The Cardiff Times

CHAPTER XXVIII. The Man from Nowhere. Next day, a damp, dispiriting one of autumn, I spent in Soho. I watched the younsc woman with the dark eyes arrive at Madame Pèrrin's; and pointed her out to my friend the journalist, who at once became interested. He troubled me over the theory which I held, and wished to know the reasonwhkh prompted me to watch the humble French ironer. But to his inquiries I remained dumb, fearing to commit myself or to reveal any Of Granny's secrets. The task we had set ourselves was exciting. Both of us were dressed in different suits to those we had worn on the previous day. I had on dark brown clothes of foreign cut which, as a matter of fact, had been made by that tailor at the end of Karnthner Strasse in Vienna, while Cunliffe also wore clothes of foreign appearance. We did this in order not to be too conspicuous in the foreign quarter. I You, Mademoiselle," I gasped stepping quickly towards her. The average Londoner never dreams of that remarkable little world-the most cosmopolitan in the whole universe—existing between Oxford-street and Leicester-square. Men and women of every nation and of evory tongue, refugees from oppression in various lands, escaped convicts, criminals wanted by the whole police of Europe, revolutionaries, bank- note forgers, bomb makers, printers of sedi- tious literature, and the exiled scum of every Continental city are herded there, and allowed to continue their nefarious lives. They are foreigners, so the police do not interfere, unless extradition be applied for. Germany is practically the only country which attempts to get back its criminals to justice, France- but seldom* Russia, and Italy never. The scum. of Europe* knowing this, make "the foreign quarters-of Landon.Soho, Saffron Hill, and certain districts in the East End their haven of refuge. The day we spent idling about Greek-street, Old Compton-street, Dean-street and the neighbourhood. The day was a dreary and wet one, but Cunliffe, more acquainted with the district than I was, pointed out to me many interesting things. The foreigners who have settled there have imported with them their own atmoosphere in more senses than that of garlic. We lunched in a tiny restau- rant kept by an Italian, and paid tenpence for the meal. We drank vermouth and bitters in an Italian grocer's in Old Compton-street, as good as any I have,ever had at Campari's in Livorno, and our tea we took in a queer little Shop kept by a Russian revolutionary, taken from a samova^ served in a glass and accom- pani,ed by an excellent brown Petroff cigarette. A dozen times Cunliffe passed Madame Perrin's laundry, and ea.chtime the bright-eyed Melanie-was hard at work, laughing and chat- ting with her companions. The reason why we kept waich all day was in order to ascer- tain where she lived and who were her friends. We knew not at what hour she would leave her work, therefore were compelled to keep vigilant watch. It was apparent that Madame had quite a large clientele, foreign, of course. At a milkshop close by the girl in charge im. parted to me the information that at times Matdame had bouts of intoxication, and on such occasions created scenes with her workers, turning them all out- into the street at a moment's notice without their hats and coats. Her windows had been smashed on several occasions by the irate girls. There was a distinct element of ad venture in our undertaking. Cunliffe had agreed to, cancel all his other engagtSments and assist me, and as we lounged about the streets, many were the theories he advanced regarding the mysterious tragedy. I In about. 20 minutes she came forth the transformation was complete. How I longed to be able to take a cab to New Seotland Yard with my journalistic friend and in that bare, business-like room I knew so well, relate to Morton all that Elfrida JMaynard had told to me. I conjured up a picture of a quiet, unassuming man calling at the snug house in Bolton-street, and finding Garshore taking- his ease amid those refined surroundings, and, as a bolt from the blue, arresting Cecil Willoughby, alias Arthur Rufford That, alas was not to be. I loved that sweet-faced girl who had revealed to me such an astounding truth. And, loving her, how could I break the pledge of secrecy I bad: in a moment of ecstacy, given her ? Evening fell at last, after an interminable day of watching. The streets lamps were lit, and Soho began to assume a livelier aspect. The little restaurants were well lit, the inte- riors of some only half-hidden by lace curtains, while others were concealed from the vulgar gaze by red blinds, mostly dingy. The smell of fried oil and garlic, the same odour reminiscent of the by-ways of any Continental city of the south, rose upon the air. Soho was preparing to dine, and its complex odours merged into one appetising whole, caused us to remember that, we, too, were > hungry. It was time, we judged, that Melanie should now leave her iwork. Therefore, we parted, Cunliffe lounging &t the corner of Queen-street and I at the corner of Old Compton-street, so as to keep observation upon her either way she turned. 3 Near eight o'clock, while I idled up and I down, cold, hungry, and very tired, a short, rather stout man with dark eyes, a small dark b moustache, big flabby face and double chin, t strolled slowly in my direction. He, too, was f evidently awaiting someone. Podgy, with an oleaginous air, a couple of large vulgar rings upon his finger, and an f obwuaiye oameo pin in his black, satin I put him down as an Italian from the South, Neapolitan-or perhaps Sicilian. Twice we passed each other. On the second occasion he darted at me a quick look oi sus- picion. But this was not extraordinary. I recollected, bearing in mind the character of the denizens of that quarter. I had not, howe ver, long to wait before some- thing interesting occurred, for of a sudden I saw Melanie, neatly dressed in black with a small black toque, emerge from Madame Perin's, and walked in my direction. In an instant, to avoid recognition, I turned into Old Compton-street, nearly knocking over a poor old woman in my haste. Cunliffe had also seen her, and was now. hurrying up behind her in order not to lose sight of her. As she came to the corner where I had stood and crossed the road towards Shaftesbury Avenue, the fat foreigner ap- proached her from behind, spoke and lifted his hat. She pulled up with a start. The meeting was evidently unexpected. But next moment they shook hands, and after a few words he walked on at her side in earnest conversation. By this time my friend had reached the corner, and I was at his side. That man is an Italian." I exclaimed: I've had a good look at him. He seemed suspicious of me." Let's follow, we may learn something," he said, and together we lounged after the pair. They turned into Shaftesbury Avenue, crossed the road, and entered the' private bar of the publichouse next the fire station, imme- diately opposite the Palace Theatre. Cunliffe followed, but I was compelled to remain outside, fearing that she might recog- nise me. I longed to ascertain who was that fat, prosperous, but vulgar, bull-necked foreigner. Having remained there about a quarter of an hour, they left, continuing up Shaftesbury Avenue, towards Tottenham Court-road. They've been speaking in Italian very con- fidentially," said Cunliffe, as he rejoined me. I don't understand the language, and if I did I couldn't have overheard much of it. I took care that they didn't see much of my face, for I read the paper the whole time. He gave her something-like a piece of paper screwed up. It may have been a couple of bank-notes. At first she declined to take it, but he pressed it upon her, and she slipped it into her glove." A bribe I exclaimed. What for, I wonder ? I wish we could determine what is ] her name." Patience," he said, reassuringly. Pa- tience, and we shall very soon discover that. < Her bearing is more that of a lady than an ironer—that's my belief," he added. Sfich was exactly my own opinion. Granny had misled me. This was the real Lydia Popescu < The pair walking before us, conversing E earnestly, halted at the corner of 'Oxford- ( street, because of the traffic, then crossed, con- j tihued up Tottenham Court-road to the corner of Howland-street. There she left her compan- ion at the corner, and hurrying alopg, entered 1 one of the dismal uniform houses by means of j a latch-key. < We had evidently traced her to her abode. The fat Italian had crossed the road and entered the bar opposite-to await her. ] With Cunliffe walking at some little distance, I passed the house, and saw it was a very mean and shabby one, with windows dark, excepting the one in the basement. The lace curtains hung limp and sooty at the windows, and the whole place bore that air of dirt and neglect too often seen in the smoke-begrimed Ride streets of the middle class London thoroughfares. Apparently she had gone to her lodgings in order to wash and smarten herself up, for in about twenty minutes she came forth in a well- made dark blue -droos, a fashionable hat and red and white gloves. Indeed, the transforma- tion was complete. From the modest workgirl of the Soho laundry she became a well-dressed young woman of refined appearance, yet without any 7undue ostentation or air of fastness. Her clothes, indeed betrayed an excellent taste and her hat of a mode that suited her admirably. It seemed that she was going out to spend the evening, and more than ever I became convinced that she was the ingenious Rouma- nian who had struck the bargain with His Excellency the Minister Soutzo. Granny had not deceived me concerning her identity. The Italian met her again at the corner, and having walked to Frascati's they took a light meal upstairs on the gallery—away from the crowd-while we sat at a table below watching them. That concluded, they went outside, and entering a hansom together drove away. Without a sound's delay, I sprang into an- other cab with Cunliffe, and we followed the pair along Oxford-street—westward to a destination which revealed tome an astotmding truth 1 (To be Continued). °

SMALL HOLDINGS AND PROFIT. Lord Carririgton's Experimtnt Speaking on Saturday at/the opening of the Social Hall, which has been erected for the nnall. holders on the Coown property at Wa1, pole, Lixtcc$Qflbire, LQJKI Carringtpn said that the Small Holdings Act had amply justified the beliefs of those who were instrumental in forming the South Lincolnshire Small Hold- ings Association several years ago. They knew that there was a genuine demand for land from suitable men, and the result of the inquiries made by the County Councils into the applica- tions they had received had proved that they were right. They were now told, however, that the cost of equipment was a hopeless impediment in the way of forming small holdings on a self-supporting basis, because it would mean an additional £1 per acre on the rent. AS a matter of facfy it had now been shown that a good house of I five rooms with scullery, dairy, and the necessary buildings, could be provided for an extra 5s 6d per acre rent, and that jamount was sufficient to pay interest at 4 per cent. on the total outlay. What had been done on the Crown lands could be equally well done by County Coun- cils, associations, or private landlords and Lord Carrington mentioned that on his own estate he had expended £3,000 in houses and buildings on two farms, which had been let in small holdings in Lincolnshire. He did not take any credit for this. It was done purely on a business footing, and he found it a profit- able undertaking to spend money for small holders who were always ready to pay a fair rate of interest. The South Lincolnshire Small He 1 lings Association had spent £1,000 on a farm rented from him, and the Crown had just spent £ 5,000 in providing houses and buildings on the Walpole and Wingland Farms, which had been leased to the associa- tion, and they found they could have let three times as much land as they had without com- pletely satisfying the demand. He congratu- lated Mr Winfrey and the other members of the association on the success of their labours, which he felt sure would serve as a most valu- able object lesson of what he hoped would soon be done in every part of the country. I

THE MENTALLY DEFECTIVE. Should They be Allowed to Marry P In the report of the Commission on the Care of the Feebleminded, dealt with on Saturday in these columns, the Commissioners sum up the general effect of the evidence as to the rela- tionship between •' heredity and mental defect as follows ;— (1) that both on the grounds of fact and of theory there is the highest degree of probar bility that feeblemindedness is usually spontaneous in origin—that is, not due to influ- ences acting pn the parent—and tends strongly to be inherited. (2) That, especially in view of the evidence concerning fertility, the prevention of mentally defective persons from becoming parents would tend largely to diminish the number of such persons in the population. (3) That the evidence for these conclusions strongly supports measures, which on other grounds ace of pressing importance, for placing mentally defective persons, men and women, who ar elivrng at large and uncontrolled, in institutions where they will be employed and detained and in this, and in other ways, kept under effectual supervision so long as may be necessary. In our opinion, the general feeling of the people would at present rightly condemn any legislation directed chiefly or exclusively to the prevention of hereditary transmission of mental defect by surgical or other artificial measures. The possibility of adopting such measures was referred to by 21 of the witnesses, but only three of them expressed opinions in favour-of the practicability of such a course-I

WHITE PHOSPHORUS MATCHES Prohibition Bill. The text of the Bill presented by Mr Her- bert Gladstone to prohibib white phosphorus matches hae, just been published. According to the memorandum at the Berne Interna- tional Conference on Labour Regulation in September, 1906, a convention was signed by the representatives of Germany, Denmark, France, Italy, Luxemburg, the Netherlands, "and Switzerland, agreeing to prohibit in their respective countries the manufacture, impor- tation,and sale of matches which contain white phosphorus. For reasons explained in the memorandum, which was laid before Parlia- ment in 1906, his Majesty's Government were not at that time able to agree to this prohibi- tion. For the better protection from necrosis of persons employed in factories where white phosphorus is used, it has recently been found necessary either to impose regula- tions more stringent than those hitherto in force, or to prohibit the use of white phos- phorus altogether. After consultation with the manufacturers, the latter alternative has been adopted. White phosphorus is not used iii the manufacture of matches which strike only on a prepared surface. Substitutes for white phosphorus in the manufacture of strike-anywhere matches are in use, but are patented. By arrangement with the holders of the only patents which, to the knowledge of the Home Office, are being used in the industry in the United Kingdom, a clause has been inserted in the Bill making them avail- able on reasonable terms to all manufacturers. As a consequence of the prohibition of the manufacture of white phosphorus matches, and in coder enable the Government to adhere to the Berne Conventton, the Bill pro- poses also the prohibition of the importation and the gate of pacfa matobw r"

Y GOLOFN GYMREiG. Dymunir i'n eohebwyr Cymreig gyfeirio eu gohebiaethau. llyfrati i'w hadolygu. etc., iel vcanlvn:—" IFA.NO, Cii Hedd. Berthwin- Btreet, Cardiff."

AT Y BEIRDD. Ar gais amryw o feirdd ieuainc y Golofn sydd heb fod mor ffodus ii' bod yn berchen- ogion copi o Orchestion y Beirdd" a Cheinion Llenvddiaeth Gymreig," y cy- hoeddir cywydd Dafydd Nanmor i wallt Llio. Wrth reswm. y mae ynddo ei hun yn werth ei adargraffu fil o weithiau, gan fireinied yw ei iaith .a'i ffansi; ond ceisio y mae'r 991., fel rheol, am ryw gyfansoddiadau sydd hyd yn hyn allan o gyrraedd datllenwyr yn gyffredkn, fel ag i roi iddynt ryw syniad o'r byd o bryd- ferthwch barddono1 sydd yn aros mewn gwaith Haw yn llyfrgelloedd y wlad yn disgwyl nawdd a chyfoeth ei phendefigion i'w argraffu'n hylaw at wasanaeth ac adeiladaeth a difyrrwch carwyr lien Cymru. Gwych y gwnaeth Owain Myfyr, ar gamfa groesi'r ddeunawfed ganrif ar bymtheg a'r bedwaredd ar bymtheg, yn noddi ac yn dwyntraul argraffu a chyhoeddi Myvyrian Archaeology 1010 Morgannwg a.'r Doethor Owain-Puw a hyfryd yw ei goffa yng nghalon y genedl. P'le mae'r bende- figaeth Gymreig heddyw gyda lien emog ei gwlad ? Sicr yw y diolcha.'r darHenwyr, fel y GoL, i Asaph Glyn Ebwy am ganu'r ferr-awdl felodus hon i'r Wawr." Er gwaethaf éi ymddengys ei iwen mor hoew yn y gynghanedd ag erioed. Oanrif arall iddo, Amser Penillion cryfion eu gwatwareg gudd yw rhai J. L. Jenkins i'r Chwilotwr Beiau." Sylwed tla. ddyblir ond dwy o'r cydseiniaid gan yr ysgol newydd o ysgrifenwyr Cymraeg a irweinir gan yr Athro John Morris Jones o Fangor yn hynny o beth, set" n ac r," ac la ddyblir y rheiny ond parj y disgynno'r Jtcen yn drom arnynt, megys yn torri," cannu,'etc. Wrth reswni, ni waeth gan y 3ol. yn bersonol pa un a ddyblir ai peidio, ac [lid yw yn meddwl gronyn llai o awdwr na idyblo. Nid yw heb sylwi, ychwaith, ar mghysonderau arweinwyr mudiad y gydsain Idwbl, a'u diystyrrwch anfwriadol o ffurfiau a seiniaii rhannau o Gymru na wyddant nemor Idiin am eu tafodieithoedd. Fodd bynnag, ceir lai o hyn yn y man, a chredir mai doeth, aellach, er mwyn unffurfiaeth orgraff, yw dilyn j mwyafrif sy'n mynd yn lliosocach beunydd ryda lliosogiad rhif myfyrwyr ein colegau ;enedlaethol.—Rhaid gadael yr ateb barthed y *wallau tybiedig yng nghynghanedd yr Athro f. Morris Jones, etc., hyd y tro nesaf. Hyd aynny, byddweh wych

CYWYDD I WALLT LLIO PERCH RHYDDERCH AB IEUAN LLWYD o OGERDDAN. GAN DDAFYDD NANMOR, Llio eurwallt 11 warian, Llewychu y mae fal lluwch man; Mae ar ei phen seren serch— Lliw y rhuddaur—Llio Rhydderch, Ni bu ar wydd yn b6r iach Afal Anna felynach. Mewn moled main a melyn Mae un lliw &*r maen yn llyn. Ar iid Llio rhoed llywefch A noblau aur yn y bleth. Gwnewch o'r bleth ganpleth o'i gwau, Tair brwynen tna'r bronnau, Ag na fynned Gwen fanwallt Grib o'r gwydd i gribo'r srwallt: Dycer i Wen, er deg grod, Gribau esgyrn geirw bysgod. Mae ar ei phen,—mor gryf yw,— Mawr o fanwallt Mair o Fynyw. Mae 'run Wallt, mal am w&r Non^ Ar fron aur morforynion. Mihangel sy Wallt-felyn, Ag un wallt kg e' yw 'nyn, A g un lliw ywS fantell hon A chawgiau y marchogion— Mal efydd—mil a ofyn Mellt o nef am wallt *y nyn? Fat plisg y gnooen wisgi A'r dellt aur yV dy wallt di. Llwvn neu ddau i'r Llan a ddoeth- Llwyn banadl Llio'n bennoeth, Ai lien gel yw llwyn ei gwallt? Ai main gwrel mewn gorallt? Dwy did a wisgid, wasgawdl, Da.'i osodiad hyd ei sawdl. Mae dwy did yno o sidan Am Lio yn glcig melyn glan. Y mae'n debyg mewn deubeth I flaen fflam felen ei phleth. Llwyi* pen y'i caed—Uiayii parti*!1 'j. » -^Pydreus y tMtflriaiflcfa. 1 >. v^, 1 ■' O'r i&d bun«#rioed y bu Wisg MtrUes asgellu, 1 Yn ail cyrs neu wlail caits 0 aur, neu afal oraits. Mawr yw'r twf am yr i&d hon— Mil o winwydd melynion.. Y mae'r gwallt mwya' a'r a gaid Am ei gwar fal mwg euraid. Un lliw ei gwallt, yn lie gwir, A chwyr aberth, o chribir. Ni ad Dnw mewn ty o wallt Farw LlTo frialleuwallt.

Y WAWR LAN—BETH YW m ? Paeniiad wna Drtw heb bwyntel—yw'r wawr Ar eqrleni'r gorwel; (lftn Dyna gamp i'r dyn a'i gwel-o odiaeth A hydeg archwaeth y Duw Goruchel. A phaentiad byw yw'n ddi-os—o'r heulwen Yn rhywle cyfagos, Fel mewn pang am ymddangos Ar ael nawn ar ol y nos. 0 nawd hoff a hynod hardd Yw'r wawr hoenfawr i henfardd; Croga'n glyd uwch byd a'i bel Yn y fawrwych nef-oriel, « Yn mhell uwch Jaw baw y byd A'i afiach fygau hefyd: Bu cyn hyn yn destyn da I wyr manwl Armenia, A thestyn syn pob dyn dwya Hyd i Walia, wlad wiwlwys, Lie meib y IAn gån ar g'oedd A'i molent rth ymiloedd. Gwel 'nawr y wawr mal dawrydd—anegwan Yn agor dor cyfddydd, I'r hen deyrn o'r enw Dydd—fyn'd i ben Ei lawen Olewydd. Ac yno yn ei ogoniant—bydoedd Heb baidw'i gylch wibiant, Gan roi'n bsr ar dyner dant I Dduw hefelydd foliant. I gelfyddyd byd y bydd—y wawr bert o wir bwys a chynydd Ca'r gelf fad ar doriad dydd Dasg-bennod er dysg beunydd. Onid ffaith a ddwed y ffol-nad dun yw, Ond damwain arferol? Eithr gwaeJ fwyd ywr fath lwyd lol I ti, 0 enaid dynol. Na, nid damwain, ond dymunol—baentiad Yw o bwynt uehraddol; Ac o fawrwerth cyfeiriol, I ddyn sy ddiwan ei siol. Bellach mae'm nerth ar ballu,—ac anhawdd Yw genyf englynu; Ond unwaith bu r gwaith yn gu Genyf, a gwnawn dan ganu. Ymunwn mewn amynedd,—a rhoddwn Yn rhwyddwych gIodforedd I Dduw'r Wawr, hyfawr ei hedd, A'i dra giriul drugaredd. Stockton-ar-Dees. Asaph Glyn Ebwy.

Y CHWILOTWR BEIAU" Ddynsawd prvsur ar ei ymdaith, Dan ei halog wydrau mao Yn balchio yn ei anrhaith, Er cvhoeddi 'i gyfiawn wae o mor ystwyth ei gerddediad I Gwyliadwrus iawn ei droed: Mor fendithiol ei ymweliad! Iddo pob rhyw dalent roed. Mor ddifrifol^nrhydteddus! Mor deyrngarol dros ei wlad! A'i ymhyriad gogoneddus Gadwodd filoedd rhag sarhad, IJawn tynerweh yw ei anian, A'i dosturj'n ddwyfol bron; Dilys odiaeth yw ei amcan At lesoli'r byd yn lion. Daw & gwen fel heulwen dyner Yn eurliwio'i amcan mail; Mewn chwilota niae ei bleser; Fel y cadnaw O • mor gall! Llunio wna holl feiau eraill A'i awdurdod fawr, ddlbal1: Gweld y brychau'n Ilygaid eraill; I'w ddrwgnwydau 'i hun yn ddall. Cin yw'r nef gan haul ysplenydd, Tyf y blpdau'n ddrystaen; Ond i'w ofid, ef a genfydd Fefl a nam o hyd ar daen. Diiiasyddion y byd arall A camt brawf S'j fedr A'i ddawn; Yng ngafaelion gwanc aniwall Ef ryw ddydd yn aberth gawn. Cerdd cymdeithas-yn Thy araf A rhy Iwfr at y nod, A'i haelodau dewrion glewaf Geisiant idd eu hunain elod. Arwyr pwlpud hoff a llwyfan Drinia & feirniadaeth lem; Yn ei fawr bwffyddol hunan Heria bawb "i dreiddiol drem. Nod i syndod ac edmygedd, Cred a dosbarth trwy'r holl wlad, Ydyw yn ei bur hynawsedd: Yn ei wydd y ffy pob brad; Yng nghymanfa dysgedigif n, Drostynt hwy ar fyrr rhotr ef; Derfydd beiau trwy 'i ragorion, A daw'r ddaear fel y nef. Ynysforgan. J. L. Jenkins.

Lord Desbbrough on Saturday remarked that he had made no fewer than 139 speeches in ^pannaetkmjw&h tha Olympic Games* .I

jp Redheugh's Folly. By GEORGE SURREY. When William Redheugh took unto himself a wife the majority of his acquaintances—who were many, Re heugh having ''arrived were amused most of his friends—who were few—were sorry but all, both acquaintances and friends, were genuinely surprised. For to all outward appearance Redheugh was a man for whom it would have been no misfortune had he not set eyes upon a woman from one year's end to another. All, however, were careful to hide their regret or amusement from the subject thereof, who was a silent, grim-visaged man, with a tongue that could be as forceful as a sledge-hammer, and as cutting as a whip-lash. So it is pro- bable Redheugh knew nothing of the interest his action aroused. True, the feminine portion of his acqaint- ances-he had no feminine friends—did not, nor could it be expected they should, conceal the concern they felt but as Redheugh never paid any attention to what they said, if, indeed, he ever listened to them, their spiteful, maJi- cious, and derisive comments did not affect him. Harvey, the sketch artist, was the one who made the discovery. Calling one evening at Redheugh's lodgings, he had seen there a girl, who, as Redheugh, in his usual quiet manner, informed him, was his wife. Harvey, who is a scatter-brain, came down to the club as quickly as he could decently get away, and there delivered himself of the startling news. And she's a quiet, brown-eyed little woman, not bad looking, but -with absolutely nothing about her to attract the slightest attention anywhere. She's about ten years younger than Reddy, and I think the fellow must be cracked Harvey concluded, while we stared at him open-mouthed. We disbelieved him, naturally, and told him so emphatically when we recovered our breath but he stuck to his tale. The next evening Redheugh came into the smoking-room and Morgan, whose business is dramatic criti- cism, and who is the most razen-faced man I have yet had the misfortune to meet, stepped up to him and asked him point-blank if the news were true. Redheugh looked his questioner squarely in the face his grey eyes glinted dangerously, and the deep line between his eyebrows deepened. "Yes—why?" he replied; and there was something in his face or his voice that took all the assertiveness and impudence out of Morgan, who stammered an apology and slunk away like a whipped puppy. Red- heugh sat down at a table, read and smoked silently for an hour, and then departed, giving his customary Good-night all, to those who reIruWted when he leU the room. After that I do not think the idea of ques- tioning Redheugh concerning his marriage occured to any mem1;ler of the club. There is no reason to suppose Redheugh had anv desire or intention to conceal the fact that he had become a Benedict from his associates. He sim ly considered the matter was one that did not concern them, therefore, he did not speak of it to them. After the incident with Morgan the words my wife occurred occasionally in Red- heugh's conversation, when with the most intimate of his friends, but of the woman he had married or the change that had taken place in his existence, he never spoke, even to me, who might fairly claim to be one of the very few he admitted into his confidence. The first time I saw Mrs Redheugh I thought Harvey's, description of her correct. Quiet she was, speaking scarcely a dozen sentences during my stay, my listening with an expression of the most complete interest and admiration to her husband, who could, when he cLose, talk and talk brilliantly. That she was much younger than her hus- band was correct, being apparently—if a man be permitted to judge of a woman's age—little under thirty, while Redheuph, as I knew, was on the verge of forty. But before I had been in the room half an hour I bad decided that Harvey was absolutely and most menda- ciously incorrect in saying there was nothing about her to attract attention. Pretty she was not there was too little regularity in her features; but she was something more than pretty, for in her eyes—they were grey, not brown—there was that which would have caused any man who had once caught the expression that dwelt in their depths to look at her not once, but again and again. I do not think I have ever seen eyes so expressive SO. ftUed wi £ h that .piystoriousf indescribable something that leads anyone4but fchenopelessly stupid and superficial to wish to peer through these windows of the soul and learn something of the woman as she really is. The eyes of some women are as the shallow pond that sparkles brightly in the sunlight, is ruffled by the slightest breeze, and changes with every alteration of the surrounding atmosphere. But there are eyes that are deep as the unfathomable ocean, that allure one to look into them not once, but many times. And these eyes belong to women who, God help them have suffered, and through whom, though for no fault of either, men, good men, sometimes suffer also. In Mrs Redhr ugh's eyes I thought I could read the signa of a deep and abiding sorrow, a hopelessness and weariness of life and all it held for her, a dread of existence, and an in- finite longing for peace. And yet, outwardly, she seemed content, if not happy that she had a great affection for her husband was evident. I left the house feeling that I was a fool that I had been constructing an imaginative fabric of the sheerest nonsense seeing things that had no existence. Redheugh loved his wife, that was certain one glance at his face whenever his eyes rested upon her was suffi- cient proof of that; an'd she, well doubtless, ahe wasequaUy as much in love with him. After this I saw the Redheughs fairly fre- quently, but curiously, absurdly enough, my original impression refused to change. A few 'months afterwards I went abroad, and when I returned after a year's absence I found that Redheugh and his wife had left London* II. It was a year and a half afterreturn thaij I heard or saw any things further of Redheugh and his wife. I was spending a hard-earned holiday in the North of England, in the neigh- bourhood of a glorious stretch of heather-clad moorland, across which the wind swept in scented, invigorating gusts from the greV hills, whose rocky crests at sunset showed razor- edged against the northern sky. A lonely, de- pressing locality, perhaps, for a. life's existence, but a glorious spot for the man momentarily tired of the narrow, shackled life of a great city. Walking and fishing were my principal amusements—indeed, there were scarcely any others obtainable—and beyond a Good morning or Good night to a casual shepherd or labourer, my conversation was limited to my landlady and a village lad who accompanied me on my fishing excursions. One morning this youngster undertook to lead me to a stream where, so he said, the burn trout were larger and more plentiful than in the more immediate becks. On our way thither-, we passed a cottage, stone built, as were all the dwellings in the neighbourhood, but of a rather superior type to the houses of the farm hinds. The curtains at the tiny windows were fresh and tastefully arranged, the garden was tidy and well kept, the door- stone clean and white. Who lives at that cottage, my lad 1" I asked. "Yon 1" Yes, do you know ?" Oh, ay," the lad answered, readily, a chap by the name o' Redheugh. Theer's nobbut him an' ta's wife lives theer. They'vp been yonder better 'n two year noo. Fowk say as he do write buiks." The boy received my order to take the fishing gear back home again with considerable asto- nishment, and he watched me with open eyes, as I walked up to the'cottage gate. I had made no mistake it was Mrs Red- heugh herself who opened the door in answer to my knock. A little thinner, a little more pale she seemed, and—or, perhaps it was my fancy—the weariness and hopelessness and longing in her large grey eyes, which I had told myself the first time I saw her, had shed many and exceeding bitter tears, a little more plairily to be seen. Oh, Mr Craven—it is Mr Craven, is it not ?" she smiled faintly. Will you come in ? My husband will be so pleased to see you," • ■ -t •- ■••• We sat in the great, stone-flagged kitchen, Redheugh. his wife, and myself, and we talked, as friends Will who have not seen each other for many months. We discussed the weather, the fishing, current literature, and I gave an account of my adventures as a war correspondent in Cuba; but of themselves, and how they came to be settled where they were, neither Redheugh nor his wife said much. And I" believing they had no desire to talk of, themselves, showed no curiosity. After all, it was no business of mine that a successful novelist—I had heard of Red- heugh's second great book to which his wife referred with a certain wistful pride—should elect to pitch his ,tent in what most folk would have called a howling wilderness. I spent the whole of the day at the cottage, Redheugh taking me into the best room which he had converted into a study and workroom, when his wife required the kitchen for her household duties. They kept no servant, Mrs Redheugh informed me, there was really so very little work to do, but there was a lad who worked in the garden, and did rough jobs about the house.' Redheugh was but little more communica- tive when we were alone together. He dis- played no pride nor enthusiasm in his work or what he had become. This. however, did not surprise me, for Redheugh never had been a blower of his own trumpet. He said the lone. liness of the cottage assisted him in his work there were no distractions to his thought. He told me he was working very hard—harder even, in fact, than in the days when he had hawked manuscripts froan editor to editor, and requests for his work had been as infrequent as cheques. Of his wife he said nothing and when I ventured the question as to whether the lonely life suited her, the frown that had become habitual to him deepened, and a dull, angry light flamed in his deep set eyes. Mrs Redheugh came with me to the garden gate when I left after tea. "You will come ånd see us again before vou go back, won't you ?" she said, as we shook hands. We see so very few people, you know. Though if you can't come it doesn't matter; nothing matters," she added, speaking more to herself than to me. I assured her it would give me the greatest pleasure to visit the cottage, and I walked away through the twilight across the dark, lowering moor, wondering what was the secret hidden behind those grey, sorrow-filled eyes, and how it had come about that she had mar. ried William Redheugh. For the first time I found myself considering the latter question with some interest. Cer- tainly vanity could not have been the motive that had actuated Mrs Redheugh, who, of all women with .whom I had acquaintance, ap- peared the least likely to marry a man simply because he had achieved fame. And Redheugh, although a woman might respect him, was hardly of the character to inspire love. A stern, taciturn man, cold, undemonstrative, and self-possessed, hard and obstinate as the rock of his native hills, with features only re- deemed from positive ugliness by the honesty and sincerity of his eyes, I could not imagine him as a wooer under any circumstances, or even capable of the feelings likely to attract a woman's love. The more I thought the more inexplicable the situation appeared and at last I dismissed it with the reflection that, after all, it was a matter that did not concern me. I visited Redheugh's cottage but three times during my holidays. Redheugh, who had become more gloomy and self-repressed since our days inXondon together, was too absorbed in his work to spare much time in my com- pany, and the unhappiness of, or po I believed it, of his wife made me miserable, for I am naturally soft-hearted where women are con- cerned. I would have offered my sympathy had I dared, but however limited my intuition it was sufficient to enable me to see that such would have been distasteful.. III. It was in the mid-winter following my holi- day in the North of England that one day my office door was violently burst open, and a man stumbled into the room, only saving him- self from failing by clutching at my desk. I looked up and r&ognisied Redheugh. His clothes were disordered, his breath coming in quick, violent gasps, and his ghastly white face bearing an expression of such agony as I hope I shall never see again. Good God Redheugh, whatever is the matter ?" I exclaimed. He dropped into a chair, absolutely exhaus- ted. and gasped, She's gone Physically as well as mentally the man was spent, and not until I had procured some brandy, and forced him to gulp some down was he able to speak coherently. When did it happen. Redheugh ?" I asked. Four days ago, and my God I think I have been mad ever since," and his strongly marked features writhed with the pain he was enduring. Of what did she die ?" It was a stupid question; but I could find nothing else to say. The spirit brought back to Redheugh some of his strength; placing bis hands on the arms ,of the chair he suddenly raised himself to his feet, his eyes staring at me insanely. Die," he repeated, and he uttered a hor- rible grating laugh. She's not dead, man she has gone, left me. God what are you staring at ? Don't you understand ? She has gone away," and he stumbled blindlv and fiercely across my room, muttering to hipiself incoherent prayers and curses. I pulled myself together, and tried to soothe him and get him to sit down again but he hurled me out of his path as if I had been an infaht, and continued his mad pacing back- wards and forwards, pouring out a torrent of words, now abjectly praying, now violently swearing, until the fit had passed ahd he burst into tears falling into his chair, he covered his face with his hands and wept like a child. I watched him sadly, but said nothing. What is there one can say to comfort a man oh whom such a blow falls And such a man as Redheugh, whose character and feelings were deep in proportion to their strength, and his suffering proportionate likewise After a while his tears ceased and he sat up. Craven," he said, you'll think me a damned fool,-but I can't help it. I'm in hell and hayp beeji ever since sb»—ahe- left ist., And.. God forgive me, for I know the fault is mine. In his voice there was a note of such remorse and self reproach, and misery, that the very stones might have pitied him. Four days a go it is since she went away, and for four days I have had neither food, nor drink, nor sleep. I came down from Buckstones Moor last night to see you, because you're the only one who knew us, who knew her, and whom I can trust. Read this," and he took a letter from his over- coat pocket and held it towards me. This is what it contained t— My dear husband, For what I am about to do I ask forgive- ness. That you will both forgive and forget me is my prayer and I can the more readily believe you will because you are a good man, and because in your work you will be able to find more interest than in the memory of your lost wfe. 1 can endure it no longer, and since God will not be kind enough to take away my life I have taken the only alter- native—to go away. I am not seeking to ex- cuse myself, but I will remind you that you already knew what character of woman I am1 before you married me—or, at least, you told me that you knew. Of your love for me I had po doubt, and I consented to marry you believing and hoping that in your love I should find peace and forgetfulness of all the misery that had gone before. I believe that you love still; therefore I will say that I must have misjudged myself, and that my hope and belief had only a very insecure foundation. The fault has been mine! I have no one but myself to blame that my hopes have been unfulfilled. A man has his work a woman has nothing to occupy her brain and when she is much alone her mind loses itself in memories" of the past. That is what has come to me and such memories as mine do not make for happiness. God send you happiness, my husband, and me a speedy release. Your wife. I read the letter through twice, and laid it down without a word my heart went out in pity for the woman who had written it—pity so great that words seemed worthless. And have you nothing to say 1" demanded Redheugh furiously. Are you, too, without sympathy and compassion for a woman who' has suffered as even few women suffer that you do not curse me for my cruelty, my damn- able selfishness in burying myself in my work and leaving her to fight her battle alone ? Do you condone my neglect, my savagery, my renunciation of vows I have made to love, and cherish, and protect her ?" "You forget," I said quietly, "I know nothing of Mrs Redheugh. What is there of her life I can know? I pity her, God knows, for only a woman deserving of pity co uld have written such a letter as that." Ah, I had forgotten," and Redheugh sighed wearily. Craven, if anything has happened to her I am a murderer. Listen It is twelve years ago since I first knew Margaret, and she was soon to be married but I loved her. The man she married proved himself a rascal before six months had elapsed, but Margaret shut her eyes, for she loved him—God help her !—and her nature is not one to change easily. Craven, for seven years her life, was a hell. Her hus- band was a gambler, a brute, arid a thief and I, knowing all, though of this she was not aware, was obliged to look on helplessly, knowing that my darling was at the mercy of a drunken hound who had as little scruples against beating her as he had of robbing her of the money she earned to keep their home together. Then he died and, after a year, I urged her to marry me. She refused, for her heart was still with the rascal who was dead—such is the curious way of a woman. Then I came to London, but I did not lose sight of Margaret. I dared not offer to help her, though I knew that She had been left practically destitute. Sincfe then again and again I prayed her to allow me to remove her from her wretchedness, but always she refused. Thoifx my success came and either my darling's spirit had been weakened, or my changed position made my insistence more forcible. Whatever the reason Margaret at last gave way, and, as you know, we were married. Is there any need for me to tell you what has followed ? You know my hard nature, my want of sympathy, &nd though I loved my Margaret no less dearly than before, aiid still love her, how much I did not know until now, I have kept my love jealously to myself, hiding all signs of it from my wife, until she must haye thought it no more than a sham, a lie. I have neglected her and without any intention of cruelty, I have been as cruel as the wretch who marred her life. Oh, my God, forgive I me," and again he broke down. When he recovered I took him with me and forced him to eat and drink. Strong and self- centred man as he was he had given way com- I pletely under the terrible blow his powerful mind was as helpless as that of a child. He told me he had searched everywhere for miles around his lonely cottage home, but not the faintest trace of his wife had he been able to discover. He could not say precisely when she had gone the letter containing the news he had found on his writing-table on awakening in the early hours of the morning from a brief sleep into which he had fallen while at work. As far as he knew she had taken nothing with her-neitber money nor clothes—indications which, to me, seemed to point to 'a yet more terrible tragedy, but of which I did not dare to speak. Also he told me much of their life at the cottage beside the dreary moor and I felt surprised thaA woman such as Margaret Red. heugh had been able to endure such an tence for two long years and more. Dejw» of society, even the companionship husband reduced, as he sadly confessed .ier for weeks at the stretch to the briefest 1 course at variable meal times, bereft of P or amuseuient, and with naught but moorland and the grey hills beyond to coD £ {. plate day after day, and month after rao thrown back upon the painful memories o former life, no wonder that she had daub her husband, doubted herself, doubted e God. The sympathy I felt for Redheugh swallowed up by the pity and sorrow that tv me for his unfortunate wife. fit I left Redheugh with the promise that as as lay in my power I would assist him 111 search, IV. (g We found Mrs Redheugh at last. where is immaterial. The details of our searching would not be interesting, besides, have nothing to do with my story-^ is sufficient that more by luck than else 1 discovered where she was l'ving- „ poorest part of a dismal, northern maB"1 turing town. it Without seeing her 1 made certain that 115 was no mistake, and that same evening I with Redheugh to the house. Telling heugh I wished to see one of the tenants, 1 him waiting at the open door while I c'lDL of the staircase to the room which the peop the house had indicated. rtl1 Mrs Redheugh herself opened the door W .se knock. Wondering, for she did not recogc me, she hesitatingly asked me to come inSl and I entered the poverty-stricken room- 9 tiny fire ''was burning in the grate, and 0 rickety table was a pile of linen gal*m which she had been sewing. A small oil lamp provided the only iliuminatiotx, poor as it was, it enabled me to see the in Mrs Redheugh that had taken place, sudden wave of hot anger against her basi> swept over me. She waited forme to explain the objs^j my visit, but I could not speak, my throat dry and choking, the words would not coff> May I ask what I can do for you I Sóf ventured at last. There was a n0 ntJa pathetic weariness in her sweet and voice that brought the tears to my eyet" an made me curse the man waiting below. m Mrs Redheugh," I said, unbuttonio £ high collar of my waterproof, do yo^-gj recollect me ? I am John Craven. husband tstif Into her large grey eyes came a look of 6 prise and apprehension, and she uttered » cry. Oh, why did you come V" she Am I never to find peace in this world • God! have I not suffered enough ali^^yj Why are you here ?" and she came tó",8ol" me. Your hus band-" Is he ill ?" she interrupted, quickly* I did not reply the expression that lighted up her thin face at my words^ sufficient to assure me I need say no With a quick sigh I stepped to the door. wa.y down the stairs I called to Redheugh- t What is it ?" he asked. Are you COIW- It's devilish cold waiting here." Will you come here ?" He came heavily up the stairs and foD? me into the room I had just left. I stayed « the open door, watching. For a few secOj, | husband and wife faced each other then Ffjf heugh staggered forward, and in the cty "Jy, burst from his lips was contained the the contrition, and the deep love of a ™ loving man, who has sinned and suffered-y saw the light of love and unspeakabl0XJj flood his wife's dilated eyes, her lips and 1 But there are scenes too sacred to W j before the common eyes. I went downst*^ and tramped the soaking streets, my ugi throbbing with a fierce, aching pair! i" never known before, and from my 8O;ø prayed that at last Redheugh's wife had fa the peace she craved. (The End). Next Week- THE PRICE OF HIS SECRET, By Headon Hill.

Free Traders to Confer. INTERNATIONAL CONGRESS. While the country is holiday-making \jt Free Traders of all nations will be m London and discussing the weightiest of the great controversy. The first lnW;iJ1 tional Free Trade Conference ever helA begin to-day, and Mr Russell Rea, 'fa* whose initiative the conference is due, Press representative some interesting P°^ about it. „ ggi! The conference arose in this way. Mr Rea. Last year one or two Free Traders were over here, and I them to dinner at the House. We disc the subject in many aspects that are,eter* looked by English people, atad then 1 mined to endeavour to bring about a D* of Free Traders of aH countries to rjq%e K S^adeJcrom^ajiatematiQnAljacint of_*$sprti**a'! Tate^Rr BT. Campbell-Bs2mermmw_fTient a Minister, met my American friends and warm interest in my project. tb8 On Monday evening the members ?t¡eb8-11 Conference will be received at the Wh1 g.nd Rooms. We expect about 300 of theIJh they represent Germany, France, the v t States, Canada, Belgium, Spain and 0 countries.. We shall have plenty of m material by the highest authorities, an■ Conference will be extremely interesti from the point of view of the taking part in it. The Hon. John Bigelo I may add, attend the meetings. The report of the proceeding? printed in three languages, and the resui I anticipate, be very valuable."

DRUNKEN MOTOR 'BUS DRIVE* Sent to Prison. Albert Edward Langford (21), a & omnibus driver, pleaded guilty Alderman Smallman), at the Guil London, on Saturday, to being drunk in charge of a motor omnibus in Cheapsio • ¡I A constable stated that about 10 ihinu 1 that morning he saw the defendant his 'bus along Cheapside. He was driving moderate pace, but witness's attention^ particularly drawn to him as he appear^ £ be making straight for a tent used by so oø the Post Office telegraph linesmen, engag rfepairs in the centre of the roadway* gt0p< 'bus, before witness could call to him to wjjtf dashed into the erection, absolutely it. F rtunately one of the workmen the 'bus coming and jumped out just iO to save his life. Another man at work l manholewas kept a pris >ner until thewrec was removed. With difficulty the accuse" >T? got off his 'bus, when it was found that h. drunk. He denied being drunk, and dec that his 'bus skidded. A doctor was seJ) and certified him drunk. The defendant pleaded for leniency, st* that he would necessarily lose his licence. t Thei Alderman How long have you licence ?—About three years, and never n- accident before. The Chief Clerk pointed out that the had been three times previously endorsed.^ had been fined for drunkenness and fat sive speed. »f* Tbe Alderman (to defendant) Yo«j t evidently a man wh ought not to bo^J licence. It is a very bad case, and it is mercy that these workmen were not kill^jjjft shall suspend your motor licence .until I 19C9, and I shall cancel your bus licence- public mui^t be protected. In addition A send you to prison for a month with labour.

MAN CRUCIFIED. Revel Before His Dying E>eS'^ Paris, Saturday.—A telegram from kesh, dated July 27, says that a terrible topk pla^e there yesterday. Some time ago Kaid Bensegrad, of to* ti7 rad tribe, offered to Mulai Hafid's KhalH^-f sell the former Raid, named Kabbour, a sonal enemy of his pwn, for 5,000 douros- cfltf The bargain was Struck and the Kaio tured Kabbour and crucified him in the yard of his house, where, before the crUc man's eyes, he held a fete. Ao^Cl On the third day Kabbour was taken. yJ hacked to pieces, and his flesh thro^» dogs, musical instruments being P vLu^ I drown the cries of the wretched man.—4 J

FOUR NEGROES LYNCHED' —— Russellville, Kentucky, Saturday • negroes were taken out of the gaol "■ night and hanged on a tree near tbe The mob, composed of about 50 Pers°f^ijig *1 no shots, and the inhabitants knew n vyod^A the affair until daylight revealed the to which was attached a note sayiDfr' this be a warning to you niggers to le people alone, or you will go tbe \odfi The men lynched were members ox which is said to have approved the to. a white farmer by his negro tenant-To jt was committed in Logan County, when presumed the lynchers came.—Retitqr-

NEW MONMOUTHSHIRE PROPOS^ Alderman S. N. Jones, Newbridge, ba^ notice for the following motion for meeting of the Monmouthshire Council :—" That the local authorItieS ild the western portion of the county ..ø J\ Eastern Valleys be invited to a conferffl^jji the Parliamentary Committee of this 0 (II to consider a scheme for the forma Water Board (to consist of represent this Council and of the local authoritie which a further suppiy of water woui .^j tained on the lines of the scheme b?j<t the Council's, recent Parliamentary Bill to be promoted by the County the ensuing Session, in consultation local authorities, such supply to be J j,t at the cost of the Board, and, if t the Bill to include the purchase of 10* undertakings of the companies authorities within the area of supply* I