Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, April 29, 1899, Page 2

Frozen Heart, A THRILLING LOWE STORY. BY FRANCES WARNER WALKER. Chapter L. “Vous M’Aimez? Ah, je t'aime!” It was the old, old story, which, whether told in foreign or native tongue, under blue skies or within the narrow limits of four walls, breathed in palace or in hut, lacks no sweetness, feels no want. But this time the words would have seemed to find more fitting expression in the simple English, “You love me? Ab, I love you!” for the scene was in an old English garden, and the blue skies above were English skies—fair enough, perchance, to-day, to deceive one into the belief that they had wan- dered into Southern France, a belief which might be strengthened into al- most certainty should their gaze rivet itself upon the man who had put the question—a face handsome enough to have proved dangerous enough to miuiny a woman's heart—with eyes that blazed an impassioned ardor that would brook neither confinement nor obstruction; a nose straight and chis- eled as from marble; a mouth of won- drous sweetness, with its weak lines hidden beneath the long, dark mus- tacbe, through which shone the glist- ening teeth; a hand, white and firm—a hand which was, indeed velvet to the touch but iron in its grip—a hand indi- eative of the man, soft, warm, caress- ing when it served his purpose—a hand to one moment car a woman's cheek the next to bury a stiletto in her heart. But wiser, older women than Flor- ence Vane had lived in this man’s smile, intoxicated themselves by his earcss, bEnded themselves even to his perjury and the ruin that it brought to them, not to find some excuse for the fact, that to her his hands were magic, his sinile sunshine, his presence heay- ent Wiser, older women, but none more— may. no one, no single one of all the mauy—so beautiful. If ever man might plead palliation -for temptation too strong to be resisted, that palliation might justly be accerded Louis Ger- vais. Scarce was it to be wondered that, steeped though he was in evil, that though all women had become to him but the pastime of an idle hour, he yet should have paused, awe-struck, be- fore the exquisite English flower just budding into blossom in this quaint old English garden. Ah, je aime!" She answered him, in his own liquid tongue, and spoke, she raised her eyes to hi of marvelous, glorious beau they were—violet in their blueness, and shadowed by lashes black as night— | Jashes which swept a cheek of the flecked with the crimson Her mouth—such a mouth Cupid uplifting for ic parted ng the Hily’s purity, of the rose. and chestnut Her head, small, with rippling masses 0! which had barely e yed redness, and through which the red gleamed like strands of tinsel, was set proudly, al- most haughtily, upon her sloping shoulders. The simple dress adapted itself to every curve of the lovely, girl- ish form; the foot which peeped from beneath its hem was a worthy appli- cant for Cinderella’s slipper. The heics, all destitute of ornament, were | of equal beauty. She was faultlessly, peerlessly beau- tiful, with a beauty which might bring a world to her feet; but she neither knew nor dreamed of a world beyond that which Louis Gervaise’s love mighy bound. Yes, it has come to that—“An, je taime! No one could have heard the simple words, and doubted that they sprung from her very soul, as the incense which permeates the church emanates from the sacred vessel swinging from the altar. With this girl, love Was no common thing, no toy to be played with to-day and ¢ away to-morrow. It was the lever which swayed her soul to good or | evil, as the hand which held the bal- ance might ordain. Ah, wretched Fate which put that balance in Louis Gerva keeping! Hers was a character which might be softened into infinite tenderness, or hardened into desperate heartlessness. She must be either wax or flint, this girl—there was no mid-way land on which her feet might rest. “Give me your hanc exclaimed the man. almost fiercely, still speaking in fis own tongue, which she understooa, and in which she answered almost as ness. if it were her own. She swayed forward a little as she spoke,’ and obediently placed within the p which closed upon them, the Little, rose-tipped fingers. “Now, swear to me, Je t'aime!’ he | said. “Ah, Louis, what oath could n love more true, more lasting?” he repeated. ‘!’ she whispered, then; “but I swear it on your love and mine, which makes its foundation.” Swear -that you will be mine!’ he continued—“that you will let no obsta- cle come between us! That you will, if need be, give up father, home, friends, and follow me, yeur husband!” The lovely face had paled, but at these latter words a momentary bright- illumined it with a passing radi- But she sadly shook her head. pa will never give his consent, Louis. I know it—l am sure of it. ‘And Iam so young: How could | mar- ry you, if he forbade it? If you will wait until I am of age, I will be your wife then; and not even my father can have the right to make me miserable always—and, oh, my love, my love! L shall be miserable without you “Wait until you are of age?’ repeat ed her lover, slowly, after her. “Look at me, Florence. I never was a pa- tlent man. I should have eaten my fheart out before as many weeks had ake passed as you destine me to years—to years, do you understand? You are but eighteen now, and you ask me to wait three years, during which time 1 must meet you, as I do now, secretly, surreptitiously, living on the memory of a kiss or the echo of your voice until my soul starves. No! I have hungered until I can hunger no more. Make your choice, Florence—bid me leave you, to put an end to the life which is unendurable without you, or come to uy arms, my love, my queen, my wife! Ah, my ‘little English flower, have I not yielded to your scruples? Am 1 now willing even. to let the altar witness our bans, So that you may belong to me, and me alone?” “Louis, I cannot!” murmured the girl, in tones so low he strained his ear to catch them. “Remember papa’s wrath when he came into the room and found you with your arm around my waist. He ordered you from the house. He forbade me ever to see or speak to you again. But I told him then I should not obey him—‘I love him, father, and one day I intend to marry him.’ Oh, Louis, he grew so white when he heard me, and his voice shook with passion when he answered me that when that day dawned, I was henceforth no daughter of his—that I might starve, but he would not throw me the crust from his table—that to marry you would dishonor my sister and break his heart. Louis, my love, give me time to soften him. When, as the months roll into years, he sees that my love never wayers—when he knows that, when I am my own mistress, ny resolve revocable—he can but ap- preciate my struggle and my waiting, and in the end give his consent. Ah, Louis, I should be so happy, so happy, if papa himself would marry us in the dear old church whose pastor he has been for so Many years.” A scornful smile played for an in- stant about the man’s lips. “Thi your love!’ he murmure: then, in bitterest derision—“this the ex tent of your sacrifice! I am to under- go torture, agony and suspense for three long yes that in the end your father may murmur over us the few words which bind us together as man and wife. Yes; I remember well the days of which you speak. I am not likely to forget it!” And any ear less dulled in love than the girl’s would have detected the men- ace, almost the threat, which vibrated iw his tones, though it rose no single key above its usual musical note. “I was tempted for a moment to tell him the truth—that Louis Gervase was | ro drawing master; that it was not for the pittance he doled out to me that 1 had played the role of a wandering art- ist; but that 1 had been tempted to as- sume that role for love of a girl’s beau- tiful face, which [ had seen one day in idly wandering through the wood, as she sat at*her easel sketching. The plan worked well, mon angel, did it not? I brought that little talent L pos- sessed into good use, and for it I was turned from his doors. I was a Frenct man, and he hated Frenchmen, sooth, that was enough—” “No, no, Louis!” interrupted the girl. “You forget, dear. He said that. not thus should any honorable man woo an honorable girl in secret, and beneath her father’s roof. He had some right to be amgry—doubtless we were wrong, but until that day I did not dream that you loved me, and [—” “And you—ah, you well may pause! you never loved me. O, Florence, y have taken my heart into those litth for- white hands of yours, only to torture and to break it! It is your father whom you love better than me. Well, stay with him. Iam going. You shall hear of me nevermore! You will soon forget me; but I—I cannot live to re- member—I will kill myself!” He sprang up as if to depart, but, with the exquisite face blanched to marble, Florence clasped iwo detaining hands up on his arm. “Louis!” she gasped, “how can you y such cruel things? Ah, for my ke, be brave, be patient!” He made an effort to break from her, | but she clung to him with the tenacity of despair. “Then, decide!” he said, turning to face her, “and decide forever! On your next words hang my fate, my life! For I swear to you that if you refuse to become my wife within the next forty-eight hours, I shall not so long be a living man! Why should this ola man divide and separate us? Why sbould he make our young hearts grow cold and bard like his? When you are my wife, my very own, Florence, he will relent; or, if not—ah, my darling, can you not even then trust your hap- to me? Speak, my love—speak iy! But remember all that trem- bles on your words For an instant silence aswered him —an instant when the scale that was to determine all_of Florence Vae's fu- ture for good or evil, quivered in the balance. She raised her.eyes to his, then buried her head upon his breast, and he knew that to him belonged the victory! 3 Again the same subtle smile lurked about his lips; but he stroked the beautiful hair with a touch as gentle as a woman's, murmuring low words ) the while in her ear, which for the mo- ment made earth heaven, and brought her forgetfulness of all that save henceforth her pillow, by night or day, and through eternity, should be the heart on which she then leaned. CHAPTER IL. In one of the most beautiful apart- metts in Paris—an apartment exquis- itely finished in every detail—in a small, inner room, whose furnishings denoted it a dressing room, seated be- fore a toilet table covered with every article of luxury, was a young and mar- velously beautiful woman. Her hair, passed her, he went out from the room unbound, fell in its ruddy waves to the,| and she heard his footsteps cross the floor, while her maid drew through it an ivory brush, monogrammed and crested, as, in fact, was every article strewn upon the table before her. A subtle perfume filled the air. The hangings of the room were of palest rose-satin; the carpet, a white ground with moss-roses trailing in luxuriance over it. One’s foot almost shrank from contact with the thorns, which yet were softest velvet. It was a room into which a princess might have stepped, and felt at home; but as we scan more closely the ex- quisite face reflected in the mirror, we recognize the girl who, one year be- fore, in the old English parsonage gar- den, made her decision and her choice. The form has rounded into more per- fect lines; the complexion is more daz- zlingly-radiant, inasmuch as the fault- lessly-oval cheek has lost a tinge of its ripe color; the lips burn with more ruddy searlet; her eyes blaze with new } and imperious fire; her beauty has de- veloped into riper perfection; the gem whose brilliancy could not be hid in its simple setting, now fairly dazzled by its luminance. And yet, with all gained, something has fled, something been lost, for which, perchance, all else is not worth the gain. *“Monsieur—has he returned, Marie?” she asked at last, breaking the silence which had lasted long. “No, madame,” replied the girl; and one might detect a tone of pity in her voice, Pity! As if that young and beauti- ful woman could have need of pity from one paid to do her service! “And the hour?” she questioned, tou listless to raise her own eyes to the tiny, enameled clock upon the mantle. “Just twelve, madame. Doubtless monsieur will return to breakfast. Shall I not arrange madame’s hair, that she may be ready when he re- turn “Yes; and as simply as possible, my good Marie.” “It is so beautiful it never can look simple madame,” replied the girl, as ske twisted it with deft fingers, into an artistic coil, through which she stuck a golden dagger. “All Paris raves over madame’s hair; but no one in Paris can imitate it.” “All Paris!” echoed her mistress, and sighed. But at that instant a man’s step |sounded in the outer room. With a | quick breath of relief, and an Instant | lifting of the cloud which had settlea on her brow, she sprang from her chair and stood waiting, a lovely vi ion to greet the eyes of any man, with that smile of expectancy on lips and eyes, and that long, flowing robe of white cashmere tied carelessly at the throat with creamy ribbon, and falling in graceful curves about the slender, Noiselessly and swiftly Marie held open the door for the master to pess in —then herself passed out—leaving the two alone. With a low cry of joy the girl-wife took one little step forward “Louis!” she murmured. Oh, where have you been?” The man's face darkened. He care- lessly approached and held out his hand in greeting, but his wife already clasped hers about his neck and hid her tace upon his breast. “Questions again, Florence?” he said. “Have I not already convinced you of their uselessne I am not a child in leading-strings, and you must forget your English notions.” “But all night, Louis, I 1: “At last! y awake, looking for you, and wondering what terrible thing had happened. Why should you subject me to this cruel torture? And when, at last, I fell asleep this morning, I dreamed a strange dream. It was of home, Lou- is. I saw the dear old home, the de: old garden, and Dorothy and the dear father; but he was so changed | scarcely knew him. He was thin and pale, and looked very ill. I am sure my dream meant something. Oh, if 1 could but see him again, and gain his forgiveness for my fault!” ‘So you consider it a fault?” replied the man, “Pity, then you ey com- mitted it. But, look here, Florence, [ will have no more of this nonsense. When I am not at home, you go to bed and go to sleep. Haven't you every- thing you want—everything that mon- ey can buy you? What more does a | wean, in the height of her unreason- ableness, demand?’ “I want your love, Louis. Give me that, and you may take all the rest. “My love?’ he sneered. Anda year’s devotion has not tired you? Really, ma. belle, you are more exigeante than I had deemed possible. A year’s reign should be suflicient for any pretty wo- man. A month—a week—suftices most of them.” “But, Louis, you did not talk thus in the old garden. What did you tell me? That your life hung on my words. If I had refused your prayer you would have killed yourself.” The man laughed—a harsh, discord- ant laugh, wholly different from the low, musical melody which once had fallen so softly on her listening ear. ‘And you believed that, ma cherie? Really believed that I would put’: bul- let through my brain? No, no! Be- lieve me, I had no such intention, But it was necessary to frighten you into acquiescence, and so I could not pause at words. Be careful, Florence, that you do not make me repent the bonds which I permitted you to draw me in- to!” “Repent, Louis?’ echoed the girl, with white lips, while a strange look, half of misery, half of stern anger, crept into her eyes. “Repent! You mean you could repent—you could cease to love me!” “Possibly, cherie. But, breakfast waits. Let us discuss that instead or themes which will result in putting both of us in a most unamiable frame of mind.” But if he expected opposition or fur- ther argument, he was quite at fault. “Yes, let us go to breakfast,” replied his wife, and herself led the way into the dining room. “Will you dine witn me this afternoon, Louis?’ she asked, as they dallied over their fruit after a somewhat silent meal. But her voice had lost its warmth, and there was both reserve and cold- ness in her tone. “Not to-day,” Ife answered. And, lighting a cigarette, carelessly stooping to kiss her forehead as he hall—heard him open the outer door and descend the stairs. \ Tn an instant all the coldness van- ished from her face. Her hands in- stinctively locked themselves together, until the jewels on her white fingers cut into the flesh. Her lips met in one tirm line; her eyes blazed. “I must know the truth!” she mur- mured, half-aloud. “I must find out whether this story Henri d’Augmont was so eager to tell me is true or false! He was angry because my love for Louis makes me ice to all other men. It is not fashionable so to love in France, he says. Fashionable! As if one’s heart could follow fashion! Ah, if Leuis and I might go back to the old garcen, where all was true, and where we might love and be loved, without this cruel comment and criticism of the world! But this story—that my husband is devoted to another woman; that he is the constart shadow of the young Countess d’Aubigny; that, wea- ried of my beauty, he turns to her darker eyes and midnight hair—no, no! it is not, cannot be true! I will not believe it! But I must see and know her for myself. Why does Louis shut me out from this world? Ah, when I thought his love made me a prisoner I was content; but now I will break my bonds. I will demand to go with him into his world, to re- ceive recognition and deference as his wife. Then I can teach this countess, beautiful though she may be, that Flor- ante Gervase, the wife, is no unworthy rival!” She rose as she finished speaking her own scarcely-acknowledged thoughts, and, passing from the room into the drawing room beyond, paced up and down its length, as a bird beating its wings against the bars of a golden cage. How time went by she took no heed. Her brain was in a turmoil. She had walked miles upon the soft, yielding carpet, unconscious of fatigue, until ie, respectfully drawing aside the heavy portierre, asked if madame in tended to drive—that the horses were waiting at the door. “Yes!” she answered, suddenly real- izing that the outer air would be grate- ful to her. Fifteen minutés later, gracefully re- elining in her own luxurious victoria, coachman in front and footman behind —her toilet irreproachable, her beauty peerless and unrivalled—many an eye followed her carriage, and many a heart heaved with envy at her seem- ingly enviable lot. The September day was lovely, and the Parisian tide was turning home- ward, as the number of elegant estab- lishments taking the same direction as herself denoted; but though anxious and interested glances flashed toward her from their occupants, there was no interchange of smile and bow. Louis Gervase’s wife possessed few friends, indeed, in the city which had been her home for little more than a year. Now and then some gentleman raisea his hat to her with marked and court- eous deference; but in all Paris she possessed no woman friend. Yor the first time, this afternoon, this fact fact weighed upen her. Here- tofore her devotion to .her husband had so absorbed her as to shut out all else. The world, bounded by his im- mediate presence became the world of her existence and desire. But a new feeling was springing into nydra-headed life—a feeling as intense as her love,and born of her love, yet which might convert it into love’s own shadow, hate—the feeling of jealousy. As yet it was but a spark, but ready the moment was at hand which would fan it into flame. Her coachman had turned his horses homeward, and was slowly walking m through the long avenue in the up and down which an endless stream of carriages were likewise moy- ing slowly, that each might have op- portunity to recognize their neighbor when, lifting her eyes, she saw. rectly beside her own, a victoria with a coronet upon its door. Within it were seated a woman and aman. The woman, young and strik- ingly handsome; with eyes and hair as black as night, and n colorless as marble; the man—ah, it needed no second glance to tell her who was the man! Involuntarily, she leaned a little for- ward, and his name escaped her lips. Bending, with every mark of deyo- tion, toward his companion, he had not seen her; but at the sound of her voice, he raised his head, and a dark scowl came over his face, unchased away by any smile, as he gravely and Sternly lifted his hat. “What a beautiful woman!” ex- claimed the countess. “Who is she?” But he only shrugged his shoulders in reply. (To be continued.) Her View of It. The late Dr. A. K, H. Boyd of Scot- land, once visited a woman who had lost her husband. By way of comfort- ing her he proceeded to set forth, with great earnestness and beauty of lan- guage the joys of the state to which the departed one had attained. The bereaved woman, with a vivid recol- lection of her husband’s defects, found it hard to share in the minister's hepes, although she wished to show ber sense of of his kindness. She un- burdened herself thus: “Weel, Dr: Boyd, you’re no very instructive, but your're aye amusing.” Unimportance. “What has btcome of the Chinese emperor?” inquired one of the leading citizens of» “He doesn’t seem to be alive to the situation.” “Yes,” replied the mandarin, who knows court secrets; “as a politician he is so completely off the face of the earth that the empress doesn’t even think it’s worth while to announce any more funerals for him.”’—Washington Star. A Dangerous Topic. “What has become of that little girl who recites ‘Little Drops of Water? ” asked one of tlie boarders. “Well,” answered the young man with wide ears, ‘with the present thaw in the streets and the possibility of a freshet up the river, her mother thought it would be as well to keep a quiet for a while.”—Washington ‘WOMEN OUTLIVE MEN. Prof. Buchner Finds Many More Fe- male Centenarians Than Males. It is trange, but true, that the most delicate child often outlives his strong- er brother or sister. Many instances are on secord of the survival of those who seemed destined to die early. {tis said of Voltaire, who lived to be eighty- four years old; that he was so delicate at birth he could not be baptized for several months. Sir Isaac Newton, the doctors said, would not live a week, but he celebrated his eighty-fifth birth- day. Frontenelic lived to be 100, al- though he was so frail at birth that the priest had to go to his home to bap- tize him. Even more interesting than this is the statement by Prof. Buchner that it is possible for a woman to preserve her youthful beauty even to her old age, or, in some instances, to regain it. The Marquise of Mirabeau died at eighty- six with all the marks of youth in her face. Margaret Verdun, at sixty-five, smoothed out the wrinkles, her hair stew again and her third set of teeth appeared. Cases of this third denti- tion are uot rare. The professor still gives further hope for the fair sex in the announcement that women live longer than men. A French woman, Marie Prioux, who died in 1838, was said to be 158 years old. Statistics of the various coun- tries on this point are remarkable. In Germany only 413 of 1,000 males reach the age of fifty-five, while more than 500 of 1,000 females reach that age. In the United States there are 2,583 fe- male to 1,398 male centenarians. In France, of ten centenarians, seven were women and only three men. In the rest of Europe, of twenty-seven centenarians, sixteen were women. The oldest person now living is held to be Annie Armstrong, who is 117 years old, and lives in a little town in County Clare, Ireland. The Cruel Way in Which a Great Delicacy Is +Produced. A recent Paris Figaro gives us a very icteresting description of how that de- licacy of delicacies, pate de foie gras, is made. To the ordinary man or wo- man no conception of the torture to which the poor, unfortunate goose is put could possibly be imagined. ‘rhe geese, when about nine months old, are taken from the pastures and placed in an underground cellar where troad, slanting stone slabs stand in row d are bound fast to the tables, 'They are literally crucified. Feet, wings and bodies are spread out and bound by hands so that only the neck is left free. As may be ima- gined, the animal struggles with all his might against, this stretching till, after days of vain endeavor to» free itself from the bands and its position, its powers of resistance are overcome, and a dull resignation broken only by its low cries, takes possession of it. Two months must pass away before death brings relief. ‘The animals meanwhile are crammed with dumplings made of a dough of buckwheat, chestnuts, and stewed ma‘ze. Every two hours, six times a day, they receive from three to five dumpling pills, which in time become so Sweet to the tortured creatures that they stretch their necks to be cram- med. The most difficult task is to deter- mine the right moment for death. Those who die of their own accord are lost to the liver factory; therefore a kind of study is needed to see when the cup of agony is brimming full and the liver ripe for taking. The bodies of such ripe ones are like pumpkins— where ordinarily fingers are buried in flesh and fat nothing but skin and bone is found. The livers have ab- sorbed all the strength and juices, Keeping Cool Under Difficulties, The entertainment at the church was attended by a very large crowd and was highly appreciated by the audi ence. A panic was nearly created by the back part of the floor falling in, but the coolness of Hon. Charles Jetton prevented a stampede. In a command- ing tone, he admonished everybody to keep their seats, as there was abso- lutely no danger; then, grabbing his good wife by the arm, he said: “Come on, May, and let’s get out of here, or we'll get killed in a minute.’”—Murray Ledger. Self-trust is the essence of heroism. mZz—+40nO>W>Pr ‘An Excellent Combination. The pleasant method and beneficial effects of the well known remedy, Syrup or Fies, manufactured by the Cauirornraé Fia Syrup Co., illustrate the value of obtaining the liquid laxa- tive principles of plants known to be medicinally laxative and Loqariesnd them in the form most refreshing to the taste and acceptable to the system. It is the one rfeet strengthening laxa- tive, cleansing the system effectually, dispelling colds, headaches and fevers gently yet promptly and enabling one to overcome habitual constipation per- manently. Its perfect freedom from every objectionable quality and sub- stance, and its acting on the kidneys, liver and bowels, without Rabe an | or irritating them, make it the ide: aS of facturing figs n the manufacturin; are Teele thee are pleasant to the taste, but the medicinal qualities of the Co. only. In order to get its beneficial effects and” to avoid imitations, please remember the full name of the Company printed on the front of every package. CALIFORNIA FIG SYRUP CO. SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. LOUISVILLE, KY. NEW YORK, N. ¥. For sale by all Druggists.—Price 50c. per bottle. LABASTINE is the criginal and only durable wall coating, entirely different from a:l kal- somines. Ready for use in white or twelve beautiful tints by adding cold water. ADIES naturally prefer ALA- BASTINE for walls and ceil- ings, because it is pure, clean, durable. Put up in dry pow- dered form, in five-pound pack- ages, with full directions. LL kalsomines are cheap, tem- porary preparations made from whiting, chalks, clays, etc., and stuck on walls with de- caying animal glue. ALABAS- TINE is not q Kalsomine. EWARE of the dealer who says he can sell you the ‘‘same thing” as ALABASTINE or “something just as good.” 'e is either not posted or is try- ing to deceive you. ND IN OFFERING something he has bougnt cheap and tries to sell on ALABASTINE’S de- mands, he may not realize the damage you will suffer by a kalsomine on your walls. ENSIBLE dealers will not buy a lawsuit. Dealers risk one by selling and consumers by using infringement. Alabastine Co. own right to make wall coat- ing to mix with cold water. HE INTERIOR WALLS of every schoolhouse should be coated cnly with pure, durable ABASTINE. It safeguards ealth. Hundreds of tons are / used annually for this work. N BUYING ALABASTINE, see that packages are properly la- beled. Beware of large four- pound package light kalso- mine. offered to customers as a five-pound package. UISANCE of wall paper is ob- viated by ALABASTINE. It ean be used on plastered walls, wood ceilings, brick or can- vas, A child can brush it on. It does not rub or scale off. STABLISHED in favor. Shun all imitations. Ask paint dealer or druggist for tint card. Write for “Alabastine Era,” free, to ALABRASTINE CO. Grand Rapids, Michigan, Whiskers Dyed A Natural Black by « Buckingham’s Dye. Price 50 cents of all druggists or R. P. Hall & Co., Nashua, N. H. When Auswering Advertisements iadly Mention This Paper. « The Natural Cure —— ) —— for Indigestion. ach? Constipation? results. Do you have pain in the Do you have a yellow to! n 1; Wind on the stom- The Indigestion and Dyspepsia. . Digestion depends on digestive fluids or ferments” secreted by certain d the secretion becomes pnauificients Indigestion ( Dr. Williams Pink rn DED SD stomach after eating? 7 e things arise from 4 glands. When Z ills for Pale People ")) cause these glands to.resume their normal action and Artificia FIX porary Poor digestion often causes i! This irregularity may be mh disease. A case in point: rregularity of its act! ' She noticed that had been greatly redu more Seek ae sear That others may know thé means of cure we give the name of the medicine used—Dr. Williams’ Pink Pills for Pale People, These pills contain ali the elements necessary to give new life ‘and richness jood and restore shattered to the bi Sold by ood digestion ferments (of which most so-called ©] Dyspepsia cures are composed) ma ive tem- trary relief, but Dr Wittiams! Pink 8 ) Pale People afford a permanent cure. larity of the heart’s action. tataken for rea Mrs. Ellen Colsom, New had suffered for four years with stomach trouble. The gases gouareleg: by the sasigee: tion pressed on the heart, and caused an. ion, She had much pain in her stomach and heart, and was subject to frequent and severe choking spells which were most severe at night. Doctors were triedin vain; the patient became worse, despondent, and feared impending death, in intervals in which her stomach did not “y annoy her, her heart’s action became normal. Reasonin; correctly that her digestion was alone at fault she pracered the proper medicine to treat that trouble and with immediate results. Her appetite came back, the choking spells @ less frequent and finally ceased. Her weight, which ced, was restored and she now weighs all druggists or sent postpaid by the Or. Williams Medicine Co., Schenectady,N.Y.. Pri 5o*per box; 6 boxes, $2%. A diet book sent FR follows. Pills for q organic heart ‘peint, Ind., —New Era, Greenburg, Ind. ee. ) }