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BOB MARTIN'S LITTLE GIRL.

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NOW FIJiST PUBLISHED.] i BOB MARTIN'S LITTLE GIRL. A NOVEL BY DAVID CHRISTIE MURRAY, Author of "Joseph's Coat," "A urn Rachel, Ilainbow Gold," &c,, &c., &c. [ALL Eights Eeseuvjcd."] Cli A P1 JiK X VII Continued. L Wellsted were held weekly, on the Satur- day, and Sam ap- peared in due course before the justices. fTl K Petty the Satur- i lietheridgefaitingto pnt in an appearance to sustain his charge, the case was dis- missed; but the manner of the accused was still so strange strongly advised that a careful supervision should be exercised over him. His wife promised that he Bhould be well looked after, and there the local interest in the doctor ■ ■ episode ended. The called 8 now a"<i then, and perhaps a little more trefluently than the of the case demancled. He tfirn o minrf .«* ♦» had an inquiring about the and^6 pa\lent remained completely taciturn Pel1"I t0,'lk: »> lJi-- ? 3 surrounding him; and ti»neth^aa4 ,n1thls condition for some dor.. ♦ °' decided that something must CaHed at °,aw,Jie ^'m fr°ni his lethargy. He a,)(* radiant C0itli°e or,e n)or'>i"g quite brisk 1,. *be 1™' be be-van, "I've hit upon ^Batr*l^ t^in^ f°r jou. t' Here's an old gardener*" u "? U^' the 8°n of my father's ^-savr T") found me out only yesterday in octor^°Pe' or> the door-plate, and h>s °? tbe ch*nce of finding a relative of for fi 61 j old employer. He's been away ^erdi years gold-mining, shep- ula,j stock-riding, and what not, He's ftjl,.e & Httly money, bat not much, and he's tril/k^- t0 ta'<e some light employment which bring biin what he calls his tucker. You ow what that means, I suppose." *h yes, sir," said SJatilda. Tu ker ni«ans vittles, sir." „ ,v'^° gathered/' returned tbe Doctor. no.v, this seems a decent sort of ellow, and 1 ve spoken to him about your huel)allti. I've told him be wants exercise and quiet. companionship, and I think it not at all unlikely that if you will agree to the it may do seme good. The man's ^ostralian all over, and his manner and his dy of speech may help to start something Uko°?r ^u<ar,(^'s mind. I want them to morning and afternoon the fit 11^, m1,]1 s a g°od idea—1 know aRree toit! WI g°°d' and 1 h,)Pe -T0U 11 "gree to it." Matiklawasonit" w;n; ™<^t, though she r 1ry the fiXPm' naiUrally.VVlth ]<m upon it, perhaps be man's ra eyes. aft;-r her coim-^m ,ne' the Doctor continued, At] anfMme<]' once, and Vf> ■ j III 8end him round at °«t for i tt-.n C start your husband lovely ,jov f < w,t^ h'm this morning, it's a Ha'f r a ramb^ -Atkins &n 'a,(ir the expected William ^oww?rr,ttd ^imse''—a big sunburned S'tiiT frreat beard. lie was a trifle f'0,uinln i n an'U r A,1(^. unconventional in nr>dth e/ U *la(* a n,anl-v ,,oiiiaii iijip,(t hii)a at. fii-st sil-lit. Wv rC1 with S,wii, and brought him rr>arch'!ln<iiUa'^ one o'clock dinner— interv' )* a^ain after a digestive tua]j a ai!^ brought bim lack punc- th» J ^ve o'clock tea. lie came it fo,.6^ '"lay for the same routine and pursued Hiany days thereafter, and for a long time, qneg*ei'^ return to the house, iMrs. Potter 'Cjned him as to her husband's behaviour. no1" wakened up at all? Dad he taken Sa anything or said anything ? 0o018 companion answered these inquiries so nstaiitiy in the negative that at last grew disheartened, and forbore to lIlake them any lenger. One bright morning, when the spring was ^erging into summer. Atkiia came in as sQal to breakfast, and offered his common dotation. »MfV00<* rn"vniU j ^oss- How d'ye find your- 'o-day r "iler^ ^'7i •8a'(^ Ijrealcing a four months' ^Pretty cheerful, thank you, °P^n °r exP8c^e<^ the man stood i u*n<^ °Pen m°othed, and Matilda atJd h a husband with a bhriek of jov, him, laughing and crying at "tih"6 time" Wttet wy poor dear darling, you're Wtter s? y°u> Sain ? Do say you're 4i j, aro, Say you're getting right again. strat)'n right," Sam answered with a Jn»tf5e stolidity. "There's nothing the with me. Wii]j e'e ^as '3een> though," interjected Uiatt"1 known you now, boss, taer month?, and that's the first tbe j ^8'° I ever heard you play. It's about begQtlS thing as ever i expected, too. I'd I' egun to think as he was goin' to put in the his time a dummy, missis," 4nd t?arched Sam out as usual that morning, 0ugh himself a man of few words, a^8we9 ^Ui^e ^r'gbt and conversational, Sam + "0W a then, but for the most part stile toi. ° sPea^ at random until pausing, at a theira k been a favourite lounge of Wo 8ince the warm weather began, the s down side by side lo smoke, Atkins lion fch a 8tate of dreamy oontempla- ^is arm 6n his companion's hand upon bis turning, saw a new expression on known ~^e vacu°"s look he had hitherto hij eyea^8 an^ the man's soul was in «»| S&1°. The change was startling, son/ said Sam, haven't I seen Wh W afore to-day P" re,Pond^H ^68' ^oa have, boss," Atkins rf6 'e ^'ve 'Jeen walkin' out with you tor pretty nigh five months past." Attiaa'nrJ^1^ SanV have you' ttongh ?" odd » Jodded in "olernn affirmation. That's •^1 ?lur,mured to himself. "That's ^eer again matey' have 1 been „ "Von have that," returned his comrade *ou ve never spoke a word for pretty nearly year till this morning." y b ^7 me 8&me thing in Mel- °tJrne," Sam murmured again, I've seen you somewhere afore," he added, with a sudden renewed vivaoity. I'd take my Bible oath of it." (i ^°,u've 8°t round again," said Atkins, "lhat's where it is, boss. We've been out a walkin' every day, and, natural enough, now you're all right again, you find you know me." "That ain't it, matey," Sam returned. Look here, was you ever in the Aus- tralias ?" Five and twenty years, more or less." Was you ever up on the Wallagong with a crowd of ohaps that was cutting a bush track there P" Yes. I was," Atkins returned, staring at him curiously. You was cook to that crowd, wasn't you ?" Yes, I was," Atkins said again. I see you there," said Sam, and I remem- ber what you was doing. You was stewing kangaroo tail in a billy." "What makes you remember that?" his companion asked, doubtfully. Why, that's a matter of twenty years ago." I had a bit of that stew, iyiat-y," Sam responded. It was the first kangaroo tail I ever tasted, and that's why I remember it. Do you mind two young chaps as was on the Wallaby for the first time—two young ohaps fresh out from England—a regular young pair of tenderfoots—dropping in at your camp at sundown 11 Why, yes," said Atkins, pulling at lis huge sun-burned beard. "I think I do." "That was me and my mate, Bob Martin," said Sam. Why, lord alive, it looks like yesterday. I don't wonder at yourl^not knowin' me, matey. I never had need to trouble the barber in them days. My chin was as smooth as an egg." From the hour of this conversation Sam's memory came back to him, unimpaired, save for two spaces in his history. Up to the moment at which he had left Matilda in Melbourne, intending to re-join her upon the homeward bound vessel, he re-called the details of his oareer with an almost singular oleamess. Then came a blank of eighteen months, and then on again, from the time of recovered consciousness until the hour at which he set out for that Sunday afternoon ramble which resulted in his encounter with Hetheriage, he seemed to remember every- thing which bad befallen him. Then came another blank of nearly half a year, and there, as in the former space of darkness, memory groped in vain, en p nn XVIII. ]f all the bobbies Sir Fustace had ridden in his time had been turned by fairy agency into horses of flesh and blood it would have taken half the stables of the county to accom- modate them. Whilst the fit lasted he rode his hobby hard, but until now his whims bad been of singularly short duration. But since the arrival of Monsieur Dom be seemed to have found a wonderfully steadfast mind. In the matter of grape culture his will flowed right on from his Propontic to the Helles- pont, and knew no ebb. Monsieur Dom was spurred by the enthusiasm of his employer. Sir Eustace found new fires in the con- templation of the ardour of Monsieur Dom, and the rivalry between Worcestershire and Essex lent its own separate impetus, so that at Upnor Hall the good people may be said to have lived in an atmosphere of grape. A ndrc, Dom more than justified his employer's hopes of him. He had the finest stocks in the world to work upon, and he pro- duced something very like the finest possible result from th;*m. All this, of course, was not done in a day, or even in a year, but we are now at a point in the story where events slumber, and where for a considerable space I of time there are no facts worth chronicling. It is strange, it is even appalling to notice on what flight a;:d distant accidents the fate of any one of us depends. On the mere face of things there were few circumstances in i;be world less likely to shake the soul of a murderer from a dream of security than Sir Eustace's harmless hobby of grape-growing, and it was yet that which led to the most terrible shock the guilty eoul of John IJetheridge had known. Sir Eus'ace had accepted his sister's chal- lenge au grand serieux, and the lady found little difficulty in inspiring her husband with an equal determination. Mr. Weybridge was, in matters of legitimate business, far more occupied than Sir Eustace. He directed affhirs of some magnitude in London, and wan a man of boards and councils, but whatever time he could afford from his numerous em- ployments he gave to viticulture. Mr. Wey- bridge was a Englishman, and would not quail before a wilderness of French experts in the ^'i'lie rules of the county shows forbade com- petition from without the county borders, but exhibits not intended to win prizes were welcomed alike from Upnor and Wells'ed. In the first duel at either place matters were supposed to be pretty fairly equal. Mr. Weybridge beat all Essex, and Sir Eustace carried evarythiug before him in Worcester- shire. There was hardly a pin to choose between them, and admiring neighbours adjudged each of the rivals to have gained the ne plus ultra. At the next contest Sir Eustace won olearly and definitely. Even his sister cowftssed it. There never were such grapes seen," she said, mournfully to her husband. "Eustace has beaten us, John; we had better retire." "No," Weybridge declared sturdily, "I fight for the honour of old Essex. That Frenohman knows his business," he added somewhat grudgingly, "but I'll be even with him yet." The Weybridge household was smitten with astonishment to learn that Monsieur Dom had not even thought them worthy of his best. He had beaten them, so to speak, with his second-string horse, and had sent the stable favourite to the Crystal Palace, Mrs. Weybridge read with dismay that Sir Eustace had gained first and second prizes in the great national show. At this, indeed, she was feign to retire from further combat, but her enthusiasm of an earlier day had fired her husband, and he was not easily to be ex- tinguished. This is the way with the ladies. With their quick-burn- ing intelligence they fire the slower male to purpose, and long after their own flame has expired the coals they have kindled burn on. Weybridge nailed his colours to the mast. He would fight on for the honour of old Essex. He made costly alterations in his vineries. He employed all the latest improve- ments in respect to heating apparatus. He bought every book about vine oulture that he could hear of, and he spent his spare evenings v in their study. He held hour-long consulta- tions with his head gardener, who was a Scotchman and pragmatical, and believed that he knew more in his own person about almost anything than it was in the power or the province of the world to teach him. He resisted all his employer's suggestions with slow, deliberate, Scottish argument, but on the sly adopted such of them as commended themselves to his reason. There is a kind of Scotchman who dispates by organic arrangement, and whose argumenta- tive side holds no commerce with conviction, He leaps at once to demonstrate anything the contrary of which haa already been demon- strated. If nothing were left to contradict, this particular breed of Soot would perish, but hit contradictions are instinctive and not reasoned, 80 that even when blaok has triumphantly been established as white in argument the Scotian irritator oan still deal with it as being black for all praotioal pur- poses. And thus MoBain, having proved to the hilt that a novel practice suggested by his employer was and must be deleterious, yet found his conscience allow him to test it, and finding it to be exactly what he bad argued it was not, permitted himself to retain his old opinions. The battle raged daily and weekly, and it is probable that from the days of Noah down- ward the grape has not been so muoh in ,dis- pute. In spite of everything Sir Eustace won in the next competition, and continued to win until on the expiry of half a dozen years he was sated with triumph, and sought a new field for enterprise in the growth of i orchids. Mrs. Weybridge, finding her bus- band's soul set on victory, and finding viotory further away from him year by year, had been disposed to bribe Dom from bis alle- giance. If any but her brother bad been her husband's rival, she would actually have essayed this task, but the oertainty of Sir Eustace's bitter displeasure taught her to play fair. But when on one of her annual visits she found Sir Eustace cooling she besought him to transfer Dom's services to Wellsted. The baronet had triumphed often enough to be tired of triumph, and that the challenger of half-a-dozen years should now sue for the weapon by means of which she bad been beaten made victory so complete that there was nothing more to be asked for. "I fancy," he said, smiling like a conqueror who is willing to be gracious, "that Monsieur Dom is very well satisfied with his position here, but if you can persuade him you can have him. He has had young Fergus under him all this while, and has so innoouiated him into his own habits and doctrines that in point of faot I think I might get on without him. In two or three years' time, if you care about it, :Julia, we may have a new fight-Dom against Fergus." Ob," she cried, you're really too bragga- docio. It would delight my soul to take you down a peg." Well," returned Sir Eustace. there's the gage of battle. Persuade Weybridge to take it up and I'll fight you on those lines." There was still Monsieur Dom to be settled with, and it turned out that he was not will- ing to be up-rooted. He had shaken down to his English home, had gathered bis household goods about him, and had found that they planted a fixed foot. They would not willingly seek Lavinian shores. Weybridge, being communicated with, offcreii a handsome advance upon the salary Sir Eustace had paid him, but still he objected to be moved, and it was not until Mrs. Weybridge encroached to the extent of fifty pounds a year upon her own ample tiupply of pin money: that he con- sented. All this time Hetheridge had been living in the surety of esoape from all poss;bie con- sequences of his orime, He cherished that insane belief even whilst the crime poisoned every well-spring of his life and made his day. and nights a slow drawn inesoapable purgatory. He was at once the torturer and the execu- tioner. Nothing is eternally the same, and there were changes in his sufferings, and even spells of repose, but he never knew when the I "Jfy God!" he groaned, v:ho culli?"1 mandate would issue for the self-infliction of aev agonies. Sometimes, for a week together, he^owld be alone at night time without fear. but, as a rule, solitude in darkness was the one thing he most dreaded in the world. After all his main misery lay in the fact that he had achieved the one purpose to which his whole being had been bent. Could he have slain his enemy and have had him still to slay, the pangs of conscience would have mattered nothing, and the excitement of bate and hope would have upborne him beyond the reach of fear. But Redwood had escaped him by the one gateway through which he could not pass. Hetberidge's own hand had robbed him of his one great aim, his one delight, his pre-ocou- pation, his solace, his hope, his almost every- thing. He could not esoape from the knowledge of the fact that his passion for Mrs Kedwood was not what it bad been. He bad always had vulgar amours, the merest animalisms, in which affection had no place, but Ellioe had always been the one woman in the world to him, and in spite of the failing nature of his desire for her, she was so still. He knew full well that there could be no more hope of happiness or even of dull contentment for him. He knew that even if he should win her regard, which seemed improbable, and should secure her for his wife, her presence in his house would be a continuous threat and terror to him, and yet there was something, in spite of cold judgment and fading desire, which prompt- d him to pursue her. If she resisted him until the end, his revenge upon George Redwood, baflled already by its very nature, would be incomplete indeed. His business affairs had assumed such a magnitude and complexity that he sometime" grew giddy in the contemplation of them. By this time he was a millionaire, but he found his wealth of little advantage to him apart from the fact that it afforded him the wherewithal for an exoiting and protracted gamble, which did in some measure absorb his mind and hold him from the considera- tion of those terrible and unwelcome themes which waited on his leisure. It had grown to be a regular habit with him to visit Wellsted for the first Sunday of the month, arriving on the Saturday afternoon and leaving by ♦.ht* first train on Monday morning. On these occasions he invariably made two ceremonious visits, one to the Rev. Jordan Farrell, where he awkwardly inspected little Eliice, feeling abashed and olumsy in her presence, and the other to Mrs. Redwood, who, though she received him with an unchanging cold kind- ness, had no power to put him at his ease. As time went on, he dropped hints, sometimes veiled and reticent, but oftener awkwardly ill-concealed, as to the purports of his visits. These conveyed no information te Mrs. Redwoods mind, for she had long since reoognised his purpose. In a way, she was sorry for him, for she thought him honest and devoted, Mrs. VV eybridge oooasionally rallied her 9D her SQldneas to a>uitor who, at all events, on the financial side, was so desi- rable. You know, dear," she would say, if the man is dying to marry you. You've only to give him the least bit of encouragement. A million is a large sum, and there are not many men who are allowed to go wooing with I it unsuccessfully." Mrs. Redwood would have none of him. Perhaps if poor George's death had been less tragic she might have learnt, in course of time, as other women had done before and have done since then, to acoept consolation, but as things stood her heart was in the coffin there with Csesar, and there was no remotest hope of its coming back to her. The whole township of Wellsted thought the more of her for having so wealthy a suitor, and, what with her own modest competence and the countenance afforded her by Mrs. Weybridge, she occupied a batter social position by this time than she had ever hoped for during her husband's life. She was lot an ambitious woman, and this faot, so far as it affected herself alone, afforded her little gratificatiofl, though for her boy's sake she could find the heart to be glad of it. George was just turned thirteen, was growing to be the very image of his father, and was the apple of the widow's eye. There was no making the lad effeminate, or there might have been some danger to him in the natural selfishness of the bereaved mother's intense affection. She could soarcely bear to t trust him from her sight, and when his spirit I of boyish adventure led him away, as it did often, she would conjure up more mishaps in the course of a spring morning than would have made a chapter of accidents for one un- fortunate lifetime. '/r, a- It came about that on the very day on which Andr6 Dom entered upon his duties at Weybridge Hall IJetheridge made the fit-at deviation from his settled habit, and appeared in W ellsted *in4the middle of the month upon a Wednesday. a After lor.g buffeting to- and-fro, he had at length made up his mind to speak to Fllice Redwood. His purpose had burned in him with an unexpected warmth for days, and had grown hotter than ever as the train bore him down from London through the flat south-eastern country. But by the time he had reached the town he had gone cold upon it. The figure of George Redwood stood between himself and Hedwood's wife, and he felt that he scarcely dared the pur- posed encounter. His wandering, indetermi- nate footsteps led him away from the town when he landed at the railway station which in the last year or two had intruded on the sleepy quiet of the place, and it was not until an hour's walk in the crisp air had set the blood flowing freely in his veins that he was sufficiently recovered to resolve once more on carrying his purpose into bffi'ot. He turned back upon his own footsteps with a sudden determination, and the hri"k motion of a few minutes brought him in sight of the lodge gates of Weybridge Hall. A m?ra instant later he saw Mrs. Redwood pass through the gates from the roadway, to all appearance without having recognised or even noticed him. This was natural enough, for she was aocompanied by the two children, Kllice Hetheridge and her own son George. She had an arm about the neck of either, and was bending over them, and they were both looking up at her as if absorbed in listening. Hetheridge quickened his pace by instinct, and reached the gate in time to see one of the domestics of the horse pointing Mrs. Redwood in tbo I direction of the vineries. He was not on terms of intimacy with the inmates of Weybridge Hall, but he was well enough known to aa)) without fear of being considered impertinent, and, after deliberat- ing for a seoond or two, he walked buldly up the drive. Mrs. Redwood had already parted with the children, and they were out of eight. She pursued her way and he followed at some distance. The. outer door leading to the vineries stood open, an inner door a few feet beyond it was olosed hut not looked. Mrs. Redwood passed through, and in the act of turning to close the second door saw that somebody approached her The warmth and moisture of the placp. Jeft a steam upon the glass, through which outside objects were seen' dim and distorted. She had no reason to suspect Hetheridge r presence, or even then she m'ght have r«ccgnlsnr, his figure, but as it was she passed on and gave it no further thought. I he domestic had in- formed her that Mr. and Mri, Weybridge were in the vineries, with the foreign person who had come to take charge of them. They had been there, she learned, for an hour or two. The structure was divided into chambers, and having been added to from time to time, the various ways through it wandered like a mAzP, so rbat Hetberidge, in pursuing Mrs. Redwood, had to be guided by the sound of her footsteps and the rustle of her dress. He came up with her at length, and she turned with a little start of surprise to find him unexpectedly so near. "You have no ill news, I hope," she said, remarking the unusual pallor of his face and the disturbed air he wore. None in the world," he answered. 11 J may have before I go back to town." "r hope not," she returned. "Have you any reason to expect it?" You are sure you hope not P" said Hethe- ridge. "Quite sure you hope I may carry no ill news back with me ?" "Quite sure," she answered, not yet under- standing him. Neither of them was aware of the imme- diate neighbourhood of Andr6 Dom. The little man had been left there only a few minutes earlier by his new employers, and was tran- quilly awaiting their return. He peeped through the wide crack of the door, which stood half open, and stood as if fascinated at the sight of Hetheridge's face. There was the man whom he had once eharged in his own mind with having borne his name with no less a purpose than to commit a murder under it. The supposition had been wild enough, in all conscience, and from the first he had never afforded a more than super- stitious credence to it. He had long ago dis- missed it as an absurd fancy, and yet it had stuck in his mind, as such things will. He had pooh-poohed it a hundred times, and with the lapse of years it bad almost died away, but, at the sight of its object, the suspicion sprang again to instant life and vigour. It was none the less vigorous that he recognised Mrs. Redwood as Hetheridge's momentary companion. He took one silent step nearer to the door to enlarge his field of observation, and stood there like a figure of watchfulness, soarcely bfpathing in his intense desire to see and h-"ir. Eliice," said ITethendge, with a demea- nour on the outside somewhat sullen and for- bidding, I have waited for seven years. I've waited for more than that, God knows. I have been waiting all my life." Pray, Mr. Hetheridge," she cried, with her hands set out against him, palms foremost, as if to hold her very meaning away from her. Pray, say no more." "I have made up my mind to speak aHast," he answered doggedly, and I must do it. I have been your faithful servant, Mrs. Red- wood—ever since you oan remember—almost ever since I can remember. 1 was in love with you before I went into trousers. We pro- mised one another whea we were ohildren that we'd get married when we grew up. You forgot that, Ellioe, but I never did. I've never ohanged or varied from then till now. I never have, and never can, and never shall Haven't you got a word of hope for me after all these years?" For sole answer she shook her head. "Eliice," he continued, "you don't know what it means to me. You don't know what I've been through. It's fourteen years since 1 left England. There was never a man in the' wide world oared more for a woman than 11 did then. I don't say anything about what can offer you, because I know that you're one of those that money doesn't count for muol^ with. But I'm a rich man, my dear, even atf rioh men count in London. If you wanted tÎ, palace you could have it. There isn't a wishofi your heart I oouldn't gratify. I haven't been, too sudden, have I ? I've tried not to be im- patient." 14 Don't spoil our friendship, John," she answered. I've liked you better since- Her head drooped, her voice broke, and for a moment she failed to complete the phrase. A' little later she looked up bravely and went on. "I have liked you better since that dreadful time than ever I did before, but we can never be any more to each other than we are." "Eliice," he said, with a jealous passioil burning in his eyes. You'd have married me if George had never oome between us." No," she responded," neverj, "You promised," he cried. "Yon promised it. Over and over again you promised it." I, John," she answered with a heightened colour, "you have no right to tell me that,] They were baby promises, made before I was ten years of age. What value can they have now for you and me ? II You loved nie," said Hetheridge, "till he came between us." No, John/' she said. '• I never loved but one man in the world, and never shall." Perhaps if George Redwood had been taken from her in some less mysterious and terrible fashion, Hetheridge's adoration, as she believed in it, might have had a greater weight with her. She had no suspicion of the awful truth. How could she have? He spoke no more than truth in telling her that he had loved her ever since he could remem- her. Yon let me think otherwise," he answered bitterly. I won't ask if you'd a right to do that. Women don't wait to consider whether they have rights or no in such a case. Do you wait," she asked him, almost fiercely, "to think what right you have. to address me in this way ? Did you ever have a sign or a word from me, after 1 was twelve years of age, to make you think such things ? There, John, we won't quarrel. I shall always like you as a friend, but I .shall never marry again." She held out her hand, and for a moment he stood irresolute. Then he reached out his band and accepted hers, wringing it so bard that he brought a spasm of pain to her face." "Good-bye, John," she said. We'll say no more of this. Let us be friends still, as we have been." He gave no answer, and with a lingering, regretful glance or two she moved away. The watcher glued his eyes upon llethei idge's faoe, whioh was horribly contorted. W^ybridge's voice abruptly broke the silence, calling from a little distance. -6 Dom Andr6 Dom The name seemed to strike Ileiheridge like a bullet. His mouth gaped and his eyos dilated witotoi-ror. lie took one staggering step forwafi&jfcid clutched a vine branch near at hand to save himself from falling. ialy God be groaned, Who cnlls ?" (7 o be continued.) L-

AN ENGLISHMAN'S GREATEST AMBITION.

SPURGEON AND HIS SERMONS.

KAISER WILLIAM'S EAR

-------ORGANS AND ELECTRICITY.

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