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-^^ '^ ; ^lOi-mCi^^^m^a^^'HA^lOtHli-^^'H^ A House of Mystery OR, THE GIRL IN BLUE K4iOt+«f «<fiCH«4fiH-«>«>ia+»+ â- â™¦'»4 »^^«-f«-»-0-H54-»>«+0-»-«-l CHAPTER XXIII. Readsr, I must take you still fur- ther into my confidence. What you have already read- is strange, but certain things which subse- quently happened to me were even still stranger. I held that astounding letter in my hand. My eyes were riveted up- oa it. The words written there were puzzling indeed. A dozen times I read them through, agape with wonder. The communication, upon the notepaper of the Bath Hotel at Bournemouth, was dated June 4th, 1891â€" five years before â€" and ran as follows : â€" "Dear Mr. Heaton, I very much regret that you should have thus misunderstood me. I thought when we met at Windermere you were quite of my opinion. You, however, appear to have grown tired after the five months of our engagement, and , your love for me has suddenly cooled ; therefore our paths in life must in future lie far apart. You have at least told me the truth hon- estly and straightforwardly. I. < E course, believed that your de- clarations were true, and that you really loved me truly, but alas 1 it is evidently not so. I can only suf- fer in silence. Good-bye for ever. We shall never, never meet again. But I tell you, Wilford, that I bear you no malice, and that my pray- ers will ever be for your welfare ttnd your happiness. Perhaps, sometimes you will give a passing thought to the sorrowful, heart- broken woman who still loves you. "MABEL ANSON. What could this mean 1 It spoke of our engagement for five months ! I had no knowledge whatever of ever having declared the secret of my love, much less becoming her affianced husband. Was it possible that in the first few months of my unconscious life I had met her and told her of ray affection, of how I worshipped her with all the strength of my being 1 As I sat there with the carefully preserved letter in my hand there arose before me a vision of her calm ,fuir face, bending over the piano, her handsome profile il- lumined by the candles on either side, the single diamond suspended by its invisible chain, gleaming at her throat like a giant's eye. The impression I had obtained/ of her on that night at The Boltons still remained indelibly with me. Yes, her beauty was superb, her sweet- ness unsurpassed by that of any ether woman I had ever met. Among the other private papers preserved within the wallet were four scraps of notepaper with type- writing upon them. All bore the same signature â€" that of the strange name "Avel." All of them mado appointments. One asked me to meet the writer in the writing-room of the Hotel Victoria in London ; another made an appointment to meet me "on the Promenade at Eastbourne opposite the Wish Tow- er ;" a third suggested my office at Winchester House as a meeting- place, and the fourth gave a ren- dezvous on the departure platform »l King's Cross Station. I fell to wondering whether I had kept any of these engagements. The | most recent of these letters was dat- \ ed nearly two years ago. j But the afternoon was wearing | on, therefore I placed the puzzling j communications in my pocket and | ascended to my room in order to rest, and thus carry out the feint of attending to old Britten's direc- tions. The dressing-bell awakfined me, but, confident in the knowledge that I should remain undi.sturbcd, I re- | moved the bandages from my head, bathed the wound, and applied some plaster in the place of the handkerchief. Then, with my hat on, my injury was concealed. The sun was declining when I managed to slip out of the ho-.ise unobserved, and set forth down the avenue to Littleham villase. The quaint old place was delightful m the evening calm, but, heedless of i everything, I hurried forward down the hill to Withycombe Raleigh. and thence straight across the open Country to Lynipston station, where j • took a third-cla'ss ticket for Exe- 1 ter. At a wayside station a pas- senger for London is always re- marked, therefore I only booked as far as the junction with the main line. At Exeter I found that the up- mail was not due for ten minutes, therefore I telegraphed to Lond^'n for a room at the Grand Hotel, and afterwards bought some newspapers with which to while away the jour- ney. Sight of newspapers dated six years later than those I had last seen aroused within me a lively curiosity. How incredible it all .seemed as in that dimly lit railway- carriage I sat gathering from those printed pages the history of the lost six years of my life ! The. only other occupant of the compartment besides myself was a woman. I had sought an empty carriage, but failing to find one, was compelled to accept her as travelling companion. She was youngish, perhaps thirty-five, and neatly dressed, but her face, as far as I could distinguish it through her spotted veil, was that of a wo- man melancholy and bowed down by trouble. In her dark hair were preniiiture threads of silver, >»,nd lier deep-sunken eyes, peering forth strangely at me, were the eyes of a woman rendered desperate. I dill not like the look of her. In tra\elling one is quick to entertain an instinctive dislike to one's com- ranion. .and it was so in my case. I found myself regretting that 1 had not entered a smoking-carri- age. But I soon became absorbed in my papers and forgot her pre- sence. It was only her voice, a curious- ly high-pitched one, that made me start. She inquired if 1 minded her closing the window because of the draught, and I at once closed it, responding rather frigitlly, 1 (re- lieve. But she wcs in no humor to allow the conversation to drop, and com- menced to chat with a familiarity that surprised me. She noticed how puzzled I be- came, and at length remarked with a laugh â€" "You apparently don't recognize me, Mr. Heaton." "No, madam," 1 answered, taken aback. "You have certainly the advantage of me." This recognition was startling, for was I not flying to London to es- ct'pe my friends? This woman, who- ever slie was, would without doubt recount her meeting with me. ' "It is really very droll." she laughed. "1 felt sui'C from the first, when you entered the compartment, that you didn't know me." "I certainly don't know you," I responded coldly. She smiled. "Ah I I e.xpect it's my veil," she said. "But it's rcal- I ly roniarkablc that you should not I recc^ni/.e Joliot, your wife's maid. ' "You! My wife's maid ! ' I gasp- ed, recognizing in an instant how cleverly I had bcfn run to earth. "Yes," she replied. "Surely you; recognize me?' and she raised her veil, displaying a rather unprepos- sessing face, dark and tragic, as i though full of sonic hidden sorrow. | I had never seen the « otiuin be- I fere in my life, but instantly 1 ve- ! solved to display no surprise and i act with caution. ' ".\h, of course!" 1 said lainclj. ; "The light here is so bad, you; know, that I didn't recognize you. ; And where are you going?" i "To Londonâ€" to the dressmak- i er's." I "Mrs. Heatorr has sent you on some conmiission, 1 suppo.sc !"' "Yes, sir."' "You joiiH'd tliis train at Exeter, then?" "I can!<' from Exmouth to Exe- tor, and changed," she explained. "1 saw you get in at Lymp:,ton." My heart sank within inc. It was f\ ident tImC this woman hod I been srnt by my self-styled wife to i keep watch upon my movements. ! If I intcnd<'d to escape I shotiid bo conipclicd to make terms with her. I Tlids.; sharp dark eyes, with a; curious light in themâ€" eyes that, seemed strangely staring and \tt-i cjint at times- were fixed upon me. j wh'le the smile about her thin lipsj was dearly one of tritnujili. as! though shc'h.id caught n:e i-i t!i<- :itt j o° dying from my home. T reflected, but ne/ct mc ncnt re- solved to take her into my confi- dence. I disliked her, for her man- ner was somewhat eccentric, and, furthermore, I had only her own word that she was really maid to that angular woman who called herself my wife. Nevertheless, I could do naui^ht else than make a bargain with hci'. 'Now," I said at last, after some desultory ccnversation, "I want to makb a suggestion to you. Do you think that if I gave you a ten-pound note you could forget having met mc to-night? Do you think that you could forget having seen me at all?" "Forget? I don't understand." "Well, to put it plainly, I'm go- ing to London, and I have no de- sire that anybody should know that I'm there," I explained. "When I am found to be missing from Den- Ijury, Mrs. Heaton will do all in her power to discover me. You are the only person who knows that I've gone to London, and I want you to hold your tongue." She smiled again, showing an even row of white teeth. "I was sent b- my mistress to travel by this train and to see where you went," she said blunt- ly. "Exactly as I thought," I an- swered. "Now, you will accept this little present, and return to Denbury to-morrow after a fruit- less errandâ€" utterly fruitless, you understand J'' She took the ten sovereigns I handed her, and transferred them to her purse, promising to say no- thing of having met me. I gathered from her subsequent conversation that she had been maid to Mrs. Heaton ever since her marriage, and that she had acted as confidential servant. Many things she mentioned incidentally v.ere of the greatest interest to me, yet they only served to show how utterly ignorant I was of all the past. "But why did you disclose your identity?" I inquired, when the lights showed that wc were enter- ing the London suburbs. "Because I felt certain that you didn't recognize me,'" she laugh- ed; "and I had on wish to spy up- on you, knowing as I do that your life is the reverse of happy." "Then you pity me. eh?" "I scarcely think that is the word that one of n)y position ought to use," she answered, with some he- sitation. "Your life has, since your marriage, not been of the hap piest, that's certain." "And so you have no intention of tr-lling any one where I've gone?" I asked eagerly. j "None in the least, sir. Rest as- j ;.ured that I shall say nothing â€" I not a single word." I "I thank you," I said, and sat ] back pondering in silence until the ! train ran into Waterloo, where we parted, she again reassuring me of her intention to keep my secret. I congratulated myself upon a very narrow escape, and, taking a cab, drove straight to Trafalgar Square. As I crossed Waterloo Bridge the long line of lights on the Embankment presented the same picture as they had ever done. Though six years hud passed since I had last had knowledge of Lon- don, nothing had apparently chang- ed. The red night-glare in the leaden sky was still the same ; the same unceasing traffic ; the same flashing of bright dresses and glit- tering jewels as hansoms passed and rcpas.scd in the Strandâ€" ju.st a.s I had known London by night during .•ili my life. The gold-h raided porter at the Ciraid handed me out of the cab, and I ascended by the lift to the room allotted to nie like a man in a dream. It hardly seemed pos- sible that I could have been abs'^nt in mind from that whirling, fevered world of London for six whole y ars. I had given a false name in U^c reception bureau, fearing that those people who called themselves my friends -â-  Heaven save the mark !â€" might make inquiries and cause my arrest as a wandering lu- natic. I had no baggage, and I saw that the hotel-clerk looked up- on mo with s.)me suspicion. In- deed. I threw down a couple of sovereigns, well knowing the rules that no person without luggagn was taken unless he paid a deposit beforehand. 1 laughed bitterly within myself. How strange it was! Next morning I wont forth and wandered down the Strand â€" the dear old Strand that I had once lived so woll. No; it had in no wise changed, except, perhaps, that two or three monster buildings h;id .sprung up. and that the theatres announced pieces quite unknown to me. .\ sudden desire .seized mo to sec what kind of pl.ico was my own i oft'u'C. If, however. 1 went near titeres I might. I rel'-ected. be recog- j nizpd by some one who knew nie. j Thovcfore I turned inio a barl)''i's| and had my beard cutdff.' iho.n. fur- i thcr on, bought a n;',- dtist foul: and ani'the'- h«t. In t!i.:l <'isi,".< .• I took a hansom to Old Broad Street. I was not long in finding the bu- siness headquarters of my other self. How curious it all was ! My name was marked upon a huge brass plate in the entrance hall of that colossal block of offices, and I ascended to the first floor to find mj name inscribed upon the door of one of the largest of the suites. I stood in the corridor carelessly reading a paper, and while doing so witnesjsed many persons, seve.-al of them smart-looking City man. leave, as though much business was being conducted within. (To bo Continued.) Oil TUE FlUtl I^^^^^V<^^^^^^A^^AA^^ ^ ROMANCE OP A BROKEN wVRM. How General Bugly Scored Against the Insuranee Company. Here is the story of a case which i*; puzzling many lawyers. Some time ago an agent of the Beware Accident Insurance Company call- ea on General Bugly and importun- ed him to have himself insured against accident. "I don't need to be insured," said the general. "I am not exposed to danger." "It may seem so," the persist- ent agent replied, "but, regardless (.f apparent security, accidents may befall us." "There may be some truth m your view," said the general; and then, after a few moments' reflec- tion he added, "For several j'ears I have been tormented with a pre- sentment that my left arm is to be broken." "Very likely to happen," ex- claimed the agent. ''Still," the general continued, "time passes, and the accident seems as far off now as ever." "My dear sir," said the agent, "misfortune is ever distant until 't falls upon us." "That's a fact, " the general as- sented. "Now, I'll make you a proposition ; if you'll agre to insure my left arm I'll take out a policy." "It is not usual, general, to in- sure one certain legt or arm, but I am inclined to accommodate you." "All right. Now this is my plan : Insure my left arm, and if it be broken pay me fifty dollars per week until it gets well; and until it is broken I will pay you five dol- lars a week." The agent said he would write to the secretary of the company. He did so, tolling the secretary, after explaining the proposition, that the general was one of the most peculiar men he had ever seen. The secretary, much amused, submit- led the matter to the board. The board, as much amused as the sec- retary, accepted the proposition. Regularly every week, during two months, the company received five dollars from the general, and then came the information that the general's left arm was broken. The local physician, employed by the company, and who was, by the way, a friend of the general's, sent in his statement to the effect that the arm was broken, and the general received instructions to draw on the company for fifty dollars each week, until his arm should be pro- nou.iced well. Six months passed and still the general continued to draw. .The secretary wrote to the physician and received the reply that the arm had not begun to mend. Si.x more months passed, during which time the general, patiently, even cheer- fully, drew his money. The board held a special meeting, and instruc- ted the secretary to go to the gen- eral's home and investigate the matter. The official, upon arriv- ing, sought the company's physi- cian. "Is it possible," said he, "that the general's arm has not recov- ered?" "It is a fact." "Did you bandage it properly?" "Yes ; come and see for yourself." The physician, conducting the sec- retary to the general's house, re- marked, as they entered :â€" "The general is not at home, but his arm is here. There it is, on the table. Nicely bandaged, you sec. Don't understand why it does not grow together? Perhaps it is made of the wrong sort of wood." The secretary immediately brougt The secretary immediately brought an actiim. Able lawyers h-ave been employed, aad the re- sult is anxiously awaited. TOO NEAR. Heâ€" "The closer a man gets to nature the happier he is." Sheâ€" "That's not what you .said when you slipped on a piece of ba- nana peel yesterday." â-º> -._ â-  Ihougnt you said you had plough.'d that ton acre field?" said ili«> Erst farmer. "Xo ; I only said I was thiu.km.s .about ploughing it, " , nHi'l the second farmer. "Oh, I sec ; ' yi.ii vc merely turned it over in COOLING THE CREAM. At once on finishing the separat- ing, begin thi.^ cooling of the cream. The calves can wait a few minutes better than can the cream. There are devices made for cooling the cream as fast as it comes from the separator. These are good and can be made of much service if kept clean, but they add' to the number ot utensils that have to be washed and, like the strainer, they may be dispensed with. The dairyman should provide himself with enough â-  cans to hold the cream. A can of j this kind holds from three to five I gallons, is about 20 inches deep and I nine inches in diameter. These cans'are the best to keep the cream I Hi at the farm. They are conveni- I ent to use and keep clean, and they I present a large cooling surface, which is a great advantage in cool- ing cream. Set the pail or pails of cream in a tank of cold water and stir, testing the temperature with a thermometer /Until the cream is a." cold as the water. This is im- perative if success is to be obtain- ed. As with the wiping of the cows' udders, this is a matter of a few extra minutes, but it will be • a factor in deciding success or fail- ure. The stirring rod and the ther- mometer should be considered as indispensable as the crank on the separator, and yet hardly one in five hundred farmers has a ther- mometer that can bo used for this rurpose. If the can of cream is set in a tauk of water and left without stirring, it will be hours before it becomes thoroughly cool. In the meantime the germs which have I gotten into it in spite of the great- lest care, have been multiplying at 'a tremendous rate and the cream goes to the station spoiled. At the i temperature of ordinary well water the development of the germs is 'very slow, and for this reason no itirae should be lost in cooling the I cream to his temperature. The I thermometer is absolutely the only I means by which one can tell whe- I ther the cream is fully cooled or not. By stirring and testmg with ithe thermometer the task of cool- ling will be found to be sho... and one will finish with the satisfac- tion of knowing that the cream IB cool It ought to be cooled down to 60 degrees F. If the water is cold enough to carry the cream lower so much the better. HINTS TO BEGINNERS. One can scarcely pick up a poul- try periodical that does not havo some advice to people starting with poultry. Some may be good, doira bad, and some indifferent. If n.^ny â- )t tlie parties that write this Wv uld follow it themselves they woulc» be better oft. To begin with any kind of busi- ness one must have an object in view. The two objects that are foremost in most people's minds are money returns iinu success gener- ally. Success is only obtained by a combination of honesty, energy, printer's ink and a first-cla.ss qua- lity of goods to back up your claims. Ir order to succeed yo- must have some ideas of your -.vn, for no one can succeed in anything on other people's plans and ideas. One be- gins in the poultry business just as he would in any other kind of busi- nessâ€"with capital and some ability. Both are needed. One may have plenty of money to carry on a busi- ness and yet have no ability neces- sary to succeed. Others have the ability but are minus the money. The poultry business offers a bet- ter chance to a person with ability minus the money than the man with money alone, for there are very few people who can get a start in the poultry business. " A very small outlay will give one a good start it they only have thQ patience to wait and grow up with the business. Some of the largest and most si:c- cessrul poultry breeders of to-day built up from a very small start as a side line. . Poultry is the greatest industry in the world that appeals to and is handled by everyone. It is not subject to trust methods. It will pay a large interest and does not necessitate a fortune to start with. All one needs is energy, ability, thoroughbred poultry and a small patch of land. Start with an ob- ject, either eggs and fancy stock, meat and fancy or commercial poultry. The advant,age of keeping thoroughbred stuck is that you have two chances. Thev will lay more eggs even if sold for market CKgs and ypu can advertise, sell breeding stock and oggs for h.->tcbing. and thus inrtr?ase your pi'ofibs. Begin to think for you4r.«'lf vfW'^ji \vm Ivc- ivin to rfiise pouHry. W-Vou make n mistake find a way to a- -.^^ it and success is yourt.