, ment,
.do not come. of people
‘ geous alliance.’
. dren?
‘,.
w—fiv
LOVE ”oniiornvi
BY JESSE LEETF.
"i wish you would be serious. There
is something I want to tell you; some
thing I can't be with you another day
without telling you. Miss Thornton,
you must listen to me. You must
know"—
Gnce Thornton‘s face was grave
enough now, as she hurriedly inter-
rupted the impetuous words.
>“I know. Mr. Hartly, that we are
after all only strangers in all essential
points. What do you know about
us today more than you knew after
the, firs‘ day or two on board the Cam-
el’uut} 3'. .
"l knwv this much, at least, Miss
These ’Ju. I know that to me you are
the one woman in the world, and that
I love you as a man only loves once in
his life."
Cecil had risen to his feet. The boy-
'ish hesitation had vanished now. His
answer to the challenge had an ear-
nest ring in it that would not be gain-
said if it were. possible.
Then there was a long silence. Miss
Thornton sat motionless, gazing fixed-
ly out to sea. outwardly calm but for
' the telltale color which came and went
w.z.h startling rapidity. The little
waves lapped gently along the shore,
and-the voices of some bare-legged ur-
chins at play far along the sands
smote with almost painful distinctness
(.11 the cars of both.
Cecil waited patiently for a long
time. Then he spoke again, very gen-
tly and calmly. '
“Have I startled you?” I know you
might well be offended at my pre-
sumption in daring to tell you this;
but love is daring, you know. And
you have been very good to me. Don’t
think I mean you have ever given me
the right to expect anything beyond
the kindness you have already shown
nae—just such kindness as your own
em; heart might prompt you to show
any onely stranger you met. Only I
,’could not go away without telling you
how I loved you. Nor could I stay be-
side you any longer in silence. I don’t
ask you any question—I dare not. On-
ly tell me you are not angry with me
for speaking so soon!”
For a moment a smile hovered faint-
ly around the girl's pale lips.
“I am not angry,” she said gently;
.“but I am very much surprised.”
"fin-prised? Why surprised? Isn‘t it
the nest natural thing in the world
that zany man who gets the chance
should tell you he loves you and wants
to marry you?"
Something in the words seemed to
startle the girl strangely. She lifted
her head with a sudden, quick move-
and looked full up into the
bright blue eyes above her. There
was scrutiny in her gaze, almost sus-
picion. Then slowly her eyes sank
again, and a smile once more crept
back to the tremulous mouth.
“You talk like a boy,” she said, soft-
1y. “Have you ever thought what itq
means—this that you are doing—this
placing your whole future at the mer-
cy of a woman of whose antecedents
and belongings you know absolutely
nothing? How do you know that I
whom you
would not willingly claim as acquaint-
ances, much more as your wife's re-
lations?" '
“If the relations were unlucky
enough to be objectionable people,
why, all the more reason you should
be taken away from them. As for
* myself, I don’t want to marry a fam-
ily circle, or to ‘contract an advanta-
It is you I want—-
you, your own sweet self! You onlyl”.
"A woman’s ‘self’ has been made
and moulded by her past surround-
ings. What do you know of mine?
So far as you know, my aunt and I
Tmight have dropped from the clouds
that day we met at Southampton.
You have told me a hundred things,
about yourself and your'people, your
schooldays, your home, your work,
your hopes. What have we told you in
return? Nothing; you cannot deny it!
How can you explain such silence to
yourself? People are not so reticent
without a reason. What reason have
you assigned to us yourself ?” '
Cecil did not reply immediately.
The present had been so sweet to him
of late that all else had been forgot-
ten, and he had troubled himself little
about the silence in question. But
now he was directly challenged to
give a reason for the faith that was
in him, and he had to dive down into
his own thoughts awhile before he
could answer. Then he spoke slowly
and gravely:
"You must not be angry with me if
I ‘tell you the plain truth—«I'm not
good at hiding things. Of course, I
haw sometimes wondered that you
never spoke of yourself as people nat-
urallydo when they are much togeth-
er. But it was no business of mine,
and I have tried not to let my
thoughts dwell on it. Only, since you
wish it. 'I will tell you what I have
‘sometimes fancied. I think there
must be some great sorrow in your
past life—something which you want
to forget, perhaps some burden which
time has lifted from your shoulders,
and which you hope never to carry
againfi’
Hepaused, but Grace made no sign.
He looked down at her half—averted
face, and Wondered whether it Were
possible that she had ever passed
through one of those tragedies which
from time to time crop up in families
of hitherto stainless name, leaving
their indelible brand of shame on a
whole generation of women and chil-
x‘. great wave of love and pity
,swept into the young man’s heart at
the bare supposition. He spoke again
and more boldly:_
“If I am right—if there is some good
reason why your thoughts should turn
more willingly to, the future than to
the past, then let me help you to for-
get that-past. Let the dead past bury
its dead, and let us begin a new and
living present from today onward.
My love should fence so closely that
no ghost from the buried days should
ever come near to haunt you.
it be so? ’Can’t you care for me
enough to let me care for you now
and as long as we both shall live?”
Grace looked at him a minute with
glistening eyes. '
“But s11pposc—-just suppose that in-
stead of a sorrow it—the burden you
spoke of—were a crime?”
"if it were a crime, it is certain you
had no share in it. Were you to swear
the contrary, I would never believe
you.”
Miss Thornton’s eyes fell suddenly.
and when she lifted them again‘they
were full of tears.
“Your trust in me is foolish;u she
said softly, “but it is very beautiful.
Now let me think quietly for a minute.
I must think for you as well as for my-
self."
For what seemed to Cecil hours she
sat' in silence. Her eyes had again
travelled seaward, and only the slow
rise and fall of her bosom broke the
absolute quiet of herattitude. ll’hen
she turned again to her companion
some subtle change had come over her
manner. Cecil could have fancied her
some fairy princess, who, after a brief
masquerade, had resumed her long-
accustomed rights.
“You must have patience for a time,
Mr. Hartley,” she said, with gentle dig-
nity. “There are reasons why I may
not answer you yet. Let all be as if
you had never spoken to me of—this.
For theshort time we shall still be to-
gether, we will be friends as before.
When you leave us, you shall give me
an address where a letter will always
find you. Then—when we return to
England—you shall have. my answer.
This I promise you; do not ask me for
more.” .
“You ask a hard thing,” said Cecil
slowly. “But you shall be obeyed.”
“And you will trust me still?”
“I will trust you while I have my be‘
ibgl”
VI.
Cecil Hartly had always been a fa-
vorite of fortune. From childhood on-
ward “things had gone well” with
him. At school he had carried off, al-
most as a matter of course, every schol-
_:rship for which he chose to compete;
1t college it would be difficult to say
whether he had distinguished himself
more in the schools or in the cricket-
field. After being called to the bar,
he obtained his first brief in the very
first year by the most improbable acci-
dent in the world, and so distinguished
himself that the ‘certainty of a great
future lay before him. In short, Ce-
cil’s “luck” was proverbial.
If such a run of “luck” had spoiled
him a little. it would have been diffi-
cult to blame him severely. But his
natural sunny and unselfish nature
had carried him through the ordeal,
and his ever ready sympathy with
everybody less fortunate than himself
was as proverbial now as in his child-
ish days.
Sometimes, as he thought of the
troubles of others, Cecil had almost
trembled at his uninterrupted good
fortune.. What was the trouble in
store for him? The sorrow which
should counterbalance, perhaps out-
weigh these long years of plenty and
content? It could not be that he alone
should escape the common lot. His
very successes had made him Walk the
more warily. At least he would give
no offence to the unseen powers by
pride and presumption.
‘ And then, at last, there came to him,
as to others, a time of perplexity and
trial.
It i: t . It *
Cecil Hartley was sitting hard at
work in his chambers one dreary De-
cember afternoon. The Chrisrmas
holidays were close at hand, and he
had a. large accumulation of unavoid-
able arrears ‘to clear 03 before he
could leave town. There was little
time to spare for idle musing, yet
every now and again the young man
paused for a few minutes and gazed
wearily out of the dusty Windows at
the black and leafless skeletons in the
garden of the old-fashioned square.
He had been both brave and patient
all through the long, dreary months
which had gone by since under the
glowing Italian sunshine he had'said
goodby to Grace Thornton. The au-
tumn had come and gone; winter had
laid his grip on the land, and ‘still
there came neither word nor token.
Those few brief weeks of summer
happiness seemed remote as were the
sunny southern shores from this
smoke-begriined and sordid London
outlook.
Whom—after having stretched his
holiday to the last possible hour—Ce-
cil had at last started in hot haste for
England, he had left Miss Thornton
and her aunt still traveling in Italy.
Before they parted Grace had renewed
her promise of communicating with
him on their return to England. Be-
yond that he could obtain no smallest
concession; no photograph, no prom-
ise of a single letter, no clcw to their
future movements. Since then—si-
lence. '
We have said that Cecil was gifted
with more than the usual share of im-
agination. What tricks it had played
him since that parting! In the long,
restless nights what visions it had
conjured up of every conceivable ill
which could happen to two unprotect-
ed women traveling in a foreign land!
Even in his saber waking moments
he was haunted by a terrible" dread
that the woman who had come so sud-
denly into his life-might simply van-
ish out of it with equal suddenness.
Then, as ,he realized how great a
blank would] beilef‘. in his life, he
a:
Can’t ~.
season having arrived, he proceeded
but the matter will soon be clear to
and Cecil knew where he stood.
cried almost aloud to the Powers of.
Life and Death for some certain tid-
ings of the woman he loved.
But there was no answer to the cry.
Week after week went by—the weeks
grew to months, and still-silence.
As each post arrived Cecil scanned
with eager hope the cover of every let-
ter, in search of the well-remembered
writing, but always in vain. And now
Christmas was at hand; the year
which had taught him what love
meant was all but dead, and he must
enter on the new year in ignorance
whether that love was to be the
crown of his life or its bitttérest grief.
This particular afternoon was an
especially dreary one, even for London
in December. The weather outside
was atrocious—the work on which he
was engaged was tedious and uninter-
esting; his head was aching badly—
lllS fire was alternately smoking and
sulking—and his favorite clerk was at
home with the influenza. ' ..
Another batch of letters by the after-
noon mail. With renewed hope Cecil
glanced at their covers; then he
pushed them aside impatiently—all of-
ficial, therefore just at that minute all
uninteresting.
Presently, however, a convenient
somewhat languidly to inspect their
contents. One among them, as he
read it, awakened a little curiosity.
“Dear Sir: The Lord Chancellor de—
sires me to request that you will, if
possible, favor him with an interview
at his private residence tomorrow at
5 o‘clock. Should you be unable todo
so, kindly mention when you would
be free, as the Lord Chancellor is
anxious to see you without delay.”
The letter was signed by the great
man's private secretary. Cecil was
puzzled. He passed in mental review
the principal matters then engaging
his attention, but without finding a
clew to the meaning of this unex—
pected mandate. He looked again at
the envelope, and noticed that it was
marked "Private.” This was still
more perplexing. But Cecil was too
tired just then for useless speculation,
and the morrow would make the mat-
ter clear. So after dispatching a
note to accept the appointment he re-
turned once more to his tedious work,
though it was with aching head and
weary heart that he did so. Had his
“luck" really deserted him at last?
V II.
“Will you kindly take that chair,
Mr. Hartley? And’ will you kindly ex-
cuse my finishing this letter? It is of
importance. In a few minutes I shall
be at your service. You will find the
evening papers on that able beside
you.” ' ’
As he glanced over the papers a sus-
picion, soon amounting to ‘certainty,
arose in Cecil’s mind, that the Lord
Chancellor's letter was not receiving
the undivided attention its importance
demanded. More than once in the
course of the next few minutes he felt
the eyes of his distinguished host
fixed upon his face with a look of the
keenest scrutiny. Fortunately for him
his conscience was void of offence, and
he could afford to bear the scrutiny
without fiinching.
Presently, however, the important
letter was signed, folded and dis--_
patched. Then the great man rose
fromhis writing-table, settled himself
comfortably in an armchair, and be:
gan the conversation with an interro-l
gation. !
"‘You were abroad for some time
last summer, I think, Mr. Hartley?”
In much surprise Cecil assented.
“Ah? Just so. Travelling in North-
ern Italy, I believe ?”
“Your Lordship has been correctly
informed.”
“And I am also correct in stating
that you there became intimately ac-t
quainted with some ladies who were
previously unknown to you.” i
“These ladies, My Lord, were good.
enough to permit me their acquaint?
ance, but it would be presumption
on my part to lay claim to intimacy.”
His Lordship cleared his throat sig-_
nificantly. - '
“A dangerous practice that, Mr.
Hartley—I mean the practice of mak-
ing casual acquaintanceships with un-;
known travelling companions—espe,
cially ladies: as in this case you may
chance a..- Lud it to your cost.” '
Cecil’s pulses. were beating fast and
furiously, but outwardly he remained
calm.
"If Your Lordship would kindly ex-
plain”———-— _
“Certainly I will do so, Mr. Hartley.
You are-surprised—and naturally so—
at my knowledge of your movements;
1
I
I
you—clearer, perhaps than will be al-
together pleasant. I regret to tell you
that your act has brought you within
the jurisdiction of the court over
which I have the honor to preside.”
Ills Lordship had now assumed his
judicial voice and froWn—both of them
awful in their solemnity.
“You, sir, being a man of law, are of
course aware that the attempt to per-
suade a female minor who has been
committed to the wardship of that
court into contracting a matrimonial
alliance. without the knowledge and
permission of the court, constitutes a
grave legal offence. and one to which
severe penalties are attached ?" _
Here was something tangible at last,
"Certainly I know it. My Lord. But
you will permit me to say that if 1
have committed such an oifenee it was
done unwittingly.” '
"Then you do not intend to deny
that during the month of June last
you endeavored to extract. a promise
of marriage from my ward, Miss
Grace Thornton ?”
“l have no wish to deny it. I only
state that I had not the smallest
grounds for'supposing that young lady
,o be a ward of your-court, My Lord.""
[To BE "com-Irma!) 1
M5...‘ , .— ‘ . ,
(/1. .
' sf?
‘ .
ran a i liaise; alarms '.
'Men' are alien
‘ wiser than they act.
-' They know how to
”a be happy but some,
- times the are mist
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there is no happinest
worth the name with
out health; yet they
neglect health. They
allow dyspepsia and
biliousness and con-
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ahold on them and make life wretched.
Those three complaints usually come to-
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pitation. Your nerves are unstmng _y_om
system is sluggish. You lose am mph.
The fact is your whole constitution is being .
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They cure constipation, dyspepsm and b11-
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There is nothing violent or irritating about
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They tone and strengthen the bowels to
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which a. sharp druggist tries to substitute.
Don’t let him do so With you.
If you want to keep your health and strength
without consulting the doctor so often, the best
thing you can do is to write
' to the World's Dispense.
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Dr. Pierce's great book, the
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It is the same book of which
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