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Life held nothing for her now. It. was moon before she rose, and then she went to he: boudoir. Lord Chandos had zone out, glancing normessnge {or her. She sat there thinking, brooding over her sorrow, won. dieting what. she was to do, when the Countess of Lnnswell was announced. Lady Marion looked up. It. was as ‘nhough an inspiration from Heaven had one to her ;-she would tell Lady Lnnawell, an‘l hear wnat she had to any. “ You have been crying,” said the coun- Cess, as she bent, over her daughter-iu-law. “Crying, and how ill you lookâ€"what is the matter ‘?" "‘There is something very wrong the manner,” said Lady Marion. “Somebhing Ehat I cannot bearâ€"something that will kill me if in is not stopped.” " My dearest, Marion,” said the countess, “ what is wrong? I have never seen you so distressed before. Vv'here is Lance ‘3" “I never know where he is now,” she saw. “0b, Lady Lanswell, I am so miserable, so unhappy that I wish I were This outbreak ’from Lady Marion, who was always so calm,so high-bred,so reticent in expressing her feelings, alarmed Lady Lanswell. She took the cold, \rembling hands in her'nwn. "Marion," she said, “you must calm yourself, you must tell me what is the unmet ani let me help you.” [lady Chandos told her all, and the count- ess listened in wondering amaze. “Are you quite sure ?" she said. “Lady Iifield exaggeratca sometimes when she zcyeates those gossiping stories.” “It, mfisb be true, since my husband acknowledged it himself, and yet refused to give me any explanation of it. Some time vsmce, I found that, he passed so much of his time away from home I asked you if he had any friends with whom he was especial- ly intimate, and you thought not. Now I know that in was Madsme Vanira he went in see. She lives at Highgate, and he goes there every day." “ 1 should not think much cf it, my dear ii I were you,” said the counbess. “ Ma- <i mie Vaniru is very beautiful and very accomplishedâ€"all gentlemen like to be amused." “ Icauuot argue,” said Lad} Chandos; “ {can only say that my own instinct and tllS-‘OWD hearn Lell me there is something wrong, that there is some Lie between them. The Countess of Lanswell, in her superb dress of black velvet, sat by in silence ; for the first time in her life she was baffled ;for the first time in her life she was face to face «with a human passion. Hitherto, in her cold, proud presence all passion had veiled itself ; Lhis unhappy wife laid hers bare. and my lady was at a lons what to say. In her calm. proud life there had been no room for jealousy ;she had never known it. she did not even undersnand the pain. hand " It. is not true. I am sure, Marion.” said the countess, gravely. “I know Lance better than anyone else; I know his strength, his weakness, his virtues, his failings. Love of intrigue is not one, neither is lightness of love.” “ Then if he cares nothing for Madame Yanira, and sees me unhappy over her. why will he not give her up '2” “ He will if you ask him," said Lady Lmswell. “He will not. I have asked him. I have t-old him that the pain at it, is Wearing my life away ; but he will not. lam very unhappy, for 1 love my husband.” “ And he loves you," said the countess. “ 1 do not. iliiuk so. I believeâ€"my in- miucls tells meâ€"that he loves Madame Vania." “ Marionfit is wicked to say aulihthings," Biill the countess. severely. “Because your husband, like every other man of the world, pays some attention to the most warmed woman of her day, you suspect. him of infidelity, want, of love and want. of Huh. I wonder at you.” Lxdy Marion raised her fair, tearâ€"stained “ Yes, I am jealous,” said the unhappy "wife, “and not without causeâ€"you must slwu that. Ah, Lady Lanawell, you would he sorry for me if you knew all. See. it is wearing me away ; my heart beats, my hands tremble, and they burn like fire. Oh, myGod. how I suffer 1” If her husband had gone -out for a day with the moat beautiful woman on earth, uhe would either have comple:ely ignored the fact, or. with a smilimz satire, have passed in by. She did not love the earl welleuough to be jealous of him ;she did non understand love or jealousy in others. She sat, now quite helpless betore the un- imppyzwife, whose grief annoyed her. “This Will not do, Marion,” she said, “you will make yourself quite ill.” “ I cannot make you understand.” she mid slowly, “ nor do I understand myself. 1 only know what Ifee}. what my instinct tells me, and that is that between n y hus- limud and Madame Vamm there is some- thing more than I know. I feel that there isa tle between them. He looms at her with diflerent eyes ;he speaks to her with a. different voice ; when he sung with her 2&an nothing of itâ€"I cannot tell why I 'eel this certain conviction, but I do feel A; was as abough their souls floated away .ogecher.” ‘ “ Marion,” interrupted the countess, " my dear child, I begin to see what is the gauge; wiEh yop-fyou Ere jealous.” :er mom told her it, was time to nae. 3 turned her face to the wall and slaid would be easier to dieâ€"her life was :Ied, nophiug rould give her back her h and trust in her husband or her love lllll. woui this was LOVE REASONS NOT. nob Lhe sunbe M rshe conclusmu us peeping could not “Ill,” repeated been ill in heart a and now I am sis could die ; life has “Die, my dear, such a Lrifle; one river. ls that, u about?” WWW .... “ I cannot forget it." she cried. “ Would to God that I could. It is eating my heart. away.” “ Then,” said my lady, “ I will speak to Lanca at once, and I am quite sure that. at one word from me he will give up the acquaintance, for the simple reason ihab you do nob like in.” .r. u uvu nu“, .u. And with this promise the countess left her daughter-in-law. Once before, not by her bidding, but by her intrigues, she had per- suaded him to give up one whom he loved ; surely a. few words from her now would induce him to give up her whom he could not, surely love. It never occurred to her to dreamthat they Were the same. ! She saw him asiahe was drivmg home, and, stopping the carriage, asked him to drive with her. " Lance, I have something very serious to say to you. There is no use beating about the bush, Marion is very ill and very unhappy." . . . uneke " I am sorry for it, mother, but add also she is very jealous and very loolish.” ” My dear Lance, your wife loves youâ€" you know is, she loves you with all her heart and soul. If your friendship thh Madame Vanira annoys her, why no: give it up ?" l ‘ H “l choose to keep my lndepamlen :e as a man : I will nor. allow any one to dictate to me what friends I shall have, whom I shall give up or retain.” r n u' 7 r: r n “In some measure you are rxght, Lance.” said the countess, “and so far as gentleman friends are concerned, I should always choose my own ; but as this is a lady, of whom Lady Marion has certain suspicions, I should most certaiqu give her up.” “My wife has no “[1,5me be jail-om,” he said angrily; “10 does not, add to my love for her." “Let me speak seriously to you, Lance.” said the countess. “Marion is so unhappy that, I should not wonder if she were really ill over it : now why not do as she wishes? Madame Vnuira can be nothing to youâ€" Mariou is everything. Why not, give her A certain look of settled determination that came to her son’s face made the count- ess pause and wonder. She had seen in there for the first, and last time when she had asked her son to renounce his young wife, and now she saw it again. Ssrsnge that. his next words should seem like an answer to her thoughts. He could not. help the flush that burned his handsome, angry face, and that, flush aroused his mother's curiosity. “ Have you known her long? Did you know her before your marriage, Lance? I remember now than I was rather struck by her manner. She reminds me forcibly of uome one. Poor Marion declares there is some tie between you. \Vhat can it be ‘3" "Mother," he said, “do not ask me; you persuaded me Lo give up all the hap- piness of my life, years agoâ€"do not try me a second time. I refuse, absolutely refuse, to gratify my wife’s foolish, jealous wish. I say, emphatically, that I will not give up my friendship for Madame Vanira.” Then my lady looked fixedly at him. “ Lance.” she said “ what is Madame v . , Vanna to you?” She mused for some minutes, then looked mto her son’s face. “Great Heaven, Lance, it, can never be !" she cried. “ A horrible idea. has occurred to me, and yet; it is not. possnble." He made no answer, but a. look of more dogged defiance came into his face. “ It can. never be. and yet, I think in is 50. Can it be possxble than Madame Van- ira is theâ€"the dairy-maid to whom you gave your young afi'ertinus '3” U “ Madauvne Vulner is the girl I loved, mother, and whom I believed to be my wife â€"upr.i_l youpagrteii 313’.” ‘ Lucie, Countess of Lanswell, was in terrible trouble, and it was the first real trouble of her life. Her son’s marriage had been rather a. difficulty than a trouble â€"a difficulty that the law had helped her over. Now no law could intervene. and no justice. Nothing could exceed her surprise in finding Madame Vanira, the Queen of bong, the most beautiful, the most gifted woman in England, positively the “ daily- maid." “ the tempestuous young person," the artful, designing girl from whom hy an appeal to the strong arm of the law' she had saved her son. She paused in wonder to think to herself what would nave happened if the marriage had not been declared null and void. In that case,she said to herselfI with a shrug of the shoulders, in all proba- bility the girl would not have taken to the stage at all. She wondered that she had not sooner recognized her. She remem. hex-ed the strong, dramatic passion with which Leone had threatened her. “ She was born an actress,” said mv lady to her- self, with a sneer. She determined within herself that the secret should he kept, that to no one living would she reveal the fact that the great actress was the girl whom the law had parted from her son. Lord Chandos, the Duke of Lester, the World in general, must never know :hie. Lord Uhnndos must never tell it, neither Would she. What. was she to do? A ter- rible incident had happenedâ€"terrible to her an whose life no shadow rested. M8.- dame Vanira. had accepted an engagement at Berlin. the fashionable journals had already announced the time of her depar- Lure, and bemoaned the 1033 of so much And {my My fell back in her carriage with» a. low cry of “ Heaven have mercy on ,n Is that unyil heated Lady Marion. “1 have war: and soul for many days, am sisk unto death. I wish I ife has nothing left, for me."_ ’ dear, it Seems such a. trifle. - one day spenb togebher on a. y hat, anthing for you to die \YAR TO THE KNIFE. CHAPTER fo'r it, mother, aild also 793 raised wistf beauty and genius. Lord Chandos had announced his intention of spending a. few months in Berlin, and his wire would not agree to it. ed that when his wife, she into them. Hot, bitter, angry words passed between them. Lord Uhandos declared that if in pleased him to go to Barliu he should go: in mabtered liLLie whebher his wife want or not; and Lady Chandos, on her side, de- clared that; nothing shouid ever induce her to go to Berlin. The result was jUst what. one might. have anticipatedâ€"a. violentquar- re). Lady Uhandoa threatened to appeal to the duke. Her husband laughed an the notion. “The duke is a great stamsman and a clever man,” he replied : “bur: he has no power over me. If he interfered with my arrangements, in all probability we should not meet agam.” "I Will appeal to him." cried Lady Mar- ion : he is the only friend I have in the ion : world The ring of passionate pain in her voice startled him ; a sense of pity came over him. After all. this fair, angry woman was his wife, whom he was bound to pro- tect. “Marion, be reasonable,” he said. “ You go_t}_le wrong way to work ; even supposing I did care four Sol-he one else, you do not go the way to make me care for you ; but. you are mistaken. Cease all these disagreeable recrlmluations, and I “all be the kmdest. of husbands and the best of friends L0 you. I have no wish. believe me, Marlon. to be anything else. " Even then she might have become recon- ciled to him,and the and after consequences have been averted, but she was too angry, too excited with jealousy and des-pair. “‘Vill you giv; up Madame Vanira. for ma ‘2" she said, and hmband and wife looked fixedly at each other. “ You say you will be a loving husband and a true friend; prove it. by doing thisâ€" prove it by giving up Mgdume Vanira." “1 cannot, for this reason : Madame Vanira. as lhappen to know, has had great troubles In her life, but she is thoroughly good. I repeat it. Minion, thoroughly énod. Now, if I. as you phrase in ‘zive her up,’ It would be confessing than I had {lUIle wrong. My friendship is some little comfort to her. and she likes me. When harm is [here in in? Above all, what wrong does it, inflict on you? Answer me. Has my friendship for Madame Vanirs made me less kind. less thoughtful for you '3” ‘ Lord Ciiafidos :vai sile'm. for a few min- utes : then he said: No answer came from the white lips of the trembling wife. ‘ A He went on : l “ Why should you be foolish or narrow- ‘ minded? Why seek to end a' friendship pure and innocent? Why not be your noble ‘ self, Marionâ€"noble, as I have always thought you? I will tell you frankly, Madame Vanira is going to Berlin. You know how lonely it is to go to a fresh place. She happened to say how deso- late she should feel at first in Ber- lin. I remarked that I knew the city well, and then she wished we were going. I pledge you my honor that she said ‘we.’ Never dreaming that you would make any opposition, I said that I should be very glad to spend the next few weeks in Berlin. I cannot tell how it really was, but. I found that. it was all settled and arranged almost before I knew it. Now, you would not surely wish me to draw back? Come wi:vh me to Berlin, and I will show you how happy I Will make you.” n- .. . .. . ..r “ The spell is still on me," she answered. “ When I have thrown my whole soul inLo anything, I lose my own identity for many hours. 1 wish," she continued, " what I did not so thoroughly enter Into those character“. Ihardiy realize this moment whether I am Anne fioleyn, the unhappy wife of blulf King Hal, or Whether I am Leone. the singer.” “No,” she replied ; “I will slmre your heart with no one. Unless I have all I will have none. Iwill not go to Berlin. and you must give up Madame Vamra," she continued; a married mm wants no women friend but his wife. \Vhy shuuld you spend long hours and Whole days teteâ€"a- tete with a. stranger? Of what can you find to speak ‘3 You know in your heart that you are wrong. You say no. Now in the name of common sense and fairness, let me ask, would you like me to make of any man you know such a. friend as you have made of Madame Vanira ‘3 ’ ” That is quite another thing.” he replied. Lady Uhandos laughed. sadly. “The usual refuge of a man when he is brought to bay." she said. “ No Words, no arguments will he of any use to me; I shall never be really friends with you until you give up Madame Vanira. " “Then we wxll remdin enemies,” he replied. “I will never give up a. true friend for the Caprice of any woman,” he replied, “even though that woman be my wife.” “ Neither will I consent to go to Berlin,” she auSWered, gravely. “ Then 1 must go alone," he said ; “I will not, be governed by capriccs that have in them neither reason nor sense." “Then,” cried Lady Marion, “ it is war to the knife heLween us !" “ Wat, if you will,” said Lord Chandos; “but, always remember you can pun an end to the warfare when you will 1" V~aifiskilglrl appeal to Lads! Lanswell and to the Duke of Lester,” said Lady Marion, and her husband merely answered with a. bow. 0n the same evening when that converâ€" satlon took place, Lord Chandos want [.0 the opera, where Leone was playing “Anne Boleyn.” He waited until she came out and Wes seated in her carriage ; then he stood for a few moments leanmé over the carriage door am! talking to her. ‘TH‘tVfivaothremble, Leone," “he said. “Your face is white and your eyes all fire !" “ 1 know which eyes seekmg hersw King Hal‘s wives woth your little f: the stars are shiL: 1.0 say to you. M With them in was indeed “ war to the knife." Such was the Gordian knot that. Lady Lauswell had to untie, and It. was the most: difficult task of her life. dV€ at, he rep have ave no right to pry into my mo replied, angrily ;and she retort mu a husband‘s motives lowerec he had every reason Lo inquin LIE one L16 near you are,” he said. his ith awistful look. “AH put, together are not uger, Leone. See how mg. I have something nyI drive with you as :me " that Berlin something. A mv wife. who looked into his “I: is again “but you may The silent sn he to and Lhe faée of the fuirmt woman in land grew deadly pale. “ To give me up.” she murmured; ” and yon. Lord Chandos. what have you said ‘3" “ I said ‘ No,’ a. thousand times over, Leone; our friendship is a. good and pure one; I would not give is up for any caprice in Line world." said. “ So you would not give me up, and you told them so 3" “ Yes; I refused to do anything of the kind,” he replied; “ why should I, Lenne‘.’ They parted us once. by strata- gem, by intrigue, by working on all that was weakest In my character: now we are but friends; simple, honest friends; who shall pay; us_?" A great, tearless sob came from her psle lips. “ So you will not give me up again, Lance '3" she said. “ No. I will die first, Leone. There is one thing more I have to say. I said than I would go to Berlin, and I have asked my wife to go with me : she has refused. and l havé said that I would go alone. Tell me wlmgyou thinlg 7"" She clasped his hands for an instant in her own. “ I cannotâ€"I think nothing; perhaps-- oh, Heaven help melâ€"porhans as your wife has mld you she will not. go with you, your duty is to stay with her.” “'My duti,” he repeated; “ who, shall say What a. man’s duty is? Do you think I hagg no q-zty trowar-dar yogj': “ Your firai though should beâ€"mnst be â€"your wife. If she would have countenanc- ed our friendship, is would hava been our greatest pride and pleasure, if she opposes it, we must yield. She has the first right to your time. After all, Lance, what can in matter? We shall have to part; what can it matter whether it is now or in three month to came ? The more we ace of each other the harder it will be." A flush as of fire came over his face. " Why must we part, '3” he said. " Oh. Heaven, what. a price I pay for my folly !" “ Here is Highgate Hill.” said Leone; “ you go no further. Lord Chnndosz" ()nlyuthe silent stars were looking cn: he stood for a. few minutes at the carriage door. “ Shall I go to Berlin?” be whispered, as he lnft. her, and her answer was a low, sad. The woman who is in mourning ahould find much consolation in the new hats and helmets designed for her this spring. They PARISIAN MOURNING MILLINERY Dainty ('onfefllmu In film-k ('repe, Dull Sllk and Soul“? Flowerq. The mourning bonnens to be worn when the veil is taken off are artistic little afiairs. Many of them consist merely of a broad bow of crepe, black chiflon or lustreless silk With a jet. ornament or buckle caught through the loop. Beneabh the bow black lilacs or black lilies of the valley rust, against. the hair. Another fanciful idea for a mourning bonnet shows a puffing oi :repe arranged as a. curoneb, with a bunch 01 black heliotrope, two or three pansies or a fullâ€"blown rose nodding above it. “luck ospreys or dull jetted aigrettes will Lake the place of feathers on round hugs for lightr mqurning. The black and violet, bonnet for second mourning is a dream of beauty. Black velvet or black crepe combined with 11mm- ally colored heliotvope, pansies or purple- tinted orchids, or heliotrope chiflon and black flowers, form many new and beauti- ful bonnebs. Ihe_beautjful face. all pale with passion, naiumuce “ Yes". God bless you a thousand times '."sh§ Very few blue-eyed people are said against l‘WO FAVORITE DESIG NS (TO BE CONTINUE-D.) me from the beautiful the fuirmt woman in CI‘lSlB was to aske compa‘ wish.” I want to ask you come in our lives; about. that day on e to give up your down in pity as )ips. “14 EAKED PIES FDR VICTORIA. EDWARD BANTLEY NEW A NEW YORK RESTAURANT KEEPER. There was a time when Edward antley made pies and cakes for Queen Victoria. at Windsor Castle. Now he 18 the part owner of a. little restaurant in New York. “During the years I was at Windsor Castle as pastry cook, says Mr. Bintley. “I bade. pretty gnoi chance to observe the tastes of the Queen in that particular line. Ihad learnell my trade under the instructions of one of the grandest artists in Paris in the cooking line. Hi3 cakes A Former I'nutrylmm a! “'Inzls‘or (‘nslle Suys 01n- Gluoon is Very Fond or Scotch Cakesâ€"she Alsu Likes l'lnm Pnddlnmâ€"Tho Emprror William Very I'm-Hal l0 "luce I’IM. in Fans in the cooking line. His cakes were dreams, hie confections visions. The best people of Franceâ€"the epicurea, the gourmeudsâ€"used to rave about them, and the prices paid for them were awful. From this man [lesrned about all that I considered worth knowing. I looked upon myself as a master of the art, and my head swelled a good deal when I was hired to go to London and cook for a. real live queen. I had a faint kind of a notion that I might win one of the princesses, and I pictured myself strutting about with a. ‘ whole army of duchesses and baronessea following me around. “My hopes were knocked out; in one round. The Queen paid less attemiou to me than she did to the man who herded the geese in the castle grounds. MY FRENCH CAKES didn't catch on. Shedidn’t seem tolike them a. little bit. The truth of the matter is that the Queen sent down a. quiet tip that such things might go in Paris, but that they were a. little 05 color for an buglishQaeen. Some way or other they were not consulered digestible. It was intimated that they were a little heavy for the British stomach. All that I had learned was good for nothing, so I had to go back to the old methods." “What did she like best ‘3” “Scotch cakes were favorites. She used to fairly revel in tnem. Then she had a gram fondness for plum puddings. And ‘suuh puddings I I used to make great big ones. These puddings were made in quanti- ties big enough to teed a regiment, and they were one of the features of every important dinner. “ Every (hy the Queen would come through on a. tour of inspecbion. She wnlk- ed about, among the employes just like any other Englih housewxfe, but she seldom spoke to any one. She would give her direcuons quietly and leave. - “ The German ancestry of the Queen used to assert itself pretty strongly, and aha would give orders for the pastry of Hanover and Berlin. Once in a. while she took a. turn at, doughnuts, but they always had to bellgnhl and flaky “ IL \vas‘a pryenty good place to work, though. and the p&y was sureâ€"man was bhe but part of it.” The Emperor liked pie, especially mince pie, and 1 have an idea that he must have stolen some of them from his grandmother's pantry, by the way they used to disap- pew; ‘ "Whenever A dinner of great state was prepared the kitchen mm in an uproar. The cakes had to be fixed up in the grandest way possible, and there were all sorts of decorations to be made. There was the German royal coat of arms in sugar and the English lion in dough, to say nothing of unicorns and dragons, and harps and thistles, and all such emblems as would tickle the pride and patriotism of the family and their guests. “Once in a while Emperor \Villiam of Germany would run over for a day or two, and then we had a turn or. 'I‘wu lllllo (‘hlldren Are Ilelpleusly Almndoncil by 'l‘lmlr Father." Jlulice of Ilse Peace. The Community in the vicinity of Hart- ford, a little Village south of Aurore, Ind., is greatly incensed over the conduct of Squire Robbins, a Justice of the Peace for Union Township. He is also a‘ leading politician of that neighborhood and a. con- spicuous memberof the church. The Squire left his two little chillren home alone, without food or fuel, during the recent cold spell,[elling them he was going to Cole’s Corner, 0. small village some miles distant. Several days later Albert Brush, 8. young farmer of that vicinity, found the deserted children almost furnished and nearly frozen to death. He aroused the neighbors, and prompt relief was given the perishing children. Their ages are 5 and 7, and but for the timely arrival of Brush they would have both succumbed to the severities of the merciless fate to wnich their father had abandoned them. The tale of the terrible sufferings they endured as told by the unfortunate little sufferers brought tears to the eyes of all who heard them. The only morsel of food parzaken bv them during the period of their abandonment, they slated, was a dead rat which the cat brought into the house, and which they fought the fe'ine to possess. After obtaining the partially eaten carcass of the rat the starving children divided it into two parts and devoured the bloody fragments raw. Weakened from hunger and thinly clad. they huddled together in one corneroi the cheerless room in their poverty-stricken Abode under a pile of rags m afutile effort to keep warm, and were almost unconscious from cold when rescued The indignation is very bitter against. the inhuman lather, and threats 0! white. capping him are freely made should he return. Mr. Turner, Township Trustee, was notified ot the condition of the unfor- cunntes, and immediately took steps to relieve their wants THEY ATE A RAT‘ GERMAN DISHES.