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LOVE REASONS NOT. VHAPTKK LIV. A MOTRBU'S AI'I'EAI.. " She would not beer it she could not bear it," thi* was Lady Marion's conclusion in the rrorninf, when the sunbeam* peeping B hr room told her it wa* time to rise, rihe turnid her lace to the wall and aaid it would be easier to die her life wae polled, nothing . ould give her l>ack her faith and trust in her husband or her love for him. I ife held nothing for her now. It wa* no.,o. before she rose, and then she went to her boudoir. Lord Chando* had gone out, leaving no meaug* for her. She sat there thinking, brooding over her sorrow, won. deriog what she wa* to do, when the Counted of Lauawell was announced. Lady Marion looked up. It was a* though an inspiration from Heaven had oome to her ; she would tell Lady Laniwell, and hear wnat she had to say. " You have been crying," said thecoun- 4es, ar she bent over her daughter-in-law. "Cfjiag, and how ill you look what U tlir matter "" " There U something very wrong the matter,' eaid Lady Marion. "Something that I cannot bear lomething that will kill me if it is not stopped. ' " My dearest Marion,'' said (he countess, what u wrong '. I have never seen you o distressed before. Where i* Lance'' "I never know where he is now," she eaid. "Oh, Lady Lanswell, I am eo miserable, so unhappy that I wish I were dead." This outbreak from Lady Marion, wb o \TS alway* so calm, so hif h-bred.so reticent in eipirssmg her feelings, alarmed Lady I.aosweil. She took the cold, trembling hande in her own. "Maiion," ihe said, "you must calm yourself , you must tell me what is the matter and let me help you." Lady Chando* told her all, and the count- listened in wondering amar.e. "Are you quite sure V she laid. "Lady lllicld exaggerate* aonctimeii when she tepealee thoee gossiping sloriei." "It must be true, ciuce my husband acknowledged it himeelf, and ye*, refused to five me any eipUnation of it. Some time since, I found that he paned 10 much of hi* time away from home I asked you if he had any friend* with whom he was especial- ly intimate, and you thought not. Now I know that it wa* Madime Vanira he went tn see. She live* at Highgate, and he goe* there every day." " I should not think much of it, my dear if I were you," laid the countess. Ma- dame Vanira is very beautiful and very accomplished all gentlemen like to be mused " " I cannot argue," laid Lad} Chando*; " 1 can only ssy that my own instinol and my own heart tell me there is something wrong, that there is some tie between them. 1 know nothing of it I cannot tell why I feel this certain conviction, but 1 do feel it." " It il not true, I am sure, Marion," sanl the countees, gravely. "I know Lance belter than anyone elm- ; 1 know hi* strength, his weakness, his virtues, hk failing*. Love of intrigue i* not one, neither i* lwhtnes*of love." " Then if he -ares nothing for Madame Vanira, and tee* me unhappy over her, why will he not give her up?" "He will if you ask him," said Ltdy Lanswell. " He will not. I have asked htm. I have I "Id him that the pain of it U wearing my life away ; but he will not, 1 am very unhappy, for 1 love my husband." " Ana he IOVM you," said the countess. " 1 do not ihink *o. I believe my in- stinct* tells me that he loves Madame Vanira." " Marion.lt is wicked toiay suchthings," eaid the countee*. severely. " Because your husband, like every other man of the world, pays some attention to the most gifted woman of her day, yon suspect him of infidelity, want of lev* and want of H nth. I wonder at you." Lady Marion raited her fair, tear-stained face. " I cannot ntaku you understand," 3he aid slowly, " nor do I understand myself. 1 only know what I feel, what my instinct tell* me, and that i* that between n y hut- band and Madame Vanira there i* come- thing more than 1 know. I feel that there is a tie between them. He loo** at her with different eye* ; he (peak* to her with a different voice ; when he sung with her . i was as though their souls floated away 'together." " Marion. InUrrnpted the countess, " my dear child, I begin to tee what i* the matter with yon you are jealous." " Vi-s, I am jealou*," said the unhappy wife, "and not without cause you must own that. Ah, I/ady Laniwell, you would be norry for me if you knew \li. See, It i* wearing me away ; my heart bent*, my hands tremble, and they burn like fire. Oh, my (lot), how I suffer !" The Connie** of Laaiwdl, in her >uperb dree* of black velvet, *at by iu (ilenoe ; for the flrst tune in her life she was baffled ;for the first time in her life ihe wa* face to face with a human passion. Hitherto, in htr cold, proud presence all passion had veiled itself ; this unhappy wile laid her* bare, and my lady was at a loo* what to say. In her calm, proud life there had been no room for jealousy j she had never known it, she ilM not even understand the pain. If her liuslian I had gone out for a day with i ho nioel beautiful woman on earth, he would either have comple.ely ignored the fact, or, with a sinilin<| satire, have paused It )<y. She did not love tlie earl well enough tn be Jealous of him ; i> not ..ndfixand love or jealnuax In others, i Sim eat now ijuite lielplvs* Letore tne un ! . vt i. o^e grief annoyed dor. I'M" will not do, Marion," *he said, ,:.ke yourself quits ill." "Ill, 1 repeated Lady Marion, "I have been ill m heart and soul for many days, ard now I am suk unto death. ! wish 1 could die ; life has nothing left for me.' . "Die, my clear, il *eem* *uoh Irifle, nch a irifle ; one day spent together on a river. I* that anything for you to die about?" The sweet blue eye* railed wistfully to hers were full of pain. "You do not see, you do not understand. Only think how much intimacy thsre must havs been belwe-n them before he would ask her to go, or she consent to go. If they are but stranger*, or even every-day friend*, what could they find lo talk about for a whole day ?" The countess shrugged her shoulders. " I sni surprised," she said, " for I thought Madams Vanira so far above all coquetry. If I wore you, Marion, I would forget it. ' " I cannot forget it," she cried. " Would to God thai I could. It U eating my heart away." " Then," said my lady. " I will speak to Lno* at ouov, and 1 am quite lure lhat at on* word from me he will give up the acquaintance, for th* simple reason that you do not like it." { And with this promise the countess left i h*rdaugliier-in-law. Once before, not by her I bidding, but by her intriguee, she had per uaded him to give up one whom he loved ; urely a few word* from her now would induce him to give up her whom he could not snrely love. It never occurred to her to dream that they were the svrte. She saw him a* th* was driving home, and, stopping the rarriage, asked him to drive with her. " Lance, I hve something very serious tossy to yo*. There i* no use beating about the busn, Marion is very ill and very unhappy. " " 1 am aorry for it, mother, but add also she is very jealous and very foolish." " My dear Lance, your wife love* you you know it, sh* love* you with all her heart and soul. If your friendship with Madame Vanira annoy* hr, why no', give it up ?" "I choose to keep my independence as a man ; I will not allow any one to dictate to me what friends I shall have, whom 1 shall give up or retain." "In some meuure you are right. Lance," said the countee*, "and so far a* gentleman friends are concerned, 1 should alway* choose my own ; but as this i* a lady, of whom La ly Marion has certain suspicions, I should most certainly give her up." "My wife has no right to be jealou," he said angrily ; "it does nut add to my lovs for her." "Lei me speak seriously lo you, Lance," said ths countess. "Marion I* so unhappy lhal I should POI wonder if she were really ill over it ; now why not do as she wishes? Madame Vanira can be nothing to you Marion is everything. Why not give her np?" A certain look of settled determination that came lo her son's face made ihe count- ess pause and wonder. She had seen ii there for the tirst aud lasl lime when she had asked her son to renounce hi* young wife, and now she saw it again. .Strange that his next word* shouloT seem like an answer lo her thoughts. "Mclhrr," he *tid, "do nol ask ms ; yon persuaded me lo give up all the hap- pine** of my life, years ago do not try me a second lime. I refuse, absolutely refuse, lo graiify my wife's foolish, jealous wish. I say, ernphalically, lhat I will not give up my friendship for Madam* Vanira. Then my lady looked tin-illy at him. " Lance." (he laid, " what i* Madame Vanira to you?" He could not help the flush thai burned hi* handsome, angry face, and that flush aroused hii n other's curiosity. " Have you known her long ? Did yon know her before yonr marriage, Lance? I remember now lhat I waa rather struck by her manner. She reminds me forcibly of some one. Poor Marion declares there I* *ome tie belween you. What rnn it be?" She mused for somu minutes, then looked in'" her son'* face. "(treat Heaven, I. in or, it can never be '" she cried. " A horrible idea ha* occurred to me, and yet it i* not possible." He made no answer, but a look of moie dogged defiance came into hi* fsoa. "It can never be, and yet I think il i* o. Can it be possible thsi Md*me Van- ira is the in- dairy-maiit to whom you gave your young affection* ?" " Madam* Vanira i* the girl I loved, mother, and whom I believed to Ira my wite until you parted u." And my lady fell back in her carriage with a low cry of " Heaven have mercy on CHAPTER LV. WAR TO Tilt KMK. Lucia, Countess of L\nwell, wa* in terrible trouble, and it wa* the first real trouble of her life. Her son's marriage had been rather a dlfliculty than a trouble a difficulty that the law had helped her over. Now no law could intervene, and no just n-e. Nothing could exceed her surprise in finding Madame Vanira, the Queen of .ving, the most, beautiful, the most gifted woman in Kngland, positively th* "daiiy- maid." " the tempestuous young person," the artful, deiignicg girl from whom by an appeal to the strong arm of th* law she had saved her son She paused in wonder to think to herself what would nave happened if the marriage had not been declare:! null and void. In that case, (he said to herself, with a shrug of the shoulders, in all proba- bility the girl would not have taken to the stage al all. She wondered that (he h\d not sooner recognized her. She remem- bered the strong, dramatic passion with which Leone had threatened her. " She wss born an actreu," said m* lady lo h*r* solf, with a sneer. She determined within herneii that the secret should !* kepi, thai lo no one living would she reveal the facl that the great actress waa the girl whom the law hail parted from her son. Lord Chandos, the Duke of Letter, the world in general, mnsl never know this. Lord (,'haudos must never lell it, neither would sUc. What ws she to do? A ter- rible incident l-ad happened lerrihln to; har on whose life no shsdow retird. M i- duni'i Vainro had ac< -|.i>d un engagement al llerlin, the fninionable journal* had ill rend y announced the union! her ill-par- i lieiiioane.l '.' : ' , oi .o nine , beauty and geniu*. Lord Chandoe had announced hi* intention of spending a few months in Berlin, and hi* wile would not agree to it. " You know very well," (he said, " that you have but one motive in going to Kerliu and that i* to be near Madame Vanira." ' You hav* no right to pry into my mo- tives," he replied, angrily ; and she retort ed that when a husband's motives lowered hit wife, she had every reason to inquire into them. Hot, bitter, angry words paned between ihem. Lord Chando* declared thai if il pleased him to go lo Burlm he >>ould go ; il mattered little whether hii wife went or not ; and Lady Chandus, on her side, de- clared thai nothing should ever induce her to go to Met lin. The result wai just what onemighl have anticipated a violent quar- rel. Lady Chandos threatened lo appeal to ire duke. Her husband laughed at the notion. "The duke is a great statesman and a lever man," he replied : "but he has no power over me. If he interfered wilh my arrangement*, in a!l probability we ihould not meet again." "I will appeal to him.'' cried Lady Mar- ion ; he i* th* only friend I have in the world." The ring of passionate pain iu her voice startled him ; a sens* ot pily oame over ' him. After all, thi* fair, angry woman was hi* wife, wham he wa* bound to pro- tect. "Marion, be ressonable," he said. " You ?o the wrong way lo work : even supposing did c*re for lorn* one else, you do not go the way to make me care for you ; but you are mistaken. Cease all these disagreeable recriminations, aod I will be the kindest of husbands and 'he best of friend* to you. I hsv* no wi*h, believe me, Marion, to b* anything else." Even then she might have become recon- ciled to him, and t lie sad after L-oiise<|iience have been averted, but she was too angry, too excitod wilh jealousy and despair. "Will yon give up Madsrae Vanira for I ma ?" ahe eaid, and husband and wifa ' looked fixedly at each other. " Yon say you will l>e a loving husband and a true friend ; prove it by doing this | prove it by giving up Madame Vauira. ' Lord Chando* waa uleui for a few nun- uti-s : then he said : " I cannot, for thi* reason : Madam* Vanira, at I happen to know, ha* had great iroablee in her life, but she u thoroughly good. I repeat it, Maiion, thoroughly good. Now, if I, as you phrase it 'give her up,' it would bo confessing tnat I had done wrong. My friendship i* some little comfort lo her, and she like* me. What harm i* therein it? Above all, what wrong does it inflict on you ? Answer me. Has my friendship for Madame Vanira made me less kind, less thoughtful for yea '" So answer came Horn the while lip* of the trembling wife. H* went on : " Why should you be foolish or narrow- minded? Why seek to end a friendship pure and innocent ? Why KOI be your nobie self, Marion noble, a* I have always i thought vou? I will lell yoi) frankly,] Ma-lame Vsnira is K olo g lj Berlin. You know how lonely u is lo go lo a fresh placo. She happened to say how duo late *he should feel st first in Ber- lin. I remarked that I knew the city well, aod then she wishsd we were going. I pledge yon my honor that she aaid 'we.' Never dreaming that you would make any opposition, I said that I should be very glad to spend the next few week* in llerlin. I oantottell how it really was, bui 1 found thai u waa all settled and arranged almost befor* I knew it. Now, Ci would not surely wish m* to draw k ? Come wi'.h me to Berlin, and 1 will show you how happy I will make you." "No," she replied ; " I will share your heart with no one. Unless I have all 1 will have none. I will not go to lleilin, and you must gi'e up Madame Vanira," she continued; a married man wants no woman friend but hi* wife. Why should you spend long hours and whols days tele-a- tete with a uranger? Of what can you find to sprsk ? \ ou know in your heart thai you are wrong. You lay no. Now in ihe name of common sens* anil fairness, let me ask, would you like me In make of any man you know inch a friend as you hav* n.ad* of Madame Vanira?" " Tl.at i* quit* another thing." he replied. Lady Chandos laughed, sadly. " The usual refuge of a niMi when he is brought to bay," *h* said. " No words, no arguments will be ol sny use lo me ; I shall never be really friends wilh you until j ou give up Madame Vanira. " "Tlit-n we will remain enemies," he replied. " I will never give up a true friend for the caprice of any woman," no replied, " even though thai woman be my wife." "Neither will I consent to go to Berlin," he sntwered, gravely. "Then 1 must go alone," he said ; " I will not be governed by caprices that have in them neither reason nor sense." "Then," cried Lady Marion, " it is war to the knife between us :" " War, if you will," said Lonl Chandos ; "but always rsmeirber you can put an end to the warfare when you will !" "I shall appeal to Lady Lanswell and to the Duke of Lester," said Lady Marion, aud her husband merely answered wilh a bow. With thsm it wa* indeed " war ti tho knife." Such was the Uordian knot that Lady Lanswell had to untie, and it was the most difficult task of her life. On the same evening when lhat conver- sation took place. Lord Chando* went to the opera, where Leone was playing "Anne Holey n." He waited until she came out ant) was seated in her carriage ; then he stood for a few momenta leaning over the carriage door aod talking lo her. How you tremble, Leone," he said. " Your faoe is whits aod your eye* all fire !" " The spell is still on me,"' she answered. " When 1 have thrown my whole soul into anything, I luse my own ideniily for many hours. 1 wish," she oonluried, " lhat I lul not so thoroughly enter into those character'. 1 hardly realise this moment whether 1 am Anne lloleyn, the nnlmppy wile of l>lii. I King Hal, or whelhor 1 am Lonne.the singer. ' " I know which you are," he said, I is eyes iii-kiiig licrs wild n wistful look. "All KlliU Hi>l Hivui put together lire n., woith your lillie linger, Leonu. .Ve how the star* are shlr.ing. I have sointthing to >v 'o y.i'.i. May I drive with yoi. a* lar ,.s Iligl g.tt ilill? The beautiful face, all pale with passion looked into his. " It is agaioit our compact," she said "hut you may if you "ish." The silent s'srs looked down in pity as he took her side. " Intone," he ssid, " I wsnt to ask yon something. A crisis is oome ID our lives ; my wife, who wss told about lhat day on the river, has asked me to give up your acquaintance. " A low oiycams from the bear.tiful lips, and the f ace of Ihe fairesl woman in fcng- land grew deadly pale. " To give in* up," she murmured; " and yon. Lord Chandoe, what have you said ?" " I said ' No,' a thousand times over, Leone; our friendship its good and puts one; I would nol give it up for any caprice 10 the world." A great, tearless sob cam* from her pale lip*. "God bless you a thousand times '."she laid. *' Ho you would not give me up, aod you told them so?" " Yos; 1 refused to do anything of ths kind," he replied; " why should I, l.eone ? They parted ui onoe, by strata- gem, by intrigue, by working on all lhat was weakest in my character; now we tr- out friends; simple, honest friends; who shall part u* ?" She olaspsd hi* hand* for an initanl in her own. " So you will not give ms up again, Lane* ?" ihe ssid. " No, I will die first, Lwne. There i* one thing more I have to say. I said thai I would go to Merlin, and 1 have asked my wife to go with me : she has refused, and 1 have said thst 1 would go alone. Tell me what you think ?'' " I cannot I think nothing; perhaps oh. Heaven help me! perhaps a* your wif* has told you shs will nol go with you, yonr duty i* to slay with her. " My iuty," he repeated; " who, shall ay what a man'* duty i* ? Do you think I hav* no diiy towards you ?" " Your first though should b* must be your wife. If she would have coun'enanc- ed our friendship, it would have been our granted pride and pleasure, if shs oppose* il, we mnit yield. She ha* th* first to your time. After all, Lsnce, what can 11 matter? We shall have lo part; what can it matter whether it i* now or in three month lo cams ? Themoiewo see of each other the harder it will be." A flush as of Are oame over hi* face. " Why must we part *" he said. " Oh. Heaven, what a price I pay for my folly ! " Here is Highgate Hill," said Leone " you go PO furihtr. Lord Chaodos." Only th* silent stars were looking en; h stood fora few minute* at the uuiiagc door. " Shall I go to Berlin ?" he whispered a* he left her, and her answer wa* a low sad " Y**". (TO HE CO.NTIXl'ED.) JEAKED PIES FOR VICTORIA, EDWARD BANTLEY NOW A NEW YORK RESTAURANT KEEPER. A r.rliirr f rn.tr,*,,, ml WL.Uor Castle *" " I. \rrj to.d ml retch Cuke* she 41... in.,, PI BM K. - Taw rpMi wiiiiuas I* Mlurr flea. PARISIAN MOURNING MILLINERY iarerii.n. in Mark rr ff iiul Ilk ud <t.inlrr low IT. The woman who i* in mourning ahoulc find much consolation in the new hal* an bonnet* designed for her thu spring. They rwo r-Ksir.\>. Ther* wa* a time when Edward Kentley made pies and cake* for Queen Victoria ac Windsor Ca*tle. Now h* i* th* part wner of a little restaurant in New York. " During t he year* I wa* at U in.isor Castle a* pastry cook, says Mr. Bantley. ' I had a pretty good chance to observe he tastes of th* Queen m that particular me. I had learned my trade under the nstruciioo* of one of the grandest artists n Paris io th* cooking; line. Hit cake* were dream*, his confection* visions. Th* best people of Kraaoe-the epicure*, the gourmt'ida used lo rave about them, aod the prices paid for them were awfuL Krom us man, I Isirn-d about all that I considered worth knowing. I looked upon myself as a master of the art. and my head swelled a good deal when I w%s hired to g., to London aod cook for a real live queen. I had* faint kind of a n >tion that I might win one of the princesses, and I pictured myself strutting about with a whole array of dudheesei and baronesses following me around. " My hopes were knocked out in one round. The Queen paid less alien .ion to me than she did to the man who hsrdsd the geeee in the castle ground*. MY rRKMCH CAKI4 didn't catch on. Shedidn't sssm tolike them liiile bit The truth of the matter is that th* Queen sent down a quiet tip that soon things might go in Paris, but that they were a little of color for an fcnglish Queen. Some way or other they were not considered digestible. 1 1 was intimated mat they were a little heavy for the British stomach. All tret I had learned wa* good for nothing so I had to go back to ths old methods.' "What did she like bast *" "Scotch cake* were favorite*. She used to fairly ravel in tnem. Tbea she had a (real fomlness for plum pudding*. And such puddings ! I used to make grej t UIBJ ones. These puddings were made in quanti- ties hig enough to teed a isgiment, and they were one of the feature* of svsry important dinner. "Whenever a dinner of great state was prepar*l the kitchen was in an uproar. The cake* had to I* fixed up in the grandest way possible, and there were all sorts of decorations to be made. There wa* the < isrman royal co.it of arms in sugar and the Knglish lion in dough, to lay nothing of unicorns an I dragons, and harp* and thistle*, and all such emblem* as would tickle the pride and patriotism of ihe family and their guest* " Once in a while Kmperor William of Germany would run over for a day or two, and then we had a turn at are chic and charming and *o RSCCM ing tht they are lure to lift many a heavy weight of woe. The round hat* for young women are seen in many pretty shpe*. They are trim-ned with fluted loop* of chiffon or crepe aud a variety of black flower*. Lilac* ami carnation* are the favorite*. For early aprlng open-work brim* will be much in vogue. Many of them ar* made of braiding and a few of heavy esonrial lace. A tiny pulling el crepe, studded witn fine jet bead*, make* a becoming outline for the brim. Itlack oapreys or dull jetted aigrette* will take the pUce oi leather* on round hat* for light mourning. The mourning honueis to be worn when tlie veil i* taken off are artistic little affair*. Many of them conaiit merely of a broad bow of crepe, black chiffon or lustreless lilk with a jet ornament or buckle oaught tli rough the loop. Beneath the bow black lilac* or black lilies of the valley reet agaioil the hair. Another fanciful idea for a mourning bonnet *how* a putting ot .?repe arranged a* a i.rmiet, with a bunch ol black heliotrope, two or three pansie* or a full- blown roie nodding above it. the black and violet bonnet for second mourning u a diem of beauty. KU>>k velvet or black crepe combined with natur- ally colored huliot.oue, panaies or p u pl- 'iitti-d orolii-l*. or ln>iioiri>pii I'hitlon -in i h;*<Tk fl iw-" -, IT. i MI 1:1 my nnw And Ii lu. Very few blue-eyed people ars *aid to '. blind. DISH I*. The Kmperor liked pie. especially mince pie. and I have an i let that he muit have tolen *om of them from hi* grandmother'* psntry. by the way they used to disap pear. 1 The German anceetry of the Queen uied to assert iuelf pretty s'roogly, and *h* would give order* tor the patry of Hanover and Berlin. Once in a while ihe took a turn at doughnut*, but they alway* had to be light and flaky. Every dy the Queen would com* through on a tour of inspection. She walk- ed about among the employe* juat like anv ether Knglifi housewife, but *he seMorn poke to any one. She would give her direction* quietly aud leave. U wa* a pretty good place to work, though, and the pay wa* tare that, wa* the bt part of it." THEY ATE A RAT. Twe IMII, Children Are i| r |,,| r .,i. 4 l..lo.r,l hi Their >lher. a Jsullce f ihr Peare. The community in th vicinily of Hart, ford, a little village south of Aurora. In, I., i* greatly incensed over the conduct of Squire Kobbins, a Justice of the Peace for Union Township. He is also a leading politician of that neighborhood and a con- spicuous member of the churoh. The Squire toft his two little children home alone, without food or fuel, during the recent cold spell, tolling them he wa* going to Cole's Corner, a small village some mi'os distant. Several days late,- Albert Brush, a young farmer of that vicinity, found th* deserted children slmosi famished and nearly frozen lo death. He aroused th* neighbors, and prompt relief wa* given the perishing children. Their sges are 5 and 7, and but for the timely arrival of Brush they would have both succumbed to the severities of the nneroilets fsts t<> w.nch their father had abandoned them. Th* tals of ihe temhle suffering* thsy endured at told by ths unfortunats littls sufferers brought tears to the eyes of all who heard them. The only morsel of food partaken bv them during ihe period of their abandonment, they slated, was a dsad rat which the cat brought into the house, and which ihey fought ihe feline to possess. After obtaining the partially eaten careen* of the rat the starving children divided it nto two pan* and devoured the bloody fragments raw. Weakened from hunger intl thinly clad, they huddled togeuirr in one corner of the cheerless room in their jovorly lr cken abode under a pil<- or rags n a futile e.'hut to keep warm, ,,, i were alnmm uiK'onx'iou* Irani cold when rejcued. I n indignation is vi-ry hitter i|f tinst the iiii.iiui.tu ii'lier, aud Ihreals ot white- capping i ,m ure freely made should he return. Mr. Turner, Township Trustee, was notified ot the condition of the unfor- tunate-, and immediately took stem to relievo iheir wauls.