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4i. H .. H-M - l-M mill I ! â-  ! 1 I > -H- I - I - M - H â-  : â-  ! I 1 MIMI " 2 ' r it The Power of PeFsuasion ;; -\ Or Lady Caraven'5 Labor of Love. •' 1 CHAPTER XIX. Near • the lake, across which the last red glimmer of the sunset had faded, husband and wife stood for one moment beneath the darkening sky, looking at each other. Lord Carivens face wa.<3 ghastly white, as unknown, untold horror lay in his eyes, his lips trembled with uncon- trollable emotion, Hildred â€" pale, tcrrilied, wondering â€" gazed at him like one fascinated. "What is it?" she gasped. "You guilty Woman,"' cried the earl â€" •you cruel, guilty, jealous woman!" She shrank back as though he had struck her â€" her lips parted as though she would speak, but all sound died away on them. "You guilty woman." repeated the earl, "own the truth! You follow- ed Lady Hamilton and me here to watch, to listen. Speak!" "May Heaven pardon me, I did!" she moaned. "Here you must remain. 1 shall know where to find vou, crouching at the end of the alder-trees, where you hid yourself to listen to your husband and his guest. Great Hea- ven! that a spy should bear my name! Stay here until I return. If you attempt to escape 1 will send the whole country after you. And I was beginning to care for you â€" to think you a noble woman!" She shrank cowering from him. His angry face, the anger that shone in his eyes, the stern voice, frightened her. She shrank lower and lower, until she fell on her knees, sobbing as though her heart would break. "Stir at your peril!" he seid, and then he left her. For some minutes afterwai-d she heard sounds on the borders of the lake â€" murmured sounds, as of in- tense pity and compassion, followed by the tramp of many feotsteps, ^nd tnen all was still. The ground was covered with dead and dying leaves. Lady Caraven ftung herself down upon them, and as sfce lay there the old words came to her:" "Let me die!" Beath would have been mercy. What did it all mean? She had forgotten all about tlie shot, she believed the poachers to ha\-e fired In the woods â€" It had not dwelt for one moment in her mind. She was in a maze of doubt, difficulty, and despair. What did it mean? If slie at- tempted to escape he would send the whole country after her. Surely she had not merited such throats. Surely she had not deserved language that ho might have used toward a mur- derer, but which came strangely en- ough to his wife. He had discovered that she loved him. that she was Jealous, that she had followed him for the sake of watching and listen- ing to him; but surely that was not enougi; to call out the whole coun- try to pursue her. ile had called her guilty. She had owned that she was. Ah! dear ^lea- vcn. if she had but died when a child in her mother's arms! He had call- ed her cruel; that she was not, for she would never have voluntarily hurt even a worm. Why was siic to remain there â€" to move at her peril? What did it mean? The golden »tars came out in the sky. Was it i-eally herself, or was she dreaming? Was slie HiUlrcd. the beautiful, popular Countess of Car- aven. lying there in all the abandon- ment of her misery, her husband's (ingry voii'e in her ears, the marks of his angry grasp on her arm? Out- cast, wretched, des^iairing, there was only one friend for her in the world, ami tliat was Sir Haoul; if she could but see him, if she could but tell him! The pitiless night hid her from all eyes. Surely there had never been a night so full of pain. How long she had been lying there »lie never knew. Time was all ended for her. She was conscious only "' infinite misery. She did not even Icel the chill breatli of the wind as it passed over her. Then, ofter what seemed to her an age of suspense and agony, she heard footsteps amid tlie brushwood, and , Lord Caraven calling her by name. "I n"i here," she said. i In the thick growing darkness it was with difficulty that he discover- ed her. He saw her at length with ' her face hidden among the dead leaves. "You may rise and thank Heav.m," ; he said, in a stem voice, "that you have not succeeded; the evil is not so great as it might have been." She rose and stood before him. the same dazed look on her face. I "I do not understand â€" you .'ay such hard, such cruel things," she moaned. I "Hard and cruel," repeated her husband, with bitter contempt; "did ever a woman live so cruel as you?" "I am not cruel," she replied. "I have been driven mad " j There was such infinite sadness in ' ^ the young voice, such dreary despair I in the young face, that he was touched in spite of his auger itid contempt. "Tell me," he said, "what made you do this thing â€" this cruel, un- generous, unwomanly deed?" I She thought he referred to her con- duct in following him, and they seemed to her hard words. "What made me do it? You will , only despise and hate me the more if I tell you," she replied. I "Frankly speaking, Hildred, noth- ing that you can say to me will make the matter worse, but it may certainly be made better. Tell me the plain truth." j "Yes, I will tell you," she replied. "I see that all good understanding is at an end between us." "That is quite certain," he said, with emphasis; "with my consent you shall never enter my doors again." I "Have I acted so vely wrong?" she asked, sadly. 1 "Wrong!" he exclaimed, conteoipt- uously. "We will waive that. Hil- dred. You have done that which T will never pardon. Now tell me why you did it. You may speak the [truth to me; you bear my name. I ,will shield you from all harm. No one knows but myself." "Then she did not see me?" said Hildred, drearily. I "No â€" and you may be thankful I for it," answered the earl, severely. "She did not see you. You may speak quite frankly â€" no one knows •anything about it e.xcept myself, i Now tcli me." j "What have I to tell you?" she said. "I â€" I did it; T followed you i here because â€" oh! how hard it is to tell! â€" because I was jealous of her. jl thought that you both were ridi- culing me. that you would tell her ; that you had been obliged to marry j me to save yourself from ruin. but that you did not love n\e. .vou did ' not care for me, you disHkect me. you hated me, you longed to he free j from me â€" my accursed money was i all you wanted â€" that you would ! nevor like me. And I fancied she I would pity you, in that soft, care.-^- I ing voice of hers â€" pity you for ?.><;- j ing burdened with u wife you did not llove. I believed that you would tell 'her that 1 was jealous of her. that ithcn both ot you would laugh at •me." Tlie passion of her words had I deadened all sense of .shame She had forgotten that which hei- jealousy ;had prompt*d her to do. aud remem- I bered her great, bitter wrongs. She I was no longer a heroine â€" only a 'Passionate. injured. deeply-loving I woman. She rose to the occasion. I The earl was Impressotl more than I he would have cared ti> own. I "I could not bear it." she con- itinued, pavsionately. "I .should have done worse than this. I am isure, if It could have been done. I â- was mad. I will tell you ail. I was â- mad. because I had learned to love â-  you with all the strciRth of my heart and soul. I could not bear that you should jest ai'out me with I careless woi-ds; it was as though 'you had stabbed mo for pleasure." He looked terribly distressed. "Why did you not tell me this be- fore, Hildred?" he asked. "1 tell you? How little you know me! Was it my place to go to the husband who neglected me and plead for his caresses â€" for his love? I would have died a thousand deaths first. How little you know me! I should not tell you all this now, but that 1 know in this world we shall never perhaps meet again. 1 am speaking to you across a grave. I stretch out my hands to you over a grave â€" the grave where my love lies â€" slain!" And as she said the words she fell upon her knees, weeping, sobbing with bitter cries, us though a grave lay there, and she had fallen upon it. He was touched. He could not tol- joq aq o-j poiaiioq aq •jsqii ojttjo crime, but she was young, beautiful, and loving. Her crime had been committed tlirough love for him. He raised her from the ground. "I ani very sorry, Hildred," he said; "it is very sad for both of us. Now we must talk of something else. You must go at once." -She raised her weeping eyes to him. "Must .vou send me away?" she asked, gently. "It was wrong. I was mad with jealous anger, but I lUd not think I was. Could you not ov^erlook it?" i "You speak lightly," he replied sternly. "No. you can never re-en- I ter my house. I have arranged it all. i did so when I took poor Lady I Hamilton back to the castie. I told our guests tliat you had been sud- denly sent for by your father, that I I had driven you to the station â€" and ' it is to your father's house that you ! mu.>-t go." i "Very well," she said, drearily. ! "You do not seem to understand," he remarked, sharply; "do you not â- know the danger. the peril that I hangs over you?" â-  She did not; but of what use was it to say so? I "Try to collect yourself and un- .derstand." ho continued; "time ; presses. I cannot keep them away much longer. You must deoart at : on':o without being seen. No one must know at what hour you went. You must go to your father's house and wait there. If it should be needful to send you abroad. I will arrange it." "Have I done so very wrong?" she murmured. The ear! cried out pas<?io:)ately: _ 'Heaven give me patience! You must be mad to ask me such a ques- ; tion. One would think you did not 'know what wrong meant." Hildred stood quite still, looking almost helplessly at him. â- 'You do not seem to realize or to know what you have done," he said, hastily. ' "I do, I do." she moaned; "and 'there will be no pardon. I wish that I might tling myself into that Jake. I would, but that there is a life to come." lUldrrd.' said the eail. sternly, "li.vten to me, 1 have told you that you must never re-enter m,v doors; but you bear my name, and for my n.iure'B sake I will shield you. The Countess of Caraven may have done wrong, but the world must not know It. I must nave you from the cousetiuences of your mad folly. See â€"1 went quickly to your rooms and have brought you these. ' He gave her a cloak and a bonnet with a thick \-eil. "I found tliem in your wardrobe. Hnvo you any money?" "No." she replied. vacantly, "none." He took out h.is purse and gave it to h?r. "I would accompany you." he said, "but that it would draw down suspicion on you. 1 must le here to ward it off. Wrap yourrseli in this cloak. Hide all that amber satin." With cold, trembling hand.^;, .^ha obeyed him. ."Suddenly she remem- bered the rubies. She unclaspt-vl tiie necklace and bracelets. "Take tiiese." she said; and the e:irl took tlu'ni â€" it was better, he thought, to humor her. "Now you quite understand. Hil- dred? You must not go near Court â- Haven â€" you are known thore. You must walk to Worseley: that is a, i larger station; no one will know you. Take a ticket for London. Wlicn you roach there, hail a cab and go straight to your father's house. Are you quite sure that you under- stand?" "Yes; what nui.'^t I say to my fa- ther?" she askod. "You had better tell hiiu the truth. He is a quick, keen man of I the world; he will know far hetter { than I do what should be done. Tell him all." "Yes," she replied, mechanically. I "Now hasten away from here, Hil- jdred," he said. "I am in mortal I fear. You understand all. You know the road to Worseley â€" it is di- ' rect â€" you take the high-road with- out turning. Good-bye." She raised her dark, sad eyes to his face; all the love, the passion. the regret, that she could not put into words, was revealed in them. "Good-bye," she repeated. He did not hold out his hand ♦.<"â-  jher. Had he been speaking to tlie merest stranger, his voice could not I have been colder or more stern. Then ,he turned quickly away, and Lady Caraven walked across the coppice and through a lane into the high- road. Her face was deadly pale; her limbs trembled with cold. The gol- den stars shone down upon her; the night winds whispered round her. She walked on, unconscious of it all. It was the early dawn of morn- ing when she reached the station â€" a large railroad junction, where she was both unknown and unnoticed. The train started for London in half an hour. No one spoke to her, or appeared to see her, as she took her place, and in a few minutes more she was on her way. It was a hai-d punishment â€" terri- bly hard for such a trifle, she thought, wondering tliat the earl could be so stern. She was tired, fatigued, exhausted with passjon and emotion. She had neither eaten, drank, nor slept since the evening be- fore. When she reached London she asked a porter to call a cab for her, and gave the address: "Mr. Ran- some, the Hollies, Kew," â€" and tlie drive thither seemed to her more than ever like a dream." (To Be Continued). » BABY'S FIRST TOOTH. A Family Event That Does Not Always Bring tTnmixed Joy. Baby's first tooth does not com* unannounced. Inflamed gums and impaired digestion produce a fever- ish and (retfiii condition about which tiie mother often fc«l3 concern. Th« baby boy of Mrs. George McGregor, of Hamilton, Ont.. was troubled wit;i diarrhoea while teething aa4 waa crcas and restless. He did not sleep well and matters became serious. The mother writes as follows: ' 'My s'.)? ter had used Ba'by's Own Tablets for her baby and advised me to trj i them. I got a box and after giving I the Tablets to the baby a few times he began to improve and was soon well. He is aow a big, healthy baby and whenever l»» gets fretful oi docs net f«el w«i'; 1 give him a Tab- let and lie is B«on all right again." Baby's Own Tablfts rapiace with great advantage castor oil and othei nauseous, grip.^g drugs. They sweeten the stomach, quiet the nerrea and promote healthful sleep. Th«y are guaranteed to contain ao opiat* and to be absolutely harmless. H your druggist does not kc<!p th«m you can obtain a luU-saze box by (mail, post paid, by sending -5 cents i to the Dr. Williams' Medicine Co., JBrockviUc, Cat., or Schenectady, N. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE. It is a rule, to which good lawyers usually adhere, never to tell mor« than one knows. A newspaper tell« a funny story of a lawyer who car- ried the rule to the extreme. One of the agents in a Midland Re- vision Court in England objected to a person whose name was on the re- gister, on the ground that he was I dead. The revising barrister declin- ied to accept the assurance, how- ever, and demanded conclusive tesii- rnony on the point. I The agent of the other side ros« 'and gave corroborative evidence ; to the decease of the gentleman 'question. j 'But, sir, how do you know the â- man's dead?" demanded the barris- , ter. "Well," was the reply, "I don't know. It's very difficult to prove." "As I suspected," returned the bar- rister. "You don't know whether he's dead or not." j The barrister glanced triumphantlj â- round the court, but his expression gradually underwent a change as tb« witness coolly continued: "I was saying, sir. tJiat I don't know whether he is dead or not, but I I do know this: they buriod hiia 'about a month ago on suspicion." as in VERY METHODICAL INDEED. Once an old man. James Scott by name, traveled about on business until be was nearly 80 years of age. He became celebrated for his punc- tuality and his methodical habits. Upon one occasion a gentleman stopvped at aji inn much frequented by Mr, Scott. and saw a fine fowl cooking. •That is very good," said the hun- gry guest. '"Y'ou may serve that fcr my dinnei-." "V^ou cannot have that, sir," re- plied the landlord. "That is being cooked for Mr. Scott, the traveler." "T know Mr. Scott very well.' said the gentleman. "Is he stop- ping here?" "Oh, no, sir." answered the land- lord. "But two months ago lie or- dered a fowl to be ready for him at precisely two o'clock to-day, and w« arc expecting him every minute." Mr. Scott arrived on the stroke oi two-. In Four Hospitals in Montreal eut the Doctors Could Not Cur* Mr Cloutior-Sald Ho Would Nover bo Woll Asrainâ€" Aftor Six Yoars of Holplossnoas Ho Was Ourod by Dr. Chase's Nerve Food. NOT WHAT SHE EXPECTED. Opening the door in response to an insistent knock tlie lady heheW the figure of one she remelu'bered. "Oh. it is you, is it?" she said, icily. "It is me." was tJie answer. "Your long-lost husband, who has come to tell you that he is !»rry he ran away two years ago." "Maybe you are sorry you went," retorted the lady, "but I ain't. What did vou come back for?" â-  My deare.>it. T have been t« Klon- dike, and last .summer I accuoaulated fifty thousand " "Kif-ty thou-.sand dollars! " shriek- ed tho loviflg wife, as alie fell on his neck. "No; mosquito bitds." It was only a moment later that he fell on his nock himtSelf Ta p>or« to ]«« Okikt Sn ChaM's OiitataC t* a cwteU • nd «T*rr fora a< itcklaat, bl*«dlac&iil rrv^TH'Sa* vU*^ , - â- â€¢ haT« «tuu«»t««l it. SMtat- tbaaalal* la tb« daUr 'prm* vfi a*k Tovr â- â€¢!(&• kr« wkat tlM7 IkiaS one. YonwaasatlMrf nl To«r i«9B«r ba«k if sat e«re4. Wo • htat, at •Bdaalan or EDMANaoH.BATiak Ca.T«t«at)k Dr. Chase's Ointment A DANDY-LION STORY. He had been in the Dark Continent for two or tliree years, and when ihome on a visit he delighted to spin I his â- tall" yarns about his experi- ^ences in .\frica. The hunting of wild ; lions was his speciality â€" how h< could shoot them, how he could go out and be sure ot liudiug one. etc., and he generally wound up by say- . ing he never vet saw a lion he fear- â-  ed. One night. after he had tSnishcd yarning, he was a little taken back by one of his airdience. who said: , ' That's irotiuiig. I have lain •!«- down aud actually sispt among lions 111 their wild, natural state." : "I don't believe that. I'm no â- fool!" said the great hunter. I "It's the truth, though." I "You slept among lions in I wild, natural state?" "Yes, I certainly did." "Can you prc>ve it? Were they .Af- rican?" "Well, not exactly African lions. They were dandelions." theii BENEFIT OF ADVERTISING. A merchant in one of our cities lately put an advertisement in a pa- per headed ; "Boy wanted! " I The next inoruiug he found a band I box on his doorstep, with this in- jscription on the top: I "How will this one answer?" j On opening it he found a nice, fat, i chubby-looking sfpecimeu of the ar I tide he wanted, warmly done up ip i flannel. MIKE LOST. ' K: Pat â€" Oid you ever back a horsf in your life. Mike? Mike â€" Yes. oii-'c. and only once. "Did you win anything?" "No. begorra; that I didn't." "Why. how was that?" "Wfll. you sec. 1 backe<l Llio bless' ed hoss through a shop window, and 1 had to pay ?25." Landlady â€" "What portion of thi chicken would you like. Mr. Nowcom- t.'r?" Mr. Newcomer â€" "Oh. haif o: it will be ample, tliank you." The case of Mr. Simon Cloutier, lliocmaker, 110 Jjigouchetier* street. 'Montreal, deserves more tkan passing notifiv, bccaui^ his case was unusual- ly severe. Vof nix long years Mr. Cloutier Was an invalid; unable to atttad to his Work, and Much of his time ,iras 8(:ent in the hoa^taU of M.u- treal Th* doctor, gaw him â- Â« here of rocotmcf. hut. o. the coa- trary, tal<| failm that he w«Hld acvrr b« well again. A tre»4Mt.nt that will restore tb gO*a :i9Alt> % person whos« case was considered hopeless must h« of wore than ordinary value, aatf this is only one of a aeries of r«aarkable cure5 that have been brought about by the us« of Or. Chast's Nerve Food. Mr. .SiM»n Cloutier. Aseaaker. 110 Lasauchetiere itreM, HMitretU. Que . state.^ :â€" "For atx years I wa. not able to work, my mm^*» war. all uastruDg aa4 ray dtcwtisa bad. I hafl severs attsck. «f hs^dache. rosU set sleep, and siiCersd witk stootiag paias ta thr aaiall ot ay back I was is four ho>.«ltal>, but ik« do«t«j-a c«uld not etire ne. T\my .aid I would atrsr be well again. la spite of their decisio. I begaa the twe of Dr. Chaas's Nerve Food sob. months a^o, and I aaoi conviacd that I owe mf life to tkia aaediein*. I have BOW h««i at work (or •Tmr two we.h.. aad b.lisve that mf hMlth kmm »Ma f«Uy reatarsd It i.'a pIsaMire lor B. to add By t.*- timsay to th* hoMs of o%h*rs from arsons who have bee. cwrsd ky tjiii wonderful medicine." Dr Chasa's Mcrv. Food, 50 c«tt. a b.x. ft bexss for M 50. at mil dsaltr*. «s Tli^niiii*. Bats. 4h C«.« Toronto. PARDONED. A lady traveling by rail sat facing a gentleman, who, with one eye at least, scemeit to be staring fixe*!ly at her. She became indignant, and said: "Why «(o you look at me so. air?" He said he waa not aware of hav- ing offended, but she insisted "1 beg your pardon, madam, but it's this e.\%\ is it not?" â€" lifting his finger to his left optic. "Yes. sir. that's the eye." "Well, madam, that eye wcm't do you any harm. It's a glass eye. I hope you'll excuse it. Btrt I'm not surprised tN* even a glass eye should feel interested in so charming 'a woman." The e.Tplanation and the oi>iiipli- ment combinetl put the lady in (jood humor. • "Are you mlucating your son for any particular callii^?" "Yes." "What?" "Well, he made Ivi.s own selection, and as near as I can find out he is fdiKatiiig himself to be the husband of aa heirw." ; First Traveler â€" "l>oes the train stop here long eoiough to let you gel 'something te eat?" SccoJid Trav- ieler â€" "No: jusk long enough to le< you pay for what you order." j "We know a girl," says someone I 'so industrious that when sho hu! I nothing el.se to do she sits anc I knits her brow." Gladyrs â€" "1 thought you suid h« was rich?" Mildi-ed â€" "Oh. no. 1 merol.v .«!«id he had more money than brai»t<." â- Po you have trouble with youi cooks boiling coffee too long?" â- Goodness. no! They don't staj long enough for that." "When arc ,vou going to call OB the Van Dulls"?" asked the daughter. "Just as soon." answered the moth- er, "as I can find out when they are not going to be at home." â-  <V: Mother â€" "What t takes you crj that wa.v?" Johnnie â€" "Our pooi teacher has been ill 8i> iong, and â€" and " "What! Did he die''" "No â€" no â€" he Is getting W^l â€" boo â€" boo "