Weekly Mail

A CHILD MARTYR. Seldom in the annals of cruelty to children has there been a more horrible case than that of poor little Marie Bergmann, the thirteen-year-old daughter of a well-known physician at Berlin. Her stepmother haa literally tortured her for two yearn. Berlin is indignant ttbat this woman has got off with a fine of 300 marks inst-ead of eight months' gaol, proposed by the Grown prosecutor. Some of the tortures inflicted seem in. credible. Marie was compelled to sit at open windows for hours in frosty weather, Although they had servants, she was made a drudge. She was compelled to oarry heavy burdens up three flights of stairs, and she was obliged to take her meals in the kitchen and was so starved that she had to beg from the -neighbours. For every little childish fault she was beaten black and blue, some- times till the blood streamed. ,>

HORSE EATE^ ALIYE. A knacker who took an injured horse to the shore near Kildysart and returned to kill it, found the animal had been completoly eaten by rats. Nothing but the skeleton remained. The horee, apparently unable to L move, waa eaten, olive. 4 I

I —| A By Eminent Authore. <> <> <> HER CONFESSION. I stayed in that hospital, as you know, till a week ago last Monday-till the Monday before Christmas. I was very weak. I had got this cough, and I coughed almost all the time. By-and-bye they moved me from the room where I had first been into another —the room for people who are getting well. In this room I had a chair near the window. I used to sit at the window and look out upon the river, and across at New York and think. Oh. I used to think pretty bitter things sometimes. One day when I was seated there like that I caught the reflection of my face in the window-pane. Then I saw how my sickness had changed me. At first I did not know myself. I looked at that face in the window- pane for a moment without knowing whose it was, and then, when I realised that it was mine, it made me start for surprise. I saw how thin and white my oheeks had grown, how hollow my eyes were, and how queer I looked without my hair. Now I have nearly reached the end. Now I am ready to tell you what I did last nie-ht, and why I did it, and then I shall have finished. Well, last night-I had been out of the hospital, back in New York about ten days—last night just after dark, I was walk- ing along Fourteenth-street in the rain when I met a gentleman, who stopped and spoke to me. He was that friend of Eugene's—the doctor who used to come and see my father. I had not seen him sinc-o-those days. He stopped and spoke to me—said. Why, is this you? How changed you are. I scarcely should have known you." Then we talked for a little while together, and then he turned to go away. But just as he was turning he stopped again and said. Oh. by-the-way, do you ever see Leffing- well—Eugene Leffingwell—nowadays?" Of course, I had expected that he would speak of Eugene, and I was surprised at his starting to leave me without having done so. "No," I answered. "No." I suppose you heard of his marriage, eh?" the doctor went on. "What?'' I a «¡ked. Yes, yes, his marriage. You heard thai, he had got married, didn't you?" When did he get married?" I asked as quietly as I could. "Let me see. It—«it was in September, I think." He got married in September," I said. "And who—whom did he marry?" A Miss Appleton-immensely rich. A very brilliant match." Oh." I said. I waited till he had gone out of sighi. Then I just pressed my hands to my sides and laughed—laughed out aloud, there in the open stre>et. So he was married. A Miss Appleton. Kich. A brilliant match. I laughed and laughed. I don't know, I can't understand now, as I look back, what it was that had come over me and that made me laugh so hard. I was not laughing for merriment. My laugh was not a happy laugh—it was as if an evil spirit had somehow got into me and was laughing spirit and malice. I laughed tin the laugh made me cough, and then I eoughed till I thought I should fall down; ths cough weakened me so. And. oh! I felt as if I would give all the world just to ¡ 500 Miss Appleton, and—and trample on her, and defy her and make her heart ache a little, as mine had ached. les, that is what I felt. And then I tried to think what would hurt her most, this rich woman who darod to pretend to be >is wife. That is the question I asked myself, and I walked around the streets in the cold and wet for a long while thinking about bha.t. And at last I made up my mind. I said to myself, "I will go to her; I will go to their house in Beekman-place, and there will I tell her that she is not his wife. I will let her know the thing she is. I think that will hurt her enough—to let her know that though she is living with him, yet she is not his wife." All the time as I was wa.Iking I kept going over and over again in thought the scene that would take place in a little while—kept making pictures to myself of her shame and her agony when I had told her what I had to tell. I thought that she would be tall and proud. I could see the way she would look at me with her proud eyes, and then I could CM her tall body tremble, and the pride in her eyes giv« way to horror ae I begran to-speak. Well, I reached Beekman-place a.nd found No. 57, climbed the stoop and rang the bell, Ah! how fast my heart wan beating now. In a minute, in a minute, oh, what pain I was going to make her suffer, A servant-girl opened the door, and I asked her whether Mrs. Lef&mgwell was in. She sa.id she would go and see. Then she let me into the hall, a.nd left me standing there. The hall wm brightly lighted and warmed, and there was a sofa red rug upon the floor. I waited there trying to think what I had better say first of all. But I could not think very clearly, for the hatred a.nd the fury that were in my breast. At the same time, I could feel my heart trembling a.t the thought that perhaps Eugene himseU was in the house, within sound of my voice a.t this very instant. But pretty soon I heard a focetep. I listened. Yes, it was a lady's footstep. She—she was coming. Now. Oh, I thought my heart would choke me; it leaped so now. I turned around too look. A lady was coming down the stairs, right in front of me. I looked up at her. saw her clearly. And when I aa-w her, the moment my eyes first rested upon her, then—then the changes came. Then suddenly a.11 the bitterness and fury and hatred melted out of my breast, and left there only a feeling of pity and tender- ness for this little lady. If you oould have seen her, you would have felt the same way. She was such a pretty little lady, with such a. sweet mouth, a.nd such beautiful blue eyea. I looked at her, and a.t onoe my heart went out to her, and I thought, What! Did I want to hurt that poor little thing? Did I want to make tears come to those beautiful blue eyes. Oh, shame." And I felt as though, instead of hurting her, I should like to take her in my arms, and soothe her, and comfort her. She was not the least like what I had expected —not the least proud-looking. She looked more like a little soft, innocent child. She came on down the stairs, and when she had reached the bottom, she lifted her eyes to mine, and asked, in such a kind, soft voice, "Did yon want to see me?" Now, whM could I say? Wha.t excuse had I to give for having asked to see her? I could not think of anything to say, and so I stood there, dumb. You look tired and sick," she said. Won't you oome in and sit down and get warm?'* I—I can't remember just what I answered. I was very much ashamed and very awk- ward. But I said something abont having made a. mistake, and then I turned round, I a.nd opened the door, and ran out into the street. Well, you know what I did after that. Why did I do it? Oh, cam t you see why? I felt so sorry for that poor little lady, who thought she was his wife, and yet never could be his wife ae: long as I lived, I felt so sorry for her that I said to myself, Why not let her be his wife in earnest ? If she should ever find out that she is not his wife, she will be so unhappy. Why not put yourself out of the way? You are of no use to anybody, living, but by dying you would be of use to her." And then the river was right there, only a few steps away, and 93 Well, you know the rest. I could not help crying out; the water was so cold. But I never mea.nt that they should oome—that the man should eome and jump in after me. That was not worth while, because you say that now I cannot live much longer anyway, and I might as well have died then as now That is all. I think I have told you a.11.

4 THE ELOPEMENT. "Then you are really and unquestionably 1U lover" "Too deeply for a joke." I can really believe yon, for you have a-11 the symptoms. Is the lady rich?" I do not know." Ie she of good family?" "Of that, also I am ignorant." She is young, of oourse?" Sweet, blushing sixteen." "The warmth of your panegyric, Alfred, ia almost enough to make one a participator In your feelings; but you nave not told the name of your new-found beauty." Strange M it may seem, I do not know even that." "I comprehend; it is altogether an affair 0: love at first sight, is it not? But have you no clue to the object of your passion?" "None whatever." "You are in a strange predicament; upon •

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DYING AND-HAPPY. Found asleep on a form in a common lodging-house in East Smithfield, Walter Grant exclaimed, "It's all right; I'm as happy as the flowers in May." Then he pell back dead. The evidence given at the inquest held a.t Stepney showed that the man had died of starvation. A second inquest held at the same court into the cause of Eliza Hart's death, which occurred at the sick asylum, also revealed the fact that want was the chief cause.

GOLD FROM LOGAN BERRIES Fifty pounds an acre has been obtained from Logan berries this season by certain Kentish fruit growers, the fruits being pro- duced from plants trained upon trellis. The berry closely resembles the raspberry, but it is a greater and more reliable fruiter than that old favourite, and as the result, bids fair in a few years to be grown on an Extensive eoale by commercial producers throughout the English fruit districts. The Logan berry is really a mammoth raspberry-blackberry. I am a pro- fessional man, and, owing to great pressure of busineas, I have lately, for days at a stretch, had to go through an unusually extra amount of bmin work. with the result that I now feel utterly run down, and am quite unable to obtain any sleep at nights, besides which no food I take seems to agree with me. I am averse tc resorting to narcotics or other drugs, yet I fee that I shall not be able to endure my present condition much longer." You are quite right not to seek to obtain sleep by means of drugs. As Macbeth says, "Tlirow physic to the dogs!" a piece of cdvice which meets with the approval of Sir Frederick Treves, the eminent surgeon, who recently declared that he was looking for- ward to the time when people would leave off the extraordinary habit of taking medi- cine when they were sick. Through overwork and badly-assimilated food your vital forces have evidently broken down, and need build- ing up afresh in a natural and ra-tional manner. To accomplish this you should take the new combination food-Goban.a-which contains no deleterious drugs, but is com- posed entirely of the essential nutriment of the Banana and the purest Cocoa—two vege- table substances which are noted the world over for their highly nutritive qualities. The Banana is the most valuable of food-fruits, and, being entirely free from acidity, is one of the safest for such as have delicate stomachs; while the theobromine, the stimu- lating principle of the Cocoa, is the most highly nitrogenised product of Nature. You should take only food which is easily digesti- ble, and, at the same time, nutritious, bear- ing in mind that anything that strengthens th-) constitution will strengthen the digestive powers. Coban.a. fulfils these requirements, Take a cup shortly before bed-time and is sold in the form of a powder to be taken as a beverage in the same way as ordi- nary cocoa. It not only possesses the prope-rty of rapidly restoring the invalid to health, strength, and con- dition, however, but a very incon- siderable quantity of it will sustain vitality for a long period. Give Cobana, a trial, ani you will ba surprised how soon your general health will improve. Above all, take a cup shortly before bed-time, and you will speedily be blessed once more with Tired Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep!" Sold everywhere in 6d. packets and 9d. and Is. 6d. tins. If you have not yet tried Cobana, 011 receipt of a postcard with your name and address a special Sample Tin will be sent free so that you can give Cobana a fair trial in your home. The Cobana Factory is at Yicttoria Works, Watford, Herts. wl358—6

DUBLIN CASTLE JEWELS. MYSTERIOUS MAN'S REMARKABLE STORY IN QUEBEC. Another strange story, in addition to the many already told, in connection with the the-ft of the State jewels from Dublin Castle, has reached London. Towards the end of last July a man, aged about 30, a.nd of gentlemanly bearing, pre- sented himself at the gates of the Quebec Citadel, and asked to see the recruiting officer, stating that he wished to enlist in the Garrison Artillery. He was taken into the guard-room, and one or two non-commissioned officers, taking note of his unmistakably superior breeding, endeavoured to make him talk. He invited several of the men into the can- teen, and while there, pulled a soldier's dis- charge from his pooket, at the same time asking if it would be any help to him in joining the regiment. The man was prodigal in standing drinks, and it was clear he was in possession of plenty of money, displaying both English gold, and Canadian dollar bills. To a private in the artillery, who happened to be a native of Dublin, he got talking of the Dublin Castle jewel robbery. This private immediately started putting things together, and more drink was ordered, with the result that the stranger grew quite confidential. He admitted that he was concerned in the theft of the jewels; that the robbery had been committed months before it was actually found out; that a well-known lady of high social rank in Ireland was his sole aocom- pi ice; that they found themselves in the poe- session of what had turned out to be a white elephant, and that before many weeks were over the bulk of the jewellery would be back in Dublin Castle. The soldier felt inclined to doubt the storyr and, as he h.a.d been employed at Dublin Castle and knew every turn and corner in it he asked the man draw him a rough sketch. Pencil and paper were supplied, and the result showed beyond all doubt that the man fW wae about, for not only did he display an intimate knowledge of the Castle grounds, but marked the posi- tion of the strong-room itself, with its approaches, and even went the length of indicating the position of the jewels. The private secreted the plan, and without the knpwledge of the stranger, word was cent to the commanding officer, who ordered his detention and oomniunicated with the authorities. The man, who gave the name of "Atwell" was detained, and Quebec was in almost continual communication with Scotland Yard but at the end of five or six days word was received tha.t the detained man was to be released, as it was decided not to proceed with the case. A peculiar thing about the affair was that before coming up to the gates of the CitadeL "Atwell" was seen to hand a bulky brown- paper parcel to a rough-looking man who accompanied him. and who, after loitering about for a time, returned alone in the direc- tion of the city with the parcel badly can- cealed under his coat.

WHY MARRY? Woman is nothing if not accurate. In Women's Franchise a correspondent hae been asking the question, "Why Marry?" As reasons against she supplies some into resting information. Amongst other things she saye: — Does not the onlooker see to-day the wife travailing third-class while her husband habitually goes first, taking a tram where he would take a hansom, riding a bicycle when he hunts, going to seaside lodgings with the children as a holiday, while for himself he has a gun on a. moor, a rod on a river, or a trip with a man friend? Wherefore, she repeats, why marry? For a living? A husband does not pay his wife wages. For a home? A "bachelor" home can b3 made by any girl. To be an unpaid housekeeper who cannot leave, she adds. and signs herself, "Spinster by Choice."

THE SENSATION OF DEATH. At an inquest at Battersca, recently on William Galvin, who died in the Wandsworth Infirmary, it was stated that he had been in so weak a condition that he could not raise himself in bed. Just before he died, however, he got up unassisted, and walked to the other end of the room. "It was probably the sensa,tion of impend- ing death which impelled him to make the effort," remarked the medical superintendent of the infirmary.

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t THE GREAT f I Craneboro' Conspiracy, f t l X BT a I JOHN OAKLEY. | Author of <6> "THE BLACKMAILER," T "A GENTLEMAN IN KHAKI", Etc. X CHAPTER XXXV. AT PEATE FARM. We left Eleanor and her hattdmai-den a few chapters back captives in the hands of a couple of mysterious assailants, who had, with a suddenness arid completeness sum- oienitly terrifying, prevented the further cflig-ht of the fugitives. Possibly" their captors would ha-ve proceeded at once to explana- tions, but tha.t Eoachky, with the instinct of 'a, thorough-going huntsman, made straight for the paddock, waving his lantern before -him. The passage between the two barns was 'by far the darkest part noticeable, even Where aJl else was so bl3.c-k, and in that passage Koaeiiley's search began—a.n>d ended. The two men who had intercepted the girls !tleft the latter as they noticed Roachley's approach, and crept themselves on hands and 'knees into the alley. The meeting took place about halfway along. Roachley's lantern Was dashed out of his hand, his arms were seized in a grasp of iron and pinioned behind iJIim, and the cold muzzle of a revolver was pressed against his forehead. If you move I shall fire," said a voice. "Very well, gentlemen," Eoaehley replied mildly. "I am as still as a monument; at ■ least, as still as I can be with one of you tagging at my elbows as if he were hauling on the tow-rope of a canal barge. But I have nothing on me-my money is all inside. Will iyo-U accompany me thither?" We propose 60 to do," was the reply of one of his assailants. i "We came for that purpose," paid the (Other. Just search him first," commanded the rSormcr epeaker. A revolver in his jacket pocket," was the 'Other's announcement after a pause. "Put it in youT own." Nothing else that I can see." Good! Now you take one arm, and I'll flake the other, and then to the house." I shall be delighted to entertain you, •Bentlemenwas Roachley's only (wmacpnt. They advanced in that formation to the "door, the girLs following—though the trio did not heed t.bem-a dozen yards or so behind. .El<ealDor's first idea, and Emily's, too, for that ttiatter, had been to continue their flight, "but curiosity and the knowledge tha.t Bod Was inside that house a captive overcame in a measure their fears, and they crept in the 'wake of Roaehley and his captors, keeping, (however, -at a respectful distatnoe, and well in the shadows. As the trio reached the I door, aDd halted for a moment on the thres- hol d in the full flood of light from the lamps within, Emily gave a great cry and ran for- ►'Ward. "Ralph!" she cried. "Oh, Ralph, is it you?" Simultaneously, Roaehley turned to view Ilic captors. By Jove!" he exclawed. "Scott MaUabar, :8Ind Bowmar, the secretary." "Your humble servaMs," the journalist returned, and Ralph, having recovered a tLttle from the e«mi-paralyp.ia of asitonielh- toerut into which the sight of his sister had whroiwn him, the procession passed up the the two girls bringing up the rear. J Which is the room?" tihe joumalist asked. "Have you any preference?" Roach-ley jfl^eiied politely. I "We want the room wherein Kenwood is So!" < Which is it?" 4' I do not know." ,< J That is a lie, anyway." Well, then, I refuse to say. t What if I shoot you?" "With all the pleasure in. life. Don't let 5*e be any impediment to the enjoyment of guests. Though as a method of inducing speech it has certain, drawbacks." Soottt Malla-bar turned to Eleanor. Open all the doors," he oamimanded, -and see-" That is the room." Etmtay criod shrilly. "I fl&-w him ttaooeli tihe -window. Ttoait must be the one." <, She Tan to the dooT she had indicated, and \trted to open it, but found it fast locked. Boaehley chuckled. audibly. I shall owe a. bit for that," he muttered. "He ^gjfost have seen us coming and locked the it is very good." f. Who is Sandiere?" deamurnded the jornrr- st overhearimg BoaaUey-'e meditations. A friend, of mtoft." j Where to he?" f I dwoa't know." The ewteohiem was interrupted abruptly by aloud shout behind him, Ralph a.nd the jour- nalist turned lllvoluntarily to see Eales, not three yards away, covering them with a **volver in each hand. Taking advantage of ^hearmomentajT surprise, RoiachJey wrenched uiiriself free. ^eir*le "Shoot at t,M Eales would have carried out the if h v jnot.' or wlLe!tllei' would have hit lie had, will ever remain a question. The ^cimon. d'id not rest with him; that was Bm i '8' Th'e g™1 hiad beeo standing by a featt on w'Mc'h was disposed an ^thenware vase holding all that was mortal £ a defunct geranium. This she sedzed, and t a- four-foot rang-e hurled it full in the ace of the man with the revolvers. I shall never joke about a aiim Soott Malla<ba.T said as he knelt on ilea's recumbent form, covering Roaehley ^■fretfully with his own weapon the while. get those scarves on that table, and bind. this fellow's legs. If this revolver goes —this was to Roaehley—"you will get fcUrt." "And if he misses, I shan't," Ra/lph pat in. Soachley sihrujgged his shoulders with a ^igned air, and folded his arms, bat the ^•useless movements of his eyes belied hiis Gumption of outward calm. i. ^mily deftly swathed the fallen man's and the journalist rolled him into a ner. Then he shut the door and bolted it. "There may be others outside," he mut- tered. i "Th&re ?Te' Tejoimed Em. | Now for there al,ld_nid enter. I Bot here a •them in the confronted Pe o«f a voice from the key- "l am here armed," ran rmryr, r«-n the announce- Ittent; n you open the door, I shall fire Roacihlfy chuckled again> a.nd nod,ri^ head. "1 thought so," he said. 1118 That, I presume, is Sajnders," the kvun- na.list remarked. "Keep your eye on that chap"—this to Ralph apropos of Roaehley— while 1-" He bent down and attempted to spy « through the keyhole, which, however, | afforded bim no glimpse of the interior. He •■.•straightened himself enough when heard a rattling and thumping on the \-outside of the front door, and Roaehley cry- tng, "Be careful, there are foes herein. Get in the other way, and shoot He stopped just there with some a-brupt- Scott itallabar's hands being too t ightly his throat to allow of further utter- aoeelf aPrP|arently the mian cmtfide hiad for adaSt^3 messa'ife'> for he ceased his calls that ottW°n' 8,11(1 wellt' presumahly, to seek expedition ^*raTlce- His success in that startling sudden»^!?0'anoe^ with somewhat "I wonder -ro- lling, when he w*^a^^yaT wias begin- lling, when he w*^a^^yaT wias begin- report and a rush of f_ £ by a loud momentnrily by the e>. folicvwd almost that confined space—of v. sounded so i,n B<alph twisted half round, aiwi OW? wcapon' the wall, but the jouraa^-J^X^ a^ainst Siuich more sensational effect, for .?t had a lowed by the crash of falling fo1" "arsh rending as of tearing wood-worw T" 5 then the sudden thud of a heavy body r^nf- a height above them to their own lew)5 ^hen the dust and smoke had cleared slue away, they sa-w Ralph leaning the wall, with a vivid red line scored alcwig "Ts left cheek, beginning by the mouth a,nd ending low down on the neck, while in the ^ddle of the hall, writhing with agony and Cl1rsi'l1g volubly, lay Cruston, M.P.

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EARLY RISING BRILLIANCE. Therre is no necessary connection between early rising a.nd a brilliant career; never- theless, it is an interestmg fact that many of our eminent men and women spend lees time in their beds, and leave them much earlier, than most of us. Mr. Crockett seta an example to his literary brothers, which few of them show any anxiety to emulate, by tambling ont of bed, winter and summer alike, at five o'clock. Before six he is hard at work, and by break- fast time he has added three or four thou- sand words to one of his charming novels, leaving, if wishes it, the rest of the day tor playing in." The lalte M'r. G. F. Watts, for instance, rarely allowed his bed to keep him away from his brusflies later than five o'clock in "the morning. There a-re few earlier risers than the Kings ana Queens of Europe, who might pardou- £ ~j.y in later hours than their sub- jecte. The German Emperor is usually hard at work in his study at five o'clock; the Queen of Holland, like her mother, rises at seven; and at the same hour the DowageT j Queen of Spain may be seen on her way to Maas. The King of Italy leaves his bed at six o'clock in the morning, summer and winter alike.

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FARMER'S SON AND GIRL. William Stevens, a farmer's son, employed at Norton Farm, Hen bury, appeared at Law. ford's Gate Sessions recently to answer a charge of assaulting Florence Annie Beames, fifteen, on the 13th of July. The mother of the girl stated that on the 8th of September she received a oommunica. tion from her daughter Florrie, and went to see Mrs. Stevens at the farm. As the com- munication was serious, she took the girl to a doctor. On the 9th of September she made a complaint to Mr. and Mrs. Stevens, the parents of the accused. Mr. Stevens 'said. "Do nm be too hard, Mrs. Beames; we will do all we can. We will send the girl to her aunt in South Wales, and pay the expensm during the time she-is there." In cross-examination, witness said she returned to the farm and accused Mrs. f),revens of having given her daug-hter drugs. The girl Florrie Beames deposed that she was a domestic servant, and had been in service with the accused. She was sixteen* years of age. On the 13th of July her master and mistress went to BristoL Accused was in the sitting-room, and witness had occasion to go in there. He caught hold of her and assaulted her. William Stevens denied the charge abso- lutely. He said that he was a married man, and lived happily with his wife. He heard of no accusation against him until the 9th of September. He went to Pembroke, on his father's advice, and as soon as he heard there was a warrant out against him he came back. Accused was committed to the next assises, bail being allowed in the sum of £ 50. bail being allowed in the sum of £50.

my word, I see no way out of it but to retrace your steps and forget the lady." "Forget her? Never!" "Your case is a. desperate one, then; I suppose yon c,a.nnot l1ve on love all your days." "Laugh at me if yon will, Prank; perhaps I deserve it; but, unfortunately, I am un- able to do as you advise." "Suppose you detail to me the circum- stances of your meeting? It may lie in my power to lend you some assistance." "I doubt your ability to lend me any help, but you shall hear my story, notwithstand- ing. It was, then, about a month since that I saw the angel of whom I speak; she had applied to me for her likeness, and in my studio day by day and hour by hour I drank in her beauty until I was like an intoxicated man. I once thought that my ardent glances were returned; subsequent facts, however, have undeceived me. In two weeks I had accomplished my task—the pleasantest that had ever fallen to my lot- and delivered the portrait to its owner. This locket is the only memorial left me of those brief, but pleasant hours." How! Is this a facsimile of her features?" "It is; you seem to recognise them?" Unfortunately for you, my friend, I do." "You alarm me! Who is she?" Her name is Caroline Blondel; she is the only daughter of a retired merchant, who, from his ridiculous pride and intolerant spirit, has earned the well-merited title of the aristocrat.' You might as well hope for the eovere'gnty of the tndies, and expect to see your wishes gratified, as to aspire to the hand of his daughter." Are you acquainted with the family?" "Intimately; the title of a relation gains me ready access to their doors." "I must claim, then, your voluntary pro- m16e of aE8istanœ What! Do you mean to persist ?" Undoubtedly." "What would you do?" "Obtain access through your influence f) the house of your proud relative." My de-ar fellow, are you mad? Such a thing is impossible." You are too easily daunted. Listen, and I will convince you that what I propose is not so difficult of accomplishment as you would imagiile. Biondel, you say, is an aristocrat; well, so much the better for my purpose. I will purchase some extravagant frippery, which you shall choose, and you shall introduce me to your connections as a foreign count. With an artificial moustache and a miniature hedge of hair I may be sure of success." You would not surely deceive Miss Biondel?" Were I to encourage such a thought I should be unworthy the name of a lover: nor oould I hope that the love thus won from her by me, as a count, would endure towards the poor artist." "Well, since yon promise to deal fairly with her and are resolved to push the affair, I will aid you. Let me think: To-morrow even- ing the old gentleman gives an entertainment in honour of his daughter's first appearance in society. This will occur most opportunely for your scheme. But you will have many obstacles to oontend with. In the first place, you will have a rival." "A rival? Who—where?" "Not at your elbow, as your looks would seem to intimate. He is, nevertheless, a for- midable one. He says that he is rich; the ladies call him handsome, and the gentlemen cail him 'a good fellow.' He has, moreover, obtained the consent of her parents to a union with Miss Biondel." "How? Has he dared-" Nay, not so hot. Caroline, I can assure you, will never consent to receive him as a husband, with all his riches. To-morrow night, then, I will introduce you, and you shall have an opportunity of seeing both your mistress and your rival." She was just sixteen; her hair, which was of a dark chestnut colour, instead of falling in ringlets over her temples, was combed carefully back from the forehead, and served to set of a brow of transparent whiteness, beneath which, like two gems in a monarch's diadem, or sister stare in a clear canopy of heaven, shone a pair of dark, lustrous eyes that »et the hea.rt throbbing to gare upon. She was constantly surrounded by a throng of admirer*. They forced themselves upon her society by day; they tormented her by their favouring attentions at night. If she rode, there was a coxcomb oasting 'ove-Iorn glances at either elbow; if she danced, there was no possibility of obtaining rest, for, fast as her hand was resigned by one, it was seized by another. Up to this time, however, her occupations were mere suited to the daily routine of a petted daughter than a young lady about to undergo the ordeal of an introduction into fashionable society. But now a change was about to take place; she was about to be held up to the view of the world in all her charms—" an heiress and a Venue "—and the night appointed for her "coming otrt," which was to endow her with all the privileges of a woman, was drawing near. The lons-expectcd evening arrived. A flood of light streamed through the windows of the thronged mansion of the aristocrat, and music resounded through the emblazoned haBs, until the air was made vocal with melody. The apartments were filled with the wealth a.nd beauty of the town. There was dancing in one room, and singing in another; all was mirth-gay, unclouded mirth. Prominent in that large assemblage, the very embodiment of health and vivacity, sat the belle of the evening, the young Caroline Biondel. With music in her ears and adulation at her side, how could a young maiden fail of baing happy. There was a stir in tha-t part of the room nearest the door, a suppressed whispering, a com- pressed murmur, and it was said that the lion of the night—the noble Count Eugene de Friburg-wa8 approaching. All eyes were fixed upon the outlet; an expectation had arisen to its utmost height when in the midst of the sudden silence the door opened and a valet in magnificent livery announced in a loud voice: "The Oount Friburg!" He entered—the foreign lion," the descendant of a long line of nobles, whoee pedigree had its birth in royalty, and whose dignity aspired to the clouds. At first he seemed taken aback at the sense of splendour which on every side, met his eyes; but gaining confidence, he advanced into the apartment with an irresistible air, and was introduced by the overjoyed Mr. Blondel to his daughter. Aga.in the music struck up, and the Count led his charming partner to the dance. "What fools," thought Frank Huntley, as he stood and surveyed the frantic motions • of his friend Friburg (aliae the artist, Alfred Moreleigh) amid the variations of a French quadrille. The evening wore OlD. Midnight had passed and still the amusements were unabated. In a remote oorner of the garden attached to the house two figures- one of whom had he been present Mr. Biondel would have identified as his daughter and the other as Frank Huntley's noble friend—were lingering. Am I beloved, then, dearest?" exclaimed the pretended Count. As much as a confiding girl of sixteen can love." "This is beyond my utmost expectation. But have you never thought of the many advamtages you will lose by refusing the hand of the rich Mr. Ellerton?" "Often. But were they as countless as the waves—" W ill you consent, then, to abandon your father's gilded roof for the humble one of the poor artist?" "Is flight our only refuge?" The only one. Your father would spurn at onoe all Idea. of an alliance with me Thus far matters were settled. "What success?" asked Huntley of his friend, upon his return to the house. "The greatest," was the reply. "You are 81 skilful manoeuverer. Wed Caroline Biondel and be happy. Napoleon, with all his tact, never won so great a. victory." A few days passed away. It is impossible to portray the rage which ssized upon the worthy Mr. Blondel as he read the following note, which he discovered one morning lying upon his kureau:— Dearest Pa,—I am aware that the step which I have taken may seem, in your judgment, excessively imprudent; but you will own upon reflection that the con- sequences were engendered by yourself. You would have married me to the man whom I detest for the sake of a few paltry guineas. I preferred eloping with the man whom I love, and I hope that your good sense will lead you to acquiesce in the propriety of the step. My husband, Mr. Alfred Moreleigh, artist (late vount Frlbnrg"), joins with me in requesting your pardon. Your truly affectionate, though erring daughter, CAROLINE.

Roaehley stood regarding his fallen com- rade with phlegmatic uiniconeeirn. A good shot, sir," he said. Yes," the journalist responded with simi- lar tranquility. "There had been so much talk of shooting, it was time somebody began in real earnest. He was fool enough to show his face." "Ay, you can't teach some people. And Bowmar? He was hit, too." Hit, but not hurt," Ralph responded. "It is oniy a scratch." "They will be able to identify you in heaven by it," Roaehley said grimly. "You'll never quite lose that scar. HuUo-! the rmaal there has faanted 1 hope he isn't dead." He stepped across the hall, and knelt down by Crustons side, nobody attempting to hinder him, though boifth Ralph and the jour- nalist kept a wa-tehful eye upon. him. No, not dead," Roaehiey announced. "Shot in the leg, and I think-his arm broken by the fall. Have you a flask on you, sir? Saun- ders." ^•,vSi^V rwipov.-ded a voice from the athea- ssae of the closed door. Oome here." ^+^ £ !;e dwr opened promptly, and Sanders stepped forth, imperturbable, solemn, appa- rently miastoiiiiahed. Soe to Mr. Cruston," Roaehley went on. Leave Mr. Eales as he is until I tell you. Now, ladies and gentlemen, your frie-ad is therein—shall we visit him?" They entered the room, and in a minute Em. had. fresd Rod from his bonds with a few slashes oj; the knife the prfFsma~i had handed her. Mallabar meanwhile made a tour of the room, but found nothing remark- able. At one end was an old-fashioned closet cupboard, cavernous and dark, but he only just peeped inside for this occasion, resGr\!¡ng a more complete investigation for a later opportunity. He went to the other door and glanced into the hall, where he saw Sanders still assidu- ously attending the wounded man. He pushed the door to, half machanically, and joined the group on the hearthrug. "A reinforcement for you, sir," Roaehley said, smilingly, referring to Rod's release. And now that your search is ended, may we part as-" "Ended!" oriffi the journalist. "Why, this is but the threshold. And we did not oome looking for Ken wood." "Then for whom?" For Mr. Christopher Rattray." An enigmatical smile hovered momentarily round Roachley's lips, but his eyes remained grave, eveTi sombre. "As you say," he agreed, "your search is merely beginning. And might I ask what trail led you here?" The trail which bog-an with a man named Tcwnsend, and Oarnette House, in Orane- boro' £ il" Yes, at one time we thought had been murdered*—Bowmar thought so— until he revised his opinion. Then the mys- tery of Mr. Rattray's iUne-ss—we are figuring it, out by degrees." And I can supply soane of the missing links," Rod put in. Roaehley turned his soui-hre g-aze in Ken- wood's direction, but addressed himself, when he spo-ke, to the prestssnau. You accuse me of being Towneond, of Oarneitte House?" Yes." And of making away with Mr. Rat/fcrav?" Yes." "Then who was that man—Raycourt—who was murdered—-whoee wife ?" "I don't know, but he was not Towneeud, aJKl you are not he." I' faith, no," Roaehley chuckled. "I am no ghost, though Kenwood took me for one." So did we," Emily "broke ill. Roaehley bowed with a bland smite, but did. not roply to her. No," the jounrnoJiiet went on, "Townsend had your eyes, but Raycourt had not." Roaehley knitted Ms brows. Did Bowma-r notice that?" he dcin:a.Tided. He did, a-t least, he remeim.'bered it afters wards." Eoacilxley shrugged his shoulders. "The old fa-utt of under-valuing one's oppolllents," he murmured. I did not think of it a-t the time," HaJpto bl'oke dm. "Indeed, I ^idcovtafied Rayoonrt as Townsend. But I rennemibered it afterwards Your eyes were blue, so were Townseml's-' butt- Raycourt's were brown." That is so," the journalist corroborated. I made a nets of it-brown eyes and red- dish brown h'a.ir—like yours. So you see it is up against you. You Ja6t saw Mr. Eat- tray alive. Where is he?" You suggest that I killed him?" RoacMey asked. Pho! that is ridiculous. Supposing I am Towrnsend—I didn't kill the C-cuncillor. For all I know he is alive and well to-day. Ken-wood here can tell you the story. And you have to find a. victim before you can arrest a murderer. You are putting the cart before the horse when you accuse me of the murder of Councilor Rattray ere ever you know whether he be alive or dead." He paused and glanced round the little company, his ey.es resting at length, upon Eleanor's white, terrified face. "I will help ycu," he went on. "In that cupboard I have dooumumts—letters froan Mr. Rattray—recently. He stepped briskly across the room, entered the- cupboard, and closed the door behind him. rhere was a sharp creaking, a muffled, sullen bang, and then silence. The little com- pany in the room waited, saying nothing, for Roaohley's re-appearance, but as one minute lengthened to three, and the three drew out to five, surprise was succeeded by impatience. Scott Mallabar st-rode across the floor and pulled the handle of the cupboard door. To his astonishment, it refused to answer his summons, remaining apparently fast locked on the inside. "Hullo!" he cried. "Oome cut! Wha-t'a this new game? Cofme out!" There was no sound. Ralph ran to the door of the room and tried that. "They Juave locked us in!" he cried, and at that moment, almost simul- taneously indeed, Em. held up her hand with "Hush, what's that?" "That," replied the journalist grimly, as his car caught a stea/dy, rh ytlhruaca-1, throbbing sound, "is a motor-car, and it is going away from us." He ran to the win,dorw a.nd peered out, but, seeing nothing in the darkness, returned to the cupboard door. We must have this open," he cried, "and before they can fetch help." Rod and Ralph Rowmar bad been busy meanwhile with the other door, at which they were battering with a heavy oak podes- x-aa that had supported a plaster statuette of U required a good score blows to iPm t e exit they desired; and they ncss lla11, only to flc !i in da-rk- later—empt^ ^n/v tVTO followed by" raJX 10 tht front docr'r' rcin.aining behind 7° i pressman pris'ijner in. the over was faetened o-nly bv iJr^^rCTlt door shooting into an O £ L them little trouble Th^^v^' t' a;t ?rave afforded them no tiring around them Waj6 buried impcnetc-a/ble da-rkness. Qn]y ,ilh ha.ni, bdhi^ ou^ly, they were able to catch a fafnt i re- mittent, throbbing rattle far away a.long^e main rocd. y If tbey a.re m that motor-car," "they have g"ot cleaT away." Ia< Mr. Crusit'On. must be having a ba4 t- of it, knocked, ahout as he wa«, Ralph re- joined. ] Rod nodded. "We have one of them, at all events, in the cupboard, he chuckled, and he led the way back to the early ViotoTia.n parlour, where they once more requisitioned pedestal as a battering-ram, and began, an energetic assault upon the door of tho Clipboard. Stand clear with your revolver, Kenwood, in case the door flies open and he makes a rush for it," Scott. Mallabar said. It required a score (J'Í good, hearty blows toO make a breach in those stout timibers, amid a.t least a score more ere they had splia- tf'red it eufflciently to effect an entrance. Rot it down the middle at last so were able to turn one h«Jf on the lunges. The pressman gave a great cry as he thrust his head and shoulders through the marro-w ga.p. Bring that lamp here," he shouted, "the place is empty." A very brief eja/minntc'on sufficed to show them Roachley's man,tot of esca.pe. The; baok of t=n<e ■ciip'board in ehort, northing but another door, opening, shelves and all. orway from the cupboa-rd, and givimg access to another rooui which was practically devoid of furniture, but which opened directly into the hall. Evidently it had been, constructed so that somebody might stand unobserved and overhear the conversation in the parlour. Scott Mallabar bogaai a full-mouthed oath, but. remiemljering the girls, pulled up in time. Cruston muft have been sha.mmin.g," he muttered, as if he were completing a train of thought. I You think it was they who wore in tihe | motor-car?" Rod aaked. j Yes—don't you?" | As to following thoem-" began Ralph doubtfully. On. foot," gibed the presBmam. The bet- ting, to say the least, wouldn't run to odds on us." He took up the lamp, and in. company they began a miniature pilgrimage through the deserted rooms of the rambling old house. CHAPTER XXXVI. HER MAJESTY DECIDES. "This," said the journalist genially, as the three young men gathered in conference, leaving the two girls to themselves for a few minutes, "this is the deuce of a mess. We have tumbled up against a brick wall, and I foresee little except a headache in runrning OUT heads against it. Here we are left sole occupants of some most desirable premises, and I must confess we bear a. queer resemblance to a gang of burglars. It would puzzle us to give an intelligible reason for our presence here were the I police to come along. The question is, are we likely to gain anything by remaining here?" "They will very probably come back, I should say," Ralph ventured. "They will very probably come back, I should say," Ratlph ventured. "Ay, some day, but when? A week, three weeks, three months? Not while we are here, anyway, and we none of us want to spend the rest of our lives in Wybunbury We came here, luckily for Kenwood, but it hasn't advanced our search for Mr. Rattray. His disappearance is as mysterious as ever. We had better tell the poLice all we know, and loa ve it to theim. I suppose these people do know something of Rattray's where- abouts?" "I cloutbt that," Rod put in a trifle dubiously. Do you? Well, anyway, we've been hood- winked. all round. They have won every trick." You forg-et that we wounded Cruston," Rod said with a smile. I am not a ghoul, neither sum I in love with Miss Eleanor Rattray," retorted the journalist. rt's un-Ohristia<n, too, to rejoice over a rival's downfall." "It's the one flaw in my piety," rejoined Rod. "But how in the world came you here so apropos? We've been so busy I've for- gotten. to ask." Thanks to Rcmraar. It was lucky you wemt to him first." Very. I suppose he followed usP" "Yes, and the deuce of a dance you led him. I joined him hero. He traced you this far and then wired for me, keeping wa.tch and ward over the place to make sure you weren't oarted away anew. What was the meaning and interpretation of that little tour of yours?" "To get me out of the way in order that they might entice Mis. Rattray here. And also because they wanted to settle some old scores between us." "That settlement's held over. Did they thdnk she would fellow yoú?" "Good lord! no, but they feared I might prevent her coming." I did net come after you because I believed you to be in any dan ?er, but because I thought it would lead me to Mr. Rattray, or to news of him," Ralph broke in a little ruefully. ruefully. Just so," responded the pressman. And It was falkrwod by the crash of falling plaster. now, Kenwood, let your story be brief, but don't miss any points." As shortly as he could, but with a fulness inspired by Malla-bar's frequent questions, Red repeated as much as he was able to remember of Roachley's autobiography. That simplifies it, certainly," was the journalist's commeitt when Rod's story was finished. "Let me see—Rattray was a money- lender. Yes, that's feasible. I have often wondered how he made his cash. I put it down to successful speculation, but usury is just as good, and a lot less variable. So OUT pious deacon was a sort of subterranean. Shylook. Wha.t do you th-int: of that. Bow- mar?" I Clan hardly credit it," Ralph replied. "Why so?" Weill, Mr. Rattray waa so—so different." Precisely. If he had not been able to gull you, he could not have kerpt his secret from the world at large." It accounts for his frequent absences," Ralph remarked thoughtfully. And for a good many other things besides. But that isn't the question for us now. The problem is not what he was, but where he is. If we are to believe Roachley's Story, he knows as little aibout it as we do." But are we to believe it?" Rod asked. "Do you think Roac-hley was lying?" No—well, I don't knoiw." If it be true, there is nothing to be gained by staying here," Ralph suggested. Nothing," agreed the prcssimiaji. But who ehall say? There are two alternatives. We can hang aftc-at here ourselves and lie in wait. I can't—I haven't the^time. Or K«fawood can toll the police the story of his kidnapping, aod j No, thanks," interposed Rod. I m quite oomitent with having escapod. I hartwur no unholy desires fur revenge. Just so. Then the alternative to hanging aiboust. here is to set back to Cranetooro and tell Swayne the whole story. Then we can leave him to do the rest. Let us appeal to her Gracious Majesty. Heads we go, tails we BtHe took a handful of coins from hie pocket, and put them on the table with a loud^ bang. Eleven heads to ono womaii, he a/nnounced. They carefully extinguished the lights, locked all the doors, and, having called tbe girls, set out, on foot, for Ormvc. (TV^be continued.)