Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, January 8, 1898, Page 6

er_sa_E_ Ee 2 . U i ie FAUCG (__ sa _s_s_1ei_ ae CHAPTER XI. ‘The girl found that to declare that she would not worry was one thing, but to y it out another. As soon as she was alone, her calmness forsook her, and she began to ask herself all kinds of wild questions. Suppose he never came back or sent for her, and she had to wait, and at last creep away in mortification and Where could she go when she did so, for she would not dare to, return to Gatley Park, or even to her home? Then she began to laugh at herself for being so foolish and mistrustful. Of course Captain Herbert would come back. Improbable as others _ might deem it, there was no doubt that he was deeply attached to her, and, by- and-by she might learn to love him very much. She would rather have waited, not have married in this indis- creet, hurried fashion; but still it might all be for the best. Hardly, however, had she com- menced undressing for bed before she began to wonder when and where the captain and Elsie had appointed to meet. How woauld Elsie take the news of Captain Herbert’s marriage? Would she bear it bravely, realising her own wicked folly, and resolve to turn over a new leaf, or would she ex- pose her weakness to Claude? Poor Claude! It seemed as if he was not to know happiness for long. But who would have believed that Elsie, who had nearly every wish of her heart gratified, could yet be so selfishly wicked? “But I must not think any more,” Judith decided. “I shall excite myself so much that 1 can’t sleep, and there are at t four hours to daylight. I wish I had something to read, but there is not a book in the room, and only two inches of candle! Well, there to me help for it. I must lie down and try to go to sleep. Have I done r sht to trust him? Will he keep his word? *Oh, what shall I do? In a fever of unrest she cast herself mn upon the bed, hiding her hot face in her arms, when suddenly, a little familiar sentence crept through her rioting though bringing tran- quility in its train: rust in the Lord and He shall nourish thee, grant thee thy heart’s desi and fulfil all thy mind.” She repeated the verse twice, thoughtfully weighing each wor then, inexp! bly comforted, she finished undressing and got into bed. Judith awoke about six o'clock. When she had accounted for the strangeness of her surroundings—with much surprise at herself for having yielded so easily to her lover's persua- sions—she wondered what Claude and Elsie were thinking of, if her absence yubled them, and had a feeling that she should never be able to face them in. Mrs. Johns brought Judith in a cup of tea about half past seven, She was very anxious to know if the girl had 5 e would like for <fast, and was altogether sc def- erentially kind that Judith felt she had done nothing wrong so far. “Your breakfast shall be laid in my little sitting: .’ Mrs. Johns said, cheerfully; is on this floor, and no one will disturb you. Here are bcoks and a piano, and I'll send up the newspapers, so that you will be able to pa ae It was a very wet day; but, until after ten o'clock the girl managed to amuse herself fairly well; but shortly afterward all her ieties returned in full force. tormenting thought that it was possible to think seemed to occur to her; she asked her- self the same questions over and over again; the same doubts and fears haunted her, until she thought she must go mad. She paced the room, tried, but in vain, to read, shuddered at the notion of touching the piano, and endeavored to revive the trusting hope she had fallen asleep with the night before, but she could not. At two o'clock Mrs. Johns sent up Juncheon, but Judith had no appetite, and at four o’clock the landlady came 9 despair! | few herself to see how her guest s far- ing. Fancying that the hostess seemed graver than before, Judith’ anxiety was redoubled, and gave rise to the idea that Ca plotted to get he ay while he and F When the maddening shame and tor- ture this thought engendered had passed away, she started up with the resolve to return to Gatley Park and tell Claude. He would not misjudge her. But how could she go out in the rain with only a cloak over her thin muslin dress and no hat? It would i ible to walk in such guise in No—she must wait t down again in despairing misery and burst into tears. She had had many anxieties and Litter cares to bear in her life; but this was the bitterest of all, because it was her own care, brought about by the very kind of weakness and thoughtlessness that she had always derided jin Elsie. Who was she, to believe that any man -could love her well enough to treat her with the consideration she had expect- ed at the hands of Captain Herbert? She was well repaid for her conceit, as she told herself, in her metnal abase- ment, forgetting that she had sacri- ficed herself for the good of others to the man she did not love. Her tears were too bitter, too scald- ‘ing for there to be many of them; in five minutes she could cry no more. “The outburst was too heavy to last Jong, but it left her in a state of com- plete exhaustion. It seemed to her, that she sat thus for some hours obliv- ious of every sound and dead to all feeling; but, as a matter of fact, it was only half-past six when she was rroused by a tap at the door. “Come in!” she ejaculated, weakly, and sat up, expecting to see Mrs. Johns. But who should walk in but _Margery Herbert! “You brick!” exclaimed the latter. enthusiastically, running to Judith, who could only stare in bewildered surprise, and clasping her in her arms. “IT always felt, somehow, that you would marry Fred, though not exactly in this harum-searum fashion. You can imagine my surprise when I open- ed this telegram at half-past eight this morning, and read: “Come at once; Judith and. are to be married to-mor- row! Of course, I had to pack up a things; so I lost two trains. thereby incurring a lecture from Fred when he met me at the station. How- ever, I am here, so perhaps you will tell me all about it, Judy!” But she spoke to unheeding ears, for Judith had fainted. * * 7 te * * * “A nice sort of wedding, I must say, to bring anyone so many miles to see!” was Margery Herbert’s comment, as she, her brother and Judith left a small chureh in Linsborough about ten o'clock the next morning. “The con- ventional marriage one reads of so often—the parson, the pew-opener, and the happy pair!” -“With a feminine Paul Pry, in the person of yourself, looking on from be- hind a convenient pillar,” was -her brother's ligh-hearted rejoinder. “However, we don’t mind, do we, Ju- dith? Happiness does not always fol- low white satin, eight bridesmaids and pealing bells, so we stand as fair a chance as if we had been married with the usual adjuncts.” “Yes,” assented Judith, who was looking pale and worn and very un- bridelike in her tumbled muslin gown: but the captain does not seem to care, as her dark eyes met his affectionate- and that was sufficient to content him. Judith had thought, half an hour be- fore, when she had walked up the aisle to join him at the altar, that he was looking very far from happy; but he seemed to be all right now, ahd she could not but feel quiet pleasure in the reflection that it was due to his sa ‘action in being safely united to herse “You see, I did not fail you, Judith!” he remarked, with boyish eagerness, on their return to the hotel, when Margery had left them in Mrs. John’s sitting room while she repacked her traveling-bag for her return to town. “You promised me you would not,” Judith replied, hardly knowing how to answer, but determined that he should never know what tortures of suspense she had endured. ‘Always trust me, dear!” he ex- aimed, putting his arms about her and drawing her to his side. “I love you so dearly that you can make me what you will.” He kissed her, and then whispered, “Try to love me, Ju- dith!” He looked so handsome, his eyes were so full of affection, his tone was so filled with wistful pleading, that Judith must have been stone not to have been a little moved. “If I did not care for you I could not have married you,” she answered; “and—it is almost an impossibility, 1 should think, to trust a husband and not to love him!” “Then you are going to try to be happy with me?” “I am going to be happy with you,” she corrected him; and he expressed himself content. For a few minutes he sat silent by her; and Judith, watching his partly- ayerted face, saw the look of anxiety return to it that she had noticed in church. While she was wondering at the cause of it, he turned to her again and said, seriously: “I don’t know if you believe in omens, Judith; but what has hap- pened preceded our marriage for some hours. When you know everything, you will blame me, and, possibly, I de- serve it. But I have suffered untold remorse during the past twenty-four hours. Poor Townshend shot himself the night before last! He is not dead nor dying, but he is injured very se- verely!” Judith never spoke. She moved away from his encircling arm, and her pale face whitened to the very lips; but Captain Herbert had expected more serious emotion, and so found heart to resume: “I had better tell you everything, al- though there is no need to go into details just now. Townshend returned from the barracks earlier than he had intended, thinking his wife would be lonely while you and I were tete-a- tete, and there is no doubt that he must have overheard an unfortunate conversation between me and his wife, and shot himself in consequence be- fore you and I were well on our way to Lisborough. The bullet, aimed at his heart, narrowly missed it, and is embedded in his breast. The doctor says that he must have been laboring under terrible excitement at the time, for, if his hand had been steady, the shot must have been fatal. I did not hear of it until ten o’clock this morn- ing. I went to the Park immediately to see if I could be of any assistance; but, of course, I did not see Towns- hend or his wife!” “And Elsie?’ faintly asked Judith. “She is prostrate—with grief and re- morse, I should imagine.” “And what do they think of me?’ “I don’t know, and you need not care. The Park servants did not men- tion you, and it does not seem to be known that you are absent, while peo- ple do not appear to know whether to attribute Townshend's shooting to an accident or an attempt at suicide. As soon as I knew what appened I thought you ought to told; but I ared you would want to return to » Park at once, and, for many rea- ons, it was best our original inten- tion should be carried out. You would like to go over at once?” “Yes—I think I ought,” she answered inechanically. “So do I. Claude has asked for you, put the doctors told him he must not see anyone except his nurse until to- day. You must prepare yourself for a shock. for he is very violent, and so persistently tore away the bandages from his wounds yesterday that the doctors had to strap his arms to the head of the bed. I have ordered a cab; we can drop Margery at the sta- tion on our way to the Park, and I will go with you as far as the gates.” , Judith said nothing, for she felt too wretched. Her husband watched her wistfully as she put on her cloak and a small hat that Margery had lent her, then led the way down stairs. CHAPTER XII, and Last. At the Park gates Judith alighted, and, looking at Captain Herbert rath- er nervously, said: “Come up to the house, too; I may want to speak to you.” “Tf will, if you wish it, certainly! But I think it would be better for you to go alone. I will wait here, and you can send for me if necessary.” “That will do,” she said, and walked on. On asking for her sister, she was told by the maid-servant that Mrs. ‘Townshend was in her rooms, but that she declined to see any one. “But do you think she meant to ex- clude me, or only visitors, Jane?’ “She meant you, too, miss, for she sent down word yesterday morning that if you returned during the day, were to say that she could not see you.” ‘Can I see Mr. Townshend?” “Yes, miss; one of the doctors is with him now, and he said you might go up directly you returned.” Judith went up stairs, and the doc- tor answered her knock at the bed room decor. She knew him by sight, and he appeared to recognize her, for he said, in a low tone: “I am glad you have returned, Miss Hatfield; my patient continually asks for you, and, possibly, you may be able to calm him.” Having led the way to Claude’s bed- side, he and the nurse withdrew. The injured man saw her the instant she crossed the threshold, but he did not speak, and Judith could hardly re- strain her tears as she looked at him. He was lying on one side—his arms be- ing free now—there was a strip of plaster on one of his temples and his face was terribly white and haggard; but Claude’s expression was one of angry determination which scarcely softened as he looked at her, though he said, gently enough: “You at last, Judy! Why didn’t you come before, when you knew I wanted you?” “I was told an hour ago, and came immediately. But why did you— “Don’t hesitate, my dear girl; say it out—why did I try to commit suicide? Well, because I was weary of treach- ery and deceit—weary of being fooled by a man who professed to be my friend, and by the woman I called wife, and because I could not face the shame that threatened me. Weak, un- manly and wicked, was it not, Judith? But you don’t know how tired I am of it all. They tell me she is still here, in spite of her appointment. Are they hoping that death will claim me and release her?” “Hus! uu are exciting yourself unnecessarily, Claude!’ Judith said, neryou! “If your—death released Elsie, it would not free Captain Her- bert, for I suppose it is of him you are talking?” “I don’t know what you mean!” he exclaimed; “and, by Heaven, Judith, if I did not know you so well, I should believe that you, also, were in the plot!” 4 “Tam not deceiving you,” Judith re- turned, very quietly. “I repeat that your death would not release Cap- tain Herbert. He induced me to elope with him the night before last, and we were married two hours ago.” Claude stared at her incredulously for a moment, then he said, with a gasp: “What—was it you, after all, who agreed to elope with him? Was it you in the balcony with him? I thought so at first, but I could not see your face or hear your voice. But I heard what he said, and knew that there was no need for you to elope. When I re- membered what had already passed between him and Elsie, I thought it must be she! Tell me that it was— give me a reason for your strange con- duct, and I may yet thank Heaven for misdirecting the bullet that should have taken my life!” Almost before he had ceased speak- ing, Judith, seeing that, by a little par- donable deception she might win him back to love and life, and so save Elsie from the consequences of her wicked folly, had made up her mind. “Of course it was I!” she said, smil- ing. “Perhaps I shall not succeed in making you believe it a good reason for our hurried marriage, but I am sat- isfied that I have done right. My hus- band did not trust me, and thought that I was fooling him because I re- jected him Jast year. From first to jast I have had a great deal of trouble with him, but I shall hope now to have him in subjection.” She paused, for Claude had buried his face-in his pillow. When he looked up again, there were tears in his eyes. “My poor little Elsie! Where is she? I haye been so harsh towards her, Ju- dith,” he said, remorsefully. “‘Will she ever forgive me, do you think? Goand ask her, Judith! Tell her that it will be a lesson to me forever! Ask her to come to me for our ehild’s sake!” Only too glad of an escape, Judith turned away, but before she had reached the door he called her back. “T haven’t congratulated you, Judy,” he said, affectionately. “I do so with all my heart; and Herbert is a lucky man. I don’t know whether he is aware of my suspicion; but if he is in ignorance, let him remain so; it will be best for all. When I am a little better, he must come to see me.” “Claude, you say no one is aware of the suspicions. you have entertained against your wife—do the doctors and nurse know that you attempted sui- cide, or do they believe it was an acci- dent?” “I don’t know; but every time they have asked me how it happened, I have evaded the question. But now go and send Elsie to me, dear.” Judith, rather doubtful of the result of seeking an interview with Hlsie, was determined not to lose the vic- tory for want of a little courage and persistence; so she walked boldly down the corridor and knocked at her sister’s door. “If that is you, Robertson, I don’t want you,” answered Elsie. i “Tt is not Robertson; it is I—Judith, Let me in, Elsie—I bring you a mes- sage from Claude.” “You can send it by Robertson; 1 will not see you!” was the sullen re- tort. “I never want to see you again, and I think, considering your disgrace- ful conduct, that you have taken a great liberty in returning to my house. I wonder you are not ashamed to face me!” “Never mind that,” Judith replied, amazed at Elsie’s coolness. “Let me in--you must, or I shall say what 1 have to say here, and no one will re- gret it more than you.” ‘The door was unlocked then, and Ju- dith walked in. Elsie was in her dressing-gown, and, whatever her emo- tions resulted from, they had certainly been sufficiently wearing, for her eye- lids were red from constant crying, and she looked years older than the self-confident young matron who had returned from her ride three days be- fore. “Look here, Elsie,” Judith said, se- verely, as she closed the door and faced her sullen-looking sister; “I am not going to waste sympathy upon you, for you do not deserve it. You have been selfishly wicked and thoughtless. It was nothing to you that you would have sacrificed your husband’s happiness, as well as mine and Captain Herbert's; that you would have marred the career of a man who does not care for you, and brought dishonor on husband and child. You can never look at Claude in the future without remembering what you have driven him to. Your punishment is not half so great as you deserve. Do you know why? Claude did not see your face or hear your voice that night, and, hearing now that it was I who eloped, he believes he has made a mistake, and that it must have been I whom he saw on the balcony with Captain Herbert. You have a chance afforded you to try to atone to Claude for your wickedness. Be grate- ful to Heaven that his life has been spared, and it may yet be well with you. He has asked for you—go and put your arms around his neck and hear what he has to say; but be care- ful now and in the future, for it is your last chance!” Elsie’s face expressed by turns, fear, hope and incredulity; but, as Judith ceased speaking she raised her head with a self-confident little smile and passed out of the room. * * ee” * * Captain Herbert, meanwhile, was enduring a very lengthy wait in the leafy lane outside the park gates. The silence in which Judith had received the unfortunate news he had commu- nicated to her so soon after their mar- riage seemed ominous to him. He had not entered into det but he knew that.it was not necessary; her quick- ness of perception, coupled with her knowledge of his flirtation with Elsie, would have told her pretty much what Claude Townshend must have over- heard, and he did not doubt that she would visit upon him the due punish- ment for his sin. Being in an unusually humble frame of mind, he knew that he deserved all he might get, and he feared that Ju- dith would seize upon the excuse his bad conduct afforded her to break with him at once and forever. “Only this morning she told me she would be happy with me, and looked as if she meant it,” he thought, miser- ably, as he paced to and fro. “When she has cried her eyes out about Town- shend and his wife she will go home, T suppose, and never care a rap what becomes of me! How shall I be able to live without her now, knowing that she is really mine, and that it is my own fault she scorns me?” He had not answered his mental query when he saw Judith coming in the distance, and halted with quiver- ing nerves and pale face to await her. He watched the tall, graceful, oncom- ing figare in the tumbled muslin gown until his eyes became dim, and he averted his face, preferring to hear his doom from her lips to reading it for himself. : “Still here? I thought you would have been tired of waiting.” Hardly daring to believe his ears, he turned to look at her. There were iears in her eyes and her face was flushed, but she was smiling. “Something unexpected has happened,” she said, quickly; “I went to Claude fearing all sorts of terrible things, but—but—” And she burst into tears. There was no likelihood of his being seen, so Captain Herbert put his arm around his wife, saying, soothingly: “Don’t, dear! Try.to tell me what has happened. You are hysterical— upset!” “I am not hysterical,” she replied, drying her tears and removing his arm from about her waist; “but I am up- set, though it with joy, not sorrow. Neither you nor Elsie deserve this good fortune; but it has come to you, and there is an end of it, Claude has got it into his head that he is the vic- tim of his own error, and, in an ex- cess of remorse for his suspicion of Elsie and regret for the rash act it led him to commit, he has sent for her, and is onse* more reconciled to her. What do you think about it?’—and Judith regarded him seriously and noted his gravity and pallor. “I agree with you—we don’t deserve our good fortune,” he admitted. “Having eseaped the consequences of yeur folly so easily,” she continued, ‘perhaps it will be an inducement for you to err again. But I have told Elsie that this is her last chance. It is im- possible that Claude can continue to be so blindly trusting, and I have de- termined that I will never help to de- ceive him again. Fortunately, Claude imagines that you have no idea of his suspicions, so he will never nonplus you by broaching the subject.” “And you?” he queried, dully. “JI have lied to him,” she said, with a bitter laugh. “I allowed him to think that it was me to whem you were making love that night. But you can understand the humiliation I felt atthis readiness to believe me?’ “Yes—and I am sorry—more sorry than I can say—that you should have had to suer for any wrong-doing of mine.” “I hope ‘you are,” she returned, plucking a bunch of leaves from the hedge and playing with them as she talked. “I am wondering now how how we shall all feel when gossips have done with our names. The doc- tor pretends to believe that Claude shot himself by accident, and I suppose it will be so given out; but how many people will believe it, do you think? Considering that I was so foolish as to run away with you, they will hardly at the true state of aairs; but— Oh, I am tired of thinking about it! There is one thing”—and she laughed lightly, looking at his troubled face— “you and Elsie will have to bear cuzi- ous locks and questionings as a part of your punishment. I ‘shall be safely home at Claxton, and out of sight.” A sound like a moan of pain escaped his lips, and he turned from her. As he had feared, she intended to leave | gisasicr, off Cape hin. Judith looked at her husband, smiled to herself, and said, softly: “What was that for, Fred?” He caught at her hand, saying: “How long is my punishment to last?” “Punishment! Who said anything about punishment? I know you de- serve a great deal, but I shall leave you to your conscience.” “But you are going home?” “Of course! I have a great deal to do there; besides, it will be best. My sister has reminded me that I took a liberty in returning to her home after eloping from it. Perhaps I did; but, whether she likes it or not, I intend to remain until Monday for my name’s sake. If she objects, I shall threaten to appeal to Claude. Meanwhile, if our marrige becomes known, we must have a good excuse for it.” “You may safely trust that to me, darling”’—gravely. “But where am I a see you between to-day and Mon- day? “Nowhere!’—coolly. “But on Mon- day you may meet me at the station and see me off, if you like.” “For how long, Judith? A week?” “A week!’—and she laughed ironic- ally. “A year, more likely.” “A year? Good heavens! Doe you think I can live without you for a year? A week will seem an age! Let me fetch you in a week, Judith? Say ‘Yes,’ darling.” “No—I will have a month, at the very least, I am determinéd!” she re- torted. And, seeing she was, he urged no more. She threw away the leaves she had been playing with and held out her hand, saying, with a smile: “I must go back. Good-bye until Monday.” He took her hand, looking search- ingly into her face. “Are you angry with me, Judith?’ “Am J angry with you?’ she repeat- ed, musingly. ‘“No—I fancy not. But don’t let me think about it, lest I find I have reason to be.” “That is what I am afraid you will do when we are parted.” “No—I promise you.” May I ki you, then?” She shugged her shoulders, so he took heart and kissed her; then he id, with some of his natural daring: ‘After all, you are my wife, and if I choose to come down at the end of the week and insist upon your returning with me, I could do so.” “But what a life I should lead you after your insistence!” she retorted, as she moved away from him; and he felt that in her he had met his match, and smiled with delight at her spirit. He stood at the gate and watched went back to town with a happy smile on his lips. * * * i * * * ies Never did man weary of time more than Captain Herbert until he found himself standing, with fast-throbbing pulses, in the drawing room at the Hatfields’ house in Claxton, awaiting his wife. As he strained his ears for the first sound of her footfall, keeping his expectant eyes on the door, she suddenly opened it and came in. For a moment, though he involunta- rily held out his arms to her, he could not speak. He noticed that she wore a muslin gown, similar to the one she had worn on their wedding-day; that her soft, dark hair was twisted up ex- actly he had once told her he liked to see it; that his wedding ring glist- ened on her slim, .white hand; and that, though she looked pale, her lips smiled in unison with her dark eyes. Judith! Judith! my darling! Are you glad to see me?” he exclaimed, at length, as he moved toward her. “[—think—I—am,” she admitted, with a wicked little glance as she stood at the door. “But don’t flatter yourself that it is love for you; it is simply because I have been almost badgered ,to death within the past month, and I want to get away from is But there was something in her ex- pression—something in her willingness to be enfolded in his arms, and more in the lingering tenderness of her greeting kiss—that warned him not wholly to belieye her; and his heart was full of joy and content. * * ee * ee Judith, as a wife and» mother, was exceedingly happy, her husband proy- ing the most constant and devoted that } she had ever deemed it possible he could be. She knew that her influ- ence oyer him was for good, and exer- cised it wisely, being ultimately repaid by his loving trust. Time dealt gently with her, so that her husband was wont to declare that she would never grow old like other women. Blsie did not wear so well, becoming very stout. She became reconciled to her fate, but not until she had fully realized, as Judith had warned her, that it was her last chance; for, al- though Claude speedily recovered from the effects of his wound, his love was not quite so demonstrative as before. The Iesson Captain Herbert taught her was a salutary one. Comprehend- ing how she had debased herself, she became careful to control her flirting propensities; but she never forgave either him or Judith, though outward- ly they were friends. As to Claude, Judith fancied some- times that he was not quite so content- edly happy and trustful as he ap- peared to be; and she has secretly wondered more than once if he wholly believed in the mistake he was sup- posed to have made the night he shot himself; or whether he had not rather deceived them all for her and his name’s sake. There are no other ehanges as yet in the Hatfield family, except that John has become quite a bird of passage. He spends most of the money he earns by his ready pencil in paying visits to his best-beloved sister, and her hus pand, who are always glad to see hin, wherever they may be. Giving way to his mischievous pro- pensity for caricaturing after his first introduction to Captain Herbert, he drew Judith caressing the head of a donkey; but hardly had he giver his sketch to her to look at before. he snatched it away and destroyed it, de- claring: “Why, it is I who am the donkey! Fancy the man a donkey who wins you for a wifetlf either, it is you who are that much-scorned animal, my dear!” A FLOATINC MORGUE. Arthur Kimber’s Frightfal Experience? in # Moat. Further particulars of tho Zenovia Moreton, wuereby fiye men died after days of terrible suffering, have reached Brisbane, Aus- tralia, says the San Francisco Chron!- cle. A-representative had an inter- view with Arthur Kimber, the only survivor, at Ncosa. Kimber stated that on Sept. 15, after passing over Calundra bar and getting into deep water, the eenterboard ~ was carried away. It was blowing stiff from the southeast at the time. When abo eight or ten miles from Calundra a nasty squall came up from the south- west and struck the boat. Owing to the main sheet mot running free she reeled over and capsized, turning bot- tom upward. In the party, besides Kimber, were Fred, Harry and Wil- liam Slawson, McConnell and McCabe. All but the Iad Harry clambered on- to the keel. Kimber swam to the boy and after some difficulty got him safe- ly on the beat. After clinging to the craft for about an hour a steamer passed within a mile and a half of them, but, though all shouted togeth- er, they failed to attract attention. Kimber states that he had strong hopes of being picked up; the others, how- ever, gradually lost all heart. By their combined exertions the boat was right- ed, but the mast snapped off close to the deck. All got into the boat and passed a line around to secure them- selves, All through the night they huddled together for warmth, and kept singing out to one another for com- panionship sake. Fred Slawson and the boy died during the night and the bodies of both were cast into the wat- er. At daylight om the second day McConnell came close to Kimber with a pocket knife in his hand, but Ktm- ber wishes emphatically to contradict the false statement that he tried to stab him. Both McConnell and Mc- Cabe appeared to have lost heart ant tried to jump overboard. McConneil, however, died in Kimber’s arms short- Iy after McCabe succeeded in jumping averboard. Then, William Slawson, heartbroken at seeing one after an- other drop off, was the next to suc- cumb. Kimber was now the only one of the six living. Being unable to bear the sight of the dead bodies he cast them overboard. The following morning the,boat drifted im within a mile of land, but went out again with- out the faintest hope of rescue. Next morning the boat drifted into the La- gura bay, near Noosa Heads, but again went out with the current. .Fin- ally she grounded on the beach four miles from the Heads. After land- ing Kimber says he went to sleep. The next day, with great difficulty he reach- ed a settler’s house in a terrible state. When found his hands, feet and face were fearfully sunburned and swollea, and his eyes starting out of their sockets. Raising Egret Herons. In 1895 a merchant naturalist of Tunis bought a piece of ground in- closed by a wall, where a sufficient quantity of water could be introduced. In this field a large space, where there were fig trees, was imclosed by wire netting. Then he procured from nesis the young egrets. In 1896, by increase, his heronry contained about 400 egrets. The females lay eggs twice a | year, in April and June; and the | young, leaving the mest after fifteen days, mate the same year. These | binds he feeds on minced horse and | mule meat twice a day—one animal | costing from 5 to 6 francs, sufficing | or a fortnight. The nestlings are fed | by their mother on small fish provid2i | for her. Tle dorsal plumes are gath- ered twice a year, in May and Septem- | ber; but it is not until the bird is three | years old that the plumes: attaim their | full beauty. Eaclr adult bird furnishes j seven grams of these per year—that iz, } about 108 grams, or 1-70 of a peun'l, | yielding a value of 35 francs per head. —$7.—Popular Science News. She'll Never Win. | A Boston girl sued a New Yorker for | $50,000 for breach of promise, but she will not get that nor anything else, if the defendant is able to prove—as he ! says he is—that he broke the engage- ment because the girl’s: mother always insisted on kissing him good-by when he left the house.—Ex. OUT OF THE MOUTHS OF BABES “Johnnie,” asked the minister, “what is the chief branch of education at your school?” “Willow-branch, sir,’~ replied Jolnnie. “Well, Tommy,” said his Aunt Mary, “shall I carry your bat and cricket stumps for you?” “No, Aunty, ’tanks,’”” replied the little fellow. “Me tarry bat an’ ’tumps. “Ou tan tarry me!” A little 3-year-old miss wandered, over to the window during family prayers one snowy morning and nearly knocked the inspiration out of the sup- plicants by exclaiminge “Oh, mamma! Tome an’ look. It’s wainin’ poptorn.” “Now, dear,” said mamma to little €arrie, who had just received a box of sweetmeats, “you must ask id your little friends in to share candy.” “Well,” replied the litue'So after a few moments’ thought, pe guess I’ll invite Fannie, ’cause ean makes her tooth ache an’ she can’t eat much.” | “What.can you tell me about Ksany> asked the pedagogue of his most prom- ising pupil in the beginners’ class. “Esau,” replied the young hopeful, with the glib alacrity of one who feels himself for once on safe ground; “san was the fellow what wrote a baok of ‘fables and sold the copyright for a bottle of potash.” If genius is a disease but few people in the world have any cause for alarm,