Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, June 8, 1902, Page 16

=% (Copyright, 1805, by 8. R Crookett) CHAPTER XXXV-(Continued.) My father o 4, but he 414 not ek any further questions. He knew well enough ol he wanted from that one word—and more “Pairite” ha went “1 want documenta put In the hands of Mr. John Glendonwyn | cannot see him myself. My onth Aoss not make that possible Put T am & just enough man to see that he Bad nothing to do with our tribulation Also he 18 being persecuted by the same fl)-hearted father who has brought thess ings wpon us. 1 am going to leave the Selghborhood. | have had it on my mind Ao do wo ever sinee Kate's home-coming Only 1 yod for her make, fearing the @ftect upon her mind. But now when she 48 10 wuch altered case about her husband— why 1 think the sooner we go the better Now 1 had thought to sell the house and ‘and for what they would fetch. Gregory Olendonwyn would cortainly give a great Price. They have long been an eyesore 10 him In the midet of his acreag But 1 have seen a bettor way. It has been Pevealed to me “l am an old man, T have spent but JMttle money all my days save on your Mearning, Pairile. There will be enough dor Kate and you. The boys are better ‘without any Let them work with thelr Bands as their father 414, or with their t them wit." tapped my knee lightly with the papers In his hand. “I want you to take these documents 40 John Olendonwyn (I noted that he Jeft out the Mr. that time). 1 will tell you whi oy 1 have eftected the transterence of all my property here— that 1, of the howse and land—it Is just five acres in all—to him in trust for his congregation. There is an excellent site for the kirk they are anxious to bufld these from the main road and a view of the river. Also Gregory Glendon- wyn will it from nearly every window o his castle, which adds greatly to its eligibilfty—" * 1 cried, throwing myselt ek, “you are so good and kind! o torgiven John." He smiled a curious smile—a smile with & kind of sickly pallor ia 1t. “There 18 one thing for which I can never forgive him,” he sai ‘And what is that?” I cried, “I am sure ~=sure that he is innocent!" “Nay he s guilty,” sald my sternly. “He was born his fathe He cannot clear himself of that But be sald it in such & way that T made #ure in my heart that, though he could not Bive in, he was by no means as angry with John as be made out. Which partly ex- Cuses what comes after—or at L father, ‘s son. A Lion in the Path. ¥ took all that night to think how I should convey the papers to Johm. Indeed, the problem required a great deal of thought. It seemed impossible that I should go to the herd's house st Bennangower—that is, alone. And yet—I knew not how else to obey my father. I thought of Veronica, but =it did not seem as if I would like to have der. For she had called once since our dome-coming, and Rupert's death, but, of course, without seeing me. And then every- body sald that she was golng to marry Johs. No, sbe was very kind, but—I could mot ask Veronica. Then a thought came to me and I langhed =yes, for the first time for many wonths, @8 it seemed to me, I laughed aloud. 1 would go to Bennangower, but—I would take little Johnny with m And as s0on as I thought of it I sat down ang wrote to Mrs. Colstoun, asking her to et Johnny come out to me for two or three days. 1 told we were golng away. (She @lready knew much of our troubles by I fer—it was my only comfort~and she read Ahem (o her husband, and John called. Be« eause, you know, I had promised to hold Bo communication with John without my father knowing.) S0 I told her we were Quite away and it would be a‘comfort 0 have Johnny for a lttle first. And to hear him his lessons and to did pot eat too many gooseber- the gard . Colstoun was 8o good and kind brought him out herself and sat the garden with me and talked a long 8,31 L BeiEf =f Was quite delightful to have Ilittle again. He was, if anything, fonder thas ever, and scampersd all over % shop and cut bis fingers on the was loet in the gooseberry gar- foll off a tree, and did so many I in one evenlug that I was afraid never last till 1 had need of him it golug up Bennangower, I mean. All it was cheerful having him. Eves owned that. she did not seem clearly to Sometimes she talked to bim were her own Babe Rupert grown 0 agalo she would stand over look 0 puzsled, saying: “This baby—isn't it? 1 fear I have king foollshly. the next afterncon—it was June and went away up the buroside toward ‘s house of Bennangower, with liitie Johuay sporting about me like a frolicsome 1 knew thet I was likely to find For Will had seen J y down to the post- ofice and be told him that (he minister 288 been out all the mornlug, seelng sick people over by in the village, but would Bbe bome for what that Auld Duncan called Jumch—"a dafiltke word for your denser,’ the Camercalan elder thought. § Bad the papers sbout Boateroft in a lit- leather portfolio, 1n which I used to the chlldrea’s exercises to the seademy of Kilgour. And when I got near Ahe Bouse, which shone out white and Semay oa a lttle kmoll, with the gar Beneath It and the burn roaring through the Pennan Lina 8fty yards to the weat, | saw ol Babby, Joha's nures, coming (o meet W-as It were, In & great hurry, to come up and take my there il =Et§§ sERE E‘ 1 H i '!!3 it i L : his dour for seeln’ fowhk—thia," TN !:;g_l e i ! THE OMAHA DAILY BEE: SUNDAY, JUNE 8, QE;?:€;f]!:t:rocb t#sS Bae reason gi'en, may expec’' to be c ir Dames. Aye, they maun that! Well, Babby,” 1 began—but got turther, “DId 1 no tell ye 1o to ‘Babby’ me,” erfed, “Miss Barbara, If ye please!" nd It may be something else afore lang. For I bae been Kenned and refuted a| decent will-doing woman a' my days, that | played nae pliskies, but gaed ilk day to the kirk and bode the ither' the kitchen— | never missing a lawfu' day—me and my faithers afore me! “Wefl, Miss Barbara,” I struck In, as soon as 1 could get a word, “I am obliged for what you tell me. But I must see Mr. Glendpnwyn at once, as 1 cannot stay-and | s fs important.” she cried, catching at the word, ‘stay—na, it will be a short day and a lang ere ony like ye are asked to stay in a | minister's house. Did you no hear, young woman, that I bae already telled ye in sae many words o' the English language (maybe It i8 Do teached in schules noo- And he bent down and whispered In her ear. I could not hear what he said. But Babby’'s reply is, however, worthy of re- cording, inasmuch as it caused me many conjectures at the time. “I mever thocht o' looking aneath his pillow when he was sleepin'!" ghe said. With a very courtly bow the old butler asked my pardon for keeping me Wallilg | ipo message my father had sent me to de- and then apologized frankly for the mistake made by Babby! “She is a woman weel stricken In years, | | he said, “ye'll juist need to excuse “'Deed an' I'm mno near sae stricken in years as your ain eel’, Duncan Grier—" cried the indignant lady, “pa— no by a ye | guid half-dizzen that!" But Duncan waved her away with calm superiority, conducted me up the rugged path with the height of dignified embar- rassment. “Babby, gang ye into the hoose and get o' years! , Hear knowing what to waiting, I think, til 1 had opened my mission. But I knew bet- ter than to attempt anything of the kind with parley. “‘Will you give Johnny some sugar?"’ sald, “that will keep him quiet till it is done!™ John went out quickly, instantly followed by Johnny, who flung himself off the seat on which I had just arranged him, aod plunged after his host through the door, shouting, “Me tummin' to eee you get it minedelf!" ““Think I will not give you enough?” eaid John, “have the loaf!" ‘Fanks, 1 will!” sald the literal Johnny, and appeared forthwith in the tiny “‘ben- with a scarce-broken white cone of lump-sugar under his arm. ‘Johnny, dear,” 1 remonstrated, ‘“you will make yourself 1ll. Give it to me and I will break you off a bit" ““No, s'ant!" said the obedient little man, “have eatel free—O, ever so much bigger nor that! 'Tis all right, teatzer, dear!"™ Then | began to tell John Glendonwyn liver and when he heard of the gift of the house and five acres of freehold he rose from his chair excitedly. “0," he cried, “it Is like new life to me to even hear of the possibility of such a thing. But we cannot take the property as a gift. That is not to be thought of—we will give your father any rent—we will pay a price—" ( “John,” I sald, “you ought to know my' father by this time. t he does be will do his own way, If at all. All is completed. There are the title deeds!" While John stood stricken dumb by the wonder of the'news, the door was opened | 1902, _ judged that it would be, seeing how well he knew how to rule his own house. CHAPTER XXXVIIL, Fate Rides Before. That pight John and I were treading close wpon the heels of fate Fatality #talked behind us and before, yet we saw him not, nor so much as heard his garments rustle. Little Johnny gamboled in front, running it with himself, and then stretching | back to tell us who had won. But in spite of these frequent app: anc boldly, unehamedly, John held my hand. The day of LilI' Dzonny's power was well nigh over. Blackmall or whitemall are only good 80 long as there is a secret to be kept. All the world was free to know ours. And when we reached the dark aisles of the Gower woods, which we must per. force eross, John stopped, and suddenly taking me in his arms, bade me promise that nothing in the world should ever coma between us two—neither father, nor sister, nor brother (though goodness knows the poor boys never tried), nor the whole world. And since 1 would not promise so many things all at once, he took such sweet | blackmail that—in justice to myself, I had to put off glving the final promise for quite a while. But at any rate I 4id4 promiee at last and John was eo grateful ‘that before we knew there stood Lil' Dzonny before us, with up- lifted finger imminent as fate. “What makes ‘00 want to kiss yike that?" he demanded, truculently. “Come here, Johnny, and I'll kiss you, too!” I cried. But the young man, being COULD SEBE HIS FACE PALE AND CHANGE AT THE NEWS.” adays, like mony ither things that were thocht respectable I' my youth—no that I am an auld woman lether, certes, no!) tha ye canua see the Reverend John Glen- donwyn, B. A., minister o' the Free Pres- byterian kirk, this day”— How long this torrent of scarcely muffied | asperities would have continued to flow I | cannot tell, but the course of events was | changed by the initiative of Little Johnny | Colstoun. Quite unseen by me and prob- | ably by my doughty antagonist he had de- | tached himself from my hand and made off | in the direction of the herd's house. After | that he disappeared entirely for some min- | utes and his movements from that point can only be made out by inference from circumstantial evidence. As far as I saw, however, there issued presently several things from the herd's | house of Bennangower. Imprimis, one wild, | sustained and savage yell indicative of pain, anger, affiction, persecution, the torture of the boot, the Inquisition and all the wurst pictures in Fox's Book of Martyrs. Item, one repidly moving small boy in stained blue blouse and twinkling knickerbockers, his mouth open and | squared with anguish, his face stained with some red unguent, & jam-pot in one hand and the debris of some pastry in the other. Item (still in order), a gray-headed oldish man, active on his legs, bare-headed and without coat, with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbow. He had a stick in his hand and his intentions were evidently to overtake the small boy—probably for pur- poses of political argument. But still no John, I began to think he could not be at home. At sight of me, however, standing at bay, as it were, with Babby giving tongue in front of me, her elbows akimbo, and her head continually tossed in the ascendant, the gray-headed d man dropped his avenging rod, aban- doned the chase of Lil' Johnny, and dived back into the house with a ludicrous geation of & rabbit into its hole. He was out again in a moment, how- ever, and descended the little rough road | with a step of strange dignity. He had attired himself in a black swallowtall coat with brass buttons, and his white tie was square and formidable as Babby's elbows. 1 think this apparition, appearing without any warn from the Herd's Hough of Bennangower, came nearer sending me down the hill than all the baying of Babby's drums of war, "I smswered | 47 Ber breath Deer. 8o little, at first sight, do we know our best friend: / CHAPTER XXXVII Litete J: ¥ to the Rescue. It chanced (hat the man came down the pathway behind Babby, who was in the full flow of her oration. He caught the astonisbed da by the arm, ordering her in stern tones to be gone to the house or he would acquaint Mr. Jobn with her out- rage of bebavior. Then something in the tone of the man's volce told me that I had seen him before— indeed, more than ouce. It was Grierson, the old Castle Gower butler, who had brought the message to the trysting place that Rupert Glendonwyn had hurt his foot ~~ths same who on & later oceasion had de- Nveresd the lett the schoolhouse on the night of our golng to Inch Jomet. “Wha are ye, Dunvan Grierson,” cried the ladiguant Babby, “to inform Maister John Agala what it seems guid to me to do™ “Badbby, mind you,” retorted Duncan Grierson, with dark and mysterious signif- cance And Babby evidently minded For she Stood aside, still, however, muttering ua- “A promise is & promise!” she sald. “And & dish o ready,” he cried. “Dinna spare the leaves! And abune a’, see that the water is bolling afore ye poor it in. In- deed, mem, Mr. John would have been maist disappointed it he had missed your it (Come oot o' that ye fliset wee balsti beg pardon, miss, but I am afraid your persists in crawling on the roof! There, what did I tell ye, ye camsteery hule o' a | redeeclous callant?" Little Johnny had indeed fallen through the thatched and rotted root of one of the seldom used sheds in rear of the farm- standing and was presently rescued, howl- ing lustily, by a single leg which appeared waving among the debris. Duncan held him in the air as he might have done a kicking rabbit, and dusted him vigorously. In- deed, I fear that he performed the opera- tion with so heavy a hand that in more than one sense it might be called a dress- ing down. I think the blood must have risen quickly to my face, for I could feel myself turning hot all over. So intent was I on the fa that 1 did not notice that John Glen- donwyn himself was standing, with & strange expression of wonder on his face, in the doorway of his cot. He wa at once, much paler than he had been-—in- deed, thinner altogether—but with a de- termined, masterful d manly expression such as I had never seen on his face before. And the next moment r was holding his hand, while he was asking concerning my tather, my sister and the others—doubtless wondering what in the world had brought me to the herd’s house in the Bennan- gower. By this time Duncan Grierson had com- pleted little Johnny's tollet and set that enterprising Infant on his feet. Johnny was crying, if one may use that expression of such a darling child, most viclously. And the old butler had much ‘difficulty in con- ducting himself reputably before his young master, owing to the fact that in the midst of his explanations he would suddenly find himselt spun round by the frantic lunges of Johnny, who, having down poor old Dnucan as the cause of his misfortunes, was now trylng furiously to reach his black- stockinged shins with his little iron-shod #ho Whereupon 1 pounced upon Johnny and bade him be a good boy or I would dis- patch him back to his mother that same night. “Shan't go," of the house of Colstoun. mother much, but I hate school. does! New teatzer is so ugly!" “Oh, Johnny,” 1 sald reproachfully, “but It she Is good, what does i matter whether she is pretty or not?" “Does though!" sald Johnny, struggling to be free, “he flnks so—(here he pointed to John Glendonwyn) doesn't tum to our school now, not since new teatzer tummed. Mother—she thald so only last night!" “Would you like some lumps of sugar, Johnauy,"” said John, bastily, from the door- way. “I am afrald there are no brandy balls up here. You should have sent me word you were coming.” “Let's—(lhee—thugar!" said (which Dbeing interpreted, meant Johuuy desired to be lntroduced to aforesall lumps of sugar). “Come away ln!" sald Joha, “I bave but one room, but the good people make me both comfortable and bappy—that is, as tar as | can be—without—" He stopped and looked very curiously at me. It was certaloly a besutifully near little room, with appearance of & bed of my ally exclaimed the hopeful son “I doesn't mind Yes, 1 Jobony that the l.‘hl Malster Johu for & withess to the “Mind Babby,” sald Dunca: 1n it that I could see except that there Was & screen in the cormer which bad dently served (wnd probably did so yet upon occasion) as a clothes horse. After be had brought us into his room Joba Glendonwyn stood before me scarce | yet lower tone, young gentleman will break his meck if he | without nol d Duncan Grierson entered, carrying a tray of tea with little bisouits and cakes arranged ounningly among water- cresses and green leaves. “Cream or leemon, madam?’ he gsked in & low, confidential voice, adding in a “I wad adviee the leemon, miss, as the milk was bolled afore ye cam’ up the brae.” After he had served his master he went steadily to the door, and then, turning, re- marked at large, as if imparting a plece of general information to whomsoever it might concern, “There's some nice cream tarts in the kitchen, with raspberry jam—five bave strawberry. They'll sune be done!" Like an arrow from the bow Little Johnny sprang from his perch with the loaf of sugar in his hand, from which he had been endeavoring to break pleces with the fireirons. ““Na, na," added Duncan, disembarrassing him of the remains ot the cone, ““gin Babby were to see ye, there wad be nae leevin' wi' her for a month!" John and I were left alone for the first time since he had helped me to roll up the maps in the old Infant department of Kilgour academy, the day he went to college for the last time, Had he forgotten? And as for me—I shall never forget. But it was necessary that I should tell him that we were all to go away from the neighborhood, and take up a new lifs elsewhere. I.could see his face pale and change at the news. “Why should you go away from me, Fairlle?” he was saying. “I have just found you again. Your father's uanger against me cannot be ivery bitter. I can- not think that he would visit upon my head the sins of my father and brother. Else would he have sent you to me with this message of peac There was something in what he urged. indeed I had been thinking of it with a certain gladness all the past night and all that day. But what of Kate and her babe Rupert? That, at least, was unan- swerable. S0 I only shook my head sadly enough. “We must wait, John," I sald, “you have waited a long time without know- ing—you must be good and wait a little while patiently now that you know—that which you do know." “1 think it will be harder now!" he groaned. I suggested the penny post, as a new invention likely to ald persons in our con- dition and circumstances, and pulled out my purse with some of the famous black stamps stuck in the flap. I suggested that there was the build- ing of his new church to attend to. But I will not mention the fraction of his thought which (he declared) that ere-while all-important subjects now occupled. For the which rash words I koow that he would be sorry in the morning. ‘When I went away Johnny appeared from the kitchen laden with delicacles, ready but not willing to accompany me. Indeed, he ouly consented to leave the sugar cone on the distinct understanding that it was to be sent after him on the early morrow. And as I went through the door I heard Duncan Grierson say in his two diverse volces, “At what hour will your honor flease to dine? At 8? Thaak you, eir. Ye donnert auld deevil, gin ye dinna gang into your Boose and keep your tongue within your teeth aboot what's pane o' your businese, ar by the pooers abune that I'l rry ye on this side o Jordan’'s swelling flood! Hear ye that, ye cantankerous besom !’ And I think that Joho heard, too, for be hurried me down the little loaning and than ever *| out upon the vast encompassing heather. “Duncan is a feithful servant,” be said, in his simple, earnest wzy. “We must ses to it that his latter end is peace.” 1 Qid not amswer, but ia my beart I perhaps not a little jealous, would none of me. “I doan ‘snts to be kissed!” he said, with great emphasis on the first promoun personal, which it is to be hoped came home to John Glendonwyn. But instead he only laughed. “You don't* know what is good for you, Johnny,” he sald, “you'll change your mind some day!" “Knows what I 'ants, though!™ sall Lil" Dzonny, calmly, “I yikes thugar, peattles, coffee, minthe ples and stawbewwy dzatn— kisses not much!" He added with the last phrase in a tone and with a curl of the lip which were ac- tual triumphs of contempt. “Course you wants to kiss—you're a girl," he sald, that 'im—he's dot a mumstash and whiskers—what does him want to do it tor? “Well, it sometimes happens so, John, “‘some day you'll find out.” *“Oh, 1 shan't!” saild Johony, very posi- tively, “me and Jimmy Ogllvy has sweared, sure as death, that If a girl kisses us we hope to die if we doesn’t bat her over the head—hard!™ “Oh, Johmny,” I cried, “won’t you let even me kiss you?" “Yes,” sald the youth, with the tolerant indifference of one making immense con- sald—'cept you an’ mother!™ 14 John, who would have given away the half of his kingdom that night, “here’s half a crown—only you must proi ise not to say anything about—about—! And here he stopped. It was dificult to put into words. “‘About minithster 'Course I wont! “But say—'As sure as death and double death!' Isn't that the regular thing?"' pur- sued John, who had bad certain experi- ences as to the wisdom of bribing Jobany without putting him on his oath.’ Eveq with, the result was more than doubtful. “Let's thee ze balf a crown first!" 4 manded Jobnny, the future Successtul Mer- chant. The coin was handed over, duly inspected, smelt and finally the young man of business satisfled himself of its entire genulneness by setting a particularly fine set of teeth into it. “All righ sald Johuny, cheerfully; ‘shan’t tell! But I wouldn't again, you know. Somebody Growed-Up might see you mext time!" The advice was good, and indeed there was scant opportunity. We stepped into the road and walked across to the little woodland glade which led to the Flower Cot. “Fairlle,” saild John Glendonwyn, with a sudden break into solemnity, “your father { will not let me thank him {n person Do it for me. Tell him what he bas dope for me and for our poor folks. You can put it | better than I And tell him aleo that | other, which has brought yet greater happi- ness into my life tonight.” “What, all of it?" I sald. thinking of Johnny, I added: not to? h * sald John, with a firmness and | magnanimity for which I could mot but ad- | mire him, even though I knew he did not mean it. But the next moment I caught the gleam of humor in his ey “You bhad bettes be said, “for f you don't that perjured mercenary little beast kissin’ Teatzer! And then, “What will | will do 1t for you. It will be well to get | in abead of him." i g s ST N | But as we paused to eay good night be- side the gate of Boatcroft, the lilac once | more in blossom, white and purple as of | yore, scont-laden 1n the gloaming de heard the far off galloping of & borse. A man passed us going rapidly lu the direc- tion from which bad come. But as he t he looked back over his shouider— thea, suddenly checking bis beast, he turned and approached the place where we stood in shadow. “Is that you, Mr. John®" he said “Yes, Greg—what s the matter?" “You are to come to Castle Gower,” said the man, without touching his hat; “your father has had & shock and Surgeon Warner says he cannot live many hours!” That wa# Fate’s touch on the shoulder for us two. CHAPTER XXXIX. We Ride After. Instantly John bade the man diemount and with a single pressure of the hand to me I eay him throw his leg into the saddle and ride off furiously in the direction of Castle Gower. 1 stood a while dazed with the suddenness of the leave-taking. I knew that, if the news proved to be true, the fat would be in the fire indeed. My father, so I found from Will, who met me at the door as I was entering, had de- parted that afternoon soon after I had set out with little Johnny Colstoun. His de- clared intention had been to go to Drumfern in order to arrange for taking us all thither on the way to the haven of rest he had | been preparing to receive us. And whom when I did enter should I see sitting comfortably at the fireside but Veronica Caesar. I know that the blood sprang unbidden into my cheeks as she rose up with her usual swift impulsiveness and kissed me. She had been talking to Kate, who was still busied about her black dress. And I could see that Veronica had been helping her, for the skirt had assumed quite a different aspect. In fact it neared completion. 1 do not know what I sald, or Veronica, elther—except that she eeemed to be scold- ing.me for being out so late, and I was all on pins and needles lest Master Johnny's uncertaln tongue should reveal certain secrets of the fir woods of Gower. But he did nothing except wipe off Veronica's kiss in & disgusted manner with his bandker- chif and begin to play obtrusively with his new half crown. ““You small reptil eried Veronica, “‘you are a decent boy clean spollt! That's what's the matter with you. It would be telling you it I had you for a week over at the manse with my scamps. I would take a frill or two out of your tucker, young man!" “Well, ‘o0 shan't!" sald Johnny, tran- quilly. don't love '00—'00's nasty!" “Frank sald Vera, laughing. ‘‘Sweet child! Speaks so prettily, too—no wonder you pet him, Fairlie. Well, I know some- body who wouldn't, that's all She regarded him with a look of manifest distavor. “Who gave you that new half crown, Johnny Colstoun?” Vera demanded, eveing it as the owper fitted it alternately into elther eye or held it somewhat perilously between his teeth. “ *Tan’t 'oor bissness with simple directness. x “Johnny mustn't speak that way to a lady,” I sald, sternly, “or Johnny will be punished.” He turned upon me quickly. “Does ‘oo wan LiI' Dzonny to tell the lady fings?"’ he asked, quick as the darting sting of a wasp. Duty and prudence, discipline and valor's better part never were in more direct con- filct. So I said nothing. “You have had a nice walk?' asked Veronica, stitching a broad lace collar on Kate's completed dress. 1 cannot but think that she had some suspicion or at least some curiosity as to where I had been. Besid 1 learned afterward that in my absence Kate had been talking to her about ber husband and Babe Rupert. Yet so clever was she that from her manner you would never have suspected that she knew anything. “‘Ob, yes,” I answered, ‘Johnny and I were out on the moor. It was a fine night, d we came through the wood, stopping ence or twice to gather flowers!" “Stopped free times!" sald Johnny, ac- curately. “Did you bring any flowers back?’ sald Kate, lifting her head for the first time. “I would like to take them up to Babe Rupert. He likes them. When he is awake he crows and chuckles over them just won- " responded Johnny | flowers into a glass by his bedside. | Veronica stald a long time after that, but though I was In the room most of the time, except when { was getting a Mitt supper ready, the name of John Gleadon. | wyn dia not pass her lips. And Vera is | usually so trank But all the time a curious sense of some thing impending welghed on me, so that I got hold of Will, and, after binding him to | secrecy, I told him of the sudden lllness | of Mr. Glendonwyn, and that I had prom. ised to marry John. “Does father know?' sald Will, looking | at me very strangely. | “I told him I did not know whether he did or not, adding, however, that John | had told him long mgo, when he went to Edinburgh, indeed, th loved me and meant to ask me to marry him as soon as he could. Also that my father sent me this afternoon with a message to the herd's | house of Dennangower. “Onh!" sald Will, thoughtful, then after |a pause he added, “I think he wants to glve in and can’t bring his pride to let him!" Which, as I now judge, was pretty near the truth Yet It it were a fact that he had gone away in order to give us a clear flela (for the sake of my happiness—because 1 had been fretting and growing pale), I think my father would have stayed still where he was, had he foreseen what things were to happen that night. | T told Will that he had better entice Harry and Dick early into the house that night and keep them there reading or play- ing draughts. They could have something nice for supper, I sald—anything, lndeed, to bribe them to stay. “‘Oh," sald Will calmly, “I'll entice them ~—I'll bribe them! I will just tell them that T will hammer the life out of them If they don’t. That will be all right!™ And belleving that he knew best, I left him to make his arrangements. But when they were needed, Harry and Dick were | certainly in the kitchen. I asked no ques- | tions, and none of the three volunteered any information. It was, T think, about 8 o'clock and still quite light when Veronica announced that she must go back to the manse. Will and 1 prepared to convey her. Little Johnny was also to go home with us, unwilling in body, but consoled by the thought that if we hurried we would get to Miss Emily Parton’s before that lady’'s shop closed for the night “Will," T sald, “when I go to the door you might ask Harry and Dick not to go out till I get back.” “Right he sald, and went over them as I showed Veronica out. “Take care of Babe Rupert till I get 1 sald to Kate, “don’t let him to Kate laughed a quick little scornful laugh—much like her old self, as Veronica stooped and kigsed the boy in his cot. I forgot to say that by this time we were all three upstairs in our room, where Veronica had gone to put on her hat and things. Then she plcked up the little gl of blossoms which I had hastily picked in the garden. “These are pretty wild flowers, are they not?" she said, looking across at me. You would not have thought that Veronica could have been so spiteful, would you? But I don't think she had properly forgiven me for letting her think it was Rupert I cared for that day when I had the head- ache and she was so kind to me. She did afterward, though, so it came all right. Well, we had come downstairs, and I wi standing at the blue palings look- ing out along the road toward Gower castle (for I somehow felt that some- thing must happen that night), when the [ servant who had spoken to John came forward quickly from under the lllac tree at the corper. He had apparently been standing there waiting. He had a letter In his hand, and I thought that I saw Veronica draw herself up at the sight of the Castle Gower llv- eries “I think I shall walk on—Good night, Fairlle and Will!" she sald, rather shortly. But the coldness of her tone derfully, He is growing such a clever child, and so dear—but, ah—how could he be otherwise?"" ““Ah, how indeed!" sighed Veronica, with the least trace of iromic Intention. ‘I will go out and get the flowers,” I id; “I will take them up to baby my- I should like to see him!'" ‘I will tum and help '00 gather them aid Jobnny. And hoping to cover the verb which he bad used, and fearful of other reve- lations, I took bim with me gladly. 1 went into the garden and picked what of cornflowers and bluebells, bell heather and wild thyme could be found there. Then I went up to Master Rupert and put the made the tears come into my eyes. “Don't, Veronica!" I cried, “please don't! You don't know in what trouble we are. And you are the only friend we have! (I meant girl friend, of cour And while she stood irresolute what to do 1 tore the note open and read these words: “Castle Gower, Tuesday Evening—P! come at once with Greg—bring Kate and the baby. What we talked of must be done tonight If at all. We are expecting you here. Carriage will be at cormer of road. Bring father or Will with you if they are at home, but for God's sake do not fall to bring Kate and the child.—John." (To Be Continued.) Stearns’ Electric Rat and Roach Paste and dle out of the house. One ingredient dries up thelr bodies, leaving 00 odon It is a safe and sure exterminator also of Mice, Water Croton Bugs, Cockroaches and all other Bugs, vermin, ?:hu been in general use in houses, stores, hotels, factories, offices, public buildings, etc., for twenty-five years. Absolutely guaranteed. CAUTION: ‘on STEARNS' ELECTRIC; take and (mttations are ot 25 cents & box at Druggists and Grocers or sent direct by Express prepaid. STEARNS’ ELECTRIC PASTE CO., Chioago, ills. A Trial Treatment Offered Every Afflicted Man. @ s EEED DICATED CRAYON PLEASANT, SOOTHING AND MEALING. The New Bclentific Method for the Oure of Bem. THE PARIS ME Inal Weakness, Varicoc rh.? Ca and Enlargement of the Prostate and Urinary Btricture, Gleet, Qonors s, Irritation land, There 1 no medicine tak- tarrhal or Mucous DI Disorders. en {nto the stomach which can reach the membranes g these Organs, as e mon sefise tells us thata R scat ‘he Paris Medicated cian 18 fully sware. T, £ ramedy spplied directly of any disease must Lust regul stope all unnatural = [ mmmu LR e 7 now being cured forty engravings. iviog valusble information, e t"u‘c‘o.bl b med! “i ...“l‘.':“ucwd Gay and High DR. STEVENS & CO. ke n!'!flm uce positive and el standing and chronic cases. sensation being plessant v s o eurreat, Lnvigoratin e entirg body. Tia is the o eatment yet discovered that will ‘eficcts in long 1t does not Lrritate, the ng p! . 2 satist { that the Cray: [ Gl i e ich hare (2 Wi » We send all cine by wi ta. ll"lllltlr-.ui Banks COLUMBUS, OHIO, scientiflc treatment. " schemes,