The following text may have been generated by Optical Character Recognition, with varying degrees of accuracy. Reader beware!

MIRIAM. CHAPTER II.â€"CONTL\'CLI~ I Mr. Keene was silent for a while, wrestling with himself, striving to keep down a. question which. in spiteof himself, would rise to his lips, and which burst forth at last. “Youâ€"you love this man?” he ques- tioned hoarsely. “I do not see that I need answer that question," she returned calmly. “I should have married him thankfully had it not been for you." She paused for an instant, and then, as if in spite of her- self, went onâ€"“He was an‘angel of goodnes to me,” she said, a thrill of deep feeling in her voice. “He came to me when I was hopeless and penniless and friendlessâ€"â€"-" _ “Penniless,” Mr. Keene interrup‘eiâ€" “penniless‘l” “Yes, penniless. He comforted and helped me, andâ€"thanks to youâ€"_I had to give him the worst trouble of his life in return. He thought that I was free. to marry when he asked me to be his Wife, and I had to tell him all my dismal tale. Heâ€"who would not submit, he could not believe in such a cruel fate; but it was too hard for him.” I ' “And whyâ€"why do you tell this thing to me?" “Why? That you may be doubly sure of the uselessness of such a request as that you have made to me to-day. Why do I tell you? I will tell you more. It may be beneficial to you to contrast his conduct with your own. He, this man who loved me, attended my mother in her last illnessâ€"he is a clever and suc- cessful London doctorâ€" and when I. who had left the school where I was working for my bread, fell ill too, he attended me. What money my mother had was spent to pay her bills and for her funeral â€"had there been thousands, I would not have touched itâ€"it was yours; but there was nothing left. The little salary I had drawn went in the first week of my ill- ness; and then he. mydoctor,learnt that I was penniless and without a friend in the world. He sent me nurses, he supplied me for many weeks with every comfort and luxury, he gave me his constant care; and, when I could listn to him, he ask-- ed me~begged Insâ€"me, friendless moneyless. unkno wnâ€"to be his wife. Then whata tale 1 had to tell him! I be- lieve him to be one of the noblest men that walk the earth; but he cursed you, then. 1 did not beg for mercy on you. It seemed to me that you merited the con- tempt of all good men." Kingston Keene answered her, as she finished, with a short laugh. “Their contempt will not hurt me,” he said. ‘ I ought to thank you, I suppose, for your confidence, for entrusting me with the interesting tal-i of how you. the wife of ou‘ man, Were thwarted l-l your desire in marry anotlio:»â€"I ought to thank yin, and i do. Such a women, it is plain, is not the kind of person I would ask to share my home and my life. B.) sure that I will IlOl trouble you with a. repeiition of my request. That is all, I think. which remains to be said; and I will go,” “Will you!" he askel. “\Vill you, Miriam! Let us obliterate these empty years we have spent aloneâ€"“I gave been as loner a1 youâ€"let us begin again to gether. What do you say?” But, before he reached the door, Miriam knew by the sound of familar voices in the hall that the Archers had returned “You had better waits. momen‘, if you please," she sai i rather hurriedly, “You can explain your presence as you think best; ’ and so, with a. whispered word of “the cf ildren” to Mrs. Archer as she passed her at the door, Miriam escaped, and left Mr. Keene to the hospitable cares of the Reverend James and his wife. “What an odd thing for him to call to bid us ‘guod-bye’ in the middle of a Sun- day afternoon, when he might have known we were at church!” said Mrs. Archer t i her husband. a quarter of an hour lat.-r. “And did you ever hear of anything so mad as his rushing back to Jamaici in this ridiculous fashion?” “He is a most estimable person," an- wared hur charitable husband, “and his sister ’s emotion to him isâ€"is really touching; but he certainly does appear lo have odd manners.” Meanwhile Mr. Keene, standing on the gravel sweep, sheltered by the fast/in- creasing gloom of that winter's afternoon, locked up at the windows of the house he h id left. ‘ Then that is over!" he was thinking. “I have done what appealed to me to be my dutyâ€"l hava offered to make resti- tution, if I «wed in, and it is over Very good Better soâ€"better, I am sure, for me. I am to ) old to bring such a change into my life, and the risk is tremendous. Better so i” Repeating this phrase many times, as though to impress it on his memory, he turned away. But, before the rectory was quite hidden from view, he halted, stood irresolute a moment, and then re- tracsd his steps. The window of the room he had just left glowed with the firelight within; he approached it, tread- ing softly on the grass border, and looked in. Mrs. Archer, still in her out door dress, was standing on the hearth rug talking to her husband. Keene heard the sound of her voice as she chattered to him, although the words did not reach him, and her light laughter fell with a discordant sound on his ear, not attuned to mirth to-night. His eyes wandered over the fire-lit cosy room in search of one other form, and came back unsatisfied to the two on the rug. “Go and get off your bonnet," Mr. Archer was saying imperatively, “and let me have some tea." But, before she turned slowly to obey lfin, he put outs hand and drew his wife close to him and kissed her. The man at the window turned away quickly, with a grim smile and a curious sudden pain at his heart. . “When we partâ€"my Wife and lâ€"we do not find it necessary to exchange car- esses,” he said to himself, “although we part for ever! I wish it had pleased my lady to come dawn, that I might have seen her once again before 1 go; butit 13 as wellâ€" the sooner sh: is forgotten the betterâ€"please Heaven it Will be no heavy matter for me!" Then, as he walked down the dark and quiet road, hii thoughts wandered ifii.to old’times. He saw again the girl with the foreshadowings of the beauty now so amply fulfilled, he remembered the gray eyes, identical with those so cold and proud, which had met h1s so short a limo ago. but widely different in their timid veiled expression, eyes which then had power to quicken his blood and to mod- den his brain, and to cause him to com- mit the one great act of folly which had come near to ruin his life. He saw her shrinking from him and his wild oiressos, he saw her nervously obedient, humbly subservient to her mother and to himâ€" he saw her white and deathliko face, the appealing terror in her eyes as she sank at his feet by the altar stepsâ€"_saw it as he had seen full many a. time since then in his dreamsâ€"and thenagain there came to him a vision, but recently beheld, but henceforth never to be cflaced from his memory, of a beautiful woman who, lying back in her chair, sang very softly to the children in her arms. CHAPTER III. During the mists and fogs of that damp November, Mr. Archer caught a cold which settled on his lungs, and from the effects of which he seemed unable to rid himself. wife and household, he would not be pre- vailed on to take proper care of himself, but would go out in all weathers to visit the sick or sorrowful, and would persist in attending his heart So from relapse to relapse he fell, till his wife grew frantic with terror, and lost heart through her own impotence to control the man. At last Sir Robert Hick, whose word at Eastwick, at least, was law, came to her aid, and declared that for a month or so the Rector should be compelled to rest. To this effect it was necessary to remove him from the scene of his labors; and to this end he was compelled to accept the loan (f a house at Bournemouth belonging to Sir Robert, and to which he and his family occasionally resorted, where it was hoped the enforced idleness and the milder climate might work a beneficial effect. The Rectory was shut up, the children and servants going with the Archers, and Lady Hicks. who had planned everything which Sir Roberthad proposed, finally car- ried ofi‘ Mrs. King to pass with the family at Eastwick Park the period of the Archers’ absence. Miriam had stood out stoutly against this kindly proposition for some time; she would fain have kept the Hickses at a. distance, if that could have been pos- sible, but was obliged to yield at last. For one thing, unless she accompanied the Arch irsâ€"â€"about whom she had a feel- ing that, at such a time, drawn closer than eVeI‘ to each other by the fear of a possible separation, they would be hap- pier lef: to each otherâ€"she had nowhere to go. She knewâ€"for she had cause to knowâ€"the difficulties and unpleasant- nesses attending a. young and handsome woman who goes unprotected and unat- tended tu a flesh neighborhood. She had little desire to renew that old experi- ence. Mr. Archer advised, his wife implored, Lidy Hicks persisted; Mr. Keene was on his lonely way to Jamaica. It was, after all, the easiest course open to her ; and she desperately wanted to do easy things for the rest of her lifeâ€"she was so weary of fighting and struggling alone. And ’so it came to pass that she went, and iii a few days had made an easy conquest of the household. Sir Robert, used to dumpy and insignificant- looking women around him, was never tired of airing his pompous politeness before this beautiful woman. who accept- ed it with such quesnly case. Lady Hicks was proud of the new attraction her house boasted, and was anxious to gather her friends around her to display the quite uncommon treasure she had discovered. Ella, the only daughter, a somewhat gushing but generous and un- selfish girl, raved about her new friend, hung on Miriam’s words, and even round her neck sometimes, copied quite frankly her dress and the manner in which her h ir was worn, and delightedly took les- sons from her in singing. Miriam found the adulation wearisome at times; but she was so unused to feel herself of much importance that, as a rule, the new sen- sation pleased her. She found the abundant interest which kindly Lady Hicks had at her command now pretty evenly divided between the reports from Bournemouth oer. Archer’s progress, and so much as was known to her of the movements of her only brother. Miriam was joint recipient with Ella of the manifold conjectures and surmises arising irom inefficient knowledge in the case of the latter. “It is so vexing to me,” Lady Hicks said, “to think that all this time he has been wasting over his tiresome business in London he ought to have spent with us. When he took leave in that hurried way I thought he sailed at once, but a month is gone and he is still here. Sir Robert however tells me that the vessel inwhich be is really to sail starts to- morrow. It does seem heartless, don’t you think, that we should be having all those people to-morrow, and should be so happy in welcoming Bob home, and my only brotherâ€"in this wretched weath- er tooâ€"tossing on the wide sea. “Why, dear mother,” Ella remarked, laughing, “uncle Kingston is the very last to want us to mourn on his account. And although, for my part, I am sorry he should go away, still one can’t forget In pits of the anxiety of his certain evening-classes just established, and at that time very near that if he had wished he could have stay- ed. COUld he not now, mother? He meant to stay for months when he came, and he got tired (I us in about ihree days.” “My dear,” her mother aniwered, “you know nothing about my brother Kingston ; he has known what great scr- row and disappointment are. He may not be judged as may more fortunate men." Ella turned to Miriam, “You know,” she said, with solemnly lowered voice, “uncle Kingston is mar- ried- isn't that dreadful 7" “Dreadful l” acquiesced Miriam, with a quite natural shudder. “But then he is not singular in that misfortune. Many people are married.” “Ella is not deploring the fa:t of his marriage, you see," explained Lady Hicks, seriously, “but the peculiar mis- fortune attending it. There is no reason why you should not be told. My dear, lie aetually parted from his wife at the church door.” Mariam was sitting over the fire in the dark with the other ladies, waiting for tea to be brought in, when this was told her. Ella, lying on the hearth-rug at her feet, turned and laid her arms across her new friend's knees, looking up into her face to watch the effect there of this startling disclosure. She looked for signs of surprise and dismay. She could not understand the sudden light of appeal which came into the deep gray eyes she was watching. “Ah. do not tell me l" Miriam said. “Dear Lady Hicks, I do not want to hear. I have my own troubleâ€"â€":lo not tell me !" Ella laid down her soft cheek consol- ingly on the white hands which trembled a little on Mrs. King's lap. “ It is nothing to recall your own trouble, my dear,” the elder lady said. “He did not lose his wife â€"poor Kingston -so mercifully asâ€"as you lostâ€"not by death. He found that she was unworthy.” Ella lying against her felt the shiver which pastied thJough Mrs. King's frame at the words. “I hope uncle Kingston is sure,” she said, a doubt of the infallibility of his judgment arising for the first time in her mind. “Some one might have fibbed, mother. It would be 'a horrid thing if he left this poor girl, and after all he had no just cause for doing so.” Miriam released one hand from under the girl’s cheek, and gently smoothed Ella’s hair with it. “My dear, there was no mistake,” replied the mother, with sad conviction. “Kingston, in such a vital matter, would satisfy every doubt, you may be sure. No: everything was proved up to the very hilt." “And was theâ€"the unworthiness all her own, or was it the unworthiness of othersâ€"of her parents, perhaps?" Mir- iam asked a little unsteadily. “Her ownâ€"her own entirely,’ she was assured, and felt for the momenta sense of gratitude towards Mr. Keene for his reticence. “I wonder,’ Ella observed, after a pause‘ “if uncle Kingston remembersâ€" if he thinks of her, or even regrets her, perhaps.” , “You may be sure he remembers,” answorcd Lady Hicks. “He will not speak of his mist rtune even to me ; but each time that I look into his eyes I know that he remembers. I believe that he deeply loved this miserable woman.” “Oh no E’Miriam cried to this with eager hasto. “Oh, no !” “You think not? He is cold and pas- sionless now? but that is the result of self-repression; he was not always so. Hi conduct throughout, the rashness of this unhappy marriage, proves to me he must have madly loved this girl. There was, however, something he loved more, his honor and the stainlessness of his name. He does not enlarge to me upon his griefs ; but I have not fallen into the error of ignoring them. I know too well what he must have suffered.” “Sheâ€"the wominâ€"probably sufi'ned too," Miriam said softly. “You have not heard two sides of the question, Lidy Hicks. B3 sure she had her grievances too." “Poor uncle Kingston!" laughed Ella “Picture him, Mrs. King, with blight- ed hopes and a broken heart and life- long regrets l-â€"uncle Kingston with his sturdy frame and copper-colored face and hair ! I do hope that heavy, heavy mous- tache of his is not going to turn gray too: it really is the only interesting thing about him.” “Poor boy !" sighed Lady Hicks. “My poor old playfellow and protector and friendâ€"poor Kingstonl To think that that curly hair of his should be turning gray, that he should be getting quiteâ€" quite old, that he should be alone ! ’ «x a: «r is Great excitement prevailed at East- wick Park when Bobâ€"the only sonâ€"came home from college for good, to be enroll- ed at once as partner in the great brewing firm, henceforth to be known as that of “Hicks and Son " He was not a bad-looking or a bad dispositioned young fellow, considering how he had been feted and spoilt indus- triously from his babyhood. He was a. little free with his moneyâ€"but what could one expect ?â€"and there was plenty of itâ€"a little self-conceitedâ€"which was inevitableâ€"as little unbearable generally as is possible to only sons of rich parents. Such as he was his mother, at least, ador- ed him, and looked up into his face new admirineg as he stood on the rug in the room which was always set apart as “Rob's Study.” Not many signs of study were apparentâ€"mostly signs of hunting, shooting proclivities. Rob, standing with his back to the fire, a big cigar between his beardless lips, was surveying with complacence the manly adornments of his walls. “There are some people coming to- night to welcome you, dear,” his mother said to him fondly. “Old lot, I suppose!" queried Rob indifiereutly. “They are a slow lot of dufi‘ers, mother; I should have made my- self at home without their welcome. Any one staying in the house T’ “Your cousins came to-day, dear, and Mrs. King is with us.” “And who the dickens is Mrs. King 2?” Then it was explained to him that Mrs. King was a lady living with the Archers, and staying at the park in their absence. “All, how is the old boy '1" Rob in- quired with polite interest in his mother's pet parson ; and so the conversation drifted. An hour later the ladies of the party were taking tea in the-at presentâ€" but dimly-lighted drawing-room. “The gentlemen do not honor us,” one of them said. ‘ Rob is entertaining his cousins in his study," Ella explained. “Boys always have such a vast amount of important things to say to each other, and they are so ‘mum’ when we are present. I don’t know What papa can be doing, or why he does not come." Just then papas voice was heard out- side the door. “Agatha is here,” he said. be so pleasedâ€"~come in." Then the door was opened and two gentlemen appeared, duskly and dimly seen beyond the pleasant gleam of the firefight. “Here is a. surprise for you, Agatha,’ one of themâ€"Sir Robertâ€"said. “Ah, who is it 9" Lady Hicks cried, dropping her tea-cup hastily and standing u . p“lt is only I, Agatha,” replied a quiet voice she knew, and she sprang forward joyously. “Kingston, how good of youâ€"how glad I am I” she dried, and she put her two hands on his shoulder, and lifted her face for his kiss. “How good of you !” she repeated, almost crying. “I thought I had seen the last of you; and I have been so unhappy." “Uncle Kingston 1" Ella exclaimed gaily, coming forward, “how splendid of you to come in time for to-niglrt." Mr. Keene patted and kisssd the girl’s cheek. “Why ‘to-night,‘ little one '1” he asked and turned to shake hands with two other girls who greeted him. “I can scarcely see you,” he said, laughing. “It is Milly and Blanche,” their aunt explained. “And, Kingston, you know Mrs. King 7 She is staying with us for a time.” Mr. Keene made a step forward. and took Miriam’s reluctant hand in his. “You mentioned in your last letter that she was here,” he said to his sister. “Your husband made a mistake. Agatha ; there is still a week before I sail. I thought I would run down and see you all once again. And why is it, Ella, that I have been so peculiarly fortunate in hitting on to night for my arrival l" Then Ella, with her arm in his, began eagerly to explain to him how Rob was home, and how to-night there was to be a "young" dinner-party, and a little dance after it â€"the very first dance of this yearâ€"in the midst of which Mrs. King, almost unobserved, left the room. “She will (ro Br CONTINUED.) 0n the Nile. At evening, when the sun has sunk in ruddy splendor behind the grey desert hills, every prospect pleases on the Nile Then the dingy yellow river is touched by ruddy reflection of the after-glow, and the waves rippling under sombre shadows of the brown banks have a purple sheen on them. The long level stretches where crops or: just beginning are a vivid green. Dark traits of palm. the feathery fronds of which are swayed slowly by the breeze, stand out clearly against the sky. Be- tween their tall shafts one sees the ridge of a distant mountain range, above which the orange light is barred and blurred by dusky belts, where i-lust rises from the desert. The warm golden tiuti fade to pale chrome, and then flush through many gradations into i'oseate hues and die away into the deep blue studded with stars overhead. Every now and then the darker tints are brightened by faint throbs of ruddy bright until the after glow disappears and in its place the cres cent moon, sinking low towards the was- tern hills, throws a flood of light across the broad Nile Valley. To a lover of animate nature there is something of in- terest at every bend of the river, and the varieties of birds especially seems to in- crease rapidly as we go on. Buf- backed herons are not so plentiful in in the lagoons of the inundated Delta, but the black-headed plovers are, and the spur-winged plover may be seen flitting under the hollow bank. Kingfishers, black and white, and green and blue, dart across the water. Hoophoes hover about tamarisk and mimosa, myriads of blue rock circle in clouds above every village. Kestrals innumerable pose themselves on apparently motionless wings high above the maize ; vultures gorged by gluttony and hopping heavily about with wings outstretched, cranes, and the great Dalmatian pelican may be seen on distant sandbanks. Here and there a great Dom Palm. with its crown of aloe-like spikes, reminds us that we are within the region formerly frequented by crocodiles, but we fail to see any sign of them yet. Probably the incursion of many steamboats has driven them away to more secluded quarters. Old Judge Saunders is a great brag and has told about a dozen different stories in regard to the weight of a. certain big eat- fish that he caught. A friend, trying to entrap him, asked : "Judge, what was the precise weight of that big fish you caught '3” Judge Saunders (to colored waiter) : “I say, Bob, what did I say yes- terday that catfish weighed 2' “What flme yesterday, bossâ€"in do mawning, at dinner-time, or after supper? A Good Telephone Story. They tell a. capital telephone story in Antwerp. A merchant had an instru- ment fitted between his house and his office, and shor:ly after this was finished, being one day at home with a sight indisposition, a friend called on a aLter of business. To him the inorchau slow- ed the telephone, and in course of time he took his departure. No w, on leaving the mansion, the visitor detected a strong smell of beef and inions issuing irom the kitchen: and on his way down the Bourso he planned a wicked little scheme, which be communicated to half a dozen congenial spirits upon ’Change Within the next half-hour the merchant was summoned six time to the telephone to speak to six different people in his office, and every one of them ended his message with a wish that the beef and onions might be satisfactory. Toe fol- lowing week when, fully recovered, the merchant was among his friends again, he told all of them a story of the wonders of his new instrument, the telephone. “ Not only can we hear each other’s voices,” said he, “ but last Friday every- body who spoke to me at my house could smell the beefsteak and onions that were preparing for my dejeuner l" Corns! Corns! Tender Corns, painful corns, soft torus, bleeding corns. hard corns, corns if all kinds and of all sizes, are alike removed in a few days by the use of PUTNAM'S PAINLsss CORN Exruscros. Never fails to cure, never causes pain, never leaves deep spots that are more annoying than the original discomfort. Give Putnam’s Painless Corn Extractor a trial. Beware of substitutes. Sold by druggists every- where. Poison & 00., Kingston, propr’s. “Maggie, 1 don't like to see this dust on the furniture," “All right, mum. I ll shut the blinds right away.” A Sure Remedy for N euralgia. Neuralgia is one of the most common and distressing complaintsjncidental to this climate. It is not confined to any particular season, for whilst most general in the winter seasons, yet many sufl'er its excruciating agony in the heat of summer. In late years this form of disease has be- come he tter known, and consequently the means of relief have become greatly in- creaiei in numbeis, as well as in efficacy. Among the moat powerful and penetrat- ing combinations, placed within the reach of the public for the relief of neuralgia, we cm mention no remedy equal to or more certain than Polson's NERVILINE. Its power over pain is something wondera fol, and we advise a trial for neuralgia, Ci: any other painful complaints. Nerviline is sold by all druggists at 25 cents a. bottle, also trial botiles at 10 cents. Posts are inspired. When they shake hands with an icicle they feel like Writing a farewell to Summer. Noni-1 tobaccos spurt up in the pipe wliilc smoking, with little crackling explosions. This is caused by the addition of foreign matter to assist the combustion. “'hen the purity of the tobacco is not tampered with and it has been properly taken care of, this combustible foreign matter is wholly un- necessary. For in that case it burns at a lower temperature than almost anything. Nothing of this kind is seen in smoking the “ Myrtle Navy.” It burns with steady combustion throughout. Ethelâ€"“ Oh, mamma, I’ve got such a pain ! ” Motherâ€"\Vhere, dear ? ” Ethel (a refined chald)â€"~"fii my sash, mamma.” Cold feet and hands are certain Indications of imper- fect circulation of the blood. Dr. Carson's Stomach Bitters prommes the circulation. keeps the bowels reg- ular and "induces good health. Large bottlrs at 50 cents. Don't fret if you cannot go into society. The oyster is often at a supper when he would perhaps prefer to be at home in his bed! Important. When you visit or leave New York City, save Baggage expressage and Carriage Hire. and stop at lhe GRAND UNION HOTEL. opposite Grand Centrleepot 600 ele ant rooms fitted up at a cost of one million do are, 81 and up wards per day. European plan. Elevator. Restaurant supplied with the best. Horse cars, stages and elevated railroads to all depots Families can live better torless money at the Grand Union lâ€"lotel than at any other first- clanfl hotel In the oitv. Woman is a luxury. Unless a man’s circumstances permit of luxuries he had better be content With sewing on his own collar studs Gatsrr'nâ€"A New Treatment. Perhaps the mo t extraordinary success that has been achieved in modem science has been attained by the Dixon Treatment of Catarrh. Qnt of 2.0.,0 patients treated duriu the past six months, fully ninety per cent. ave been cured of this stubborn malady. This is none the less startling who it is remembered that not five per cent. of t a patients resenting themselves to the regular practitioner are benefltted, while the patent medicines and other advertised cures never record a cure at all. Starting with the claim now generally believed by .the most scientific .men that the disease is, due to the presence of liv lug parasites in the tissues. Mr. Dixon at once _ adapted his cure to their extei- mlnation; this accomplished the catarrh is practically cured, and the permanency is un- questioned, as cures effected b him four years ago we cures still. No one e as has ever at- tempted to cure catarrh in this manner. and no other treatment has ever cured catarrli. The application of the remedy is simple and can be done at home, and the present season of the year is the moat favorable for 8. Speed and permanent cure. the majority of cases lug cured at one treatment. Sufferers should cor- respond with Messrs. A. H, DIXON kSON 305 King-street West, Toronto. Canada. and enclose glam]: for their treatise on oatarrb â€" Montreal ar. “ It am do walk o’er man that s’iles his character. N o matter how clean or rooster may be, let him follow er duck all day an’ at night he’ll be muddy.” Yes you can get something to stop that cough. “Peo- torla. W1” do it in no time. Try Peotoria. it nevertails. The great 5 cent Cough and Cold Cure Miss Roseleaf (who is trying to force a conversation)â€"“ What do you suppose, Mr. Van Noodle, makes our hostess' re- ceptions so invariably stupid ’i " Mr. Van Noodleâ€"“ Aw, weally I hav’nt a ghost of an ideaw.” Mrs. R.â€"“All the other gentlemen are very much like you." Yes, that must be the reason." R. w. PRITTIE. Real Estate Agent.- (fommisssoner, Valuator. Trustee. 8 Financial A Room 0.. Arcade. Yonge at. Toronto. Money to 15:5: Estates Managed, Properties llxchanxed.