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LAGDEN'S LUCK: I . i
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[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.] 1 -v LAGDEN'S LUCK: i A STRANGE LOVE STORY. BY TOM GALLON (41JTlIO& OF II TATTERLEY," "THE MYSTERY OF JOHN PEPPERCORN," Ac.). CHAPTER I. TO DIE BEFORE MIDNIGHT! Frith was in low water. Let it SuPPosed for a moment that the con- a 6trange one; if any seemingly lot a. llad ever floated Mr- Clement Frith, hour or so, it had generally Do^ert *n 'he enc*> on some uninhabited, island, or on some shoal, or Uever0lr,e forgotten backwater; certainly Wk °a any stream of success. Looking lire Over some forty-five or fifty years of ha<j f5' Clement Frith might have said he n many tides at the flood, and been Uhj ,a8ain and again in anything but a Jfr Fortune. Frith described himself, in small advertisements and to his ir, jjj^ as a commission agent, which meant, that he was an agent without the Of /r1Ssion. Did yon desire to rent a house beej, OQe> Mr- Clement Frith would have hegg Ilre red to lift the trouble of the busi- tion. rorn your shoulders-for a considera- «, boaT'616 you anxi°ua to buy anything from *°Ur a building estate, Mr. Frith was It happened, however, that but *bilir °P*e any real belief in the business of Mr. Clement Frith; so that his rusted somewhat for want of use. to can resided in what he was pleased Kensington; cynical people called it *kich rfr" wa9 that part of Kensington Been better days, and which aces a multitude of shabby little streets ^01se«<^llares' ant* mean shops and poor etj^' ^together a neighbourhood that lifts ggling head with difficulty against the jjr" Clement Frith was in low water." str^a liow ^7 °' life, and -wonders a, little, perhaps, Tjj manages to keep itself afloat. Btorvre **a<i been, some few years before this be a Mrs. Clement Frith; it might fiqojV* that she had drifted out of the world >hir.>, want of those shadowy commissions ciiif) i never °anie. She had hoped for them, ijj onged for them; had struggled along, miraculoua fashion, until she had tin to believe in them; and so had given alto&«th«r. With a faint gh £ ^^ope that they might some day thev away to a world where ««y are not necessary. ^ausrhtpr^V/*16 harden of business to her tjQjj. fh °^a- kittle Dora had known it k beginning; on her wise and capable T> ^e. real management of the i\k j more than a child at the and with four other children younger Jjt herself dependent upon her efforts, stie ,It,, Iler pretty, determined face against the tld, and held the thing together. There tfc ho hope in her heart of anything but t}^ one fierce struggle against poverty and W4ster: only the one passionate desire to that hungry wolf she had known from W^°°d from the door and feed those she it be admitted at once that Mr. Clement ^as hopeless. Absorbed in grief at the °* his wife, he gave up the search for 1I.()0t\ co issions that never came, but looted without question the food that was the ^^°re him. If sometimes he railed at ,*h World he was consoled in the evening, his young daughter put his glass tor » ,to his hand and filled and lit his pipe 5-ttk1?' -^nd the moral axioms-he was able 5 solemn hour to present to his children had they been duly observed, to have i>org, the fortunes of every one of them Raid nothing about the axioms; her tired little brain was hard at work to get through the next day, Th ny next days after that. had been a small romance in the life >e^r tie Dora Frith. She was only twenty to jj °' age now, and the romance had come ?*>(} r epme three years before. Quite a poor story, of a yotmg lad who loved Yh *n direct consequence, was going to Nd- 8 "World very much ablaze for her sake. *t h0ne that things did not light up very well *ifle he set his eager face for the other the world; he was to come back, in fcoifl ^hing less than six months, with more -k^han he could conveniently carry. aa^TIte reader will, of course, under- gj that he never came back at all. A pair 5|lsh eyes followed eagerly and anxiously t fhich the good ship that carriec until that day came when a news- Paragraph or two announced the fact good ship had gone down; and, w%h a few boats had got away, those fcoof .~ad never been seen again. In a word, Frank Dome had gone to look for his e at the bottom of the restless sea. V^Jfafter little Dora Frith (with a few cheap 8 of black about her dress) buried that V> £ romance in her breast, and Bet to work •tytf world for others. n8s had gone from bad to -worse as time Wjil °h. Dora taught a few unsatisfactory how to torture their friends with "The ° s an<i "Silvery "Waves," and ^ep *?ostly forgot to pay her; she wore oht fceM, lred eyes, night after night, at fine for more fortunate f«lk; she «o times endeavoured to urge her father to ^ething. Most difficult business of all, .e excuses to importunate tradesmen, off one email debt by making tbi^ the email house in the small square •o ^t dabions part of Kensington had come < a Btate of siege that something th° done' husy girl—keep- 'Wo matter from her father—cleared out at the top of the house, and after- ^ile Pit the best furniture there; then that father was absent during the day OWn expeditions) exhibited a card in ^Ut^r "Window, delicately inscribed—"Apart-j ^^hat ehe was lucky; the rooms were Within forty-eight hours. She named to be absolutely impossible to,araetically enough to keep the family Mtjj and the terms were accepted W Jit demur. She mentioned the lodger in 'W r^teful prayers to a smiling Heaven A rw night" h ^dl ment -^r'th was, of course, filled with 688 astonishment when he heard the li he borrowed five shillings from his w via rS on the strength of it. curious concerning the new that evening while he sat ov^r his "1 not lite the idea, my dear Dora, of entering the sacred precincts of Mil. f?se>" he said, "and the arrangement course, be only temporary. When fails uh we muat endeavour to live 6 world. I trust this man is respect- T^em8 very respectable, father," said v .Idly. "He is rather elderly, with] j*ft said that he merely wished to be d ^vouih6' an<* was 11 ot Quite sure how long l^ied t 8tay- He particularly desired to be ^iriJ? anyone who might call and make te'oun^ about him." mysterious," said Mr. Clement fillt'a .'But, a-fter a11' it is no concern of her ?€n.tleman chooses to immure him- h*' were, away from the world. ef nr. 8.oul(i pay for what he has is the Trn81deration. I regret, however, my ofra'" he added, with a melancholy <jj. head, "I very deeply regret t £ at a o*D first consult me before taking "j a step as thia." ^^tej^Ve, fare to trouble you about these ,3 Jiav father, dear," she replied quietly. ^Id." a tried to manage as well as I ^he man made him avert his her when h« spoke again. "Of inbeawtod that you should have to trouble about snch matters," he said, "but I have been somewhat—unfortunate. If your brother George were not a lazy young scoundrel," he went on, with sadden heat; but she checked him quickly. "Father, you shouldn't say that. George has been unfortunate, too; he has loet various situations I managed to get for him; and he has been a little wild and reckless, but he's a good fellow really—at heart." Mr. Clement Frith sat silent for some time. At last he looked up with a brighter face. "My dear Dora," he said. "I have a curious feeling that this—this sojourner in our midst ia going to make some difference to us. I Things have been what one might term stag- nant for some time; I feel that they will mend. This gentleman may be, after all, a man who has heard of us, or who by the way, what did yon say his name was?" "I really forgot to ask him," said Dora. "But I daresay he'll tell me, in case of letters arriving for him." As the days went on no letters arrived, and no name was given. The new lodger was a singularly quiet man, who never went out, and who paced about his room all day long, or sat by the window (the ba-ck window for preference) smoking many pipes. He always had a cheery word for Dora when she went up to his room, and the one general servant of the household—by name Jane Nudds- grew quite rich in surreptitious shillings. More than that, the three younger children, scrambling about the house, met the grave- faced, grey-haired man occasionally on the stairs, and were observed to pay hurried visits to sweetmeat shops in the neighbour- hood. Altogether, an exceptional sort of lodger, this man of no name. One day a curious thing happened. A man called at the house—late on a summer even- ing, when it was growing dark—and inquired if a Mr. Lagden lived there. The servant said "No," then remembered the lodger, and said she would ask. While the man waited in the hall Dora, who had been applied to, ran quickly upstairs, and asked the new tenant if the visitor was for him. "He wants a Mr. Lagden," she said, in a low voice. The lodger did a curious thing. He caught her suddenly by the arm and pulled her into the room, putting a heavy hand over her lips. "No, it's not me," he whispered quickly. "You haven't aaid anything about me?" She helplessly shook her head, while she stared at him. She noticed that his faee was very white, and that he was breathing so quickly that the muscles of his throat were swelling and heaving while he stood looking at her. "What looking man is this?" he whispered— "a gentleman?" She nodded, and he dropped his hand from her lips. "Yes, certainly a gentleman," she said; "tall, with rather nice eyes; speaks with a. slow voice." The man muttered something; it sounded t) Dora's ears almost like—"On the track"; but, of course, it could scarcely have been that. Then he turned again to the girl. "There's no one of that name here; yon've never heard such a name in your life," he said; and there was a threatening note in his voice. "Do yon understand?" "Yes; ril tell him, sir," replied Dora, and ran downstairs. The visitor went away, evidently half- satisfied, and Dora returned to her duties, wondering a little what it all meant. When, the next day, another man called and merely stated that he wanted to aee the gentleman who lodged there, ahe remembered the instructions she had received, and, fearful of losing one who paid so well, declared that no one lodged there at all. It was, perhaps, the first falsehood her white life had known, and it troubled her. She told the strange man upstairs about it, and he laughed, and told her she was "a little brick." It was only natural, of course, that Mr. Clement Frith, having, like the lodger, no occupation, and being, moreover, devoured by cariosity as to what the mystery was which surrounded that lodger, should approach the latter in a friendly spirit. So it came about that he, on more than one occasion, took his glass and his pipe upstairs, so that, while little Dora Frith worked, and the children played and talked with her, the murmur of voices could be heard from above. Mr. Clement Frith, after one or two of these visits, let it be known that his opinion of the man who practically kept the household going was that he was "a gentleman who had seen much of the world; in all probability, a man of science, who had retired into their midst in order to complete some great work." Dora felt relieved, but wondered what the great work was. For, as a matter of fact, the small amount of writing she had seen, when the mysterious one had occasion to write at all, had been of a somewhat illite- rate sort. The tall man with the slow voice who had inquired before for a Mr. Lagden came again; this time he wanted to know if he could have a room in the house. Dora told him that they had no rooms to let; and he smiled and thanked her; apologised, and went away. She told the lodger about that, and the lodger not only walked about all day, but all that night, too, to the great disturb- ance of the household. The next day the man was taken ill, and kept his bed. When Mr. Clement Frith, in some alarm, went up to see him, the man had his face turned to the wall, and spoke only in whispers. I "I sincerely hope, my dear sir," said Mr. Frith, plucking with a nervous hand at hia chin, "I sincerely trust that you are not really ill." I "Yes, I am," said the man, in a gruff whisper. "I know the symptoms; you don't. I've had it before, but not so badly as this. I The first was a warning; this means death." Mr. Clement Frith, in great alarm, mur- mured something unintelligible, and ran down to find his daughter—that prop and stay on which he had so often leant. In her own quick, practical way, she suggested the obvious course. "We must have a doctor," she said. obvious course. "We must have a. doctor," she said. "I never thought of that," said Mr. Frith weakly. "But wouldn't it be better to ask him about it?" "I'll go up myself," she said. "Come along, father, and do please be firm about it." If Mr. Clement Frith had ever been firm about anything, he had long since got out of practice; he smiled feebly, and followed his daughter. The sick man seemed glad of her fresh young presence in the room; he turned round and looked at her with a curious smile. "Come, come!" she said brightly, "this "won't do at all! You're not going to die. Who ever heard of such a thing? We'll get a r doctor for you. and you'll be all right in no time at all." "Ah! you don't understand," said the man. "However, just to please you. I don't mind having a doctor; only I'll have my own." "By all means," exclaimed Mr. Clement Frith eagerly. "One feels confidence in one's own medical adviser; it is half the battle. To whom shall we send?" The .man drew the small table beside his bed towards him, and quietly wrote with pencil, in that stiff, cramped handwriting of his, a name and an address; these he handed to the girl. "I should like to see him to- night," he said. The paper bore the name of a certain Dr. Nathaniel Sime, and this same doctor lived in a small street in Chelsea. The elder son. of the family having, as usual, nothing parti- cular to do, was despatched to find him, and returned in very quick time with the man He was a tall, cadaverous-looking individual, who said nothing as he entered the place, but marched straight upstairs in the wake of Mr. Clement Frith to see his patient He was closeted with the man for more than an hour, and during that time Mr. George Frith, the ne'er-do-well eon of his father, entertained his brothers and sisters with some acoount of the strange doctor. "Rommiest chap I ever saw," he said. "Hadn't got a surgery or a decent house like anybody else; seemed scarcely to be known in the place at all. Laughed when I called him Dr. Sime; kept on laughing to himself all the way in the cab. I do hope it's all right, Dora; but upon my word you seem to have landed your family among a lot of queer people." "I hope not," said Dora humbly. '"At all events, I did it for the best, George, dear." Dr. Nathaniel Sime stood in the little hall for a moment or two while he buttoned his gloves. Dora was standing there, anxiously waiting to hear his verdict.; within the door- way of the room dignified by the title of the drawing-room one or two eager young faces peered out. Dr. Sime did not look up from his glove-buttons; he spoke in a curious, hard, suppressed voice, much as though he had been repeating a lesson. "The man is undoubtedly dying," he said, slowly. "Personally, I should give him some three days. When I use the term 'dying,' I mean that there is practically no hope for him, but that a certain strength of will and constitution will enable him to last out that time. Be prepared, however, for the worst." The narrow hall-door closed behind him— but not before he had looked back into the hall, to say in that suppressed voice of his, "As a matter of fact, an affection of the heart; been coming on for years. Good- night!" Foor Dora Frith saw only in all this a means of income drifting away. Of course, she was sorry for the strange man who was so suddenly to be snatched out of life; on the other hand, she had to think of those [ dependent upon heiw-4ihoee who had lured, ou. the money this man had paid her. She wondered what was to happen when he was dead and his power to pay was ended. Mr. Clement Frith was assiduous in his attendance on the dying man; more than once, in fact, the man sent down for him. On the very night of the doctor's visit, when Dora, worn out with the excitements of the day, was sitting idle, her father took her in his arms, and spoke strangely to her. "My dear child," he said—"it is sometimes given, even to the humblest of us, to help these near and dear to us. It may be given to you to do that; there may be a strange fortune waiting for you. Ask me nothing, my child; rely on your poor old father to pull you through. My dear-you would not desert us, :f it came to the point of deciding what to do?" "Of course not, father, dear," she said. "But I don't understand what you mean?" "My dear girl, dying men sometimes take strange fancies, in which case we must, if it be profitable, humour them. Be prepared, dear child, for anything that may happen." Mr. Clement Frith was away the greater part of the next day; he came home in high spirits. More than once he murmured some- thing about fortunes—ajid' romances-and suggested that the world was not such a bad place, after all; more than once he embraced his daughter Dora, and suggested, with some emotion, that she was "the salvation of them all." Dora-having something else to think about besides the emotions—wondered what had happened to her father, but hoped for the best. Two days went by, and that mysterious Dr. Nathaniel Sime came again. It was late in th,i evening, and Mr. Clement Frith had given but a poor account of the sick man; indeed, he had made inquiries of his daughter concerning the style of mourning that would best suit him. Dora was seated by the fire alone, when her father came in, and began to walk about the room and to talk to her in a feverish way at the same time. "My dear child," he said—"I have a-a most curious proposal—very strange, indeed—to put before you." "Before me, father?" she asked, looking up at him. "Yes-before you," he said. "My dear Dora -I have not been very fortunate in my life, but I have not been, on the other hand, a bad father to you-or to the others—eh?" She got up in a hurry, and came across to him, and took him in her arms. He seemed curiously humbled in some way; he did not look at her while he went on speaking. "I suggested to you a little time ago, Dora, that you might-might mend all our fortunes. It is given to you, my dear, to secure for your poor old father a competence for his old age, to place your brothers and sisters above the reach of want or adversity." If I only knew the way," she said earnestly. "My dear girl—the way is open before you," he replied eagerly. "As a matter of fact, we have entertained an iangel unawares; one who has, from the first, taken the deepest possible interest in you. I allude to the mysterious gentleman who has sought shelter beneath our hum-ble roof, and who will—in spirit at least-leave it to-night. I mean- I our lodger!" "Is he really dying?" she asked, in a hushed voice. "I am informed by his medical attendant, who is now with him, that he cannot last till midnight," said Mr. Clement Frith. "Now, my dear, I am a deputation of one to you on his behalf." "To ine?" she asked, wonderingly. "To you. This gentleman—who is, in reality, very wealthy—has suddenly conceived the idea that he would like to benefit someone before he passes away out of the world. Having neither kith nor kin, his thoughts have naturally turned to that being who has given him so much kindly attention during his sojourn amongst us; I allude to yourself. I Why do you want to marry me?" she eaid in a low voice. He is to die before midnight; before that time he wishes to give you—think of it, my dear Dora—to give you his name, and all he owns in the world." "But 1-1 don't understand," she faltered. "In a word, my dear-he desires to marry you. Don't start or tremble; you a.re asked to do the most romantic and singular thing a girl was ever asked to do in this world; but think what it means!" "But, father dear-this old man-whose name I do not even know!" "My dear—on the word of an able medical man your husband ceases to exist at midnight —or possibly before." There was no time for her to think. She might have thought of the dead lad, washing] about somewhere in the restless sea; she might have thought of some of those dreams which never had come true. She did think of all the hopeless struggle she had had to keep the family afloat; she saw the wistful eyes of her father looking into hers; she asked the one vital question her life had taught her to ask. "But will he—will he help UB-as you sug- gest?" "My dear Dora, he has placed in my hands -as a guarantee of what he will do for you— a sum for fifty pounds. More than that, he has made a will in your favour, in which the whole of his property—mostly abroad, I believe—will be left to you." "I can't do it; it wouldn't be right," she said, with 14 shudder. "I don't know the man; why should he do this?" "My dear child, the man has taken a fancy to you. Don't be foolish; I have arranged everything. In order to save trouble or delay I have secured-oome two days ago—a special licence. The marriage"—he did not look at her, and the fingers he twined together worked nervously—"the marriage can be per- formed at once. Besides, my dear, I have pledged myself, in a way; I have spent some part of the fifty pounds." "Father—why couldn't you. tell me all this before? Why have you plotted with this man?" "Plotted! Really, my dear child-" "Why does he want to marry me if he is dying?" "The fancy of a sick and lonely man. Perhaps he wishes to feel that you will remember him better if you bear his name. Remember-it is nothing but a mere for- mality; the man is dying." "It is absolutely certain that he cannot last until midnight," said another voice. Dora, looking up, saw Dr. Nathaniel Sime standing in the doorway, with his deep-set eyes turned upon her.
CHAPTER n.
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CHAPTER n. DORA BREAKS SOMEBODY'S HEART. However certain the girl might be that some plot was afoot in which her father was concerned, she felt that she was, in a great measure, helpless. She seemed to be hemmed in, with no way for retreat; every oiroum- stance seemed to be driving her towards the dying man. With that man dead, the greater part of the income on which the family had existed com. fortably for a time must cease; with that man dead, the old dreary round began again —the old hopeless struggling against debts and difficult-ice. On the other side of the picture lay the easy road out of her troubles. 6he was to stand by tihis man's side for a few moments, while certain words were said; she was to promise certain things which never need be fulfilled; and, in return, he was to endow her with all his worldly goods. In a sense, this stranger was the riohest man she had known; his gold had padd, for a little time, for comforts and even luxuries for those she loved. It had been nothing to him to give her father, as an earnest of what he was pipepared to do, the tremendous sum of j550. Her father-by tihe c.aøn&l spending of that money—had, in a measure, pledged her to the completion of the bargain. There was a. further fade-,and a. more braw ow. Bnjaaace for jfapc, ,$oq^ Ouxigfe she was, had died witih the boy who had gone down into the everlasting waters; she was but a little struggling unit in the world, destined to fight hard for others, and pray- ing (because she was young, and the world was fair outside) that the struggle might be as easy as God would make it. Those few words said—the man to die at midnight—the world a pleasant place thereafter! It was a tempting offer. When the first shock of the thing was past, and she had weighed these possibilities and doubts, she wanted to see the man who had made so extraordinary an offer. Dr. Nathaniel Sime was hovering about, and Mr. Clement Firth was in a state of deep anxiety; possibly the spent part of the £50 weighed upon him. So far as this latter gentleman is concerned, let it be said at once that, having a very lively memory of his daugh- ter's many sacrifices, he had not for a moment considered the possibility of her refusal. As suggested, he had actually got the marriage licence, and even arranged with the clergyman who was to perform the cere- mony at the bedside of the sick man. His path in life was henceforth to be rose- strewn; the necessity for earning doubtful commissions was at an end. So a little procession of three went up to the to,p of the house. There Mr. Clement Frith met with his first surprise. The girl turned on the landing, and calmly announced that she would see the man alone. On Mr. Clement Frith remonstrating, she utterly refused to have anything to do with the matter unless she had her own way; instantly he capitulated. Dr. Sime shrugged his shoulders, and walked downstairs. Mr. Clement Frith squeezed his daughter's hand —told her that she was his one hope in a dreary desert of a world—and went down- stairs also, furtively touching his eyes with his handkerchief. She knocked quickly at the door, and went in. The sick man lay back on his pillows, look- ing up at the ceiling. His eyes turned towards her as she crossed the room, and he moved himself a little in the bed the more easily to watch her. There was an embarrass- ing pause for a few moments, and then the girl spoke. "Why do you want to marry me?" she asked in a low voice. The man laughed—perhaps in a little admi- ration of the girl's abruptness. "Well- because you've been good to me," he began— "and because I want you to have all that belongs to me." "If you want to help me, you can give me anything-without marrying me," she said, in the same tone as before. He appeared to think over that aspect of the question while he watched her in silence. At last he spoke again. "Well, if you must know—I'm a lonely sort of man—no one in the world to care a rap about me; I'd like to think that I left some- one behind who bore my name-" "But I don't even know what your name is," she said quickly. "Lagden," he replied, in a low voice. "You told me the other day that that wae not your name," she said. "J. mean the day the man called to see you, and asked for you by that name." "It happened that I didn't want to see that man," he replied. "I smppose the name is as good as any other—isn't it? I didn't choose it." "I don't know anything about you," she urged. "The world won't know anything about me in an hour or two," he said, with a grim laugh. "You'll be Mrs. Lapden-plus my property—and free as air." "I must talk to my father," she said, and went out of the room. Downstairs Mr. Clement Frith was pacing about in much anxiety; his face was quite drawn and haggard as his daughter entered the room. "Well, my love?" he asked. "I can t do it," she Baid, simply. "To bind myself to a man like this, whose name I have only just heard. How do I know what that name means, or to whom else it may belong? I won't do it." Instantly Mr. Clement Frith threw up his arms with a gesture of despair, wrung his hands together above his head, and with a moan sank down into his chair. His head dropped on to the dingy cover of the little table, and he burst into feeble weeping. "Oh, my God!" he exclaimed—"that I should be cursed with such an unnatural and ungrateful child! She is asked, at the expense of a little pleasant ceremony, to provide for her friends for life; she refuses! Let me die; let me beg that someone will put an end to my miserable existence-painlessly, if possible! Of course, she hung over him, and protested with all her might that she wanted to help him; of course, she pleaded the years of work she had given to him and to his children; of course, she promised how much harder she would work, if only she might not be called upon to do this thing. And, equally of course, he wept the more, and urged his side of the case. Finally, after a little silence, broken only by his fretful whimpering, she kissed him quickly, and said that it should be as he wished. Anything you like," she said. Tell me when you are ready." Then, eluding his quick embrace, she ran out of the room, leav- ing him to dry his tears smilingly, and to set about making arrangements. Some breath of the business had got abroad through the house; some suggestion that Dora was in trouble. The three small faces that had peered out through the door, and the three small people who had listened to what the doctor had said, were very much concerned in what was happening. They came crowding about Dora in her room, demanding to know all a.bout it. There was Charlie—soon to leave school, and begin the battle of life for himself; quite a man, in fact. There was little Olara —who had fully made up her mind, by the way, to marry at the earliest possible moment, as the surest means of getting someone to pay for her maintenance; and there was Willie—dear rogue of the family, who drifted through life quite easily, and was, in temperament, a small replica of his father. They came to the girl now in her hour of need, and demanded to know all that was to be told them. The mood being upon her, she sat down, and, after a little desultory talk, began to say to them what was really in her own mind. "There was somebody once, my dear—oh! ever so long ago, when the world was bright and wonderful, and the sun shone all the year round-there was somebody once who was going to be very happy. Somebody who loved her was going to take her in his big strong arms one day. and lift her right out of all the trouble and sorrow she had known, and make her happy and glad for evermore. He went away-far away over the sea in a gieat ship, and his last smile was for her --his last whispered word of love was for her. too. And he was coming back, before she had time to remember that he had gone —with a great fortune for her." The light was troublesome at that point, and she had to turn away her head, and to pretend to hide it on Willie's shoulder. But she went on steadily after a moment or two. "Then something happened; the great sea rose up and took him in its' arms, and drew him down-and down—and d-owii-and hid him away from her for ever. So that he never oame back—and the fortune never wag his. And so she carried her sad heart always, and remembered only what might have been." "What a sad story!" eaid little Clara, beginning to cry. Tell us something funny. Dora looked up, shook her hair back from her eyes, and laughed. "The funny part was to come," she said, with a little catch in her voice, but still a smile in her eyec—" for a øeat. and wioked QCle. swept down one day, and snatched her up, and carried her away— for ever." That's not a bit funny," said Willie. That's not a bit funny," said Willie. The door opened, and Mr. Clement Frith put his head into the room. My dear Dora-if you could epare a few minutes," he said. I'm coming, father," she said, and kissed them all, as though she meant to say good- bye. Outside the door of the room she sa.w her father standing, and near him that eldest brother of hers—George the unfortunate. Truth to tell, he was a loutish, unlovely fellow enough; but she loved him, and had hopes of him. Perhaps at that time she would have clung to anyone; she turned to him now. George—kiss me, dear; this is my—my wedding day." Dad has been telling me," he said, as he brushed her cheek with his lips. "It's awfully plucky of you, old girl." She went up the stairs beside her father. Certainly Mr. Clement Frith had been most careful that there should be no hitch in the arrangements; the clergyman was actually in the room, talking quietly to the dying man. A young, mild-eyed clergyman, intro- duced to her by her father as the Rev. Mr. Kitscyn; a puzzled young clergyman, even though he knew the licence to be all that it should be. He gently drew the girl aside, and, with his eyebrows raised in perplexity, endeavoured to find out something concern- ing the matter from her. It was certainly surprising to find this young girl, scarcely out of her teens, about to be wedded to an elderly man, dying alone like this; he wanted to be sure that all was right, and that she was a consenting party. My dear Miss "—he referred to a slip of paper he held in his hand—" Miss Fritoh-I would like to ask you a question, if I may?" Looking into the calm, steadfast eyes of the girl, he felt disconcerted; did her the injus- tice, perhaps, to think that this was but a mere commercial arrangement, with nothing of romance about it. What do you wish to ask me? she asked quietly. This man, I'm told, is dying," he said, in a whisper. Is there some—sold old attach- ment bet-ween you. to be completed now, at the last moment?" No—I scarcely know him," she said, calmly. Please don't ask me any other quest-ions; the matter is settled, and—and my father is here. Please"—she looked up at him earnestly, striving hard to keep her lips firm-" please don't ask me anything else." "And you are quite willing-" Yes—quite willing," she broke in, "My father knows beet, and I am ready." So the ceremony was proceeded with. She stood straight and quiet and composed beside the bed of Lagden; she said what had to be said in a calia voice; she knelt when told to kneel, and bent her young head in that quiet room. She felt, rather than saw, that a. ring was put on her finger; she had a dun recol- lection that Mr. Clement Frith had been very cheerful and very supporting, and that he had a flower in the buttonhole of his coat.. () More appropriate to the occasion, he murmured. When it was ended, and she stood there- dazed and wondering—the strong voice of the man in the bed sounded in the room. "I want to speak to—to my wife," he said. "You can go, Dr. Sime—and you he nodded towards the young clergyman I don't think we need detain you any longer. Mr. Frith-" Don't let father go," broke in Dora hur- riedly. I would like father to stay." Oh, very well," said the man, with a little laugh. Let him stop at the other end of the room, then; there's something I want to say to you." Mr. Frith, with a cheerful nod at his new son-in-law, moved across to the window, and earnestly regarded the chimney pots outside; Dora drew near to the side of the bed, and, at a sign from the man, knelt down, the better to listen to what he had to say. I shall not be here long now," said the man, in a whisper; listen patiently to what I have to say. You needn't be afraid of me." "I—I'm not afraid," she said; but her face belied her words. I have given your father a. small sum of money; my will is made"—(for some extra- ordinary reason he seemed to laugh quietly while he spoke)—" and everything I have ia yours. Now, I want you to do something for me." She looked at him inquiringly; saw the deep-set eyes fixed 01I her face, and the ha.rd, firm, resolute moutlj. With a glance towards where Mr. Clement Frith was standing, with his back turned towards them, the man moved, slipped hi/J ha-nd under his pillow, and drew out a )ittle packet. He weighed it in his hand fondly, smiled, and almost seemed to caress it for a moment; then he handed it to the girl. You are to take this, and to keep it," he said, solemnly. You are not to open it until-well, until someone comes to claim it —someone who has a right to claim it." But how shall I know? she asked, look- ing at him wonderingly. You will know directly you see him," returned Lagden, mysteriously, "Don't fail me, or, if you do—I'll haunt you! There- there—don't look so frightened; I didn't mean that. Only don't let anyone know you have it; keep it locked away somewhere—carry it about with you, if you like. Do you under- stand? "WhaJt is it? she asked. "Never mind," was his reply, a little sul- lenly. Oome—it isn't much to ask, when I've made your fortune—is it? "I will do what you ask," she said, rising from her knees. Then, as she thrust the little packet into the bosom of her dress, a.nd turned to move away, some contrition came UI)().ll her-t;ome remorse for the fate of this man, who had but so short a time to live. She turned back to him, shyly and girlishly, and held out her hamd. Good-bye," she said. I—I'm sorry you're going to die; I wish-" No, you don't," he said, with a shake of the head. Good-bye." He gave the hand he held a little squeeze, and let it go. His eyes followed her wist- fully as she went out of the room, with her father behind her. The curious thing was that the man seemed to be abandoned to his fate in the most casual fashion. She did not think about it then; her mind was fully occupied with other thoughts; only later she remembered in what an extraordinary fashion Dr. Nathaniel Sime had walked out of the house, leaving the dying man to die unattended. From her father, of course, she expected nothing; he was not the sort of man to trouble about anyone but himself. It is more than probable that that worldly creature, Mr. Clement Frith, would have been prepared to celebrate the occasion; he mur- mured light-heartedly something about "open- ing a bottle." The tragic face of the girl, however, stopped the suggestion; he sighed a little as she crept away to her room and closed the door behind her. My dear boy," he said to his son George, that is the great mistake people make in this world. They are not light-hearted enough; they refuse to sit in the sunshine! Gradually the house grew quiet, while Dora eat at her window, looking out over the silent square. The moon was up, and a faint breeze rustled the leaves of the shabby trees in the little garden in the centre. Once a man passed, whistling cheerily; she won- dered if he knew that a man was dying within a few yards of him. Then a horrible fascination drew her towards Lagden's room. &he was tied to him; she was a part of him; and he was dead. She remembered, with some bitter- ness, that she had left him to die alone. He might, in fact, have called to her in his last hour, and she had never heard. She stood outside the door listening, and afraid to go in. The thought that she must know for cer- tain what had happened gave her courage to open the door. The room was in dark- ness, and very, very still; she heard no sound whatever, save the quick beating of her own heart. As she moved across the room her hand struck against a candlestick on the centre table; with her eyes directed straight to the corner in which she knew the bed stood, she groped with faltering hands for the matches, and got a light. Standing behind that faint barrier of light made by the candle she looked towards the bed. It was empty! The clothes were tumbled, and some of them had been tossed hurriedly on to the floor. Staring wildly round about her, she saw that the man's clothes were gone; saw also that the rooun was in dis- order, as though after some hasty departure. Stunned and bewildered, she staggered to the door, opened it, and cried out. Her father caxne running hurriedly—a little sleepy as to the eyes, probably because he had had an extra glass to mark the occa- sion. It took him some time to grasp the fact that the supposed dying Lagden was gone; it took him longer still to understand all that the fact meant to the helpless girl. Staring about in a bewildered fashion, he saw a scrap of paper lying on the table near the candlestick, and picked it up. Ah—this seems to explain matters a little," he said. I haven't my glasses—but perhaps you-" She snatched it out of his hand, and, hold- ing it close to the flame of the candle, ehe read the hasty scrawl upooi it: — I'm sorry. It was all a lie acid a cheat; but you shan't suffer for it, little girl. Keep ■ your promise; tell no one anything. 1 Josiah Lagden." ] It only shows what mistakes the bast of us are capable of," said Mr. Clement Frith, with a melancholy shake of the head. He thought he was dying. What a providential es.cape! But, father," she began breathlessly— don't you understand what this means for me? This man, of whom I know nothing—is my husband; alive and well—free to come back to me at any time. Don't you under- stand that?" "There certainly seems to have been a—a slip of some kind somewhere, said Mr. Clement Frith. feebly. BaØ. distracted, ebe west pcaoa to her owdh < < room. After pacing about for some time, cot knowing what to do, she suddenly thought of that mysterious packet which Lagden had placed in her hands, and which she had been enjoined not to open. But here might be the key of the mystery; surely she was absolved from her promise now that the man had not died. She pulled it out from her dress, and began to open it. It was in many wrappings—the outside one of paper, and the inner ones of stained scraps of rag and canvas. When at last the final wrapping dropped from her fingers, and the tiring itself lay in her hands, she uttered a cry of amazement. And, as she did so, her father, who had oome softly into the room, re-echoed the cry. It was a diamond. Not an ordinary diiu- mond, by any means; but a thing so wonder- ful for size and brilliancy that it might have been some fabulous jewel, only talked of in legends and Eastern stories—a thing to make one catch one's breath and tremble for personal safety with such a thing in his possession. My dear Dora—where did you get this? asked Mr. Clement Frith, in a hushed voice. He-my husband—gave it to me—to take care pfr she replied. What does it all mean?" It means one thing, certainly, my love," said Mr. Clement Frith, wisely—" and that is that Mr. Josiah Lagden will decidedly return to claim it." She had wrapped it up again, when her father stretched out an eager hand towards it. "Would it not be better, my love, if you allowed me to take charge of it," he urged. Why, the thing is worth—Heaven only knows what! Suppose you lost it—or it was stolen from you?" I promised him I would keep it until it was claimed, said the girl quietly, as she put it back again into her dress. She made no attempt to go to bed that night, but sat at her window looking o"t into the night and wondering what was to happen. That she was a factor in some mysterious business of which she knew noth- ing, she was certain; the marriage had been arranged for some specific purpose; it had been a plot from beginning to end. To whom did this wonderful diamond belong? The dawn came up over the- housetops at last while she sat there. London was still asleep, or, at best, only partially waking. Then, while she sat a.t the window, she heard down below her a sound that brought the quick blood to her cheeks, and forced her in a moment to her feet. It was a very quick, cheery whistle—three short, sharp notes, and then another, long-drawn. It was like a cry from the dead. It had been the signal—well remembered, though with tea.rs-of that dead lover who had gone down in the ill-fated ship which was supposed to be bearing him to fortune. Peering down into the half-lighted street, she saw the tall figu.re of a man just beneath her window. And again the whistle was repeated. Scarcely knowing what she did, she ra.n down through the silent house, opened the outer door, and crept out into the street. The figure of the man made a quick move- ment towards her; drew her suddenly within strong, firm arms. Don't be frightened, dear," said a, voice she had never thought to hear again. "I was saved—wonderfully saved; they couldn't drown me while I loved you. I'm here to claim you; I've brought back a fortune with me! She broke away from him-stating at him wildly, her face white and drawn. No—no —it's all a mistake, Frank," she said. I —I don't love you—I mustn't. Go away--go away—and forget me! She ran into the house, closing the door swiftly. When, presently, she got to her window again, and looked out over the quiet square, where the dawn was fully breaking at last, she saw the figure of the young man going slowly across it, his head bent upon his breast, and with lagging feet. He never once looked back. (To be continued.)
THE TARIFF COMMISSION.
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THE TARIFF COMMISSION. GRATIFYING PROGRESS OF THE INQUIRY. The Tariff Commission has now held eleven meetings, at which the average attendance of members has been 40. The special committees on the iron and steel trades, the engineering and machinery trades, the textile trades, and on foreign tariffs, have also held several meetings, and the agricultural committee has commenced its specific investigation into the effect of Mr. Chamberlain's proposals on agri- cultural conditions. The work of the Commis- sion so far may be briefly summarised as follows:— The material already available for the purposes of the inquiry in official returns and published books have been surveyed with the view of shortening as far as possible the labours of the Commission. The result of this examination is to show that, while there is abundant information already published either in England or abroad on nearly every branch of the fiscal question, there is at present no satisfactory or complete summary of this information to be found, and the data necessary for forming conclu- sions as to the effect on different branches of trade of the application, in detail, of Mr. Chamberlain's proposals must be collected from the manufacturers, merchants, and traders themselves. Memoranda have been prepared on the statistics of iron and steel production (already published), the organisation and working of the German kartels, developments in tie United States iron and steel trade, trie objects of foreign tariffs, railway policy, evi- dence given before the United States Indus- trial Commission, agricultural statistics, and many other subjects. More important evidence has been obtained in response to the forms of inquiry issued by the Commission. The replies to form No. 1 (for all manufacturers) are now practically complete. They relate to every industry in the country, and in most cases have been pre- pared with the greatest care. Tasen altogether they constitute a mass of informa- tion on the conditions of trade at the present time of the utmost value, not only for the immediate purposes of the Commission, but as the starting point for further inquiries into industrial conditions in the United King- dom. Only the iron and steel forms have as yet been completely tabulated. These are found to include firms employing not lesa than 75 per cent. of the total number of Dersons engaged in this industry. • A special form applicable to the iron and steel trades has also been issued, and there has already been a generous response. Many of the replies to this special form are extra- ordina,rly detailed, and supply most valuable data for forming an opinion as to the actual organisation of the iron and steel trade at the present time, and the precise nature of the difficulties which have to be dealt with. Many firms and trade associations have placed at the disposal of the Commission the statistics they have themselves compiled for business purposes, and without reference to the fiscal controversy. The preliminary work of the Commission may now, therefore, be considered complete. After Easter the exam- ination of witnesses will proceed as rapidly as possible.
"I WILL HAVE VI-OOCOA."
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"I WILL HAVE VI-OOCOA." Your grocer and every other grocer, too, can tell you of men and women who week after week regularly use Dr. Tibbies' Vi-Cocoa, and who, to use a common term, "swear by it" as a nourishing and stimulating Food Beverage. Are you a regular drinker of Vi-Cocoa? It not, why not? Dr. Tibbies' Vi-Cocoa, by taking the plwe of stimulants of an ardent nature, has made happy many a home which otherwise to-day would have been wretched, and the ultimate effects of which it is impossible to foresee For breakfast, dinner, supper—indeed, at any hour of the twenty-four—Dr. Tibbies' Vi-Cocoa will be found light and refreshing; it leads the way among all beverages, and nothing ban equal it. w468
NOT OF NOBLE BIRTH.
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NOT OF NOBLE BIRTH. Prince Colloredo Mansfeld, one of the largest landed proprietors in Bohemia, married at Paris last year a widow named Countess Grahanet, who was understood to be a rich English noblewoman. The couple afterwards lived on the Riviera for some time, and then came to Prague and went into society, where the Princess was much admired and entertained by all. Later on doubt arose among Prince Co-lloredo'a relations and friends as to whether his wife was of noble descent. Inquiries were made in London and Paris, and the answer came, Sophie Grahanet is not of noble birth." The Prince has now begun proceedings for divorce.
THE PLAGUE IN INDIA.
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THE PLAGUE IN INDIA. Although there Is every indication that the plague is losing its grip in Bombay city, it rages with terrible virulence outside the city in the presidency. There were 40,000 deaths from the pest last week, about 10,000 more than in the corresponding week of the previous year. The burning ghauts (funeral pyres) are busy the day long. In Bombay itself the mortality is nearly 1,000 a week less than usual. The hot weather, when the plague subsides unless some unexpected features develop, has begun. The population accept the position with Oriental indifference, though the scarcity of labour the plague is causing is being materially felt.
LADY'S LOVE AFFAIRS.
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LADY'S LOVE AFFAIRS. In the King's Bench on Friday in a case in which Miss Mabel Letitia Jsune Burrows, daughter of an organist, residing at Ravens- court Park, London, had been awarded a farthing damages against Mr. William Henry Keys, elett/rical engineer, of Hammersmith, for breach of promise of marriage, Mr. Justice Ridley said the action ought never to hawe been broflgfct, apd depxxmd the plaiDtitJ; of her casta.
PICTURE PUZZLE SOLUTIONS.…
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PICTURE PUZZLE SOLUTIONS. X4,000 TO BE WON BY COM- PETITORS. SUGGESTED BY AN OXFORD 1LA, SPARE MOMENTS 1. Fruit; 2, Nature; 3, Violin; 4, Rose, 96M Eros. Roes; 5, Cricket; 6, Magnet; 7, £ &tate; 8, Football; 9, Bottle; 10, Poster. SUNDAY CIRCLE. 25, Hyde; 26, Painton; 27, Demaid; Armour. COMIC HOME JOURNAL 64, Amelia; 65, Bjarper; 66, Eastern; 67. Scholar; 68, Housemaid; 69, Page. SHORT STORIES 7, J. R. Fairhurst; 8, E. H- W. Nivene (or Est. W. Nivers); 9, Geo. A. Munns; 10, AH. Redman; 11, W. J. Whitelaw; 12, L. D. Cooper. T.A.T. 1. Bridge; 2, Notice (or Attention); 3, Boats 4, Rowed; 5, Ten; 6, Feet. WEEKLY TELEGRAPH 0.—1, Alternative; 2, Perform; 3, Allegory j 4, Highlander; 5, Abridge; 6, laorse-breabw. SCRAPS Third list.—1, Gem; 2, Rye; 3. Game; 4. Nag- 5, Manger; 6, Mar; 7, Range; 8, Rag. Fourth list.—1, Bilge; 2. Mugil; 3, Ileum; 4, Begum; 5, Umbel; 6, Lien; 7, Lugg; t. Limb. WOMAN'S WORLD. 57, Lockhart; 58, Jasper; 59, Hughes; ii, Claud; 61, Anson; 62, Drake; 63, Ida,; 64. Peacock. COMIC LIFE Seventh set.—1, Loris; 2, Erosion; 3. Nostril; 4, Runlet; 5, Turnsole; 6, Onerous j 7, Neroli; 8, Lose. „ Eighth list.—1, Adore; 2, Fabler; 3, Fnabte; 4, Bream; 5, Marble; 6, Bedim; 7, Embroil; 8, Flaon. PEAHSON'S WEEKLY 90, Legalise; 92, Talapoin. 97, Tacit; 98, Mineral; 99, Dudgeon; 109, Elmo's-fire; 101, Brougham; 102.ardcorn. 103, Pigtail; 104, Gossipy; 105, Capable; lOi, Visitor; 107, Fetch; 108, Hydrangea. BOYS' REALM, 43, Coxswain in the bows; 44, No. 5th class; 45, Sharks should be whales; 46, Dog up tTee; 47, Oil floats on water; 48, "Boys' Realm' is Id. UNION JACK 1. Letters in wrong position; 2. Pour o'clock should be llII.; 3, Fowl swimming; 4, Smoke and flag should be blown the same way; S. Four stumps; 6, Hats on wrong heads; 7. Man's fa-ce should appear in mirror; 8, Boot- maker should be butcher; 9, Scales should be level; 10, Balloon has no car; 11, Children should be reversed; 12, Boots on wrong feet; 13. Legs should turn backwards; 14, Only eight pins; 15. No breathing tube. COMIC CUTS 131, Paddington; 132, Bush; 133, Pegg; 131, G-arratty; 135, Bland: 136, Sparrow; 137, Boyd; 138, McNaught; 139, Sandford; 140, Cowley. BOYS' LEADER 19. The man is not balanced by the bird; 20, Pansy on holly; 21, Private with officer's helmet; 22, Sword on the wrong side; 23, Camel with three humps; 24, Left-hand on right arm. WOMAN'S LIFE. Kinds of meat: Beet, Mutton, Pork, Veal. Uncompleted wall: No more bricks. Months: December, May, July, March. MetaJs: Zinc, Steel, Gold, Lead, Tin. MARVEL 1, xc—90; 2. No rudder lines; 3, Poison label on castor-oil bottle; 4, Inches wrongly divided; 5, Spout too low; 6, One "up should read "down." CASWELL'S SATURDAY Third set: 7. By noon that day Helen would be his affianced wife; 8. Ann bowed and retired softly, leaving Harold alone with the dead; 9, The trouble between my father 841d me was that I love your daughter and told him so. NUGGETS. Fifth list.—33, Engineer and Railway Volun- teer Staff Corps; 34, Second West Riding of Yorkshire Artillery Volunteers; 35, Oheshire Regiment, the Red Knights; 36, 150th Battery Royal Field Artillery; 37, Duke of Cambridge's Own. 17th Lancers; 38, Lancashire Fusiliers, the 23th King's Siaylegs; 39, 7th Queen's Own Hussars. Young Eyes; 41, North Somerset Im- perial Yeomanry. WEEKLY BUDGET. 41, Be not too hasty to outbid another; 42, Circumstances alter crises; 43. Every condi- tion has some troubles; 44, Never forsake a true friend; 45, Drive your business lest it drive you; 46, Rome was not built in a day; 47. Hearts may agree though heads differ; 48, He danceth well to whom fortune pipeth. SUNDAY COMPANION. Chapter V.-The butler for a time forgot Joseph. In Chapter XLI. we then read of Pharaoh's dreams, showing how the lean kine devoured the fat kine, and how the lean ears of corn devoured the full and good corn. Pharaoh was troubled about these matters, and consulted his wise men, but they could not explain the meaning of the dreaims. TIT-BITS. Playground objects: Parallel bars. Giant stride. Battledore, Shuttlecock, Hoop, Marbles, Spring games: Touch, Rounders, Cricket. Egg- cap. Boxing. Peg-ton. Writer of fairy tales: Hans Anderson. Girl's name: Edith. Pic- torial verse: "The boy stood on the burning deck," &c. "Weasel John." 1.—Page 463. co!. 2, line 27: They found Bnifidgft Bit- ting: on the shingle. 2.—Page 391, col. 3: Slowly printed on the tabte in large letters: "Ruffidge." 3.-484, 1: Took the minstrel just behind the rlgfct nr. 4.—412, 2: Grasped a fold of sodden cloth. 5.-392, 3: His adversary on the top of him. 6.-392. 2: Take the score out of that. 7.—412, 1: A sudden shock that jarred and almost dazed him. 8.-435, 3: Began to dance round the stone. 9.-535, 2: Bit over tfie strange object. 10.-412. 2: The weasel lifted a. loose stretcher aaI aimed a blow. 11.-392 2: There was a foreign look about him. 12.-436, 2; Seized the astonished Rex by the nape at his neck. 13.-437. 1: He jerked Ms thumb towards The Bilgai 14.-413, 1: Leaning upon the fence. 15.-4e5, 1: A leathern was flashed up and down the skiff. 16.—463, 1: "By-the-bye, Leife," M.id the vicar, cliang-inp: the subject. 17.-392, 2: Drew up his sleeves, displaying great hairy, musculaT arm. IS.—451, 1: He became aware of a. persistant and pecs- liar whistle. 19.-412, 3: "What about Phil?" cried Mr. JjBOa, starting up in bed. 20.-464, 2: These are my nerxies, Mr. LøI18." 21.-511, 2: The vault was lit up. 22.-483, 1: *< Good evening, missy," he begaa qcite politely. 23.-4B4, 1: Feel with his fingers under the thick hair. 24.-484, 1: Set it to his lipe. 25.—465, 2: His fingers seized a projection. 26.—392, 1: He lifted his huge hands. 27.-463, 2: Saluted respectfuIJv 28.-559, 2: Bringing the Weasel heavily to the I nniai 29.—411, 2: The evil face of Broad thrust out. 30.-512, 3: Men came running down the beach 8aI seized him. 31.—633, 1: HeM the flask to the Weasel's lips. 32.-536, 1: Now," he went on, turning to the mta. 33.—464, 1: He perceived the tall, stooping figure of Euffidge. 34.—435, 1: "You must be Aunt Lucv, ma'am. 35.—609, 1: Postlethwaite stepped forward and spoka in quick, short, soldierly sentences. 36.-559, 3: Levelled full at the prisoner's head. 37.-484, 2: He tumbled down a flight of steps. 38.-436, 1: She saw a little green lizard. 39.—610, 1: Seized by a dozen hands and diaggedl along. 40.-537, 1: The bad man's over there," cried Phil, pointing. 41.-511, 2: rve been tricked, and fooled, and half killed. 42.-560, 1: The officer in ooaamaad shook hands warmly with the curate. 43.-535, 3: Carr kneeling beside a prostrate body. 44.-610, 1: The sailors cheered and ran on with their hangers drawn. 45.—609, 3: Immediately received a heavy jolt on tfe* jaw. 46.-512, 2: He tried to steer clear of the racks. 47.-609, 3: I'll blow ycur brains out." 48.-585, 2: Ruffidge sprang to his feet. 49.-512, 2: Holding his lanthom in one hand, stepped from the boat. 50.-536, 3: You're too fine and dainty to drink. 51.—61t, 2: A lanthem turned a flickering glow upon the object. 52.-484, 2: In the cheat he found only some old clothes.
ATTEMPTED MURDER AND SUICIDE.
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ATTEMPTED MURDER AND SUICIDE. At St. Helens on Monday a young man, named Leopold Bennison, was charged win the attempted murder of a yoang woman named Catherine Grady, with whom he had been keeping company. The woman stated that she had told prisoner that she must give him up as he was so jealous that she could not even speak to her friends. Later Bennison drew a raaor across her throat, but she escaped. The police found Benniso-n lying with his own throat badly out. Benniaon told the magistrate that he only intended to frighten the girl. He wae oommrtted for trial on a charge of attempted murder and also of attempted suicide.
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Wash with Fels-Naptha and go by the book inside the wrapper. You'll never be willing to wash with anything else. r*,Al ANA- MIK i