Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, February 17, 1906, Page 15

i ae é DEATH SEEMED NEAR. How a Chicago Woman Found Help_ When Hope Was Fast Fading Away. Mrs. E. T. Gould, 914 W. Lake Street, Chicago, Ill, says: “Doan’s Kidney Pills are all that saved me; from death of Bright’s Disease, that I know. I had eye trouble, back- ache, catches when lying abed or when bending over, was languid =and often dizzy AC and had sick » headaches and bearing down pains. The kid- ney _ secretions were to copious and frequent, and very bad in appear- ance. It was in 1903 that Doan’s Kid- ney Pills helped me so quickly and cured me of those troubles and I’ve been well ever since.” Sold by all dealers. 50 cents a box. Foster-Milburn Co., Buffalo, N. Y. Certain men are determined to get their share of what does not belong to them, $100 Reward, $100. aders of this paper will be pleased to learn t one dreaded disease that science e to cure in all {ts stages, and that is 8 Catarrh Cure {s the only positive to the medical fraternity. Catarrh tional disease, requires ‘a constitu: Catarrh Cure is taken fn- | upon the blood and mucous m, thereby destroying the e, ving the patient tution and assist- proprietors have ive powers that they offer .@ that it falls to Of Course. and you are suffering from 2 Iam. What do you ex- to do with it?” ch, Juicy Radishes Free. y loves juicy, tender radishes. this, hence he offers to send ely free sufficient radish seed 1 in tender radishes all sume nd his great *3 BARGAIN SEED BOOK. onderful surprises and grea®) in seeds at bargain prices. ‘fhe enormous crops on our seed farms the past season compel us to issue thig epecial catalogue. SEND THIS NOTICE TO-DAY. and receive the radishes and the wonder fal gain Book free. Remit 4c and we add a package of Cos mos. the most fashionable, serviceable, beautiful annual flower. ‘ John A. Salzer Seed Co., Lock Drawea W., La Crosse, Wis. Eve was the only woman who had proof that she was the only vositive TO CURE A COLD IN ONE DAY LAKAT BROMO Quinine Tablets. Dru; stund money if {t falls to cure, KE. We e 1s on each box. WHAT DREAMS ARE MADE OF. An Englishman Talks of Communion With the Spirit World. w and interesting point in the f the occult is being discussed on. It is the effect of diet on id communication with the spirit world. It is suggested that to obtain clear dreams—dreams which are free from anything of a fantastic, horrible or distorted nature—it is not ynly ary to retire to rest with the mind calm and contented, but the y t also have been nourished nt and easily digestible food. rsons have experienced night- due in the great majority of to a heavy meal before going to apart from this, no person, it n attain the perfect dream al course of diet. A. Cochrane, who is an authority the subject of dreams, which he studied for years, says: overed that no clear ible on the ordinary diet. aut or similarly heavy food, nor ar x containing alcohol, must be taken if the right kind of a dream is to come. I am a fruitatarian myself, and fruit is the best kind of food for 2 perfect dreamer, although any- thing very easily digestible will serve the purpose. Such a diet will enable per to get into actual touch with | the spirit world, and they will be able | to recall their dreams on the awaken. ! L dreams neces dream is po No v A BOY’S BREAKFAST. There’s a Natural Food That Makes! Its Own Way. ere’s a boy up in Hoosick Falls, Y., who is growing into sturdy r ood «=6on =6Grape-Nuts breakfasts. it might have been different with him, | as his mother explains: “My ll-year-old boy is large, well developed and active, and has been made so by his fondness for Grape- Nuts food. At five years he was a very nervous child and was subject to frequent attacks of indigestion which used to rob him of his strength and were very troublesome to deal with. He never seemed to care for anything for his breakfast until 1 tried Grape-Nuts, and I have never had to change from that. He makes his entire breakfast of Grape-Nuts! food. It is always relished by him and he says that it satisfies him bet ter than the ordinary kind of a meal. “Better than all he is no longer troubled with indigestion or nervous. . and has got to be a splendidly developed fellow since he began to use Grape-Nuts food.” Name given by! Postum Co., Battle Creek, Mich. There’s a reason. Read the little beok, “The Road to Wellville,” tn pkgs. j i | | | greater part of the morning. {his first day out of doors, and his first CHAPTER XXII1.—(Continued.) Now all was in readiness for the end—the last act in the awful scene! Nervously and anxiously the exe- cutioner was assuring himself that every detail of his ghastly work had been accurately carried out. Yes, all was in readiness. Calm, still, and unflinching the condemned man stood pinioned and masked, awaiting the tragedy of his last mo- ment. Back all moved; alone he stood; alone to die. Click! One bolt had slid quickly back; for a second the others resisted, then slipped back with a jerk. Thuda! thud! CHAPTER XXIV. Bathed in dazzling sunshine were the house and grounds of Carlton Park; for the glories of a beautiful spring day were present on this twen- tieth day of March. Sauntering up and down the south terrace Sir George and Lady Ellingham had spent the It was day of fully recognized, absolute re- ‘covery. Dr. Bennett hag just paid his } last visit and had dismissed himself with a few words of advice to his pa- tient. “Don’t do too much, Sir George,” he | Said, “and don’t allow your thoughts to drift back to the past. Keep them al- ways moving ahead, and keep your- self pleasantly and divertingly occu- pied, and, as soon as you can, go away for a complete change. You are sure to feel a little ill sometimes, and when you do, give in and take things very quietly until you feel yourself again. Above all, steer clear of every species of excitement. I know I can rely upon Lady Ellingham warmly sup- porting my advice.” “I cannot promise to live a hermit’s life,” replied Sir George, with a smile. “I should be very sorry to see you attempt it, and, as a proof of the sin- cerity of that remark, I now remove my veto to your reading the newspa- pers. But don’t attempt to read up in one day the world’s history during the whole time you have been ill.” “My ideas would be rather confus- ed at the end of the time if I were to attempt it.” Sir George spoke cheer- fully, for he felt in a cheerful mood. Incidents of the dark past had faded into the dim distance. From weeks of illness he had emerged a new man. Life, he argued, had not been return- ed to him for naught. It had been re- turned to him in order that he should work out his own repentence on earth, and he was compelled to work it out on lines of complete unselfishness and self-renunciation. “You will find a great deal of excit- ing reading in the newspapers of the last few weeks,” remarked the doc- tor. “Developments in connection with local history have been appall- ingly startling—not to say thrilling— lately. The Arlington tragedy will al- ways be remembered with deep regret by all who knew Mr, Erskine. Good- bye. I must congratulate you and also myself on your excellent recovery.” Before the door closed on the de- parting doctor Sir George was ring- ing the bell with electrifying sharp- ness. “What has become of all the news- papers during my illness?” he asked the footman. “I believe, sir, that they have been mostly kept,” was the reply. “Bring me every one that you can find.” Commandingly was the order given and it was quickly obeyed. But no at- tempt had been made to file the news- papers, for all believed that Sir George would not live to read them. Now, in hopeless confusion, they were brought to him. Hands burning with nervous excite- ment were turning them over. Eyes glistening with fear glanced down ey- ery column. Unheard, Hilda entered the room and stood at Sir George’s side and watched him with a sinking heart. Why was he so ghastly white? Why were his hands moving so jerk- ily and so nervously? It was piteous- ly disappointing to see him so over- wrought and excited on this, the first day of his admitted recovery to health. It promised badly for the future. “What are you searching so eagerly for?” she asked, gently. “Tl tell you when J find it,’ he an- swered, with sharp brevity. She did not speak again. She re- mained at his side, watching him; and every instant her heart sank lower and lower. Sometimes a bitter ex- clamation of horror escaped his lips, sometimes he remained rigidly still, his whole mein denoting agonized at- tention. Then, with a deep sigh, he would recommence eagerly turning over more pages. Something in his manner warned Hilda not by word or deed to inter- fere with the frenzied eagerness with which he was searching through the newspapers. She knew her face was as white as his and her craving to see his anxiety allayed as great as his. Now her eyes were following the di- rection of his. She must ascertain for what he was seeking with this FALSELY ~ CONDEMNED 3a Mrs. E. Bagot Harte. breathless eagerness by other means save questions. Suddenly arrested were the quick movements of his hands, suddenly con- centrated was the whole attention of his eager eyes. She knew that he had found what he sought. Yes! In large print were the words: “THE ARLINGTON TRAGEDY.” She moved nearer him. He shrank from her. In oppressive silence they read to- gether the speech of counsel for pris- oner’s defense; then the judge’s sum- ming up; then the verdict. “Guilty! Good heavens! And I am the man!” cried Sir George, in a lead- en voice. “You? What—what do you mean, George?” she gasped, clasping his arm. “I mean that I am the criminal! I am the man who murdered the wom- an found buried in the wood.” Hilda raised her terrified, doubting eyes to his face. Had he gone sud- denly mad? Had he suddenly become a victim to acute mania? “But the prisoner confessed that he had committed the crime,” she said, in a tone of the mildest postulation. “Tt was a lying confession. He has died to save you from dishonor, to save you from being branded as a mur- derer’s wife! I swear that what I am saying is true, only too true. Hé loved you and he has died for you. He has died that I may live.” Staggering backwards and flinging himself into a chair, Sir George ut- tered the last few words. Then he buried his face in his hands and re- mained motionless, dazed with horror, crushed with self-detestation, mad with his inability to undo this fellow- mortal’s criminal act of heroism. Hilda did not speak. Faint from the terrible horror of the ghastly news, she leaned back, gazing before her with terror-stricken, unthinking eyes. Nothing occurred to her to do, for there was nothing to say, nothing to do. Guy was dead—executed! Had been laid to his eternal rest. Then a wild craving entered her mind to know wore of his last mo- ments, to read how his superbly brave spirit carried him through to the end. A passing hope rushed across her mind that his last moments were not tainted by any act of cowardice, that consistently brave and grand he had remained until the end. As she thought thus the man who had died to save her grew dearer and dearer to her, and the: man whose wife she believed herself to be began to pass from the sphere of her love. Quickly she was turning over the newspapers now; glistening eyes were scanning every page. Now, with dull pain in her heart, she was reading an account of the lit- tle that was known of his last mo- ments. Reggie’s farewell visit was mentioned, and also the fact that the hangman had arrived at the prison with his assistant. | If she had not seen every word in print, if she had not known that by no possible chance could she be mistaken in the truth of every statement, to be- lieve all would have been impossible. Now her cold, eager hands were ea- gerly searching for the newspaper of March 11. It must be amongs the con- fused heap, she told herself, as she glanced at the heading of each. But the Times of March 11, the newspaper which must have contained the account of the execution, was not there. Striving to keep her mad ex- citement under command, she rang the bell. “I wish the newspaper of March 11 to be brought me,” she said. “T am afraid that there is not one in the house, my lady,” answered the footman. “Then obtain one immediately.” Even as she gave the order, Hilda realized the futility of hoping that it could be carried out for hours, and during those hours she would be con- demneéd to tolerate the most agonized form of suspense. No! She would not tolerate the aw- ful mental hours of waiting and think- ing. She must act immediately, and hear at once, without a moment’s loss of time, how the man who had died for her had faced his end. She would order the carriage at once and drive to Arlington Towers. Reggie was almost certain to be there, and from him she would be able to learn all. He would think her con- duct insanely incomprehensible. But that mattered nothing. Her raging impatience to know how Guy had died could not be kept at bay. Of his in nocence and self-sacrifice Reggie could know nothing. Had he known the truth he would not have allowed his brother to be executed. She must steady her impatience, she must curb her craving to rush on and to learn all, and—and— _ Scarcely to herself dared she end that sentence. But a passing glance at the crouching figure of her husband spoke of the ut- ter scorn in which she held him. He had neither moved nor stirred since the awful moment when he had learnt of Guy’s condemnation to death. But had she the right to negative the results of his surpassingly great act of self-sacrifice. And her child, | monosyllable escaped Hilda’s had she the right to brand-him as a muréderer’s son, now that Guy’s death had purged his father’s crime? Heaven help her to act for the best and guide aright her actions! Suddenly arrested was the rushing current of her thoughts. Some one was entering the room. “I have found a copy of the Stand- ard of March 11, my lady,” said the footman. “It was amongst some news- papers that were put away by mis- take.” “Thank you,” said Hilda, taking it eagerly. The man quitted the room. Again oppressive silence held sway. But that oppressive silence was broken by a sharp cry from Hilda. “George! George! Oh, read it!” she murmured, in a voice quivering with emotion. its CHAPTER XXV. Sir George staggered to his feet and clutched the newspaper. “Read!” whispered Hilda, in an awe-stricken voice, pointing to a long acount of a ghastly catastrophe at an execution. Shivering with the horror of it he read from end to end the description of the blood-curdling scene that had attended the attempt to hang Guy Erskine; read how the rope had snap- ped and the condemned man fallen crashing to the ground, breaking one of his arms; read how the execution had been abandoned and the condemn- ed man respited. “I wonder if he still lives?” It was Hilda who spoke, in a quick, nervous voice. Flinging away the newspaper, Sir George turned fiercely upon her. “Would you rather that he lived and I died?” he asked. A pause—short and painful. back flashed the answer: “Do you expect me to ask the guilty to live and to say that the innocent must die? For I will not ask it! I will not say it!” “Would it be nothing to you if I died? Do you love me so little that you can think of my taking Erskine’s place on the scaffold without a shadow of regret? Yet it was for you, Hilda, that I killed the woman. I murdered her to save you from dishonor, that your child should rank as my heir, and that you yourself should never be de- throned from your accredited position as my wife.” “What do you mean? that ragged, miserable woman, throne me, Lady Ellingham?” “Bécause—” He ceased speaking for a moment, then in a lower tone, half bitter, half reproachful, he added, “Shall I tell you the absolute, undis- guised truth?” “Yes, tell me everything. I demand it is my right,” she said, with proud vehemence. Another pause, during which Sir George rose and walked toward her; then, with one hand on the back of her chair, he said in a low, thrilling voice: “That ragged, miserably wom- an was Lady Ellingham, my wife. I married her years ago, and believed that she was dead when I married you. Now you know your position—and hers! She was in the way; more espe- cially in your way. So I took her life. Erskine knows all. He saw the deed committed. He screened me. He took me back to Arlington Towers and supplied me with clothes that were not blood stained. You remember the night of Lady Pennant’s ball?” “Yes!” Like a cry of agony the lips. “You need not tell me‘another word!” she added, with a gasp. “I understand all now! And that poor child is your heir, the future baronet; whilst my darling little boy is—” She ceased speaking and buried her face in her hands. Heaven help me to be brave! Help me to face all!” she murmured, a mo- ment later. i (To Be Continued.) OUR CHAMPION CHEESE COUNTY. Then How could de- Sheboygan County, Wis., Dairy Boards Sell 8,000,000 Pounds a Year. The Sheboygan county, Wis., dairy boards of trade sell annually 8,000,000 pounds of cheese, or almost one-half of all the cheese sold in this great dairyiag state of Wisconsin. But this ig not all. Of the 116 cheese factories in Sheboygan county, only 65 sell their product in the county. All elements considered, $1,500,000 is paid annually for Sheboygan county cheese. So enormous is the Sheboygan county output of cheese that a careful mathe- matical computation hopefully begun and laboriously concluded leads us to the astonishing result that Sheboy- gan county, alone and unaided, could at this rate produce an amount of first-class full-cream American cheese equal to the total volume of the moon in only 11,417,752,611,917,564% years. Wanted to Know Which Garfield. The news of President Garfield’s election did not reach the town of Lee in Massachusetts until the day after the count. It happened that in the town there was a man named Garfield who ran a mill, and he had a son nam- ed Henry. When the news arrived, some one yelled to the crowd that was hanging around the general loafing place: “Garfield fs elected president,” and immediately an old man called pack to him: “Which one, Hen or the old man?”—Boston Herald. Lights Out. “go that young man’s gone at last,” said the girl’s mother. “You and he have been occupying the parlor pret- ty regularly here of late, and I'd like to know what his intentions are. Do you know?” “well, was the dear girl’s ambigu- ous reply, “he keeps me & good deal in the dark.”—Philadelphia Press. Woman’s Trials. The bitter trail in a woman’s life Is to be childless. Who can tell how hard the struggle may have been ere she learnt to resign herself to her lonely lot? The ab- sence of this link to bind marital life together, the absence of this one pledge to mutual affection is a common. disap- ointment. Many unfortunate cou es come estranged thereby. Even if they do not drift erie one may read the whole extent of their disappointment in the eyes of such a childless couple when they rest on the children of others. 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