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I was sure now that only my imag~ | n had conjured up the image of #all black priest, and as for the @raught of cold air which had my candle, possibly the blown open one of the winâ€" y .‘ga readingâ€"lamp was shaded with a globe, and I thought that its fliame might. be proof against an attack of swooping wind. + But the nearer I came to the door of the octagon room the more possible did It begin to seem that, after all, there migbt be a foundation of truth for old whost stories. Still, I would not be @riven back by nervous t and ence more I laid q; door handle. ‘This time there= ot â€"a@ sound within, and, strangely enough, m,uq other side was no longer My lamp did not even flame F! i erossed the threshold. This "more peculiar, as I had hardly been ten minutes away. My first thought was to examine the loséd, and % Testenca: b8¢ »tp dahip cnowed me thet the "Ware, ‘polished floor under the one nearest the escritoire was wet. I wonâ€" dered if it would be possible, in such a ul! as raged toâ€"night, for a window not only to blow open, but to blow shut again. * I:cearried my lamp from room to wn.( but all was qulet. Only the shaâ€" y filckered on the curtains that hung down over the quaint bedstead where the treacherous priest had killed if, and made them look as if they ved slightly to and fro. But I knew that this was only an optical illusion, and I went back to the study and the escritoire, which I unlocked with one of my ‘tnother‘s keys. I thought that there might be a letâ€" ter addressed to me, to be opened in case of my mother‘s death, or perhaps & diary, which might give me an inkâ€" ling of the thing she had so ardently desired to say at the last. But I could find nothing of the sort in the escriâ€" toire. â€" I had to close the escritoire in disapâ€" pointment at length, still with her agonized appeal ringing in my memory. So thrilling was the sound, which only the ears of my soul could hear, that 1 made further seafth in every nook and cranny of the octagon room, the quaint eupboard by the decp fireplace, the d@rawers of an old bookcase, an inlafd chest from India, and one or two other places where it seemed possible that objects of value, relailve or intrinsic, might have been kept. But the search was a fallure, and I went into the bedchamber adjoining, wondering if my mother had ever used it and the dressingâ€"room as storeâ€" laces in connection with the study of ich she bad been so fond. 1 peered o a chest of drawers, to find It empâ€" y; and in the dressingâ€"room beyond I opened ® huge wardrobe and explored its dusky depths with the aid of my lamp. An old silk teaâ€"gown hung there, which I remembered secing my mother wear a year or two ago. It had been very smart in its best days, but afterâ€" wards she had used it carelessly. J the People. A sudden impulse bade me find and search the pocket, and just as my finâ€" gers had come in contact with some small object there a slight sound beâ€" hind me caused me to give a start and glance wideâ€"eyed over my shoulder. ##Â¥90900009009090000000000 000090000000 0000000008 I could see nothing that I had not seen bcfore, yet I tingled with the imâ€" pression that I was being watched." "What I had found in the pocket was a miniature key, which might almost have belonged to a picce of doll‘s furâ€" niture, go tiny was It. Suddenly, when I had withdrawn the key and closed the wardrobe, I reâ€" membered that, behind me, and in the direction whence the faint noise had come, was the door which opened on the private stdircase. Summoning all my resolution, and acting before it gould die away, I hurried to the curâ€" tain of old tapestry which draped the door, and tried to turn the handle. If anything were really there I wanted to see it. But the handle would not move, ‘d I had at last to conclude that the or was locked and the key taken Wfi‘mq-urm. Spoct," "Miss Nobody," ""Her ," "Lady Mary of the Dark House," etc. away. AThere was just one comfort in this theory, If the door was fastened nothâ€" ing could have looked out at me, and 3|nnglnnuon must have played me ther trick as it had in the matter of the priestâ€"that was all My blood was up now, however, and, @imly glad to be away from the place where I had fancied such strange things, I visited every other bedroom in the West Wing. . It was one o‘clock when I returned to my own room. I had been two hours lifl,'g-d I was no wiser than I had bsen when I started. é’ho little key from the pocket of the â€"gown T 1a14 on the dressing=table. I would not lose it, because it had been amy mother‘s and because it might yet prove able to unlock some receptacle which I had not discovered. I did not mttach any importance 6 it, however. &:w mother had valueéd it, or anyâ€" # connected with it, it appeared wunilikely that the key should have lain neglected in the pocket of an old teaâ€" gown scarcely ever worn of late. -"l";.'bnttlev of the storm went on throughout "tife night. _ I was thankful when morning came, bleak and gray, with no feeling of soft April in the air, and a splashing of rain upon the windowâ€"panes. « "l‘erhnr Rogeér won‘t come for hi businessitalk," J thought. But the hope faint. it tock q great deal to turn F:'er m smy mm»nln-% "Oli 36. what a dreadful night been!* ea med=Bwift, when she Mpâ€" pea ‘Gress me. â€" "It‘s a queer thing they Â¥ Saying @ownstaiys last evenâ€" Ingâ€"thAt there‘sâ€"always a storm like this . wh bne sof the old family ?I f C gmâ€"the hight of the ‘lime other, I t r.-d < ,{-- â€"Rwarts was the house: f )6t, been a gr0wnâ€"up woâ€" p An service & Arrish . MelU $ when my mother was a childâ€" ‘She wald she‘d scarcely had a wink h Yor the queer nolses about the You know what they ‘do say don‘t you, miss"â€"and Swift‘s fell to a tome of mysteryâ€"‘when been a death at this place ?" "No. â€" What=~do they â€"say?" °I w#ked, , ns "@wift ~made ~re#@dy "my hung the great soft bathâ€" dry before the newlyâ€"lighted ey say (tAat then the priest walke, o Aug eArk‘y 4 2e 14 kok Wre. #he heard footsteps mfl::iom is Widdle of the night. She was s and hil y ::&wcd n?thn vr under the one **~ was in the West Wing looking through some old papers, and so on. of Lady Cope‘s, ftrom eleven to one," 1 said. "Perhaps she heard me.‘ 1 ‘dureâ€" say she could in her room; and once 1 "ft"couri/‘t have been that," obâ€" jected Swift, "for Mrs. Ewarts looked at her watch the last time she was up, and it was past two o‘clock." â€""Oh!"* I ejaculated, thoughtfully. "‘But it was nothing, of course. A storm can make strange sounds come about An old Rouseâ€"especially at night." dropped a capdleatick "I suppose ‘twas nothing, really," the maid assented.., "Mrs. Ewarts was sure it & .argt l‘&“. given .n'z“.. ‘-.fi?‘.t 9 5 i â€" After my own expériences in the night, Swift‘s words impressed me far more than they would otherwige; and I asked myself if it were possible that the resiless spirits of those who had sinned on earth did indeed ever come back to the old haunts, allowing themâ€" rlvu to be heard or seen by those who Were stifearthâ€"bound. At hah-pnn ten, on the very strol of the appointed hour, news of Roj | arrival â€"was brought to me. I was in the picture gallery when the word came, for & eurious fascination Jhad drawn me back to the West Wing the moment after I bad breakfasted; and I had just finished a futile explorfti of the downstairs rooms, unvisited ls night, when I was told that Sir Rogér Cope wished to see me,. R 4 Roger was thirtyâ€"six years old, though he did not look his age by ten years; and he had been only eighteen when he had come into his title at my father‘s death. He was fairâ€"skinned, with very light hair, which fell in a thick wave over his forehead, like a boy‘s. His eyebrows were almost black, and might have been carefully penâ€" cilled by an artist, in the saintly arch which they described. The lashes, too were black, and ag they were long and perfectly straight, they shadowed his curiously pale blue eyes, making them seem much darker than they really were. It was only when the light streamed full into Roger‘s eyes that ione saw they held scarcely any color save in the violet rim that circled the irls. His oval face was cleanâ€"shaven, and a sedentary London life had drained his clearâ€"cut featuresâ€"of blood, so that his thin red lips contrasted with his white skin almost as strikingly as the dark brows and lashes with the ashâ€"blonde hair. â€" i'v}m to a room known as the Indian boudoir;/@here he awaited me, and in silence weâ€"shook hands. I looked Up@t him rather timidly, for somehow I was dreading the hour before meâ€"Fébger‘s tone in asking me to spare it him had been so more than usually grave. 5 It struck me now as our ¢yes met how exceedingly handsome he . Was, and I wondered why I did not admire him more than I did. If Roger had been a woman he would have been considered a great beauty, and it seemed strange to think that this remarkableâ€"looking man, . who might have sat as model for a plcture of Lucifer before his fall, was only a Londoa solicitor, who had to ignore his title and work like an ordinary mortal. His manner was invariably gentle, his way of speaking slowâ€""soothing," my mother had calied it, and "restful;" but it was not so fer me. "Poor little cousin‘‘" he said, kindly, as he réleaged myâ€"hand. "You havé had a bad night, I‘m afraid. Your face is very white, u‘# your eyes very blg this morning. as it the storm that kept you from sleeping, or was it yOUr own sad thoughts?" } As he asked the two questions in one his gaze was fixed very keonly upon me, as if he meant my expression to answer him candidly, even if my tongue tried to keep a secret. "Both, perhaps," I answered, and 1 was vexed to feel my color rise. "I was thinking of you a great deal all night," he went on; "for nelther was I able to sleep. L even grew superstiâ€" tilous, with that wild storm raging at the windows of the inn; and I wonâ€" dered if the priest walked at Arrish Mell Court." _ ‘You 7a'1\vays made "un of ghost stor ies," I said. â€" 0 "Did I? Well, as I grow older I‘m not so cockâ€"sure of everything as I used to be. I‘ve begun to realize that there may really be more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our philosophy. Last night I don‘t think I should have denied the priest, if I had been up here instead of at Lull." I always had the feeling (why, I could not have explained) that Roger had motives for everything he said; that he never spoke on impulse like other people, but skilfully "worked up" rubjects with a particular end in view:; and now I was curious to know why ae had brought in that of the priest. With a rspirit of cnntrail)ness. which I often felt with Roger, I determined to thwart his desizoa, whatever it might "Let‘s talk of something else," 1 exâ€" claimed, abruptly. "You say that oddly!" he persisted. "I believe, Sheila, that you had a fright last night." "I‘m not at all superstitious," I anâ€" awered, evasively. "Mother brought me up to think that sort of thing ridicuâ€" lows. Nobody seems to have rested very peacefully last night; but I feel quite wellenough this morning for that busiâ€" RHess tailk which you said we must Roger‘s had never left my face, fl"l‘fi;bfl not given bim much sat on.s(He saw atâ€"last that there was one u&tm I was resolved not to ‘diseus#; &ndâ€"he knew that I ccn.tie-J-ut As determ{ned as he, when L chose. "Vory well, t6 Business, then," he Sald. "Aren‘t you going to sit down, and ask»me to sit down? Thanks! Sheila, diaww ever tall you anything a your birth?" Phnlh of Auafrenn, i d me h a siok ‘ana EPI.:'""R '_" : h é:':“: the little saff mediately. fl-"â€"-‘- FOR OVER SIXTY YEARS of mothere igand snerk? | jost everything. Come to me, who can that rums on whecle, fakat give it all beek," he would have conm | [ . «t the aldent | caaled the truth, if she would have let Held £tertywhett. i veine Theogeth viarties Airef ww o B one n dn 200 % 1 stared at my cousin, surprised at such a strange bexinning. "I hardly know what you means,* stammered. ‘"What wasâ€"there to tellâ€" except that I was born abroad?" Roger looked down at a book he had taken up from the "I thought that Auat Erim have told vumwfi-hl: he "perâ€" hapsâ€"the night she You not scein towish me to know what passed m,.-mgmunu last scene, And I thought she mightâ€"â€"" "Bhe said nothing coherent at all," I mh.w“n.uu-um:'bv strange words which I could not underâ€" stand. Are youâ€"going to tell me anyâ€" thing, Roger?"* "By and by," he said, emiling faintâ€" ly. Mis face had brightened as 1 anâ€" frptid,y,.â€"y Baâ€"zg 6: Al wn‘?unflmymrm“% stalled him. "Before we come to I have certain things to ask. Shella, vou;mmuu.-uu...vm you * * I .ceplied,} â€" muy> caming 'tm mk to my ‘.‘Nr'-lhw !.“W happy I been then} e pn gone up to London, and the world had seemed like fairyland. ‘You are almost a child still, my poor little cousin. Yet Aunt Ermyntrude was married before she was many months older. Did she.ever speak to you about the time when you would marry ?" "Om, «she spoke pf muq oomotlm,e:’ I suppose all ngtblrl do. I had reasons of my own for wishing to hurry away from this subject; but Roger kept me to it. "And the man you would one day marry? Had she anything to say of him ?"* m I felt myself grow scarlet. "I don‘t see that you have any right to ask me such things," I said. "They were beâ€" tween mother and me," _ _ â€" "I think I am answeredSheila!" he exclaimed. ‘‘Wellâ€"you know what her Wishes were, and you won‘t be surâ€" ;rbed to hear that mine are the same. have always loved you, and wanted you, dear, since I saw you growing from a bewitching child into a beautiâ€" ful young woman." Roger had been sitting in a chair opposité the sofa, where I had taken a seat; but heâ€"rose, and, coming to me, went down on one knee, not in a theaâ€" trical, loverâ€"like way, but as a big brother might do with a little sister. And very gently he laid his hand over my two, that were clasped tightly toâ€" gether in my lap. Altogether his manâ€" ner was considerate and reassuring. But, then, Roger‘s manner invariably was perfect in every emergency. ‘"You are so young, such a child still," he went on, before I could speak, and resisting my efforts to draw my hands from under his, "that you need someone to take care of you. I want to be that one, dear. And she who is gone desired it, as you know. If it were not for that I would not have spoken yet. But she would not have wished me to delay. Little girl, what have you to say to me? You have lost the one you loved best on earth;.but here is one who loves you even more thean she did. Will you take me for a lover inâ€" stead of a cousin?" "O Roger, I can‘tâ€"I can‘t!" I exâ€" claimed. "How I wish you hadn‘t said it! You are very kind, but we must go on being cousins, andâ€"nothing more." His handsome face hardened a little. ‘‘Why?" he persisted. ‘"You don‘t disâ€" like me?" . ‘‘Noâ€"0," I responded, dublously. "But I don‘t love you." "I don‘t expect love at firstâ€"not the sort of love I feel for you," he said. ‘"Why, you are almost too young to know what love means. ‘Trust yourâ€" self to me, dear, and trust me to teach you its meaning." I shook my head, and I was beginning to grow impatient. "You couldn‘t," I said. "I know enough about love, by instinct, to be sure that you could nevâ€" er teach it to me. You might try for & hundred years, and it would be just the same at the end as it is now." ‘‘That‘s a hard answer," he ejacuâ€" lated, flushing. "It‘s your youth that speaks. Perhaps, after all, I ought to have waited. But dear Aunt Ermynâ€" trudeâ€"â€"* "It‘s no use walting," I interrupted him, with almost fierce decision. "Since you began this, Roger, we must finish it now, and not speak of it again everâ€" cver, If we are to remain friends. You‘ve always been very good and very nice to me, and I‘ve tried to be fond of youâ€"not in the way you mean, but just as a cousin, because I knew that it was mother‘s wish. Yet I couldn‘t make myself do it. I‘ve never been Tcomtortnble with you. Roger, or happy in your society. lt‘s better to tell you all the truth now, so that you will quite understand that it couldn‘t be different." He was still on one knee by my side, though he had released my hands now, and he was looking straight into my eyes with a very strange look. "I‘m thirtyâ€"six, Sheila, and you‘re eighteen," he said, slowly. "I‘ve seen girls change who thought they never could." "You will not see this one change!" L cried, almost crossly, for I thought that he ought in manliness to take me at my word without attempting furthâ€" er argument. "O Roger, I do think it cruel of you to have brought up this toâ€"day! You said there was business which could not wait, and yet this is allâ€"* ‘"‘This is not all," Roger repeated, taking the words out of my mouth. "It s only the beginning. You don‘t underâ€" itand yet, but you will by and by, and you will Think very differentiy of me then. Instead of anger there will be, I am sure, a more kindly emotion in your heart. You will see that I pleaded with you, as for the greatest boon that a woman can grant a man, while I nfi have begun in aiother way more tifying perhaps to my own pride, ang more likely to prove successful. Bat I preferred to sue as a subject to his queen, rather than play King Copheâ€" tua." _ "King Cophetua?" I opened my eyes and gazed at him haughtily. "I de not see the appropriateness of the simâ€" tle." _"I told you that you did not underâ€" stand now. Eut I won‘t keep you in suspense." ‘To my relief he rose from "his humble posture and atood before me, looking down, veled excitement in his face. . --ar.un; of King Cophetua," he Went on, "reminds jme of a storyâ€"ths story of a beggar maid. Once upon & time there was a man who had been poor all his Hife. Aun‘.n__'n-fll who had been rich @uddeniy they changed places, though she was left in igrorance. . The man loved the girl, who was very beantiful and so indifferâ€" ent in her manner to him that he, who was not to indi ce from other mfi‘mmmu Wmmmw than he Otherwice. He had wanted her when he believed himseif poor and the girl rich. But when the change came, auraoge Nodat it Hrigl ts Pavs lost everything. Come to me, who can +350A nOP though my heart had begun 40 BJat UU MPAUMTICOCE CC my_hn. "mhwuw}?mma "You are \ You might as id onacy motals inButially areire ialte meus |/ 0 brows drew logether in a frown. . g__:l}.lu'a _ inevit "What has your story to do with met* I arked. "Everything, with both you and m»." 1 looked up quickly; our eyes met and &welt. A slight shiver ran through my body. What was coming now*? L felt as If I was on the edge of a u‘li.-fl should not be able to resist, "You are serioust"* "Most serious. ‘This is what was in my mind when I asked if Aunt Ermyaâ€" trude hod spoken at the last of the cirâ€" cumstances of your birth. This was in her mind, perhaps, when she told you it would make her happy If you could learn to care for me." _ ‘"Please don‘t try to break it gent!y Roger," I said, my lips very dry. "Tell me everything you knowâ€"straight out." & 3A 2 _ "I will, if you can bear it.. You have been brought up to believe that you were born abroad. That is not the _ "Oh, well, it is not important." "My cousin, Sir Vincent Cope, was not your father," 5 9y . _ "What, was my mother twice mar ried, then t" â€" ~ _ "My A ."lllt Ermyntrude was not your _ I eprang up with a faint, choking ery "It is not true!"" I panted. Ne "It is true, and it can -ully'z proved. I am not the only one knows it. ‘There are other witnesses in whose mouths the truth shall be estabâ€" lished. There is not a dro‘r. o%‘“cou blood in your veins, poor little d SBheila." s "Desolate, indeed!" I bitterly echoed. "If it be trueâ€"oh, I will grant it true, if you choose!â€"why was I morfiw‘l: before? Why was 1 left to hear it you?" Why should I not be the one to tell you, as tenderly as such a hard thing can be told? Had Aunt Ermyntrude lived you would have been kept in igâ€" norance at least until your marriage. ‘Then it would have been as your husâ€" band thought best. Ah, Sheila, how I would have protected and shielded you if you would have let me! Ivnh{x it‘s not too late. Look at me; I‘m ing out my arms to you. Don‘t go away into the world homeless, pengiless. Stay in this shelter and you will not miss anything that was ever yours." _ ""Homeless â€" penniless!" I dazedly. "I don‘t understand." "If Aunt Ermyntrude had feft a will, she would, doubtless, have provided for you as a daughter," Roger went on, slowly. ‘"Had she done so I must have known it, for I was her lawyer, and managed all business matters for her, as you are probably aware. Once or twice, thinking of some such difficulty as this, I ventured to advise her to make a will. But she always evaded me ind put it off. ‘This place was her property. She was a rich woman, with an income of ten or twelve thousand pounds a year; and had you been her daughter by ties of blood as well as affection, everything must have gone to you in the absence of a will, as you wonld have been the natural heir. No ore else could have claimed an acre or a penny. But as it is you are not a rclation at ail, and you will get nothing. Everything goes by law to the nextâ€"o(â€"kin, Aunt Ermynâ€" trude‘s one living relative." * "Yourself!" I exclaimed. ‘ ‘‘Exactly. Don‘t blame me, Shella. 1. did not make the law." ‘‘No, butâ€"â€"* "But what?"* "Nothing," I said, dully, I had been on the point of crying out: "You might refuse to accept what the law gives." But I stopped just in time. I would have died sooner than ask or receive favors from Roger Cope. 1 never trusted or like@ him.‘ â€"Now, at« most numbed as I was by the blow with which he had struckâ€"me, I saw him as he wasâ€"a hypocrite, a poseur; vain, utterly selfish, utterly unscrupuâ€" lous in gaining his own ends. I had lost everything; mother, home, and means of support, but I would have nothing from him. I could not yet fulâ€" ly realize what the revelation of this morning must mean for me. So far I only felt the pain of knowing that the beautiful woman I had worshipped and fearéd had never belonged to me lfi And in my misery, like some wret little animal caught in a trap, my 4mâ€" pulse was to bite the hand nearest. 1 turned on Roger. CHAPTER VIL I Arrive at a Momentous Decision. "I can understand well enough," I exclaimed, bitterly, "why you should have wished to marry me if I had been the heiress that people have tnought me. But why do you want me now_!" _ Roger waved his hand towards & great m{frror that went from floor to celling, on the wail of the "Indian bouâ€" #otr." M "Look at yourself," he said. Mechanically, Lardly knowing what 1 did, I looked. Never before had I been critical of myseif. But now I gazed searchingly at my own faceâ€"thé ome fortune that was left me. I was beau««ul. Fven I cou‘d see that. As I grew older, my bair might change its young gold for autumn brown; but it was yellow as ripe wheat now, brown only in the shadows, where the waves c ved inward. And my eyes were big, and dark, and soft. Suddenly, 1 felt vary sorry for myself, because I was so pretty, and omy sightech; because I seemed to have left youth and happiness forever behind mÂ¥ and there Wwas no one whom I loved or had a claim upon to put kind arms round me, and let me cry my heart out on a sympathetic breast. _ ‘Tears sprang to my eyes, but I crushed them back. Roger Cope should not see me ory. s “':l-;‘;{ 'yo'll because you are the prettiest girl, and some day will be the most beautiful woman, on earth," cried "I will, soon enough; or, rather, I can. â€" But if you will promise to marry :&.m.n-ondmbv.!- marry as Miss Shells Cope of Arâ€" rish Moll Court; and I will come here IMC'I.{OUW "You come here to live, it may be, but not as my busband," I cut him short. "I shall have gone away before table now." * * "It isn‘t incvitable And I won‘t yield," I stoutly maintained. . "You haven‘t proved any of your statements yet."* ~"Where would yuu go*" asked, curiqusiy, u-thendnl:_: is "The world‘s a big place," I retorted, my voice quivering with the sobs that would not quite be kept batk. One tore its way up from my heart; and, with two great tears running down my cheeks, I exclaimed: "Oh, if there were only somebody whom I hlâ€"cd_hl" lqnmunmt-fluu.ulnl out his band, but I pushed it from ime; «nd his blue eyes flashed their resentâ€" ment.. "I believe," he said, quietly, in the draw! which had so often stung me to Impatience, "that there are several Oe Eaeecne. onl P eu Louss persqns with whom you are entitled to rlaim kinship, if you choose." I dashed my tears away, and gazed at him eagerly. ‘Tell meâ€"tell me!" I cried. "How was it that my mothâ€" that Lady Cope took me as her own child ?" "She was yvery unhappy at the time, Five years before she had lost her litâ€" tle son, whom she and her husband both adored. He died in most tragic circumstances, which changed . his mother‘s whole nature. _ Sir Vincent and Aunt Ermyntrude went abroad. There Sir Vincent died also, and poor Aunt Ermyntrude came backâ€"not to her old home, but to London. She unâ€" dertook various charitable works, and it was while she was giving up her to the interests of others that she your mother." _ _ _ "My mother!" I echoed, in a whisper. For a moment I was powerless to ask more; but Roger went on, without waiting for my questions. "Â¥Your mother was also a widow, and very poor. You were her only child, but she had been ill, among other misâ€" fortunes, and was hardly able to proâ€" vide for you. Aunt Ermyntrude saw youâ€"a pretty little thing a few months of age; and, taking a great fancy to you, in her loneliness, offered to adopt you as her own. Your mother finally comsented, and as Aunt Ermyntrude had been Iiving abroad for several years with her husband, and her presâ€" ence in London had been known to mone, nobody was particularly surâ€" prised when she came home at last with a baby not quite a year old. "I knew the truth from the first, beâ€" cause I had visited Cousin Vincent and Aunt Ermyntrude abroad, and knew that they had no child, so I had to be told. And the vicar, old Mr. Westerâ€" ley, w:lâ€"-toi;vd'l;.flfiut we were both asked to keep the secret, and we alâ€" ways have." _ s _"You said that some of my peopie were still alive," I said, in a strained volce. â€" 8c . "Â¥our mother is living," Roger quletâ€" ty answered. "I have been at somie pains to keep track of herâ€"for Aunt Ermyntrude‘s sake, of course." e oo ooo en eaet ts Somehow I did not believe that it had been for anyone‘s sake but his own, and for some purpose which I seemed to be on the point of discovering. "I have your mother‘s present adâ€" dress, it you wish to write her, Shella," Roger said. "Shall I give itâ€"to you ?" ‘"Â¥es," I said, "I want the address. But before writing, I should iHke to see Mr. W-}nlq. You told me thatâ€"Re knew the secret &lao." C "He does," Roger answered, gravely. "And you shall see him. I understand what is in your mind. You believe that if aan deceiving you. Well, it is naturâ€" al, perhapsâ€"though it‘s hard to beimisâ€" Judged by the woman one loves. In the mouths of two witnesses, it is said, a truth shall be established; and the sooner you hear what Mr. Westerley can add to my statement, the better I shall be pleased. Notâ€"I wouldn‘t have you think that for a moment!â€"not that I‘m not only too glad to have you stay here as long as you will, even if we are to be nothing to each other." "I will send a carriage down to Lull, =z:uk Mr.â€"Westerley to come out at " t cried: fhen bit my lip. The pass. Until I was sure I would grant myself some privileges, with the bemeâ€" fit of the doubt. Roger rang the bell, and then came back to me. From his pocket he took & sealed envelope. ‘"The address you wanted," he explained. "I will go and leave you alone now. I can see that yeu would prefer that. After Mr. Westâ€" erley has ben with you, and gone away again, you shall have a little time to think. Then I will come back, and you shall tell me what decision you have reached. It may be that you will look upon matters with a different eye. At all events, remember that while you have me you are not friendless." He held out his hand, and though I felt the impulse to refuse It, I would mot, lest he should think it was beâ€" cause I grudged him the things that had seemed mine. ‘The vicar was a kind old man with a nervous manner, and the air of ::1’\: alightly startled when anyone addr him. His greatest pleasure was colleotâ€" ing butterflles, a pastime which he inâ€" finitely preferred to the companionship of human beings. But, because he was good, I knew that he would come to me without delay, and I was not disapâ€" pointed. * ordered might tske Siz Roger Cope back to the inn bâ€"fore calling for Mr. Westerley. â€" s ‘When the bell was answered a sore rant was ms*ToRRn®@tt Tae carriage i I could hardly wait to answer his questions as to my health and spirite when he arrived, but burst at once into the subject weighing on my heart. "Mr. Westerley," I asked, mbruptly, "Is it true thatâ€"that Lady Cope adopted me when I was a babyâ€"that I was not her own child?" The wrinkled old face, with its long, narrow oval, and its high forehead thatched with white hair, fushed deepâ€" iy, and looked more startled than ever. *Whoâ€"who told you this?" the vicar questioned, with an exaggeration of his usual slight stammer. "Sir Roger Cope," I answered. "He sald that you, too, knew the storyâ€" only you and he in the world now since myâ€"since Lady Cope is dead. 1 wouldâ€" fl'*vok.fllh‘-nm But now I knowâ€"just your face, even i‘nmn-bâ€"mlflm’ "My poor child! It is indeed true. !ldmâ€"lmwunlxa: had not wished you ever to that you were not her daughter by birth, as you were in heart." & We had both been standing up. In my impatience I had not given him the chance of sitting down; but now 1 swnk upon a sofa and covered my face with my hands. The vicar sat beside his hand on my bead life met CRYING! hvevetylinlerpllhy'hh&h'm- dition in his . _He can‘t see any earthly reason why she should cry. She h-’hntymm,g-nyhm and he . C ; + lluu'udovn-ndcriudm + fiuenflywiths-tuymwm there is a cause, and that cause is mdilmdetordhu.uolu::dehh womanly organism. nhealthy drains luvehk’en.nythevihl‘ome. Inflam» mation is fretting the nerves of the What for? U{fl.‘hflfivmfl! nervous. that‘s all. A man apt to m"u;n{‘ If women did but underâ€" stand the intimate relation of the genâ€" *For the sake of poor, suffering women, I feel h-yd-!ylohbmmolthemfienefl m'rnedldnehuziven me," writes Mrs. Callie les, of Watts, Iredell Co., N.C. * I was in a miserable condition when I wrote to you. I had uterine disease so bad I could scarcely walk and suffered such dreadful misery I hoped to be relieved by death. You wrote to me to take your ‘Favorite Prescription‘ and I have tsken eleven bottles of it, and two of your Pleasant Pellets." llneufirtl{wdlundf«lfikt-w woman. I feel thankful to God and to Doctor Pierce for the biessings I now nj:z. I have a fine, big boy, _twomo_::}hofnldlu ngl"v.ergd you to me tol3,~though Sir Toger, no doubt, did what he thought was his “duty. But at all events, no one else need know. Nothing need be changed." # About five irs T had very health,"* writes Mrs. s.’:. v;hn'olfll, of uolm.' Johnson Co., Missouri. " After doctoring four years with urwmtmpnn{un-p; said they had done all they could. I had been conâ€" fined to my bed half my‘time; the other haif fined to my bed half my time; the ofNer Na!T Sould hardly drag around. 1 had such pains in my back and abdomen I could not stand on my feet for more than a few minutes. My feet were cold or burning, and my periods came tos cfeu. 'l'hdodon-idn'u&nfiolflfe. so, a§ I had heard of Dr. Pierce‘s medicines, my husband got me a bottle of * Favorite Prescripâ€" tion.* I took it and it helped me in some ways, oi ooo e e e e e oi nlvfotzto,o‘lnd followed your advice. I commenced ‘Favorite Prescription,‘ ‘Golden Medical Dinoremz' and the ‘Pleasant Pelleta‘ as I was so ipated all the time and pi mld;n:en me‘lo that I vo‘nld h-vbeo‘tln r‘g . To the great surprise of eve well, and when I met my h'l_cyq.-r’tlwy’mld. say, ‘I never thought you would be here now.‘ But I can ummmntdldm,wikhm doubt is the best in the world. Have had no use for doctors since I tried your medicine." Dr. Pierce‘s Pleasant Pellets are an effective medicine for the bowels and liver. They do not reâ€"act upon the â€"‘"Everything is changed!" I exâ€" claimed. "Because everything that 1 thought was mine is Roger Cope‘s." Mr. Westerley sprang to his feet with an ejaculation of amazement or increâ€" @ulity. "No!" he said. "No; that canâ€" not be. Lady Cope was too just, too loving a woman, strange as were some of her ideas. She brought you up to considerâ€"yourself an heiressâ€"â€"" "I‘m aâ€"b€ggar," I broke in. "She lefi no will, so Roger says. He was her soâ€" licitor, and knew all her business. He told me that he had of: advised her to make one, but she put ‘ off. Yet it ‘an‘t that I care for. Iâ€"I‘ve had eighâ€" teen happy years. I ou; tn‘t to ask for more. If she had Ii\ and loved me I wouldn‘t have minde. being poor and leaving dear old Arrish Mellâ€"â€"" "Surely youâ€"won‘t be called upon to leave?" stammered the vicar. ;"Muh*' received _ from _ 08. ‘own, dated May 12, Trooper E. C. Redswell, 2nd C. M. R., is still danâ€" gerously ill with enteric fever at Peterâ€" t-rlubnrt“ Redswell enlisted at Mediâ€" cine Hat, but his father is Mr. Edward Charles Redswell, 96 Haunault road, Leytonstone, England. At Johannesâ€" burg, 'l‘roo.g;r Charles Bu;ll McVicar and Lanceâ€"Corporal Percy Simpeon, Znd C.M.R., are dr«vromly ill with the same disease. McVicar enlisted at London, Ont., and his next of kin is Mrs. R. N. Tweddle, Ailsa . Simpâ€" son enlisted at n.mu,â€"m next of kin is Mr. R. G. st-z:- of Aurora. Trooper Herbt. Richard t, A division, B.A.(.P:'h dangerously ill with enterie COULD SOAROELY WALK, 8.A.C., is w‘ ill with enteri at Potchefstroom. is mother, Mrs Fanny Holt, lives at 182 Cottingham ‘l.ll Toronto . Parliament will probably wind up bmainess this evening and prorogue on Thursday. Hamilton â€"Hospital, has resigned. 'n.l-a.d.uhhhmh-\â€" found in Grand River at Brantford. ‘l'h?â€"-mfls.hnhh-w wrook hr cargo includes $1,500,000 in Ottawa, _ May _M.:â€"â€"-Aegording _ to NO USE FOR DOOTORS. _ |Store. En TELRGRAPH BREVITIES. Dr. Edgar, Superintendeht of the The body of John Logue of Belleâ€" Dr. R. V. Pierce, 663 Main Street, as well in my life. I can‘t praise your South Africa Casuaities. Â¥4. (To be continued.) nfeeble n"h"n':" at ulceraâ€" se 6 1. 4 &uflu&.m“fl :relied]_â€"___â€"___ ng a00 | 1yr,. G. H. BOWLBY uonlco-”! C P surgeon and accoucheut, uns, ‘m the nose, throat opt lnn. Ofl:‘m‘â€"agwhlgu.-.fl.'bfi i and 7.00 to 8. 3 p m. Officeâ€"Corner of Queen ase "I.maonsu.nnu-. sult Dr, | _________ _‘ 10 . Dr. laio w is ameraon ter Steritler, botictar Hotar» Pub.. Conrtinn oo moil son‘s office, Berlin. AMKS 0. HAJGHT P oo too Aveptobournar ustarios Divezone of Albert Street Waterl0o, a shortdistance north $ thp late D. Waiden‘t residence, ‘Felephons ;Ail'ffineh-'â€""ifim_m practised. Office anzen‘s Block, Berlin, over Smyth Store. . ._ht;-m bet ween Fehrenbach‘s = ler and Stuebing‘s grocery. OWLBY & CLEMENT W. R.Wilkinson, L. D. 8., D.D. S. TV MefaT l 14e + S W C. W. W ELLS®D. D. 8.. Deniste Waterloo. Will visi® Klmira, Zil isx Housé, T&h:md'l‘hnndu:?d Friday fi fourth 1 p.m. to Friday 1 p. m. ODONTUNDER for painless extraction of teeth. The Waterico office will be closed every Friday afternoon from May lst to November 1st. the rooms formerly ocmr‘ed by Dr. Amlh'a ll-&m. Waterloo. A | his permamont +ets toe 1" the face the appearance porsessed ten or fifteen years ago or any appesrance deâ€" sirable. ‘They thus remove all danl of shrunken lips, or scalloped cheeks. Th‘s is obtainab‘e in no other Town in Ontario. Pric s specially r. asonable for a time. of conveyances oon-u‘l::&;figi' hand. Rg â€"A > children‘s hair ou% dertake contracts for painting and paper hang tng in Town and Country. Firstâ€"class work R. C. T. NOECKEEB, P Sppalle BA Markot Squar eWaterico 4n casy zhave, a stylish hair oub a good sea a: oppoire oaol Aomooinon ote ng‘s store, King 8*., Waterioo, { 8. LUDLOW, , Dentist, graduate of both Canadian and meri an Bchools of Dentistry. _ His office is WATERLOO, HONEST HARNESS AT HONEST PRICES “-‘-fi-' sots of Harnssa now. it will improve the appearance of ypor ontfitone hundred per cent. . ~HRISTOPHER WOLFE, Jr. J Painter and Paper Hanging. Wil an M. CRAM, OHN L. WIDEMAN TIssuer of Marring flooâ€"Post Office, St. Jacobe, Ont. Office: Canadian Block, Berlin. IVERY AND IXCHANGIHAB}..F on vevanons mu':zl!,g hand. Charges . HUGHES. HARLES ®» Sour hue gign Painter and per Hanger, _ Waterioo, Strebel‘s HARNESS SHOP Dentist, Office in the Oddfellows MISCELLANEOUS Offics Oven Daily. MEDICAL corner of Queen and Princess Ste tss P LEGAL DENTAL DENTIST. LIVERIES C. Harvey J. Bime, ‘Toronto ho at