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' LOVE REASONS NOT. CHAPTER LVI. AN AI’PROACIIISG TEMI’EST. The Countess of Lanswell was in despair. Any little social difficulty, the exposing of an adventuress, the setting aside of a mar- riage, intrigues, or a royal invitation, "dropping" people when it was convenient to do so, and courting them when she re- quired them, to all and each of these deeds she was quite equal; but a serious case of cruel jealousy, is. heartabroken, desolate Wife on one hand, an obstinate husband on the other, was past her power of manageâ€" ment. Lady Chandos had written to ask her to come to Stoneland House that day. “I have something of the greatest im- portance to say to you,"sne wrote. “Do not delay; to-morrow may be too late." Lady Lanswell received this urgent note just as she was sipping her chocolate, luxuriously robed in a dressing-gown of silk and softest velvet, apretty morning cap of finest Mechlin lace on her head. Her handsome, haughty face grew pale as she read it. “It is a wretched piece of business from beginning to end,” she said to herself. "Now here is my peace of mind for the dav gone. I was to have seen Madame Adelaide soon after noon about my dresses, and the dentist at three. I know absolutely noth- ing which I can say to a jealous wife, I know nothing of jealousy. Most of the wives whom I know are pleased rather than otherwise when their husbands are away from home. Marion takes things too seriously. I shall tell her so." But any little speech of that kind she might have tried to make was forgotten when she caught the first glimpse of Lady Marion’s white, tragic face. “My dear child, what is the matter? What a face 2 why, you must have been crying for hours, I am sure," said the countess. “ Marion, you should not go on in this way, you will kill yourself." “ Lady Lanswell, I wish that I Were dead; my husband has ceased to love me. Oh, God, let me die I” cried poor Lady Marion, and the countess was seriously alarmed. “ My dear child, pray be reasonable,” she cried; “ how can you say that Lance has ceased to love you ?" “ It is true,” said the unhappy wife ; “he refused to give up Madaire Vanira, and what seems to me more dreadful still, she is going to Berlin, and he insists on going also. I cannot bear it, Lady Lanswell I” “We must reason with him,” said the countess, grandly, and despite the tragedy of her sorrow, Lady Marion smiled. “Reason with him? You might as well stand before a hard, white rmk and ask roses to bloom on it; you might as well stand before the great heaving ocean and ask the tide not to roll in, as to try to rea- son with nim. I do not understand it, but Iam quite sure that he is infatuated by Madame Vanira ; I could almost fancy that she had worked some spell over him. Why should he care for her ? Why should he visit her ? Why should he go to Berlin because .she is there '2" The countess, listening, thanked Heaven that she did not know. If ever that secret became known, it was all over with the House of Lanswell. “I have said all that I can say,” she con- tinued, rising in great agitation; “and it is of no use ; he is utterly shameless.” “Hush, woman ! I will not have you say such things about my son ; he may like and admire Madame Vanira, but I trust him, and would trust him anywhere ; you think too much of it, and you make more of it than you need. Let me pray of you to be prudent ; want of prudence in a wife at such a juncture as this has very often occasioned misery for life. Are you quite sure that you cannot be generous enough to allow your husband the pleasure of this friendship, which I can certify is a good one '2" The countess sighed ; the matter was in- deed beyond her. In her artifical life, these bare, honest human passions had no place. “ Over the journey to Berlin,” she said, “ you are making too much of it. If he enjoys madame’s society, and likes Berlin, where is the harm of his enjoying them to- gether ‘3” So she spoke ; but she shrunk from the clear gaze of those blue eyes. “ Lady Lanswell. you know all that is nonsense. My husband is mine, and I will not share his love or his affection with any one. Unless he gives up Madame Vanira, I shall leave him. If he goes to Berlin, I will never see him again." “ You are very foolish, my dear. I heard yesterday, on very good authority, that my son, Lord Chandns, will be offered the vacant Garter. I believe it is true, I feel sure of it. I would not for the world any- thing should happen now, any disgrace of any kind ; and these matrimonial quarrels are disgraceful, Marion. You should trust your husband.” “ Ihave done so. buthe does not love me, Lady Lanswell ; my mind is quite made up. If he goes to Berlin, I shall never see or speak to him again.” “But, my dearest Marion,” cried the countess, “this is terrible. Think of appear- ances, think of the worldâ€"what will the world say ? And yours was supposed to be a love match. It must not be. Have you not the sense to see that such a course of proceeding would be simply to throw him into Madame Vanira’s hands? You will be your own worst enemy if you do this l” “I shall do what my own heart prompts," she said ; “no matter what the world says; And the unhappy girl knelt at Lady Lanswell’s feet, and laid her head on the silken folds of her dress. If there was one creature in this world whom Lady Lauswell loved more than an- other, it was her son‘s wife, the fair, gentle girl who had been a most loving daughter to her ; she could not endure the sight of her pain and distress. “I have made up my mind,” sobbed Lady Marion ; “I shall appeal to the Duke of Lester ; he will see that justice is done to me I" “My dearest Marion, that is the very thing you must not do. If you appeal to the duke, it becomes at once a serious quarrel, and who will say how such a quarrel may end? If you appeal to the duke, the whole thing will be known throughout the land ; there is an end to all my hopes of the vacant Garter ; in fact, I may say shore is an end to the race of Lans- well. Think twice before you take such an important step l" " No one thinks for me I” cried Lady Marion. “ Yes, Ithink of you and for you. Give me your promise that for a week at least you will say nothing to the Duke of Lester. Will you promise me that Marion ‘3” " Yes," said Lady Chandos, wearily ; “ I promise you that, but not one day longer than a Week ; my heart is breaking l I can- not bear suspense l" I “ I promise you that in a few days there shall be an end of all your trouble," said the countess, who had secretly made her own resolves. “ Now, Marion, put your trust in me. You have had no breakfast this morning, I am sure.” Raising the delicate figure in her arms, the countess kissed the weeping face. “ Trust in me," she repeated ; “ all will be well. Let me see you take some ‘ coffee." The countess rang and ordered some cof‘l'ee ; then, when she had compelled Lady Marion to drink it, she kissed her again. “Do you know how it will end ?" she said gently, “all this crying and fasting and sorrow f’ You will make yourself very ill, and then Lance will nevsr forgive him- self. Do be reasonable, Marion, and leaveit all with me.” But after the countrss had left her,Lady Marion still felt very ill ; she had never felt so ill ; she tried to walk from her dressing-room to her bedroom. and to the great alarm of her maid, she fell fainting to the ground. The doctor came, the same physician who had attended her for some years, since she was a child, and he looked very grave when he heard of the long, deathlike swoon. He sat talking to her for some time. “Do you think I am very ill,doctor?" she asked. He answered : “You are not very well, my dear Lady Chandos." “Do you think I will die '2" “Not of this illness,please God,” he said. l “Now, if you will promise me not to be lexcited I will tell you something,” and bending down he whispered something in her ear. A flood of light and rapture came in her face, her eyes filled with joy. "Do you mea- it? Is it really true 1’" she asked. “ Really true ; but remember all depends on yourself ;” and the doctor went away, leaving behind him a heart full of emotion, of pleasure, of pain, hope, and regret. Meanwhile, the countess for the second time had sought her son. Her stern, grave face, her angry eyes, the repressed pride and emotion that he saw in every gesture, told him that the time for jesting or evasion had passed. "Lance," said my lady, sternly, “you are a man now. I cannot command you as I did when you were a boy." “No, mother ; that is quite true. Apro- pos of what do you say that? ” “ I am afraid the sin of your manhood will be greater than the follies of your youth,” she said. “ It is just possible," he replied, indifi- erently. “You have heard that you have been mentioned for the vacant Garter, and that it is highly probable you may receive it ? ” “I have heard so,” he answered indiff- erently. “I want to ask you a straightforward question. Do you think it worth your while to risk that, to risk the love and happiness of your wife, to risk your fair name, the name of your race, your position, and everything else that you ought to hold most dear? Do you think it worth while to risk all this for the sake of spend- ing three months in Berlin, where you can see Madame Vanira every day ‘2” Lord Chandos looked straight in his mother's face. "Since you ask me the question," he replied, “most decidedly I do." My lady shrunk back as though she had received a blow. “I am ashamed of you,” she .said. “And I, mother, have been ashamed of my cowardice but I am a coward no long- er." “Are tears and prayers of any avail ‘2” asked Lady Lanswell ; and the answer was : “No.” Then my lady,driven to despair between her son and his wife,resolved some evening to seek the principle cause of the mischief â€"Madame Vanira herself. CHAPTER LViI. A Micro \\'O.\IA.\' llUbIBLEI). her life been defeated before ; now all was over she went home with a sense of defeat such as she had never known before. Her son refused not only to obey her, but to listen to her remonstrances ; he would not take heed of her fears and my lady saw noth- ing but social disgrace before them. Her own life had been so crowned with sooial triumphs and success she could not realize or understand anything else. The one grand desire of her heart since her son's marriage had been that he should become a Knight of the Order of the Garter, and now by the recent death of a famous peer, the desire was on the eve of accomplish~ ment ; but if, on the very brink of success, it were known that he had left all his I care nothing for the world’s opinion. Oh, Lady Lanswull, do not look so angry at me. I amjmiserable ; my heart is broken !” duties, his home, his wife, to dance attend. ance on a singer. even though she were the first singer in Europe, it would be fatal to 1. had carried herself proudly among the , mothers of other sons ; hcrs had been a} success, wnile some others had proved, aileri all, dead failures; was she to own to her- self at the end of a long campaign that she was defeated? Ah, no ! Besides which there was the other side of the questionâ€"â€" Lady Marion declared she would not see him or speak to him again if he went to; Berlin, and my lady knew that she would keep her word. If Lord Chandos persisted in going to Berlin his wife would appeal to the duke, would in all probability insist on taking refuge in his house, then there would be a grand social scandal ; the whole household would be disbanded. Lady Chandos, an injured, almost deserted wife, living with the duke and the duchess; Lord Chandos abroad laughed at every- whereas a dupe. My lady writhed again in anguish as she thought of it. It must; not be. She said to herself that it would turn her hair gray, that it would stri‘re her with worse than paralysis. Surely her brilliant life was not to end in such afiasco as this. For the first time for many years hot tears blinded lee those fine eyes that had hitherto looked ' with such careless scorn on the world. My lady was dispirited ; she knew her son well enough to know that another appeal to him would be useless ; that the more she said to him on the subject the more obstinate he would be. A note from Lady Chandos completed her misery, and made her take a. desperate resolveâ€"a sad little note, that said : “ DEAR LADY Lasswnr.r.,â€"If you can do anything to help me, let it be done soon. Lance has begun to-day his preparations for going to Berlin. I heard him giving instructions over his traveling trunk. \Ve have no time to lose if anything can be done to save him.” “I must do it," said the countess, herself, with desperation. “Appeal to my son is worse than useless. I must appeal to the woman I fear he loves. Who could have imagined or prophesied that I should ever have been compelled to stoop to her, yet stoop I must, if I would save my son I” With Lady Lanswell, to resolve was to do : when others would have beaten about the bush she went direct. 0n the afternoon of that day she made out Leone's address, and ordered the car- riage. It was a sign of fear with her that she was so particular with her toilet; it was seldom that she relied, even in the least, on the advantages of dress, but to- day she made a toilet almost imperial in its magnificenceâ€"rich silk and velvet that swept the ground in superb folds, here and there gleaming a rich jewel. The countess smiled as she surveyed herself in the mirror, s. regal, beautiful lady. Surely no person sprung from Leone’s class would dare to oppose her. It. was on a beautiful, bright afternoon that my lady reached the pretty house, where Madame Vsnira lived. A warm" afternoon, when the birds sung in the green shade of the trees, when the bees made rich honey from the choica carnations, and the butterflies hovered round the budding lilies. The countess drove straight to the house. She left her carriage at the outer gates, and walked through the pretty laWn ; she gave her card to the servant and was shown into the drawing-room. The Countess of Lanswell would not have owned for the world that she was in the least embarrassed, but the color varied in her face, and herlips trembled ever so little. In a few minutes Leone enteredâ€" not the terrified, lowly, loving girl, who braved her presence because she loved her husband so well , this was a proud, beau- tiful, regal woman, haughty as the countess herselfâ€"a woman who, by force of her wondrous beauty and wondrous voice, had placed the world at her feet. Thecountess stepped forward with out- stretched hands. “ Madame Vanira,” she said, " will you spare me a few minutes? I wish to speak most particularly with you." Leone rang the bell and gave orders that she was not to be disturbed. Then the two ladies looked at each other. Leone knew that hostilities were at hand, although she could not quite tell why. The countess opened the battle by saying, boldly : " I ought, perhaps, to tell you, Madame Vanira, that I recognize you." Leone looked at her with proud uncon- cern. “ I recognize you now, although I failed to do so when I first saw you. I congratu- late you most heartily on your success.” “On what success?” she asked. “On your success as an actress and a singer. I consider you owe me some thanks." “ Truly,” said Leone, “I owe you some thanks.” The countess did not quite like the tone of voice in which those words were uttered; but it was her policy to be amiable. “ Your genius has taken me by surprise,” she said: “yet, when I recall the only in- terview I ever had with you, I recognize the dramatic talent you displayed.” ” I should think the less you say of that interview, the better,” said Leone; “it was not much to your ladyship's credit.” Lady Lanswell smiled. “ We will not speak of it," she said. “But you do not ask me to sit down. Madame Vauira, what a charming house you have here.” With grave courtesy Leone drew a chair near the window, and the countess sat down. She looked at the beautiful woman with a winning smile. “ Will you not be seated, madame?" she said. “I find it so much easier to talk when one is seated.n “How did you recognize me ‘2" asked Leone, abruptly. “I cannot say truthfully that I recog- to The countess of Lanswell had never in all filled your face.” “he said i "You Will not mind my saying that if I had done so I would not have invited you to my house. neither should I have permitted my daugh- ter-in-law to do so. It has placed us all in a false position. I knew you from some- thing my son said abOut you. I guessed at once that you must be Leone Noel. I must repeat my congratulations ; how hard you must have worked." Her eyes wandered over the magnificent face nd figure, over the faultless lines and grac ful curves, over the artistic dress, and the beautiful, picturesque head. “You have done well,” said the countess. “Years ago you thought me hard,urieehng, prejudiced, cruel, but it was kindness in the end. You have achieved for yourself fame, which no one oculd have won for you. Better to be as you are, queen of song, and would never have received you, and wlzol would soon have looked on you as an in- Cunillr‘ancc. " ‘ “Pray pinion me, Lady Lanswell, if I say thatl have no Wish whatever to hear ' your VIP-W5 on the subject." My lady’s face flushed. “I meant no ofiense,”she Said, “I merely l wished to show you that I have not been so much your enemy as you perhaps have thought me,” and by the sudden softening of my lady’s face, and the sudden tremor, of her voice. Leone knew that she had some favor to ask. "I think," she said. after a pause, “ that in all truth,Madame Vanira,you ought to be be grateful to me. You would have known the extent of your own genius and power if you had not gone on the stage.” “The happiness of the stage resembles the happiness of real life about as much as the tinselcrown of the mock queen resembles the regalia of the sovereign, ” replied Leone. “It would be far better if your ladyship would not mention the past.” “I only mention it because I wish you to e that I am not so much your enemy as you have thought me to be.” “Nothing can ever change my opinion on that point,” said Leone. “You think I was your enemy '3" said the countess,blandly. “The mast cruel and the most relentless enemy any young girl could have,” said Leone. “I am sorry you think that," said my lady, kindly. “The more so as I find you so happy and so prosperous.” “You cannot answer for my happiness," said Leone, briefly. “I acted for the best,” said the countess, with more meekness than Leone had ever seen in her before. “It was a miserable best,” said Leone, her indignation fast rising, despite her self- control. A wretched best, and the results have not been in any way so grand that you can boast of them." “So far as you are concerned, Madame Vanira, I have nothing to repent of,” said my lady. Leone's dark eyes flashed fire. "I am but one,” she said, “your cruelty made two people miserable. What of your son? Have you made him so happy that you can come here and boast of what you have done '2” My lady's head fell on her breast. Ah, no, Heaven knew her son was not a happy man. “Leone,” she said, in a low hurried voice, “it is of my son I Wish to speak to you. It is for my son’s sake I am hereâ€"it is because I believe you to be his true friend and a noble woman that I am here, Leoneâ€"it is the first time I have called you by your nameâ€"I humble myself to youâ€"will you listen to me ‘3” {To an coxrixrsn.) A CRY FOR HELP. Great lblslress In Newfoundlandâ€"The Government [Enable to Adopt Ade quote Remedial Measuresâ€"Nearly Every Home In the Land Afleclcd. The following appeal for aid, from St. John’s, Newfoundland, has been issued :â€" It is with mingled feelings of the deepest distress and regret that we have to appeal to the benevolent for support in our great emergency. We remember your hearty sympathy and practical charity at a time when fire devastated our city and rendered thousands homeless and destitute. That calamity. however, was slight compared to the present one. St. John's alone sufl'ered then, but nearly every home in the land is affected to its serious detriment by this financial collapse on the part of our mone- tary institutions. The results indeed are already appalling. The difliculty and needs are daily increasing. It is calculated that at the present moment 1,000 families in St, John’s alone are seeking reliefâ€"a number daily increasingâ€"but the greatest fear and apprehension exist that these numbers will be magnified by an influx from the neigh- boring outports, and intensified by the al- ready growing cry of want in the more dis- tant settlements. Usually, the Government, under circum- stances of public distress, provide works of relief, but the same causes operate upon them, and they are unable to adopt any adequate remedial measures. The local charities are doing and have done much, but their resources are limited. Our lead- ing citizens and the general public, ever ready to respond at much personalsacrifice, are themselves overborne With surpassing difficulties. Labor has been largely cur- tailed, and a long and arduous winter is before us. The savings of the thrifty and industrious are either completely lost, or so depreciated in value that many who never knew want will need assistance. It is with such circumstances as these we are called upon to deal. Indeed there lie before us all the conditions of distress that touch to the quick human hearts. And therefore wo appeal to those “who love their fellow-men” to respond with what liberality they may to our call in this our hour of great and trying need. All contributions, in money or kind, should be addressed to the care of “ The secretary, Clerical Committee for Relief, St. John's Newfoundland.” Money may be remitted direct through the Bank of Montreal. (Signed) Llewellyn Newfound- land, chairman ; John Scott, Roman Catho- lic Administrator, vice-chairman: Graham, Presbyterian, secretary; G. S. Milligan, LL. D., president Methodist Conference: Edward Botwood, Archdeacon of Newfoundland : John Ryan, Roman Catholic, dean of Diocese of St. John’s; A. f). Morton, Methodist, assistant secretary; G. W. Siddall, Congregational. The Fate of Tamalus. Mrs. Scribbler (impressively)â€"Whatever you do, never, never marry a newspaper man. School Chumâ€"VSI by not? I married one, and I know. Every night my husband brings home a big bundle of newspapers from all over the country, and they ’most drive me crazy. The neWspapers '3 Indeed they do. with the most astonishing bargains,in stores so queen of half the World of fashion, than a thousand mile“ “WW- They are just crammed - him. It would spoil his career. My lady the wife of a man whose family and friends THE CHICORA’S ONE SURVIVOR. A small YrIIIIW “02.1l3lll Ills Smile, Like Ills Experience. ls Bough. In a warm corner of the big railway freight house at Berton Harbor, Mich, stands a wicker basket. In the basket, which is filled with cotton, lies a. little yellow skye terrier. You say to the basket “ Come, Rough," and the cover pups open and thirty-five pounds of yelping, wiggling joyous skye terrier jumps up to lick your hands. And that little yellow dog, with his snappy eyes and his ecstatic yelp, is the only living thing that has come from the steamer Chicora. He is frostâ€"bitten, bruised, and torn, but very much alive and very glad of it, for despite his bruises he wags his little tall with furious enthusiasm whenever a voice he knows says “ Come, Rough.” Farmer Solom Cutler heard a great scratching and moaning at his kitchen door when he rose to build a fire last Tues- day morning. He opened the door and Rough, covered with ice and almost blind, flopped into the kitchen. Solom Cutler picked up the bedraggled little waif and carried it tenderly into his wife’s bedroom. She said, “Poorlittle thing,” and prompt- ly got out a box of ointment, with which Rough was anointed. Then they put him in a basket and set the basket under the stove. Rough was never beautiful. He is little and yellowâ€"the kind of yellow that is proâ€" nounced “ yaller " and has legs that can only be described as stumpy. He is little more than a foot long and his hair is touz- zled and tangled. His eyes are of a washed- out green. Altogether Rough is not a I beauty. There are those who have spoken , of him as “ ornery,” but he is brightâ€" wonderfully brightâ€"~and passessing an' amount of strength and endurance truly marvellous. Rough's appearance of chronic and long-standing hard luck was several degrees accentuated when he came into Mrs. Cutler’s hands. His skin was cruelly frost bitten, one of his paws was fro7.en, and he was covered with ice from the tip of his little russet nose to the lip of his rigid little tail. Farmer Cutler lives at Pottowotamie Park,eigha miles north of St. Joseph. It is onlyalittlestation,andthoinhabitantsthere- of are composed mostly ofthe occupants of the Cutler farmhouse. So it was late Thurs- day evening when Farmer Cutler heard the Chicora had gone down. He and his wife compared notes. They had heard a. steamer blowing distress whistlesâ€"four short blasts, a pause, and four more blastsâ€"as they sat down to supper Monday night. They heard the distress whistles several times, and went to the door to look out. They saw the lights of a vessel heaving up and down way out in the lake. “I guess she must be two miles out," said Solom. “I guess she is," said his wife. Then they slammed the door and sat down to supper. Thursday night when told about the wreck of the Chicora,he at once thought of Rough. He had been wondering where Rough could have come from. \ They took the basket and the dog and drove into Benton Harbor. “Do you know this dog?" he said to a sailor he met near the docks. “Lord, yes ; that’s Rough. Where did you get him ‘3" Cutler told the story, and the sailor said that Rough must have come from the wreck of the Chicora. It seems that the dog has a great fancy for lake travel. All the year round he goes back and forth between Benton Harbor and Milwaukee on the Graham and Morton ships. He loves the water, the boats, and sailors, and the sailors love him. He went with the Chicora on her last tripâ€"there are sailors who remember seeing him leave the dock and pass onto the main deckâ€"'and he is the only living thing to come back from her. In the English Courts. The inequalities of sentence in the Eng- lish criminal courts are strongly criticised in the English law journals. The Law Times, the most influential of the English law periodicals, is publishing a series of articles on the criminal law and its ad- ministration, and in a recent number gives the opinion of Justice Hawkins, the best. known criminal judge of the country. He believes that great care should be taken in considering the past history and the sur- roundings of each prisoner before sentence is pronounced. Though he has the repu- tation of being a severe judge, he is strongly opposed to flogging, and never imposes a sentence in which that is a part of the punishment. Some of the judges approve the lash as a means of punishing criminals accused of acts of violence but most of the judges believe that it has little effi cacy. He says of the duty of a judge administering the criminal lamâ€""Let him consider well before passing sentence upon aprisoner. ht him consider the nature of the offence committed, the injury to in- dividuals and society resulting from the offence, and then, with even justice, having a regard to all surrounding circumstances and the previous history of the criminal, firmly but humanely put in force the power with which the country intrusts him for its protection and the welfare of the criminal.” â€"â€"â€"â€".â€"â€"- Drawing the Line. Typer (angrilyJâ€"I'd just like to know w_ what you call that butter you sent to my I house? Grocerâ€"That’s print butter. Typer-It is, oh? We'll, I’m a printer myself, and I suppose I might stand butter that suggests a com; osing-room, but I’ll be hanged if I’ll eat butter that tastes like a press-room. WouldnjtiHsHlt Them. Miss Youngthingâ€"What do you think '. I wrote a poem last week. Didn’t take me any time at all, I sent it to the Highupp Magazine.” Miss Beenthcreâ€"Did you inclose stamps? Miss Youngthmg~0f course not. If the Highupp Magazine can't afford to stamp the envelope when they send me a check, I think it’s a pity. Until the skating season shall have closed a man's bumps has nothing to do with phrenology.