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him “That my name is Miriam King, that my husbandhasceaaed to exist, that, having come into a. little property lately, I had given up music belching and had advertised for a. comfortable home in a. clergyman’s famiiy, which advertise- 3W8! “Was I a. widaw? Then who had my husband been? Were you cartsln there had been. as Betay Prig would say, ‘sich a person"! I Could you vouch for my res- pectabillty’l” “Stop there!" Mrs. Archer interrupted. “Thanks to your manner, and to a certain look there is about you, no one has asked me that question yet." “And you? What: did you tell him?” “Why do you ask? What should I tell The room had grown dark in that half- hour; Mrs. Archer, who had been reading by the firelight, reluctantly closed her book and looked with rather dazed eyes at the girl. With that she struck some chords on the piano, and presently the room was {Med with the deep tones of a. rich contralto voice. Half an hour passed while Mrs. Archer read her novel and the young lady sang and played. At the end of that time she closed the piano, came and knelt, on the hearth rug, stretched her hands to the fire, and looked thoughtfully at the blaze. Suddenly, without turning her heard, she spoke. 7 _ “And what was Sir Robert inquiring about me?" she said. “Brotherâ€"what brother?” asked Mr- iam. carelessly turning over the music at the piano. “1 did not even know she had a. brother.” “Why, yes! He lives abroad; cameback quite unexpectedly the other day. I told you~alrl about it.” h “I do not recollect your having told me,” the girl said Lranqlnlly, putting a song before her and sitting down to the piano. “But I don’t want to hear. Go on with your book. Lady Hicka' brother does not. interest me in the least.” "‘Yes, do,” Mrs. Archer rejoined, her eyes wandering back to her book. She was an inveteratereader, and her taste in literature was not such as gave the Rever- end J amen unmitigated satisfaction. “Take something pretty. I suppose this brother of Lady Hicks will be there too. ” “It certainly is atrociouely tad beer," the other ladysaid. “Not that that need concern us, as we don't drink it. What does concern us is the very good use to which Sir Robert puts his money. Look at’this model parish of ours; no poorâ€"al- most no viceâ€"thanks to him! We our- selves too would be poorly off but for his liberality. l have to recapitulate his vir- tues very often, for I confess he is to me at timesalittle insupportable. By-the~way, he was asking a great many questions abom; you, the other day." Apparently ignoring this last observa- tion. the girl threw the magazine she had held lightly from her, and rose from her chair; ehe stocd a moment by the fire, stretching out beioro her two slim white hands, one 0? which was ringless, the otherâ€"the left oneâ€"beating on itsthird finger a. heavy wedding ring. “If I am ti) sing to-fiight‘l may as well try u_:_ver apmp _sgngs,” she said._ _ \ “Oh. I meant nothing unkind!” the other returned indifferentiy. “One must utter the sacred name of Hicks with bat- ed breath, I knowâ€"say flattering things of them, or for ever hold one‘s‘peaco; and really. from what little I have seen of her, I do indeed like Lady Hicks. She seem to me a kindand pleasant womanâ€" a vast deal too good for the all important Sir Robert.” “My dear, just think of his money! ‘ “I defy you to think of anything else,” the girl answered, with a smile. “He won’t let you. I can’t help wondering, myself, how many thousands of people have been ruined by the beer which puts so much money into his pogkets." “Of course not, if you and Mr. Archer really wish it. But, surely, Mia: Hicks Won't want any assistance than me! She sings a. great deal." Mrs. Archer laughed. . ‘ “She does," she saidâ€"“3 great deal. Shall we content ourselves with speak- ing of the quantity, and be mercifully si- la’nh SE to the quality of hei- singing, poor little girl?” “Poor mitel He’ll be disappointed; but. there must be no calling off. James told me I was to be sure to speak to you abOut it. It's a. mercy I remembered. Tye Hickses sent word they were going dawnâ€"that there was to be some music, and that we were to beg you to take some songs. You won‘t mind really, will you?" “And why particularly tonight?" she asked in a soft toned; somewhat weary voice. “You know 1 don’t care much for the evenings spent among your model young men, and I had promised Tommie to have an hour with him in the nursery afcer dinner.” CHAPTER I. “Miriam,” said the wife of the Rever- end J amen Archer, looking up from the book she held in her hand, as though struck with a sudden thought, “ you are to be sure to go with us‘ to the reading romp to-night.” The yodng lady addressed was sitting on the other side of the fire place in the pleasant Rectory drawing room. She was dressed in deep mourning, and she held, to screen her face from the fire, the mag- azine she had grown tired of reading. She awoke from a. reverie as the -e1der ledy spoke, and a. pair of deep set gray eyes, which had been gazing, unseeing, into the shadowy room, came back to the speaker‘s face. “Th5 usuai tk {sual thing,” she answered pres- “ You know what he would MIRIAM. fortunhfely for me, an- re I am. Is that; what you "Come, dear, take off your cloakl” she said. “Are you not; well, child, or is it only thatlace veil which makes you look so pale?” greeting of Lady Hicks and of Ella. her daughter. A few minutea later Mrs. Ar- cher, deep in the recital of some parish news, chancing to look in Miriam’s direc. tion, was somewhat startled at the girl’s appg The two ladies came quickly up the long room, Mrs. Archer unwindmg, as she advanced, a. voluminous black wool- len scarf from her throat and head. Miri- am thicklyveiled and shrouded in a long fur cloak. As she glanced at the man by the fire, she suddenly wavered in her progress, but; only for a moment ; as her friend looked at her questioningly, she came on again, and in another instant was in the cloak-room receiving the pleasant But Mr. Archer did not answer. ' Some one coming up at that instant claimed his attention. and the th women passed 81- one lnto the lamplit, heated room. It was full of young men, who were turning over with scant interest the newspapers and books plentifully strewed over the long table, intent on a. game of dominoes, or playing bagatelle. Lady Hicks and her daughter were disappearing in the direc- tion of the cloak-room, and the gentle- man who had escorted them, divested of the heap of wraps he had brought in, stood, with his beck to the roaring fire surveying the scene, a look of calm pre- occupation on his bronzed face. ' “Whatdid you say was his name ’I ’ she asked. “Keene 7 I wonder I wns never told that Lady Hicks's name was Keene. And how, then, do ygu spell it?" “The inevitable Hicks 1" whispered Miriam, as two ladies wrapped in fur: de- scended and passed over the wet pave. ment to the achoolroom door, followed by a tall and powerfully-built: man. who du- tifully carried more wraps upon his arm. Mr Archer called his wife‘s attention to this gentleman. “Than’a Keene," he said. “the brother I thought ha would come.” Mrs. King leant forward a little eager- The Reverend James Archer and the two ladies who accompanied him had a walk of a mile along the sloppy roads of Eastwick before they reached the perish schoolroom, in which, nightly, most of the respectable young men of Mr. Ar- cher's flock were wont to assemble for the mild recreation of newspapers, bsgatelle, and coffee. The lights showing through the red-curtained Window illumined the dreary surroundings. and were a. welcome sight to the ladies, whose cloaks and faces were wet with the drizzling rain. Ere they reached the little iron gate before which some few men and boys were con- gregated, a. carriage drew up, the lamps flashing b.ightly, the horse’s spirits in no wise damped by their wet skins. “I wish that [he could see you," she said. “It in foblish; but I can't help wishing that. You may have been a. pretty girl but you are a beautiful woman now. It might punish him to see what he has lost." The girl gave a. little bitter laugh. “May he never know the extent of his misfortune!” she said. “I hope that. I may never see him. I pray that hols dead.” ‘ Hut. of sufi'exing you shall be made strong," repeated Mrs. Archer softly. “No one could call you weak now, dear. How long is itâ€"may I know, Miriam?â€" eince you 85W your husband!" “It. is five years. 1 have never seen him since the hour he married me.” Mrs. Archer was silent for a moment, passing her hand gently over her friend‘s dark_ anrdA softly sippling ihair. “Dear, I should like to ask you one question. Donot answer unless you wish to do 50. Did you lovehimâ€"this manâ€"do you still feel any affection for your hus- band. if he is alive?" . “Do I? Noâ€"a thousands times n01 Did I? I can't: say. What do girls of seventeen know of their hiearts‘l Whit I felt tor him you Would not; dignify by the naméof love; pe’flllga; but_he was to save me {total-a life‘ I hated; he was strong and I was weak, and 1 liked him and leaned on himâ€"leaned on him, and he failed me." “I have been lucky in one circumstance of my life," she said softlyâ€"“to have been led to you. Dear Georgieâ€"I may call you Georgie“2 â€"ib was all so long ago â€"five years ago! I am not very old yet, am I? I was a. child then. There could have beenhnothing very terrible in me, or about me, you would thinkâ€"nothing that, a man, worthy of the name, should have feared'to face and to endure. ‘ Bubl.he, my husband, cast meoflâ€"when he should have shielded, he disowned me. Ah, sometimes 1 have envied you your chil- dren and your husband’s luvel Mine has been a. miserable into; and yet; I swear to you that. although I have been less happy than other women, I do not know wherein I have been less deserving of happiness.” The elder woman nodded. “Something of that.” The girl keptsilencefor a. fewmomenbs, kneeling on the hearth rug, gazing into the fire. “It is a. harmless deception, surelyâ€" even your husband admits thatâ€"harmless and in my circumstances necessary; but you won't. forget thst it is, after all a de- ception. My name is not King, you re- member, and I am not a. widow that I know? ofâ€"I wish with all my heart that I might be. I don’t want to deceive you; I will tell you everything, if you and Mr. Archer with it. But; you have been so kind; you have taken me on trust, as it were." “My dear, why not? And why should you be troubled with the ricital of what is, cf course, painful to you? If occasion should arise, you will tell me, that is all. Till then we can trust you, Muiam." WMiriam tu‘med,and laid her arm across Mra. Archer’s knee. tarance As the last notes died away. Mr. Keene awoke as if from a dream. He turned to the lad beside him, who, hav- ing pulled out a large red handkerchief, was blowing his nose vigorously, looking at: his neighbor the while with moistened apologeiic eyes. For all answer Mr. Keon chess-board from him and m ed over to his sister. Presently through the hushed room rang the solemn tones of a rich contraito voice. It was always said by Ella Hicks, after indulging an appreciative audience there with her little treble pipe, that the schoolroom was delightful to sing in. Mr. Archer,who was musical, stood transfixed. a light of pleasure on his race ; he had not heard Mrs. King's voice to such ad- vantage before. The room seemed to throb to the rafters with the melodi- ous sounds. The voice. thrilling and ac- casing, shook the heart of one man who listened, and the eyes of the boy at his side grew wet with tears, The singer had been excellently taught ; in addition to the natural talent she possessed, she had learnt the art of pronouncing her words distinctly, of weighting them with deep est feeling. Not a syllable was missed of those she now sang. and there we: a pas- sionate complaint conveyed in them be- yond what they themselves or the mnsic to which they were wedded expressed. ‘ “SEQ mak'es ye fee he asked. “I never tongue like her befox As he watched her action, a. thrill that was aimost a shudder passed through Kingston Keane's strong frame at sight of the single plain gold ring on one white and shapely hand. He sank down upon the neat she hadvacated, looking vacantly at the chess-board before him andidly fin- gering the men. He wana nervous gentle- man, surely, thought the lad as his side, observing how the brown hands trembled. “You must begin a. fresh game,‘ she saic‘ gently to the intelligent-looking lad whom sh: had been instructing in the in- tricacies of the game. A pair of serious and steady gray eyes set beneath delicately marked level brows, were raised with no embarrass- ment, with not the faintest sign of recog- nltion, to Mr. Keane’s face, and calmly refused to lower themselves before the glance they encountered. Mrs. King rose from the table, and, as she did so, with her two hands she lightly swept the chess-men from the board. “Uncle Kingston! Oh, will you come here, if you please? You play chess, do you‘not? Then will you go on with this game and release Mrs. King, who is go- ing to sing? Mrs. King. 16!: me introduce uncle Kingstonâ€"Mr. Keene." “I 'muat get out into the fresh air,” he said to himself. He moved down the room, intending to slip out at the door unobserved; but; a fre‘s'llyo‘ung. yoice cried; » as Pp passedâ€"- But Mr. Keene drew back; and, as his sister left.,hirn to join Mrs. Archer, he turned his back on the bright and cheer- ful roomflud, leaning an elbow on the chimney piece and his head on his hand. looked down with unseeing eyes and heavily beating heart: into the fire. A great unmeaniug buzzing and hum of voices was sounding in his ears ; his thoughts were in a. tumultuous whirl whose wild confusion no effort of his will could‘ s‘eady. j “DJ you know her? How does she call herself?" he asked ; and Lady Hicks must have been indeed preoccupied not to notice the sudden hoaraeuess of his voice. ‘ I ,_ ' "Db I know her‘l” she repeated. smil- ing. “Did not. I tell you all about her as we drove here? Sheis the Mrs. King. you know, who lives with the Archers. I call her quite an acquisition. You will hear her singâ€"hei- voice is as fine as her face. com with me; I will intoduce you.” “I don’t feel quite well," Miriam an- swered a. little unsteadily. “Should you minfl it. very 11139!) if__I w_eqt pome?” "Dear M'rs, King,” cried Lady Hicks, “you never are intending to walk 1 Of course you will take my carriage. Ella, go and ask uncle Kingston to come and speak to me for a moment. He w111 fetch the coachman from the inn at once." She did not look at her brother as she asked the question. butfollowed with her eyes the graceful black robed figure mov- ing down the room;had it been otherwise, to one other person that night a revela~ tion would havebeen made. Mr. Keene's face had piled from its healthy bronze to enzaehe‘n hue,_ind the eyes. looking out from‘under the'hroad, rather heavy brow, had in them a wildsurprise, a. questioning hon-ox". ‘ “Her 'pallor does not spoil her beauty,” Lady Hicks decided, glancing with admir- ation at. the proud cold face. “She willbe a revelation to Kingston. I wonder what hemill think of her?" In two minutesshe had asked him. “Is not she beautiful? What do you think of her?" “0h, noâ€"oh, no!" demurred Mrs. King hurriedly. ‘fPlease do not ~pray do not go, Miss HiCks. If. is a. minute's ffiiEtness ; it will pass_’_ They would_not heed her suggestion that they should leave her to recover by her- self ;and after a little further delay. she, having unclasped the handsome cloak and thrown off her hat and veil, declared her- self ready to accompany they. To be, 'mid love 01 others, Outcast. WQRXY and "are; Alone. alone 10 u. pxtilusa world For ever and met-more!" Smiles wrest.th In tolgned pleasure. Heart rackm whh trouble: sore; Alone. alone in I. pidlesa world For over Ind evermore! ‘Never to fill youth'a promise. Never to know ‘lfo'a buss. Novur to rent an shielding armw, To feel no intunt'a kiss: "Alone through summer sunshine. Alone through wmtar‘s rain, Alonel'uoath thaltu'lng he vmwa. ()1- ’mid lLte'a scorching p ain. you will excuse me if I do not; hee )ushe ahe No it CPOB "When we get. at the end of a. day’s march, if we find that three or four of the sheep are missing. I can send that dorg back after them if they are ten mxles away‘ and it don't make any difference where the sheep are or who’s got them, that dorg will get them to me, or I’ll eat the whole drove, hoafs, bones and wool." â€"N. Y. Sun. “ If it wasn't for that dorg," he laid kicking [the brute afl'ectionetely as he penned him, “ my mate and me could never get these cattle through on time, but that animal is worth ten men. Good sheep dorga, you know, are scarce now in this part of the country. I wouldn’t take anything on earth for mine. He's as faultless 8.: con be, and he known as much as any man, I don’t care who he is. If I should tell you some of the very wonder- ful things that dorg has done, you’d call me a liar, and as I don’t wish no such re- pwatiun I'll be quiet.” 7 Reflection, caused by this thought, overcome him, and he trudged along in absolute silence for some time. At last. he raised his head and continued : “ How many sheep are there in the drove 1" was asked. “ Well, about. eight hundred.” “ You're way 013'," said the man with a. good-natured grin. “There's three thou- sand three hundred and twenty-eight.” “ Where do yo take them to 7” “ We drive them from here to Phila- d-lphia, selling them on the way to butchers, or whoever wants to buy them, and getting rid of all that remeins, in the ‘Ciby of Brotherly Love.’ ” “ No, they ain't.” Blid the man, quick- ly, “ they are owned by A. B. Matthews, (f Ksnlas City, Mo.. and they travel about fiftee nmdes a. day, and they're an infernal nuisance l" As he forced them into the herd the sheep swerved away from him. The dog trotted around the drove, making it still more compact in form, and then returned to his master, who by this time was walk- mg on the side walk beside the writer. After thin he walked along in silence for some time, and then made a general remark that indicated that his life was not one of nnalloycd hsppineaa. At his heels, and bringing up the tail end of the procession, was a. long-bodied lean and scarred sheph=rd's dog. He ran with his nose close to the ground, and apparently paid little attention to the drove. But when two of the beep got astray, and trotted into a gel-den, the dog jumped over the fence and chased them bsck in line in no time. "They areownéd in Philadelphia, are they Z" In the rear, 3 tall and gaunt farmer trumped along, with a. long hickory stick in his hand. At every few steps he ut- tered a. peculiar cry, and whenever the sheep lagged behind, he touched them up with his hickory shiek. An immense drove of sheep went stumbling, tumbling. and trotting out of Newark the other day, on their way to Philadelphia. They seemed to walk all over one another, bumped together, and crowded until it seemed as though some must have been trodden under the feet of the others. A rough-looking country- man trudged ahead in the middle of the road, and the sheep followed closely. He seemed as dusty, ill-humored and out of sorts as the sheep themselves. Mrs. King thought a. great deal more than she choose to say. Among other things. she thought of the difl‘erence ‘ which five years had made in the appear- ance of this man of whom they spokeâ€" of Kingston Keeneâ€"her husband ! Was she herself altered as much as that? At any rate, he had recognized her instantly â€"she was sure of thatâ€"land she said to herself that the change in her had been more inward than outward. It had been with a. sense of triumph she had stood calmly to-night in the men's presence, and had recognized that her strongest feeling towards him was now one of con- temptuous indifference. After the first shock of the surpriseâ€"after that first sick queilingâ€"she had felt and shown no embarrassment in the meeting She knew this, and was proudâ€"proud of the strength and the composure which had come to her at her need ; and she walked homeward with a. firm step and proudly- eerried headâ€"free, she told herself, free and independent I One Dog to Thousands of Sheep. wait for you home." Lady Hicks turned a startled face on him. “Well enough; but the room is stifling. Don't you feel it so 7 I am longing for a mouthful of air.” “Home?” she repeated. Aren’t ypu well?" Without further ado, he passed down the room. Close by the outer door Mrs. King was standing, apparently watching a game of Merrie, over which two youths knit puzzled brows. Involuntarin Mr. Keene stopped. Against hls will he look- ed over the bent heads of the young men to the calm and beau‘iful face on the other side of the tuble. Mrs. King kept her eyes lowered ; but. as one of the players broke into a loud laugh over a blunder he had made, she smiled sympa- thetically, then raised her eyes, and quiet and unembarrassed. met for a. mo- ment the look fastened on her; then slowly the black lashes dropped over the cloudless eyes. and she was again appar- ently absorbed in the geme. A minute more and Mr. Keene had gained the wet road. and was splashed recklessly homeward through pools of muddy water, nnheeding the pelting of the minor the dark discomfort of the way. “An odd fellow, that. Keene!” the Rec- tor remarkeda couple of hours later, as he with his woman folk also trainde the Eastwick roads. “What made him rush off in that strange fashion ’2 Fine-looking man, is he not 1. What do you think of him. Mrs. King?” (TO B! CONTINUED.) I am going to walk To walk 7 To the generous mind the heevieat debt is that of gratitude when it is not in our power to repay it. Young Men l-Reed This Tan VOLTAIoa BELT 00.. of Marshall, Mien, ofl'er to «and their celebrated ELEC- rso-VoL’ulo BELT and other ELECTRIC AP- PLIANOES on trial for thirty days. to men )yvoung or old) afliicted with nervous debili- ty, loss of whaling. and all kindred troubles. Aim ior rheumausm, neuralgia, paralysis, and many other diseases. Complete restor- tiou no health, Vigor and manhood_gnaran- teed. No risk is inmrred as thirty days‘ rnul is allowed. Write them at once for illustrabed pamphlet free. When death, the great reconclier, has come, it is never our tenderness that we repent, but our severity. mantaâ€"A new “691121033. Perhaps the most extrsoru‘.r..y entices that has been achieved in modern science hasbeen attained by the Dixon Treatment of oemrrh Out of 2,000 patients treated din-inc the past six months. fully ninety per cent. have been cured of this stubborn malady. This is none the less startling when it is remembered that not five per cent. or the Dntients presenting themselves to. the regular practitioner are benefltted, while the patent medicines and other advertised cures never record a. cure at all. Startin with the claim now t1generally believed y the most soien 0 men that the disease is due to the reseuce of living paresQeslin‘ the tissues, r. Dix- on at once adopted his cure to their extermination; this accomplished the ostmh isprscticslly cured. and the permanency is un- questioned. as cures effected by him (our years ago are cures still. No one else has ever at- tempted to cure catarrh in this manner. and no other treatment has ever cured catsrrh. The application of the remedy is simple and can be done at home, and the gresent season of the year is the most favors. Is for a. speedy and permanent cure the maiorit of cases being cured at one treatment. B erers should cor- respond with Messrs. A. H. DIXON & SON. 305 King-street West, Toronto. Canada. and enclose stamp for their treatise on cotarrh.â€"Montreal l__ THERE is a. curious diversity of taste among smokers as to we kldu of pipe they prefer. Some like the clay pipe best. others again the meerecheum. some mustheve their pxpe well seasoned before they can enjoy it. others again must have a. new pxpe and throw It away whenever It becomes I little old. But though this dl r::ity of taste among them is curious. in: is has at ml curious that were is substantial unanimity among them that the "Myrtle Navy " brendof Maseru. Tucketc a: Son is the genuine arm-1e. 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It seems as if the whole responsibility should rest on Vennor and Wiggins, for we had some kind of weather before they appeared upon the scene. How would it do to string them up? Would it make things better? Another hint of import- ance-don’t hang on to your corns as weather indicators. Better string them out root and branch Putnam’z Painless Corn Extractor will do it quickly, pain- lessly, and with certainty. Don't buy dangerous flesh-eating substitutes. Get Putnam's, and no other: Disintereatedness is vi1 tue. Nerviline, What is it ? Polson’s NEBVILINE is a combination of the most potent pain relieving substances known to medical science. The constant. progress made in this department of sci- ence points upward and onward. Nervil- ine is the latest developement in this movement, and embodies the latest dis- coveries. For neuralgia, cramps, pains in the headâ€"external, internal. and local â€"Nerviline has no equal. Expe od 10 cents in the purchase of a. sample bottle of Nerviline and be convinceed of its marvel- lous power over pain. Sold by drug- gists. Large bottles 25 cents. at all druggists. Shoeing Horses. ' In response to an inquiry iron: 9. sub- scriber as to the propriety of shoeing horses. the editor of the Massachusetts Ploughman says: AI the sole object of shoeing the horse is to prevent too great a wear of the ground surface of the outer crust of the hoof, it is very obvious that in certain districts where the roads are sandy and loamy the shoe may be dis- pensed with, much to the relief of the animal and to the pecuniary benefit of its owner. On pavements and macadamized roads the wesr is too great and the foot must be protected There are very many young animals that are shol merely be. cause it is a custom to do so. and not because necessity calls for it. Where the shoe has never been applied. the hoof takes on a natural hardness, which fits it for an astonishing amount of work with- out injury. When it is desirable to re- move the shoes entirely, the foot should be gradually inured to this new order of things by slow work, otherwise lameness will follow, especially in those cases where the owner has allowed the sole and frog to be mutilated by the knife of the blacksmith. These parts ought never to be touched with instruments. On icy roads. with heavy draught, it is probable that calkins cannot be given up, but these projections to the shoe are employ- ed uselcssly in many cases, much to the injury of the animal, especially where they are not all of equal height. In fine, there is no reason why every farmer shonld not try the experiment of using his horses without shoes especially on the farm work. It is the b is the first little step that loses all er that the road is slippery, and we down before we know it. How Would it do ‘1’ Duke Bottlél BER the very soul of :II .l imper. )aoh Bit- regular