Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, April 14, 1901, Page 24

Tristram m n n w of Blent. Being An Episode in a Story of An Ancient House. W BY ANTHONY HOPE. W (Copyright, 1901, by A. H. Hawkins.) Synops (Adelalde len: Hall ta fr Randoiph died 1n Russia, | time for L ge and marry and Ko make thelr son, mate. They learn later, however, date of Sir Randolph's death has besn given incorrectly and Harry le not Pightful heir, They keep the matter and eventuaily Mrs, Fitzgerald suc the barony of Trietram of Blent sides with Harry at Blent Hall Unknown to Lady Tristram a Madam Zabriska, and Mr. Jenkinson Neeld, are alsg in possession of the secret and Madam Zabriska her uncle, Major Duplay, come to reside at Merrion Lodge, near Blent Hall. Harry fearns from his mother that he ls not the rightful helr to Hlent, but they determine to hold the title for him at any cost. TO further his cause he decides to MArT Jenny Ivers, heiress of Fairholme, but finda two rivals in Bob Broadley and Major Duplay. The latter learns of his unfor- tunate birth from Madam Zabriska. He in- forms him that he intends to tell Ivers and they quarrel, Harry winning in i briek le. Neeld becomes the guest of Ivers alrholme. Madam Zabriska meets and they form a compuct (o protect Harry's interests and maintain secrecy. Lady Tristram dles after extracting from her won i promise that Ceclly Giniborouzn, rghtful helress of Blent, shall be invited to the funeral.) wif ert imably in tzhubert 1o Harry, legitl that the Little inclined to sleep, he went down nto the garden presently, lit his cigar and strolled onto the bridge. He had #tood where he was only a few moments when, to his surprise, ho heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs on tho road from Blent mouth. Thinking the doctor, who often did his rounds in the saddle, might have returned, he crossed the bridge, opencd the gate and stood on the high road. The rider came up in & few minutes and drew rein at the sight of his figure, but, as Harry did not move, made as though he would ride on again with no more than the customary country salute of “‘good- njght.” “Who s 1t?" asked through the darkness. “Me—Bob Broadley," “You're late.” ‘ve been at the Cricket club's know." L“Ah, T forgot.” Bob, coming to a standstill, was taking the opportunity of lighting his pipe. Thia done he looked up at the house and back to Harry rather timidly. “Lady Tristram—'" ho began “My mother has been dead above an hour,” sald Harry Atter a moment Bob dismounted and threw his relns over the gatepost. ‘m sorry, Tristram,” he said, holding out his hand. “Lady Tristram was al- ways very kind to me. Indeed, she was that to everybody.” He paused a mo- ment and then went on slowly. “It must sgem strange to you. Why, I remember when my father died I felt—besides the sorrow, you know—sort of lost at coming into my bit of land and Mingham. But you—" Harry could see his head turn as be looked over the demesne of Blent and struggled to give some expression to the thoughts which his companion’s position suggested. The circumstances of this meet- ing made for sincerity and openness; they wero always Bob's characteristics. Harry, too, was in such a mood that he liked Bob to stay and talk a little. They fell into talk with more ease and naturalness than they had recently achieved together, getting back to the triendliness of boyhood, although Bob still spoke as to one greater than himself and infused a little deference into his manner. But they came to nothing intimate till Bob had decldfed that he must be on his way and was about to mount s horse. As soon as 1 begin to have people here 1 hope you'll come often,” sald Harry cor- alally. aturally we shall ‘be a little more lively than we've been able to be of Iate, and I shall hope to see all my friends.” He did not instantly understand the itation in Bob's manner as he answered: “You're very kind. I—I shall like to come.” “Blent must do its duty,” Harry pursued Bob turned back to him, leaving his horse agaln. “Yes, I'll come. I hope I know how to take a licking, Tristram.” He held out bis hand. “A llcking?' Both the word and the gesture scemed to surprise Harry Tristram “Qb, you know what I mean. You're en- gaged to her, arem’'t you? Or as good as anyhow? I don't want to ask questions- “Not even as good as, yet," answered Harry, slowly. “Ot course, you know what I feel. Every- body knows that, though I've never talked wbout it—even to her.” ““Why not to her? Isn't that rather usual n such cases? Harry was smiling now. “It would only worry her. What chance thould I have?" “Well. I don't agree bumble." “Oh, I don't know that I'm humble. Per- 3aps I think myself as good as man as you But——"" he laughed a little—"I'm Broad- of Mingham, not Tristram of Blent." ‘I ‘see. That's 1t? And your friend the major?” “I shouldn’t so mind having a turn-up with the major." ““But Tristram of Blent is—Is too much “It's not your fault, you can't help it imiled Bob. “You're born to it, and-—" ended with a shrug. “You're very fond of her?' Harry asked, ‘rawning a little “I've been in love with her all my life— ser since they came to Seaview. Fairholme wasn't dreamed of then." He spoke of Fairholme with a touch of sltterness which he hastened to correct by 1dding: “Of course, I'm glad of their good u Harry, peering was the answer. the club at Blentmouth— annual dinner, you something with belng too “You mean If it were Seaview still and 0t IPairholme " *No, 1 don't. I've no business to thiuk wything of the sort and I don't think 1t," Peecccescccccccccccsccocccd “Decidedly the best” 18 literally the peo- ple's verdiet. Has that honest flavor of malt and hops that appeals to lovers of the baven\z- LATZ -THE STAR-MILWAUKEE — Proror components, modern facllities, lal. thorough aging of every brew, 1\ backed by the Bats original 0. brought about BEER PERFECTION. BLATZ MALT-VIVINE (Non-Intoxicant) . Druggists or Direct. OMAHA BRANCH, 1413 Douglas St. Tel. 1081, nd celebrated methods, many years ‘SPRING TONIC. VAL BLATZ BREWING CO , MILWAUKEE sesrrrrrerrrteresrenese with | “You asked me & I'm not in & you, and BSL interposed quickly question and I answered it position to know anything about | I'm not going to say anything.' “A food many reasons enter Into a mar- rlage sometimes,” remarked Harry “Yes, with people llke you, I know that o His renewed reference to Harry's position brought another frown to Harry's face, but it was the frown of thoughtfulness, not of anger. “1 can't quarrel with the way of the world, and i'm sure it it does come ofl you'll be good to her.” “You think I don’t care about her--about herselt? “I don’t know, I tell you. I don't want to know. 1 suppose you like her.” “Yea, 1 ltke ber.” He took the word from Bob, and made no attempt to alter or. to amplity 1t Bob was mounting now; the hour was late for him to be abroad and work waited bim o the morning. “Good night, Tristram,” he sald, settled In his saddle “Good night. And, Bob, if by any chance It doesn't come oft with me you will have that turn-up with the major?” “Well, T don’t like the idea of a forelgn chap coming down and—. But, mind you, Duplay's a very superior fellow. He knows the deuce of a lot.” “Thinks he does, anyhbow,” sald Harry, smiling agaln. “Good night, old fellow he called after Bob in & very friendly voice, as horse and rider disappearcd up the road. “I must go to bed, 1 suppose,” he mut- tered, as he returned to the bridge and stood leaning on the parapet. He yawned, not in weariness, but in a reaction from the excitement of the last few days. His emotional mood had passed for the time at all events; it was succeeded by an apathy that was dull without being resttul. And in its general effect his Interview with Bob was vaguely vexatious, in spite of Its cor- dlal character; it left him with a notion wuich he rejected, but could not quite get rid of—the notion that he was taking, or (it all were known) would be thought to be tuking, an untalr advantage. Bob had said he was born to it, and that he could not help it. It did not trouble him serlously. | He smoked another cigarette ou the bridge and then went {nto the house and to bed. | As he undressed it occurred to him (and | the idea gave him both pleasure and amuse- ment) that he had made a sort of alltance | with Bob against Duplay, although 1t could 'only come Into operation under eclrcum- | stances which were very unlikely to happen. ‘1 The blinds drawn at Blent next morning told Mina what bad happened, and the hour of 11 found her at a committee meeting of Miss Swinkerton's, which she certainly | would not have attended otherwise. As it was, she wanted to talk and to hear, and | the gathering afforded a chance. Mrs. Iver was there, and Mrs. Trumbler, the vicar's wite, a meek woman, rather ousted from { her position by the energy of Miss Swinker- | ton. Mrs. Trumbler felt, however, that on | matters of morals she had a right to speak —jure mariti. “It is so sad,” she murmured. Trumbler found he could do so little! came home quite distressed.’” “I'm told she wasn't the least sensible of her position,” observed Miss S., with what looked rather like satistaction. “Didn’t she know she was dylng?” asked Mina, who had established her footing by a hypocritical show of interest in the cottage gardens. “Oh, yes, she knew she was dying, my dear,” said Miss 8. “What poor Lady Tris- tram might have known, but apparently had not, was left to an obvious inference." She was very kind,” remarked Mrs. Iver. “Not exactly actively, you know, but if you bappened to come across her.” She rose as she spoke and bade Miss S. farewell. That lady did not try to detain her, and the moment the door had closed behind her remarked: “Of course, Mrs. Iver feels in a dell- cate position, and can’t say anything about Lady Tristram, but from what I hear she never realized the pecullarity of her posi- tion. The engagement is to be announced directly after the funeral.” Mina almost started at this authoritative announcement. “And 1 suppose they'll be married as soon as they decently ‘can. I'm glad for Janie Iver's sake—not that I like him, the little I've seen of him." “Are you sure they're engaged?’ asked Mina Miss 8. looked at her with a smile. “'Cer- tainly, my dear “How?' asked Mina. Mrs. Trumbler stared at her in a surprised rebuk “When 1 make a mistake it will be time to ask questlons,” observed Miss . with dignity. “For the present you may take what I say. I can walt to be proved right, Mme. Zabriska." “I've no doubt you're right; only I thought Janle would have told me,” sald Mina. She had no wish to quarrel with Miss 8. Jane Iver's very secretive, my dear. She always was I used to talk to Mrs. tver about it when she was a little girl. nd fn your case—' Miss S.'s smile could only refer to the circumstance that Mina was Major Duplay's niece; the ma jor's maneuvers hod not escaped Miss S.'s eye. “Of couse the funeral will be very qaiet,” Miss 8. continued. “That avoids so many difficulties. The people who would come and the peopfe who wouldn't, and all that, you know." “There are so many questlons always about funerals,” sighed Mrs. Trumbler. “I hate funerals,” said Mina. “I'm go- ing to be cremated.” “That may be very dear,” sald Miss 8, couldn’t here. Iver go, and walk?" “0, 1 should hardly think she'd go It it's not announcei, you know," said Mrs. Trumbler. “It's sometimes done, and I'm told she would walk just behind the family.” Mina feft the two ladies debating this polnt of etiquette. On her way home she stopped to leave cards at Blent, and was not surprised when Harry Tristram came out of his study, having seen her through the window, and greeted her. “Send your trap home and walk up the il with me," he suggested, and she fell in with his wish very readily. They crossed the foot-bridge together. “I've just been writing to ask my rela- tlons to the funeral,” he sald. “At my mother's wish—not mine. Only two of them—and I never saw them in my life." “1 shouldn’t thiak you'd cultivate your relations mugh." ‘No. But Cecily Galnsborough come, 1 suppose, She's my hel Mina turned to him with a gesture of in- terest or surprise. “Your heir?" she sald. *You mean— “I mean that if 1 died without having any children she'd succeed me. She'd be Lady Tristram in her own right, as my wother wi He faced around and looked at Blent, “She’s never been to the place or seen it yet,”" he added “Hew Intensely interested she'll be!" 1 don't see why she should,” sail Harry rather croe “It's a great bore having he “And Mr. He well abroad, tolerantly, The question is, it she does, my “but you will Janle where will she ught to @ lLer bere at lil, and if I'm barely civil to THE OMAHA DAILY BEE her that's all 1 shall manage. They won't stay more than o few days, I suppose.’ After a second he went on. ‘Her mother wouldn’t know my mother, though after ber death the father wanted to be recon clled.” ‘Is that why you dislike them so? How do you kn 1 disiike them asked, seeming surprised “It's protty evideni would be a good = mother, anyhow “But not the daughter ™’ “No, and you seem to dislike the daughter too—-which fsn't fafr.” 0, I take the family in the lump. And I don’t know thet what we've been talking of has anything to do with 1t." He did not seem inclined to talk more about the Gainsboroughs, though his frown told her that something distasteful was still in his thoughts. What he sald was enough to rouse in her a great interest and he 18n't son for disliking curfosity about this girl, who was his heir./ 1 "I don't know. But I you do, I shall be there looking 80 hard at you, Mr. Tristram paused, and t added, “1 should like Cecily Gainsborough to come into it Confound Cecily Gainsborough! Goodby,' sald Harry He lef to see too with her two main impressions the first was that he had not the leaet love for the girl whom he meaunt to marry; the second that he hardly carcd to deny to her that he hated Cecily Gainsborough because she was the owner of Blent CHA " X A Phantom by the Pool. In a quiet little street ruaning between the Fulham and the King's roads, in a row of small bouses mot yet fmproved out of oxistence, there was one house smallest of all, with the smallest front, the smallest buck aud the smallest garden. The whole thing was almost impossibly small—-a pe- cullarity properly reflected fn the rent, The girl whom he chose to call his heir was really the owier of Blent! ““Are you going to ask us to the funeral?” she said. “I'm not going to ask soybody. The churchyard is free, they can come, If they like."" ““1 shall come ing." “0, no.” He was undisguisedly terent und almost bored “And then 1 shall borongh “Have a good look at her. You'll not have another chance—at Blent, anyhow. 8he'll never come here again.” She looked at him in wonder, in a sort of fear. How hurd you are sometimes,” she s “The poor girl's done nothing to you. He shook his head impatiently and came to a stand on the road. “You're going back? tram.” “I'm not called that till after the fu- neral,” he told her, looking as suspiclous as he had in the earliest days of their ac- quaintance. “‘And will you Merrion—or how ?" “Do you think of coming again?” “I want to,” she answered with some nervousness in her manner. ““And Major Duplay?" He smiled slightly. “1 don't know whether he would want Shoula you object?’ “Oh, no,” said Harry. weary indifference that fastened on him now. “I've been gossiping,” she said, Mrs. Trumbler and Miss Swinkerton.” “Good Lord “Miss Swinkerton says that your engago- ment to Janle will be announced directly after the funcral” “And Major Duplay says that directly it's announced—'' “You don't about 1t “Really, I don't see why I should, it you llke, I want to marry her." Mina had really known this for a while, yet she did not like to hear It. can’t help thinking that somehow do something more exciting th Shall you dislike my com- indit- see Cecily Galns- a Goodby, Lord Tris- living at any- let me go on coming every summer, the have with to again secmed “with mean to tell me anything Well, long you'll that." “She won't marry me?’ He was not looking at her, and spoke rather absontly don't suppose she'll refuse you, No, I've just a foellng. 1 can't expl A feeling? What foeling?” {rritable, but his attention was again, “That's you." “That it's my busivess to go ou affording you amusement, perhaps?’ Mina glanced at him; he was smi had become good tempered “0, 1 don't expect you to do reason, but if you do It but. n He was caught something more's waiting for he t for that “Do what?" he asked, laughing outright. CECILY GAINSBOROUGH. whi¢h Mr. Gainsborough paid to the firm of Sloyd, Sloyd & Gurney for the fag end of a | long lease. He did some professional work for the Sloyds from time to time, and that member of the firm who had let Merrion lodge to Mina Zabriska was on friendly terms with him, so that perhaps the rent was a little low ill than it would have been othrwise; even trifling reductions counted as fmportant things in the Gains- borough budget. Being thus small, the house was naturally full; the three people who lived there were themselves enough to account for that. But it was also unnatu- rally full by reason of Mr. Gainborough's habit of acquiring old turniture of no value and new bric-a-brac whose worth could be expressed only by minus signs. These things flooded floors and walls, and over- flowed on to the strip of gravel behind From time to time many of them disap- peared; there were perlodical revolts on ly's part, resulting in clearances; the gaps were soon made good by a fresh influx of the absolutely und In no other Melton John ¢ called a nuls tram’s capriciou very unobtrusive lean like his purse, shabby ture, humbler than his bric asked very little of the world; it gave him half, and he did not complain. He was never proud of anything, but he was gratl fled by his h descent and by his allilance with the Tristrams. The family instinet w yery sirong in him. And now they were going to Blent. Sloyd, ealling on a matter of business and pleas- antly excusing his intrusion by the paymeut of some fees, had heard about it from Galnsborough This'll just take us to Blent!" the little gentleman had observed with satisfaction as he waved the slip of paper. Sloyd knew Blent and could take an interest; he described it, raising his volco so that it traveled beyond the room and reached the hammock in the garden, where Ceefly 1o She liked a hammock and her father could Dot stand china fig- ures and vases on It, 50 that it secured her where to lay her head {nsborough was very fussy the news: a decper but quieter excitement glowed in Ceclly's eyes as, listening to Sloyd, she felgned to pay no heed had designs on the che beauty unadorned me everal thinzs, but moralists cannot In twisting the commendation of an o on threadbare re must funeral frock ainsborough architect—be Harry Tris For he was like his hous: like his furni- a-bra He by pleasure swmall over it intc door pened on o was @ to the and greeted al, his th un bat mirroring the trom necessity and laying in the hamin kim, smiling in lazy “Do you ever wear the sa she asked Must have a good hat in my profession | Miss Gainsborough. You never know where habby sled from looked up at k amius: f hat twice?" _APRIL_ 14 you'll be sent for. The duchess of this or lady that loses her money at cards or the earl drops a bit at Newmarket—must let the house for the season—sends off for me mustn't catch me in an old hat! Yes, 1 see. “Besides, you may say what you like a gentleman ought to wear a good hat. stamps him, Miss Gainsborough.’ “Yours positively illuminates you. 1 could find (he way by you on the darkest night With fust a little touch of ofl!' mitted cautiously, not sure how far she was serfous in the admiration her eyes scemed to express What have you been doing with yourself?” he asked, breaking off after his sufficient confession. “I've been drawing up advertisements of my own accomplishments.” She sat up suddenly. O, why didn't 1 ask you to help me? Youw'd have made me sound, eligible and desirable and handsome and spacious and all the rest of it. And I found but It he ad- nothing at all to say!" What were you advertising for omebody who knew less French than 1 aid. But I shall have to wait till we come back now.” She yawned a little. "I don’t in the least want to carn my living, you know,” she added candidly, ‘“and there’s mo way 1 could honestly. 1 dom't really know any French at all.”* Sloyd regarded her with mingled pleasure and pain. His taste was for more robust beauty and more striking raiment, and she —no, she was not neat. Yet he decided that she would, as he put it, pay for dress- ing; she wanted some procese analogous the thorough repair which he loved to see applied to old houses. Then she would be attractive—not his sort, of course, but still attractive “1 wonder if yow'll mect Mme. Zabriska —the lady 1 let Merrion lodge to—and the gentleman with her, her uncle.” “1 expect not. My cousin invites us for the funcral. It's on Saturday. I suppose we shall stay the Sunday—that's all—and I dow't suppose we shall sce anybody to speak to anyhow.” Her alr was very care- less; the whole thing was represented as rather a bore. “You should make a longer visit. I'm sure bis lordship will be delighted to have you, and it's a charmiug neighborhood, in. deed.” Qaresay. But desirable things don't generally come our way, Mr. Sloyd, or at any rate not much of them.' “It's pretty odd to think it'd all be you it anythiag happened to Lord Tristram. amusement she might it His tones showed a mixture ¢ | aud awe. She was what he saw- become my lady “It may be pretty odd.” she said, indo- lently, “but it doesn't do me much good, does 1t?" This last remark summed up the attitude which Cecily had always adopted about Blent, and she chose to maintain it now that she was at last to see Blent. She had never boen asked to Blent. If she was 4 now it was as a duty; as a duty she would go. Harry did not monopolize the Tristram blood, or the Tristram pride Yot in her heart she was on fire with an excitement which Sloyd would have won- dered at and which made her father's fussy nervousn m absurd. At last she was to see with hor eyes the things she had al- ways heard of, Addle Tristram, indeed, she could no longer see; that had always been denied to her, and the loss wus irreparable. But even the dead Lady Tristram she would soon be able to realize far better than she had yet done, she would put her into her surroundings. And Harry would be there, the cousin who had never been cousinly, the yourg man whom she did not kuow and who was # fector of such importance in her lite, $he had dreams in abundance about the ex- pedition, and it was in vain that reason aid, “IU1l be all over in three days. Then | back to the little house und the need for that advertisement!” Cecily was sure that lat last—Ab, at last!—a cbange in life had FAMOUS CLARA BARTON and Head of the Great B gives Reco, The Universally Loved and Honored President of The Red Cross Society Gives Her Endorsement For Dr. Greene's Nervura. Clara Barton, the Best Known Woman in the World, enevolent Red Cross Order, gnition to Dr. Greene's Nervura Blood and Nerve Remedy, Miss Barton by her Encour- aging Words, thus Widens Her Helpful Influence to All Classes and Conditions of People who Need Health and Strength. ‘Who does not know of Clara Barton the practical, hard working President ? Ask any of the Boys in Blue, who so and the great society of which she i gloriously upheld our banners in the Bpanish War; ask them who is the most heroic woman in the world, and they will answer with one accord “ Clara Barton.” Superintending in person, in the midst of those fever stricken ranks in Cuba, the supplies and the medicines which our own government failed to pro- vide, Clara Barton's services to our soldiers will ever remain fresh in their memories. It is beyond question that Clara Barton and her relieving forces aved thousands of precious lives in that campaign. Every battlefield of modern times could tell a similar tale, All civilized and even barbarian nati the ons yield courtesy and consideration to use Clara Barton reprosents and the official emblem of her society. Armenia, Africa, and India have cause to praise her good works, In the midst of deepest carnage her flag, the Red Cross, is never fired upon. The whole earth recognizes it and bows before it. Surrounded by the clashing interests of a selfish world Clara Barton stands for generosity, untiring energy, and sublime devotion to the relief of distress. Mothers bless her for the li timely aid. fo s of sons. Wives give her grateful thauks for husbands restored to them by her hi!dl"n owe her gratitnde for fathers safe return. If Clara Barton gives her endorsement to a medicine, let every sufferer take heed, because she speaks solely in the interests of humanity. says: This is what she « We have tried Dr. Greene’s Nervura blood and nerve remedy, and although the remedy has been we judge that the remedy hasall of it. in our hands but a short time, the merits which are claimed for ‘We shall still continue its use, with the expectation that we shall be able to indorse it still more highly." CI.ARA BARTON, President of the American National Red Cross, Washington, D.C. Dr. Greene's Nervura blood and nerve remedy is indorsed and recommended by more people whom it has cured, more charitable societies than any other remed, made well and strong again, if you wish you wish to know wg physicians, more hospitals and more in the world, and if you wish to be ealth to take the place of disease, if at it is to be without pain, weakness, nervousness, humors or indeed any kind of nervous or physical suffering, take Dr. Greene's Nervura blood and nerve remedy. Consultation, examination and advice in regard to any case may be had free, New York City. Call or write to-day. Howell’s Anti-Kawf The g ~and everybody takes it for a cold. reonally or by letter. at Dr. Greene's office, 35 West Fourteenth Street, Is & Household Remedy. children cry for it—the old folks rely on it 1t 1s when It comes toa reliabie cough cure. It stops that tickling in the throat and cures the cough for good. store. 25 cents A bottlo at any drug Life had been always so very much | ihe same; changes generally need money, | and money had not been hers. t's begun!" Ceclly said to herself, when, three days afterward, they got out of their third-class carriage and got Into the landau that walted for them. The groom, touching | his hat, asked if Miss Gainsborough had brought a maid. (“The maid,” not “a maid,” was the form of reference familiar to Miss Galnsborough.) Her father was in new black, she was in new black, the two trunks had been well polished. And the seats of the landau were very soft. “They don't use the Fitzhubert crest, I observe,” remarked Galnsborough. “Only the Tristram fox. DId you notice it on the harness ? “I was gazing with all my eyes at the coronet on the panel,” she answered, laugh- 1ng. A tall and angular lady came up and spoke to the groom, as he was about to mount the box, “At 2, on Saturday, miss,’ they heard him reply. Miss Swinkerton nodded and walked slowly past the carringe, giving the occupants a leisurely stare. Of course, Miss 8. had known the time of the funeral quite well; now her intimates would be made equally well acquainted with the ap- pearance of the visitors. Blent was In full beauty thet summer evening, and the girl sat in entranced si- lence as they drove by the river and came where the old house atood. The blinds were down, the escutcheon—with the Tristram fox again—above the door in the central tower. They were ushered into the library; Gainsborough's eyes ran over the books with a longing, envious glance; his daughter turned to the window to look at the Blent and up to Merrion. A man servant brought in tea and told them that Mr. Tristram was engaged in pressing business and begged to be excused; dinner would be at §:15. Dis appointed at her host's invisibility, she gave her father ten with a languld air The little man was nervous and excited: he walked the carpet carefully; but soon he pounced on a book, a county history, and | sat down with it. After a few minutes' \dleness Cecily arose, strolled into the hall and thence out into the garden. The hush of the house had become oppressive to her Yes, everything was very beautiful; she felt that agaln, and drank it in, indulging her thirst so long unsatisfied. She ha scen larger places. Such palaces as all the folk of London are allowed to see. The present scene was new. Aud in the room above lay Addie Testram in her cofin—the lovely strange woman of whom her mother had told her. She would not see Lady Tristram, but she seemed now to see nll her life and to be able to plcture her, upderstand why she did the things they talked of, and what manuer of woman she bad been. She wandered to the litt bridge. The stream below was the Dlent! Geographies might treat the rivulet with scanty notlce and with poor respect; to her it was Jordan—the racred river. A blg rose tree climbed the wall of the right wing. Who bad picked its blossoms and through how many years? Its flowers must often have adcroed Addie Tristram's unsurpasscd loveliness. After the yeara of short ccmmons there came this bountiful feast to her soul. She felt herself a Trin- tram. A turn of chance might ha all this her own, Her breath seeme stop as she thought of this, The fdea now was far different from what it had sounded when Sloyd gave It utterance in the tiny | strip of garden behind the tiny house, and she had greotod it with scorn and & mock- Ing smile. She did not want all this for her own; but she did want—how she wanted —to be allowed to stay and look at it, to stay long enough to make it part of her | own and have it to carry back with her | to her home between the King's road aud | | 1ong 100k the Fulham road in London. She crossed the bridge and walked up the valley. Twenty minutes brought her (o the pool; it opened on her with a new sur- prise. The sun had just left it and its darkness was touched by mystery Turning by chance to look up the road toward Mingham she saw a man coming down the hill. He was sauntering idly along, beating the grass by the roadside with his stick. Suddenly he stopped short, put his bands above his eyes and gave her He scemed to start; then he began to walk toward her with a rapld, eager stride. She turned away and strolled along by the pool, on her way back to Blent hall. But he would not be denfed; his tread came nearer; he overtook her and halted almost by her side, raising his hat and gazing with uncompromising straightness in her face. She koew him at once; he must he Harry Tristram. Was lounging about the roads his pressing busi- | ness, “I beg your pardon” he sald, with a curious appearance of agitation, "I am Harry Tristram, and you must be?" (To Be Continued.) Running sores, ulcers, bolls, pimples, etc., quickly cured by Banner Salve, the most heallng salve In the world, A sure cure for plles. Time to Eat Spinach. Spinach ought to put in a frequent ap- pearanco on the table. It contalns more fron than almost any other vegotablo or frult, and offers it In a most agrecable form. Eaten frequently, spinach is sure to improve a muddy complexion through its work of toning up the system. But spin- ach, ltke every other sort of greeus, nceds thorough and vigorous treatment in pre- paring it for cooking. There are few thing: more discouraging than a dish of spinach interlardcd with grit. The vezetable should be plcked over carefully, then washed in hot water before It is put through the sub- sequent baths in cold water. When it iy very clean, and you kuow it I8 very clean, | shake it from the last water and put it over to cook. Not one drop of water need be | mdded besides that which bas clung to the | leaves, for the spinach will supply its own moisture ing. The fast enough incredulous to ke may p from burn- put a table- | spoonful of water in the bottom of the ket- tle just to case thelr own minds, but none is needed. Cover the kettle and when dons you will have a m deliclous dish of AN to pay $5.00 fora hat when you can buy The Gordon ? for so much less