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l. m. grist's sons, Pubii.her., | % dM'S Dcn'spaper: 4_a\ the {promotion of the political, Social, Agricultural ami O'ommrrciat interests of the people | ,JV*""VJ"K"""CI bhshed 1858. yo rk vjllkt stcv fkiday, octcxbt^r 2071911. n"q^84~ ^ ? ? ? 4* 4- ? 4- 4- 4* 4* * + 1 A DAR * * 4? By ETTA 1 CHAPTER XVII?Continued. Ethel was a fearless rider. In the saddle her figure looked simply perfect. A habit of myrtle-green cloth fitted her like a glove; a soft hat with a plume covered the loosely knotted waves and rings of her yellow hair. With an absorbed air, she urged Sultana along the principal street of the town and stopped at the door of the Blackport postofflce. This was an old building opposite Cat's Tavern. A drowsy youth was taking down the shutters as the girl rode up. She held out to him a piece of silver. "There is?tftere must be a letter here for Miss Ethel Greylock," she stammered?even this boy's dull eyes, it seemed to her, could read her secret?"be so good as to bring it to me." The drowsy youth plunged into the old door, and reappeared directly with something white in his hand?yes, a letter! Ethel snatched It eagerly, and dropped It in a hidden pocket. Then she turned her horse's head, and, as she did so, she discovered a pair of keen eyes watching her from the inn opposite. Boldly she rode up to the open window. "You are early abroad, Miss Greylock," said Mercy Poole, dryly. Ethel bent to stroke Pontius Pilate, who was washing his black paws on the sill. "Yes," she answered; smiling sweetly; "I like to ride best when I have the road to myself." "Where's your groom?*' demanded Mercy Poole, as sharply as if the safety of Robert Grey lock's daughter was a thing near to her heart. "Does your grandfather let you go out unattended like this?" "Grandpa is taking his morning 3 in onmo omhor. nap," answered rauei, oumC rassment. "He always permits me to come and go according to my own will, Miss Poole." And not caring1 to prolong the conversation, she turned from the window and rode away, past the smart new shops, past the cottages and hotels, out upon a long, lonely, forsaken beach. Here she dropped the rein on Sultana's neck, and, with feverish haste, broke the seal of her letter. "Remember your vow in the garden, when they talk to you of the English baronet," wrote Regnault, after passionate assertions of love and devotion. "Remember that you are pledged to me, for ever and for ever?that you have solemnly sworn to be mine whenever I shall come for you. Be ready now to fulfill your vow. My connection with the school is at an end. My life here has become unbearable since your departure. You will see me at an early date. I am coming, my promised one, to claim you." A sudden trembling, seized Ethel. She caught her breath, half in fear, half in rapture. He was coming! She was to see him again, to look into the dark, dreamy eyes which made her utro. vcu. He called her, thus soon, to keep the oath which she had taken in the school garden. Was she prepared to do it? ?to tell Godfrey Greylock her secret? to give up everything?as, alas! she must, for Regnault's sake?to renounce her own bright, beautiful world, her grandfather and Aunt Pam, to share her lover's poverty, and follow him wherever he might go? "Yes, yes," she said to herself, with the heroism of seventeen untried years, "I will confess everything to grandpa at the first opportunity. Is not all sacrifice sweet for love's sake? And I love Arthur more than wealth, more than ease, more than anything on earth. I am his, and come want or plenty, come joy or sorrow, come life or death, I will keep my oath." She kissed her lover's letter, and thrust it back into her pocket, but by a slip of her gloved hand it fell, unperceived, to the ground. Unconscious of her loss, Ethel rode on for a half-mile or more, absorbed In thoughts of her lover, till suddenly a crash of thunder made Sultana leap, and brought the young rider speedily to her senses. Overhead the sky had become as Mack as ink. Against the rough beach the sea boiled and thundered. A terrific blast of wind tore across the foaming expanse, and struck Ethel as if it would hurl her from the saddle. "Oh, here is a tempest close upon me!" she thought. "I must hasten home, or grandpa will be frantic." She put her hand into her pocket, to touch once more Regnault's fond written words. Horror! the letter was not there! Her heart seemed to stop beating. Instantly the truth flashed upon her. No matter now about the tempest. The loss of that letter meant ruin to herself and her lover. Somebody would find it, somebody would deliver it to her grandfather, and then?oh, heaven, what then ?" Like lightning she turned Sultana's head, and flew back over the beach, looking everywhere along the gray sands as she went. Perhaps the wind had blown her treasure into the sea? how careless of her to 'et it fall! Suddenly she discovered a man striding along, several rods in advance of her, his pace apparently set toward a place of shelter, his long legs measuring off the ground in a way that threatened to distance Sultana herself. "Stop! stop!" cried Ethel, at the top of her voice. A clap of thunder drowned the cry. The man did not turn or look. "Stop. I say!" shouted the girl, nearly beside herself with fear: she urged Sultana to extra speed. "Stupid! do you not hear? Stop, I wish to speak to you!" Yes, he heard, particularly the flattering name by which he was addressed. He paused, and looked hard from ? the black mare "to the girl in the saddle. with her frightened face as white " as a star, her great eyes like jewels, her golden hair blowing in the wind. * K DEED |t * W. PIERCE * * .?. .?. * * * * * .f, * 4 "I've lost something!" gasped Ethel as she drew Sultana's rein. "A letter! Have you seen It?" The man Immediately plunged a hand into his breast pocket and brought forth the article in question. "Here is a letter which I picked up on the beach a few yards back," he answered; "it is addressed to Miss Ethel Greyloek," reading' the name deliberately from the envelope. She snatched it eagerly from him. "I am that person," she said, then looked suspiciously at her recovered property. It was stained and soiled, as well it might be, from contact with the wet beach, but she did not think of that. "Have you dared to open it, to read it?" she demanded, with a withering look at the man. "It is not my habit," he answered, in a tone that matched her own, "to read letters that do not belong to me." "I should like to ask what you would have done with it if I had not called you ?" "There is a man named Godfrey Greyloek living somewhere in this town," he answered, calmly; "I should have hunted him out and delivered the letter to him." She gave an involuntary cry. "Oh, that would have been frightful! I mean you would have destroyed me!?that is," floundering wildly In her speech, "not for worlds upon worlds"? She stopped, amazed at her own stupidity. An ear-splitting peal of thunder filled the pause. A sudden blue, infernal sheet of flame wrapped both the crirl on the horse and the man on the beach. Then the black heaven opened, and down swooped the rain In pelting, blinding torrents. Desperately frightened. Sultana leaped and reared. The man seized and held her fast. "There's some sort of a shelter ahead," he cried. "We must make for it." And with the mare's bridle in hand he started and ran, 'mid a fearful uproar of thunder, wind and rain, for an old ruined boathouse standing a few yards distant on the sea-shaken beach. It was very small and leaky?by no possibility could Sultana get into it. Confused and helpless, Ethel felt herself snatched from the animal, and pushed under the insufficient roof; then the saddle was flung after her, and she heard the finder of Regnault's letter say, "I will hold the beast outside." "Who was he? Through the broken door of the'old boathouse Ethel looked out upon him, as he stood drenched, unprotected, struggling with the rearing, dancing, terrified Sultana. Was he a summer boarder from one of the hotels? She thought not. His dress of ordinary gray cloth, his generally unpretending look, would not support that character. Was he a Blackport native?a shop-keeper?perhaps a fisherman? Very likely. His figure was tall and muscular, his face fairly goodlooking, brown in color and straightfeatured. The eyes were gray, very grave, and direct in their look. The more Ethel looked at the man the more she became puzzled. There was something strangely familiar about him?where had she seen him before? In vain she racked her memory for an answer. "You are being drenched," she called to him. at last?her conscience began to smite her. "Had you not better step under this shelter? There is room for two persons here, and Sultana might be tied to?to?something." "Thank you," he answered, and by this time his voice was the only dry thing about him; "the rain will not harm me, and there is nothing but the beach to which I could tie the beast." She stood just inside the shanty, her damp skirts gathered up in one gloved hand, her golden hair tumbled in shining masses about her throat? a draggled, but beautiful vision. "But for me," she stammered, "you would have got safely to shelter before the storm broke." "That does not signify in the least," he answered. She smiled faintly. "Now. I call it rather hard for you." "Not at all." Easter and faster poured the rain; the thunder cracked, the lightning gleamed in sulphurous splendor, the great sea was sheeted in foam. "Really," burst out Ethel, "this is a clear case of cruelty to animals! Come inside. You can hold Sultana here in the doorway." "I would rather not," he replied shortly. She stamped with impatience. "But I insist. Oh, this grows terrific! You will be drowned out there." It was a late kindness, but he obeyed, and dripping like a water-dog, stepped under the roof of the boathouse, followed by the nose and a section of the neck of Sultana. Ethel retreated as many paces as the limits of the place would allow, and there the two remained until the storm passed?he gazing silently out to sea, she toying with her riding-whip, and wondering if this was a fair specimen of the Blackport natives. Presently the rain began to subside, the thunder clouds ceased; a burst of sunshine parted the clouds and the tempest was over. He flung the dry saddle on Sultana's wet back, and assisted Miss Greylock to mount. She played nervously with her rein for a moment, then a dazzling smile broke through the reserve of her face. "You have been very kind," she stammered, "and I thank you. Pray pardon the rude things which I said, out there on the beach, about the?the ?letter." "Certainly?don't mention them." She looked at him sharply. "Have we ever met before?" "Never." "Strange! You remind me of some person whom I must have seen at some time, but when or where I cannot remember. Farewell!" She nodded. He lifted his hat politely, and away went Sultana over the beach toward Blackport town and the villa. Godfrey Greylock was a late riser. Ethel fervently hoped that he had not yet discovered her absence. As she rode into the green, dripping Woods, a sudden thought struck her. "I wonder if there are any signs at Rose Cottage of mamma's return?" she said to herself, and the next moment she was flying through a by-path, straight toward the pretty hermitage. As soon as she came in sight of it, she knew that her mother had arrived. The blinds were open, the shades up; servants were moving about the house. Ethel slipped out of the saddle, entered the cottage without ceremony, and ran lightly up the velvet-covered stair to her mother's chamber. "Mamma, mamma, it is I!" she cried, bursting in her glowing young beauty into the room where Mrs. Iris sat before a toilet-table, scanning her own face in the mirror while Hannah Johnson dressed her hair. Time had dealt kindly with Iris Greylock, and on an income of ten thousand per year she had manged to live In tolerable ease and comfort. Her rich dark curls were as abundant as ever, and entirely free from tell-tale streaks. No wrinkles disfigured her pale face. She kept the infantile look of her girlhood. Her figure was as slim, as sylph-like as ever, and there was a sort of weird, spiritual fragility to her beauty which was very taking, especially by gaslight. She looked ten years younger than she really was?a fact which no one knew better than herself. As the door opened and Mrs. Greylock saw the radiant vision on the UhaoKaU o ohorn ovnlomatlnn PSPRnf^d her lips. "Fairy! Good heaven! can it be you?" Out went her arms dramatically. "My child! My child!" she cried, and the two embraced, but with no particular fervor. "When did you leave school? What are you doing: at the villa? Does your grandfather love you as much as ever? Have you quite forgotten me?" cried Mrs. Iris, as she held the girl from her, and looked at her with the eye of a connoisseur. "Oh, you are absurdly beautiful! Where did you get that grand air? I am amazed?I am charmed! You have more than fulfilled the promise of your childhood." "Mamma, how you take one's breath!" said Ethel, lightly. "If a daughter of the Greylocks is not, by birth, entitled to a grand air, pray tell me, wno is.' i ien sinwi i nc o ago. I am doing a variety of pleasant things at the villa, and grandpa loves me with ever-increasing fondness. Does not this early call prove that I have not forgotten you? En passant, if you will send a servant to the villa to tell grandpa where I am, I will gladly stay and breakfast at the cottage?as yet I have eaten nothing." Mrs. Iris rang the bell and gave the order. "Do you ride at this unearthly hour?" she said, glancing at Ethel's habit. "Why, the tempest was frightful just now?were you out in it? Were you harmed?" Her manner, without being affectionate, was full of keen interest. "Not in the least," replied Ethel, coloring faintly as she thought of her late adventure. "I found a shelter, mamma." Hannah Johnson was knotting her mistress's childish curls in a great cluster at the nape of her white neck. Over Mrs. Iris's shoulder her stealthy eyes eagerly surveyed the handsome creature who had flung herself into an easy chair beside the toilet-table. "I hope you remember me. Miss Fairy," she ventured. "I'm still here, you see?" . Ethel started. She had detested her mother's favorite servant for many a year. "Yes, Hannah," she answered dryly, "I possess a peculiar faculty for remembering unpleasant things." "Lor', Miss Fairy, whatever can you mean?" stammered the woman. "The slaps and bruises which you inflicted upon me in childhood, Hannah, are as real to me today as they were ten years ago." "But you were such an outrageous child in them days, Miss Fairy," said Hannah, with a grin on her ugly, brown face,."you needed all you got; and your mamma knows I adored you just the same. I'm sure none can be gladder than I to see you grown now into such a fine young lady?with such prospects, too! When you come to be mistress of Grey lock Woods, I hope you will do the right thing by me." Her familiar tone exasperated Ethel. "I see that you are even more intolerable than of old Hannah," she said, severely. Hannah gave an odd and unpleasant laugh. "Oh, I've got my rights at Greylock Woods, Miss Fairy," she answered, "and your mamma understands 'em, if you do not." Mrs. Iris looked greatly alarmed and annoyed. "Hannah, Hannah, how can you talk so foolishly?" she cried. "I really will not have it! Bring my robe de chambro?the white cashmere, with the rose satin ribbons. Fairy, my dear"?with an anxious effort to turn her daughter's attention from Hannah Johnson ?"I have brought some delicious Worth toilets from Paris?you shall see them by-and-by. Ah, sans doute, you find me so faded and old that you wonder how I can care any longer for the purple and fine linen of life." Ethel smiled. "You old, mamma??you faded? Nonsense! You would pass very well for my elder sister. Now tell me about your lame knee?is it better? Did the waters of the German spas do you any good ?" Mrs. Iris arose from her chair, in her cream-white robe de chambre, her rose-tinted ribbons Muttering, her feathery curls shining, her delicate face as young and pretty as it had been at five-and-twenty. She was still a butterfly?she would always be one, hut alas! as she made a step or two forward, it was plain to Ethel that her infirmity remained the same. "I have tried everything?I have spent thousands of dollars," she sighed, "but I shall he lame till I die, Ethel. It is very, very hard! For years I have hoped against hope?for years I have lived with hut one purpose in view?to use your grandfather's mon ey for my cure, and then fly back to < the stage, and the life of a danseuse? I the only life," with a passionate ges- I ture of her jeweled hands, "worth liv- < I tig." 1 "Don't talk like that, mamma," said l Ethel, gravely. < "Ah, you do not know the fascination of such an art, ma chere!" cried Iris Greylock, with a feverlsTi flush leaping into her pale cheek, "and yet you miglft?you might," enviously, ] "for you too, had the talent?as a child 1 you were wonderful. Do you ever i dance now?" < "No," replied Ethel, "grandpa would i go wild at the hare mention of such a i thing. My tastes do not lie in that di- i rection, mamma." 1 1 J -IJ -?!?? XJTwa 1 i uai iioinu uiu man: nam xuio. Iris, "I wonder if he hates me as much as ever; but it does not matter, since he has developed such fondness for you. Does he mean to part us entirely? Does he expect you to remain altogether at the villa?" "I think he does, mamma." "What exasperating selfishness! Give me your arm. Fairy, and we will go down. How lithe and strong you are! Would to heaven that I had your youth and perfect body!" They descended the stair, Ethel supporting her frivolous little mother, of whom she did not in the least approve. In the pink boudoir a wonderful breakfast-table was spread, and a Jet-black page in scarlet livery brought in the meal. "Polly, Polly! I'm Polly! croaked a voice from the flower-wreathed window. < It was the parrot, now feeble and old. Ethel started involuntarily. "Yes, for your sake," answered Mrs. Iris, sweetly, as she toyed with a truffle. "Ah, Fairy, you have been to me a power indeed?a treasure unspeakable?and now that we are alone, I've a word for your ear. You must try and tolerate Hannah Johnson. She is very valuable to me, and though a little impertinent at times, like all overindulged servants, she is sound at heart, you know. Do not, I beg you, make her your enemy. Above all things, I wish you two to be?frlendIv." Ethel opened wide her violet eyes. 1 There was a wrinkle of anxiety on her i mother's face, a strange tremor In her voice. < "Friendly!" cried the high-spirited \ girl, "with Hannah Johnson! How i you talk, mamma! Pardon me, I de- < test the woman. I cannot tolerate her < ?it Is bad enough to see you do that. Why will you keep her longer about i you, mamma? An Impertinent ser- ! vant has outlived her usefulness." i "Ethel, you do not know what you i are saying," cried Mrs. Iris, fretfully, c "If you care for me in the least, do i not exasperate Hannah Johnson! She ' is not over-fond of*you, at best, and she has us both. In her?I 'mean I am 1 quite dependent upon her, after all of these years of service." i "I wonder at you, mamma," answer- < ed Ethel. "I would never, never allow myself to become dependent upon one I of her kind." i "Oh, it's very well for you to talk," cried Mrs. Iris, In an injured voice, i You, In your health and strength; but f I dare not dismiss Hannah?I cannot live without her. True, she has grown < unbearable in the last few years. She expects enormous wages; but I will ( not quarrel with her, and so I submit. 1 And apropos to this, Ethel, I must beg you to do me another favor. Your 1 grandfather will deny you nothing? 1 ask him to increase my yearly allowance." ? "Mamma!" "Does it surprise you to learn that ten thousand per year is insufficient for my wants? Consider the cost of travel, the sums I have spent seeking a cure for my poor knee. Entre nous. I am dreadfully in debt already, and I have nothing laid by for the future? not a dollar." "Surely, mamma, you can trust me to provide for your future." With the tip of her fork Mrs. Irish drew an imaginary picture on the damask table cloth. "Yes, my dear, I think I can. And, oh," snapping her white teeth viciously together, "I wish from my soul that Godfrey Greylock was dead, Ethel, and that you reigned In his place! Really, he has lived long enough." "Mamma!" cried Ethel, in a shocked voice. "Oh, mamma!" She -had not meant to speak out like that, but grave fears and forebodings were beginning to torment Mrs. Iris. Of late Hannah Johnson's conduct had become outrageous, and a most unpleasant feeling of insecurity possessed the mistress of Rose Cottage. "Of course, you are fond of him," she said nervously, "but you cannot expect ine to share your feelings. Now, 1 remember, dear, and at the first oppor- i tunity, request him, as a personal fa- 1 vor, to grant an additional ten thou- ' sand to poor mamma. I really do not ' see how I can live upon less." f "Are you not a little?Just a little, extravagant?" said Ethel, gravely. ' "Possibly I am, but that is my misfortune rather than my fault. I was born with the tastes of a duchess. 1 You should not reproach me, Ethel, * for you have gained everything from our reconciliation with Godfrey Greylock?even Hannah Johnson has grown rich in a small way. I alone remain ' poor, anxious, unhappy still. But," ( with a sudden change of tone, "I will " tallk no more on this unpleasant topic. 1 Has the English baronet arrived yet ( at the villa and has your doting grand- 1 papa condescended to name your wed- ' ding day?" 1 Ethel colored. s "No, to both questions, mamma." Mrs. Iris threw back her pretty curly I _ ? T head against her carved chair, ana ? broke into a peal of silvery laughter. "Listen, Fairy," she cried. "Already 1 I have made the acquaintance of your titled English suitor?the chosen of ' your fastidious grandpapa?the Prince 1 Charming who is to take you across 1 the ocean to dwell in marble halls, and < all that sort of thing." s Ethel stared. "What do you mean, mamma?" ' "It all happened on the steamer. We sailed together from Liverpool, and he ( began to watch me before we left the ' docks. I am never seasick, you know, 1 and I constantly encountered him on 1 deck and in the saloons. On the sec- 1 olid day of the voyage he discovered ' my name, and he came to me, card in ' hand, and, oh! with such a courteous, delightful manner, begged to know If ' I was not one of his American cousins. ' Of course we immediately became the m best of friends. He waited on me by SI Inches during the entire passage?in- P Jeed, his attentions were so marked that the other lady passengers grew ej ?reen with envy, and declared that he ta actually meant something serious." in Ethel gave a start of affright. hi "Then he has arrived!" she gasped, gi 'He Is?where is ,he, mamma?" in "I am sure I do not know," replied w Mrs. Iris, sipping her German choco- fa late daintily. "JiVe parted on the wharf pi at East Boston. I saw nothing of him p< after that. The idea of I being that Si man's mother-in-law! It seems too d< absurd, especially when I think of our nine days' flirtation on shipboard." Ethel pushed the porcelain plate rrom her. Her appetite was gone. "I ain glad you found the baronet useful and entertaining, mamma. I am ?lad he admired you. By failing to do sh so he would have shown a lamentable ack of taste." w "It is very sweet of you to say that, w Ethel. But I was enraged with him be for his utter indifference concerning le rou. Why he never mentioned your ti< lame after our first conversation! He St isked no questions?he exhibited st neither Interest nor curiosity regard- be ng the girl whom Godfrey Greylock fe las literally?beg pardon!?flung at dc lis head. Was that not very cold and of >dd? I told Hannah Johnson at the jn :lir.e that I feared the match might 'all through." ? Ethel looked indignant. P< "Mamma, it is not possible that you dr :an so far forget your own dignity as w :o discuss my affairs with Hannah ne rohnson, or any other of your ser- to /ants? Evidently the baronet Is a Gi nan of sense. I am greatly obliged to ilm for showing it so plainly." th "You queer child!" cried Mrs. Iris, . aughing anew; "Is that the sort of ht over you wish to have? How pale th fou look, and you eat nothing. Let ne ne ring for Sir Lancelot to bring you ga mother cup of chocolate. Tell me iu iruly, Ethel, do you like the Idea of go :hl8 English marriage?" The heiress of the Woods arose from kr ler chair. to "Oh, Immensely; but If you please, ar namma, we will finish our conversa- dr :ion at a later date. I must go now?I iei 'ear grandpa will be fretting about th ne." wi She drew her gloves.from her pock- ar it. As she did so out flew that most n jnlucky letter of Renault's, and drop- fr >ed on the carpet close to Mrs. Iris's w :halr. Quick as thought the mistress of >f Rose Cottage snatched It up. eli "Oh," she exclaimed, curiously, "you g( ecelve letters??from whom, pray? Surely It Is a mother's privilege to tl( isk"? She paused with a sudden "-5 vlld scream?her face became like di ?halk. "Ethel! Oh, great heaven!" iy ihe gasped, leaping up from the table, "whose writing is this?" th Ethel flew to her side?took the un- th 'ortunate missive from her hand. h< "Mamma, dear mamma, what Is the re natter? How you frighten me? Why m lo you tremble so?" te "The letter?the letter!" cried Mrs. th xis; "tear It out of the envelope?let si ne look inside!" h? "That I cannot do, mamma," an- _ iwered Ethel, firmly. "You must not ar isk me?you have no right." dl Mrs. Iris was shaking from head to ty 'oot. la "No right!" she screamed: "un- g] frateful girl! Answer me!?I will di enow! Who is your correspondent?" Eth'el was faint with terror. Was ^ ler secret about to be wrested from ar ier, in spite of herself? "One of my teachers at the boarding c8 ichool, mamma," she faltered. m Mrs. Iris caught her breath. "Eh? Your teacher? What name?" yc "Regnault, mamma." A little color crept back into the face be )f the ex-danseuse. She fell into her or ;hair with a hysterical laugh. "How absurd of me! I am still weak n( rom the fatigue of the voyage. That Gi vritlng gave me a great shock. It was jQ ike that of a friend of mine?who died 'ears ago?an accidental resemblance, >f course. Bah! I might have known yc ,he thing could not be. Dead people W( :ome back to life only in yellow cov- n( .'red novels. Regnault?Regnault? Regnault!" musingly. "I never heard ar he name before." th "It is not a common one, I think," gj inswered Ethel, in desperate fear of (n nore questions. "Let me ring for ^ Hannah Johnson, mamma?you need gj i glass of wine. Shall I stay with you j,c intil you are better, or shall I go?" 0f "Go!" answered Mrs. Iris, and Ethel, lothing loath, went. ia Back to the villa she rode, under p-een boughs, through sunshine that vas now deepening to the fervor of loontide. Aunt Pam met her in the w lall. y "Oh, my dear," she cried, breathless vith excitement, "how could you righten us so? Half the servants g| lave been out looking for you. Now lasten and dress. Some one has ar ived at the villa in your absence?a ruest from England." ^ Ethel's heart seemed to stop beat- ? B; ng. ' "Sir Gervase Greylock?" ? "Yes," said Aunt Pam; "he is in the ^ Ibrary with your grandpapa, and both ^ ire waiting for you." ^ "When did the baronet come?" "A half hour ago." The crisis was at hand?she must 'ace it bravely. Regnault's dark, splenlid eyes seemed to start up before her ?to give her strength and courage. c,rt" V*l? ool/n aVtO PAttlrl (In nnfl lare anything. She ran up to her . oom, followed by Aunt Pam, who was m alking rapidly, but to deaf ears. There ed ihe made her toilet, whispering to her- a' lelf the while: "Oh, my darling! I will be true to Qf ,'ou?I will not forget my vow! Yours nc [ am?yours I will be till death!" ^ "Make haste, my dear," urged Aunt j?. Pam. Pale but composed, she went down ihe stair. She had put on a dress of cl lombre black, but a bunch of forget- a* Tie-not made a great splash of azure m the velvet corsage. For one in- to itant she paused to recover her breath ih it the library door, then turned the *r tnob and entered. Somebody arose from a chair in the ed centre of the luxurious room?that was 1? ler grandfather. A second somebody itood leaning an arm on the marble y, nantel, and looking up at a picture st ibove it?the portrait of herself, which lad been painted for Godfrey Greyock a few months before. "Ethel," said her grandfather, "tak- ov ng her passive hand and leading her or ward, "our expected guest and kins an Is here. Let me present to you Ir Gervase Greylock of Greylock ark. Suffolk, England." Slowly and reluctantly she lifted her res to her English suitor. He was ill?her gaze had to travel several iches above her own height to find a well-poised head, and then she ive an amazed start?the blood flew to her cheek, she tried to speak, but ords failed her. She was standing ce to face with the man who had eked up Regnault's letter on Black>rt beach that morning, and held ultana In rain and tempest at the jor of the old boat-house. CHAPTER XVIII. A Change for Polly. "Polly! Polly!" cried the master. "Polly! Polly!" called the dame. "Stop, Polly, and mend my frock!" touted one little Steele. "Polly, I want bread-and-butter," hined another; and the dark girl Ith the pathetic eyes, and the slight, my 1gure, which had never found Isorc- to accumulate flesh?the paent slave of the riotous, disorderly eele household?flew upstairs, downairs, and through my lady's cham>r, striving with one pair of tired et and two slim hands to answer a >zen calls at once, and do the work cook, waitress and nurserymaid all one. They were a careless, ungrateful lot these Steeles. For long, weary years ally, the nameless, had been their udge?yea, ever since that night hen Dick Vandine introduced her, a >wly-dlseharged hospital patient, Inthe doctor's nursery. In this time ranny Scrag's "black imp" had own from a bony, stunted child, to a in, brown, overworked woman. She had an ugly scar on her fore;ad, the mark of the old accident? ie unlucky pursuit of Nan, which had ;arly cost her life. A pair of great, .d, deer-like eyes and some thick, strous braids of black hair were her ile beauty. At eighteen or thereabouts?nobody lew her exact age?Polly was not algether deficient in knowledge. Late id early she toiled for the Steele chil en, but she had also found time to am their lessons with them, to read elr books, and on Sundays she alays sat with the brood grouped ound her in the family pew at church, ick Vandine, whose Interest in the lendless street-waif had not abated ith time, often brc/bght her volumes Shakespeare's plays, standard novs, the poets of all countries, and some >od histories. "To read these aright is an educaon In itself," he once said to her. fou are too bright to grow up a ince, under any circumstances, PolAnd Polly had read them aright in ie still watches of the night, when ie noisy household slept, and when >r own tired body should have been sting also. In many ways she had ade herself Invaluable to her masrs; but upon the subject of wages ley remained as dumb as the dead, tie was an unpaid drudge. Not a cent id she ever received for all her toll no recompense, in fact, save "board id clothes." and these she found in(Terent, both in quality and quanti. As she grew older her unrequited bor distressed her more and more, .le ventured to speak of It to Vanne. "It has long been my dream, as you low," she faltered, "to save money, id go, by-and-by, and search for an. But if I receive no wages, how in this be done? I shall never find y darling?never see her again." "What!" cried Dr. Dick; "haven't tu forgotten Nan yet?" Her thin face, which might have sen handsome, had it possessed flesh color, kindled with fervid light. "Forgotten! No, oh, no!?that can 'ver be. While I live, in youth or in d age, I shall remember Nan?I shall ve her till the last day of my life." "You faithful Polly!" cried Vandine. Jy Jove, I wonder if Nan remembers >u. and if she has grown up half orthy of your devotion. Probably >t." It was a dismal, rainy day. Smoke id fog enveloped the city and filled e shabby, narrow street where the eeles lived. The afternoon was want g, and Polly, with the younger chil>rn, sat in the nursery, mending a eat pile of frayed and torn house>ld linen. Rob and Joe, the terrors the house, lay on the floor at her irinirincr holes in the already di pldated carpet. Two or three little girls hung over e back of her rocking chair, stealthr sticking pins in Polly's elbows, hile they pretended to listen to little ay Steele, the only gentle one of the mg. as the child, perched on a stool 'side Polly, strove to read aloud the ible story of Naaman the Syrian. (To Be Continued.) Wonders of a Book.?There is, perips, no greater wonder than a book. f the help of little figures upon spins paper men have been able to transit their thoughts through thousands years. The names and shapes of ings, the deeds and sorrows that ive occurred as far back as Adam ive been made known to us. Even ose invisible and abstract thoughts hich have no shape or substance, it which inspired the writer and ive since inspired others, are all put iwn in the little letters and made ernal. The songs of David, the spechtions of Plato, the visions of Hoer, have by these means been handI down faithfully for many centuries id distributed among mankind. If ere were no books our knowledge ould almost be confined to the limit sight and hearing. All that ive could ?t see or hear would be to us like e inhabitants of the planet Saturn a mere matter of idle conjecture.? irry Cornwall. "Because You're Classy."?"I never aimed to have anything distinctive >out my getup," said a New York an at the Waldorf who has Just ime back from the west, according the Sun, "but a woman in Chicago le other day told me I was different om the folks out there. "I went to the news stand in a >tel and picking up the paper, startI to pay for it. It happened to be a cal daily. "Don't you want a New York pa r?" demanded the very elegant >ung woman who presided over the und. "Now, what on earth is there about e to lead you to suppose I am a i'w Yorker?" I demanded. The young woman smiled, leaned er and poked me In the ribs with >r lead pencil. " "Because you're classy," she reled. iUiocrllaiifouo ^radiiif). WHERE PEARLS GROW. Mississippi Valley Furnishes Over Half of Worid's Supply. Pearls have recently been found in large numbers in the rivers that wander through the flat lands of the west Kentucky counties. The pearl fleets are moving Into the river bottoms In both Kentucky and Tennessee. The Mississippi valley Is now sup-1 plying the bulk of these pale gems that encircle the white throats of the world's famous beauties. American heiresses, princesses of the old reigning houses of Europe, Indian rajahs and the Jewel fanciers of all the world buy and wear the mussel born pearls that are scooped from the boiled flesh of the fresh water bivalve. Thousands of men and women are engaged in the work of pearl Ashing [among the rivers of the great central valley. It has become one of the accepted ways of making an easy living, and in some cases the fortunate fisherman becomes wealthy through a 1 few lucky finds. Many fishermen have 1 thrown away their fishing nets and ' tackle and rigged their flat bottomed boats for the work of gathering up the denizens ol' the mussel beds. Their fleets of dingy Doats move lazily up and down the streams that are tributary to the Mississippi. They lift tons of the shells from the mussel beds in the cozy bottoms of muddy rivers. The working up of the shells into pearl buttons has become an industry ol' great importance to many of the valley communities. Millions of these grimy shells are taken from the rivers each month. Great heaps of them lie along the rivers, memories of the first years of the pearl flsh|ing craze in the west. There are big fleets of the pearl fishermen's boats on the Illinois. Hundreds of them patrol the waters of the | Wabash and the Little Wabash. The Arkansas, the Red, the Des Moines, the Rock and scores of other streams have numerous camps of pearl fishermen. Many of the rivers have been practically scraped clean of the mussels and the fishermen have moved on to other and less worked areas. Beardstown, 111., Muscatine, la., Vlncennes, Ind., and numerous villages in Arkansas have long been the haunt of the foreign and American pear, buyer. The bie finds of late in Kentucky \ and Tennessee have stirred the Inter- J est ol' the professional and amateur ; hunter. ' Buy a pearl In the United States and , there are nine chances in ten that the i lustrous gem came originally from < the grimy hand of some pearl hunter along the Wabash or the Illinois. , Visit the jewel Bhops of Paris, Vien- i na or London, seleet a pearl of first 1 quality and five times out of ten it Is j a jewel that was picked out of a mussel shell somewhere in the New ' World. | Half the pearls sold In the markets , of the Old World as sea pearls are 1 known by experts to be the products | of the big and little streams that are the haunt of the American pearl fish- i erman. It Is now the source of supply I from which the markets of the world J draw their pale-and lustrous gems. , For some mysterious reason the pearl fisheries of the far East are de- ' clining in Importance. The sun browned expert divers of the Persian < gulf are still dipping Into the hot 1 waves of the seas and gulfs of Asia, ] but their finds become l^ss valuable , every year. The pearl buyers of Eu- i rope long since turned to America for 1 the gems that are loved of women. Pearl fishing Is enough of a gamble to appeal to the reckless tastes of the < man who likes to make it all on a sip- J gle throw of the dice. A pearl fisher- , iman may find a prize in the first snen that he opens or he may spend a year opening shells without any particular results. It can be made hard work, this business of dragging the river bottoms with myriad hooks that grapple with the slimy shells of the pearl bearing mussel. Up and down the streams the little flat bottomed craft drift and pull, and if the owner is lucky and careful there may be a pearl worth anywhere from {5 to $1,500 somewhere in the day's catch. It is all chance, but the harder you work the more chance you have. With a barge load of shells the hunter comes ashore and boils the mussels In deep vats that he half buries in the ground. This Is usually done at a hall' permanent camp. The women and the children of the pearling camps aid In this part of the work, as every separate shell must be looked over carefully that no lustrous pearl may be thrown away as useless. Buyers from the great Jewelry firms of London, Vienna, St. Petersburg and Paris spend the year in the middle of | the pearling districts of the valley. Frenchmen, Belgians, Russians, representatives of the jewelry loving races t of the earth, keep an eye on. all the j big finds that are made in various j parts of the valley. They must com- i pete with the special buyers sent out < Dy Aew IOTK auu Ulliei nuirrii HUES. Many experts profess to believe that the pearl supply of the central states is rapidly becoming exhausted. There are others who claim that the supply is practically inexhaustible, as long as the number of fishermen and boats in the business is not greatly Increased. They believe that there are many streams that would repay working that have thus far never been dredged or dragged by the pearl fleets. It Is to these rivers that they look to for the supply of the future, when the present beds are more nearly exhausted. Miles and miles of the Illinois river have been scraped clean and dry of the mussels. The Des Moines river, home of the pearl button industry in America, is giving up less of pearls and shells than it did in the earlier days, when pearling was new in the middle west. Near Mount Carmel, 111., a little more than a year ago a lucky fisherman picked up a pearl that was af lerwaru huiu uir rainiei.-* sons and town lads out for u day's ' fishing on the river have stumbled up- c on finds worth anywhere from $100 to t $500. As soon as news of this sort be- * comes known In the neighborhood there is usually a rush of the amateur r and the professional pearler to that 0 section of the stream. It Is something ^ like a stampede to a new gold diggings, but on a miniature scale. One summer* afternoon a party of fishermen on the Wabash river were fishing in an unfrequented part of the river. Their luck was anything but good, and one or two of the party began to playfully open a few mussels that the low stage of the water had bared. One of the party was tearing open the shells In a listless sort of way. He felt something round and hard in the tissues of the half dead mussel. He squeezed it through the clammy fiesh and a beautiful pear shaped pearl dropped through his fingers. Two more pearls?smaller, but still valuable enough to bring |100 each?were found in the same stranded group of mussels. The pear shaped peari soio ror n.zuu Dy tne nme a aozen frenzied buyers were through bidding upon it.?St. Louis Republic. BRAINY PAUPER8. Brilliant Inventor* Who Reaped Pitiful Reward*. Now and again a man is born whose brain fairly bubbles with inventive <en!us. New ideas stream from him, md all branches of science are mastered with hardly an effort. Such was Frederic William Martlno, one of those many brilliant Italians who left their native land to seek fortune in a foreign country. Martino came to England, and his name is most familiar from the Martini-Henry rifle, the breechlock of which was one of his numerous indentions. It is an irony of fate that Martino's name should go down to posterity solely through a warlike Invention which he himself thought little of when his greatest work was done In the cause of peace, for Martino was the discoverer of the process for concerting basic slag lb to manure, a discovery which has put millions into the pockets of German manufacturers out irom which he himself, it is staled, never reaped a penny. The nuted rib tor umorellas, a new process tor the extraction ot nickel trom its ore, a new development of platinoid ? Immensely important in electric work?and a brilliant invention tor the reduction of gold ore, tnese are only a tew or Martino's discoveries. And yet he was so lacking In business capacity that In spite or nis extraordinary output of valuable iaeas, he died at (ilasgow in 1903 a comparatively poor and obscure man, while dozens of others have been made richer by his geniua In 1860 the chemist Lenoir patented a motor driven by an explosive mixture of air and gas. He used electric ignition obtained from a battery ind a Ruhimkorff coll, actuating a ^parking plug very similar to that in use in the modern motor. The sys- * tern of valves by means of which the suction of the piston drew in the charge of gas for the next explosion was also designed by Lenoir. In 1862 he actually produced a car which, ir crude, was similar In all respects to that in use today, save that he employed coal gas Instead of petrol, and this he actually drove hnmself through the streets of^Paris. Yet, for reasons similar tai^hose which caused the failure of Martlno, tie never received the reward of his genius, and it was left for Daimler, nearly thirty years later, to produce the nrst of the practicable autocars. Lenoir died in 1900 poor and unknown. Three years later, in 1903, the life Df George Shergold came to an end n Gloucester workhouse. Shergold, criginally a shoemaker, was the inventor of the safety bicycle. He built i machine of this order in the year 1876, the front wheel of which was twenty-seven Inches and the rear wheel some thirty inches in diameter. In 1900, when It first became generally known that the man whose indention had made millions for others was as poor as when he had cobbled ihoes, a public subscription was raised, and for some time an allowance of 5 shillings a week was made to Shergold. But the funds became exhausted, and poor Shergold ended bis life in the workhouse. How many people have even heard af Scheele? Yet this poor Swedish ihemlst was perhaps the greatest discoverer of facts that the world has ever known. We always hear in England that Priestly was the discoverer of oxygen. Yet Scheele made this most Important of all chemical discoveries simultaneously with Priestly. And it was Scheele who discovered chlorine gas. Chlorine is perhaps the most Important of all gases in commercial chemistry. It is the great bleacher that gives us white linen or white itraw hats. It is also the be9t disinfectant known. It is essential to the manufacture of the great pain-killer, chloroform, and it is used extensively for the extraction of gold from its >ree. Chlorine's value to the world has seen incalculable, yet Scheele, the man svho discovered it, lived hungry, and lied a pauper. Professor Gore died a comparatively poor man, yet Gore was the inven:or of the modern safety match, of he method of electrodeposition commonly known as electroplating and if many other processes which have put millions into the pockets of manlfacturers. Gore's book, "Electrometallurgy," published in 1870, Is jtlll a standard work on the subject? London Answers. SAYINGS OF MARK TWAIN. Bright Things That Ara Rarely Credited to the Humorist. There has been complaint that 'very good story gets accredited to dark Twain without his having realy deserved It but Professor Archi>ald Henderson in his book, "Mark rwain," points out that actually many >f the best known common sayings irst created by Mark Twain are very arely credited to him. His sayings n. "Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar," such as "the cauliflower is nothing >ut cabbage with a college educaion." are generally known as writ en by Mark Twain, but there are >thers of which this is not true. Some of his best sayings are apropos of the cheerful custom of lying? or instance: "Truth Is our most vallable possession. Let us economize t." "Never tell a lie?except for practice" is not so well known as he more popular "When in doubt, tell he truth." Professor Henderson romments that of the latter maxim dark Twain declared that he never (xpected it to be applied to himself. I was for other people. When he vas in doubt himself he used sag&cty. Perhaps his best summary Is: 'Never waste a He! You can't tell vhen you may need it." A catchword emanating from dark Twain is: " Be virtuous and rou will be eccentric." Another Is hat "there Isn't a parallel of latitude >ut thinks it would have been the quator if It had had its rights." There u unmothlno' noon llorlv AmorlPfln 111 lis warning to girls not to marry? hat is, not to excess. To Professor ienderson Mark Twain made a renark likely to rank with the best >f his sayings, now that it has been lublished. Professor Henderson was idvised before undergoing a surgical iperatlon. "Console yourself with the eflection that you are giving the docor 'pleasure and that he Is getting >aid for it." Of the hundreds of Twain sayings ione Is better known than one often ittrfbuted to Andrew Carnegie. "Put ill your eggs In one basket?and then vatch that basket."