as the possible shelter from temptation as Louise de la Valliere in the dawn of love fled from her royal lover to the convent. There only could the fiad a safeguard against her own passionate heart, and aid for her own weak will. Snob a course would account f or.tbe unclaimed trunks in the bed chamber. For the bandnudd of heaven, vowed to holy poverty, fine clothes and femioiae luxuries were a dead letter. Impressed with this idea. Lady Belfield resolved to travel quietly through the West of England, visiting all those inatitntiona, Anglican or Romanist, to which Helen might possibly have attached hersblf She had taken Mr. Rockstone into her oonfi- deuce, and with his aid she -had obtained all the information necessary to guide her search. She told Adrian notiiii^ of her purpose until her plan waa made and she was (m the point of setting oat with heir dd servant for her companion. The jonnMy wcmld not be a long one. Iho fortheit point waa to bo dia Convent in Laaiheni Valley, on the north coaat of Oorawall. To her dimMKbitamaU Adriaa itrrarir opposed her aAano. " Dear BMtfier, ao goodwoaUnraltfamn aU that fatigoe aikLWuEiety on ywnr p«ti" **MollHt,Zk«^ wmmrn «akaMi^ To. â- H.mvtadkaaBoaank Ym • C"^|lif «P« aMb" felia " Yon kaum Am* Nt cfarra fate, and 7«t hide the tmth from no." " Tboio •«* Morata thai nnrt ba keptâ€" that are saored. Mother, yon know how fondly I love yon. |b my own 4ife there baa never been a aeorot; bat in thia oaaeloan not tell yon all! know withoat betraying another person. Yoa woold have ma goilty of dishonor t" .. « " No, no; yea know I woald not. But let me andecptand â€" ffive ms some kind of hope and comfort Yon know where she is, then yon ba-w^aown all aloi^ f Adrian bent his head in assent. •• And yet yon let me pnale and torture myself about her 7" " I WM tongue tied." " I see. She cinfided in yoa. It waa to her you bound yoarself to silence ' " I can answer no questions. " ' But you can tell me that she is safe â€" hippy " ... •'She is safe. She did not elope y'^° Lord St. Austell. Her last sin against her hasband was the writing of that fatal letter," " Thank God But why may I not know her retreit Why may I not see her again? You know that I loved her as a daughter. Even if she can never be reunited to her husband, she may at least be restored in some measure to me. And there is her poor father, too. Why should he be tortured by uncertainty or idlowed to think that his daughter is leading a wicked life? It is your duty to reveal the truth, Adrian." " It is my duty to keep my oath. Mother, if you say one word more, I shall regret having trusted you. I beseech you to keep faith with me. Not one syllable to anyone, least of all to Valentine." " Poor Valentine. Can you see bim so miserable and yet not tell him " " Nothing I could tell would help him. Mother, the best thing you can do for your own peace of mind â€" and for us all â€" is to for- get the past as far as it can be forgotten. There is nothing that can be done nothing. I think you know that I am not without conscience â€" that I have a9me sense of duty. It there were anything that could be done, I would do it but there is nothing. As I hope for the Me eternal, Ithere is no act of yours or mine that can be of any servioe to her whose loss we both deplore." His words and looks were so deeply earn- est, that his mother oonld not dubelieve. Adrian had tieen her strong rock in the last few years her friend and companion, the one being whose presence always brought brightnesa and comfort, upon whose sonna sense and nnselfidh affection she could rely. She was mystified but she was submissive and the journey to Lanheme waa given up. She told Mr. Rockstone only that abe had* changed her mind. ' I think you have done right in aban- doning your idea," he said. " Be sure that if Mrs. Belfield is in any retreat of that kind, she will communicate with you before \oagr Her heart will yearn tor yon as time goes by, and the longinr to see yon or to hear from you will be too strong to be re- pressed by any ascetic rule, however se- vere." After that conversation with his mother, Adrian had an uneasy feeling that he had said too much, that he had gone too near the betrayal of his brother's dreadful secret. Yet to have allowed his mother to follow a phantom, to wear out her heart in false hopes and disappointing researches, was more than his duty as a son would allow. His first thought had been of his mother it was for her sake he had kept Valentine's secret and it was for her sake that he had lifted a comer of the veil. It was for her sake that he had tried t3 seem happy and at ease when his heart was gnawed by care, and his life darkened by the ahadow of fear. " Let us forget," he had said to her and oftan, in the long alow days, he had said to himself, " Oh. God, if I could but forget," His daily w*lk was by the river. He seemed drawn there by an irresistible at- traction. Scarcely a day passed on which he did not stand beside that silent pool be- neath which Iry the murdered wife. He went there of teuest in the twilisht, when all things had a vague and ghostly aspect, or when the eye created its own spectres out of the commonest forms. He wondered some times that her spirit had never ap- peared to him, when his thoughts were so full of her. He gazad with melancholy eyes among the shadows of the willow trunks, half expecting ta see a spectral form waving tremulously above the bank, like a ghostly Undine, But there was nothing. The dead made no sign. One evening he saw a red spark shining brightly amidst the gray. It osme nearer as he advanced along the path, and present- ly he found himself face to face with Mr. Melnotte, who was strolling quietly along, smoking a big ci?ar. "Good evening. Sir Adrian. A mild night, and a pictorcsque spot." " Very. But I should think it must seem uncommonly tame to yoa after the Zambesi Falls." " Oh, but I am cthoHo in my tastes. I can admire an Eugliah landscape aa heartily as if I had never seen Africa. A favoritj walk of yours. Sir Adrian?" " Yes it is one of my favorite walks." " I thought so. I have seen yon here nearly every evening for the last ten days. I generally take my afternoon stroll in this direction, bat on the opposite bank. Lady Belfield was so good as to aay I might make free wiOt the park and meadows." "NaturaUy. Any friend of Colonel Devwill'a would be welcome. Is this yoor first experienoe of Devonshire T" "Of this side of the county, yea. I know the south ooast pretty] well A deUghtf al cooi^." " Yoa are not i Devonshire tir^%n " " I have not that privilege." There was a sileaoe. Mr. Melnotte fdid not volunteer anv inf onaatioa as to his urth or parentage. He was a cnrioos little maa in this wia ^aad ezo^t for his Afcioaa ex- perienoea, s eemed to be « nuut %ritiuMit a history. Sir Adrian wondered how hia friendship with Coloiiel Deverill coold have come about. The two men seeaied to liave ao little ia oonmoa. From a good aatond imipilae, rather tbaa for any pwtioatar reaaoa, he asked Mr. Mebwtteto ^aasr. aa iavitatfcn wUeb waa wentotfy Moeptsd! haamMmvpmiSk^ •Mriaa," 1m mid "A aUstbrr; J^odmAttbi •*\m. Ithaaagood traditloaa." A^ilBiyflCa lata •Ilwva «W«BlliiaMlia«li ootthoee embeniahmeati," said Mehp tte, oheerfuUy, 'and the park aad gjudtnt are pacfeet. This is a tributary of the Chad, I sappoee, tide rivfr ia your gronhda." " Yea it onitaa with the Chad lower down." " A swift, deepiah river, eh T" " Swift and deep." "It makes a very pretty feature ia your grounds. Nothing like water for giving beauty and variety to a landscape. To morrow evening, at eight, I think yon said. Sir Adrian? Good night." Mr. Melnotce orosMd a rnstio bridge and disappeared in the twilight on the further bank, whHe Adrian atrolled slowly along the cypreas walk- He was met by Lucy Freemantle, who unconsciously suggested a reminiaoenoe of Shakespeare's Beatrice. " J have been sent to ask yon to tea," she said, blushing a Uttle, her complexion of lilies and roses looking brighter than ever in the gray winter atmosphere, " You are very good to take so much trouble about me," answered Adrian, as they shook hands, ' Oti, it was no trouble. I am always glad of a run. Mother and I came to call upon Lady Belfield, and Lady Belfield was getting fidgetty about you, so mother told me to run and look for you, and I guessed I should find you this way." " How clever of you." They were on very friendly tsrms, Lucy having known the Abbey and the Abbey people all her life. A few years ago when she had been in the nursery she had looked up to Sir Adrian as a very grand personage, standing as it were apart from all other young men upon the strength of superior attainments, but of lata she had felt herself more upon a level with him, and more at her ease in his society. He called her Lucy, as a matter of course having known her in pi nafores, but she called him Sir Adrian. "is my brother at home?' he asked, ias they walked towards the Abbey. "No, there is no one but Lady Belfield and mother. They are talking parish talk â€" about the poor old people and their ailments â€" such dreadful complications. How hard it ssems that the poor should suffer in all ways. People who know nothing about them, think they are healthy and hardy because of their scanty fare and open air life bat when one comes to know them, one finds that theory a hollow mockery. The open air may be very good for us, but the poor get tto much of i£" She spoke warmly, having just come from a scene of suffering in one of the cottages. She was a frank, warmhearted, energetic girl, tall and strong, in the full bloom of youth and beauty, s girl for whom life neant action and duty, not dress and pleasure. Yet at a county ball she danced as gaily as the most feather-headed of her sisters, and never complained, as they did, of an evening being slow. Lady Belfirld and Mrs, Freemantle were sitting by the fir^ in the inner drawing room, the cosy tea table and hissing kettle between them. They had been joined by Mr. Rock- stone, who sat in one of the most luxurious of the large arm chairs, with his leg) stretched out in front of the hearth, basking in the glow of a friendly fireside, after a bng day among hia poorest parishioners. They were talking of Vulentine. "He ought to mke an effoT t, my dear Lidy Belfiell, " said the Vicar, " The blow that has fallen upon him is a heavy one, but it ia almost unmanly to succumb as he has done. His whole being is undergoing deterioration. He has brooded upon the one great wrong until his soul has become steeped in gall. He is a misanthrope at an age when men generally love their fellow creatures. Some- thing must be done to save him fiom him- self. " " Yes, something must be done," echoed Mrs. Freemantle. " it is terrible to see a fine young man like Valentine lapsing into physical and moral decay. My husband tells me that he shuns all his old friends- does not even show at the meet, and rides in a way that shows he cares no more for other people's lives than he does for his own. He ought to go to Australia." " That t8 the remedy, Mrs. Freemantle," said the Vicar, " a new countryâ€" Australia, or the Red River district â€" a new and not too civilised country â€" utterly new surround- ings. That kind of thing is your only L9the the only remedy for a mind diseased. I know it would grieve you to part with him, my dear Lady Belfield, but you would have him back in two or three years, a new man. Whereas, if yon let him stay here, decay is inevitable. You remember what Dickens says about the dry roc in a man. I'm afraid poor Valentine's is a case of dry rot." " I would do anything for his welfare- sacrifice anything,^' replied Lady Belfield. "Then yon and Adrian must put your heads together aad persuade him to travel â€"California, Texas, Red River, or even Africa, if he fancies shooting antelopes, or dealing in buffaloes. You can take advan- tage (tt thia Mr. Melaotte, who I am told is a ndghty traveller. The grand thing is to rouse Valentine from his. present apathy, and set him going in some way. " " I am aattrely of your opiaba. Vicar," said Adriaa. "My brother wants new surroundings. A young man without aims or istirestsi, maptag away his life ia a coun- try place, is a sorry spectacle. I will take him in hand to-aight." " Do, my dear Adrian." exclaimed Mrs. Froemaatle. " I have kUQif n you a«c your brother too long ta be able to see either of yon going wrong without speakiag my mind." They sat round the fire for some time after this, talking of many things, enjoying the Uase of the great plae logs, and the aroma of La4yBeaeld'f exoeUeat tea-^bot two among them were heavy at heart, *«M*»1 M the gisneral tone of oonvanation nd^ be. For Adrian there had been ao •noh thing as happiaeas, or ^vea peace of miad, siaoe that fatal a^ht His Ufa had beea oae loag prateaoe. ' It waa a.:Hnati|ig ,d»y, aad onmoh day a v^tiaa alsmyp atayed out 'vmmg the ^tset, ti^ appeariag aatn a^ter dSiaer. He would ooate fiste tlie iteuse oa the strdte of etgfat, perhi^a, aad :irmild be (dumijbag hia otoOea ^iqe th« othen vere diaiag. He w»^ dlM^dtae bMweaii aSaa wiidlea, at » UM^r tiU« te fiMt iiC.Aha rbiOacd-raoaK u^^lS*?i"'V *»•'" gounaaad, bu| tta VOTMrta " tiiliiirtiir^^ Tfll^ ofburgoady, ,nd the L^ â€" lor hiia. uJ^J^ fff â- MWohHuu of a Biea nsHe vBMt," mli Aadnw 4mpol dupaldags sport J- no more tw^ The yonn? withthrj^^Tj^^i "'•tttr ium$ la the same temn.1^ S*;Wll^ watched him in JSE^' .HS««i£ as the months wen^CffiLSrfi would recover; baTSL'^iA ]o deepen that abidbgS.^* ^S Ae had grown hopoleaf fr .•»4«l5S -be^was ready toieceive^-ijut HewaslateonthiiDwH»i It was not until half-LtiZ*'""'!.*! ready for his dimier "â„¢*^2 "I'll go and talk *^v dined," said Adrab.tho^fel«k Tiopoal Bicht at Sea. u* â- taaimng towards the W^JJ^inor » goal. A tern ^*r^mpels the taking in '*!ld wiSd:saa. Driving t* •^^iatense, broken only JSMtaeeooeOt the sea, whicl ^!?«te«Iordinaiy radiance. pJ»*'l^e is » gre** **â„¢*** â- Â®**° rf Wtsr than strong moonli li*. hriaht enough to read reSrtraaisbirgbtesf.at jJcJoudlly, curling like a '-iSwae Great thu-p lights pH*J!:riiy through it like meteor _a»»;"SSI«r. than this wake rt*!!rtiSW 'lo" fi^«« ***** " W^'^t us. at a distance, out in r»*.*?-«« incandesoencas arise, cha !»«?"^f^ «roentlne fl^msa wrigul cheer days. ••Do dear, him for good, a sealed book her with the For pity'j p"»'^«oi'^hil to me. He hu "^^M fided in me from the time of k- "'v" " He has taken his own way alw». P^ or for evU." *â„¢*y». ^r poj Valentine was sitting the IQ a chair in front cf Vhe wide "fi,^'"'"'*! I burgundy decanterbefor?ht Smt*-^ The lamps over the billiard £ '"f^' lighted, and the ep»ciou« roomtrh^" shadow. The firelight iAj^\^A and swords m t he recess at the furlt^ and there was a circle of loft linu ^1 the spot where Valentinf^tte c.zalamp on the small Sutherland li "A good run, Val V asked Adrian. Z ing himself opposite big brother "Prtt^ygood." " you must have killed late," RidgT" """ ** "'"'**• "" "^f«^| " But that means five o'clock, andathr*. quarters of an hour's ride home. WW have you been since " ' ••I don't know," "Valentine!" "Don't stare at me, man I fell youl I dont know. I have been ridbg »|»b somewhere -losing myself on the moorJ you like. Great Gpd, if I could only !« myself altogetherâ€" ride away into Mme»l chanted valley, and go to sleep there, ivl ever," ' I It was almost the first time he had spjks I openly of his despair. From the havA the crime jsatil now there had been no cm. ' fidence between the brothers. They U I lived together, and talked of the daily bti- ness of life^ihnt there had been an impia able gdlf ba^rizt the past and the prewnt By mutual cmsent they had been dumb, But to-night, Valentine was utterly am I out in mind and body, fagged, helplea, nervous. That powerful frame and itnD{ self-reliant temper had been'hroken by the slow agonies of remorse. Brutal aa the man's nature might be, conscience was not dead in him. Ic had awakened in the bur when he found himself alone after his crime â€" face to face with the memory of a murder. It had never slept since. " Valentiae," began Adrian eirneitl;, " you are leading a miseiable life, ^hiagi cannot go on like th^s," "Yju mean that I had betterdo as yoti criminal of the lower classes gometima does under such circumstancesâ€" give myself np â€" walk into Freemantle'e study to-mor- row morning and tell him that I killed m; wife. Is that what yon mean?" "No, Ic is too late for that coune. What I mean is that you must leave the acsne of yourâ€" misadventure. You haw lingered here too long. You must go aw«y â€"to another continentâ€" Africa, Anstralii, wherever you can find the resources which will give you most -relief of mind. The past is past. Val. There is no help to that. Let it be past. Y'ou have sufferec for your sin of a moment in all the loiij months that have gon by since that fattl night. You will suffer more or less to the end," ,^ "More »or less, no doubt I have tw privilege of an excellent memory," answered Valentine, with quivering lips, staruf gloomUy at the lire, the incamaUon a despair. "Your self torture can do no good » you or to anyone else. Far away, u tae wild free life which suits your temperimo^ you wiHat least suffer less. Anyttog would be better than the stagnauonoi your existence here," ,, ]\ "You are right. Anything woa d » better-but I think the best would » ""•Don't say that, VaL Men have ontliv«d worse sorrows than yours." „Jl " Men are made of very hard «' J"' flattered myself-till last .ummer-I^U was teak or iron-wood but tto jhy »• remorse has got into me, all the same. am worm-eaten to the ve7 «"«'!% think you are right. Adn«u, I^^^/S away from thfa place, rf Ift' ,t„rf becemie a howling luetic, I h»^«!^ here in a kind of gkomy "l*^ jK that I could hardly be more m»en^ " j than anywhere e'-^-b^* .{."if -JW- have stiyed too Ion?. I V^'^l'tffa Here 1 am a cause of '^..^^i* well as to myself. In the «"|J^3b. bush-I shall be my own man sg^^ 5, will be no need for byP««^, *^d gtoo on the ground face downwtfJU » s" aloud Jrithout anybody caUing me t« '"jLmiudwUlclearjndgJ^ip tofaoe with unsophisticated nw^jyet.- said Adrian, who throughout ttu^^ tion had spoken with meffsWe "You will begin a new "'r^ft^a memewy of your sorrow '" %look •** that far off atmosphere. **'" j«neinb* upon your old self gently, 'r^6»i helpbig others-of domg b^'^lj^ berttf deJdsT Yon wUl he born •gj bdo»^ and a wiser man. My )ntiber-2 ji,^ brother, the second half oi^ff^]^ infinite faith in you ?«*-,. 5,Vhoiil*r-S oaressingly upon his hw^*^ «*{• felt sal! a great »urd» J« ^t JJ heart by this «f »^«^tL«tSw *^ti the drst time since tbf «*Srfro*«« Ineoked both thdr ^^,f'J!^m • «* •pokea together freely. l« ** aVlral oTSrotherly love. g^if^J^ «• My dear Adrian. yo»»*»»»a5lifc«» «d to me," said Valentms, •»» good Sbav Ifflteht up all at the same t I^^Kwhile, disappear, reap l*^J Iw^y bi a prolonged smould •tfoSng Bteamiog still south. hlne dav. Deep azure hea ISf-Lhwhite glow in the horizm i r?henS?«"8^"""'"K""' 1 1- ^e Southern Cross burn wfare nearing the euormoua si S« South American coast. *M«ntog. The light of an oran L!fmSates,notabue,bat, ?iiw sickly seaâ€" thick, fou '•"I^S We are in the shallows lSfkeepscaUing.houraf.«rV f£Sfour«rr' -Quarter less I iB little variation in its s SS, ft quarterof a fathom or ha JK'n" The air has a sickly STe the air above a swamp. And a blue sky 1 The water g nUve and brownUh tones altei Cm looks vise ous and yelL.w Uochre-oolored, very yellow an looking. It seems unnatural tl Ay should hang over so hideous water it seems to demand a pra ' h gray and such green bem^ of a fresh- water inundation. M five or six degrees north of Very low the Und Ues before A^ti green Jine, suggesting niuma, paludal odors; and aauseous color of the water dee Even this same ghastly flood neat penal colony of Cayenne. convict dies, the body is bom and a great bell is tolled. An( viscous, glaucous sea surface to denly by fins innumerable, sv trianguUr-the legions of the j to the hideous funeral. ibe| Bell I-[Harpn'a Ma4,8zine. Married in Spite of Then Some years ago, when free were running around loose ic a Boston man and woman who of these doctrines UEt 1 they a spise all the common conventio came to the conclusion that th tigether without going through of miariage. They had both e society and made no secret taon. In fact, they announce one they mtt. Staid eld BostJi was shaken to the depths. The man vas prevailed u dinner party, to which were nent society peopla, including oftheStit3. When dessert the table the talk became gee turned upon the perverse cou; and woman answered every c them with the moat perfect eq ally the Gov raa.' took a ha versation. Altar asking a and commenting on the ansv a calm, judicial manner, be man and asked " Do you, Mr. inter cherish this woman as your v evU?" " Yes, sir," answered the 1 "And do you, madam, i this msm as your husband for for good or evil " " I do, sir," answered tue " Then by the power mv Governor of thie commons you to be man and wife," And thus the plans of tl frustrated. ;- â-  Not So lavora' Deacon Willisjiis. " Bru did yer son come outen de ti Brother Jones. " Dj jed two munfs in de jaywl." Deacon Williams. " 'Pet if you oughter be pow'f ul tl off mighty light, he did." Brother Jones, " 'Twan seem ter think. Day's a-^ when de two munfs is up." The Sweetest ' Which are the sweetest 1 The brown, where fire 1 The sunny, laughing eye Or bUck, with glance: Or opaline, with chacgel Or gray, where mind Or violet, so soft and tn Tell me, which are tb My darling bent her sui Her radiant face seen ' The swettest eyes to " Are those that look ABifht fort! Trampâ€" Will you give a gass of beer w.th, sir Citiiea â€" I guees so. you might feel quits a saloon, my friend. iTrampâ€" Yea, sir but pace, dtlinouB abandon, MB* One whoa I'm in a -^•- .di For the B (^iiiiot aeoeeaary tobu aad Women should reme Paialeas Com Extractor •ad pafadeae com remo^ ita wurk quidily and tite*||r^ignature N. each bottle. ' Napoleoa even in his l^frtoekfag^ ^^TBiin is nothing as r â-  •fll»i«ooBtca«jt»hii««^ '.::fi^ij^d^^jk •â- i;'^fei;S^Ci^' r-?^^_ 'W-.i. M.