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mm AND ARMS By HUGH CONWAY. Axttlur of "Called Back." "Dark Dayt," "A Fam?y Affair," Etc. CHAPTER V. "that it should come to this." We reached town on tLe Monday night and slept at an hotel. Thursday morning we were to start for the continent. Besides the interview with Eustace Grant 'here were many business matters to which I was bound to attend. I bad to see my own solic itor, and give him instructions about the settlement which I wished to make on Viola. I had also to make my will, a matter which until now I had neglected; so that the Tuesday and "Wednesday rromised to be iully occupied. Viola also v jtd.cd to pay a visit to her old friend, Miss Rossifcer. The prim spinster ? ould never forg.ve her if she passed through town without calling. She did not press me to accompany her. Perhapc, in the present changed and unex pected state of affairs, she had much to say to ber old friend which could not well be said in my presence. So I suggested she should go alone to her old norm, spend an hour with her* friend and meet me at Mr. Monk's at 12 o'clock. In the mean times I would go to my own solicitor's and arrange my business, the purport of which I did not make known to my wife. I hired a private brougham for ber. placed her in it and stood at the win dow saying adieu. It was the first time since our marriage that we had been partol for an hour. It was, moreover, her twenty first birthday, and on her hand was a ring which I had just given her?a ring the value of which had startled her, for she had not yet realised what it was to bo a rich man's wife. It teas the first time we had parted for an hour. As I wishad her g-iod-by I remembered that my own busiuess would take some time. ' **If I am not very punctual, ycu won't mind waitingr' I raid. "No, I stall like it. Eustace will bo there, and I have so much to say to him? so much to ask him Don't hurry. Julian." Ifanciei that Viola wished to sea Eus tace Grant alone, if possible, in order to persuade him, a? she had tried to persuade that we ha I only to know more of each to be like brothers. She could not stand che gulf between two men who rthe same woman. I thought it was ?be should see him. He, would make I to harr- the ^impossibility of any thin;: i friendship existing between us. Just "as i was about to bid llio coachman drive off Viola looked at mo with a little pout. I knew its meaninp. I passed my head through the carriage window. My shoul ders insured strict privacy. Then a light kiss fell upon my lips, aui a word of love passed between us. I Imger on these- trivial evidences of affection. It will soon be seen why. I watched the carriago which held all I loved join in in the broad stream of traffic. Then I lighted my cigar, and, the happiest man in England, walked over to my solic itor's. My business took even longer than I ex pected it would. There was miich to dis cuss. Whafcstock could be settled as it stood ?what fchocid be sol I out?who wore to be ' trusteei?what was tojdiappen in the event of Viola's death: was she to have power of appointment or not? All sort; of questions like this had to be ventilated. The conse quence was that when I glanced at my watch I foend it was nearly 1 o'clock. I told my solicitor I must defer giving in structions for my will until to-morrow. I jumped into a cab and drove to Lincoln's Inn Fields, No. 86, rendy to make the full est apologies for my unpanctuality. I went up stairs, found Mr. Monk's office, and sent my name in to him by his clerk, 1 was invited to eater h - private room. Mr. Monk was busy with mo papers. "You will find yo ; friends in the nest room, Mr. Loraine," he said. "I will join you in a moment." The clerk opened a gi*een baize door, through which I passed, and found myself in another office. In it, however, were r.o signs of Viola and Grant I returned to Mr. Monlr^ and told him they were not there. "Then they must have grown tired of waiting for you, and have gone for a strolL There is a door which opens into the pa* 8aget No doubt they went that way. You must sit down and take your turn at wait ing, Mr. Lcraine." 1 waited half an hour, then determined to go in search of them It was impossible they had gone to look for me; so I went down into the street and asked the driver ot the brougham if he had reen the lady. "Yes, sir; she went by about an hour ago with a tall gentleman." ?'Which way!" "I don't know, sir. 1 saw them hail a cab and drive off. I didn't notice in which di rection they went" "Why in the world should they have taken a cab, when the brougham was at the door? I was very cross at the thought of Viola's driving about London in a cab with Eustace Grant; but, as the brougham was still wait ing at No, 36, it was clear that they meant to return. After all, the best thiug I could do was to wait. As yet, not a thought of the truth had ventured to invade my brain. So I waited on the pavement outside Mr. Monk's ofiice for at least an hour longer. Still no sign of my wife. I grew norvous and anxious. Surely some accident must have happened?something that obliged her to go straight to the hotel. But even then Grant would have coma to let me know it Still not a thought of the dreadful truth! But whore could she be? I jumped into the brc ugiium, and drove to the hotel. No; Mrs. Loraine was not there 1 drovo to Miss Rossiter's. Viola had been there in the morning, but had left about 11:30 o'clock. I did not see Miss Ros siter, who, I was sorry to boar, was ill in bed. As a last resource, I drove to Grant's house and asked for him. He was out Had not been homo since the morning. Quite uncertain when he would return. ; was now past 3 o'clock. Anxious and I could do nothing but go back to el and wait my wife's return. Still ought of the truth, nt thorost of the afternoon and eraa pyed, ing passing from the hotel ? Miss EossitePs, from there to Grant's lodgings, and from Grant's lodgings back to the hotel Only at one of these three places could I hope to find tidings of "Viola. R-ipeatedly ns I had called, it was not until nearly 11 o'clock that I found Eustace Grant at home But by now I was in a different mooX ghall I be blamed for saying that this U>ug an! uno?p'aine i absence of Viola's in com pany, itsa.'UK: !, with Grant, brought a hor rible dread which I scarcely dared to breathe to mysilif Tiic news that Graut was at last ut home lifted a weight from my heart He would bi able to tell me when and where ho part3l with Viola No doubt ho ba 1 a message f < r me which would clear up ev rything. But aith ?ugh Mr. Grant was at home, the servant informed mo that ho would S3e no one to-night I made no comment on this denial. I Bimply forc:d the door open, and, putti ig the frig'dencl servant aside, strode through the hall and entered the sitting room in which Grant had, on tho night when I first met him, interrogate! me. It was empty. I threw myself into a chair, and waited until some one made my presence known to the man whom I was bent upon s.-eiug. No doubt he heard thenoiseof my forcible entrance. In a minute the folding door, which, as Is often the case in lodgings, divided tho sitting-room from the be 1-room, opened, and Eustace Grunt appearsd As he diu so I caught a glimpse of tho bed room from which ho emerged. An open portmanteau, apparently half packed, was lying on the bed, and thjre were other evi deuces of preparation fcr a journey. Grant advanced toward me, but ho made no pretense of greeting me. He neither offered his han I nor bad ) me good evening. I rose and facod him. He was pale, almost ghastly polo. His brows were bent, and a (light twitch of the nostril told me he was suffering from somo great, though suppress.'!, emotion. . He looked at me haughtily and angrily; but whatsoever he had wherewith to reproach himself, there was neither fear nor triumph in his gnz\ 1 looked at htm and wondered but I felt certain that he knew all about Viola's absence. Still, as thatabs3:ice might even now be satisfactorily explainoi, I .resolved that I would not, by evincing pr?mature distrust or suspicion, 1st this maci triumph over me So I spoke with forced composure: "Mr. Grant, I have missed my wife somewhere. Can you give mo tidings of her!" "I cannot," he replied, coldly. "Where did you part with her? You left Mr. Monk's with her in a cab. Where did you leave her?" "I cannot tell you, Mr. Loraine." "Do you mean that you are ignorant of her whereabouts?" "You have had my answer." *dy blood boilol. "You mean you will not, dare not tell me, you utter villain I" I cried. "I will know, or I will kdl you!" Th) table was between us, or I should have sprung at his throat. "I care nothing for your threats, Mr. Lo raine," he siid, with galling contempt "Wherever Mrs. Loraine may be, sbo is there of her own free choico." "Siic is here?in this house with ycul" 1 exclaimed. "Look for her?senrc'i everf cuploard and cranny. I will ring; you shall bo con ducted over the wholo building. Make it public property that you are a j?alou'i hus band looking for a faithless wife. No; that shall not be done, for her 6ako. Wherever she is, she is not here." He spoke as if expecting me to boliovo him. Strange to say, I did balicve him The thought that bis nous-1 would be'the last place in which he would hide Viola from my search, no doubt conduced to this bo liof. Bus now I could no longer doubt tho horrible truth. This man, by some develish craft, had torn my wife from me?had takon away tho woman who, a few hours ago, pressed a Judas' kiss on my lips, even as she was going to m?>t her lover. Stay! perhaps he lud killed her. Such things have boon done before now by men who fail to win the woman they love. Per haps he had decoyed her away, and was de taining her against her w?l Even now she might bo longing for me to come and free her. All these thoughts whirled through my brain,, and for a momont unmanned me. I sank upon a chair, cold and trembling in every limb. Grant stood like a statue.until I recovered myself. "You villain!" I gasped. "I will know? I will see her! Tell ma where she is!*' He leaned forward. Ho looked at mo sternly. "Listen!'' he said, in a fierce voice. "In this room I said to you, Tako bor, and make her happy.' Have you done soP I laughed wildly. Tf being willing to shed ono's blooi for her can make a false woman happy, she should have bsen happy. Doos she expect to find bliss in a life of shame with you?" Hisoyes blazod. "You had better- go!" ho said. "Go at once!" I lttughoj mockingly. Now that I had lost all hope; now that my one desire was vengeance I could speak calmly. "I shall stay Here," I said, "until you leavo to join her. I shall follow and be with you. Suroly a bridegroom car claim the right of bidding his bride Got!speed! Here 1 stay." For reply Grant rang the bell "Leavo the front door and this door wide open," he said to tho servant; "then go out of tho way." Ho came toward me. I started to my feet and struck fair and full at his white, set face. Ho parried thj fierce blow, and in a moment his arms were around me. Although physical strength is an accident, or ut tho most an inheritance, no mau likes to confess that another is immeasurably his superior in muscular power. S > it Ls with feelings of keen annoyance that I am obliged /to relate the result of that hand-to-hand struggle. I was strong, and bad measured my strength with many, but never with such a man ns this. The moment wo closed I felt that I should be conquered; tbet right doos not always gain the victory. Grant's arms were like bars of iron, the girth of his chest almost abnormal; moreover, h>5 stood two inches taller than I did. Had I been told that any man could have lifted me from my fe*t carried me through two open doors, and finally thrown me staggering into the center of tho roadway. I should havo laughed tho idea to scorn. But Eus tace Grant did all this, and shut and bolted the outer door before I could recover my self. Mad with the rage of defeat, I grasped the railings and panted for breath. Icursel Eustace Grant. I cursed my faithless wife. I cursed myself and my impotence. Such was my state that could I have obtaino i a pistol, I would have waited on that door step and shot the man who hail betrayed me, as soon as ho emerged from his place of safety?shot him dead without compunc tion. Nor was my :nind any way soothed by hearing the window thrown up, and see ing my hat tossed oat contemptuously. I was fain to stoop and pick it up, in order to save myself from Incoming an object of curiosity to passcrsby. What was I to do? My mind at present sould only grasp ono fact?that Grant had, by some diabolical means, induced Viola to leave mo and givo herself to him. For a while my course seemed limited to one issue: I must wait hero, outside bis house, until at last he cam? forth. Then I must dog his footsteps until they led me to the feithless woman who had ruined my life aud brought me to shame. I groaned at the thought of what little more than twelve houri had done. This morning I was the happiest man in England; to-night I was the most miserablel So, for hours I walked up and down in front of the house which bald the traitor. I saw the light extinguisho 1. Once or twice I saw the blind drawn. aside, and guessed that Grant was looking out to see if I had left my post. No, you traitor 1 you villain I X am still there, and shall be thjre until you came out. Then I will dog you to the bitter end. The hours went by, the dawn began to break. Still?an object of curiosity, if not suspicion, to the policeman?I kept my post, and should have kept it for hours longer, had it not all at once occurred to me that so long as I was there so long would Grant remain where he was. I must meet craft with craft. Nevertheless, I must perforce keep watch until I could find some one to n'hem the task might be deputed. At 7 o'clock I was able to gain admission to an old-fashioned family and commerc al inn which stood some short distance off. Tho bay window of the coffee room com manded a view of Grant's house. Here I seated myself, and, having obtained a Lon don directory, wrote and dispatched a letter to a well-known private detective, request ing that a clever, trustworthy man might at once be rent to me Then, from the win dow ot the hotel, I resumed my watch. At 9 o'clock the man whom I had sum moned arrived I told him what to do. He was to wait until be saw Grant depart; He was to follow him, and, having ascertained his destination, was to telegraph to mo at once. Then I loft the accursed spot, went back to my hotel, and tried to sleep. Ar I eDtered the room which Viola and I had occupied I could almost persuade my self that I had dreamed the events of the last twenty-four hours. All her personal effects were as she left them; her gloves, her brushes, her toilet indispensables were all there. Even her watch she hal left behind her. She broke the spring at the seaside, and there was no time to get it re paired before wo started for the continent; besides, I bad intended buying her a new one in Paris. To-morrow?yes, to-morrow would be Thursday?to-morrow we had proposed crossing to France. HeavensI what did it all mean? Sleep, with my mind in this whirl, was unattainable. Later in the day, more for something to dothan in pursuance of any hope, I went to Viola's old home nnd asked if she had been there to-day. No, not pinco yesterday morning. This the servant rather wondered at, as Miss Rossiter war, very ill; two doctors were with her now. In my present frame of mind I cared nothing for the old lady's illness; but I knew that the motive which kept Viola from her side when suffering must be a 6trong one. Yet, little a woman who could leave her husband, as she had left me, would reck for the ailments of a friend! Curves on her false, fair facel The hours passed somehow. At 3 o'clock a telegraphic message was brought me. I tore it open. It was sent froui Folkestone, aud ran so: "Followed him here. He left by Bou logne boat "Was joined on pier by lady. Tall, closely veiled, fair hair. Wore costly ring cf diamonds. Seemed ill and upset. Did not follow to France, having no in structions to leave England." The last the very last hope was gonj! Viola and Eustace Grant had fl Sd together! I ground niy teeth. I bit my lip; mitii the blood came. I cursed 'the dotoetlee's stupidity at not having followed them, if needs be, half over th> world. Surel.' I hud Riven the fool ample instruction-! For the luture, I would trust no one but myself. 1 throw a few things into a portmanteau; I rang for a time table. Was there a train I could catch?was there a ste?t'w' which' crossed to-night? Perhaps, at B.u'"guc, I might get once more on the track of the fugitives. But before I had solved the doubt ntx/ut trains and steamers, I had changed my mind. Why should I follow.' JL.'t them go, and my curse go with them. 1 will not take, at present, one step iu rursuit I will have vengeance, but vengeance by wailing will be the more complete. S^e! she must love this man madly, even as I loved her, or she would not have done this thing. He, too, must love her. Let my silence, my quiet ness, lull them into false security. Let them dream their dream of happiness, even as I dreamed mine, Thon I will find them and strike! For I swore that sooner or later, by fair means or foul, Eustace Grant should die by my hand! CHAPTER VL A CLEW. I hate the task of describing what manner of lifo I led during the next two years. I hate tho memory of everythitrg connected with that time. I wish it could be blotted out from my mind. Two years which hold no action, no thought of my own to which I can look back with any pleasure. I must writo of that wretched time, but I w ill make its record ns short as possible Nevertheless, I will 1? candid, and show myself in as bad a light as truth compels. I do not seek to excuse myself by saying that many another in my place would have acted as I acted. I hope there are few in the world who have passed through such grief and shame as mine. At first without for a moment losing sight of the vengeance which I meant to take on tho traitor, Eustace Grant, I set myself the task of forgetting tho false woman who had fled Irom my side. I vowed I would destroy the love I bore her, and learn to look upon her with scorn and contempt, as the basest of her sex. If the thought of suing for a divorce entered my hend I banished it at once. I cared not to resume my freedom. So long as I was bound t.i out- woman there was up chance of my being cajoled and deceived by another, if ever I could bo fool enough to love and trust another woman as I hod loved and trusted Viola. Besides, I shrank from the exposure; I shrank from the thought of being made a public laughing stock, asamau whose wife left him a fortnight after her marriage. No; I would teach myself to scorn, loathe, forget her?that was aid. But how to forget? If I cursed her by day I dreamed of her by night Then she came tome, sweet and pure as I thought heron the day when I made her my wife. I saw her soft eyes, her graceful form: I hoard her fresh young loving voice, and in my drecrna was happy, for I could never dream evil of her. But again and again, when I awoke, and remembered w hat she now was, I sobb d as few strong men permit the nisei ve.< to sob, and then only in the dead of night, when none can hear or see them. I would forget! I swore I would forget! So, ill search of forgetfulness, I plunged into a whirl of fierce dissipation. I became to all appearance ihe most reckless ot a reckless set I gambled for large sum-. I lost or won thou-nnds at a sitting; yet only proved to myself that I was as indifferent to money as 1 was to everything else save the loss of Viola. Curiously enough. "I did not ruiu myself at tho gambit; tui.le. On the whole, I won largely, and co constantly that my luck became a byword. My luck! I smiled bitterly as men spoke of me as "lucky Loraine."' I triod in every way to force the memory of Viola from my mind. For a while?I blush to say so?I drank to excess; perhaps I hope I to kill m v.-elL In these and other unworthy ways I passel half the year. Then came the reaction?the loathing of self?the disgust of the life I was leading. I sickened , at the sight of my boon com panions. Everything was weariness; noth ing brought tho flush of excitement to my cheek or carried mo for a moment away from my grief. Suddenly I turned my back upon all my pursuits. I went down to Herstal Abbey, which was now at my disposal, and, with as supreme a contempt for mankind as evor my predecessor felt, I buried myself even as he had done. And people around said that eccen tricity ran in families, and that young Mr. Loraino was following in his father's stops. But why during these months had I not sought the excitement of revenging myself upon the man who had wronged mi! Why had I not kept my vow of killing him when his dream of joy was at its height? Simply because I knew not where to look for Lim. He and his no less guilty companion had left no trace behind them?no clew that might be followed until it brought mo face to face with them. I had made inquiries, and inquiries were still being made on my behalf; but as yet I had not discover* 1 Grant's hiding place. He seemed to be a man with, so far as I could ascertain, no friends or connections. Miss Rossiter, with whpm it is possible he or Viola might have corresponded, died two days after tho elope ment. . Her brother I found, but ho could give me no intelligence. Mr. Monk, the so licitor, acting, he said, on instructions, re fused to give me any. So I could do noth ing but grind my teeth and long for the hour when my path might once more cross Eustace Grant1 a I was fatalist enough to believe that, sooner or later, this must hap pen. I lived on in the dreary solitude of Her stal Abbey. Each day found me more cynical and misanthropical; but each day I renewed my vow of vengeance. Its ac~ complishmont was the only thing in lifo to which I could look forward. When Grant lay dead at my feet, life for me would be at an end. So the months passed. If tho orig inal Julian Lor-tine could have seen me as I sat hour after hour brooding In his chair, ho would have thought tho son of his adop tion well worthy of his choice. So the long months passed. Spring, sum mer, autumn, winter camo and went, mak I ing little difference to me. Once or twice 1 forced myself to quit my seclusion and pay a visit to London or Paris in the nope of finding distraction and forgetfulness. My efforts availed nothing, and I returned to my home more moody and miserable than when I left it I had, for tho sake of occupation, per formed a task until now postponed. I went through my reputed father's letters and private papers. I found nothing that in any way bore upon myself, except a written account of the shipwreck and my birth on the barren roc'.:. It was signed by the narrator. Although tho existence of this paper made no difference to me, I put it away under lock and key. Yet for all I ' I put it away ?nder lock and key. cared, the whole world might know that Julian Loraino was not my father. Such trivial things as accidents of birth were now matte? of indifference to me. Tho other papers I burned. I did not read one-half of them. They clearly showed what manner of man was Julian Loraine before ho bought Herstal Abbey and settled down to the lifo of a recluse. My life, I told myself, was spoiled?spoiled by a woiran's treachery 1 And yot I could not bring myself to hate her. No?let the truth be known?I loved her even now?loved her, although she was living in shame with my enamy. I hungered, I craved for a sight of her face. The touch of her hand would have thrilled mo ?s of old. Although I told myself that were she at my feet praying for pardon, I would spurn her and cast her fromme, I knew that I lied. I knew that if Viola came to me?if my eyes once more met hers?I should throw all manhood's prido to tho winds, and?such was tho strength of my passion?tako this faithless woman to my heart and hold nor there un til, as I told myself bitterly, somo fresh lover robbed mo again. Such being my true feeliug, picture my emotion when, ono morning. Ifound a letter lying on my table?a letter addressed to nie in Viola's handwriting! I tore itopen with a cry of delight; I pressed it to my lips. Had not her fingers touched it? Then I rend. It was but one line: "If you knew all, you might forgive." "If I knew all!" What more was there to know? I knew that she ho/1 left me without a word or a sign of warning; that she had fled, accompanied by a man who had loved her passionately long befuro I ever set eyes upon her; that they ware, somewhere or other, hidden from pursuit. Heaven! what more could I wish to know. "Forgive!" Yes?shamo on my weakness for say ing so?I could forgive. I could do more; I could persuade mysolf that this strong-willed man had forced her to fly with him, perhaps half against her wish. I could behove that she was unhappy, that she was penitent, that she loved me still. I could do mope than forgive, I could take her?I should be force! to take her?again to my heart; even to trust her, and be proud of her glorious beauty. Yes, I could do tt.is ?after I hai s-een Eustace Grant lying life less at my Let. Weak as I was, it could not 1? untU then! Where was he? Where was she? Were they together? I turned again to the etter. It gave me no information as to the writer's whereabout;. The paper and the envelope were plain; the latter bore the London postmark. It was creased, which told nie it hid been sent under cover tp bo posted in London. Sent to whom.' The receipt of this scrap of paper worked a great change in me. If I had ever been approaching that I state in which a man accepts tho inevitable, I it lifted me out of it i It spurred me on to make fresh exertions I to discover the retreat of the fugitives. I That letter?the letter written by her?I j carried next my heart dny and night I False as my wife had been to me, I lov ;d her; and there wore times when I recalled her sweet face, an 1 marveled how evil could have lurked boneath such a mask. I left Herstal Abbey nnd took up my quarters in town. There I should be ready to start on the moment I heard where Giant was to be fouuJ. But, somehow, l| was beginning to think that our meeting would bo brought about by pure chance. London is tho place where all chance meet ings occur. There are few Englishmen who i do not visit the capital, either at shorter or I longer intervals. Something must bring i Grant there; so I waited and hoped. Chance, pure chance, brought about what I longed for, but not in the way I ex pected. Idid not stumble across my foe in the street; I did not hear a chance mention of his name and so hit upon some cue >vho knew him. I found Eustace Grant iu this wise: This year a book, which at ones took the : public's fancy immensely, made its appear ance. It was but a novel, yet a wprk the depth and research of which, combined with its pathos and humor, arrested all readers' attention. People were curious to know who was the author. The title page bore one of those names which strike every ono a* being a nom do plume. Perhaps the book was net the less read because a certain aniruil of mystery was kept upas to who bad really written it Sometimes, not often, since that crushing blow had ;al len upon me, I read what hap pened to come in my way. This particular book was one which came in my way. I I began to read it, and am bound to say that the opening chapters were writteu by so masterly a hand that I at once experienced MOM thing of the general interest which the tale bad called forth. But before I had j read it hmf through, my interest and ex- I citement wore such as no author has by his 1 merits ever awakened in any reader. I gave a fierce cry of triumph. I threw the book from me as if it were a reptile I bad found Eustace Grant I For one chapter of that book contained an account of the hero's journeying through a part of Switzerland, and the account was the same as Grant bad given his auditors on tho night when I first met him, and hated and mistrusted him Several of the most'amusing and out-of-the-way incidents which he then related, and which were sufficiently droll and strange to impress themselves on my memory, were in these pages once more narrated. Eustaco Grant was tho author of the successful book. I ! thanked my memory, which had in a second 1 brought his adventures back to my mind; and memory brought back more than this. It brought back Viola, listening with smiles on her face to her guardian's (as she called him) amusing recital. It brought back the days when I wooed her; the day when I told her my love; the day when she was mine, as I thought, forever; the day, the black day, when she fie l?-when for hours and hours I waited and would not be hove the truth. It brought hack the last two wretched years of my life. It brought back all of which Eustace Grant had robbed me, and I laughed the laugh of a devil when I thought the time was at haud when ho should pay me for his act I trod bis book under my foot. Hypo crite, who could write of honor, virtue and truth, yet act as he had acted 1 Well, his time has come at lastl But now to f"nd him?to know where I must go, to stand face to face with him! The next morning I called on tho publish ers of tho boot I told them I had reason for lwlieving that its author was an old friend of mine. "Would they tell me his right name/ They could not They believed ho wrote under a pseudonym; but they knew him by no other. I asked if tbey could show mo a letter of his. Certainly. A letter was bandod inc. I placed it side by side with the letter which Grant had written me just before my marriage, and which I had for tunately preserved. I compared the hand writing; then returned tho author's letter to tho publishers. ??Thank you," I said. "I find I am mis taken. My friend is not such a fortunate man as I hoped to find him." Thon I went my way. Mistaken! No,'I was not mis taken ; but I feared lest, in writing to Grant, his publishers might mention tho fact of my having made these inquirios. No; every doubt was now sot at rest The t.\o letters, were written by tho same- man?written by Eustaco Grant. As .Hooked at tho second letter, I had impressed the address upon my memory. It was dated from St. Seurin, a place which, upon inquiry, I found was little moro than a fishing village on the west coast of Brittany. Thoy had not fled very far thenl Tho nearer the better I Every hour which must pass before Eustace Grant and I meet will be grudged by me. In forty-eight hours wo'mar be face to face! That evening I left London. My prepar ations for the journey were soon made. Among them was included tho purchas-3 of a pair of double-barreled breech-ioading pistols, which carried heavy bullets and were warranted to shoot straight as a line. I had already learned that in a hand to hand struggle my foe was my superior. I laughed as my fingers closed lovingly on the han dle of the weapon which placed ns on an equality. So I started to end Eustace Grant's dream as suddenly as he had ended mine! TO 1JE CONTINUED. MORE LIGHT ON THE Snbject. 1 will now devote my entire at tention to LAMPS! LAMPS! With an experience of ten years I am in a positiou to know what variety of Lamps to keep*on hand that will suit any purpose and give entire satisfaction. When in need of a Burner that will give you a large brilliant light call for "SOHENTRUE'S G U Alt A N TEE". I give full directions how to use it and a guarantee for a year with each Burner. Remember that "FAIR DEALINGS, LOW PRICES and BEST QUALITY is my Motto, and don't forget that whatever you may need In the way of or for a" Lamp you will be sure to get it at SORENTRUE'S BAR6AI.? STOICi:, Headquarters for Lamps, Jan 21-lyr For Snie. rpiIKEE TIIOROUIIBRED JER JL sey Bull Calves. One Thoroughbred Jersey Heifer Calf. One Grade Jersey Cow, two weeks in milk, with or without Calf. One Thoroughbred Registered Jersey Bull 22 mouths old. Two Registered Ayrcshirc Heifers. All of the above Cattle are of excellent strain and will be sold cheap. K. N. CIIISOLM, Maivh 18 Rowesville, s. C. ADIAL LATHKOl'. V. M. WANNA MA Kllll. Orangebiirg, S. C. St. Matthews, S. C. j ATIIROP& WAXXAMAKKK. ATTORNEYS AT LAW. Okangeuukg, s. c. Office Up Stairs Over the Postollice. CLEARING OUT SALE! AS THE SEASON IS NEAR AT HAND FOR PUTTING IN SPRING GOODO SPRING GOODkJ And wishing to make room, we will make it to the interests of all to call and get Great Bargains j As wc are determined not to cany over any Fall Stock. We still lead iu low prices and are Headquarters for GENT'S, YOUTH'S AND BOY'S CLOTHING. Our trade in Zeigler's Fine Shoes For Ladies was never better. Every pair guaranteed. Wo cany the largest and best Stock of Gent'.-> HAND-SEWED SHOES Li the market. All warranted. Gh-ooeries At CHARLESTON QUOTATIONS. COME AND-SEt?FORaYOURSELF. &E0. H. COMELSOH,