Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, December 18, 1897, Page 6

1 CHAPTER VIII—(Continued) “You promised me just now to re- ‘member that your husband loyes you, When he is better, tell him every- thing, unreservedly: As to Mrs. Barclay, forget her. you. I don’t suppose you will ever see her again.” That was so; but her evil influence over El: ‘Townshend was to do far more harm that Judith dreamed of. But not yet would her friends under- stand the hardness that was to be no- ticed now at times in eye and tone; not yet would they realise that what had once been innocent coquetry was now a bold demand upon men’s admir- ation, nor that her girlish wilfullness had become callous determination to have her own way, no matter what the cost might be to others. At present Judith saw that Elsie ap- ad pa nd rather thin, that she ritable. Judith was not surprised at seeing that her ex- periences of the last thre months had not been exactly pleasant, however ex- citing, and that she had the ordeal of meeting and seeking reconciliation with her husband still to go through, besides the new anxiety of his illness; then she was not in the best of health herself, s dith was infinitely gentle and tenderly loving to her, taking care of her in a way that Elsie vastly ap- pre ted. Going along in a cab to the Syca- mores Elsie related how it was that she came to be in Oxford street on the , she met Gracie at the hairdress- We had only come up from Ryde the day before, because we had so lit- tle money left,” she explained. ‘Mrs, Zarclay v ng, so I went out by n x. We had bathed in the morning before leaving Ryde, and you know how unpleasant one’s s after that. Well, I thought I in and have it shampooed, and while there Gracie was shown in. After she had given me a talking-to, she begged me to go home with her and let her send for Claude. However, > arranged to meet there, and talk it n the following week; and I s dd to get her ng fresh plans, because you ound us out.” m not so clever as you think, Judith returned, laughing; until your mask fell off, I never dreamed how near you were to me last evenin: as fun!” said Elsie, brightening you know, I even waltzed and he did test notion Do once with Captain Herber not appe that it v re you sure?” asked Judith, look- y siniling face and asking her- , in amazement how it was that the thought of her fickle former ad- mirer had more power to move Elsie than anything she was told of her hus- band, who loved her so fondly. “Oh, quite—for he seemed to enjoy dancing with me, and asked me my name, that he might be able to distin- guish me from the other powdered la- dies in the room. Remembering that T had to run away before supper I told him to put me down as Cinderella. One would have thought,” she added, in sudden, smileless pique, “that he would have remembered my voice. Do you think you would have recognized it if I had spoken to you? I thought you had once, you stared so at me; as you passed.” r to have the s Bd Ss because I thought you a1 $s Herbert. As to your voice, I am sure I should recognize it any- where. I was not sufficiently familiar with Miss Herbert to seek to identify her in that way, or there is no doubt I should have found you out. Elsie next asked questions about the family at home; and, to keep her thoughts from other things, Judith tmaneged to spin out her answers until they had nearly arrived at the Syca- mores. Papa was resting on his lau- tels at present. Mamma was, as usu- al, neither quite well nor ill. And Ju- dith said nothing of how inveterate Mrs. Hatfield was against Claude, hay- ing no'doubt that, soon as she knew Elsie was reconciled to him, and what prospect there was of their being hap- py together, provided he recovered, her mother would forget she had ever dis- trusted him. Then Judith went on to say that John was rather stronger than usual, and seemed to have ac- quired a new interest in life, owing to the unexpected acceptance of a num- ber of sketches that he had sent to a comic paper on the spur of the mo- I ment. ucy was bothering them all to be allo 1 to leave school, but her pa- rents would not agree to it. Frank was still pursuing his studies, like the good boy he was; and Bertie was a trouble to them all, always ing at having to sit in an office ter day, and never content with yunt Mr. Hatfield allowed him to supplement his meager salary, which be always contrived to spend in ad- wance. Lately, too, he had engaged himself to a girl the Hatflelds were not on visiting terms with, and had threatened to emigrate if his father did not start him on his matrimonial venture. “And he not twenty-one!” scornfully and unsympathetically observed Elsie, “I should let him emigrate! How is Mrs. Gardiner? Not y sweetly-in- clined towards me, of course! but I don’t mind that. If Claude doesn’t re- sent my conduct, no one else has any right todo so. Oh, dear!” The mention of her husband's name 0 discomposed Elsie ain that Ju- dith us glad they were at their journey’s end. Although Grace was watching for the arrival of her sisters, she allowed a servant to usher them into the morning room. “How is—he?’ faltered Blsie, Jook- ing very white and troubled, as Mrs. Fletcher entered. “Rather better,” replied Grace, cheerfully. “He is not conscious, but she is quiet. Elsie, you had better have he will forgive a glass of wine before you go up- stairs.” Judith led the way up-stairs to the room where Claude lay with half- closed eyes, under the care of a well- trained nurse. Elsie approached the bedside timidly, but, having looked at his worn face long and wistfully, she bent and kissed his cheek. “T will stand by him,” she whis- pered. “I should like him to wake and find me here.” But Claude did not recover con- sciousness until a late hour that night. After staring wonderingly at Elsie’s anxious face, he said, quietly: “Am I ill, Elsie? I feel very weak.” “You have been ill; but you are go- ing to get better quickly.” “I thought I must have been,” he re- marked, with a weak smile; “for 1 seem to have had such horrible dreams!” One of Elsie’s hands was clasped round Claude’s; he moved his head and kissed it, and, looking into her face again, murmured: “J dreamed that you and I were parted, Elsie! Oh, it was a relief to find I had only been dreaming! Kiss me, my darling!” * * * * * * “Why did you run away so early on Tuesday? You can’t think how dis- appointed I was when I could not find you for the supper dance.” : Thus Captain Herbert to Judith two days later. They were alone in the drawing room at the Sycamores, Ju- dith having just come down from the nursery to see Captain Herbert, who had asked for her, after calling three times and asking in vain for Mrs. Fletcher. “J ran away because I was wanted * she answered, lightly, “and I w anxious. You know that my sis- ter Elsie and her husband are here and that he is ill.” “No,” he answered, neither sur- d or confused at the mention of to hear Mr, Townshend is ill. Nothing serious, I hope?” __ “No, happily,” replied Judith—“he is recovering rapidly, and hopes, in a few days to be well enough to go to Northwold. G and Percy started for Paris this morning.” i ke “Keeping to their original intention, then? And you—will you be alone} here all the time they are awa, “Yes—except when Mrs. Main and her daughters or the Misse: ville come to see me.” “Or Miss Herbert and her brother,” he added. “I may call sometimes, may I not?” “T shall be very pleased to see you,” politely answered Judith, not expect- ing to be troubled with him. “Thank you,” he said, earnestly, add- ing, with a delicate thoughtfulness for her unchaperoned condition that struck her: “hen, as my sister wish- es to improve her acuaintance with you, I shall join her when she comes.” Captain Herbert then turned the con- yersation back to incidents of the ball, and Judith skilfully managed to find out, without in any way betraying her intent, that he had not been aware of Elsie’s identity. He had remarked that Mrs. Fletcher had been pro- nounced one of the successes of the evening, when Judith asked him, care- lessly if he had danced with either of the ladies who wore powder. “Yes—with two of them. One wore a yellow gown; she called herself Cin- derella, and disappeared from the scene as early as her prototype, and ] The other was my Colo- My sister declares she will never wear powder again; it is such 4 trouble to get it out of the hair.” “J should imagine it would be,” said Judith, thinking that, if he had recog- nized Elsie at the ball, he would be- tray his surprise at her ignorance on the subject. But he evinced no consciousness at all; neither did he seem to be waiting in the hope of seeing Elsie. “My mother is in Scotland just now, Miss Hatfield,” he said, when he rose to depart; “but on her return she will call upon you. Meanwhile, you will join my sister and me when we go to the theater sometimes? We cannot al- low you to be dull while Fletcher and his wife are away.” “You are very kind, and I should like it very much,” said Judith, frank- ly, “but I must think about it. We did not discuss the possibility of my going out of an evening in Grace’s ab- sence, consequently I don’t know whether I ought. You see, I have the servants, as well as the house and the babies under my charge, and they are the greatest responsibility.” “Well, you must talk it over with Margery,” he said. An hour later, when Judith was sit- ting alone reading, Elsie came softly down stairs, and, sinking down upcn a chair, burst into tears. In an in- stant Judith was at her side. Hlsie sobbed bitterly for a while, but pres- ently was able to speak, “Claude knows now,” she whisper- ed. her fair, flushed cheeks close close against Judith’s. “He had been awake for quite an hour, when all at once he said: ‘Elsie, did you come back to me of your own accord, or did some one find you? I was so upset and frightened, Judith, that—that—I told a fib, Forgive me, Judy—don’t look so grave; I really could not help it! I replied, ‘Of my own accord.’ I know it was wrong, but it seemed to make him so happy! Well, I began to tell him why I stayed so long with Mrs. Barclay, but he would not listen, ‘1 don't want to hear,’ he said; ‘I know Hig baye not done anything wrong— t the past be buried between us. But you must answer me one thing, Elsie—what brought you back to me? Was it love?’ ‘Love and—for our little one’s sake, JI answered, You should haye seep his face, Judy! I now know that he dearly loves me.” Elsie cried again; then she looked at pee graye face and put her lips to ng s name—“I did not know it; I am} you?’ she asked. “You know [ shall not, Elsie. But 1; fear that by accident he might one day learn the truth; and.then he will, perhaps, be pained to think you had deceived him in such a moment.” “You may be right,” Elsie remarked, smiling consciously; “but I faney he would forgive me anything now—at any rate, I can always say that IL should have told the truth if he had not been ill! Besides, who is to unde- ceive him? Up to the present time you have only told them at home that he is ill, and that I am with him. You can easily say that the state of my health induced me to return, and that I sur- prised you all by my coming. Of eourse, Grace and Percy know the truth; but Grace would do anything | for me, and Percy would do anything tor her; so I am safe.” “I hope so,” said Judith, fervently. “Of course, I did not do anything wrong, only something silly,” Elsie said, musingly. ‘But I think Claude is very forgiving and generous; I don’t think I quite understood him before.” “I don’t think you quite understand him now,” said Judith, with a smile. “You should make a study of him, Tlsie.” Elsie thought she would; rose to go up-Stairs again. “Claude sent his love to you, Judy. Are you not dull down here by your- self? Why don’t you come up and sit with us for an hour?” “No, thank you!” said Judy, laugh- ing. “I have no wish to prevent or to overhear your tender nothings; and I shall not be dull. Up to the present, I have had no chance—been with the children all the afternoon, and Cap- tain Herbert was here for half an hour.” “Captain Herbert?’—smiling, paus- ing to look back on her way to the door. “What did he want? Did he ask for me?” “Yes; and he desired me to give his kind regards. But he called to inquire how Grace and I had borne the fa- tigue of the ball.” “Oh!’—eagerly. “And do you think he knew I was there, too?” “Tam sure he did not. And we must not let him know now, because, with- out telling the actual fib, I led him to understand that you returned to Eng- land only on Tuesday.” “I see. I wish you had sent up for me; I should have liked to see him again. Don’t you think he is very handsome, Judy?’—looking keenly at her sister. “Not handsome—he is too effeminate; but he is very good-looking, of course.” “Oh, Grace made me laugh yester- day! She said that Percy thinks he is ‘gone’ on you. You never told me so.” “T should not be likely to repeat any- thing so foolish, especially as it is not any compliment. Captain is a natural and experienced flirt. He would try to make Lucy believe he was ‘gone’ on her if she came here to-morrow.” Elsie colored and laughed lightly. “Perhaps you are right. At any rate, it is hardly likely, is it, that within ten months of being my lover he should try to become yours? We are so utterly unlike; besides, I think he has to marry for money.” “He will when he gets the chance, I dare say,” said Judith, lightly. And the subject dropped; but one sad day, not very long afterwards, they both remembered this conversa- tion. Within a week Claude was suffi- ciently recovered to be able to take his wife to Northwold, where they in- tended to remain for some time. “Elsie must make the acquaintance of my friends and neighbors there,” he explained to Judith; “and, if we run away too soon they will not like it—as it is, they will think we have had far too lengthy a honeymoon. Five months! Think of it!’—and he glanced laughingly and lovingly at Elsie, who returned his gaze with equal affection. As Judith bade them “Good-bye,” promising to visit them soon, she hoped that an era of true happiness had dawned for both which would know no break. For the following three weeks she spent quite a happy time. Margery Herbert called, and proved to be a frank, kindly-natured girl. She was sometimes accompanied by her broth- er. His attentions had become most pronounced, although Judith had not the slightest idea that he really cared for her ,and was only enlightened the day before her return home to Clax- ton, after Grace and her husband had come back. One evening, when Percy was din- ing out, and Grace and Judith were amusing themselves in ‘the drawing- rcom with little Gracie, Captain Her- bert was announced. “You will forgive me for calling at so late an hour, won’t you?” he said to Grace. “Your husband told me that Miss Hatfield would be returning home to-morrow, so I thought I should like to come and say ‘Good-bye.’ ” And, turning to Judith, he continued, “‘Mar- gery will be disappointed; she thought you were going to stay until Monday, so she went down to Sutton, where she will remain the night. But why is your visit shortened?” “Mamma has caught a severe cold, I believe.” “We don’t mind telling you,” said Grace, laughing, “that we believe it is a ruse to get Judith home.” “Why go, then?’ he exclaimed, ea- gerly. “Can't you think of a good ex- cuse to pacify her?’ Judith shook her head; and Grace continued laughingly—she had a trick sometimes of turning the most im- portant things into jest— “Don’t suggest anything so danger- ous; you don’t know what awful ca- tastrophe you might be assisting at! To comprehend Judith’s anxiety, you ought to see papa’s letter, giving par- ticulars of mamma’s illness and his own piteous frame of mind. You look astonished. Know, then, that papa is writing a new book, and, for the first time in his life, it will contain a mur- der; and, as papa pays the most con- scientious attention to detail—as you will allow if you read his noyels—it is absolutely necessary that he should have perfect peace and quietness, an utter impossibility in mamma's pres- ent state of health while Judith is ab- sent. Mark, ‘while Judith is absent? She will be well, V’ll guarantee, as soon as Judith is in sight, with her hat off and her trunks unpacked. Don’t you see now that you must not inter- fere to prevent the successful issue of A Deed of Blood?” ; Captain Herbert laughed at her fun; but when, after a little desultory chat and a thoughtful stare at his face as he looked at Judith, Mrs. Fletcher, then she with elaborate carelessness, picked up her daughter and quitted the room on the. pretext of seeing her safely in the nurse’s care, his manner changed. Rising from his seat opposite to Ju- dith, he sat down close to the small easy-chair she occupied, and, leaning forward, he said: “Ever since Fletcher told me you were going home, I have been asking myself what I should do when you have left.” “Do as you did before you knew me,” Judith retorted; but she could not help the color coming into her dark cheeks at the expression in his eyes. “That would be impossible,” he re- plied, slowly. “I was content with an aimless life before I knew you—I shall not be satisfied with that any longer. When am I to see you again, Judith?’ “Don’t be sentimental!” she ex- claimed. “I shall laugh presently, for we both know that we shall go on liv- ing after to-morrow exactly as we lived before we knew each other.” “You will laugh?’ he queried, amaz- edly. “Yes—how can I help it? I am not accustomed to being talked to in this fashion by gentlemen.” “T am glad to hear it,” he remarked, with a contented smile; “for, though I am not jealous of anything of that sort, I should not like my wife to have been made love to by other men. There—I have said it, Judith! Will you marry me?” Incredulous Judith stared back into his fair face and smiling blue eyes. Perhaps he read what his answer would be as the wonder in hers changed to something that was very much like scorn, for, with a sudden movement, as she endeavored to rise, he leaned one against one arm of her chair, put his other arm across and clutched the other, thus keeping her a prisoner. “No—not yet!” he said, in a low, firm tone. “I asked you a question, Judith —is it not worth a reply?” “I don’t believe in you,’ she re- turned; “you are so used to—to—mak- ing—” i “Go on,” he said, encouragingly. “I have not made love to you, but I have asked you to marry me. Don’t you be- lieve in me because I have not talked of my affection? I have known you only five weeks, but I love you dearly.” Judith looked at him blankly, for she did not know what answer to give him. Once more she tried to rise, but desisted when he said to her, with a smile of enjoyment at her fruitless at- tempt: “Why are you so silent, Judith? I have told you that I love you, and that I want you for my wife.Is not that suf- ficient? Shall I kiss you?’ He inclined his head, but, when withing a few inches of her lips, he was checked by a look of cold con- tempt, defiance, scorn and hate on her face. He gazed on her in speechless won- der for a moment, then slowly removed his hand from the arm of the chair, rose from his own and moved away a few paces, where he stood with avert- ed face and drooping head. Immediately she was free, a revul- sion of feeling set in. She knew that, no matter what he was, he had hon- ored her as far as he could do, and that she owed him some expression of regret for her inability to make him any return, and an apology for doubt- ing him. Moving forward, she said what she felt in a few well-chosen words. He turned and looked at her, with a mocking, sinister expression that en- tirely altered the character of his fair face and aged him many years. “Don’t say you are sorry, Miss Hat- field,’ he remarked. “If you could feel for me as much as the word should convey, you would not have treated me as you have done. I suppose the truth of it is there is some one else, and that you have just been amusing yourself with me.’ “You don’t suppose anything of that sort, Captain Herbert!” He answered her only by a long, steady look, which she returned un- flinchingly; then he said, with ‘a cold smile: “Judith, I wonder which of us will the. more regret your decision to- night?” : “Perhaps we both shall,” she replied; “but I hope—I think you will not.” “Ah! Well, I give you fair warning that if I can ever make you repent it, I will!’—and, without a word more, he quitted the house. With a sensation of mingled rage, humiliation and regret, he walked home and shut himself into the libra- ry to think over his defeat. There was no one to disturb him, his mother and youngest sister being in Scotland. his sister Margery at Sutton, and his fath- er at his club, where whist would de- tain him until past midnight. He was, therefore, able to indulge in perverse thoughts in peace. Few people really knew Captain Herbert. Even Judith had been de- ceived by his fair face and carefully- schooled eyes, so that to her he was little more than he appeared to be to the rest of his female acquaintances— a good-looking, agreeable young man, who was fond of their society, fickle in his tastes, not to be relied upon as a marrying man. His male friends and acquaintances liked Herbert without seeking to become very intimate with him, for his carefulness and closeness in money matters were as proverbial as was his closeness over his personal affairs, characteristics that were not likely to render him popular. , With the exception of his father, his family stood somewhat in awe of him, scarcely knowing what he was, except rather selfish and very uncertain in temper. Perhaps his men could best have testified to his true character, for to them he was suspicious and harsh and strict to cruelty. Many times had the regimental doctors authority saved a sich man from the Captain’s “discipline,” so that he was not a fa- vorite in his regiment. Reckoning him up sometimes when they had had a little difference of opin- ion, his father wondered where he got oUie-rh. cmfw fw ywy fwmmmmm his “unpleasant traits” from, and con- cluded that the little checks he had met with in life had eonduced to de- velop the worst side of his character. Until he was twenty Captain Her- bert had been looked upon as his un- cle’s heir; but before he had attained his twenty-first year, his uncle—a child- less widower and a wealthy landed proprietor in Wales—had married again, and now there were five healthy little lives between him and the inher- itance. Then there were certain expensive leasures— ting, coaching, racing, ee ani ute position entitled him to enjoy, but which his poverty de- barred’ him from. And Captain Her- bert was a dear lover of pleasure, his bitterness at the privation being secret- ly increased by the knowledge that his poverty was chiefly owing to his own carelessness and contempt. His god- mother—his mother’s aunt—had taken a great fancy to him in babyhood; and, as she was unmarried and had over eight hundred a year to do as she liked with, it was rather a good thing for him. She gave him many a handsome tip, both in youth and manhood, until one day, in a cross humor, he termed her “an old cat,” an expression that some | kind friend thought fit to repeat to her. He had the note by heart that she sent | him in reply: “Nephew and Godson: Did the old | cat ever scratch or spit at you? Has she not, rather, purred too contentedly | at your caresses? She thinks so; and, ! as old cats are not to be trusted and | are quite capable of remembering an injury—as you may find to your cost— | she advises you not to approach her again. —Elfrida Laramy. And she had refused to see or com- municate with him since, though he had apoligised in a tactless way by | s informing her that he meant no d) spect to her, as he always termed dies over fifty “old and meant no harm by it. In addition to this trial, two heiress- es had been brought under his ken, whom, in spite of their willingness, he | had been unable to bring to the belief | that, pleasant as he was to flirt with, he would be pleasanter to marry. He had been smarting with pique under the second disappointment when he first met Judith Hatfield, and, strangely enough, fell really in love’) for the first time in his life. He had | never loved Elsie, Gracie’s assertion that he turned pale at the news of her | marriage being a little stretch of the | imagination. Having heard many lit- | tle remarks Grace had dropped, he comprehended Judith’s loveless condi tion and the fashion in which she was regarded at home; and her rejection was the more galling that he had been confident in the belief that he had only in his lordly pleasure to ask to have. “T’d give something to know why she refused me,” he muttered, smiting the arm of his chair. “Is it credible that | a girl of her age, never having loved before or had the chance to marry, should refuse me? She told me there $ no one and looked me but I don’t be- I wish I knew!” gleamed with malice. “Is it possible that if I had given her more time, her answer would have been different? y leave is not quite | up yet. Suppose I go to Claxton for a few days, and show her that I love her too well to despai But suddenly her dark face, with the scorn upon it as he bent to kiss her, rose before hin “For six weeks she has smiled into my face and encouraged my attentions —only to look at me at last with hate in her eyes. Ah!” he exclaimed, “E will repay her a thousandfold if I ever get the chance! Meanwhile, Judith was trying t herself of the unpleasant impr he had left upon her mind; but, when Grace returned to the room, two min- | utes after his departure, she found | her sister apparently absorbed in 2| | book. “Anne told me Captain Herbert had | | gone, Judith,” she said, looking rowly at her. “I was surprised! didn’t you ask him to stay? have had some music.” “Never thought of it,’ replied Ju- Why | dith. “They make the heroine of this | | | | | | | | | \ | j We could book absurdly sentimental, don’t you think, Grace?” “Judith, you are only fencing with | me! Captain Herbert has proposed to you; I saw it in his e) Judith burst into such a ringing | laugh that the eager light died out of Grace's face. “He has not? What a shame!” she said, disappointedly. “I am so sorry, | Judith; I had quite made up my mind to it! And you don’t care? What a horrid flirt you must be getting!” “Yes—I feel quite blasee!” said Ju- dith, still smiling. “But go and play | something, Gracie! I don’t see why we should be done out of our music because Captain Herbert has taken his departure.” And, putting away from her the womanly temptation to tri- umph over ‘her sister and tell the truth, Judith dismissed the subject. That evening Grace told her hus- band, adding: “I watched her afterwards, and she looked so disturbed that I am con- .vineed he had proposed, only she would not confess it. On the following day it was general- ly known that Captain Herbert had gove back to his quarters at Ports- motth without wishing any one ‘“‘good- bye.” * * * * Mr. Hatfield met Judith with a hired ly. “IT am so thankful that you have eome, my darling!” he said, nervously. “Your mother seems to have felt her- self quite neglected during your long absence. The servants never satisfy her, you know, and—and I get so up- set at being disturbed when I an» im my study that I don’t satisfy her, eith- er. As to John—poor John!—they have _not spoken to each other for weeks, for your mother seems to be under the impression that the servants give him more than his share of attention. Such an error, you know, for there is noth. ing John hates so much as to be molly: eoddled, especially by servants! How- ever, you will set all to rights.” “Yes—I’ll set all to rights,” assented Judith, stifling a sigh. “How goes A Deed of Blood, father?” He threw up his hands despairingly. “I have not written a line, my dear, since I wrote to you. Just as I was forming the conspiracy, too! But the divinest inspiration would be put to flight at the sound of your mother’s hand-bell, Judy.” Judith smiled, thinking of John’s sheep on the downs, and the one that was bleating. And, fortunately, she was smiling, when she entered her mother’s presence. Mrs. Hatfield, looking very delicate and exhausted, was, as usual, lying on a couch near the fire. % “Well, Judith, she said, wearily, pre- senting her thin cheek for a kiss, and just touching her daughters gloved fingers, “home at last! I really hard- ly expected you! You seem to have become quite oblivious to the rightful elaims of your family upon you! Eyv- erything is at sixes and sevens, and I | sweetly “You won't betray me, Judy, will} “why, of course I am not!” said Ju- dith, brightly, adding, with: spice of 4 fun, “But ges I had eloped w' I was awa, Mrs. Hattield coughed. “It takes twe to make an elope ment,” she retorted, significantly, with caustic quietude; so Judith thought - she had better not say any more. Remarking that she would just rua up and remove her hat, Judith went up-stairs; but she went into John’s room instead of going to her own. He was sitting by the fire with a book, and at the first glance she saw that, notwithstanding his stay at the sea- side, he was pale, haggard and *hi ¥ Her brother looked around at her\with a smileless fa ES “You are a duffer to come back,” he said, grufliy. ei etn: BAe to you.” she remarked, with affected reproach. “Yet mother gave me a warmer welcome than you have done.” “But 1 > is tne more glad to see you, do you think?’ he queried. | dan't care a rap about the restored -e and comfort your coming signi- I am glad to see you, because L you and am lonely. That is a5 has my mother, no doubt; but it 4 y to her eomfort, ry than live at you weren't neces: she’d rather you'd m the family expense.” so iS A “Your’e cross!” Judith said, laughing. “I did not expect an insult the instant I crossed the threshold!” 5. I've done nothing but ty prin bloodthir ers, dealing each other shing blows, and skeletons in churchyards for the st three weeks! Would you like to me of them? “Not now, thanks. I But come down-stairs with me! going to have some tea.” “Not if I know it! I haven't spoken to Polly Peevish for exactly twenty- two days.” “That is not the way to speak of your mothe ir, and I wish you to go down-stairs with me! Come!’ He laughed and made some demur; but, when Judith presently went down, John and his crutches went, must wait. la | too. As the evening waned, ld’s temper and spirits reviv' minding the girl of Grace’s remark that her mother would be well as soon as Judith was at home and her trunks were unpacked. Of course, Judith had to repeat the details of Mrs. Townshend’s return to her husband, finding it rather aw ward to have to abide by Elsi ver ion. She gave her own as to how they were together on the morning after s ken ill, and how r prised they were when Elsie was ush- ered in. After listening to the recital, Mrs. Hatfield observed, with smiling com- she was always forgiving, and has such beautiful sense of right! In the ci ances, many women would n dreamed-of seeking the recon- ciliation. However, | am glad they are together again, and hepe poor Claude will be more sensible for the future!” CHAPTER Ix. June had come round again; and the great trees in Gatley Park cast dense shadows on lawn and undergrowth, the meadows were almost ready for the seythe, the tre in the kitchen- garden were full of ripening fruit, and roses. and other sweet-smelling flowers were everywhere. Pacing up and down one of the well- kept lawns was an elderly weman- servant, with a baby in her arm rg on the gravelled drive in front of the ‘huge portico a groom stood holding a at she particularly ie Townshend sat chatting to Captain Herbert.He had on: just been shown in, and she was telling him that Claude had gone to North- wold on business, after transacting which, he going to the station to meet Judy. Meanwhile she would be all alone; and Elsies beautiful eyes so plainly invited him to stay and re- lieve her solitude that he smiled to | himself, though part of the news she had imparted rather disconcerted him. “Miss Hatfield?” he repeated, in what he felt to be a constrained to. “J didn’t know she was coming to vis- it you.” “Yes—tI forgot to tell you,” Elsie re- plied, smilingly, looking up to see whether he might have been at all affected at hearing the intelligence; “it has been a long promise, only Ju- dith has so many calls upon her time.’ “Yes,” he replied,’ carelessly. “She is going to be married, is she not? No?”—as Elsie shook her head, in much amusement. “Why. I feel sure: that some one told me that her mar-~ riage was likely to take place!” “Some one knows more than I do, then. Judith will never marry. Why, she is im her thirtieth year!” “Indeed!” he ejaculated. “Then per~ haps it was your youngest sister?’— persisting in his imaginary news. “No—Luey is little more than a ehild! You will stay to see: Judy— won't you? She will be so surprised, for she does not know that you are quartered at Lisborough.” He wondered why Elsie had not tokt her, and hesitated at first about stay- ing.. But the fascination, the thought of seeing her had for him induced him | to acquiesce. It seemed to him so long simee he had looked upon her that he fancied she must have altered in some. way—grown older-looking,; at least— and then he longed to know how she would greet him. Since they ha@ part- ed so abruptly he had neither seen nor pean any hews worth: hearing. aboua r. (To Be Continued.) rena aoe Animals That Don’t = with one drop of water to drink? ‘There are many different kinds ef ank mals in the world that never in al® water. A parrot lived for fifty-two years in the Zoo at London without drinking a drop of water, and many naturalists believe the only moisture absorbed by wild rabbits is derived from green herbage laden with dew. Many reptiles—serpents, Nzards and | certain kinds of frogs and toads—live and thrive im places entirely devold of | water, and sloths are also said never ‘to drink, An arid district in France —ah, I am worn out with anxiety! However, you smile as if you were not unpleased to return.” has produced a race of ‘n cows and sheep, and from the milk of } the former Rocquefort cheese is made, How long would you be contented _ their lives sip as much as a drop of *