Evening Star Newspaper, October 2, 1897, Page 18

18 = 5 “SHREWSBURY.” <a — BY STANLEY J. WEYMAN. (Copyright. 1897, by Stanley J. Weyman.) Written fod The Evening Star. Chapter XLi—Continued from Inst Saturday's Star. Lord Marfvorough laughed softly. “My x dear he said, “that is just what they They do name you. You are the fourth. I believe that my lord had so litle ex- sted the answer that for e space he re d staring at the speaker, in equal ‘prise and dismay. Then nis indignation finding veM, “It is not possible,” he cried. “Even in Phe coffee houses! And besides, if your story {s true, my lord, the Duke of Devonshire alone knews what Sir John has discovered, and whom he has accused.” Lord Marlborough pursed up his lips, “Things get Known strangely,” he said. “For instance, the snadow which came between your grace and his majesty in “‘Sprobably you supposed it to be known to the king only, or, if to any bes‘des, to Portland, at most? Pp nm “THEN THAT FOR. YOUR KING!” On the contrary, there | and this it was which at the end of a fort- - THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, OCTOBER BIE < as = 2 base 2 1897— played, a waverer when trusted, and a pal-| pect. Her Jacobite leanings are known, terer when in power. = and her evidence would go for Such reflections weighed on him so heavi- | MNttle. That that should be the day—but ly that, tough one of ‘the proudest, and | there, there, your grace must take cour- therefore to those«belom. him one of the | age,” the duke continued kindly. . “All most courteous and considerate of men, he | that the party can do will be done. Within could scarcely “bring himself..to face his | the week Lord Portland will be hye. subordinates when the ‘hour came for him j bringing his majesty’s connands, and w to attend the“ office: Sir John. Trumbail | shall then know what he proposes to do still deferred to him. Mr. Vernon still | about it. If I know the king, and I think bowed until the cirls of his wig bid his | I do—” ¢ a stout red cheeks, the clerks where he But the picture which these words sug- came still rose, pale, smug and submissive ; gested to my lord’s mind was too much in his honor. But h= fancied—quite falsely | for his equanimity. ‘To know for certain —something ironical in this respect; he pic- | that the king who had extended indulgence tured nods and heard words behind his | to him once was in,possession of this new back; and suspecting the talk, which hush- | accusation and perhaps believed it—that ed at his entrance, rose high on his depart- | was bad enough. .But to hear that Port- ure, to be at his expense, he underwent a]land also was in the secret, and grim, score of martyrdoms before he returned to | faithful Dutchman as he was, might pres- Meanwi! he absence of the king ag- | Ensiis! lelity which he held, quote him, gravatct his postion, firstiy, by depriving | the first minister of England, “was too him of the only rontidant his pride permit- | ™vch. In a hoarse voice he cut the duke ted him: secondly, by adding to his troubles | Short, nian eae set down before they ihe jealoustes which invariably attend gov- | Qerreled, and his grace hastening with ernment by a council.. Popularly consider- | hurried word of sympathy to comply, my ed, he was first minister of the crown and | lord stepped out, and looking neither to Seepest in the King’s confidence. But the | the right nor left, passed into his house, knowledge that one of his colleagues with- | 24 to the library, where, locking the door, Seed aspeation trom hirasend, was in private he shut himseif in with his trouble. communication with William in respect to CHAPTER XLII. it, was not rendered less irksome by the I have commonly reckoned it among my certainty, Bee eeg anette cena amc giaaincas weet Wall & greatest anisfostanad that tam ovis that of a culprit. This it was which first | of his affairs which demanded all the as- and most intimately touched his dignity, | sistance that friendship the closest and most intimate could afford, he had neither wife nor child to whom he could turn, and from whom, without loss of dignity, he might receive comfort and support. He was a solitary man, separated from such near relations as he had by differences as well religious as. political, and from the world at large by the grandeur of a posi- tion which imposed burdens as onerous as the privileges it conferred were rare. To # melancholy habit, which some at- tributed to the sad circumstances attend- ant on his father's death, and others to the change of faith which he had been induced to make on reaching manhood, he added a natural shyness and) reserve, qualities which, ordinarily veiled from observation by manners and an, address the most charming and easy in the world, were none the less obstacles vor fe friendship was in question. Not that of friendship there was much among the politi¢al men of that day; the perils and uncertainties of the time inculcated a distrust which was only over- come where blood or marriage cemented the tie, as in the case of Lords Sunderland, Godolphin and Marlborough, and again of the Russells and Cayendishes. But, be that as it may, my lord stood outside these bonds and enjoyed and rued a splendid isolation. As if already selected by fortune for that strange combination of great posts with personal loneliness which was to be more strikingly exhibited in the death were scarce a knot of chatt at Gar- raway’s but whispered of your dinners with Midd tings with Montgomery. w even, and gave the odds on’ St. Germain’s in yume: The earl spoke ‘in hi took snuff in medio and w ness that none could so well afi ed looking at his hearer. the shaft went home. eas, market , and rage dissipati self-r t would fain have y lord, this is going too he gasped. “Who gave your lordship leave to—io touch on a matter which con- cerns only m: a mply this later matter,” the earl an- swered in a plain, matter-of-fact tone that ut once sobered th 1 seemed to justify his own int . “Ef there is ng at al in th's rumor—if Sir John lly said snything, I take it that the ; t th mn of it.” red before him with a trou- place, the com- led face, and did not r. To some ‘t eemed the most natural course 2 formant’s et niry, 1 by a dry que @ pregnant word zest that at good grounds ex- isted for the imputation cast on him. But such a Fne of argumefAt was beneath the @enity, which was aever long wanting to my lord, and he made no attempt to dis- turb the other’s equanimi tien his triumph. After a beg your pardon,” self and spoke hastil impudent fellow!’ “A d—d impudent fellow!” the earl cried, with more fervor than he had yet exhibit- ed. “And he is playing an impadent game,” my lord continued thoughtfully. “But a dangerous one.” “As he will find to his cost, before he has done!" Lord Marlborough answered. “It . ught of. If he will save his ve up some one. time, ever, “FE e said. “I forgot my- } But he is a most i he must iv fool, and can spare said the duke rath- | i was no secret that between nd Lord Marlborough love was ay be a good thing for us!” lightly. He had not the | n with his friends of setting | reputation e his feelings before his interest, nor proba— bly In all England was there a man who | looked out on the world with a keener eye to ben: make by the s of men and strength. it ill becomes one in my Station to carp at the great duke, as men how style him, though of all his greatness, genius and courage there remains but 2 poor dri ildishness, calling every minute tendance. And far ing veice or encouragement | ing him, future times things in- base will be traced to his door. | th is truth; tha more of ow threatening and stood to t than my lord, I have little this being so, the real ob- olidity of ularly to ary, whose ht with the king was exceeded only by epularity with the party, should not 4 aloof from the common hazard. Having attained this object, so far as it eculd be attained in a single interview, and finding that the duke, in spite of all his ¢fforts to the contrary, continued moody and distraught, he presently took his leave. jord’s astonisament he was an- ain ten rainutes later. He re- pologies. ace’s to the Vene- jor’s on the farther side of he said. ‘There I heard it stated that Goodman, one of witnesses against Sir John, had sconded. Have you heard it, duke c a, with some dry- it is not true.” ou would have heard it?? Necessarliy.” Nevertheless, and craving your pardon,” the earl answered, slowly, “I think that there is something in it. Tf he has not been induced to go, 1 fancy from what I hear that he is hesitating.” “Then he must be looked to.” “Yet—were he to go, you see—it would make all the difference—to Sir John,” the earl said. “There would be only Porter; uires two witncsses,”” d his eyebrows, that two iin a case of treason for to the hints of those who, maintain that credibly act req’ lifte seing the other's drift, he were to lick the platter, in order to keep the fingers clean,” “Well “So it emiied. “That my lord, he sai Lord Marlborough laughed aril: © raid, not a whit abashed. You are right, duke, as you always But I have detained you too long. h which, and another word of apology, ook his leave a second time. That he left an unhappy man behind him, none can doubt who knew the duke’s ve nature, and respect for his high position and dignity. To find that the weak- hess, venial ard casual, of which he had Deen guilty years before in stooping to listen to Lord Middleton's solicitations—a fault which he had fancied known only to the king and by him forgiven—to find that this was the property of the public, was | matter to him, he begged a seat in his chamber of her late majesty, Queen Arine, he lived, whether in his grand house in St. James square, or at Ryford, among the Gloucestershire wolds, as much apart as any man in London or in England. Withal, I knew men calied him the King of Hearts. Bi 10) y which formal, he tcok occasion to dismiss his | that ttle seened ie eee eamty, of which coach at the next council meeting, and. | titious and unreal; born, while they talked telling the duke that he wished to mention | with him, of his spontaneous kindness and boundless address: doomed to perish an hour later of spite and envy, or of sheer inanition. Since the duke was sensitive, over proud for intimacy, flattered no man, and gave no confidence. Such an one bade fair, when in trouble, to eat out his heart. Prone to fancy all men’s hands against him, he doubled the shame and outdid the most scandalous. So far, indeed, was he from deriving comfort from things that would have restored such men as my Lord Marlborough to perfect self-respect and composure, that I believe, and, in fine, had it from himself, that the letter which the king wrote to him from Loo (and which came to his hands through Lord Portiand’s three days after the inter- view with his grace of Devonshire) pained him more sensibly than all that had gone before. You may judge my astonishment,” his majesty wrote, “at his effrontery in accusing you. You are, [I trust, too fully vinced of the entire confidence which I you to think that such stories can make any impression on me. You will ob- serve this honest man’s sincerity, who only accuses those in my service, and not one of his own party. It will be -understoed that that in his majesty’s letter which touched my lord home, was less the magnanimity displayed in it ‘than the remembrance that once be- fore the sovereign had dealt with the sub- ject in the same spirit; and that now the world must know this. Of the immediate accusation, with all its details of time and circumstance, he thought little, believing not only that the truth must quickly swecp it away, but that in the meantime few would be found so credulous as to put faith in it. But he saw with painful clear- ness that the charge would rub the old sore and gall the old raw; and he winced, seat- ed alone in his library in the silence of the house, as if the iron already seared the living flesh. With throes of shame, he fore- saw what stanch whigs, such as Somers and Wharton, would say of him; what the Postboy and Courant would print of him; what the rank and file of the party—ex- posed to no danger in the event of a res- toration, and consequently to few tempta- tions, to make their peace abroad—would think of their trusted leader, when they learned the truth. On Merlborough and Russell, Godolphin and Sunderland the breath of suspicion had blown; on him never, and he held his head high. ‘How could he meet them now? Nay, if that were all, how, he asked himscif, could he face the honest nonjuror or the honest jacobite or the honest tory? He, who had taken the oaths to the new gov- ernment, and broken them; who had set night of suspense drove him to a desperate resolution. He would broach the matter to the Duke of Devonshire, and learn the best and the worst of it. Desiring to do this in a manner the least cquipage. But whether the lord steward foresaw what was coming, and parried the subject discreetly, or my lord's heart failed him, they reached the square and nothing said, except on general topics my lord's people coming out to ri e them, it seemed natural to ask the Duke of Devon- hire to enter; but my dord, instead, begged the duke to drive him round and round a while; and when they were again started, “I have not been well lately,” he said— which was true, more than one having commented on it at the council table—‘and I wished 40 tell you that I’fear I shail find it necessary to go into the country for a time. “To Roehampton?” said his companion, after a word or two of regret. = “No; to Eyford.” For a moment his grace as silent: and my lord, without looking at him. had the idea that he was startied. At length as the coach went by London house, “I would not do that just at this * he said, quietly. “Why not?” asked my lord. is for one thing, the king’s of Devonshire “That is not your reason!” lord stubbornly. Fenwick matte: Again the other duke delayed his answer, but when he spoke his voice was both kind and earnest. “Frankly, I am,” he said. “If you know so much, duke, you know that it would have an ill appearance.” “How?” said my lord. “Let me tell you John knows, or can know, the ,knows—and has known for some quoth my “You are thinking of the 3 time there was no doubt that the lord steward was startled. “You cannot mean it, duke,” he said in a constrained Yoice, and with a gesture of reproach. ou cannot mean that it was with his majesty’s knowledge you had a meeting with Sir John, he being outlawed at the time and under ban? That were to make his majesty at best an abettor of treason, and at worst a viler thing! For to incite to treason and then to prosecute the traitor— but it is impossibk “I have not the least notion what your grace means,” my lord said, in a freezing tone. “What is this folly about a meeting with Sir John?’ The Duke of Devonshire was as proud as my patron, and nothing in the great man- sion which he was then building in the wilds of the Derbyshire peak was likely to cause the gaping peasants more astonish- ment, than he felt at this setback. “I don’t understand your grac he said at last, in a tone of marked cffense. “Nor I you,” my lord answered, oughly roused. thor- I have said too much,” said the other “Or tor my lord retorted. “You ‘Must? Must?” quoth the duke, whose high spirit had‘ten years before led him to strike a blow that came near to costing him his estate. Ay, must—in justice,” said my lord. justice to me as weli as to others.” After a brief pause, “That is another thing,” answered the lord steward civilly. “But—is it possible, duke, that you know so much, and do not know that Sir John serts that you met him at Ashford? Two lays only before his capture? and intrusced him with a ring and a message—both for Germain’s?” “In e ‘his is sheer madness,” my lord cried holding his hand to his head. “Are you mad, Devonshire, or am I?” “Whether the duke, having heard Sir John’s story and marked his manner of telling it, had prejudged the cause, or thought that my lord over-acted surprise, he did not immediately answer; and when he did speak, his tone was dry, though courteous. Jol my lord answered, sit- ting up in the coach and fairly facing his companion. “You do not mean to tell me that you believe this story of a cock and bull, and—a—a—” said the Duke of Devonshire, “My Husband Shall Kill You AML” up the new govermment and deceived it; who had dubbed himself patriot cui bono: Presently brooding over it, he came to think that there was but one man in Eng- gland, turpissimus; that it would be better m the day of reckoning for the meanest carted pickpocket, whose sentence came before him for revision, than for the king's secretary in his garter and rohes. Nor, if he had known all that was pass- ing, th with whom his fancy painfull: busied itself, would he have been the hap- pier. For Sir John’s stateraent got abroad with marvelous quickness. Before Lord Portland arrived from Holland the details were whispered in every tavern and coffee house within the bills. @he tories and ja- cobites, alming above everything at find- ing a coun terblast tc the assassination plot, the discovery of which had so completely sapped their credit with the nation, poruced on the scandal with ghoulish avid- ity. and repeated and exaggerated it or duke, it is this way,” the lord steward replied. “Sir John has something to say whout three others, Lord Marlbor- ough, Ned Russell and Godolphin. And what he siys about them I know in the main to be true. Therefore—" “You infer that he is telling the truth about me?" cried my lord, fuming, yet covering his rage with a decent appear- ance, since a hundred eyes were on them as they drove slowly around in the glass coach. ‘Not altogether. There are other things.” What other things?” “The talk there was about your grace and Middleton at the time of your resigna- ticn.” My lord groaned. “All the world knows that, it seems,” he sald. “And should know t I have never denied it.” ‘True. “But this! It is the most absurd, the id all that was being said among burden enough; but te learn that on this Was to be founded a fresh charge, for the proper refutation of which’ the past must be reked up, was torture intolerable. In a fine sense of the ridiculous, my lord ex- celled any men of his time; he could feather, therefore, out of his own breast the shafts of evil that would be aimed at the man who, one of the seven to bring stooped in ‘89 to He could see more clearly than < all the inconsistency, all the folly, all the weakness of the course, to which he had rot so much committed him- self as been tempted to commit himself. Vhe minister unfaithful. the patriot im- portuned, were parts in which he saw him- self exposed to the town, to the sallies of Tom Brown, and the impertinen-es of Ned ‘Ward; nay, in proportion as he appreciated rebellion, of trea- most ridiculous, the most fantastical story{ How could I go out of town for twenty- four hours. and the fact not be known to mae London? Let Sir John name the y" every occasion. Every jacobite house of +} with i “He i.as,” the other duke answered. Be ee it on the 10th of June.” Parca a Penk ene ot council on it day. your grace | did not attend it.” ‘ No, I remember I did not. It was the day my mother was taken ill. She Sent for me, and I lay at her house that it and the next.” z fortunate,” ‘Ne eald,-and Yeanea fort ward bishop ward to bow to the ‘i entered c whose chariot had just ready “Why?” said my lord, : fense at anything. aaa “I though I do not doubt Shrewsb ury’s household is . a and hounded | answered, mocking her. “You have done Not content with | mischief, now go and do no more here! ‘with the last pénal- | Where is that man of yours, who went : and ‘tilling the | and never came back, and naught but ex- protestations, which ad- } cuses? And now this.” while they denied the “Oh, my lady, what ails you?” the wait- + brought against their | ing woman cried. ‘What ddes this mean?” “You know!” said my lady, with an oath. “So begone about your business, and don’t let me see your face again, or it will be the worse for you!’ Disarmed of her usual address by the suddenness of the attack, the Montercy began to whimper; and again asked how she had offended her and what she had done to deserve this. “I, who have served you so long and so faithfully? she cried. “What have I done to earn this?” “God and you know better than I do’ was the fierce answer. And then, “Wil iams,” the countess cried to her major- domo, who, with the lackeys and grooms, was standing by enjoying the sudden fali of the favorite, “‘see that that drab goes not cross my threshold again; or you go, do you hear? Ay, mistress, you would poison me if you could!” the old lady went on, gibing and pointing with her stick at the face, green with venom and spite, that betrayed the baffled woman's feelings. “Look at her! Look at he There is Mme. Voisin for you! There is Mme. Tur- ner! she would poison you ail if she could. But you should have done it yesterday, you slut! You will not have the chance no’ Put her rags out here—here on the road; and do you, Williams, send her packing, and see she takes naught of mine, not a pinner cr a sleeve, or she goes to Paddiny ton fair for it! Ay, you drab,” continued, with cruel exultation, you beat hemp yet! And your shoulders smarting!” “May God forgive you!” cried the wait- ing woman, fightirg with her rage. UPON THIS DOCTOR McCOY z INSISTS, That During This $3 Period It Be Constantly Recog- nized That the Treatment He is Giving is in No Sense a Cheap Treatment, but the New and Won- derful Treatment for the Presentation of Which the Offices of His National Practice Were Estab- lished in Washington. : ns, ft themselves pledged, Would or no. sensitiveness or that thers, which in a degree unfitted him for pobile lif, had a week before this Pleaded in position, begun to keep the house, and to all requests proffered by his colleagues that he would take part in their deliberations returned a steadfast negative. This, notwithstanding everything that was done was communicated to him, and an- nouncements of the meetings, which it was now proposed to hold, one at Lord Somers’, in Lincoln's Inn Fields, and the other at Admiral Russell's, would doubtless have been made to him within the hour. As it chanced, however, he received the news from another source. On the day of the decision, as he tat alone, dwelling gloomily on the past, the square was roused at the quietest time of the forenoon by an arrival. With a huge clatter, the countess’ glass chariot, with its outriders, running foot- men and lolling waiting women, rolled up to the door, and in a moment my lady was announced. It is probable that there was no one whom he had less wished to see. But he could not deny himself of her, and he rose with an involuntary groan. The countess on her side was in no better temper, az her first words indicated. “My life, my Jord, what is this I hear?” she cried round: ly, as soon as-the door closed upon her. “That you are lying down to be trodden DISEASE OF BRONCHIAL TUBES. condition often While the reasons for Doctor McCoy’s agrecing to the extension of the $3 Rate until November 1 have been made very clear, and while Doctor MeCoy Limself has been quoted as saying authoritatively that although he will li to the letter of his Agreement, he will under no circumstances consent to the rate being extended or renewed after Novem- ber 1, there is one very important point that is to be constantly borne in mind, and that is this: extends down the windpipe bronchial tubes, and in tacks time at- on! And cannot do this and will not do| “He may or He may not!” said the | That Doctor McCoy is in no sense accommodating =. fy that, but pule and cry at home while they | dreadful cld lady, coolly turning to go in. | his practice to the rate: that he is giving t a cough ? spin a rope for you! Sakes, man, play the|“Anyway, your score won't stand for | for the period as agreed, } ‘hat he is maintaining Josing fhe “ Do you cough at night you pain tn side? rou take eukl easily 2 one side, play the other side—which you Please. But play it! Play it! My lord, chagrined as much by the in- as by the reproach, answered her much in the sum, my girl.” And not ustil the countess had gone in and Mme. Monterey saw before her the grinning faces of the servants, as they stood to bar the way, did she thorough- ly take in what had happened to her, or the utter ruin of all her prospects which this meant. Then, choking with passion, rage, despair, “Let me pass,” she cried, advancing and trying trantically to push her way through them. “‘Let me pass, y boobies. Do you hear? Hew dar f “Against oriers, Mme. Voisin!” said the major-domo, with a horse laugh; and he thrust her back. And when, maddened by the touch and defeat, she flung herself on him in a frenzy, one of the lackeys caught her round the waist, lifting her off her the practice and treatment at the same standard that it was under the higher ra So, throughout this period it must be recognized by all the people who are taking advantage of the rate, and by all their friends, and by the publi with more spirit than he was wont (o use to her. “I thought, madam,” he answered sharply, ‘that the one thing you desired was my withdrawal from public life!” “Aye, but not after this fashion!” she retorted, striking her ebony cane on the floor and staring at him, her raddled face and huge curled wig trembling. “If all 1 hear be true—and I hear that they are going to hold two inquests on you—and you continue to sit here, it will be a fine withdrawal. You will be dcomed by James and blocked by William, and that d—d John Churchill, 3 rate; that it is in no treatment, but that he is giving t al Treatment, the splendid treatment, for the presen- tation of which the offices of bis national practice were established jn Washington, Do you cough on going to bed" “Do you cough in Che momin; “Are you low spirited at t “Do you spit up yellow “Is your congh short E up little et yon a diggust for “Is there @ tickling behind the “Do you feel “Is there a It is the “Treatment that Cures” that all who are taking advantage of thin rate are getting; the wonderful treat- meént:— That has Mited the rogue, will wear your darkness and clothes. Withdrawal, say you? No, if you Jegs, carried her out, screaming and : Secon on yea a Mchind the Greastions had withdrawn six’ months ago when 1| scratching, and set her down in the road| Milxht of the word ~incurable” from egstdecneapinaeed ve llrpaceoroed bade you you would have gone and been amid the laughter of his companions. those hundreds of thousands of cases “Do you have to sit up af might to get breat thanked. But now the fat is in the fire,|““There,” he said, “and next time bet- | 6? Catarrh im the Throat, Mronehial and,, wanting” ¢ourage, you'll frizzle, MY) ter manners, mistress, or I'll drop YoU | mabes and Lumgn:— _ a jad. in the horse pond. You are not young ‘And whom have I to thank for that,| ¢nough, nor tender enough for these ai That reaches every sore spot, from DISEASE OF THE STOMACH. madam?” he asked, with bitterne: Why, yourself, booby!” she cried. “No, madam, your friends!” he replied— which was so true and hit the mark so exactly that my lady looked rather foolish Without noticing the change, however, “Your friends, madam he continued, “Lord Middleton and Sir John Fenwick, and Montgomery and the rest, whom you have never ceased press- Who, unable to win me, will now ruin me. But you are right, mad- am. I see for myself now that it is not possible to play against them with clean hand: them. “Pack of rubbish!” she cried. “It is not rubbish, madam, as you will find,” he answered, coldly. ‘ou say they will hold two inquests on me? There will be no need. Within the week my resigna- poiivar all niy posts will be in the king’s hands.” , “And you?7i f* “And I, madam,'shall be on my way to Eyford.” ie Now, there,4s nothing more certain than that for a year, past the countess had strained every nerve to detach the duke from the government with a view to his reconciliation with King James and Bt. Germains. But, having her full share of a mother’s pride, s ing to see hit if she had ne Ten years ago you might have scratched all you pleased!” Strike you dead!” she cried, “my hu band—my ‘husband shall kili you ail! A: he shall “When he gets out of the gate h ill talk, mistress,” the “But he’s there, and you know it! the orifice of the nose to the deepest. part of the lungs and innermost re- cesses of the middie car, and instend of irritating and infaming amd feed- ing the fires of dixeanxc, soothes, quicts, heals and cares, This condition may r. for a moment. Dortor McCoy is giving under this rate as well the benefit of the Discovery in Deafness which has lifted the darkness and blight of the word “tray able”” from these hundreds of thousands ef cases of impaired hearing. There is no injust Chapter XLII My lord persisted in his design of retiring to Eyford; nor could all the persuasions of his friends, and of some who were less his frieuds than their own induce him to at- tend either the meeting of the party at Admiral Russell's or that which was held in Lincoln’s Inn Fields, a thing which I take to be in itself a refutation of the statement, sometimes heard in his dispar- agement, that he lacked strength. For it is on record that his grace of Marlborough, in the great war, where he had in a man- ner to contend with emperors and princes, held all together by his firmness and con- duct, yet he failed with my lord, though he tried hard, pleading as some thought in his own cause. To his arguments and those of Admiral Russell and Lord Godol- a the hearty support of the party was cking, if it could have availed. But as a fact it went into the other scale, since in proportion as his followers proclaimed their faith in my lord’s innocence, and de- nounced his accusers, he felt shame for the old folly and inconsistency, that known ing me to join! e 2 ja the time of the eppor- re wheelers Ar leave the gees t2 tunity being short, because all patients who place themsely under treatment before N umber 1 are to be treated UNTIL CURED at the rate of $3 a movth. It is simply that the time Limit of application is definitely set. ot Bloat up aft Bscust for yon distress after sli at times have diarrhe “re rash All new patients applying for treat- meat and all jd patients renewing treatment before November int will F be treated UNTIL CURED at the uni- | ” ¥ Ad form rate of $3 a month, medicines included. DISEASE OF HEAD AND THROAT. The head and thront become dis- eased from neglected cotds, causing Catarrh when the condition of the blood predisposes to this condition, na fult DISEASE OF THE BLOOD. From the blood the tissues are fed. If the bleod be diseased from cause the tissues will suffer, result some of the fo! toms will show themselves: e was so far from wish- ire after this fashion as ceived the notion. And to this the y of her answer bore vitness. “T yfg@rd?” she cried shrilly. ‘More like to Tower Hill! Is your or the Three Is e voice husky 7 ‘Trees and a thirteen-ha’penny fee—for that | by some and suspected by snore must now ‘ou spit up slime: : are aa ty is your measure! God, my lad, vou make | be prociaimed to the werld. It was this ou ache all over? «fs the uries Bates me sick! You’make me sick! she con- | which paralyzed for a time the vigor and tinued, her wrinkled old face Gistoried by the violence of her rage, ani her cane go- ing tap-a-tap tn her half-patsied hand. “That a son of mine should lack spirit to turn on these /pettiteggers? “Your friends, madam,” he said, remorse- lessly. ‘These perts and start-up: Have you swollen glands Is the skin hot and flash Toes the head fee Does the skin ttc Is persistent 1 intellect that at two great crises saved the Protestant party, and this which finally determined him to leave London. It was not known, when he started, that horse patrols had been ordered to the Kent and Essex roads in expectation of his ma- jesty’s immediate crossing. Nor is it like! that the fact would have swayed him had es the nose itech and burn “Is there pain across “Is there tickling In t “Is your sense of sine Is there pain in front of the But you are “Do the bands and f - 7 rf 3 ‘ . - ol Do humors break out on t mad, man! You are mad,” she continued: | he known it, since it was not upon his Do you hawk to clear the throa jo uamors bewnke ont ot th “Mad as King Jamie was when he fied the | majesty’s indulgence—of which, indeed, he Sis the a acy tn the” ——s we! = Loy ‘ire a= shu, country—and who more glad than the | was assured—or disfavor, that he was de- oe So ee SE <: eee the Ulead feat Dutchman! And as it was with him, so it| pending; my lord being moved rather by : “Te “Does your nose stop up toward night prickit U sores oh any part of the body that will be with you. They will strip you, Charles! They will strip you bare as you were born! And the end will be, you'll lie with Ailesbury tn the tower, or bed with Tony Hamilton in a gerret la bas!" ‘Which is precisely the course to whica you have been pressing me,” he replied with something of a sneer. “Ay, with a full purse!” she screamed. “With a full purse, fool! With Eyford and 50,000 guineas, my lad! But go, a beggar, as you'll go, and it is welcome you will be —to the doorkey and the kennel, or like enough to King Louis’ bastile! Tell me, man, that this is all nonsense! That you'll show your face to your enemies; gp abroad and be king again!’ My lord azswered gravely that his mind was quite made up. i “To go she gasped. To go to Ey- ford?” And raising her stick in her shak- ing hand, she made a gesture so menacing, that fearing she would strike him, my lord stepped back. Naverthelen ,» he answered her firmly. ‘es, to Eyford. My letter to the king is already written.” “Then that for you.and your king!” she shrieked, and in an excess of uncontrolled passion she whirled her stick round and brought it down on a stand of priceless Venice-crystal which stood beside her, be- ing the same that Seigniors Soranzo and Venier had presented to the duke, in re- quital of the noble entertainment which my lord had given to the Venetian ambassa- dors the April preceding. The blow shiver- ed the vases, which fell in a score of frag- ments to the floor, but not content with the ruin she had accomplished, the countess struck fiercely again and again. ‘There's for you, you poor speechless fool!” she con- tinued. “That a son of mine should lie down to his enemies! There was never Brudeuel did it, But your father, he, toc, considerations in his own mind. But at Maidenhead, where he lay the first nigh Mr. Vernon overtook him—coming up with him as he prepared to start in the mornia —and gave him news which presently al- tered his mind. Not only was his majesty hourly expected at Kensington, where his apartments were being hastily prepared, but he had expressed his intention of ing Fenwick at onc> and sifting him. “Nor is that all,” Mr. Vernon continued. “Lt have reason to think your grace is under a complete misapprehension as to the character of the charges that are be- ing made. “What matter what the charges are?” my‘lord replied wearily, leaning back in his co; For he had insisted on start- in “It does matter very much—saving your presence, duk: Mr. Vernon answet bluntly: a sober and downright gentleman whose utf‘ter-succession to the seals, though thought a‘ the time to be an exc vation, ani of the most sudden, w \y justified by his honorabie career. “Pardon me, I must speak. I have becn swayed too iong by your grace’s extreme dislike of the topic.” “Which continues,” my lord said dryly. “I care not a jot—if it dee: Mr. Vernon cried impetuously; and then met the duke’s Icok of surprise and anger with, “Your grace forgets that it is treason is in ques- ton! High treason, not in the clouds and in praterito, but in presenti, and in Kent! High treason in aiding and abetting Sir Joha Fenwick, an outlawed traitor, and by his mouth and hand ccmmunicating with and encouraging the king’s enemies.” “You are beside the mark, sir,” my lord answered In a tone of freezing displeas- ure. “That has nothing to do with it. It is a foolish tale which will not stand a min- ute. Ne man believes it.” “Maybe! But, by G—d! two men will prove it.” “Two men?” lord, his ear caught by that. : “Ay, lwo me1! And two men are enough! In treason.” My lord stzred hard before him. “Who is the second?” he said at last. “A dubious fellow, yet good enough for the purpose,” the under secretary answer- ed, overjoyed that he had at last got a hearing. “A man named Matthew Smith, long suspected of jacobite practices and ar- rested with the others at the time of the late conspiracy, but released, as he says—” “Well?” won't heal? DISEASE OF THE EARS. Deafness and ear troubles result from catarrh passing along the Eustachian tube that leads from the throat to the car. “Is hearing failing “Do your cars’ discharge “Do your ears itch and burn?” Are the cars dry and ecal there throbbing in the Doctor McCoy’s Second Monograph on Deafness Has Been Received Prom the Printers and May Be Obtained FREE on Application at the Office or by Writing for It. you Lave ringing in th “Are there crackling sounds hear Is your hearing bad cloudy ° oecastonall McCoySystemofMedicine PERMANENT OFFICES DR. McCO¥’S NATIONAL PRACTICE, 715 13th Street Northwest. Office Hours—9 to 12 a.m., 1 to 5 pam, 6 tos p.m. daily; Sunday, 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. ou blow your nose?” wises in the ears ?"” your pe ears cra x Worse When you have a like a waterfall in th this statement: but that in making these writers, including the learned bishop, are wanting in accuracy, the deiails I am to present will clearly show. Suffice it that entering London late that night, my lord drove to Mr. Vernon's, who, going next morning to the office, presently returned with the news that the king had ridden’ in from Margate after dining at Sit- tingbourne, and would give an audience to Sir John on the following day. But, as these tidings did no more than fulfill’ ex- pectation, and scarcely « air of briskness and satisfaction which marked the burly and honest gentleman, it is to be supposed that he did not tell the duke all he had learned. And, indeed, I know this to be so. (To be concluded next week.) ————— A Golden Floor, From the Bristol Obsecver, King George II was once invited out to dine with a wealthy and eccentric old duke, who possessed more money than he very well knew what to do with. Upon this oc- casion, wishing to impress his majesty with the immensity of his riches, he had the floor of the dining hall paved from end to end with sovereigns, the head being up. Each coin was stuck in a mixture of lime, which soon dried, leaving the precious “tile” securely fastened. When the king arrived, and w: shown what had been done in his honor, his amazement knew no bounds, and it was with difficulty he could be persuaded to set foot upon the golden me out of pure malice and without grounds. TI s some ill practice here.” “Devilish iN, 3 scarce able to conceal his delight. “Some plot. ‘Ay, plot within plot secretary, chuckling. string?” The duke hesitated, his face plainly show- ing the conflict that was passing in his mind. Then, “If you please,” he said. And so there the coach came to a stand- | still; as I have often heard, cn an old brick bridge short nswered, cried the under all I pull the " said Mr. Vernon, firmly. ‘And one of you,” he continued, “gallop forward, and have horses ready at the first change house. And so to the next.” The duke, his head in a whirl with what he had heard, pushed resistance no farther, letting the reins fell from his hands, but consented to be led by his companion. In deference to his. wishes, however—no less than to his health, which the events of the last few weeks had seriously shaken—it was determined to conceal his return to town; the rather as the report of his ab- sence might encourage his opponents, and lead them to show their hands more clear- ly. Hence, in the common histories of the day, and even in works so learned and gen- erally well informed as the Bishop of Salis. bury’s and Mr. “s, it is said and as- serted that the Duke of Shrewsbury retired to his seat in Gloucestershire before the king's return, and remained there in seclu- sion until his final resignation of the seals. It is probable that by using Mr. Vernon’: house in place of his own, and by his ex- treme avoidance of publicity while he lay in town, my lord had himself to thank for “Madam,” he said, taking her up grimly, ‘I will not hear you on that!” “Ay, but you shall hear ed, and yet more soberly. quoth my she scream- le, too, was he said, and this time, low as hig voice rang, ay, and though it bled, it stilled her. “Silence, madam: repeated, “or you do that which neither the wrong you wrought so many years ago to him you miscall, nor those things com- men fame still tells of you, nor differ- ences of creed, nor differences of party, have prevailed to effect. _ Say more of him,”’ he continued, “and we do not meet * again, my lady. For I have this at least from you, that Ido not easily forgive.” ‘orruptly,” quoth the under secretary coolly; and laid his hand on the check- string. Ae She glared at him a moment, rage, alarm “What?” he My lord sprang in his seat. and vexation ajl distorting her face. Then, |cried, and uttered an cath, a thing to “The door!” she hissed. “The door, boor! | which he rarely condascended. Then, “It You are still my son, and, if you will not is we bojeh the ae ae 3] ect me. Take me out,| “He in countess’ service.” gon jk a eater: our house ai —" “In her husband’s. And he was brought She did not “comp! ete the sentence, but | before me. But the warrant was against lapsed into noddings and mowings and one Jobn Smith—or William Smith, I for- , her fierce black eyes flickering | get_ which—and ew this man ee Sg to ’ come. Bene ae ork Matthew Smith; and the messenger hime paid no heed to glo but, Bled, iotntless, aS \avowing mistake, released_ to be rid of her visit, even at ie cost Oo! en. tae Ween nodding his Venetian, offered her his arm in silence “Of course,” sal ir. on, and led her int) thé hall and to her chariot. | impatiently. “Of course. But that, your She could not avéhge herself on him, and, grace, 1s not the gravamen. It is a more it might be, she would not if she could. | Serious matter than he alleges; thut he ac- But there waS one on whom her passion alighted, who, with all her cunning, little expected the impending storm. The most astute are sorietimes found the smoothest pai the favorite waiting woman ped her authority of late, senility, which e: -oo—____ If you want anything, try an ad. in The Star. If anybody has what you wish, you will get an answer, : =z EXCELLENT ADVICE. ~ S r ed