Weekly Mail

VILLAGE BEAUTY'S PENSION The report of the Sheffield Old-age Pensions Committee for the eighteen months since the Act oame into operation shows that during tha.t pericd the committee have dealt with 5,629 claims, of which 4,916 have been allowed. Many female claimants, relying on marriage certificates to prove their a-ge, had expe- rienced trouble, a.s. owing to vanity or other reasons, the age stated in the certificate was erroneous. One woman established her age by reason of the fact that at the time of her marriage at the age of eighteen years she was a well-known villa-ge bea*uty in an Irish parish, and satisfactory evidence was forth- coming as to that fact.

LAUGH & GROW FAT HUMOROUS PARS FROM j EVERYWHERE. .•t yxMi wash the j JtLl ^81°r do a thing than to ait and tibink about it. tbe dishes, and I n ait and think about it. Just thin-k-AIex,naider the Great, when a-tf the rations of a common soldior. cried a lad enthusiastically, look- ing up from his history-book. Poor get nothing?" asked his more matter-of-fact companion. P., h said a: Mayfair lady to her hus- band, who had been criticising her attire, what does a man know about a woman's clothes?' He knows the price, my dear," h6 replied gently, and she retired. Hullo, George. Back from the gmaide?" "Yes." "Come back engaged?" "Yes." How many?" All of them. I was the only man there." Dad, can I go to the music-hait. inquired a youth whose father had a reputation for strictness in bringing u.p his progeny. "No, sir, said the parent severely; "no eon of mine shall go where his fatheT would be ashamed to be seen. If I catoh you there He broke off abruptly. "My boy," sai.1 the kind old uncle, aa he beamed on his young nephew, "you are my closest relative, are you not?" No, uncle," sweetly replied the little fellow; "my father, has that distinction. He never gives me a penny unless l, ask him for it.o" Gabrielli: a famous sm-ger, demanded a. fee of a thousand du-oats for singing before the Empress Oatherine the Second of Russia. "Far too much!" said tbe Empiress, amazed. "Why, it. is more than-I pay field-, marshals!" "Then let youtr field-marshals sing for you!" replied Gabrielli. "Jack Pallet has the refutation of being a capital artist. I'm told that he painteR cob- webs ,on his ceiling sq perfectly that the servant struggled with- borbroom at them far hours!1" "Ah, rejoined a listener, "there may be such an artist, but there never was and never will be such a bottSemai d!" "Did you find that John Smith and get tJh-e money from him?" asked a City mer- chant of his clerk. I" -N-D.; there are a whole lot of John Smiths in that stTeet, and every one of them denied owing you a cent. The last one even kicked me cut into the road." You go back to that one. He was the right one." A party of ladies visiting an exhibition became very muoh interested in some of the large plants used for decorative purposes, and one of them, turning to an attendant, inquired eagerly, "Thege plants belong to the banana family, do they not?" With scorn and injured pride, th)& attendant answered ooldly, "No, they belong to General Loring!" "I hope yonlluse all or some of these," said a. caller who had deposited on an editorial table a large number of sketches. "'1 need the money badly. I leave' them In the hope thfU they may keep the wolf from the door." ( No, don't leave them here," responded the editor; take them home and han* tbecn outside the door, and you may be sure that neither wolf nor any other animal will venture near them!" The constable seems wonderfully certain about the details of my case," said a defen- dant with a sneer; but how is it he doesn't call a fellow-officer to corroborate what he 9àys?" Because I have no fellow-officer. I am the only constable stationed in the village, sir! exclaimed the policeman. "But I saw two last night!" indignantly asserted the defendant. "Exactly," the policeman rejoined, smiling —" that's why you are here! It is recorded as a fact that the Emperor Napoleon I. received Bluoher at the Castle of Finkenstein while he was preparing for I the siege of Danzig. He drew the Prussian to a window in an upper storey and paid him compliments on his military gifts, and Bluoher, going away delighted, described the interview to his aide-de-camp. "What a chance you missed! exclaimed the latter. "You might have changed the whole ciPiirse of history." EoW?" .,Wh.v, you might have thrown him out of the window!" "Confound, it! replied Blucher. "So I might! If okily I liad thoucht of ii-I

Tick-tick. The rich, deep voice of the great marble timepiece, faithfully and fatefully regular in the silence, was answered by the thick beat of the man's heart. At moments it seemed as if the heart must burst under the strain; but the man himself was uncon- scious of that now. He had the greatest human incentive of all to live on. if only for another week—another day. Just revenge! He stood flat against the wall, his arms drawn up, his breath half held, the world shut out. The projection of a huge oaken bookcase easily obscured him. For that matter, in a room so many-angled, and with the amber-shaded lamp in the centre throw- ing so many niches into shadow, there was scarce any risk of detection. And he was past ordinary fear. The hopeless love for a woman had seemed to burn away all other emotions. It was just a year since he had been ushered—no, driven—from this same house as an "undesirable." The bitter, sar- donic tongue of the preoccupied man seated at the writing-table across there had cut into him wounds that would never heal-" You, a mere actor, bringing your footlight sensa- tions into real life! You, a jumped-up nobody, asking for my daughter because she ha.s been dazzled into thinking you a genius and a gentleman: No, Valerie will not answer you 111 do that. Leave this house—and leave it for ever!" Stung, overwhelmed, he had gone. without a last glimpse of the dear, pale face. The long chain of days had dragged by—each bringing its struggle and its agony. He had sunk lower and lower-a man clutching vainly at the precious shadow that moved with him night and day. His acting had become mechanical—then purely pathetic; the public, that could not know, wrote down John Aveling as a fallen star; possibly through the besetting sin of drink. Thoee pleading letters to Valerie had never reached her—had been read and torn into strips by the man at the desk across there; he knew it, because he knew that otherwise the dawn- ing love in her must have broken down all barriers and brought her to him in pity—if only to save his career. To-night, just a year later, haggard, almost penniless, he was alone here in the room with the man to whom he owed it all—Morgan Laud, financial magnate, and the father of Valerie. His last sovereign was gone as a bribe to the groom who had allowed him to slip past the trades- man's entrance. The rest had been achieved by determined stealth. Seven o'clock, said the timepiece—just ten minutes since Morgan Laud had come quickly in here as usual, turned up the light. and sat down as if to write. He had written nothing. Presently his face had gone down upon his arms with a dull bump—to lift acain and stare into space with a fixed inten- sity. Premonition of some evil to come? Perhaps; but to Aveling there was something more—something for his mad hunger to feed upon. Morgan Laud, that bland, smiling man who had enriched himself and ruined hundreds by his secret, relentless manipula- tion of certain stock and share values, looked to-night not one, but ten years older. Some- times he shivered; at moments he looked almost old—at moments he glanced slowly round as if fearing that something breathed at his shoulder. John Aveling, who had come with fingers that strained to strangle some cry for mercy from Laud's throat, wae held to watch in a passive fascination which had no name. The silence of t,he great house in Norwood was almost deathlike. Then, of a sudden, just as Aveling crouched for the leap forward—Laud was upon his feet, making an unmistakably strenuous effort at self-possession. There were steps in the cor- ridor and a tap at the door. "Come in!" answered, with forced smoothness. A iwyrvant threw baok the door, announced, Mr. Gerald Uniacke," and closed it again. A raan stood there, bowing and smiling peou- harly—as if he would have said: "Ah, yes, how circumstances alter oases!" "Tall and dark, well dressed, with jewelled how circumstances alter oases!" "Tall and dark, well dressed, with jewelled toners, a saffron-tinted face, and black shiny hair, he was dearly the caller for whom Laud had waited in suspense. He strolled Laud had waited in suspense. He strolled to a seat by the table, crossed his legs, and chose fastidiously a cigar from the box Laud held out. Both men smoked in silence for a minute—one still smiling enigmatically, the other obviously straining every nerve for composure to match. Then Uniacke looked around him. flicked a mythical speck from the arch of his shirt-front, and laughed a little. "Well, assuredly, better late than never' We have been neighbours—and fellow finan- clers--quite a long time without being frien'ds. eh?" If f so-there was a reason," was the answer, faintly cold and reluctant. Oh, bosh! An end to all that sickly pre- tence!" Uniacke lay comfortably back. "Is your daughter on such a pedestal? Isn't she merely flesh and blood? I mentioned mar- riage to her, and was snubbed. What of it? You can be frank—so can I." It was because 1. as father of a mother- less girl, had to—had to know that your posi-1 tion as an undischarged bankrupt, lending money and doing business under false descriptions, had involved you in suspicions of fraud; in fact, that your record You seem to have fished it all out," was the ironical reply. "My record? Good heavens! Have you ever told of your own, max I ask ? And Laud winced and whitened palpably. "There, we don't want to talk of that. The sole difference was that you some- how wormed into the fringe of society; and I couldTi t. And now, I gather from your interesting note, you are on the edge of some- thing awkwardly Atpen P, -r" For a minute more Land sat stubbornly silent. Then he hurled away his cigar, and with it his final shred of constraint. "I'm ruined, he muttered. He put a hand to his eyes, ard shuddered. Ruined," he repeated. Uniacke looked ell round the room, and whistled softly, as if he did not take that word. "Absolutely?" he queried. "Ameri- can rails?" Yes. The crash has let me in. If nothing happens I shall be missing on pay-day—next Monday," He 'got up, swayingly. The other reached out a hand and held him still. Keep calm. I thought as much; but yo-u re only one of scores. And South Kaffirs starting to soar, too, a little cash and credit would have retrieved you—eh? How much?" Never mind. Twenty thoooand-íifteen thousand—would see me through for the moment. And I dare nat-" "That's all? Why, any bank or your broker friends, would put up that amount for you—Morgan Laud, the invincible, the inexhaustible The sneer bad been pointed, yet he could not resent it. "You don't understand. I mn-R 't have it now—to-morrow night at latest—and unknown to anyone. One breath as to my real position would bring down a shoal of creditors—and jealous enemies. I am 'oversold' in all directions. I thought of you. If you oare to make me an advance in strict secrecy, I'll pay well and do any- thing—anything afterwards to further your interests, socially or otherwise—you under- stand? If not, all can go—I'm ruined, and dozens with me!" He sank heavily down. H'm!" Uniacke closed his eyes and seemed to reflect. You want a cheque for fifteen thousand by to-morrow night "No, not all by cheque." He reached out a hand eagerly. I want part in notes— quite a third. I must pay come into the local bank here to quiet them; they've returned three cheques on them to-day that I sent to creditors. Country clients are getting scared —I must send off cash for a few days to stop the 'rot.' I can't tell you just how I stand Will you—oan you—do this for me? I'll pay seven—eight per cent. for secrecy, and wipe it off in six months." Well, it's a plain question, and here's a plain answer," said Uniacke. looking down at his tapering, polished footwear. "As a financial man I can; as a. friend, I will. I

MAKING THE MOST OF LIFE. A QUESTION OF FOOD. Medicine Unnecessary. Well now, what we want to say to you ie this: A celebrated medical practitioner W. Tibbtes, M.D., devoted many years of his life to the production of a nutritive and easily digested food. He succeeded in preparing a compound of malt, hope, kola, and oocoa, and so combining them that, with their respective and collective qualities, they form an ideal food, which goes under the name of Dr. Tibbies' Vi-Cocoa. This famous prepara- tion is taken in the form of a beverage, yet it is more than both food and drink-it is a medicine also, for malt, hops, and kola all possess valuable medicinal finalities. It is pleasant to the palate and the most diges- tible of diets. So great is it in nutritive power that a single cup would, if need be, sustain a man for 24 hours. Do not ask your grocer for oocoa. Ask for ^fCocoa .-it,m&kes all the difference. Every grocer sells Vi-ooooa in 6d. pockets and 9d. and It. 6d. tine. "14

NEWSBOY'S SUSPICIONS. LEAD TO ARREST OF ALLEGED HOUSEBREAKER, A remarkable incident of the season was deeoribed ,? holiday worth a footman, was commiu^d ,or on a charge of breaking into Mr. Carl Hahrrl SES. «?3S5SS AND 6T~LING eigaiv, and olothing. day^n^orwLT A^day^lL35 a holi" spoke to a newsboy ^m £ l ^"?,sworth in a road at th7back^M?ae°n' a "dI^medth'ilh h?W he c<mld ent*r the hou^ butler," he explained. I have left my keys inside, and cannot get in The newsboy showed him how he could enter the house by passing through another ho^ee that was being repaired and dim bin? a fencf- -Ainsworth had entered tb| house by the back door, which was unlocked became suspicious awfy.^rnd dtfde^io 'foK th*^ butler. ^Vhen he entered 1. hoxJe hePfoW Ainsworth asleep in bed. and without awakening him, he summoned a policeman Ajnsvortn was most indignant when tit» policeman awoke him, and asked What JZ you doing here?" vvnatare I am in charge! he retorted. What you doing here?" The house was in great disorder," said & detective, who afterwards examined and was in an indescribably filthy condition it had every -PPBarance of having been oocn- pied by a person of objectionable habits for a weok. The furniture and of the house itself badiy damaged. Doors, drawers, and boiee had been broken open, and an effort had been made to open a safe. The wine cellar had been entered, and in the kitchen was a whisky bottle, with the corkscrew still the cork. "Ainsworth was wearing clothes bekniffin* to Mr. Hahn, including a doeskin vest sTpair of ndmg breeches, and a pair of leggings. His mother had been employed at the hoi» as a cook." It was stated that the newsboy would be rewarded by Mr. Hahn

WHAT THE BUTLER SAID. ATTRIBUTED HIS RUIN TO HORSB- RACING. I Piece after piece of silver was brought forward and put on the solicitors' table in the West lond-on Police-court recently, when John Farrell, a butler, was sentenced to four months hard labour for stealing silver and other goods to the value of £ 250 from his mistress, Mrs. Fleichmaon, of 6, eoilingba-m- gardens, Kensington. It was stated that drink and betting had been the cause of th. butler's downfall. He -was under notice to leave, and decamped with the propertv bem £ arrested at 2\Tavan (Co. Meath), in Ireland Horse-racing has done this," he sa,id when arrested. A pawnbroker with whom some of the silver articles were pawned said that Farrell had pawned some of the go< three or four times before, and had alwavl redeemed them. redeemed them.

POLICE-COURT MARRIAGE. SEQUEL THREE MONTHS' HARD LABOUR FOR WIFE. At West Iondon recently Jessiea, Flovd a servant, who attributed her downfall to police-court marriage, was sent for months uard labour for stealing property from her late mistress. Miss E. G. Palmer a c-ourt dressmaker. A detective said !ha.t prisoner was formerly bound over and en* to a home, a-here she remained for 21 month. Later shewa. found by the court missionary living with a man with whom ebe was nrJ- viously associated. At the missionary's •' instigation she consented to get married A deteetfre said that her husband who apparently followed no employment, vimiled her at her mistress's house. She wae in hla company when arrested.

FOSTER CLARK'S CREAM CUSTARD Is as superior to ordinary. Custard as Rich Cream is to ordinary Milk. Try it to-day. 6id. tin makes 12 quarts, ld. pkt. makea 1 qt.

can be in this room to-morrow night at eight o'clock—not before—with my cheque for ten thousand, and notes for another live; and no one need be a bit wiser. What you do with it, or why you require it. is not my affair; a signed and stamped agreement will cover my risk. I hope. But I'm not asking any interest. You've insulted me there." --1 long pause. Then—" What do yon mean?" Laud aeked. unsteadily. That I've got a sentimental side—and it's been touched. That your daughter appears to be under your thumb, with a remarkable sense of filial duty, or devotion. You, who can manage millions, can manage her-moiild her, so to speak. Let me make her a good husband—give me my chance, at any rate. If it's not worth it-" He got up with a wave of hie cigar, as if all were ended. I can't—I can't—it's menstrous," whis- perd Laud, thickly. I see- Then, gocd-night. Mr. Laud." iNo, no—wait—let me think! I oa-nnot bind myself-she is not here-I might fail- even if I sank myself to such a deliberate compact. I know her too well! She lost her head, once, to some actor fellow; and ever rjince Oh, curse him the other said, coolly, in the pause. He saw how securely the teeth of the trap had closed. This is different— I'm a gentleman. If you can't finesse a path to marriage, you are not so desperately placed as I—as you make out. On the other hand, you might require yet another loan to clear yourself, eh? Well, is it to be, or not? I must be off." Morgan Laud stood, the hand hard to his forehead, sounds in his throat as of a dumb man straining to regain articulation. Then, with a rattle, he had said it. I'm in your power-I'll pay your price." "Very good. At eight o'clock to-morrow night it shall be upon this table." Gerald Uniacke bowed himself out at the ■coor. All of it had reached the brain of the hag- gard, watching man—part with perfect clear- ness and part as down the muffling avenues of a dream. Not once had he moved; he did not stir now. He had come in a blazing climax of bitter passion for vengeance-and he saw it within his greop. Not the ven- geance of a figure writhing and choking for mercy in his clutch, but one infinitely more subtle, more irresistible and fascinating m its very daring—and (Jn doubly merited. Morgan Laud should be ruined—should crash from his brilliant position into the pit of obscurity, cheek by jowl with himself As the flash-thought came to him he had looked around the room. He would have no Reed to beg or steal another sovereign bribe for the grcom. Xot one, but two, curtained Igla" doors stood ajar in the September night, opening into a palmhouse, and some way to the palmhouse could be found through the grounds—could be mapped out to-night. He simply stood, his eyes drinking in every detail of the face and figure of the financier at the table; stood until an ineffaceable mental photograph had been taken. Then. as Morgan Laud rose recklessly, turned out the light, and made unsteadily for the cor- ridor, he let him go without a word or sign. He stretched out his arm in the dark silence left, whispered "Valerie! Valerie! Forgive me—I loved you so!" and then felt his way across to one of the glass doors. A moment, and it had swung to behind him. • • • • • It wanted fully twenty minutes to the appointed hour when Morgan Laud hurriedly entered his private room that next evening. He had just reached home, and still had on his fur-line cloak—he would be leaving the house again on vital business just after eight o'clock. Wiping something from his forehead, he strode across to the private wire instrument in the corner. One swift glance along the tape that had coiled out, and he dropped it, to throw up his arms with a significant ges- ture. Rails had fallen—fallen—fallen. He could carry over his colossal transaction onoe again, perhaps, in the hopes of a turn- ing tide; but at the lowest computation the contango figure for the privilege would reach fifteen thousand pounds. One breath of his actual position, and the "deal" would be closed against him. Stark ruin!—a sword suspended by a hair. What was that? His nerves at that stretch, he swerved convulsively. A tap-tap at one of the glass doors across there. He took an involuntary leap, threw back the door- stared into the depths of the palmhouse. The amber shade over the lamp left it in obsou- rity, but he could just make out the form of a man standing still there. "Who—who are you?" he rattled, ready to shout an alarm. Uniacke—with the money," was the quiet response. Uniacke here-in this way? Was he dream- ing? He groped forward, holding back the I arching palm-fronds—and paused, the sweat beading out on his forehead. He was staring at-at his own living counterpart. He seemed to be standing before a mirror, facing his own reflect.ion. A mirror—yes! Half un- consciously, his mind a partial blank, he put out one hand as if to touch smooth glass. The hand was seized in a vice-like grip. He was plucked forward, his bead bent back, and something damp and suggestive of oold death clapped over his mouth and nostrils. He scaroely resisted—scarcely shuddered. He was going-going. He slid down. It was all done in comparative silence—the work of a few moments. A minute more, and the glass door swung again. His living counterpart, wearing the fur-lined cloak, tip-toed into the study and across to the table. One glance at the clock —fourteen minutes to eightnd he had lowered the light and sunk into the writing. ohair, with something between a series of sobs and laughs. "Done! Done-by a mere actor! It was to be! I take the money; I hold it-until his cra-sh comes. It will. Uniacke must disbelieve his story-no more loans! Oh, Valerie, Valerie, I take only his money; he took my life when-when he took you from me-" It broke off. Trembling in every limb, near at hand as the moment of complete triumph seemed to be, he brought his face slowly round to look at the door giving on to the corridor. There had come no tap, but the door was softly opening. Uniacke—already?— before he had had time to set his nerves and prepare to play out his role to the life? No—no! Something seemed about to snap in his brain. As if in direct answer to his cry to her, a slight, soft, queenly figure stood there. A woman, her eyes half closed, her arms reaching out as in mute supplication. Valerie! Laud had lied—she was here! Valerie! within a few feet of him. He went to sway upright, with a choking sliout. And then, just in time. be remem- bered, and was making the effort of his life- time. She could not know him-must not know him! What it cost none would ever know; but, for her sake, he mastered all the surging human impulses in that one instant, and eat cold and distant, his head drooped against one arm that partly shielded his face. Dad!" It came in a hushed, but resolute, voice. "You won't ,turn from me-you'll hear what I have to say. I have waited— waited all day to see yen-to say this. Dad!" Oh, the struggle to remain motionless and repellent—to keep hi6 lips dosed upon that wild cry of revelation! But he must—he must! To tear away the silvering beard and hair, to throw off the fur-lined cloak and leap up—no, no! She would see revealed, not alone the man she had loved. but the chloro- j former bent upon sordid vengeance. "Dad!" It came again. She had taken one step nearer. His heart seemed to be standing still-the end of all things to be near. "We have been apart-we have hardly spoken; and yet in my heart I knew that some trouble had come to you. And if I can help you. I must—oh. I must! It is debt! ] know now. I know now why you sank all your pride, and implored me to make over to you as a loan the money that wa., to come to me this week in my own right—twenty thousand pounds for your Valerie when she came of age. I,refused. I dared you ever to hint at it a'Siain in life. Yon bad been cruel. You deliberately came between me and the man I loved; you plotted to send him to his ruin; you wrote to the papers deriding his art. Yes, all that and more you have done. But you are etill my father! I want to honour you—to end our silence—to forget. I have come to say that the money is yours. If it will help you, as you sard- take it! Let me sign the paper—let- me sign it now. Dad!—life, is so short!" It sank away thrillingly, unspeakably wistful and tender. One more step forward she had taken, and paused, her outstretched arms falling baok. And he di'd not move; he could Tiot-although the agony pent up within him seemed greater than could be borne. Tick-Hok !-went the time-pieoe. Eight o'clock—three minutes past eight. He knew that she had turned at last, and that he could not call her ba(,,k. And in a few minutes more, at most, that prone figure in the palm- house Good evening! This is a pleasant sur- prise!" It was Uniacke. With just a significant cough he had tapped at the door and entered unannounced. His tone showed that he thought it something more than 6. surprise or coincidence—a swift, reckless, but splendid move on the distracted financier's part to carry out his pledge and bring her within the other man's influence. 0,ne glance at the eloquently rigid figure at the table, and be had flung down the bag he carried, and turned in a wave of exultation to clasp both her hands as one privileged. Privileged? Ay; it appeared beyond all question that the situation was prepared and the way paved; that the father had summoned her here to balance the threatened ruin and disgrace against her obedience to his wish-marria-ze with Gerald Uniake. their friend and neigh- bour! "Miss Laud! Little I thought I should find you here tonight-& rose in the Sahara! Xot even a smile? Surely, after all the months you have had time to see how brutal and mistaken you were in-" "Let me go!" Valerie said on that low deep note of her voice. For the moment she had bean overwhelmed and urn resisting. --It me go, please! You dare to speak -.o-in my father's presenee-" "Dare?* He laughed unpleasantly. In his presence? Why, that is the very thing I should wish to do. Unless I am greatly mis- taken, it is the last thing that Mr. Laud would resent—our mutual understanding. Valerie, I will speak—I must! You refused me—you have given me no fresh chance to plead. But I have a man s perfect right to try again, and I do-now! You are utterly wrong. I happen to know that your father particularly wishes "Ask him!" She had wrenched one hand free to point. "Ask him now. Take your final answer from his lipe-and go!" "Yes—go!" It was a straining, muffled voice tha-t might have come from either Mor- gan Laud or John Aveling—from any man charged with suppressed passion. He was upon his feet at the table, one shaking arm extended toward the door. "Take—take what you brought; leave this house, and never dare to enter it again. I give you one minute!" For that space of time, maybe, Uniacke remained staring at him in stupefaction. Then, as the man moved, he picked up his bag. He seemed to tell himself that ail was lost—that Laud's recklessness had taken quite a different turn in that interval. I'm to take my money, and go," he repeated, with a sneering distinctness. Do you realise what you have said? Does your daughter happen to realise that you are in my hands, quite apart from the loan?—that a few anonymous telegrams to the dealers on 'Change to-morrow will open their eyes-" "Yes! And-and my daughter shares with me the realisation, too, that you are an un- discharged bankrupt, wanted for past fraud, and trading as moneylender under false names and descriptions still, and liable to ruin and arrest if I choose to end ail by opening my lips against you. I may yet; your utter silence, and that alone, shall decide. Take your chance—and your money —and go!" One great gasp. one last stare, and, his sallow face gone grey, Uniacke went out, his own future career in the balances-his silence as certain as the grave. One soundless moment, one final struggle to grapple with the situation, and then all was lost-all else forgotten. The cloak was off and thrown down; the silvering beard and hair were plucked away—the coat dragged open to show the shabby shirt beneath; the lamplight was turned on to its full by a shaking hand. John Aveling stumbled past her, closed the door, and swerved round, his own arms out. Valerie! Dear one—speak—forgive me! Love for you is stronger than even the revenge I came to take!" She stood quite still. Her lip quivered as in one faint word—" John!"—but that was all. She had already endured all that a woman could be asked to endure. As the tremble ran through her he sprang instinc- tively close. She lay within his arms, white and mute. For her the rest was mercifully veiled. She was not to bear it, at the end of another minute, that fumbling at the handle of the glass door opening to the palm-honse. and the vague rattle in Morgan Laud's throat as he swung back the curtains and stood there, storing: like a man who had come back from death to life. John Aveling, the actor- outcast, and-amd Valerie! His brain was still partly deadened by the drug. He could not speak if he had wished. It was left for John Aveling to do that, at length-in the quiet, controlled voice of one who knew that such a moment could never come again. "It was to be! Yes. it is John Aveling. I came for my yengeance-plotte.d to personate you here, and take the money that was to stave off your downfall. I drugged vou, and I sucoeeded-up to this point. But my love for her was too great, and too true; although you could never believe that. I am in your hands. Do with me just what you will." The long, strange pause. The staring men had not moved. The calm voice sounded again. "Can you believe for one moment in the man whom you insulted and drove away? You are quite sa.fe, for the moment. Your credit in the City ma.y etill be saved-as that is so dear to you! Uniacke has gone-you need not pay for his loan such a price as your daughters eternal happiness; you are spared that deepest shame of all. You wouM have done it; but she answers you with love and forgiveness. He stopped an imet-ant. "Go on r the other 6 fixed eyes seemed to say. ft<K^ >r°u. and obeyed your will • although there was the money J Zne* her m her own right. Now that would hav» meant-whart? That she could have tS her destiny into her own hands; sbe was free—free to help with her own money the man she loved back to his manhood. I did "til",™ n J™111 this That was her stimggle-as keen every whit as yours! And. instead, she is willing to make it over to Trai Jon ttV t0 SaTC TOU in thie hour. 7? l ke T013r alternative? Can ™ °nr way and m»li my 1 astendeavonr to rise? Or will yon give iZ We happiness together* Mr Laud, will you Wot o«t the paA. h^« and now, and take my hand?" And-not in that moment, but in God'« good time—the hand was taken -tiva blotted out, and John AveHng^U^n of li, dead „lf t<( a trM woman's