Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, December 11, 1897, Page 2

a) |e) | FAUCS. a_s_ 2 _10_a_ ee Ee CHAPTER VI.—(Continued.) “Mrs. Fletcher omitted to take down the address of the lady she met here this morning,” she explained; “and, as o see her again, L thought perhaps you could, if she is a regular customer, tell us where we would be likely to see her again.” he is not a regular customer, mad- in fact, I never saw her before to- and did not, of course, know she letcher’s sister until I heard dress each other, though, enough, I had noticed the # re very much alike, are they not?’ Judith said, pleasantly, to draw him out. “But they had not seen each other for a very long while.” athered, madam, from the rushed at each other,” the Ei id, smiling. “I left them to- gether for a little while when I saw ffeeted they were.” | thoughtful of you. It was very strange that they should etcher’s call- nt, as, I believe, ‘ter’s, adam. The lady simply came e was passing, to have her hair npooed on her return from the sea- | I thought at first she had come | sell it, for, when I made a remark about the unusual length and thickness of it, she asked how much I would be inclined to pay for it. But 1 soon found that she*was jesting.” Having thanked the manager and his ant, Judith left. Walking slowly , she came to the conclusion that yas alive and well, so she went into a telegraph office and sent off four mes- s—one to the Charing-Cross Hotel, | » to the Priory, one to Gatley Park | and one to his chub. “Come to see me at Fletcher's as s you get this —Judith.” ure to get one,” she told her- But day followed day, and there no sign of him. vwwhile Judith kept a watch on s movements; but nothing came , for Grace never went anywhere without her or received visits from any mysterious personage; she might have had lette but whatever information she had she kept to herself, not even her husband into her confidence, ank and careless to * * * Are you not “Judith, you are |: coming up to dress? If you hurry to put yourself into a tulle gown, the chances are that you will badly tear it.” “All right. Gracie, I am coming!’— and Judith put down her book and rose to follow her sister “One moment, M Hatfield.” Per- detained her in his teasing way to say: “I think I had a bet with you about the result of to-day—kindly hand over the cash.” Didn’t I lay you ten to one that you would want to be off with your bargain before to-day arrived? Grace d you twice at least to go and dre before you moved. Hand over the money.” “But I did not take you on—I believe that is the jargon.” “Good heavens—how awful!” he e- be shocked. you know; I imed, pretending to “That won't do, Judy, shall have to cut your acquaintance with Herbert short, if that is what he has been teaching you in your tete-a- tes of an evening.” Judith swept him a curtsey. “I am old enough to take care of myself, thank you,” said laughing- iy, and went up s S. When she came down again, looking very atractive indeed as “Night” in her tulle dress with the silver stars, Percy said, banteringly to his wife, who was looking very beautiful and stately as the unfortunate young queen she had chosen to represent: “Gracie, you must keep your eye on Captain Herbert and Judith. .I did not anticipate a flirtation when I brought him home to dinner on Friday; but he has been here three times sin Just ‘keep them apart to-night, will you?” “Oh, yes,” replied Grace, carelessly, “I'll look after them! How does my train set, Judy? Perfectly? That’s a comfort. You look yery nice, Judy— doesn’t she, Percy? “Very,” he agreed. “It’s the first time I’ve seen her in evening dress, and I think that if I were she I would avear it oftener. Herbert admires you awfully. Grace, Judy is blushing— that is a bad sign.” P, “Rubbish!” eclaimed Judith, laugh- ing. “It’s enough to make me blush to be teased about that effeminate young fellow.” “I beg your pardon—he is two months older than you; he told me so yesterday.” When Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher were by themselves, the latter asked, anx- iousl, “Pere does Captain Herbert really admire Judith?” “He does; he says she is sensible, free from affectation, plain-spoken, and does not look at a.man as if she ex- ected him to pay her any attention. e even went so far as to ask if I knew whether she was engaged. 1 pretended not to know, for, if he is really smitten, it would do him good to keep him on tenterhooks.”’ i “Good gracious—and only a. little while ago he was almost at Elsie’s feet! He must’ be a detestable flirt!” Probably, or he may be of opinion that, as his efforts to marry for money have, up to the present, proved abort- ive, he may as well marry a woman who will not squander his limited in- come, Thanks—that’s a very nice kiss, and your cheeks smell deliciously of violet-powder. Ta-ta! Hope you'll enjoy yourselves.” When Mrs, Fletcher wewt out into the hall to don her wraps, she looked at Judith reflectively. “She looks pretty,” she thought, “and her style has always been ele- | grees you'll get used to it. gant. But what a strange thing it would be if she were to marry Elsie’s admirer! I shouldn’t dislike it my- self, for he is so well connected. 1 wonder if Judith likes him?” She thought she would just keep her eye upon them during the evening— for Captain Herbert and his sister were to be at the ball—but events transpired to put the intention out of her head. She looked once or twice at Judy’s face in the lamplight, as the carriage bowled along, but, being un- able to read anything, only wondered why she was so quiet. Was she think- ing with pleasure of spending the even- ing with her admirer? Judith’s thoughts were far from the becomingness of her costume or Cap- tain Herbert; she was wondering, as she had done hundreds of times during the past six days, why Claude had taken no notice of her telegrams. If he had received any of the messages, he must have known that she had something particular to communicate. Was it possible that he was wearying of the search—resigning himself to the inevitable, as it seemed? No; she could not think that—his earnestness and gravity of manner precluded it. “Here we are! Put on your mask, Judy!’ Grace cried, as the brougam stopped. “You won't enjoy wearing it for the first half-hour or so, but by de- I think it is such fun! Mrs. Mainwaring sent out one hundred and eighty invitations, so there ought to be some amusement for us. We don’t unmask until we are seated at the supper tables, and that won't be until 1 o'clock. Mrs. Mainwarring’s large rooms were well filled with all kinds and odds of characters when the two sisters en- tered them; and for half an hour Ju- dith was well amused with the noyelty of the scene. Knowing no one, and being speedily separated from Fletel she tried to keep quietly to herself in a corner, and was successful, until a slender man of medium height, in blue satin court attire, ruffled lace and patches, with a powdered wig and fair moustache, came up and whis- pered her name, asking for the pleas- ure of a dance. “Oh, it is you!” exclaimed Judith, laughing and blushing, as she recog- nized Captain Herbert and remem- bered her brother-in-law’s banter. “How did you know me?” “By your height,” he answered, tri- umphantly. “You and Mrs. Fletcher are much taller than the average wo- Are you enjoying yourself?’ y much, thank you. Is your sis- ter here?” “Yes; I mustn’t tell you in what character, because I promised to keep the secret; but I may tell you she is wearing powder—so are half a dozen other women. By the way, she. tells me I ought to have sacrificed my moustache. What do you think?” “I suppose you ought, too; but it would have been a great pity just for one night’s amusement, wouldn’t it?” “Yes. How sensible you are! Of I might have chosen another but I had a fancy for this. gery suggested my regimentals in preference; but they would have been no disguise at all to me. But how did you know me, Miss Hatfield?’ he asked, eagerly. “You mentioned my name, if you re- member, and I do not know any one but you in the room.” “That was very stupid of me—I had intended to keep you in the dark for a little while. I had hoped you would have worn powder—it would have suit- ed your dark eyes splendidly. What made you choose ‘Night? It is very nice, of course, and I dare say it suits you; but still I wonder you chose it in preference to a poudre costume.” “It was suggested to me; but,” add- ed Judith, with a spice of unaccus- tomed coquetry that surprised herself, “if I had known a different choice would have pleased some one else, I might, perhaps, have made it.” “I wish I had told you, then,” he re- marked, taking her rather more liter- ally-than she meant. “But let us dance.” Judith enjoyed the waltz, as the cap- tain danced well and held her easily but with a firmness that surprised. her. They sat out the next dance, he amus- ing her with his harmless gossip and criticism of the scene before them. Just before he left her to keep an en- gagement with another lady, he said, suddenly: “When is Mrs. Townshend expected home? She is having a long honey- moon.” “She and her husband are both fond of travel,” replied Judith, who felt pleased that her sister’s flight was not generally known. For about ten migutes Judith sat alone, after which a musketeer begged a dance; and when he was taking her back to her seat, they saw Grace at a little distance talking to a lady in yel- low-and-white brocade with a bunch of yellow roses in her powdered hair. “It is Miss Herbert, I imagine,” Ju- Gith thought, noting the youthful con- tour of face and figure; but she was in doubt two seconds later, for another lady with powdered hair passed her, and, though this one was wearing a combination of blue satin and flowered brocade, there was sufficient resem- blance in height and youthful charm to make her identity very’ puzzling. Either or acither of them might have been Miss Herbert, and Judith only in- clined to the belief that it was the la. dy in yellow because she and Grace were, talking so earnestly. Remarkirg on the success of powder as a disguise, her companion said: “There are five ladies here to-night who have chosen to wear powder and patches, and up to the present, with one exception, their identity remains their own secret.” “May I ask which is the excep- tion?” “You can see for yourself,” he said, laughingly. “Look at that little wo- man in white, standing near that nook w of ferns. Every one knows Colone) Bath's wife—-the mask is a farce.” Judith saw a fairy-like creature in white satin and plush, which gleamed wae diamonds, as did her powdered iB “That is the most beautiful toilette in the room,” was Judith’s enthusias- tic observation. The musketeer having smiling as- sented, Judith noticed a soldierly fig- ure approaching her. It was Claude! The unaccustomed dress, the mask, mattered nothing; she only knew that it was he, and that she was glad, be- fore he laid his hand gently on her arm, saying, in a low tone: “Don’t be startled, Judith!” “I am not,” she returned. “I recog- nized you when you were crossing the room. But I did not know that you were to be here.” “I am not invited, though I know Mainwaring; I am here only by Fletcher's contrivance,” he whispered, “But where can we have a quiet chat for ten minutes? I had your telegram only this morning, and am anxious. Is it good news, Judith?” “No, unfortunately. I had a very slight clue, but have lost it again. Let us go into the refreshment room, Claude; it is possible that we may get a quiet corner.” ® CHAPTER VII. Claude led the way across the hall at the back of the house, and, having se- cured a seat, sat down beside Judy. “I have been ill,” he explained—“laid by the heels since the nineteenth, and all my letters and telegrams were kept back, so that I knew nothing of yours until this morning.” “What has been the matter?” “Breakdown from anxiety and sus- pense—nothing else,’ he replied, grimly. “They gave me your tele- gram when I was supposed to be a little better, and I came up at once. I was in such a nervous state when I got to Fletcher's that I hardly knew how to contain myself. He suggested my coming here because I would not let him send for you; he gave me his card, described your dress, and went with me to my club, where my North- wold Hussars uniform happened to be. Having helped me to dress, he drove me here. He told me you could not haye much of importance to tell me, but I knew you would not send for me without reason. What is it, Judy?” Judith told him. He listened to her in a fever of nervous excitement, and when, as if he could bear the mockery of wearing it no longer, he tore off his mask, Judith saw what havoc the anx- iety for the past few weeks had made in his face. “You must have been very ill, Claude,” she .said, gently. “Was it wise to come up to town?” “It dosn’t matter, Judy,’ he an- swered, wearily; “the best thing that could happen to me would be to die. Your sister would be free then, and well provided for—I have taken care of that. But why is Mrs. Fletcher so bitterly-disposed towards me? If you had met Elsie that day, would you have let her go, knowing how much her loss means to me?” “Yo know I should not, Claude.” “Does Fletcher know, do you think?” “I feel sure he does not.” “Well, it was very good of you to send for me, Judith, but I have no hope that so slight a clue can be fol- loed up. However, the hairdresser’s and Mrs. Fletcher's shall be well watched, though I am beginning to think that the slight affection I be- lieved Elsie had for me must have died out—if it ever existed.” “It did exist—I am sure of it.” “You told me that once before,” he said, and his tone as as severe as his glance; “but I don’t forget one thing— that before she knew me there was someone else—someone whom she would rather have had than me, if you remember—a Captain Herbert.” “Who told you that?’ asked Judith, quickly, after an almost impercejitible hesitation. “I heard it myself, a day or two be- fore our wedding day; she made the remark to you. Why was she unable to marry him, Judith?’ “He never asked her. I think Elsie only said that because she was an- noyed at your jealousy—I fancy she knew you were at the door. As to Captain Herbert,” she continued, un- der his compelling gaze, “I think he is a great flirt—not a marrying man.” “You say that to pacify me!” “No, no”’—and, to ease his mind, to exorcise the demon jealousy if she could—she added, with a half-amused boldness and confusion that com- pletely deceived him, “You may guess what sort of a maz he is when I tell! you that—that he is now wholly in- tent upon getting up a fiirtation with— | me.” She was glad to see the suspicion in his eyes give place to amusement. “Flirting with you, is he? Then, if he is intent only upon his own amuse- ment—which I doubt—I think he will | have caught a Tartar, Judy—but take care of yourself, dear—there is always | some risk in even the most, certain- looking game.” She smilingly signified her intention to do so, and a short silence followed. | Judith looked about her. Away in the} pall room the band was playing the | Mikado Quadrilles, and dancing was evidently in full swing, yet here in the refreshment room several groups were enjoying themselves, some eating ices or sipping champagne-cup, others in couples absorbed wholly in each other, for there were half a dozen palm-shel, tered nooks, similar to that occupied by Judith and her companion, which were in much request. As Judith smilingly. surveyed the scene, a group of four—Mephistopheles, Cleopatra, a French cook and a very merry nun—moved away, disclosing the girl in the yellow-and-white bro- cade, whom Judith imagined to be Miss Herbert, sitting at a little table with Judith’s late partner, the Musket- eer. Presently they, too, arose, with the intention of returning to the ball room, and were passing out, when the girl turned her head in the direction of Judith and her silent companion. She glanced at them casually at first, and turned away, but suddenly she looked back at them again and, having taken in Judith’s costume at one swift glance, turned her gaze upon Claude’s pallid face, regarding him so fixedly that Judith turned quickly to him. “You ought not to have taken off your mask, Claude. That young lady was staring at you so hard.” Se se ita “But it doesn’t matter,” he replied. “I must be going.” “Where will you stay in town?’ “At the ‘Charing Cross.’ I went to Scarborough, having had information to the effect that one of two young ladies who were there together an- swered to the description of my wife, but except the general style and color of hair there was hardly a trace of likeness to Elsie. I went down full of hope, and the subsequent disappoint- ment upset me. I am half-inclined to abandon the search altogether.” “Don’t do that, Claude. Elsie may be longing to come back, but is afraid.” “Afraid of me?’ he asked, in sur- prise. “That cannot be, because she knows that I love her—or she ought to know, if she does not—she will when Iam dead!” “Don’t talk so lightly of death, Claude—you should not lose heart yet; you have many happy years before you, I hope, for you must find her in time.” “In time—yes; but you don’t know the weariness of waiting, Judith.” Judith did not answer. She did not know the weariness of waiting! Was it as bitter as lasting disappointment? she wondered, for waiting is hedged about by hope, while disappointment, brought well home, cannot be. “Well, I must go, Judy, dear,” he said again, and rose. “Thank you so much for your affectionate solicitude! If ever Elsie comes back to me, I shall tell her how often you revived my fading hopes.” Judith would have made some cheer- ful rejoinder, but as Claude moved she had a full view of a glass door immedi- ately in front of her. He was tanding so that his profile only was toward it, but Judith faced it, and, to her aston- ishment, the mask in the yellow-and- white brocade stood gazing so intently at Claude Townshend that she seemed oblivious of everything else. Judith was exceedingly astonished at the lady’s curiosity regarding Claude; and as he then turned sud- denly to see why Judith lingered, the watcher started, disarranging her | mask so completely as to disclose the | frightened face of Elsie. It was so sudden and unexpected that Judith was thunderstruck. But, | with a sudden realization of the need | for prompt action, she made a violent | effort to. command herself and took | Claude’s arm. “My dear girl, what is the matter?” | he inquired, putting his right hand | over hers with affectionate regard. “You were staring as if you had seen a ghost!” “Elsie is here, Claude!” He started violently, clutching her} arm painfully. “Elsie here! Do you know what you are saying?” i “Yes; calm yourself. Let me take} your arm, and we will walk out, as if nothing had happened. I saw her face | only for an instant, but I am making | no mistake. She is wearing powder | and a yellow-and-white gown, with} yellow roses in her hair, She was) looking at you; but I think—I hope— | she does not know that I saw her. She | is in that little room. Let us wait un-| til-she comes out. Do not make a scene, Claude!” There was need for this exhortation, for he was trembling and breathing in such a labored fashion that she al- most feared he would faint. Just as they passed into the hall they saw the girl in the yellow gown disappear round a bend in the staircase. “She is going for her wrap before leaving. We must follow, Claude—or would you rather go alone?” “Yes—yes!”? he said, brokenly. “I will go outside and wait for her—she | shall not escape me this time!” She watched him walk unsteadily to | the door, and he passed out into the} night, while Judith drew back into the | dimly-lighted little room to watch for Elsie. Shortly after a masked yellow domino came stealing down the stair- | ease, and, passing by Judith in her hiding place, swept through the hall out into the street. Judith stood with bent head, her hands clasped over her throbbing heart. How was Claude progzessing? Had ‘he spoken to Elsie? Was she happy and. glad? Judith hoped so. The strain of thought grew too much for her, and, hardly knowing what she did, she emerged from the little room. At that moment there was a single knock at the door, which one of the men-servants opened. “The military gent what left here just now ran after the lady’s carriage, and_I think the coachman struck him. Anyway, he fell down, and is a-lying in the road now; you can see him from here,” the link-boy told the foot- man. Judith, regardless of appearances, dashed past the astonished man and ran to the spot where lay the prostrate form of Claude. A policeman came up, and one or two idlers, who stared wonderingly at the good-looking girl in her fanciful dress. In a few words Judith explained to A 121, that he was her brother-in-law, adding that he had, no doubt, fainted, and that if he—the policeman—would call a cab she would see him home. But, some brandy hav- ing been procured, Claude revived suf-! ficiently to enable him to rise to his feet and get into the cab, although, ap- parently, too dazed to speak or to rec- | ognize Judith. The girl ordered the man to drive to the Sycamores, determining to disre- gard Grace’s whim and to remember that the house was Percy’s. She felt sure that Mr. Fletcher would welcome Claude, and that he would not have gone to rest, although it was nearly 1 o'clock. Indeed, he answered the door, explaining, in his good-natured way, | that he had let the servants go to bed. He heard with surprise that Claude was in the cab ill, and went down and helped him into the house and on to the dining room couch. By this time Mr. Townshend had partially recov- ered. He did not speak, however, for a minute, but suddenly he sat up and excitedly addressed Judith: “You were mistaken, you see. “would a woman, loving a man, order her coachman to strike him down?” “Claude!” < “Yes,” he said, looking at Judith’s horrified face, but taking no notice of Percy, who was watching them per- plexedly—“I stood in the portico wait-| ing for her, although when I saw her I could not speak. She got into a brou- gham that was waiting, and I man- aged to get to the door and whisper her name. Elsie took no notice of me, and the man drove off. I ran beside the carriage, calling to him to stop, and then she—the woman who you say | ee ee ei Mahala: loves me—called out to him, and he struck me three or four times with the. butt-end of his whip. Look here!” He showed her large weals on the back of his head and, turning his head, pointed to the mark of a blow extend- ing from his neck to the top of his ear. “Of whom are you speaking?” Percy asked. “Not of Elsie, surely?” “Yes she was at the ball. I recog- nived—or thought I recognized her— and pointed her out to Claude. I may have been wrong.” “You were not! Claude exclaimed, fiercely. “Do you think I did not re- cognize her voice?” “Come along up to bed, old chap; you want a good night’s rest,” said Mr. Fletcher, soothingly. “Forget all about Elsie until morning, and then we will talk it over.” . “Look here, Fletcher’—and Claude's eyes gleamed in his set, white face— “I have left no stone unturned to find her; but, if I knew now that, by cross- ing the street we could be reconciled, I would not move one step. Let her go!” “Quite right—I commend you! But let’s go up stairs now; I’m awfully tired. Good-night, Judy!’—and, with an expressive glance at her, Percy put his arm within Claude’s and led him from the room. Twenty minutes later, when Judith was sitting absorbed in perplexed thought, Percy came stealing down stairs again. “This is a bad business, Jud. he said, gravely. “He’s in for a relapse. He insisted upon my leaving him, but he is so excited and feverish that be- fore long he will be raving in delirium, or I am no judge. I shall sit in the dressing-room, so as to be near him. Do you think that G e knew that Elsie would be there? We had cards for four, but I gave mine to Towns- hend to-night.” Judith briefly told Perey all that had happened. “Well, it’s a most disgraceful piece of business from beginning to end,” he said, yexedly. “Your people married ; Elsie to him, and they ought to have taken care to teach her her duty, if she didn’t know it but she’s not a sixteen-year-old child. Between you and me, I think it’s a scandal to lay traps to catch a man for his money, and then treat him like this, As for Grace, I'll have it out with her, and, if she knows where your sister is, know, too, and between us, we will iry to bring this young woman to her senses. Now you go to bed—you must be tired—it’s a shame that your even- ing should have been spoiled.” Nor am I tired. I shall change my dress and sit up for Grace; but, meanwhile, can we do nothing to re- lieve Claude?” “No; it is best not to irritate him. I | shall make some excuse for going into | his room again, and, if he is asleep or | | worse, I shall run up to the top of the road for the doctor.” * * * * * * * It was a quarter to five when Mrs. Fletcher, looking dusty and tired, re- | turned home. As she got out of the brougham a gentleman emerged from | the house and waiked away up the road. She stared at him wonderingly, and was still more astonished on e tering the hall, to find Judith there in her ordinary morning gown. that, Judith?” she asked, rather curtly. “Doctor Connolly.” “Doctor Connolly? Baby—Percy!” “Neither—don't be Claude.” “Claude here? Well, I declare!” “Hush, Gracie; he is very ill, indeed. I braved your displeasure and brought him here, for he is in need of care, and if you will come into the dining-room IL will explain the matter to you. have a cup of coffee first—I have been making some,” Judith said, quietl, Good heavens! alarmed. It is and a few minutes afterwards she was | proceeding with the recital. “Well, I declare!” Grace ejaculated; | ¥ “if it were not so serious I should laugh! I suppose I must confess the truth now. I did see Elsie at the hair- dresse! and, as she would not come here or let me go to see her, we ar- ranged to meet there again. Your sus- picions prevented that, so, knowing it would be a safe disguise, I wrote and told her to hire a dress and meet me at the Mainwarings’, where she would be able to remain safely until supper- time. I knew you would never dream of our being so daring. But do you really mean to say she made the coach- man strike Claude?” “Yes. Of course you will give me her address now, Gracie, or go your- self and fetch her here? She must come to him! You will not mind that??” “I mind?0f course not; for it is time they were reconciled. I can’t have my friends treated to such a scandal, and it’s sure to leak out if he‘s ill here without her. But it is of no use your going to her, Judy, for”— laughing—“she is quite jealous of you, and will be furious now, if she was ‘ watching you all the time you and) Claude were together at the Mainwar- ings’.” “Grace, if you have no feeling for me, you might have a little respect,” Judith said, coldly. “Elsie told you herself before her marriage that she had no reason to be jealous of me; she must, therefore, have less reason now.” “Well, you can’t deny that he paid you a lot of attention before he saw Elsie; so that it is very bad form for you to be so much together now; it is no wonder Elsie is jealous!” “If you persist in that, and she tries to make you believe it, I shall be obliged to think that you are making me the scapegoat for her fault. You both know that she has wronged Claude—you may as well confess it. I am not ashamed of my sympathy for him, ror do I fear to tell Elsie how wrong she has been. Give me her ad- dress, please!” ON she gave it to me on strict condition that I would give it to no one. I tell you she is afraid of her husband.” “She has no need to be. Even if he had not treated her well in the first in- stance, he has proved, by his untiring efforts to find her, that he loves her and yis generously forgiving. Once again, Gracie, I ask you for the ad- dress.” “T refuse it, Judith. I will write and tell her all you say.” “And if Claude dies meanwhile?” “Ts he so ill as that?’ Mrs. Fleteher asked, nervously. “He is so bad that Doctor Connolly Vil} ot at all; I don’t mind that in the | ¥ But | is worn out physically ang mentally, and Elsie ought to be here. “Well,” said, Mrs. Fletcher, afr “4 edly, “I can’t b my promise to =; bat { can’t help it if you pick my pock- et.” 5 - Judith needed no better hint, anc, walking across the room, she abstract ed from the pocket of her sister’ gown a scrap of paper which was pel- Museum Street.” While she was making a mental pote of the address, Ms. Fletcher spoke again: “It is quite as well that you are 30 anxious for Claude's welfare, Judith, for, really, E don’t see how Elsiggis to live apart from him any longer, less he makes her an’ allowance. She bas spent all her money and pawned near- ly all of her jewels, while, to crown all, if she lives until next Mareh, there will be a small Townshend to provide for. Now I’m off to bed.” And, with a highly-amused smile at the varied expressions that flitted across Judith’s face, she rose and quitted the room. 2 * * * * * € It was only 8 o'clock when Judith knocked at the door of No. 80 Museum street, and, having asked for Mrs. Cecil, was informed that the lady not yet up, but that they were just ing to take her a cup of tea. “Is she alone?’ asked Judith, wish- ing to avoid Mrs. Barclay. “Yes, miss; the other lady left last evening to go and meet her hus’ who is coming home from abroa “Well, I am Mrs. Ce si does not expect me, and to surprise her. Let me take the tea up, will 1 Baad “Certainly, maid, smiling; the tea, she gave it to Judith room was the firs With fast-throbbi went slowly up sta door and entered. before a looking glass. | powder out of her long ; “Put the tea down, K: ; She said, without turning; dith shut the door before obe, she looked round. “Judith!” sht exclaimed, as the I brush clattered to the ground. Yo did uot want to see you! Surely you | have not brought—Claude?” | “No; Lam | I unweleom ing up Elsi ands and pr¢ them tenderly ed to loy | once, Elsie. What have I done to for- feit your lov Won't you alter what Won't you kiss me, Look s Judith ed at the puls ie? re glad to see me? y Elsie turned her fair face; eyes met the soft, ister, she burst into lung her arms a flood of tears tightly abow “Oh, Jud IT am gi happy | Judith smoothed the fair head. | | cry for a little while he fetched the tea and k it, which the better, her after dried tears .’ she said, impulsive! yet, last night, when you pa closely that I could have touched I felt that I never wanted to see speak to you again. “Why was that? termined to have a thorough explana- tion, “Becarse— Mrs. Barclay told me sure you loved Claude, and that y were glad we were separated.” “What caused you to believe her?” “Well, Judy, he did like you; and he ‘said once that if I had only your sense |I would be a perfect woman. And then last night when you were togeth- er, he seemed so content. I watched for several minutes.” “And if you could have listened. you would have discovered that all our talk was of you. Had you sensibly ‘made yourself known, he would have welcomed you with such delight that you could not have failed to feel as- sured of his great love. Instead you rebuffed him, and went so far as to tell the coachman to—” “No, Judy—no! I wanted the man te | drive faster. He did not understand me; and, thinking that Claude was au noying me, he used his whip.” Judith then told her of her husband’s illness; and at last Elsie consented to return to him, to endeavor to nurse | him to health, and then try to atone | for the wrong she had done him. ‘ause I wa that she CHAPTER VUE | While Judith was helping Elsie te | dress, the servant brought up a lett “Open it, Judy; it it from Mrs. Bar- | clay,” Elsie said. | And so it proved to: be. “My Dear Elsie—On my returm home, | while you were out this evening, I j found a telegram.My husband will be | at Liverpool to-morrow, and I have, of | course, to meet him. Just eaught the | night-mail—am writing as we ty through space. It is not very probable that I shall return to London. I im tended to have left you £2 for my share of the expenses at Museum street, but forgot it; will send P. O. te-morrow. Now you must let me give you a little sound advice. Hitherto you have scorned it; but you must heed it mow | that I can no longer remain with you for protection. Pray, pray return te your husband; you have not treated him well, and there cam be no doubt that he loves you, and will’ welcome | you with open arms. If you do not owe this duty to him, think of your un- ) born child. You have no right te de- prive it of its father. This is t heartfelt advice of one who is a lpvi and obedient wife, and one who you. “Your ever loving friend. FE. B.” Elsie burst into hysterical tears. “Judy!” she cried, pitifully, “I should have returned the Claude the very first | day but for her! When I left the hotel { meant to have gone to Graeie; but, remembering that Claude weuld look for me there, I went to Mrs. Barclay, who has spent the money I had, be- sides making away with my wg (To Be Continued.) A Surprise to Her. He—I have had but idea } We met, a few short weeks ago. She—I must give you credit for te ciled in Blsie’s hand—"Mrs. Cecil, 59 } L \ s ’ wa