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I. from handed ... "Burton i. fictitious nam. fctien delivered Then I was di8c>. leapt into my mouth > I tore open the enveiu, its contents. They were bi*^. t(' the point. "The undersigned will be oblig- ed," it ran, "if Mr. Burton Law- rence will be present this evening at eight o'clock, in the main-line bC'oking-offica of the Brighton Rail- way, at Victoria Station. An in- terview is of very Dressing iro.port- ance." The note was signed by that single word which had always possessed such mysterious signification, the word "Avel." Hitherto, in my old life long ago, receipt of communications from that mysterious correspondent had caus- ea me much ajixiety of mind. I had always feared their advent; now, however, I actually welct)med It. even though it wore strange and unaccountable that the un- known writer should know my whereabouts and the name beneath which I had sought to conceal my identity. I made % hB.sty dinner in the cof- fee-room, and went forthwith to Victoria, wondering whom I should meet. The last time I had kept one of those strange appointments on that summer evening long ago in Hyrie Park, I had come face to face with the woman I loved. â- Would that 1 could meet her now! I entered the booking-office, searching it with eager eyes. Two linos of persons were taking tickets at the pigeon-holes, while a number of loungers were, like nivself, awaiting friends. Beyond, upo.i the platform, all was bustle, as is usu- al at that hour, when the belated portion of business London is bound for the southern suburbs. From that busy terminus of the West tnd trains were arriving and de- parting each moment. The big illumined clock showed that it was yet five minutes to the hour. Therefore I strolled out up- on the platform, lounged around the bookstalls, and presently re- turned to the spot indicated in the letter. As I re-entered the booking-office ir.y eager eyes fell upon a figure standing before meâ€" a well-dressed figure, with a face that smiled upon me. An involuntary cry of surprise escaped my lips. The enco\inter was suddon and astounding ; but in that instant, as 1 rushed forward to greet the newcomer, I know myself to be on the verge of a startling and remarkable discovery. CHAPTER XXV. The encounter was a startling one. At tho moment when my eyes first fell upon the figure standing pati- ently in tho booking-office await- ii.g me, I halted for a second in un- certainty. The silhouette before nie was that of a youngish, brown- hnirod, and rather good-looking woman, neatly dressed in dead black, wearing a large but and a feather boa round her neck. By the expression of her face I â- aw that she had recognized me. I had, of coupsc, never seen her be- fore, yet hor personal appearance â€" the grey eyes and brown hair â€" vere exactly similar to those de- scribed so minutely on several oc- casions by West, the cab-driver. I regarded her for a moment in si- lent wonder, then advanced to meet her. 8he was none other than the un- known woman who had saved my life on that fateful night at The lioltons-â€" the mysterious Edna' .'is I raised my hat she bowed gracefully, and with a merry smile, saidâ€" "I fenr that, to you, I &ifi a stranger I recognizp yon, how- ever, as Mr. Heaton." "That is certainly my name," I responded, still pii/zled. "And vf'U â€" well, our recognition is, I be- Wflvo mutualâ€" you aro Edna." She glanced at me quickly, as ue- .u a light . :'' she echoed in .ct alarm. ae.scription given oB o cabman who drove me . that memorable morning." ^ Ah ! Of course," she ejaculated iii'siidden i-einembrance.. Then, for a few seconds, she remaraed in si- lenoe. It seemed as though the fact that I had recognized her had some- what confused her. "But I am extremely glad that wa have met at last," I assured her. 'I have, times without number, hc'ped to have the opportunity of I thanking you for the great services }ou once rendered me." "I find with satisfaction that al- though six years have gone by you have not forgotten your promise made to me," she said, her large serious eyes fixed upon mine. "I gave you that promise in ex- change for my life," I remarked, as at her suggestion, we turned and walked out of the station. "And as acknowledgment of the service you rendered by preserving secret your knowledge of the events of that terrible night I was enabled to render you a small service in ••eturn," she said. "Your sight was restored to you." "For that, how can I sufficient- ly thank you?" I exclaimed. "I ewe it all to you, and rest assured that, although we have not met un- til this evening, I have never for- gt.ttenâ€" nor shall I ever forget." She siuited pleasantly, while I I St rolled slowly at her side across tho station-yard. To me those mtuncnts were like a dream. Edna, the woman who had hitherto been a strange ghost of the past, was now actually be- side me in tho flesh. "I have received other notes mak- ing appointmentsâ€" the last, I think, a couple of years ago," I observed after a pause. "Did you not meet me then V She glanced at me with a puzzled expression. Of courseishe knew no- thing of those lo.>»t years of my life. "Meet you?" she repeated. "Cer- tainly not." / "Who met n/e. then?" "I really ^on't know," she an- swered, 'i^fhis is the first time I have approached you, and I only come ,U) you now in order to ask .you to grant me a favor â€" a very gieat favor." ".\ favor! What is it?" "1 cannot explain here, in the street," she said, quickly. "If you will come to my hotel I will place the facts before you." "Where are vou staving?" "At the Bath Hotel, in Arling- ton Street." I knew the place well. It stood at the corner of .'Vrlington Street and Picadilly, and was an eminent- ly respectable, old-fashioned place, patronized by a high-clas9 clientele. "And you are alone?" I inquir- ed, thinking it strange that she should thus ask me to her hotel. "Of course. I have come to Lon- don expressly to see you," she re- sponded. "I went down to Bud- leigh-Salterton two days ago, but I ascertained at Denbury that you had left suddenly." "Whom d'd you see there?" I in- quired, much interested. "Your butler. He told mo somo absurd story how that yon had bo- come temporarily irresponsible for your actions, and had disappeared, leaving no address." "And you came to London?" "Of course. y "And how did you find out where I was hidden, and my assumed name V She smiled mysteriously. "It was easy enough, T assure yoti. A man of your influence in the City, well known as you are, has considerabin difficMilty in effec- tively eoncealinff his identity." "But who told you wherie I waa stayinK?" I demanded. "Nobrtdy. I discovered St for mv- sdf." "And yet the police have been searching for me evervwhore, and have not yet discovered mel" \ re- marked, surprised. -eplied. , I said. "Of . expect you to give wh.it I say â€" it sounds dâ€" but I have absolutely wiedge of keeping those ap- nents excect the one at Gros- r Gate, and 1 am totally ignor- ..w of having nlot anybody." She paused, lo'kiiig me full in the face with those grey eyes so full of rajstery. "I begin to think that what the butler told me contains somo truth," she obseived bluntly . ' IS ly [DO' "No," I protestc^l was > in no way unhings, 'jver; aware of all thi»^ ^ .-'-r i- i Eolton., of- l"* »=!Bo 9qi j»j,« " \t ""' â- ''*' "^ *89O0» 8.Miq U«!0 ed *t- ^^ I""' ''"H'«»-« osoin laqi ,i^o pu« HlJutajcui uad'i d.->go|eud house- She he. was not bci^ discovered the .>, gedy had taken pix ''i^s had taken her by s^ .id it was evident that shv .itterly confounded. My discin. y I had kept a profound secret unto myself, and now, for the first time, had re- vealed it. Her face showed how utterly taken aback she was. "There is some mistake, I think," she said lamely, apparently for want of something other to say. names .ery gravely, -de me that, in »«e when you were .J9E, you would make learn the true facts? »nat you have already at least one â€" the spot where crime was committed." "I consider it my duty to learn what I can of this affair," I answer- ed determinedly. She raised her eyebrows with an expression of surprise, for she saw that I was in earnest. "After your vow to me?" she asked. "Remember that, to ac- knowledge my indebtedness for that vow, I searched for the one spec'- alist who could restore your sight. To my efiorts, Mr. Heaton, you are now in possession of that sense that was lost to .you." "I acknowledge that freely," I answered. "Yet, even in that you have sought to deceive me.''-. '' "How?" , -^ "You told me that y6u were not the writer of those /letters signed with a pseudonym. 'f "And that is true. I was n«t the ^^ctual writer, even though I may \ve caused them to be written." " ' ^Having thus deceived me, Tiow 0X61 m "n.ou hope that I can be free with regret," she answered, "that ^nt deception has been necessary preserve the secret." "The secret of the crime?" She nodded. "Well, and what do you wish to tell me this evening?" She was silent for a moment toy. ing with her rings. "I want to appeal to your gen- erosity. I want you to assist me." "In what manner?" "As before." "\s before!" I repeated, greatly surprised. "I have no knowledge of having a.ssisted you before." "What?" she cried. "Is your memory so defective that you do "Surely vour memory carries you back to that midnight tragedy !" not recollect your transactions with those who waited upon you â€" those who kept tho previous appointments of which you have spoken?" "I assure you, madam," I said, quite calmly, "I have not the least I exclaimed rather hastily, for I saw she would even now mislead me, if she could. "I have discov- ered where it took place â€" I have since re-entered that room!" "You have!" she gasped in the I '^f* »' «"*'. ^'""-'"u*" low, hoarse voice of one fearful lest her secret should be discovered. "You have actually re-discovered the houseâ€" even though you were stone blind !" "Yes," I answered. "How did you accomplish it?" I shrugged my shoulders, answer- ing, "There is an old saying -a very true oneâ€" that 'murder will out.' " "But tell me more. Explain more fully," she urged in an ear- nest tone. I hesitated. Next =n»tant. how- ever, I decided to keep my own counsel in the matter. Her readi- ness to deny that the events occur- red in that house had re-aroused within me a distinct suspicion. "It is a long story, and cannot be told here, "I answered evasive- ly. "Then come along to the hotel," ho suggested. "I, too, have much lo say to you." I do hot know that I should have (beyed her v .: ••«i it not for the mystery whicn had hitherto veiled her identity. She had saved my life, it is true, and I supposed that I ought to consider her as a, fr'eiid, ,\et in those few minutes during which I had gazed upon her a curi- ous dislike of her had arisen with- ii; mo. She was, I felt certain, not the straightforward person 1 had once believed hor to be. Not that there waa anything in hor appoafanco against her. On the contrary, she was a pleasant, smil- ing, rather pretty woman of per- haps thirty-five, who spoke with the air and manner of a lady, and who carried herself well, with the grace of one in a higher social circle. After a few moments' hesitation my curiosity got the better of my natural caution, and I determined to hear what she had to say. There- fore we drove together to Bath Hotel. In hor own private sitting-room, n cosy little apartment overlooking Piccadilly, opposite Dover Street, she removed her big black hat, drew iff her gloves, and having invited n-o to a chair, took one herself on fho opposite side_ ot the fireplace. Her maid was there when we enter- ea. but retired at word from her mistress." "You, of course, regard it as very curious, Mr. Heaton, that after those six years I should again Fook V('U,'* she commenced, leaning her arm lightly upon the little, table, »P'l g.".:'ing straight into my f.ace without flinchin«. "It is true that once T was enabled to render you 9 service, and now in return 1 ask vou also to render me one. Of Course, it is useless to deny that a srerot exists bntwcon ne â€" a secfjt whi-^h, if revealed, would be dis- astrous." "To whom?" "Mr. Heaton!" she cried. "Have you really taken loave of your sen- 8% ' Is it actually true what your hV..er has said of you â€" that on the day you left Deubury you behaved like a madman ?" "I am no madman !" I cried with considerable warmth. "The truth !s that I remember nothing since cne evening, nearly six years ago. when I was smoking with â€" with a friendâ€" in Chelsea, until that day to jsfhich ray servant has referred." "You remember nothing? That â- 's most extraordinary." "If strange to you, madam, how much more strange to me ? I have told you the truth, therefore kind- ly proceed to explain the object of these previous visits of persons you have apparently sent to me." "I really think you must be jok- ing," she said. "It seems impos- sible that you should actually be unaware." "I tell you that I have no know- Iddge whatsoever of their business with me." "Then it such is really the xase, h't me explain," she said. 'First, 1 think yuu will admit that your financial tran.sactions with our Gov- ernment have brought you very handsome profits." "I am not aware of having had any transactions with the British Government," I answered. "I refer to that ot Bulgaria," she explained. "Surely you are aware that through my intermediary you have obtained great 'concessionsâ€" the docks at Varna, the electric trams at Sofia, the railway from Tirnova to the Servian frontier, not to mention other great undertak- ings which have been floated as companies, all of which are now carn'ng handsome profits, cannot be ignorant ot that!" (To be Continued.) You ON M FkRl MATCHING FARM TEAMS. Matching horses is an art, and an art which quite a number ot farmers and horsemen seem unable Iv master. It requires 'iome skill and judgment to bring together a pair of horses thitt resemble each other in all characteristics sufiici- out to work in harmony. A man has to have more than the color ( f th-.^ animals in mind to do this 8i:ccosRFully. To have a team close- U alike i:. color and raarkiags is desirable, but it's not the whole thing, as some n-,?,n seem to think. .Vcti'^n ?oines first when consid- ering tho matching of horses. Proper action ; strong, clean, vigorous movement of feet and legs, attracts a buyer more quickly than anything else. Style is required in the ac- tion of any class of horse. A snappy, straight and balanced movement of the motive apparatus; a team, each of which stands up to the bit in about the same way, are attractive to buyers and pleasing to the man who drives them. In a farm team, strength and con- formation might possibly be placed before action ; at any rate, it should come second. A team ill-matched in regard to strength and staying powers, is a mighty poor asset. In selecting horses to work against each other in a team, get them iq general conformation as nearly alike as possible, good and strong behind, and muscled well in thu hack and loin, short and thick in the middle, with muscles, not 'af, bi-neath the hide. Size, to a er tain extent, may be sacrificed fo' strength and conformation, but only within certain limits. A dif- ference of a hundred pounds or so ill weight doesn't matter greatly when a pair is being matched up, but if much more than that, the difference in size will be so clear as to detract from the value of the team. Size is important, but it comes after strength, just as strength and conformation follow action in lelative importance. Col- tr comes last of all in the major points to be considered. A differ- ence in color, however marked, is among the least objectionable fea- tures in a team. Yet, strangely, some men consider it the all-import- ant consideration, and will match up horses so unlike in action and temperament, that one's whiffle- tree is always scouring the wa^on wheel, while the other is drawing ahead keen and strong to tho bit, so unlike in strength and conforma- tion that one is fagged out hours before the other shows fatigue ; but if the two stand about the same 'n height, weigh up very nearly alike, and resemble each other in color and markings, they arc rated as a well-matched team. In reality, they are anything but matched . FATTENING FOWL IN PENS. The proportion of farmers who fatten their fowls in coops in this country is small compared with the number of those who do not fat- ten at a.'l, but send their fov.ls to market in a lean state, and there are also numbers of poultry keepers who enclose fowls fo-r a couple of weeks in a pen or shed. Something can be done towards improving the condition of chickens by shutting them up in a shed and feeding liber- ally on nutritious and high fatten- ing foods. The foods may bo ma le up in the same way, and may con- sist of the same ingredients as r*^- commended for crate fattening. It ih best not to shut up a large num her of birds together, and the num- ber not to exceed twenty, wh'lst halt that many would do still bet- ter. Cockrels and pullets must net be penned in one lot. and the near- 61 all the fowls in a pen are I., an- other in breed, age and size, the better. Chickens may be pen led 'n any kind of enclosure, where they will be undisturbed an 1 where they cannot take too much sxlm-ciko : but a shed or covered pen is iiest, as the floor will keep dry, ai •! the birds will bo al" the more ci utent- ea from b°ing siut away from the sight of bii 's rjaming aboil vhe yards. . The experienced fane r wu- al- ways get best results from fatten- ing in coops; but the hogi luer !« generally more successful w'lh 'at- tening fowls in pens, bcciuw thiMC ie not the same tendency to loss -t appetite, provided that Hue C8;c is taken to feed only sweet rid vuole- some foods and not to U:n>\ mere than the birds will eat at .my meal. There are opportunities of feeding a greater variety of stuffs t â-  fowls ill pens than to those 'n coops. Whole grain may be given oc'x icu ally, although it is not rei jinnnnd- ed unless the birds become listless, and show marked loss of appetite, and green food may also bf fed oc- casionally as a pick-me-up Cl-'an-' liness and thorough vec*'lat}on in the house are absolute essentials to succ-ss, and it must not be suppos-^ ed for a moment that th^ 'pen yy>' tem" of fattening is one which levdj itself to carelessness, and Mio si,i'.-k» ing of duties which ought lo be j -r. formed with machine-liki regular- ity. Young Popportonâ€" "Wife haS gono shopping and left me i(> charge of tho baby, and I am ro; gularly put to it to know how t(} keep the little fellow quiet." Grim-. sKaw (after regarding the howlingj and contorting juvenile criticall.v) â€" ' "I should think you could casil.V' keop him quiet. b.)th in a vocal and* physical way. by gagging him care-» fuilv, tving his hands behind his buck, binding his feet together, hailing his clothes to th(? flooi^and then adniiuisbcring ohh.)io'*oBm tf him." ystt. -•»«»«*(