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W >^TELfb0W <~ -^3=SEBY © IOTA. =Bciri>- CHAPTER XL. " Qwex’s duty-forced efforts to comfoji her father were inces sant, tnd rather tragic; he said .very little and worked his usual aumher of hours conscientiously it his latest work, but the best part of him was away. Hishead bowed a little more every day, his aUp fell a little more heavily, L is eyes lost a fresh spark of life; e w*s followirg his wife in his atieet, well bred manner, with eitfter cry nor moan. Stdden fits of half conpunc ious duty would now and again eile upon him, and remind him e pau a daughter who also knew ioitow; then he would pursue vreu softly, aud catch her, no |matt«r how inconvenient it might be, and ply her with questions on embarrassing top ics. Gwen was very gentle with him and us i to do him small services w «.i a curious j shy anxiety that had a touch of 1 molherliness in it. Cne day late in August Mrs. Felowes was sitting down for a brief rest, when to her astonish- mentGwen was announced; she nevef sought her of her own ac cord since her mother’s death. She s it down now quite natur ally, and looked round the room with a pleased smile. ‘Ahl you have altered that bracket, it used to be in the other corner! And the piano, I hardly know if I like it there—I believe I do. I wonder why tea is never an atom like yours, is it the cream, on the cups, or what?” When she had drunk her tea she put the cup down and said suddenly, “I w >uld like to go to Strange Hall next week; will you come with me?” I “Next week !” repeated Mrs. fellowes. 1 “Yes, I know this sudden move looks rather insane, but I have been thinking it over for some time. The child is Humph rey’s, it has a right to bo born in the home of its father, and— and I cannot go without you!” I shouldn’t dream of letting you, my Gwen, only you took me by surprise. Mary will go too, of course, but about your father?” Gwen looked disturbed. “I don’t know. Do you think my going or staying would make much difference to him?” ‘,1 do, dear, a very great dif- erence, but he will think as 1 do, low you have spoken, that you Te doing right. When we are >way John will be with him very moment he can spare.” “As if I did’nt know that!” ffwen said. “I will tell him to- light.” To the amazement of all, Mr. Varing, as soon as he had f-asptd the equation, rose to it a a remarkable, quiet way; the proceeding on Gwen’s part struck him as most fit and pro per, and he braced himself up to support her. He also announced his intention of accompanying the ccrh-fje. In the first shock of his resolve Gwen winced; the fact of carry- iug him in her train and on such an errand brought a spice of lu dicrousness into the affair that seemed to her ghastly. The day before they started she surprised him i his study, grasping in one hand a heap of manuscript in her mother’s pret ty hand writting and reading with knit brows a copy of Cha- vasse’s “Advice to Mother.” This was too much for Gwen; she escaped to her room, and cried and laughed, and cried and iaughed agin in a perfect parox ysm of grief and piteous amuse ment. It was in the end quite a toss- up as to Gwen’s ever seeing her baby at all, she hovered so loug on the borders of death. Her si lent lonely enduring anguish had shattered her more than any of them had guessed, and then, as ill-luck would have it, the first ’ound that struck on her ear "'hen consciousness was coming br k was the shrill shriek of her ' .’sty boy. Day after day she held the thild and pondered over it; she wis very gentle, and ate and (hank in an absent way all that /as given her, but she hardly spoke at all; some leaven was J irking in her. f Then this haunting, sweet-bit- v pain is motherhood.” she ♦nought, the first day she was p, as she watched the sleeping ' hild gobbling a red fist, “and it’s for this that one half the '/omen in the world live and brood Madonna-like over their infants, with that awful peace in their eyes which takes the commonness from the most com- nwn of them! Goodness, what would’nt I give for just the mer est knowledge of that mother and broods and the world! That painted wretch down stairs is teeming with it, and—it’s bitter, it's terrible, to want your moth er as I want mine now, to teach ne the meaningof motherhood!” 8bs stood up, and leaned for- ardover tl « baby. “If this feeling grows much *aor$ in me I shall go mad,” she murmured, “I am quite sane now. Baby, my own little ba by, can’t you help me, to lie in absolute i tquch with the beauti f ul mysterious things that t he crown of womanhood? S°um ingly not,” she said, turning away, “with all your warm sweetness. 1 believe I have a fair understanding of this part of a mother; I could make a fool of myself over the tiny thing there, 1^ could—Oh!—Mother, mother! Can I never forget you over my hands! Must a new heartache spring up every hour? Is there rest nowhere?—Ah, Humphrey, if only I weren’t mvself and vou weren’t just you. I’d setoff this minute and find you!—Certainly l am mad. and here are Mrs. Fellowes and Mary upon me!” CHAPTER XLI. About a month after herchild's birth, an urgent message came from Strange’s steward to Lady Strange. He was very ill and must see her. She drove to his house and found him dying, and infinitely concerned that he could not de liver up his stewardship into his master s hands. He was a man who had always rather suffered from hypertrophied conscience, and perhaps lie exaggerated the importance of his office, and the impossibility of getting any one to follow him in it; at any rate he impressed Gwen a good deal, and rather put her on her mettle. After reviewing|the situation, she came to the conclusion that if no one else could keep things straight she would undertake to do it herself. As she took off her things, a new complication struck her; to do this she must be on the spot, and how would that suit her father? She was rather absent and full of tne question when she got down to tea, and Mrs. Fellowes, as a sort of cure and antidote to her wistful aloofness, went and brought the baby. And then Mr. Waring came in and con templated it silently, as he had done every day since it was born. Gwen told them of Hopkins, and in a rather shy tentative way spoke of her project. To her astonishment Mr. War ing woke up fully, and spoke with hearty approval of it; then without giving her a chance to reply, he went out; but soon re turned with a large parcel of manuscript, tied up laboriously with string, the knots all over it in haphazard style. “This is the book,” he said slowly, and with frequent paus es, “on which we had worked so long; it is at last complete. It is sad, is it not, that it is only I, who am here to see the end? 1 have been more than afraid that I should be unable to finish it, it is hard to work alone, old habits are strong within us—I will at tempt no new work.” He swayed a little end leaned heavily on the table. “You, my daughter, have your work here, you must up hold the house of your husband and of his first-born: to-morrow I will go home.” Gwen attempted to say some thing, but he mentioned her to silence. “ You may perhaps think your duty is with me; it is not, it is here, and here you must remain to guard your husband’s lands, and to cherish his child. It is the soul that is just entering life that needs all your care, not that which is done with it.” Then he went and stood over the child, and suddenly some vague old feeling surged up in him and he raised his hands that trembled above its head, and his lips were moved by a mute blessing. Mrs. Fellowes intended going herself that week, as she was a good deal wanted at home, but she could not bring herself to leave Gwen entirely alone, and then she had not heard a word of Humphrey from his wife’s lips for more than a montb now, and his letters to her, after one she got of his perfect recov ery, were anything but satisfac tyry; they were short and dry and told her nothing. Then, as the missionary he was in pur suit of, had escaped through the intervention of friendly blacks some other way, and was al ready on his way home, proba bly preparing his experiences for the religious press. Humph rey’s continued presence in Afri ca was simply rediculous, and she was in a fever of anxiety as to the next step of this most try ing couplfl. A few nights after, she was very glad she had decided to re main. She had just fallen off into her first seep when she was awakened by a violent shake, and found Gwen standing ab<*ve her, white and rigid and too ter rified to speak. She pulled her out of the room and into the nursery by her nightdress sleeve, to show her baby in very bad convulsions in the nurse’s arms. The whole night through, two women watched the strange cruel possession that twisted and contorted the small fiower- like face and the tender limbs, aud the next day the spasms ceased and a sharp attack of bronchitis set in. Gwen’s mute tense agony up set even the old doctor, who as a rule was emotion proof enough; he would have given a great deal to have been able to reas sure her. but he could uot in conscience do so; the child was about as dangerously ill as it was possible for it to be. But he came of a lustv stock, and fought gallantly for life, while his mother hovered breathless above him and allow ed no one but herself to touch him for any service, and when she absolutely could keep her eyes open no longer, she would trust him to no one but Mrs Fellowes. As she fought desperately for her child’s life, the girl for the first time in her own, lost herself in supreme self forgetfulness,and then at last the latent truth in her nature broke through its bonds and unfolded itself hour by hour, and overpowered though she was by grief and ter ror ou the child’s account, Mrs. Fellowes blessed God and re joiced. The splendid reserves of the girl’s tenderness, her lovely frank abandonment to her new found motherhood, fairly stag gered the elder woman. She could hardly keep control of herself, she felt so small, so humble, so absolutely unfit to do as she ought to do. There was to her something most holy, most reverent in the awakening of this virgin mother; she felt almost indecent in her greedy absorption of its regal loveliness, and this time God did stay His hand and His heart inclined it self to mercy. Seven days after the beginning of the illness a little ray of hope set to play in the doctor’s eyes, and sent a wave of new sweet life rushing through Gwen’s veins. The next day, and the next, this grew and strengthened, and at the end of the day after that the doctor spoke with perfect confidence, and he added: “I never until now knew ex actly how much a mother’s love can do, Lady Strange. You are an incomparable nurse.” When we went away Gwen still knelt by the cot. with moist eyes, and looked at the baby, who suddenly stirred, and awoke, and began to watch her in that tei rible all-knowing way babies have, then a little waver ing ghost of a smile touched its mouth. Gwen waited with part ed lips, and the smile grew and took proper tangible human shape, till the tender mouth gave a little tremble with it and and the eyes widened, and sud denly, to Mrs. Fellowes’ horror. Gwen fell back against he in a dead swoon. When she had recovered and they had brought her to her room, she fell asleep at once, and it was midnight when she awoke. She got up directly and stole softly out to see her baby, who was sleeping peacefully with Mrs. Fellowes on guard. “He couldn’t possibly be bet ter,” she whispered, “you must go back to bed at once.” “And you—you must too, you look green with tiredness.” She knelt down by the cot with a little soft cooing sound that half frightened herself; she turned her head to find out where it came from; when she knew she smiled up at Mrs. Fel lowes, and her eyes were radiant with a sweet mystery. When she came in to see her baby next morning she carried a telegram she had just written, in her hand. It was to Strange and very simple. “Will you come?” it said, “we want you, baby and I.” “Read it,” she said to Mrs. Fellowes, “and wil you send it yourself?” She stooped over the cot for a long time, and nothing was to be seen of her but the tips of two pink ears. ume of new life has flowed into howl now quite easily: he has me, I could move the world at been at ‘Chava'se’ again,’ and this moment; not to say carry 1 to rather an awful extent.” this mite I am a woman at last, a full, complete, proper woman, and it is magnificent. No other living woman can feel as I do; other women absorb these feelings as they do their d ii'y bread and butter, and they have to them the same placid everyday taste, they slip into their womanhood; mine has rushed into me with a great tor rent—I love my husband, I wor ship him, I adore him—do you hear, my dear 1 ” She stopped in her march, and turned on Mrs. Fellowes a radi ant triumphant face. “Ah, if 1 hadn’t you to tell all this to,. I would go out into the fields and shout it aloud. And what are you crying for? I am not mad. I am, I suppose, what Humphrey would call natural, but somehow it makes me feel too big for the room. Hold the child while I open the windows.” Mrs. Fellowes, as soon as she got hold of him, carried him off to the nursery, and simply in sisted on Gwen’s lying down and holding her tongue “Do you want to bring a fever on yourself,” she demanded sternly, “and be a scarecrow when Humphrey comes? You are shockingly young, my Gwen!” She was sane after that, and tried to behave as if nothing had happened to her, but the change in her was quite visible to the naked eye. Next day she buck led to her steward's work with a whole hearted dominance, that insured success, and Mrs. Fellowes went borne to her hus band big with happy news. When five weeks had passed, and she had neither message nor sight of Humphrey, Gwen’s magnificent abandonment of joy had a break, and a trembling came into it, and into her eyes a wave of fear, and every time she came in from her work in the village or on the home farm, she betook herself to the baby to steady her nerves. And then the press began to set flying little gnat-like biting doubts as to Strange’s unac countable silence, after it was ascertained through a long de layed scrap of a note to Mrs. Fellowes that he had joined an ivory expedition into an unset tled district. Then, toadd to her anxieties, the missionary, grate ful for his intended capture, ran down to Strange Hall, and being rather an ass, and having been left with only the tail end of a constitution—a solemn and gloomy one—ne gave her a most lurid and awful impression of those parts into which Humph rey had penetrated. She put a brave front on, but she had a shocking time of it, aud her usual song to her baby, in exactly Humphrey’s tones was: “Dann willst kleiuel” du weine, du leibe CHAPTER XLII. “How soon can he come?” said Gwen, when Mrs. Fellowes returned after sending th'' mes sage. “I have been counting up, it must be three weeks even if he is at the coast; if he is inland, it may be longer. Now the mis sionary is safe, he must be just hunting; he will be sure to get my message without much de lay.” She spoke rapidly and walked about the room with her boy n her arms. She hasn’t a doubt as to his reply to her message,” thought Mrs. Fellowes; “how absolutely she trusts him!” Will he wonder when he sees “Yes, he is failing day by day, and unfolding himself at the same time. I never quite real ized befire how beautilul and single hearted his character is; he comes now to see me, or rather to sit and meditate in my presence, after he has been to your mother's grave, and when he has sat and rested, he speaks of you. You can gather the way, I fancy, from his letters—oh, the quaintness, the pathetic grotes queness of his remarks!” “ I have often wanted to ask vou if Mr. Fellowes ever brings his professional capacity to bear on my father?” asked Gwen “Never. ‘Only God is fit to undertake the care of such a soul as his,’ John says, ‘neither he nor his soul are subject to or dinary laws, each lives out the life given it to live.’ Good gra cious! fancy John or any other parson attempting to shove the ology into such a nature, or to dig down after his beliefs! Gwen, darling, you may be in good condition, but how very tired you look!” “Tired! Oh yes, I am, I can not tell you how tired! At first I used to live in a whirl so as to tire myself, now there’s no need of it, lam just as tired when I get up as when I go to bed, and nothing will drive the days on, and the endlessness of life sick ens one. I feel creepy enough to please anyone, goodness knows, but even if Humphrey | never comes, I will neither wear crepe nor put on any of the trap pings of decent widowhood, for I know he never got my mes sage If he is dead, he died knowing nothing, 1 am no hon est widow of his; and I will wear hats to the end of the chapter, and possibly grow fat and outri val Lady Mary, who knows! “You see my life is a healthy one, I ride miles a day all over the farms, there isn’t a fact con cerning manure I couldn’t tell you: as to drainage, I feel like turning into a pipe myself; I have even a medicine chest, and doctor the babies, Heaven help them. If I could only follow him as he would me, it would be less awful, but you see, there’s baby, my place is here, and I must just stand and wait like those wretched creatures in the hymn. As for those relief expe ditions, though I send checks, I look upon them as a farce, as if he wanted to be caught and brought home like a mission ary.” “It seems to me you are on the go from morning to night; what time do you leave yourself for sleeping?” “Uh, any amount, more than 1 want.” “How long did } ou sleep last night?” “Oh, I forget. Are you too tired to drive to a farm about a mile a wav?” “Tired. No, dear,” stooping down and kissing her, “but must you go? Lie down, and let me read to you.” Anything in the shape of ten derness was just the one stroke too much for Gwen; she gave a quick dry sob and moved away. “I can’t stand that sort of thing,” she said, “I told you I had maudlin. Treat me as you would a nice orthodox Christian widow, who wears crepe and caps and gets to the proper state of thinness pulling herself up, however, just short of scraggi ness like a self-respecting crea ture. And now we must hurry, for I hear the carriage.” She turned round as she was leaving the room, and laughed. “I am altogether losing tone. Do you know that young Will Dyer—Sir William’s black sheep, whom I have been occu- of IT THE HEAD of the Procession! Although but a short time in the city Darlington, we are today the ACKNOWLEDGED LEADERS in our line. The day has come when, to successfully cater to an intelligent people, it takes both BRAINS and CAPI TAL, as well as a thorough knowledge of your business. This we claim to have. 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At last she came over from the station in a fly, a day or two before she was expected; and found Gwen in Strange’s den, which showed tokens of her all over the place, playing with her child, now a big fellow who beat the record in the matter of crawling. When the nurse took him at last, Gwen said to Mrs Fellowes rather grimly. “The county considers I should wear a widow’s cap, and pying my spare moments in be Bowles&Son, Painters. How To Make Money. Every $1 saved is a dollar made, buying from You can save money by the following goods: FLOUR, TOBACCO, I am here—will he guess why I your father.” sport crepe, and my horrible state of plumpness makes me to stink in their nostrils. Just look at my arms! 1 wish I could oblige them,” she went on wear ily, “and bear my woe accord ing* to tho rules of decency. Lady Mary rolled down on me and stayed a week, and nev6r got out what she came to say until I was putting her into the railway carraige on her way back to London; then she pro duced her rebuke on the top of a sign, and began a prayer, but the train started before she got well into it. “ ‘My dear’ she said, ‘I think that under the circumstances a plain black gown and a bonnet —and then, my dear Gwen, if by any means you could man age, ahem, not to add to your plumpness—people in our posi tion must set an example—I as sure you, for myself, I lost eight pounds and a half the first six months of my widowhood.’ “The she began her rather ir relevant prayer.” “Gwen, sit down, and I’ll make tea, and tell you about came?” she went on in her glad excitement. “Darling sweet, beauty! What wilt he think of yoif?” and put her hands to her hot head. “I forget everything but my- lively guarantee! to give down, or let me self and this fatten ing misery of or the meney will be refunded. It is admitted to be the most re- ing a mother to, and in trying to detach from the d^vil—began yesteiday to make violent love to me?” “I don’t wonder?” “Good gracious me, why?” s. “Look at your face! You are a woman now, my good Gwen.” “And is this the first result? God help us! Is my one pride in life to become a thorn in my flesh?” “That's as you take it! It will, unless you are careful, be a very considerable thorn in other- er people's. Good gracious, child, why even virtue in women is very much a matter of tem perament, and where the tem perament is, there will oppor tunities be gathered together.” [to be continued.] TUBS, BUCKETS, MEASURES, BASKETS, TIN BUCKETS, PANS, CUPS, A Quarter Century Test. For a quarter of a century Dr King’s New Discovery has been tested, and the millions who have received benefit from its use testify to its wonderful cur ative powers in all diseases of Throat, Chest and Lungs. 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