Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, December 4, 1897, Page 6

ASIA UMS St ARES PRIS mat a a a a Ou aoe CHAPTER IV—(Continued.) instant that Judith had passed « of the little wooden gate Mrs. Bar- an out of the room and called to ant: ane, Mary Jane, go down to , but don’t let her see you;” and ¥ h amazing alacrity for a ring with spinal complaint, 1 very few minutes ed for walking. he came down stz again her maid was leaning over the gate. E i harply called the girl in, her mis- jd: t in the name of all that is ex- y have you been staring coming bac adden, she went on quicke k the turning to the right.” 3 s for the Metropolitan station, shouldn’t rou th F Mar, » getting q if she nll make something of you, af that if you don’t forget what I you while I am away. T to keep the hous I have put mantelpiece for : », as there plenty of food in the house, you will get on famous! until you hear from me,again. You ges when I come a nice present. 1 » you my address until T have “l where I am going to stay at gate. Tell the tradesmen and any ors that I have gone there for a fertni Goed-bye!” And, with a he passed out of the house, way in the direction opposite aken by Judith Hattield. When she presently reached a cab- and she chese a four-wheeler, and, niving told the man to drive her to ‘ttled herself well back in le with a smile of great com- he mutte nm alor tindesmen and f in the ol ee to enjoy 1 way for three month: ks to E ! Poor old Judy Hat- hardly guessed what she v ask- en she begged me to give up r one moment I hes- 1, she looked so troubled and anx- fom will be y for three , and by that time Elsie will be h to go back to her husband. the fs and fe § has, with allowance, will keep us 1 st pawn some of t ut. I don’t about keeping nd, and I must iten her into doing so. I could al- ways influence Elsie. What a narrow pe I have 1 of having all my little plans upset! I declare 1 pos itively shivered with terror when that focl ushered Judith so calmly in, and L If when I succeeded 1g her so coolly.” She laughed uneasily, but in a mo- ment 1. hed again more naturally; aud, as if to turn her thoughts, thrust her hand into a little silver-mounted bag she carried, and, having produced > letters that were ready to post but led down, opened auc rad them gly, though the first one was in- deceive the affeetionate d so recklessly mar- She sealed it down, with a nod, muttering: iment enough there for twenty ; but he likes it strong. Whenever the wind blow g, my heart begins to throb for and sleep is out of the question! is par- ticularly good. I should like to know when the wind ever succeeded in keep- ing me aw: ke, unless I had the tooth- ache! Poor old Tom! Now, I wonder if mother will have the sense to obey * And she read to herself: Mother—Den’t go near Myrtle Cottage again, whatever you do, unless you go with the will and the where- thal to pay my debts. I cwe over ifty pounds there to different trades- people, and. they are all pressing me, and Tom car’t yet inerease my allow- ance, whi tco small for me to live on comfort: I have said ‘good-bye’ good and all, and am with a lady friend. safely removed my own belong- r and left that lively young thing— Mary Jane ,in charge of the landlord’s; but he is certain to turn her out at the end of the week. Have told Tom to send his letters to you them. Hope you are all right, and that from her hust sm tended to young man who b ricd her. to the plac going to travel Have This letter wa: Montgomery at Soho. When M Barclay arrived at Pat- ney she dismissed the cabman and walked to the railway station, where she took a ticket for Clapham. Hav- ing managed to secure a second-class | compartment to herself, she proceeded | to make a few alterations in her dres: Removing the lorg. fashionably-shaped light-ch black dre she turned it black-side outward, folding it in readiness to car- ry over her arm. Then she took the scarlet poppies out of her hat, and, h: ing tied a net-veil over her face aud e changed her light gloves for dark ones, she had the appearance of ‘being in rather dowdy half-mourning. “J shall do, I think,” she said to her- -self, with much satisfaction, as the train approached Clapham. “If that fool, Mary Jane ,should circulate the be able to trace me far. And now for Elsie. What shall I tell her?” CHAPTER V. Presumably Mrs. Barclay had made ap her mind by the time she reached the quiet lodgings where she and Elsie were to stay for a few days—the latter ; had been there since the Monday—tor ther pretty face had an expression of e and watch that lady out of ; ill send for ; eloak that ha dd her | elpake that ged: tad ‘help me, I know. She does not fear cher tears, “what have determination upon it that accentuated the hardness of her eyes, making her look many years older than the twenty- tive she owned to. Mounting the steps, she knocked and inquired for Mrs .Manton. “Yes, miss, she’s up-stairs,” said the nt-faced maid who answered the ‘shal I go up and tell her you come?” th: you, I can find my way ie d, Iking majestically up- Mrs. Barclay—or “Miss Man- she was known at Clapham— a door facing her, and found in Elsie’s presence. opened herself The latter's sweet face was pale and tes ained; but, as if oblivious of the fact, Mrs. Barclay closed the door, flung off her hat, threw her arms into the air, and said, with a gasping ¢ “Oh, . my darling, I feel fain Quick—give me water! How I have reached you I don’t know! Oh, Elsie, hold =m And, sinking back op a couch that was conveniently near, she went off into a fair semblance of a fainting-fit: sie looked at her and made for the pull. Seeing the movement, Mrs. Barclay gave another gasp, and, stag- gering to her feet, stretched out her hands feebly. “I am better, Elsie. Come, dear, and sit beside me. What I have gone through! Only for you could I have endured so much! I have bad news for you! Oh, Elsie, what will become of you, tied te such a tyrant? What a bad man he is, darling!” “Who?” faltered Elsie, turning dead- ly pale as she sank down beside her fi nd. Who, but your villainous husband, my poor dezr? He is furious, Elsie, and has set the police en your track! you are to be put away somewhere to live by yourself, with a grim old wo- man to after you!” suddenly Hisie’s cry of dismay, fol- assionate burst of tears. y siniled to herself at the checked 1 lowed by a Mrs. Barcel: success of her scheming as she drew Elsie’s fair head to her and spoke con- | solingly, while Elsie cried. “He is a brute, Elsie! But never mind, di: ng, I will take care of you! He shall never subject you to the cruel indignities his jealousy prompts him to do. He is an inhuman brute! Like all men, he thinks more of himself than you. He fell in love with your fresh, young beauty, and married you, think- ing you would be his slave and be con- tent to put up with his hat>»ful temper and his jealousy because he gave you fine clothes to wear. Of course people have talked about your running away from him, and no doubt that is what | is making him so bitter toward yeu. Elsie, do not go rear him; be firm— keep away from him until his vile tem- per has cooled down. He will come to you then, humbly enough ,and then you will be enabled to do with him as | you please.” “But,” Elsie, looking up through 1 done that he should be so cruelly-disposed toward me? I was very foolish to rum away from him. I never meant to stay—you know that, don’t you?—and Heaven knows I have been miserable enough ever since! Don’t you think that if 1 went to him and confessed my sorrow he would forgive me?” “My darEng girl, it is useless to hope it! In his present mood, he is a very dangerous man. Suppose he struck you in passion, Elsie—struck you in the face, marring your beauty forever?” Elsie shuddered, murmuring some- thing about Claude’s never striking a woman, she was sure. “My dearest, the noblest gentleman that ever lived is not answerable for his actions in a moment of passion. 1 once knew a man, Elsie, who was a brave soldier and a gentleman, who was married to one of the loveliest girls. Well, one day. in a passion, he caught her by the throat and tried to strangle her. He did not succeed, but she was such a horvible object ever af- ter with her awful, staring eyes, that he shot himself rather thar endure the agony of knowing that he had made, her what she was. You would never forgive yourself, Elsie, if Mr. owns- hend—” “Oh, don’t!” cried E in such ter- ror that Mrs. Barclay bad to walk to the window to overcome’ her inward merriment at the success of her horri- ble little fable. Presently Elsie’s sobs ceased, and the girl sat up and looked around at her friend. “Edith, you have not told me, dear. how you know all this about—about Claude. Have you seen him?” “Have T seex him?’—with an affected | little shriek. “Elsie, I would not go near him for twenty thousand pounds! . \No; but I have seen your sister Judith, and--I have been followed by a police- | man!” “Judith!” Elsie exclaimed, almost j dy? ‘What did she say her how miserable I Did you tell ? She would any one, and would go to Claude and make peace between us, Iam sure.” “Are you?” said Mrs. Barclay, in a tragically-dubious tone. “Elsie, you know I neyer liked your sister, and she does not improve upon further ac- quaintance. Judith Hatfield is a trait- yess! She make peace between you and your husband! No, no! She would rather make love to him and slander you! Do you really believe that she particulars of my dress, they will net | Syropathises with you? Why, her ev- ery look and thought was for the man you won from her! From whom do you think I-heard of his rage and his yile intentions, if not from ber? Did she evince any anxiety on your ac- count? No! Her anxiety was for ‘poor Claude’ Had she once said, ‘poor Elsie,’ or shown any anxiety to give ‘you back your happiness, I should have respected her and brought her here in defiance of my promise to you; but— Faugh!” And, haying thus expressed. herself, fully. “Have you seen dear old Ju- | | Mrs. Barclay strode to the table, end, seatiag herself at the tea-tray, tock up | the .eapot, as she continued: | “Elsie, there is a very true saying ‘about a woman scorned being a devil, or something of that sort. Now Judith !is not angry with your husband for choosing you; she is bitter against you for your being chosen. There—don’t cry any more, dearest, but come and eat, drink and be merry, and snap your fingers at Judith and Claude.” “Oh!” sobbed Elsie, miserably, ‘lL don’t think you can be right about them. Judy was so good and loving to me, so was Claude. I am sure that if L could only see him he would forgive me.” : Mrs. Barclay set her lips tightly for a moment; but, having. with much wis- dom, repressed her feclings, she ruse, and, going to the girl drew her to her feet saying, mischievor “Ielsie, you shock me—you do, indeed! Why, you told me that your love had been given to Captain Herbert! Come to tea, for goodness’ sake, before 1 faint! You are unnerved novy,-but in an hour's time you will be better, when ; L will give you the details of our future movements® But we must not remain here after to-morrew; if we do, your husband will be on the trail.” And then, seeing that Elsie looked rather as if she wished he were already there, the arch-schemer — skilfully ; changed the subject back to Cant: Herbert. Then, as she furtively watched the youag wife’s sad, down- cast face, she thovght she would not | have to exert herself much to keep her | in entire subjection. | Meanwhile, Judith just managed to |eatch the train, and made her way, | with all speed, to the hotel where Mr. | ‘Townshend and her father were stay- | ing. She was very sorry to find only | her father there, writing away, as if {for dear life, his table being covered | with sheets of MS. He looked very | much annoyed at the interruption, and gazed at Judith vacantly; but, when | she had kissed him, he seemed sudden- | lyy to recollect that he was not at _ home. | “Why, my dear Judy!” he exclaimed, “you are in town! What has brought ; you? Nothing wrong, I hope?” “No,” answered Judith, slowly—she was beginning to feel tired as well as depressed—“no; only that 1 have wast- cd my money and time.” And then she told him of Mrs. Gar- | diner’s suggestion and the result. | “Dear me!” ejaculated Mr. Hattield, “it was a very happy thought of Mrs. | Gardiner’s! Well, we must follow that up. I wish Claude would come in! He s in and out all day, Judy, looking about him in the streets, as if he ex- | pected to see little Elsie there, you know. As I told him, that would not be at all likely. Still, it is better that he should occupy his time in some | way, for, when he remains in, he is so restless that he quite affects me, # am unable to write or do anything When he is away—. Well. for ance, I have written two or three pters since four o'clock for “A Withered Heart,” simply because 1 have been undisturbed. You came in at a critical moment, Judy: but, of course, you could not help that—in- deed, I am very glad to see you, even at such an unpropitious moment, for | your unxiety on your sister’s account quite puts to flight certain assertions made by one or two members of the family as to your—h’m—er—indiffer- | ence in the matter. I felt very much annoyed when the remarks were mace, feeling they were quite unjustified as— Ah, here is Claude!” Much to Judith’s relief, Mr. Towns- hend care in. He started violently at seeing her, and his weary face became illumined by a great hope; but. as he realized that the girl's greeting smile was a faint one, his face speedily clouded over again. “T had hoped you were the bearer of | good news,” he said, as they shook hands. “I hoped I should have been; but 1 have met with a great disappointment. However, I want you to follow up the clue which I think is worth trying.” Claude listened with great intentess to the recital of her interview with Mrs. Barclay, and, at its close, asked the very question Judith dreaded: “Who is this Mrs. Barclay?” , “She is the wife of a captain in the ' merchant service, whom we_ knew through Mrs. Gardiner, and she lives in a cottage at Richmond. I believe Elsie | is hiding because she is ashamed of her | precipitancy; but Mrs. Barclay is not | the sort of woman who would advise her for the best. Have her watched, | Claude.” | «7 will, I left Burton, my agent, | down stairs, and I will go and consult ‘him. Probably he will start at once \ for Richmond. You will look after Ju- | dith’s comfort, Mr. Hatfield, as, of | course, she will remain here during the | night,” and he hurried away. “Of course,” assented Mr. Hatfield, | removing his longing gaze from his |MS. “Now, my dear, what will you | have? Suppose we say cold roast chicken and coffee? Judy, be as quiet as you can, for I want to get on with my work. here are plenty of newspa- | pers about, so you can amuse yourself until Claude comes back. I suppose | you will go back early to-morrow ae Mr. Hatfield was writing and Judy was almost dozing when Claude re- turned, about half-past twelve. She | started up; but one glance at his face sufficed to tell her that he had met | with no success. “No,” he said, in answer to her mute | glance—‘we were a few hours too late. Burton went first and inquired for Mrs. Townshend, only to receive a re- ‘ply similar to that you did. Later, 1 , went in and asked for Mrs. Barclay, and was told that she had gone out the | day before, and the girl did not know where. Having ascertained what her mistress was wearing when she left | home, we traced her to Putney station, put no farther.” “Ah!” ejaculated Judy, “I now see the mistake Edith Gardiner and I have made! We ought to have prepared | you for my visit, so that you could have had Mrs. Barclay’s house i watched.” “Yes,” he assented, with a faint smile; “but you acted for the best. Burton has put some one to watch the house | now, and has remained in the neigh- pborhood to prosecute his inquiries; but I have no great anticipations of a suc- cessful result.” Judith and her father tried to instil some hope into him, but with little ef- fect; he seemed chilled to hopelessness —a state of mind that became a set- tled despair as the days lengthened in- to weeks and months, and all trace of Elsie Townshend seemed lost. ~ i i | } | CHAPTER VI. “The Sycamores, South Kensington, Sept. 17th, 18s—. “My Dear Judy—At length [am in a position to inform you that Perey and I intend to start on our little Conti- nental trip on the 27th, so thet, if you are coming to keep house and look after the babies for me during«my 4 sence, you must come.at once, for you first. You have not had a change this year, so it will do you good. Sure- ly, mamma can manage without you for a month, having Lucy and the two servants? Claude is in town again, from Paris. He called to see Percy in | the city, and looks very ill and worn. It is strange where Elsie can be all this time, and that she does not ap- pear to see his advertisements. Poor darling, I hope she is well and happy! Shall expect you to-morrow. Love to all, in which Percy unites. “Your affectionate sister, “Gracie.” “Pp, S.—I suppose it i sa farce to as you, but Mrs. Mainwaring celebrates her silver wedding by a fancy-dress ball on the twenty-fourth. I am go- ing; will you join me? and, as Percy ‘won't assist at tany such tomfoclery, L shall be glad of your company. You will be amused, if you do not care to dance. The matter of dress need not trouble you, as my dressmaker will run you up something in a couple of days. I am going as ‘Night.’ You might go as a Roman lady—that would just suit your severe style. We wear masks, of course.” The arrival of this letter stirred up strife in the house of Hatfield. Mrs, Hatfield did not object to Judith’s tak- ing a week’s holiday, but a month was an unheard-of piece of inconsid- erateness on the part of both her daughters. She was really surprised at dear Gracie’s thoughtlessness. As to the ball, Gracie must be jesting. Did Judith for an instant imagine that her sister was serious in proposing the dress of a Roman lady?—which, so far as Mrs. Hattield’s knowledge went, required a type of beauty and a sym metry of figure similar to darling lost Fisie’s, or Gracie’s own charms, but was certainly—most cer- tainly not suited to a thin, sallow face and figure like Judith’s. Could not Judith see that for herself? Yes—Judith could, if Gracie meant that she was to wear the classic garb cie meant a Roman dress would be more suitable. Mrs. Hatfield did not know, she was sure; but she thought the idea ridicu- with masquerade balls at her age? Did she, who was always so ready to cut of the expense, too? ‘At this stage Mr. Hatfield put in an appearance, and a word of weight when he had read his daught ter. Of course Judy was to go! And why shouldn’t she go to the ball, too? Did his wife forget that she was 3 matron of thirty-two when she went to her last fancy-dess ball as “Marie Antoinette?’ Judith was to run away at once and pack up; meanwhile, h would go down and telegraph to Gra- cie that she would reach town about three o’cleck, Mr. Hattfield’s prompt- | ness in thus deciding the matter being due to the fact that he was out of cloudland for the nonce, “A Withered Heart” being before the public, and 2 and not of necessity about in his mind for the plot and preferred to accept as they occurred to him. her father’s decision, for she had gone through a great deal lately, having had, in addition to her usual cares, the gnawing anxiety she suffered on El- sie’s account, to put up with her moth- er’s constant vituperation and to en- deayor silently to endure her unreason- able expressions of vindictive antipa- thy to Claude Tomnshend. Elsie’s flight, according to her moth- er, was in consequence of the cruel treatment to which she had been sub- jected by her “middle-aged” husband. What grounds she had for this opinion, no one knew, the most charitable opin- ion to form being that her infirmity of body at times affected her mind. “Well, Judy,” was Grace Fletcher's greeting to her sister, on her arrival at the Sycamores, “I’m awfully glad to see you! Take off your hat and have some tea, then we will go up and see the babies. Percy won't be home until six.” As they sat drinking tea, Mrs. Fletcher rattled on about all kinds of things; but she never mentioned either Elsie or Claude, though Judith waited anxiously. When Grace had exhaust- ed her stock of trivialities, Judith man- aged to put in the question: “What of Claude, Gracie? Has he any news of Elsie yet?” “Of course not, Judy, or I should have told you!”’—with a trifle of asper- ity. “But you can ask Perey when he comes in.” However, Mr. Fletcher — himself broached the subject by saying, sud- denly, during dinner: “T say, Judy—it is a pity you did not come up before! Townshend would have liked to see you. He is looking awfully seedy, and I believe he'll go wrong altogether if he does not find her. It’s rather hard on the poor beg- gar, because, you know, he can’t very well help his nature. She ought not to have married him.” “Good gracious me!” cried his wife, indignantly, “to hear you, Percy, one would imagine Elsie had positively run away with Claude against his will!” Mr. Fletcher nodded with signifi- eance, as he said: “TI know Elsie’s way—it’s a little like your own, my love. Her face and the pretty air of artlessness you both know so well how to assume would fetch men of certain caliber—it fetched Townshend.” “You are atrociously vulgar!” his wife declared, petulantly, with a sharp glance at Judith’s unquiet face. “There was never any need for Elsie to behave herself like a vulgar ad- yenturess—and Elsie is artless,” “Yes,” he agreed, tantalizingly— “when it suits her. But you can’t make me believe that a girl in her twenty-third year, after indulging in so many flirtations, is as artless as Elsie appears to be. She must have it Aa hee DaaSe CoAockta a He Wat CEA occ Me glance now. See how she played down to Fred Herbert. Herbert doesn’t care should like to spend a few days with | maturer | of a Roman maiden; but perhaps Gra- | matron, whose | lous, altogether. What did Judith want | down the expenditure of others, think | let- | suecess, and he, consequently, in funds | bound to cast | characters for another novel, which he | Judith was nothing loath to profit by : 7 ; a straw tor your artless girls—he’s too young. He likes a woman of ‘go’ with a mind of her own. And wasn’t Elsie outspoken and assertive when she was here—eh? You must think I am a: mole, Gracie!” | “You are worse—you are a bore!’ she retorted, sharply. “Judy, his wit | depresses you. Come in the next room | and let us have a little music.” i However, when the sisters were to- | gether, Mrs. Mletcher thought no more | of the music, but wanted to talk about ! ‘ dress ball to which she had ed. She had bought all the | material for her dr ae navy-blue | satin and tulle, with silver stars and a golden crescent for her bodice, to rep- resent the moon. Grace had arranged to have a small battery concealed in | her dress, so that the star in her hair | could be lighted by electricity; but at | | the last moment her des ker and Percy had told her that her choice was ake, she being a blonde. However, what she wanted to know ; Was whether Judith would go as Night” instead. | I had not intended to go at all,” re- | plied Judith, smiling. | “Rubbish! You must go! | go as ‘Night,’ or won't you?’ “AS well that as anything else, if I go. “Very weil. Will you Then I will go Queen of Scots. Iam tall and f: my feature are straight, and black velvet | suits me. I only hope no one else will | have chosen the character.” * * * * * * * ‘Mary | “So you are going to make a mouz | ebank of yourself, too, are you, Judy jher brother-in-law demanded, quizzical- ily of her the next morning, he was on the point of starting for the city. ay replied Judith, laughing; shouldn't I, pray?’ “There is no reason, that I know of,” he answered, regnr gz her critically —“except that yeu ¢ one the idea of being above that sort of thing—severe, | you know—no, not exacly severe—nor | ethereal,” he added, correcting himself as the terms occurred to him, “but—— Well, there—I can’t find a word! How- ever, if anyone but Gracie had told me, I shouldn't have believed it.” “We all have our weak moments.” “I should like to bet that you will | want to be off your bargain before the | 24th arrives.” ; “Oh, no, I shall not,” Judith re- | marked, as she walked with him to the | hall door; as she opened it she asked: “Is Claude in town now, Percy? “I really can’t tell you. He didn’t seem to know where he was going when last I saw him.” “But what does he do with himself?” | “Prowls about day and night, hoping that he will meet his wife. It’s a bad ss. I pity him hear He und friendless, and yet he will not accept my overtures of friendship—on account of Grace, I sup- awfully ‘d upon But I mu be off, and, nodding pleasantly, he quitted the house. ; Efardly had he down, and in a fe started off on a shopping expedition. “I wonder how I eught to do my hair?’ Grace said, suddenly. “! have a mind to go in and ask my hairdy er. Iam a very good customer, so, no doubt, he will. be glad to give me a hint. His place is in Oxford street; we go there fir ‘Just as you like,” replied Judith. | “Very well; we will have a cab.” | When the vehicle pulled up outside the hairdresser’s, Grace said | “It is not worth while your coming ‘in, Judy—I shan’t be many minutes;” | |so Judith sat in the hansom idly! ching the paassers-by | She became so interested that she | paid no heed to the flight of time, and | was quie surprised when the cabman | jumped down and began fidgeting with | the narness before he asked her if the | ; lady would be much longer. j | “Longer?” repeated Judith, amazed- | ne “No—I suppose not. Ah, there she is!’ “Swan & Edgar's!” Grace curtly told the man, resuming her seat. She remained so silent as they were | driving along that Judith looked at her fair face curiously, and, seeing that it | was fiushed and clouded—indeed, if it ‘had not been too absurd a notion, she would have thought she had been cry- | ing—said, solicitousl “What is the matter, Gracie?” “The matter? Don’t be absurd! What should be the matter?” “IT don’t know, dear. I thought you | looked worried.” “Well, you're wrong! Iam warm— | that’s all.” | Judith was at a loss to understand | the change in her sister. Before she | had entered the hairdresser’s she had | been in the best of temper and spirits; | now she was troubled and irritable: ; Watching Grace, as she asked for | and examined the articles she required, | Judith noticed that her sister was so | preoccupied as to ask the assist- } ant the same questions twice; and | once, as the light fell upon her sister's | | face, Judith was certain that she had ‘been crying, which so unnerved her that she could scarcely concentrate her | attention on the business in hand; but, ‘knowing that the moment was. not the /one in which to make the accusation ‘that trembled on her lips, she tried to | eommand her feelings and bide her _ time patiently. | “I should have silk gloves, if F were ‘you, Judith,” Mrs. Fletcher said, sharply, when she had bought all she required herself. “The best quality ‘silk, darkest shade of navy, full- {length ,six and a quarter,” she added | to the assistant; and, while he went | for them, she resumed, in an unusual- lly brisk tone, as if to make up for her | ‘previous preoccupation, quite forget- ting, however, that she had already; | made the same remarks: “I dare say, ‘like a good many other people, you im- | agine that, to represent ‘Night,” you , ought to wear black; but that is a | mistake—the sky is never black, either ‘at night or at any other time—tt looks deeply, darkly blue, and that is what | you want properly to represent. Oh, | here are the gloves! Yes, they are! very nice; you had better have two} pairs, Judith, for fear you might meet ; |with an accident. No—we don’t re- (quire anything else, thank you!’—and | in a few minutes they were out in the | street again. “Now we had better go and have ' some luncheon.” Judith. spoke calmly, theugh she was pose, for she v ud the issue of the forthcoming attack. | son, ‘in the matter; “I don’t want any.” “Nonsense! Perey said we were to | conscience!’—Washington Star. have some,” returned Judith, with aew termination. Be “Very well—we'll go to Verrey’s- Jadith led: the way to the establish- ment and ordered a nice little haneh- eon, taking care that her sister did justice to it. As Grace was about to rise, Judith looed her straight in the face and said: “I know why you were so upset, Gracie; when you were in the hair- dresser’s you saw Elsie.” Mrs. Fletcher started, and, to cover her forced a scornful laugh. “You ought to have been an actres Judith, or a female detective!” sbe ex- claimed. “What on earth will you think of next? Elsie, indeed! Poor darling, I only wish I could see her?” “Gracie, you can’t deceive me!” “Good Heavens, Judith, den’t be ab- surd! You have Elsie—or Claude—om the brain.” Judith was not a whit impressed by the other's scorn; but she knew her temper too well to PL evere in her accusation, the tone, as well as the look of contemptuous defiance Hashed at her telling her too plainly that what- ever had occurred that morning Grace intended to keep to herself. She felt faint with disappeintment, but x flushed ¢rim- confusion,y to credit her sister's de he s . quietly, with a forced smile: “Well, Gracie, you must admit that uunds for my suspicion; ys on the qui vive d when I noticed I had some gr you know Iam alw for news of Elsie, how upset you were after long in- terview with the hairdr 1 con- led you had some good reasom for aps you had seen Mrs. Bar- fou are really too clever, Judith! smile. “You forget that I never her in my life.” “I had forgotten it; it was very stu~ pid of me!” After leaving the confectioner’s they ked across toward the circus again, each occupied with her own thougits. Judith’s were excited and entful; she could have cried with € ppoint- ment and implored Grace tell the truth, but it s impossible at the moment. She could not calmly think what steps—if any—she ought to take she could only bewail her lost chance of finding E i had only gone into the hairdre: with Gracie—or, at least, if her suspi- eions had only been aroused sooner, she eould have returned to the shop and have tried to verify them, theugh it would have been too late to tind El- sie there. But what w the use of doing anything now? If she sent Mr. Townshend hint there v not the least possibility of his tracing Elsie un- less. s! too, happened te be a_ good customer of the hairdresser’s. What should she do? Was it of any use go- ing to the hairdre shop on the chance of getting some sort of inform- ation from the man? As the next <t through her mind, she ce at Gracie, only to thought pa turned to gli meet her qu al gi “Still mare’s-nesting, Jud: question put to her. “Poor girl! You i inted, aren't you. i'm for I know that Claus wotries you; but he was the “You are wreng, Grace. Elsie mar- | vied Claude, and she ought to—* “Don't preach, for goodn sake, Judith! What do you know about it? If you were a married woman it woula | be different.” Judith held her peace; but her mind paying the b it, though how she was to manage it she did not know. Fortune favored her, for, as they paused to look in at a milliner’ Lop window, a stylish-looking girl, who was getting into a victoria, saw Mrs. Fletcher, and stopped to speak to her. “You. are the very person 1 wanted to see! I was going to drive around to ask if you would come and see ny dress;. it came home last night, and £ don’t think it suits me in the least. I thought I would consult you, as I can trust to your taste. Will you come home with me now?” “{f you like.” Mrs. Fletcher an- swered, to Judith’s unspeakable relief; only you. wust let me go home before because I have an engagement at hour:. But let me introduce you ter, Judith, Judith—Miss Her- “Very pleased to meet you, Miss Hat- field—I have heard my brother speak of you.” “Oh,. no,” interrupted Grace, quickly,. “Captain Herbert has never seen. J dith; it was Elsie, a younger sister, who is married now.” “Oh!” Miss Herbert ejaculated, with a soft note of comprehension in; her tone that amused Judith, “I should liked you to return home with me, too; but there is not room in the vic- toria.” i “Judith is going straight home; ex- plained Mrs. Fletcher, airily; “she- has to see to her dress.” Having watched Miss Herbert and her: sister drive off, Judith went, along: Oxford street until she came to. the hairdresser’s shop. With a little flut- ter of her heart she went in, and saw a young lady, with an elaborately- dressed coiffure behind the counter. “I have returned to ask you if you ean oblige me with the address ef the lady Mrs. Fletcher met here this. morn~ “Mrs. Fletcher is one of our eustom~ ers,” returned the assistant, with a faint smile; “but I'm afraid we dowt know the address of the other lady.. I will inquire, madam. Will you be seated a moment?” The assistant called through a speak- ing-tube, and, having received the an- swer, returned to Judith, who was eagerly waiting. “No, madam; Iady’s address. oblige you.” “Is—is she a regular customer?’ in- quired Judith. “I don’t think sq. madam; but I may be making a mistake. Would you like to see the manager?” “I should, very much, thank you.” The manager came, a young maa, whom Judith thought it would be very easy *9 deal with, (To Be Continued.) we do, not Knew the ‘To Be Considered, “I don’t see,” said the able but disap pointed man, “why you shoukt have prospered so much more than I. You never gave the thought and time to pane Roatt that I have.” “No,” rep! Sena‘ Sergh “But look at the wear pe ae ey coe Vey sorry we cannot)’ 4 a eee