Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, December 12, 1896, Page 2

ss Negara CHAPTER. U—(Continued.) There! Go to bed and don’t worry me. I don’t want to have the servants crowded in here. sd “But, Richard—” “Don't bother me, I tell you!” retort- ed Somerville, almost savagely. “All you can do is to leave some pillows and a rug outside the door, in case I cannot get him to bed. . Not a word to Annie, mind! Fetch the things and then go to bed.” The submissive wife went off to do his behest, greatly grieved at the sud- den illness of their guest, but too much accustomed to obey to argue the point. She brought the pillows and the rug, and then, as bidden, retired to rest. During several hours Dr. Somerville remained closeted with the body of his unfortunate friend, hoping against sting the resources of his ssion in vain efforts to recall the Stilled heart to action. Then he sank into chair, buried his face in his hands and attempted to think out his course of action. Should he at once give notice of the disaster to the po- liee? If he did not do so, who would believe his statement that the death was the result of pure misadventure? Yet, if he did, would not his enemies proclaim him to be guilty, at least, of manslaughter? A fatal termination to his hypnotic experiments had often been predicted by his detractors, and, lo! the very thing foretold had come to pass! Then his thoughts turned upon his own necessitous circumstances and upon the dead man’s money, his jew- els, his drafts. They represented a large fortune, and one, too, easily real- ized. With the information which he had obtained, it was a simple matter te his friend’s signature, reply » test-question and negotiate the He Was Compelied to Deposite His Burden. drafts. The jewels and about £5,000 in notes were in the safe. Norton was a stranger in London; he had only ar- rived that vers day at Southampton; re he would be neither sed nor sought. the draft for G. Norton,’ other drafts, repre- senting a total of £23,000, as yet lack- ing endorsement. Almost involutarily lf studying the sig: ¢ what an easy © If he made h known at the bank as Ernest G. } ton by cashing the indorsed draft in person, there would be no diticulty about subsequently shing the others. He could not be pected of forging supposed rame. een well said that opportuni- ty often makes the criminal. Ernest Norton was dead, through pure misad- venture, and the opportunity of annex- wealth was too tempting for rd Someryille to resist. Ernest Norton, living, he would not have of ove single penny. But Er- xton--dead! What could it mat- a dead man what became of his Why should he, Richard ille, forego the prize thus unex- pectedly thrown into his lap by fate, in order that distant, perhaps un- known, relatives of his deceased friend might be enriched? “VIL risk it!’ he muttered. it were the odds great ‘Td risk gainst me twice as r to be!” temperate man, he e several times to a bottle of brandy, ere he felt equal to carrying out the first steps in his dan- gerous scheme. The disposal of the body was clearly of prime importance, and a ver imple way of effecting this was close hand. At the end of the flower garden flowed the river Thames; and the previous occupants of the vil- la had erected a small landing stage for boating purposes. What more ob- vious than to carry the body to this landing stage and dump it into the river? And this Somerville promptly decided upon doing. But first he had to make a minute ex- amination of the dead man’s clothing, Test any portion of it should be marked ‘with his name or initials. As it turned out, only the collar and a handkerchief were so marked, and these he replaced by corresponding linen of his own, marked R. S. It was part of his plan that the body,if ever discovered, should Ss as that of some unfortunate, own- Ing these vague, common initials, who had committed suicide; and to lend col- or to this conclusion, he placed a near- ylempty bottle of laudanum in one of the waistcoat pockets. He removed all jewelry, even down to the studs, which ie replaced by bone ones; and he was especially careful to secure every scrap of writing. Lastly, he shaved the long, tawny moustache and clipped the hair close to the head. And then he surveyed his handiwork. “Poor old Ernie!” he muttered, as he fete into the pallid, rigid features of i sfriend, who, but a few hours be- fore, had burst in upon him in such boisterous fashion. “Hard lines to be eut off like that, in the very prime of early manhood, and with every good gift of fortune to make life worth liv- §eg. But it can’t be helped, old fellow! Kismet: 'tis the will of fate. And I, in profiting by your death, am but ful- filling my own destiny, no doubt. I’m going down to drop you quietly in the river, old chap. I daresay the tide will drift you on to some mud-bank lower down, and that you'll be ‘Found drowned,’ as the phrase runs.” The clock indicated the hour as a quarter past two as Somerville cau- tiously unfastened the back door, and then returned to fetch his gruesome burden. Despite his somewhat slender build, he possessed considerable wiry strength; and, although the weight taxed his powers to the utmost, he reached the garden without mishap, and closed the door noiselessly behind him. The night was dark, for although the moon was nearly at the full, the sky was overcast by dense masses of black clouds. Somerville staggered along the footpath until he reached a door at the end of the garden, Which gave upon the landing stage. He was compelled to deposit his burden ere he could open the door, for the lock was rusty. But it yielded at length, and, raising the body in his arms, he cau- tiously felt his way to the extremity of the miniature jetty. He could hear the ripple of wavelets, as they beat against the woodwork, and could faintly dis- cern the dull sheen of the dark, cold water. “Now for it!’ he muttered, nerving himself to cast the body as far out as possible. “Good-bye, Ernie!” There was a splash—the sound of the wavelets seemed for a while to in- crease, and Somerville, shivering like one suddenly smitten by deadly cold, retraced his steps. Some hours Ister he entered his wife’s bedroom, and informed her that Norton, despite an uneasy iight spent upon the sofa, had insisted upon start- ing for London, and was sufticiently recovered to carry out his intention. “You look terribly pale and haggard, yourself, Richard,” she said, anxious- Wes ee down and have a few hours rest.” But rest came not so readily to the uneasy conscience of Richard Somer- ville; and before 10 o’clock he was hur- rying Londonwards. CHAPTER II, A Bootless Errand. For several minutes after the train which bore her lover away had disap- peared from view, Zana stood motion- Jess upon the platform, staring vacant- ly at the sinuous, glistening rails. Like most of her race, she was full of superstitious fancies, and a conviction of impending disaster had now taken rooted possession of her mind. “Oh, Ernest, Ernest!’ she moaned. “Why did I let you go alone, to face the unknown perils which, my heart tells me, await you at your journey’s end? Yet stay! Why should I not go after you, overtake you?” Full of this sudden idea, she bhur- riedly asked a porter when the next train for London started. “Not for a good hour yet, miss,” re- plied the man, in syme vurprise, for he nad noticed her standing close to a first-class carriage, in ample time to have caught the express. “It’s a slow train, too.” “But I want to overtake the train vee left just now,” urged Zaana, ea- gerl ertake the express, miss?” ex- claimed the porter, with a broad grin. “Why, you couldn't do that, not if you was to take a special. She don’t stop nowhere this side of Waterloo. Overtake the express! That’s a good ‘un, that is!” “Oh!” wailed Zana, so piteously that the laugh died away in the man’s throat. “Then, Ernest, I have indeed lost you!” “Beg pardon, miss,” he suggested, pityingly. But if I might give you a word of advice; I’d telegraph, if I was you, to the gent you speak of to wait for you at Waterloo.” “Oh! show me how to do this!” cried Zana, thrusting her purse into his hands. “Keep this for your trouble! Come! Quick? Now, the purse was heavy and full, and that porter had to keep a wife and large family upon a small wage and precarious tips. But he was an honest fellow. “No, miss,” he said, handing her back the purse. “I can’t accept a lot “Oh, Show me How to do This.” Cried Zana. of money like that for merely giving a young lady a hint. The telegram ‘won’t cost more nor a shilling, and, if. you like to give me a trifle, you can.” Zana extracted a sovereign from the purse and insisted upon his taking it. Then he guided her to the telegraph office. But here a fresh difficulty arose. She did not know Norton’s London address. However, her trusty adviser, his wits sharpened by grati- tude, after much scratching of his shaggy head, say’ his way over this obstacle, also. At his suggestion, she dispatched the following message: “Station Master, Waterloo: Please have first-class smoking carriages 5 o'clock express from here watched, and warn Ernest Norton that Zana is following him id. Zana, Southampton.” ‘Within five minutes came back the cheering reply: “Will do my utmost. J. B., Waterloo;” and, greatly com- forted, Zana hastened back to the ho- tel to make a few necessary prepara- tions for the journey. When Mrs. Baxter learned her youthful charge’s decision, she stoutly opposed it, pointing out that her pres- ence in London would sadly embar- rass Mr. Norton, and would indeed be, under the circumstances, highly im- proper. But Zana was inflexible. Go she must and would. And so ,the worthy landlady had to give in, aided her to pack her portmanteau, promised to take care of all the luggage, and herself accompanied her to the station. “He'll send you back by the night mail, my dear, you see if he doesn’t!” she predicted, confidently “Y’ll come back when Ernest does,” returned Zana, with a brizht smile, “and not before.” “Lor-a-mussy!” muttered Mrs. Bax- ter, when the train was gone, “did any one ever hear of such a self-willed young woman? Mr. Norton is a per- fect gentleman, I am sure. But how would it be with that poor thing if he weren't?” And, with sundry siaakings of the head, expressive of doubt of all Pillowed Her Head on Her Bosom. created males, she retraced her steps to the George. In due time Zana arrived at Water- loo, and, half-terrified by the noise and bustle around her, gazed eagerly on all sides for her lover. But no Ernest Norton was there. “Where to, miss?” asked the porter who had shouldered her portmanteau. “Hensom?” “I—don’t know,” faltered the poor child, trembling like a leaf. “I expect- ed someone. Take me to the station master, please.” This latter oflicial was all courtesy and attention. He assured Zana that he had detailed three porters to watch the only three first-class smoking com- partments in the express, to each of whom he had given a copy of her tele- gram, and that one of the three had successfully delivered the message. In proof whereof he caused that particu- lar porter to be surnmoned. “You reported having delivered an envelope to Mr. Ernest Norton, passen- ger by the seven Southampton ex- press?” he demanded, sharply. “Yes, sir,” replied the porter, fumb- ling with his cap, as is the habit of his kind when in the presence of authori- ty. “He read it?” “Yes, sir; he read it right enough,” assented the porter, “and said it was all right.’ ’ “That will do,” said the station mas- ter, and the fellow slouched off. “You see,” he added, to Zana, “we have done our best at this end.” “But he is not here!” urged the dis- mayed girl. The station master shrugged his ‘shoulders a /little impatiently. His time was valuable, and it formed no portion of his duties to hunt up miss- ing young gentlemen. “Perhaps he has been detained,’ he suggested, “and will turn up. presently; in which case he will be sure to inquire for you here, in my Office. If you like to wait, you can do so, in the ladies’ room. Mean- while, you will pardon my telling you I am extremely busy.” Scarce able to utter a few words of thanks for the trouble he had taken, Zana quitted the office and wandered aimlessly, restlessly, up and down the arrival platform. Ernest had received her message, and, of course, he would come. But how unkind of him to leave her thus by herself, even for a quarter of an hour! Doubtless he had mistaken the arrival time of her train, or was unavoidably detained. How foolish of him to have left the station at all! Now, the real fact was that the port- er, to save himself from severe repri- mand, or worse, had lied. He had been absent from the assigned post, upon some beer business of his own, when the train by which Norton errived had come in (rather before time.) His ab- sence had been ren arked by the other two porters, and so, to save himself, he had concocted the story of having delivered the telegram, which he had quietly torn up. And thus the laziness and duplicity of the rascally porter in London had marred the clever plan of the honest porter in Southampton. The station master pressed Zana many times, spoke to her encouraging- ly,,and persuaded her to take some re- freshment. But, as the time wore op and no Mr. Ernest Norton made his appearance, it daw1ed upon the good- natured official that the girl's position was assuming an awkward appear- ance, and the idea somehow occurred to him that he was, in some vague way, himself responsible for her well- being. So, at last, he asked her, blunt- ly, what she proposed doing, offering, at the same time, to assist her by ev- ery means in his power. Poor Zana had nu more idea what she should do than a lost child. She wanted Ernest, she said. Without him, she could do 20thing. “Yes, but my dear young lady,” re- monstrated her new friend, “you must decide upon some ccurse of action, in- dependently of this Mr. Norton, who (if you will pardon my saying it) ap- pears to have behaved with most cul- pable carelessness, to say the least of it. Have you no other friends in Lon- don?” ( “None,” answered Zana, wearily. “In Southampton, then? Come,” he added, observing that she hesitated, “tell me how you stand; otherwise how can I help you? Is this a run- away-match between you and Mr. Norton?” 2 by T-mail train. Reply | | “N-o,” she said, still hesitating. “He | came to London to get a special li- cense. ‘We are to be married in South- ampton in two days’ time. But after he left me to-day. I could not resist the temptation to follow him and watch over him, nad so I followed. Mrs. Baxter tried to persuade me to go after him.” “Do you mean Mrs. Baxter of The George Hotel?’ queried the station- master. “Yes.” assented Zana; very kind to me.” “Then, my dear, you shall go back to Mrs. Baxter (whom I know very well) by the night mai,” was the prompt rejoinder. “Wait quietly down there until Mr. Norton returns; you are far too young and pretty to he wandering about alone. I’ll get you a@ compartment all to yourself, tell the guard to look after you, telegraph to Mrs. Baxter to meet you at the sta- tion, and—there you are, you see.” He spoke with an,air of such good- homered decision that Zana’s feeble protests were quickly swept aside. And thus, even as Mrs. Baxter had foretold, she returned to Southamp- ton by the night mail. Late as it was, the worthy landlady was at the sta- tion to receive her. and welcorhed her heartily. But when she had heard of what had befallen at Waterloo, she looked very grave indeed. “{ don’t like the look of it at all,” she remarked, when they were alone in the girl’s room. “Mr. Norton gets your telegram, tells the porter it’s all right, and then leaves you to cool your heels for several hours at the station! Just like a man, of course; but,” she added, angrily, “very un- like a gentleman, and I did think he was one.” “He is!” exclaimed Zana,. eagerly. “He is all that is noble and good, and I am sure it was through no fault of his he did not meet me.” “Then why didn’t he turn up?” per- sisted Mrs. Baxter, merciless in her logic. A moment later she would have given her best dinner service to have recalled the words. Zana turned deadly pale. “Why didn’t he turn up?’ she re- peated, slowly, and as though for the first time clearly realizing the full import of her lover’s absence. “Be- cause he could not. Some evil has befallen him, as I knew it would!”And she, threw herself upon the bed in a paroxysm of grief so violent that the landlady, for perhaps the first time in hes life, felt her own strong nerves giving way. “Come, come, dearie,” she said, pil- lowing the sorrow-stricken little head vpon her motherly bosom, “you mustn't take on like that because a young gentleman misses an appoint- ment. Why, for all we know, the port- er may have given the telegram to the wrong person!” ‘rhe good woman did not for a mo- ment entertain this transparent im- probability herself, but it was the first explanation that suggested itself, and it sounded soothing. “Do you think so? Really?’ queried Zana, between her sobs, and clutching eagerly at the hopeful words. “Porters is that stupid, my dear,” continued Mrs. Baxter, “that hotel waiters is shinin’ lights compared to ’em; and goodness only knews what I have to put up with from my block- heads! You'll find, when everything “she was comes to be explained, either that Mr. Norton never got the message at all, “Glad to Make Your Acquaintance, Mr. Morton. or thought that it referred to to-mor- row." E Once more she was belying her own convictions, which were steadily hard- ening against the truant lover; but her immediate mission was to soothe the weeping girl, not to heap reproaches upon his head. Time enough for that when he should next make his appear- ance. By degrees Zana grew calmer, and by the time Mrs. Baxter had put her to bed, she had soothed the troubled soul into the belief that there would be news, and good news, from her be- loved Ernest in the morning. “Of course there will be,” assented the landlady, cheerfully. “And even if there isn’t, there’ll be nothing to worry about. Mr. Norton arranged to be away two days at least, and per- haps he’s not one of the letter-writing sort. I know when my old man pays a visit to his brother (a tanner he is, with a snug business at Bermondsey) I never expect to hear of him until he comes back. So, good-night, my dear, and don’t fret any more about this ‘happy-go-lucky sweetheart of yours. There ain’t a man living as is worth a tear from your pretty eyes—drat ’em!” The emphasis with which these concluding words were uttered left no doubt that they referred to the males of the human race and not to the pret- ty eyes, for, if Mrs. Baxter was weak in grammar, she was very strong in her estimate of masculine depravity. _ “It’s all very odd,” she muttered to herself, as she sought her own bed; “very odd, indeed. This dark-eyed beauty drops in (from the clouds, as a body may say) upon a young gentle- man who has only just arrived from foreign parts—India or somewhere. That’s odd enough. Zana, as she calls herself. Not Miss So-and-So Zana, nor Miss Zana So-and-So; but plain Zana. That's odd, too. Then, just as I am beginning to think about the good name of the house, he up and tells me they are to be married right off the reel; no bans nor nothing. I call that odd enough, also. Then, atop of all this, comes this. Waterloo business; and that’s the oddest of all. What's he up to, this Mr. Ernest Norton? Time wil tell, but if there ain’t some mystery about it all, my name ain’t Martha Baxter.” ‘And five minutes later the perplexed landlady was snor- ing in unison with her slumbering husband. . CHAPTER Iv. Dr. Somerville Plays His Hand, When Richard Somerville had once decided upon a covrse of action, he was not the man to hesitate about fol- lowing it up. He drove straight to the Lendon and Westminster Bank and boldly presented the indorsed draft for £2,500. The cashier glanced at the in- dorsement, “Ernest C. Norton?’ he re- marked, as though the name were not very familiar to him. “Oh, yes; I re- l.ember now, The manager has given instructions that you are to be shown into his private room whenever you should call, sir.” “Very well,” replied Somerville. “I shall see him.” “Then please pass around to the right.” said the cashier, “and [ will take you to him.” “Mr. Ernest Norton, I believe?” said the manager, half-inquiringly. Somerville bowed, scarce daring to trust his voice. “Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Norton,” continued the manager, rising to extend a plump, white hand. “Our Bombay advices with respect to you are most satisfactory—very much so, indeed. I trust you had a pleasant voyage?” E “Tairly so,” replied Somerville, at a venture, “though the Red Sea passage was rather trying, as usual.” “Ah, yes, of course,” assented the manager, blandly, “it always is, I un- derstand. Well, Mr. Norton, we are quite at your orders with respect to business watters.’ ’ “They need not occupy much of your valuable time,” remarked Somer- ville, who had now regained his self- possession. “I wish, of course, to con- vert my drafts into money.” “Naturally, my déar sir, was the smiling rejoinder. “For what other purpose do banks exist? Let me see. | I think I have some memoranda of one or two little formalities in your case. Ah, yes! here we are. The first, apparently, concerns your signature.” “Yes,” assented Somerville, readii;. “I was advised, as a precaution, to alter it to its present form.” “So we were advised from Bombay. May I ask whether you propose to leave your money with us on deposit or to place it to current account?’ Somerville hesitated. There might be some pre-arranged answer to this apparently simple question v hich Nor- ton had omitted to teli him. Once more he had to take his chance, and again Fortune befriended him: “I propose drawing the 12,500 draft for immediate expenses,” he answered, coolly. “The other drafts I shall util- ize as necessity may arise or opportu- nity occur for investment.” “Such is, in effect, the substance of our instructions,” remarked the man- ager, referring to his mempranda, eee somewhat differently word- Somerville breathed freely again. There had been a trap in the question, which he had escaped by the merest good luck. “You will pardon me if I venture to question the wisdom of your decision,” continued the manager, intent upon doing a stroke for the bank, “you would thereby be losing the interest that would accrue were you to place | the entire sum with us on deposit ac- count.” “Phat is true,” said Somerville, as though this view uf the case had not occurred to him. “The fact is, 1 have not yet thought the matter out, and, in any case, I can do nothing definite this morning, as I have not brought the other drafts with me. I rather think I shall invest the entire amount they represent either in Consols or French Rentes.” “Very safe, certainly,” said the man- ager, by no means overpleased at the suggested withdrawal of so large a sum, “but the rate of interest is cru- elly low. However, Mr. Norton, you are the best judge, and we are entirely at your orders. Meanwhile, I shall in- struct the cashier to pay you 00. How much shall you need in gold? “Not a great deal,” replied Somer- ville, reciprocating the slight smile which accompanied the last question. “About forty-eight pounds will suf- fice.” “Better call it fifty, then,” laughed the manager, ringing for the cashier. “Fifty be it, then,” assented Somer- ville. And, a few minutes later, he left the bank with the proceeds of the draft in his poeket. So far, all had gone well. Including £4,850 brought to London by Norton, he had now £7,350 in hand, besides drafts for £23,000 more, and jewels obviously worth an enormous sum. And he had to consider how he should proceed with respect to these drafts and the disposal of the jewels. He had passed muster at the bank as Er- nest Norton, and this would greatly simplify subsequent withdrawals Yet excessive haste in effecting such with- drawals might arouse suspicion; and, besides, he needed more practice in forging Norton’s signature. He would open negotiations with some broker, and, through him, would gradually “There'll Be a Few More of Your TribeHere.” buy: into foreign government securi- ties. Then he would himself go abroad, and quietly dispose of the jewels in France or in Holland. Under what name should he buy foreign stocks and travel? His own, or that of Er- nest Norton, or an entirely new one? This was, indeed, a knotty question. If undes his own, other people besides his wife, might be inquisitive as to the origin of his newly-acquired wealth. If as Ernest Norton, some friends of his own or the dead man might come across his path and discover the im- posture. If he called himself, say, William Smith ,then inquiries would, as to the disap- merville and of Ernest Norton: while, ions would at once aroused. Upon the whole, the balane, of safety seemed to incline toward trining his own name, and he finally decided to retain it. Meanwhile an event had occurred at Twickenham which had driven poor, long-suffering Mrs. Somerville to the verge of: hysterics, and had caused the servants to clamor more loudly than ever for arrears of wages. The blow, foreseen by Somerville as inevitable within a brief period, had fallen with unexpected suddenness. Upon his re- turn from town he found bailiffs in possession of the villa. A hard, grim smile came over his- face when the chief of these invaders explained his mission and produced his distraint warrant. “At the suit of John Legg, I see,” he remarked coolly, “and for £126 15s. All right, my man. There'll be a few more of your tribe in here when this gets wind, no doubt; and then there'll be a scramble for the sticks, I suppose. I need not advise you to make yourselves as comfortable as you can, because you fellows always do, I am told. Here! send for a couple of gallons of ale, and tell those confound- ed servants not to make such an up roar.” The bailiff took the proffered five- shilling piece and gazed admiringly at the generous donor. “You're what I calls a gentleman, sir,” he exclaimed emphatically. “One as don’t knock un- der to a bit of trouble and knows how to treat a man civilly wot’s only a-doin’ of his duty. As for the kitchen foik,” he added with a grin, “I ’spects they’re a-hollerin’ for their wages.” “Then tell them to pack up their be- longings,” said Somerville quietly, “and that I'll pay them off within half an hour.” “He's a ’ot ’un!” remarked the bailiff to one of his under-strappers as the master of the house went off in search of his wife. “Chucks about dollars and talks of stumping up pounds and pounds of wages just as though money weren’t no object.” jome of ’em’s built that way,” re- plied the other sententiously. “I once knowed a gent—” “Did ye?’ interrupted his superior. “Well, just go and melt this doll: bitter-and-burton, will’ ye? There’s a pub. about a hundred yards down the | road.” And, nothing loth, the under- | strapper went. Somerville found his wife well-nigh prostrate with grief. His quick brain had already discerned a means where- by this premature descent of the enemy upan their household goods might be turned to good account. “What the deuce are you moaning and groaning about, Helen?” he asked roughly. “Oh, Richard! To think that it has come to this!” was the tearful reply. “We shall be turned out like beggars into the streets!” “That we certainly shall not! he re- torted quickly. “On the contrary, we shall depart from this confounded place in a cab and betake ourselves to a first-class hotel.” Mrs. Somerville gasped in astonish- | ment. First-class hotels seemed a nge sequel to men-in-possession. “Then you have obtained money, Richard?’ she cried eagerly. “From your friend Mr. Norton, I swppose? Oh. do, dear, pay these horrid men and Then, too, cook and Annie have been clamoring all day for their wages—”’ “They shall be paid and discharged within half an hour,” replied her hus- band. “As for paying these bailiffs, I shall do nothing of the kind. Had my creditors waited the stipulated time I would have paid them off in full. As it is, Mr. John Legg and the rest of them may fight it out amongst them. The contents of the house, lock, stock and barrel, won’t pay them five shillings in the pound. "Twill be 2 les- son to them to be a little more for- bearing when next they get a poor be: gar upder the whip. What you've to do is very simple. Pack wp your best clothes and a portmanteau for me. Leave all ihe rubbish behind, mind—” “But, Richard, I don’t understand! Even old clothes cost money to re- place.” “I know that well enough,” retorted Somerville. “Rut as I have money, that doesn’t matter. Just do as I tell you, whilst I collect my papers. Legg & Co. are welcome to everything else. I'll have a cab here in an hour; so dry your eyes and hurry up, Nell.” “Nell” was a term of endearment, but rarely bestowed of late years, and the patient wife's eyes filled again at the unwonted sound. “Very well, dearest,” she said, kiss- ing her husband’s forehead. “I shall do as you bid me. But tell me, Rich- ard, was it not. Mr. Norton who came to your assistance?” “Of course. Who else should it be?’ “Then, God bless him!” she said fer- vently. Somerville tried to say “Amen,” but somehow the word seemed to stick in his throat, and he beat a hasty retreat to his study. Thither he summoned the two servants, paid them, and pres- ently saw them depart, with consider- able satisfaction. One, at least, of them had seen Norton arrive, and had most assuredly not seen him depart. Servants have long tongues. He was well rid of them both. ‘fo the chief bailiff he boldly avowed his intention of taking his wife to a hotel to save her the unpleasantness of such unwelcome guests; nor did that official demur at the removal of the portmanteaus and their contents— wearing apparel, as he explained, be- ing, as he explained, beyond his juris- mits rather think, sir, as how gour medical fixin’s, books and such lil ms safe, too,” he remarked, “seein’ as they are the himplements of your trade.” “Well, I don’t want them at present, anyhow,” said Somerville _ grimly. “Your presence here would ruin a bet- ter practice than mine ever was.” ‘That night he and his wife stayed at the Grosvenor hotel. (To be Continued.) Se A city bridesmaid’ recent rose-pink satin gown, a Shien of cream-white velvet, the brim near the head showinz a lining of Shell-pink satin, the hat rolled somewhat to the left side, and some soft, beautiful white ostrich plu ues drooping over the edge. On the right side were standing plumes and wiJe satin ribbon loops drawn- through: a large buckle of French brilliants, and at the back a cluster of pale pink velvet roses rested. cs Ppetaniile Shestant-p1 wnt hair. ray ‘ black and pink. SS eS his * ™, Coa