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skmi.wkkhl^^ _ l. m. oeist's sons. FabU.her.. [ $ 4amiI8 2) sgagrt;: <$or thi; promotion of th? political, JSoqial, ^.gricultiirat and Comr.ttr.na! Jnitresfs of th< $to|)4. { e?ttbmshed 1855* YORKVILLE. 8. C., FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 2l71913. ~~ KTO. 15. * ? THE AMERICA ? I By ETTA ? I lylOOIOC'IOD'I'CKyrtKyi (CHAPTER XXV?Continued.) ] Dismayed, bewildered, she stood confronting: this unexpected and almost ( Incomprehensible misfortune. _ Discor do's threat in the haunted house rush- ( oh hnpir urton her memory. He had de- > celved the Blacks with his falsehoods ] ?made them to doubt her, Mercy?set their hearts against her, perhaps! his i conviction came upon her with a great < shock. Whither had they gone? How i could she find and undeceive them? 1 She remembered the banking house. < Yal would be there?there he was to be 1 found every working day in the week. 1 She had only to hasten thither then < and tell him all. i Mercy departed from Seedy Court, 1 and reached State street long before f the banking house was open. Nothing 1 was left for her to do but hover about 1 Its vicinity, walking up and down, too t desperate and anxious to care for any- f thing but the errand which had brought i her there. She looked in vain for Val. i People began to crowd into the street t but he cune not. < Presently a handsome carriage drove 1 up to the door of Sardls & Co., and a 1 man, tall, imposing, autocratic, alighted and entered. Business, then, had T begun. Mercy glided straight after the J important-looking person?straight in to the handsome banking room, where 8 the clerks had now assembled to their r daily work. She cast one wild look 8 around. Val was not there! "Oh, sir, will you tell me where I r can find Mr. Black?" 8 She spoke to the gentleman who had J entered before her. He turned and saw 1 her standing Just inside the door?a c forlorn little figure in a shabby gown J and crumpled hat and shawl, her beau- ! tiful face as colorless as ashes, the gol- j den hair disordered about it, the great ? sorrowful eyes heavy with unshed r tears. Cullen Sardis gave a percepti- ? ble start. 1 "Mr. Valentine Black," sir," faltered Mercy, an unspeakable eagerness and " ' ' ""IT. ' anxiety Dreatcing into ner ?uitc. 1b one of the clerks. I do not see him. Is he here this morning?" "Black!" answered Cullen Sardis, gazing In a sort of fascinated curiosity at the wan. uplifted face. "No, he Is not here?he sailed for England two or three days ago." "England!" The room, the cold, high-bred face of the speaker, whirled before Mercy's eyes. "Oh, sir, you cannot mean It?you must be mistaken!" "Not at all," answered the banker. "I will call Mr. Phillips to tell you about It You are some relative of Mr. Black's?" She wrung her hands Involuntarily. "I am his promised wife, sir." Mr. Sardis elevated his gray brows. "And do you not know of his recent good fortune?" "No, sir. I have been away?out of the city, sir, for nine days." Mr. Sardis motioned to his head clerk, who came out from behind a handsome railing and approached the two. The banker whispered something In his ear and walked away to a private room. Jacob Phillips went up to Mercy Dill. "Our late clerk, Mr. Valentine Black," he began, as If he were giving business details to some customer, "has fallen heir to a title and fortune in England. He is, or will be, a baronet Nine days ago an English lawyer, who t J 'v A mnHoo tr\ fiAorrh '"or 1 Ilfctu UCC1I octn WU %W the rightful heir, found him out, und acquainted him with his good luck. He sailed at once with Miss Black, for his new possessions. It appears that his father was the younger son of a noble family, and was disinherited because of a low marriage, qpd that his name was not Black, but Arbuckle. You look faint?be seated." Mercy clutched the door to save herself from falling. "A baronet!?Val! I am very ignorant sir?I suppose I do not quite understand It. He was so poor and humble, sir?almost as humble and as poor as I!" Phillips seemed impressed with the girl's appearance. "It Is quite true. Can I do anything for you?" he said. She caught her breath, as if choking. "Oh, sir, he left some word for me did he not?some message?" "Not here." "Did he say nothing about me?oh, try to remember?nothing?" "I fear not?I am sure not." She turned blindly, groping with one hand to find the door. t "Thank you?I will go now?I am sorry to have troubled you." ? How she reached the open air she s never knew, but presently she found < herself upon the street again, feeling i as stunned and helpless as if some one I had dealt her a blow. Val rich and a baronet!?Val gone to England with I Miss Affry, leaving no word for her? it was incomprehensible! Should she ' . go down to the wharf and throw her- 1 self into the water and so make an end I of this confusion of brain, this agony of heart that assailed her? The deep 1 religion which controlled the girl's na- ' ture strangled that temptation at its 1 birth. She crossed one street and 1 turned Into another, never Knowing > what she was doing, for the pavement 1 seemed to heave under her feet, and J everything was blurred and misty be- < fore her eyes and, led by some blind 1 instinct, went on and stopped at last at the Aid Society rooms. Here a new disappointment awaited | her, though she was now incapable of feeling or even comprehending it. The ' rooms were closed. Work had failed, and the door was fast against applicants. Ignorant of this fact, however, and because she was too weak to stand. ' Mercy sat down mechanically upon the I topmost stair to await the appearance 1 of the matron. Hour after hour went by. Nobody I came to open the rooms. Now and then some person passed by, stared at I the beautiful, pinched face and blank, i desolate eyes of the waiting girl, but I spoke no word to her. 1 Morning dwindled into noon. Still Mercy did not move. She was hungry and faint; she was homeless, friendless, penniless. The only thing of value she possessed in the world?the only thing by which she might secure, perhaps, a little food or a night's lodging, was Val's ring, shining there, mocking and bright, on her cold hand?sooner than part with that she would die a hundred deaths. After a long time a man mounted the stair and gave Mercy a surly glance. "You'd better move on, girl," he said; "it's growing dark here." Growing dark! She cast a frightened look around. Yes, it was quite true. She had been there the entire day. The matron was not coming. Mercy descended to the street and walked away?whither, she neither knew nor cared. Was there any one in the wide world to whom she could go now? No one! The evening lights began to glimmer. People jostled her along the pavement ?happy people, hastening to friends and home. Nobody paid any heed to the shabby girl with the wild, white beautiful face and the blank, lost air. She was but one small atom in the great maelstrom. Darkness settled down upon the multitudinous roofs. Carriages rumbled by, bearing happy girls to concert and play; but here was one as fair as the fairest, a pure as the purest, wandering. forsaken, hungry and hopeless, and. like the dove outside the ark, without a resting place for the sole of her foot. In all the great city there was IN COUNTESS ? ? PIERCE. | %\ KKyKtoixxyi^KKyi I not upon this night so forlorn a crea- 1 ture as Mercy Dill. And yet some an- 1 gel was guiding her tired steps all the while?guiding them straight to meet I Et certain strange event that waited to 1 change entirely her whole dark, Joy- 1 ess life. 1 It was half-past seven by the clocks ] when she found herself at the entrance * of a small West End square. Her con- 1 fused brain had at last conceived the * forlorn purpose of returning to Seedy ? Dourt and passing another night on j the steps of deserted No. 10. As she 1 eached a corner where the street end- * ?d and the square began, her sad eyes 8 were attracted to a big building Just ^ jefore her?an imposing hotel, all I igleam with lights from garret to >asement. Even as Mercy looked, a girl ' n a rich evening dress came to one of he brilliant, lace-draped windows, 0 ihowed a smiling, high-bred face for a c noment, flirted a costly fan, adjusted 0 i bracelet and then vanished. Before 8 he entrance several carriages waited, v imong others, one that was to convey i guest of the house to an evening & rain at a neighboring depot. n As Mercy held by that fascination 8 vhich ease and luxury always have for vant, stood wistfully surveying the * lghted windows, a human figure crept 8 itealthily down another street on the ight of the hotel, and paused in the ? ihadow at the corner of the building. * It was a woman In shawl and bonlet and coarse gown, with a haggard, ihrunken face, round which some dis- b trdered wisps of black hair strayed. 1 ier shawl was dragged down upon >ne side of her body, and in its shelter a >ne hand was held out of sight Standng with only the width of the crossng betwixt her and Mercy, she gazed ntently toward the entrance of the 8 lotel, her figure bent, her head uplift- * ' d her wasted face alert and wolfish. " t was Moll Dill. Had the woman been drinking? Asluredly not. She looked gaunt and ill. d t feverish hunger consumed her, but Jj lot for food or drink. Mercy gave a great start; then ran y lulckly, and laid her hand upon the 0 urklng shape, glad indeed to find the n ast and only being in the world upon vhom she had a claim. "Mother!" J! Moll leaped violently, and turned on jhe speaker like a beast at bay. 11 "What! Is it you?" she answered, In ? i hoarse, surprised whisper, and the ildden right hand made a curious, * onvulsed movement under her shawl. J 'Step back a little?speak low?where 11 lave you been?" "It is a long story, mother," answer- d (d Mercy, wearily, and making no re- v ilstance as the other thrust her back * n the shadow of th? wall. 11 "You look as If death had struck rou. Fool! what made you leave your 8 over on your wedding-day?" e "Come with me," said Mercy, "and I vill tell you all." 1 Moll stared darkly at her child. . "Come with you?where?" she hiss- " (d. "The house In Seedy Court is shut . ip. Have you found another home? n iave you any place to lay your head w n tonight?" ? "No." d Moll Dill struck the wall so fiercely a vith her clinched hand that the blood 8 itarted from the bruised flesh. "Have you any money, girl?" "No." f "No more have I. I left my place in ? he country when I heard you were n ost, and came back here to look for j/mi o?h TVs ha#i a hundred devils In f vv?, ?I*U * ?v "~v? ? ?? ^ ne ever since?raging devils, tearing 11 ne by day and night!" ? Something in the woman's wasted 1 ace struck a strange terror to Mercy's v leart. F "Mother, you frighten me! You are lick. Let us move on. I will beg a ? ihelter somewhere tonight, and tomor- 8 ow I will find work. Oh, come! what ire you doing here?" "Hist! I'll murder you if you cry v >ut like that! I'm waiting to speak 8 vith a?friend." She rolled this last vord like a sweet morsel on her wick- 8 ?d tongue. "Do you see this big ho- . :el? There's a man inside it who can F lelp us if he will?a man worth his J1 nilllons?steeping in luxury while you 1 ind I starvb?-curse him! Go and wait r lor me on the other side of the square. 0 [ can't stir from this spot until I have i word with that man." "Who Is he?" said Mercy, blankly. * 'What is he to us?" , "He's a cruel devil!" hissed Moll. 'Stand back! Don't come so near me ?don't ask questions. Off with you, I F lay!" f "No." said Mercy, firmly, "I will lot leave you for a moment. There is lomething wrong with you tonight. Home with me, mother?come with . Tie! You are prowling here for no rood!" t With a face full of baffled fury, Moll * :urned and struck the girl a blow. * "I'd trample you, if it wasn't for aringing a crowd around!" she whiskered. savagely. "Loose my shawl? 8 so: As this last syllable quivered on her wrathful lips a servant issued from the hotel, bearing a gentleman's valise, which he placed in the depot carriage waiting at the curbstone. Immediate- t ly after, two persons appeared in the door and descended the steps together. One was Jacob Phillips, the other, ? Sardis, the banker. The latter was talking earnestly to his old, gray clerk ?so earnestly that he looked neither to the right hand nor the left and cer talnly saw nothing of the two women. * Moll Dill made a menacing gesture to ? tier daughter. "That is the man!" she whispered. 'Stay here while I speak to him." She glided round the corner of the . hotel and approached the pair as they paused before the carriage. Undismayed by blow or threat, impelled by j the great, nameles3 fear that was tugging at her heart, Mercy followed her. J "Good-by, Phillips. I think I have , given you the necessary instructions," said Cullen Sardis. "Good-by, sir. I wish you a pleasant Journey," answered the old clerk. , "My regards to Miss Beatrix." The two shook hands. The banker's , cold, stern profile was turned toward ( the woman creeping along the pave- ^ ment. How eloquent was his whole ( stately person of wealth, importance, ( oqqot r%ii minor* hnnnpt nvpr her , brows, and, averting her face a little, went up to him and twitched his sleeve. "Money!" she muttered, extending her grimy left pa'm. He turned, saw what he thought to be a common beggar, shook off her touch, and answeied: "No." "Money, sir, for God's sake!" she urged, with stifled vehemence. "No, I tell you?move on!" he replied, not deigning this time to glance j at her. Swift as lightning she flung back the trailing end of her shawl, showing the hidden right hand at last, and the thing which it clutched, with the con- < centrated rage and hate of many a i year. i "Curse you! take that from Moll!" she cried, in a voice that rang half way across the square. A leap, an ugly gleam of coarse | steel and then a piercing shriek in a < girl's voice, "Mother! mother!" the ] rush of something betwixt the weapon i of the woman and the breast of the i man, and Mercy Dill's hot blood spurt- i ed out upon the banker as, with a cry i of horror and amazement?a cry of < recognition, too?he caught her falling body on his arm. 1 And Moll? Do vn clattered her red- < dened knife, as if it had been struck i violently from her murderous hand. With protruding eyeballs she stared at Cullen Sardis and the bleeding figure he held, then turned to fly; but before she had taken a dozen steps, staggered and sank, without word or sound, a writhing, convulsed heap, to the pavement. CHAPTER XXVI. Changes. In a moment the spot swarmed with a gaping, curious crowd. From lip to lip the news passed that a drunken woman had stabbed a young girl and fallen in a fit "Take her to your own house, Phillip?," said Cullen Sardis. hastily placing his Inanimate burden in the arms Klo nlnrlr "Pnr flrnVn flakp lpf thftrp be no scandal! I will attend to the? ;he other." An officer lifted Moll Dill from the javement She was foaming at the nouth and writhing In frightful con;ortlons. He exchanged a few words vlth Cullen Sardls; then a carriage vas called, and the woman conveyed o the nearest hospital, where she was blaced in a private room and the best nedlcal attendance summoned to her lid. A servant took the banker's valse from the depot carriage and bore 1 t back to the hotel?Cullen Sardls vould not leave the city tonight. The ] raping crowd dispersed and went Its ' vay, with its curiosity for the most j art ungratlfled. A little later, at the quiet hospital ( vhlther the outcast had been carried, 1 n the parlor of the sovereign surgeon f the place, who was an old college 1 lass-mate and warm personal friend ' f the banker, Cullen Sardls, haggard I jid uneasy, waited for tidings of his 1 yould-be murderess. A door opened at last, and the sur- < :eon himself appeared?a small, thin 1 nan with a firm mouth and calmly 1 peculative eye. f "Spasms of the heart," he said, In a 1 dw voice that was vibrant with secret I ympathy. ' The banker stood with downcast yes and a cold, rigid face that be- < rayed no agitation. 1 "Is she likely to recover?" < "No. Her constitution Is shattered ' y excesses. It is doubtful If she lasts 1 he night out." ' Cullen Sardls grasped his friend's 1 rm convulsively. "Is she conscious?" 1 "No." ,.t_ tt . i in netitcii d name, uiiug uci w *?v enses for a few moments! It is a mater of the greatest importance?she as something to tell me!" "I will do what I can." Yes, that wicked, wasted life was rawing now to a sudden close. The aurderous hand had done its last work 'he restless brain, maddened with long ears of drink and ineffectual agonies f hate, remorse and despair, lay dorriant under a terrible weight Swiftly the end was coming. Stretchd on her white bed, Moll Dill awaited t, senseless as a log, and not far away fullen Sardis, the banker, whom an ndulgent fortune had lifted far, far < bove such creatures of the gutter? < !ul!en Sardis, I say, walked the sur- ' eon's parlor in a maze of troubled ' hought unable to quit the place, will- j ng to barter half of his earthly pos- ' essions for speech with this miserable ' ylng outcast. Verily, his aristocratic 1 /lfe and peerless daughter would have 1 wondered greatly to see him then and < here. It was almost morning when the sur- ' eon came to the door again and look- ' d in at his friend. ' "She is conscious. Come!" was all ' hat he said. In utter silence Cullen Sardis fol- 1 jwed him to the bedside of Moll Dill. ' She was lying upon her pillow, her 1 ands moving 7n a ghastly, uncertain ( /ay over the counterpane, her black 1 yes set in a fixed stare. The attendant ? rew back from the bed aa tne Danaer > pproached. She recognized him in- 1 tantly. A wild gleam shot into her 1 avernous eyes; with a stifled cry, she ' ought to lift herself up. He bent over 1 ler. A name which he had not spoken or many years fell mechanically from ! lis ashy lips: "Marie!" ' She heard it; a shudder passed over ler wretched figure. The subdued 1 learn of the night-lamp wavered along he bed over the awful face of the 1 poman, who seemed strangely out of ' lace in a scene like this. j "Then I did not kill you!" she gasp- ' d, burying her long fingers convulively in the counterpane. 1 Was it regret at the failure of her nurderous attempt, or relief only, vhich sent a spasm over her death- 1 tricken face? "Where's Mercy?" Then with a 1 hriek she added: "Did I kill her?" 1 The banker could not answer, for laving been at the hospital all night, 1 ie knew nothing of the condition of ' he girl who had saved his life at the rvA?Vior\a r? f *V?ft oo ori flon nf hor I ion, pti a w me oavt iuvv| v* ?v? iwn. "Whom do you mean by Mercy?" he aid. scarcely able to control his 1 oice. 1 "The girl?the girl!" whispered Moll 1 >111. 1 "On your soul, tell me the truth! Is hat the child who was once called Jabel?the child that you stole nine- 1 een years ago?" She nodded. "Yes?yes! Did I kill her, I say?" He drew back a step and passed his iand across his eyes. "I hope not?I trust not. Merciful leaven! what an unutterable curse 1 ou have been, alike to yourself and o me!" he groaned. Moll Dill glared up at him with 1 lomething of her old ferocity; but her trength was too far spent to give It j rolce. "The girl?the girl!" she whispered 1 igaln. 1 Sardis drew nearer to the bed. ' "I am listening. What do you wish ' o say?" "Take care of her. Don't visit any 1 ilns upon her head. You are rich?take 1 :are of her!" I "I will!" answered Cullen Sardis. 1 Moll Dill shrank suddenly Into her < )illow, as if clutched in an Invisible 1 rrasp. The hands in the counterpane rrew rigid and still. If the banker had ] urther questions in mind it was now oo late to give them voice. "Tell?Mercy?to?forgive"? These words, spoken with great dif- 1 Iculty, closed the drama of a dark, 1 tad, perverted life. The surgeon and tttendant hurried to the bed. Moll Dill 1 leaved herself up once on the latter's lustainlng arm. There was a groan, hen silence. With a face like ashes, Jullen Sardis cast one look upon tht lead, and turned and rushed from the oom. 1 Half an hour later he left the hospl:al, and, haggard from want of sleep ind the wear and tear of many dark Lhoughts, he set his face toward a reared street In a highly respectable, :hough not fashionable, South End luarter. A pure, sweet wind was ibroad; the dawn hung tremulously in the primrose sky; the city?that part if it at least?was still sleeping. God lave mercy on the dark soul which had passed with the night! Cullen Sardis mounted the steps of in unpretending house and rang the bell. It was the home of Jacob Philips, and that small, gray, perplexed man appearea in person 10 aamu nis master. "Is she living?" That was the banker's first question, put In an agitated voice. "Yes," answered Phillips. "Is she much hurt?" "Yes." As the two stood face to face in the (van morning. Phillips thought he had never seen his master look so weary and worn and troubled. "I wish to see her for a moment," he Phillips led the way up a softly carpeted stair. At its head a gray-haired, placid-faced woman, gentle and motherly of mein met them?Jacob Phillips' wife. Without making any comment upon the invasion which she had suffered in her quiet, childless home, Bhe beckoned the banker along a corridor, noiselessly opened a door and entered a room beyond. It was a cool white chamber. Through its curtained windows the dawn was just struggling. A soft gray carpet covered the floor. Glasses and vials of medicine stood on the toilet table. In one corner was a bed, and upon It a human shape lay stretched, as cold and motionless as the dead? Mercy Dill. Her eyes were closed; the black lashes clung' heavily to her marble cheek. Her golden hair, spread out on the pillow, made a sort of mocking glory about the ghastly rigidity of her face. All her own garments had been removed, and others of fine linen substituted, so that she was as white as Blaine when she drifted down the river to her burial. Cullen Sardis stepped forward and looked down at her as she lay?the girl who had saved his life, the girl who Moll Dill, in dying, had left to his care. There was something more than curiosity In his eyes?something more than the natural Interest which he might be expected to feel in this young person. "What does the surgeon say of her?" he whispered to Mrs. Phillips. - I US- a "?ie Bays ul&l ner iuc imiigo u/ I? thread." "The wound waa dangerous, then?" "Mortal, I'm afraid, sir. She la unconscious, as you see. I cannot bear to look at her; yet she frightens me; she Is the picture of death. I am sure she cannot live." He bent over the insensible girl touched her hand, laid his Angers on her slim, almost pulseless wrist, then retreated silently from the chamber. The old gray clerk and his gentle-faced wife meekly followed the man of money below stairs. "The person who attempted my life Is dead," said Cullen Sardis glancing slgnlAcantly at Phillips. "I owe this girl a debt of gratitude which must be suitably paid. I shall send to you immediately the best nurse to be found in the city. I shall rely on you to do your jtmost to save her. No pains nor expense must be spared; it Is of the rreatest Importance to me that she should live. My dear old friend, I de-| jend upon you In this emergency; see that you do not fall me." Phillips grasped the hand which his ?mployer held out to him In earnest ippeal. No words were spoken, but Cullen Sardis knew well that he had snllsted these people, body and soul, In the cause of the wounded girl who iad been thrust so abruptly upon their protection. If money and skill and matching could save her, then would she be saved. Not many hours after, a plain hearse Allowed by a single close carriage, jore all that remained of Moll Dill out >f that city, where she had suffered ind sinned so much to a quiet grave In a lovely green corner of Woodlawn. The close carriage contained two genllemen?Cullen Sardls and the old :lerk who shared all his secrets. This pair stood by in profound and sullen lilence and witnessed the outcast's burial, after which they returned to the :ity, and the banker departed at once to join his ward among the mountains, leaving Mercy Dill to the charge of Jacob Phillips and his wife. Day succeeded day. Autumn had :ome, and Mercy lay in her white chamber, sinking, fainting, dying in the agony of fever and delirium. Now 9he was a child again, starving and freezing in some North End attic with tier wretched mother; now she was flying from her dark, wicked persecutor, Dlscordo; then it was Val Black's lame upon which she called with pitejus pleading?the lover who had loved tier for a little space and then left her :o her fate, while he himself went iway to fortune and happiness over the great sea. Sometimes she was sewng for bread in her chamber at Seedy Court, singing her Gospel hymns and ,n the midst of her delirium and weakness her glorious young voice would areak free and ring through the darkened chamber, sweet as an angel's from heaven. Sometimes she was dead, md lying stark and motionless in a :ool, green grave, and she heard the stealthy footsteps of the world over tier head, and the whisper of voices that seemed afraid to disturb her repose. "It is time to telegraph again to Mr. Sardis." , "Was it not a great pity to cut oft ler beautiful hair?" "No flowers in the room, Mrs. Philips?the doctor will not allow it." Mercy tried to lift her hand. The effort cave creat acony to her whole body. She shrieked aloud. Some one rushed to her side, bent over her and leld a glass to her lips. "Where am I?" she tried to ask; but ler hollow voice was thin as voices from the grave. "With friends, my dear child," was the answer. "That cannot be?I have no friends," protested Mercy, and fell asleep with the words on her lips. After many days she became aware that she was lying In some downy, white place, full of warmth and silence ?that cautious feet trod about her? anxious, kindly faces watched her. She was not dead; on the contrary, she was drifting back from the dark gates toward life and strength again. At first her mind was too feeble for questions; but one day she awoke and found a man standing by her bedside. "You are better," he said, gently. She did not answer, only looked up at him attentively, conscious In the midst of all her weakness that somewhere she had seen that face before. "You are better," he repeated. "You will soon be well." "Who are you?" said Mercy. "The person whose life you saved," answered the man. "Where Is my mother?" she gasped. "Be calm. Do not think of her. By and-by you shall know all." As her strength returned many facts Jawned upon Mercy's comprehension. She was In some blessed refuge where she was being cared for most constantly, most tenderly. The tall, strong woman who was always by her bed was the nurse. The small, gray lady who often leaned down and kissed her and called her "dear child" was the mistress of the house. The cold, ?rave gentleman who appeared not only at long intervals in fhe chamber, and who came from some unknown distance, was the man she had seen i. the banking house of Sardls & Co., the man her mother had sought to kill? yea, it was Cullen Sardls himself, for she heard the name frequently spoken by the small, gray lady. Every moment a great, guardian watchfulness compassed her about. She was fed upon strange delicacies; rare fruits and flowers appeared daily on the table by her bed. For the first time in her life she felt the blessed delight of being protected cherished, thought of. Aye, truly, she was with friends! One morning the little gray woman came to her side and said, sweetly: "Now that you are growing stronger my dear, I think I had better tell you who we are, and how you chance to be with us," which she at once proceeded to do. Mercy gazed at her with great, hollow, moon-like eyes. "You are all very, very good," she faltered, feebly. "I'm afraid I can never thank you as I ought. Why Is Mr. Sardls so kind to me?" , "Good gracious! my dear child, of course he feels very grateful to you? it would be strange if he did not" replied Mrs. Phillips, hastily. "With all his wealth, he is a man of great good feeling. I want you to be well and strong when next he sees you. He is now in New York, and is not likely to visit Boston for some weeks, but we send him daily news of you." Val's employer! How strange and unreal it seemed to Mercy! She was bewildered, she was grateful, but she had not forgotten her wretched mother. She asked for her with such persistency that Mrs. Phillips was obliged, at last, to tell her the truth. "My dear," she said, tenderly, taking the girl's shadowy hands in her own, I hope you are strong enough to bear what I shall say. Your mother died a few hours after she had nearly taken your life?by mistake of course. You have talked a great deal In your delirium, and I know, without being told, that you must have suffered extraordinary things with that woman?oh, dear! what have I done? Taste this cordial?quick!" But the little gray lady was too late; Mercy had fainted helplessly away. She was young, and in spite of past hardship and privation, her constltu tion was good. The terrible wound made by Moll Dill's knife healed rapidly. One day Cullen Sardis appeared again at the house of his clerk. The autumn was far advanced then, the trees were bare and covered with sleel and snow. The banker found Mercy seated in an easy-chair before a glowing grate, clothed in a dress of some soft, black material, which Mrs. Phillips had provided for her. Her beautiful face was as white and shadowy as a waning moon, and in its wasted contours the violet eyes looked supernaturally large and dark. All her golden length of hair had been shorn away, and the remnant of it clung in a fringe of babyish rings and curls about her throat and forehead, giving her an odd, childish air. "I rejoice to find you out of danger," said the banker, in a peculiarly gentle voice. "I have come aJl the way from New York to talk with you." She lifted her large, patient eyes. It was an angelic face, and Cullen Sardis felt its beauty and innocence as he had felt nothing before for many A long year. "I am glad you are come," she answered, simply. "I have much?very much to thank you for. Oh, sir, what would have become of me but for you?" | He grew very grave. j "But for me you would not nave been hurt at all. You received your wound In my cause, remember. The least I could do was to provide proper care for you. I am In your debt, my child, not you In mine. I doubt If I can ever quite cancel accounts with you. I came here today to hear the story of your life, Mercy. Tell it to me, and omit nothing:?try to forget nothing. 1 want to know everything possible concerning you." Mrs. Phillips, who was sewing In a window, arose at this juncture and left the room. Mercy and her new friend were alone and together. He drew a chair to the lire and sat down expectantly. Mercy fixed upon him her great earnest eyes. "You knew my mother?" she said. A curious change swept his highbred face. "Yes?many years ago." "And she tried to kill you! Oh, sir, she must have been mad!" "Quite likely?sometime we will talk about that; but first I must know how and where your life has been lived. Mercy. Begin?I am impatient!" She had nothing to conceal. Beginning with her first recollections of poverty and want in a North End tenement-house, she went on through the succeeding years, faithfully relating their whole story of misery and privation?all that she had endured with Moll Dill, until she arrived at the few months spent with the Blacks at Seedy Court. Here her voice faltered, and the painful color arose in her white cheek; but something in Cullen Sardls'a face encouraged her to proceed? the deep pain and sympathy of his look made her feel that he was sorry for her, and was profoundly stirred by all she said. "Ca nrt " h? nrmiri an ah? hMllfltad: "keep nothing1 from me. I am more anxious than I can tell you to hear your whole story." She told him of Val Black's love, of her attempted marriage, of her Imprisonment by Dlscordo. her escape and her last interview with Moll Dill, pregnant with such unexpected results. The banker arose from his chair and walked across the chamber like a man unable to control himself. Presently he paused by her side. "The scoundrel!" he cried. "Have you no clue to his whereabouts? What was he like??this Dlscordo." No, Mercy had no clue; but she described his appearance so accurately that Cullen Sard Is gave an Involuntary start. "A striking portrait! I know a person who might answer to It very well, were he a vagabond teacher of music Instead of a gentleman moving in the highest circles of society. As it is," with a faint smile, "I think I can scarcely accuse him of being Dlscordo. These Italians bear a marked resemblance to each other, and have I suppose, the aame tricks of speech. It would be w-dl, perhaps, to offer a reward for .he villain's apprehension. What punishment would you like to mete out to him, Mercy?" She shook her fair head. "None. I am safe?he can harm me no more, and I wish never to see his face again or hear his name. Don't try; to find him. Is It not better to let him go?to forget him altogether?" Cullen Sardis laid his hand on the back of her chair. "And that other person?Valentine Black who was once a clerk In my banking-house. I have taken pains to learn something about his change of fortune, Mercy. I know men's hearts, and I fear he was only too ready to be deceived by Dlscordo, and wash his hands of you when his rare luck came. My poor child, do you love him still?" Her bosom heaved, her small hands worked convulsively; then a great storm of pent-up sobs shook her from head to foot. The banker, alarmed beyond measure, caught her In his arms. "Mercy, Is it as serious as this? He is an English baronet. He has forgotten your very existence by this time. A great, hulking lout, if I remember rightly?not the man to take any girl's fancy. Dear child be calm?you will do yourself Injury." She wept as If her heart would break. It was many moments before the storm passed; then, with a great effort, she looked up at the banker, a strange, solemn light In her great, wet eyes. "He was the first person who ever cared for me In the least?who was ever kind to me. I am glad?oh, so glad!?for his fortune?glad that he will never be Ill-paid or overworked or pinched with poverty more. If he has wronged me in any way, I forgive him freely, freely! I bless him from my heart; from my heart I pray that he will be happy In his new life. Men are not always happy, I suppose, even though they are rich and great. It is as If he were dead, you know, and .k K.,? T aha II had ever seen upon it. "Never, Mercy! Your old life Is dead and buried; every tie that bound you to it is now dissolved. I have other plans for you." She arose to her feet in her great agitation, her face all startled and amazed. "You sir!" "I! You are alone in this world. Henceforth I am your guardian?you belong to me. Remember the gratitude I owe you. Resign all care for yourself?I know far better than you what your needs are. You will remain in this house until your strength is fully established; after that you will immediately be sent to school. Forget your o!d life from this moment, and take no further thought for your future. As God hears me. you shall never, so long as I can prevent it, hnow want in any form again!" With a cry of mingled surprise and Joy she sank upon her knees at his feet. "Oh, sir, you are Jesting with me? you cannot mean it! What am I that you should do this for me?" He snatched her up; his face was (jttaaeu imu uiiumci nuuu, uuv * never forget him?never, never!" Cullen Sardis took another turn around the room. "You are young, Mercy; you have much to learn," he said, almost sternly. "Your life, I see, has been one long torment, without a single bright spot anywhere in it. To me your courage and endurance seem marvelous. You brave, patient girl! You noble heroic girl! Would to God I could have rescued you from your misery long ago, Don't look so startled"?and here a sickly smile crept over his agitated lips?"I should be an ingrate, Indeed if I did not henceforth regard your welfare as my own. Now that we have disposed of your past, Mercy, let us discuss your future." "My future!" The tears thickened in her mournful eyes; her sweet, spiritless mouth drooped; she looked at the glowing fire, twisting her white fingers nervously together. "It will be like my past, I suppose. I shall go back to the old work, somewhere; I shall earn my bread again, somehow." "Never!" He smiled down upon her, his cold aristocratic face wearing such ? a a noHhor wlfA nor ftauiirhter I convulsed with some sudden, strong emotion. I "In Heaven's name, don't kneel to > me! I am not Jesting. Hush?not a i word more?I cannot bear it! To com; pensate you for your past suffering is now impossible; but I may help you, perhaps, to forget it. Kiss me my poor ! child." He took her pale face in his hands, and pressed his lips to It with remorse* ful, yearning tenderness. "Kiss me once Mercy." She obeyed, and, as she did so, she saw that his eyes were full of tears. A few days later, Mercy Dill was placed at school. And so it was that Cullen Sardis found a ward, of whose existence, singularly enough, he never spoke, either to wife, or daughter, or friend. (To be Continued.) ' ENGLAND'S SHIPPING KING He Is 8ir Owen PhHIips, a Man of Varied Activities. All the British business world is talking pf the amazing enterprise of Sir Owen Phillips, familiarly styled the colossus of shipping, says London Letter. Still on the right side of 60, his exploits as a business builder have placed him in the very front line of the magnates of commerce. All this has been achieved in seven strenuous years. Sir Owen Phillips first began to make good when he took charge of the affairs of the Royal Mall Steam Packet company, which he reorganized and raised to a position of financial security. This done, he cooperated with Lord Pirrie in the formation of the large shipping trade managed by the late Sir Alfred Jones, and amalgamated the two interests into one concern with a capital of $10,000,000. Realizing the importance of the future opportunities in the far east that will follow the opening of the Panama canal, he secured control of the Pacific Steam Navigation company and atone bound became a magnate in the South American shipping trade. By the subsequent purchase of the Forwood Line he secured a considerable share of the Mediterranean and North American trade, and he has now entered the South African field by the absorption of the Union-Castle line. By this final deal sir uwen jpnimps Dccomeu uubb ui the greatest mercantile fleet any one man has ever controlled, totaling 300 ships, with a tonnage of 1,270,000. Merchants are now asking one another if the Phillips combination Is out after a corner in shipping, and persistent rumor has already marked out the Orient line as the next prize. Before Sir Owen Phillips hustled to such startling effect in British shipping circles, he sampled life as a politician and entered parliament as a liberal member for a Welsh constituency. He did not offer himself for re-election at the last general election, and thus cut short a promising political career. In spite, however, of his shipping combine. Sir Owen Is not a man of one idea. He is one of the active presidents of the London and Southwestern railroad and of the St Thomas Dock Engineering company, vice chairman of the port of London, authority and chairman of the West African section of the London Chamber of Commerce. And as he is also actively Interested In various philanthropic Institutions, one wonders what leisure he has at his disposal to use any of his four London clubs, or to visit Amroth castle, his magnificent residence In Pembroke snire. He is one of three brothers, all well over six feet in height and all selfmade millionaires. These sons of a Welsh parson, lost their father early and their mother, a sister of the fifth Baron Wynford, devoted herself to securing the best education for her boys, for she had no fortune to give them. She has succeeded beyond her hopes, Besides the colossus of shipping, there is Lord St. Davids a name to conjure with in big financial undertakings all over the world, and Col. Ivor Phillips, M. P., for Southampton, whose political and military record has been in keeping with the family prowess in other fields. Tobacco and Brains,?That over 90 per cent of all boys who fail in the grammar and high schools are smokers is asserted by Prof. M. V. O'Shea of the University of Wisconsin, as quoted in the university's Press Bulletin (Madison, December 16.) The tobacco evil, he declares, is the most serious one that the public schools have to contend with. We read: "Most boys do not learn to smoke because they like tobacco, but because their school fellows stroke. It is a social thing with a boy. By doing it he thinks he is one of 'the crowd' and not an 'outsider.' Unruly boys are al moat always addidted to the cigarette habit. Smoking robs pupils of their docility. Records kept of the work of students who were not addicted to the smoking habit when they entered the high school but who acquired it later, show that not only did these pupils become harder to manage, but the quality of their school work also declined greatly. What a hold the smoking evil has gained on public school boys is indicated by the statements made by a number of high school principals who declare that from 50 to 80 per cent of high school pupils are now using cigarettes. It is an Interesting fact that the strongest sentiment against smoking has arisen in communities in which the raising of tobacco is the principal industry. Tobacco men do not want young boys in their own community to smoke, and in a number of places in Wisconsin, various organizations have taken a stand against smoking by school children."?Literary Digest. Sea Island Growers Quit.?In the opinion of Savannah Sea Island dealers the production of this cotton can no longer oe prunuioie. ueuiuse rs&yw tlan la running it out of the m&rket. Egyptian is produced and delivered in the United States at a cost which Sea Island growers cannot meet. For manufacturing purposes it is declared to be as good, if not better. Egyptian now fixes the demand and price for Sea Island, which has thus become a mere supplementary crop. In consequence of these conditions the Sea Island factors of Savannah have decided not to assist in financing Sea Island growers. They advise the abandonment of this crop. Their course merely reflects the opinion which has become general in Savannah, Charleston and other centers of Sea Island cultivation, as also among the growers themselves. It seem to be agreed that Sea Island is doomed. The Sea Island growers are now turning to short cotton and, probably wun more judgment to irucamg crops. While they reconcile themselves to the apparent necessity of planting: comparatively little of their long staple the market for our Piedmont long staple growers, who need fear nothing from Egyptian, is in a general way enlarged.?Charlotte Observer, ? Greenwood Index: The Rev. Dr. Samuel T. Hallman, of Spartanburg, a prominent Lutheran minister, has found an interesting and profitable pastime in the manufacture of violins. Although he was 67 years old when he. made his first violin it was so excellent an Instrument that he found no difficulty in selling it for $75. The work was all done by hand, and Dr. Hallman fashioned the various parts himself. He has Just finished a violin, which he says, is far superior in tone and workmanship to any he has ever made before. The tone is brilliant, resonant, of far-carrying power, and of a uniform quality. The bottom was carved out of a maple bedpost, known to be 150 years old, and the top is of wood said to be more than 200 years old. ijftisttltancoug Stadia#. WILSON'8 VIEW OF HI8 JOB Embodied in Lectures While He Wei President of Princeton. Four years before his election to th< presidency, while still at the head ol Princeton university, Woodrow Wilsor expressed his views of the presidential office, In a series of lectures that were printed In book form under the title ol "Constitutional Government In the United States," says the Kansas City Star. These lectures are of especial Interest In view of recent events. In tbe first Dlace. he insists that the office "really does not demand actual experience in affairs so much as particular qualities of mind and character which we are at least as likely to find outside the ranks of our public men as within them." These qualities, he explains, mean that the man "would seem to the country in some sort, an embodiment of the character, and purpose it wishes its government to have ?a man who understands his own day and the needs of the country, and who has the personality and initiative to enforce his views both upon the people and upon congress." In other words, a leader of public opinion, rather than an experienced politician, is to be desired. "The president" Mr. Wilson continues, "may stand, if he will, a little outside party and insist as it were, on the general opinion. The president may also, if he will, stand within the party counsels and use the advantages of his power and personal force to control actual programme.!. If he leads the nation, his party can hardly resist him. His office is anything he has the sagacity and force to make it." But timid souls inquire, does not the UUI1BIUUUUU BCl UUUUUO VU UIO (A/TTCt of the presidents? Tea, the presidentelect replies, but the constitution Is "not a mere lawyers' document; It Is a vehicle of life, and its spirit is always the spirit of the age." Some presidents have restrained themselves from using their full power because of conscientious scruples. But In the view of the president-elect, the makers of the constitution were not enacting the Whig theory of the separation of the powers of government Into law. So they left the president at liberty "to be as big a man as he can." If congress be overborne by him it Is only "because the president has the nation behind him and congress has not'' What becomes, then, of the soulful contention of patriots of generations that "this should be a government of laws and not of men?" Well, on Page 17 of his book Mr. Wilson comes out bluntly: "There never was such a government Constitute them how you will, governments are always governments of men, and no part of any government Is better than the men to whom that part Is Intrusted." Evidently the president-elect holds himself free to lead his party to meet the demands made by modern Industrial conditions. In carrying out this practical theory of presidential leadership he will have the support of all progressives. 8CENE8 OF PEACE PACT8 8ome Famous Modern Treaties and Where They Were 8igned. The French capital has been the scene of several peace pacts, some of which have had a mighty influence on the destiny of the British empire. This remark applies with force to the agreement which brought the Seven Years' war to a close in 1763. In the course of this war, in which the English and the French were the chief combatants, we acquired Canada, and by dive's victory at Plassey established our position in India. Twenty years later we sign* ed a further treaty in Paris whereby we acknowledged the independence of the United States. At the same time we made peace with France, Holland, and Spain, with each of whom, in turn, we had become involved in war through our futile attempt to conquer the American colonies. Paris was also ho wen# of the treaty which, in 1866 marked the conclusion of the Crimean war. At a period when The Hague has become the synonym of peace It is Interesting to remember that at Ryswlck, a village two miles from the Dutch capital, was drawn up the treaty which ended the eight years' war between William III of England and Louis XIV of France. In the course of this war we achieved one of our greatest nava! victories?off Cape La Hogue, in 1692. Holland was destined to be the scene, a few years later, of another treaty much more important In its bearing upon British history. Utrecht, now known as a university town, was the place at which England reaped the fruits of Marlborough's great victories over the generals of Louis XIV. Here, In 1713, there passed Into British possession Newfoundland, Nova Scotia, Hudson Bay territory, and Gibraltar. Alx-la-Chappelle, the German city chosen as his capital by Charlemagne Is intimately associated with the close of more than one great conflict. Beautifully situated near the frontiers of Holland and Belgium, its waters attract thousands of visitors every year from many parts of Europe. A notable treaty signed here In 1748 was that which concluded the war of the Austrian Succession. In this war England successfully tooK tne pare 01 ataxia Theresa, who, on succeeding: to the dominions of her father, the emperor of Austria, was attacked by France, Prussia and Bavaria. More famous in the history of Alxla-Chapelle is the congress of 1818. This congress met to arrange the withdrawal from France of the Allies' army of occupation, which had entered that country on the downfall of Napoleon. The congress was a brilliant assembly of sovereigns and statesmen. The emperor Alexander I of Russia, the Emperor Francis I of Austria, and King Frederick William of Prussia attended in person. The Duke of Wellington and Lord Castlereagh represented Qreat Britain. Three years earlier a congress had assembled at Vienna. "Never before," says one writer, "had Europe seen such a collection of rank and talent." The four allies?Great Britain, Austria, Russia and Prussia, who had united to secure the overthrow of Napoleon, were represented at this congress, together with the minor powers of Europe. The object of the assembly was to readjust the map in view of the abdication of Napoleon. The escape of the latter from Elba and the subse quent oattie or waierioo largeiy neutralized the decisions of the congress. Nowadays we hear nothing of Tilsit, yet every schoolboy knows the name of this town in East Prussia, situated on the banks of the Memel. It is famous as the scene of the treaty concluded between the Emperor Alexander I of Russia and Napoleon, who met for the purpoae on a raft moored In the middle of the stream. The treaty which creat ed the kingdom of Westphalia Is notable as attesting Napoleon's supremacy over the German princes. Of treaties which have concluded great modern wars, Zurich, in Switzerland, witnessed that which effected the s expulsion of the Austrlans from Italy , and crowned the labors of Cavour and Garibaldi.?Tit-Bits. THE BULGARIAN ARMY. Organization Moves Like Clockwork and Shows Fine Discipline. A correspondent of the London Telegraph writes that the Bulgarian army Is a wonderful organization and moves | like clockwork. Continuing he says: When driving through the mountains I have been frequently astonished to see long lines of ox carts heavily laden wun army stores siowiy piooaing along and wondered how such primitive tranaport could be adequate to a modern army. The needful explanation was afforded me at Koatendll, where I have hod occasion to aee one of these commissariats in full operation. All the ox carta in the adjoining departments had been requisitioned to the number of 1,000. They were then divided Into Ave sections of 200 carts each. The drivers, with their whips, astrakhan or ordinary sheep wool caps and long sheepskin or goat hair coats, look picturesque beside their two small Greek oxen or African buffaloes. Every day 200 cars are laden and they start away at a slow pace, the driver walking before his team, humming an air or smoking a cigarette. He thus trudges up and down the mountain roads for a distance of fifteen kilometres, or nine and a half miles, which Is one day's march. Then he lights a fire for himself at the roadside, has a warm meal, feeds his oxen or buffaloes and lies down to sleep on straw near the cart or In a barn. If a farmhouse Is near. Next day he covers another nine or ten miles. Here his load la taken Into horse-drawn carta, which carry It more rapidly to the nearest fighting troops, perhaps twenty miles away. The teamster then returns, taking two days, as he had on the outward trip, and on the fifth day rests while his cart la being reloaded. Only bread was thus transported from Kostendll. It was In good, round, appetizing loaves, weighing two pounds of half wheat half rye bread, which rej mains soft and palatable for fifteen ! days. I had partaken of it myself, as no other was available. The entire population lives on this bread now. No one thinks of baking any other during time of war. Life In these places Is now entirely absorbed by the war. Two-thirds of me inopi are inui aiiu uic unuma us carrying rifle* and wearing uniform*. All bakeries have been requisitioned for the army and axe baking army bread day and night Women and children are helping. School-boys and students wear neat uniforms and help where they can. The students are clerks at the railway stations or public offices and act as police and contable*. On leaving my hotel I saw a young student scarcely more than fifteen, in uniform, dragging a long sabre by his aide. He was the village policeman and was ' proud of his office. A Kaiser 8tory.?The following anecdote of the kaiser Is taken from Excelsior, whery it is stated to be vouched for by a member of the German Tacht club. The Hohenzollern was entering a Norwegian harbor some time ago. The kaiser became very impatient with the slow progress made, and himself Sounded the telegraph to quicken up the speed. Immediately, to the kaiser's great amazement, the pilot, a gray-headed Norwegian named Norohuns, rushed to the speaking-tube and shouted to the engineers: "Slow, slow. Pay no attention to the telegraph!" The kaiser's anger was great at the affront "Pilot, .... consider yourself under arrest" "I shall not leave this place," replied the pilot without turning a hair. "I am in command of the ship, and no one?not even an emperor?shall give me orders." The end of the story is inevitable. "The officers present looked at each other in silence," it continues, "knowing that all the rules of the sea were on the pilot's side; but they were amazed to see his majesty leave the bridge and allow the pilot to take the yacht through the straights without Interference." The finale reads like any fairy story. The next day the kaiser's bad humor had entirely disappeared, and he bestowed a decoration on the old pilot, at the same time appointing him his official pilot In Norwegian watera?Westminster Oazetti. Electricity and Its Uses. There was an old sign In a downtown window which read: "We will be a mother to you." It was a standing Invitation for lone bachelors to go inside and be patched and mended and have buttons resewed. But If a couple of enterprising women offered to be a mother to a comparatively few men, what name shall we anniv tn alentriHtv ? I? there anything -ffv V - ? ? - _ now that the electric current la not called upon to perform? In some homes It not only lights the house, but warns it of burglars. It rings the front door bell and sweeps the floor. It curls milady's hair and brushes the husband's shoes. If the house gets ablaze it rings the Are alarms. Attached to a fan it makes a cool breeze on a hot day and in winter it warms the room. It summons you to the telephone and then carries your message hundreds of miles in any direction. It brings the servant with a cup of coffee to your breakfast table, while at the same time it whirls the brush that grooms your horse in the stable. If it does not run your automobile, at least it saves the husky arm of your chauffeur by starting the engine for him. Hitched to a brush, this elusive but allpowerful force will polish your silverware. or it will massage your face. By car It will carry a man to his office, where all the motive power In his place of business Is supplied by this weirdest of all nature's forces. For the farmer, electricity can and does do wonderful things. It first separates the cream from the milk and then churns the butter. It does the family laundry and cuts the feed for the cattle. Coupled to a saw, electricity converts a tree Into firewood. It grinds the flour for bread and shells the corn for horses. With a little suction apparatus, electricity wil snatch the dust from your beloved books and make your picture frames look like new. It enables you to talk across an ocean and pretty soon no one will come to Philadelphia or go away from it except in a railway pulled by this invisible monster. And to think that one who lived only so short a while ago as Abraham Lincoln never saw an electric light!?Philadelphia Ledger.