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

on. A SECRET CHAPTER X XXIV. She went swiftly, with the shawl drawn closely around her head, along the drive, its wonted smoothness cut up by the carriages; passed the gates and into the high road. She paused a moment or two to gain breath and looked around her. As she did so, the clock of the Towers! struck five. In another hour or two, she reflected, wurkmen would be about and she would be seen. She must hasten on, but. whither? At that moment if any idea at all found room in her bewildered mind it was that of going to her own people. If she walked long enough, if she could only manage to avoid recognition, she must. in time come across a band of gypsies. Whether they belonged to her own tribe or not, she knew that they would succor, and, if necessary, hide her. She hurried on and for a time, supported by the excitement, was not sensible of fatigue; but presently she became conscious of it. Her feet seemed to be of lead, her head ached, her eyes burned. She knew that she could not go much further. Suddenâ€" ly she found herself off the road and upon the grass. She looked around confusedly and saw she was on Gorse Common. 'As she looked a faint light attracted her attention, and she realized, after a moment‘or ,two, that it was from Martha Hoop- er's cottage. It seemed like a beaconâ€"not to warn but to welcome; and it occurred to her that she might rest there for a short time,| perhaps until the night had fallen had evidently would again. The woman known what sorrow was, and sympathize with her and hide her. [It wastrue that there was some secret understanding between her and the countess, but Madge reflected that she could show Martha Hooper that she, Madge, was flying from! Monk Towers to save the countess from further humiliation, and that would induce Mrs. Hooper to helpi her in her flight. She made her way across the com- mon and, nearly fainting now with the exhaustion production by the reaction of excitement, she leaned against the door and knocked. . Two or three minutes passedâ€"minâ€" utes that seemed an age to Madgeâ€" and she was asking herself whether she should have strength to keep from falling upon the step, when] Martha Hooper’s nervous voice was" heard from behind the door: “Who is it? Is it youâ€"Jake?" she! asked in trembling tones. Madge moistened her lips; she was: almost incapable of speech. “It is I," she at last. , Mrs. Hooper opened the door, then; shrank back and uttered a cry of! alarm. “Who is don't know you! giveâ€"" “It is Iâ€"Mrs. Landon!" said poor n it?" she panted. "Iâ€"â€"I I've nothing to Madge. “Let me come in, Iâ€" Martha Hooper uttered a cry of nervous apprehenâ€" hcr in, closed astonishment and sion, and, drawing the door. “It is you, ma'am!" she gasped as Madge sank onto a chair. “Oh what has happened? Why are you’dressed like that? You are ill." “1â€"1 am tired," said Madge faintâ€" ly. Martha Hooper ran for a glass of water, and brought. it to her and stood by as Madge drank it, wring- ing her hands. “What has happened, ma’am?" she repeated. “Hasâ€"has he been there? Oh tell me quick! My poor heart!" and she put her hands to her side. "I am in great trouble, Mrs. Hoopâ€" er," said Madge faintly. "1â€"1 have left the Towers." “Left the Towers! You!” gasped Martha. “Why have you done. that?” “I don't think I can tell youi" said Madge with a heavy sigh. “And yet you will soon know the truth. 'All the world will know it! I have left the Towers andâ€"my husband, because I have brought shame and disgrace upon himâ€"upon all of .them.” She spoke with the awful calmness of resignation and despair. Why should she not tell this woman the- truth? All the county knew itâ€"were probably discussing it at this moâ€" ment. “Shame, disgrace!” echoed Marthal Hooper. “Yes,” said Madge. “You knowâ€"â€" perhaps you do not; but it will be known before daylight that I am a iypsyf’ “A gypsy!” the woman looked at Madge's brown dress and red shawl. .“A gypsy! I thought you were play acting. Yes, you look like a gypsy ln those clothes!" “I am a gypsy," said Madge sad- ly. “It was in a gypsy camp that ~Jackâ€"that my husband first saw me hand'hâ€"ber voice brokeâ€"“loved me. 1â€"1 did not know the harm I was doing in letting him marry me. How c0uld I have known?" She was not so much speaking to the frightened woman before her as communing with herself. "Then I came to the iTowers andâ€"and I tried to be like wMMWAMWWN ‘harm he was doingâ€"â€" ’in the _quite safe here. the. others, to be a. lady andâ€"and wonky of him; and toâ€"night"â€"â€"her l REVEALED voice brokeâ€"“to-night I thought I! had done so, that he would be proud of me. Then, just. when I had forâ€" gotten what I had been, a man carne‘ into the midst of them all, and told‘ them all what 1 was!" ller eyes were dry and hot, and yet as if the unshed tears were burning in tlieni., “l’oor Jake!" she breathed with a heavy sigh. “lle did not know the “Jake!” "Yes, that is his name," she said faintly. “lie is one of our tribe, and he followed me, I suppose, to get money. I would have. given him all I could get; Jack would have given him anything ro spare me. I know that but it is all ox'er now; the blow has fallen. Everybody knows. everybody looks down upon me and him with scorn," she put her hands to her face and sighed. Martha llooper looked straight. over Madgc's head with a strange expression on her face. “Did lieâ€".lakeâ€"come only to tell the grand people all he knew about you?" she asked in a dry voice. Madge shook her head. “I suppose so. I do not. know. It. does not matter: it is all over! All! I can never go back. There is only one thing for me to do: to hide myâ€" self away fromâ€"from Jack till I die. I must go back to my own people." She paused a moment, then raised her eyes to the while face. in front of her. "Will you help me‘? You have known sorrow and trouble have you not?" “Ay!” came from lips. "And you will help me who am in such bitter need?" pleaded Madge. “1 can only rest untilâ€"until the evening. If you will hide me some- where and keep me hidden from any Martha's dry oneâ€"any oneâ€"who may come! Will you dp that?" She put out her hand and touched Martha Hoopâ€" er's gently, imploringly, for the wo- man seemed to have become lost in a kind of reverie. Martha. started slightly, and lookâ€" ed down at the white, lovely face with its great eyes full of misery and despair. “Yes,” she said with a long breath “I will help you!" Madge raised her eyes gratefully and with a dim surprise, for a change Seemed to have come over Martha if Madge's appeal had aroused a Hooper's face and voice; it was as if Madge’s appeal had aroused- a touch of resolution and an indica- tion of strength in the nervous, fear- burdened woman. “Come upstairs with me she said new and firmer tone. “You will be ill if you do not get rest. Do not be afraid, ma’am, you will be I will protect you.” “If you will hide me till night,” said Madge. Mrs. Hooper put her arm around the slight girlish figure and helped narrow stairs to a small room. It was .crupulously neat and clean, like Martha Hooper herself, and Madge looked around with a Weary sigh of relief. Martha Hooper helped her to unâ€" dress; and such help was necessary, for poor Madge was almost incapâ€" able of lifting her hand. And when Madge dropped her tired and aching head on the pillow, Martha Hooper sat beside her and held her hand. “You have been very good to me,’ Madge murmured, with her eyes closed. “You will not give me upâ€" to any one?" “No,” said Martha Hooper. are safe here. No one shall, harm you or take you away. You said that I had known sorrow and trou- Madge up the I “You ble; you spoke , the truth. But I have deserved them, whereas you have not, poor lady!" “Don't call me ‘lady,’ " said Madge almost inaudibly, “I am only a gypsy. Only a gypsy!" The sweet sad voice continued to! murmurâ€"sometimes broken with a sobâ€"for an hour or more, until sleep fell like a blessed balm upon the!i weary spirit; and all that time Martha Hooper sat beside the bed and held the hand that burnt like fire one minute and struck like icei the next. And the look of reSolutlon which Madge had noticed grew stranger in the elder woman’s face as the dawn broke; and the thin lips usually so weak and terinulous, grew firm and determined. * if s * at at 'Royce left the countcss' room, and mechanically went toward his own,, but he stopped at the door. 1105 would not go in and let Madge see! the trouble in his face, for he knew; that it Would only add to her sull‘er-l moment, expectâ€", ing to hear her crying, but all \vus' ing. He listened a still, and hopingâ€"though hopeâ€"that she might have asleep, he went downstairs. library door was open and he went in to sit down and think over his future course, for that he would take Madge from the Towers that (lay. ‘There was no light in the room, and he struck a match. As he did so he saw that he was not alone. Seymour was sitting on a chair by the fable. his head on his arms. (gainst fallen aw a y ,loudlyâ€"proclainiod The i he had resolved! not sleep in .'l‘he room redolent of brandy, and a but over- turned by the sleeping man's elbow. infinite always doubted and but to« mask from the ai‘clnhypo- that spirit fascinating had becn decanter of destructive looked at him with lie had elaborafclyâ€"paraded virtue, that the Royce disgust. Seymour's night. Royce knew had been torn crite's face. lie. went up to themotionlcss figâ€" ure, and shook it by the shoulder. “Wake up," up, and get to bed." Seymour roused slowly, ed up at the stern stare of drunken stupor. “lCr-eiâ€"is that you, Royce?" helm” busy with my‘ usual, . said. "i have been Blueâ€"books and Reports as and dozed oil." “ let up!" said Royce with increasâ€"i yourself 1 any lies!. I know you quite Well now ed loathing, “and spare, Seymour." . “Ah it's you, is ' I Seymour. "You to me afterâ€"after toâ€"night's busi- . , , ‘ ness, do you? You order me about! I‘m/,0! mm‘ "was Swat SM“ and .atâ€" I should .haVo thought you would “’nt‘onv _ although there is llmllmg have felt too much like a beaten mom “T111011 “DUI! in OHI‘ live $10Ck cur. But you don't know what an“! atil‘iwltlll‘al pal’N‘S than the Filâ€" Shamo i3, ('10 51,11?" tions for dairy cows, and nothing "Yes, I (loâ€"when I look at you, said lioyCc grimly. "But I you have Sense enough to standâ€"what I am going to do." “Iâ€"I can understand," said Scyâ€" food at our summer shows for coWs mom“. “there's Dill)" "1‘0 thing You that have been allowed to grass can do. All theâ€"County's laughing previous to their being exhibited. The at us. alone? You‘ve disgrace on our your gypsy " brought. name. “Stop!” said Royce. his face while ’l‘hen he remembered that he was dealing with a drunken man and flung him from Wait!" be him under his swollen lids, moved to the his eyes blazing ominously. hiin. saidhas “'l‘bere, go to bed. Seymour, scowling at door. "You will not see me again; i. . nst when ‘ou w- .‘ ‘l t t ' try and remember tbOSc, my last, ‘1 3 ant han a he” - _ . . ‘ , best. words to you. \ou ale :1 fl and, Seymour! You talk of the. shame and disgrace I have brought upon the old people something about as well as the poor wretch's presence here toâ€"night! . the pounds of the mixed cakes per day, increasing to eight or twelve pounds and cow, keeping a ' watchful eye so as not to sicken or name! You forgot that the who have just gone have else to talk You forget your performance in card-room, and don .in London." “It is a lie. He was stern face malignantly. “No it," responded Royce grimly. my word of warning, Seymour. are on the road to ruin. a deeper shame and disgrace the house than any Iâ€"or my wifeâ€"have done! Don't speak! are going from the hour or two, and forever!” . “It was time." “Yes,” said should never have come. of that. yourself. My mother and Irene be left in your care." “My future wife. What has highness to say about her, pray?” “God save Irene will never be your wife, mour.” “We Royce sadly. shall see. brother, I’ll go to bed. If you am up, Gooâ€"goodâ€"night! ” He got out of the room, and Royce the stairs. Royce opened the window to purify and stepped out on the heard him stumble up the room, terrace. reâ€"entered the stairs. A light was burning in the he, said slernly. "Wake and look- fnce with the it?" snarled, darn comr- and talk " more know what you mean, and I'll tell youâ€"if underâ€" escaped attention, At us, do you hearâ€"not you ruin and You and ,mixed clover the man's assertion that he had seen you in a gambling drunk!’ stannnered Seymour, glaring at the Purge; the cakes being rather requires good mastication, and being , it was truth. I know it, feel “Take You Draw back while there’s time, or you will bring upon dear It’s useless to lie to me about it. Iâ€"we Hiw‘ Towers in an i "We But enough I want to speak about will your her from that! No Seyâ€" And now you've| finished your sermon, my immaculate can manage to leave the house before I I shall be grateful for my own sake and for my future wife's! lr‘l‘jl'llllNG FOR A RECORD. In a letter to the London (Fug) lhis method of feeding cows a public test, with advice as to treatment, which has the Leing simple and easily followed: .come the staple industry of farming. more than ing trials and butter tests. impossible to select the best testing them. variable than their formula. 'l'here is a that flculty of grecn food found by the societies varies from lucerne and sainfoin to and grasses, often so much fl‘l‘llll‘l‘l('tl by being cut ,long that the cattle will not eat it. not to feed on green food at all, can be taken with you, thereby avoiding the possibility of your cow or cows being throWn off their feed l‘ass one part of best linseed to three parts of decorticated cotton libitum. Commence with per day, according to the size appetite of your hard, greatly relished, causes a free flow of assimilation perfect. tain your cake from a source, with a guarantee of purity. food being swallowed too rapidly and not being properly digested: in fact, object of obtaining the best results. attention. and water on the ; shall I go first?" Don’t you see? to her own people! them!” “God bless you, Renie!” he mured. “You understoodâ€"loved her! My poor Madge!" You must The sight of the room, and he expected to find Madge dread of worse than flightâ€"death. still sitting up, but the room empty. was He went quickly into her dressing-room and into her boudoir. The ball~dress lying on the chair, the open drawer with the things tumbled He went to the stables and dle a horse. Royce? out on the floor told him, as plainly asked the man. as her absence, what had happened. "Madge!" he called in an “Where are you, Madge?" Then he strode from table to table note for But there was no to See if she had left at him to find her. note. He leaned against the mantel, head upon his arms for a moment or two, trying to think. That she had flown he felt as surely as if she had left word that she had done so, and a great pity and love welled up in his heart. “My poor darling,” he cried. "My ipolicemcnfind that the central figure poor, beautiful Madge!” was Jake. Then he roused himself, and hur- Ile pulled his horse up on his agony. hisistraining eyes, saw three men on the pathway. They two in the "No!" will go. said Say nothing." out of the gate at a gallop. left with when from right to were walking abreast, and the outside had hold of the man middle. riedly changing his coat, and snatch-‘lmnnches and stared at them, ing up his hat. went passed along the opened and Irene called' to him. He looked around in a da'led w;in Jake peered up at Royce and She was dressed, and her fair face i opened his mouth as if to speak. but was full of anxiety. “Oh, what is it? Where are ened whisper. “Madge has gone!" he staminered. “ lone! Madge"? Oh, no, no, Royce! Not that!" “Yes,” he said lioarsely. “She has ‘his gone. Irene put her hands over her eyesl "Let me think, Royce! I Madge!" He stood with his hands grasping the band rail of the stairs. “She cannot Kalil hnnrcnlv, "7 ckqli 4‘» s (I out. As he, corridor a doorhat. r thinking of her! I Would have gone to her but I thought you'the were with her! ()h, poor Madge, poor have gone far," he Ianâ€"- "We’ve got him, sir," he said. the policeman on “llold your tongue!" he said. "liave you seen a lady?" were of " he stopped. thoughts ladyâ€"tall "No, sir. road. we've got him. n sci for it I with again, taking the road to the left. "l‘o be Continued.) lavctte, an l‘lnglnh (l;iir_\'nian ghos during merit of “'lhe production of milk having toâ€" breeding of good dairy cows should reccive encouragement and liberal support, and there is no~ thing that, will further the object cartfuily conducted milkâ€" It iis dairy cow from a fairâ€"si/ed class without “'l‘he feeding for quantity and quaâ€" difficulty to be met at this time of ycal‘ that seems to have is the dif- obtaining suitable green too The safest. course to ensure success is but to depcnd only on such foods as “As regards cakes and meals, there is probably nothing to equal or surâ€" cake cake, with good hay and water ad four saliva. rendering, digestion easy and Be sure to ob- reliable Many competitors feed with mashes and other slops, with the result of a large quantity of milk of poor quaâ€" and this is attributed to the to overload the stomach defeats your “The treatment of cows having to travel any distance to shows requires They should be fed sparâ€" ineg the (lay previous to the jourâ€" ney, and should only get a little hay morning before Say nothing, Renie! Oh, God! where "Let me think, Royce! Wait! Yes! See has gone back find mu 1'- Ile touched the sleeve of her dress with his lips in miserable gratitude, He stood there, thinking of and sprang down the stairs. Madge and their future, for perhaps an hour; then, calmed by the stillness ‘ Madge had and the solemnity of the dawn, he house and Went up- open doorâ€"-for not closed itâ€"struck a. chill to his heart; but Irene’s words buoyed him up with hope, for in the moment of his discovery of her flight bedâ€",an awful dread had assailed him, a woke the coachman, and helpeg him sad- “Is it my lady who is ill, Master Can’t I go for the doctor?" Royce hoarsely. “I He sprang into the saddle and went He gained the road and went tearâ€" ing along toward the town, looking anxious, suddenly he As he rode up to them they stopâ€" pod, and he saw that they were two One Of the policemen touched his the other side of you 'hiin shook him roughly. going, Royce?" she said in a fright- began Royce, as if they and their business \vere no concern of his, as indeed at that moment they were not, for all Madge. “A The policeman shook his head and coulil'stared at him with surprise. We‘ve passed no one tn As I was saying, 511‘, We 'had a hard tusâ€" llnt Royce. “Know for no more, and H1 they start. To truck cattle with londtd stomachs upsets their whole systems. and causes the attendant a lot of unnecessary work; but if light- ly fed the. animals will stand Limitsd journey much Letter and commenca feeding as soon as they reach their destination. A careful hordsman will see that his charge is not disturbed by every curious pusserby. Quietude is essontial to dairy cows. “The milking is a most important item, and upon which success much depends. The cow and her milker should be on the best of terms, in fact, they should he positively .fond of each other. The milking should be. done so carefully that the cow looks forward to the operation as a relief and comfort, the pace at which the milk should be. drawn must be reguâ€" lated by the cow and not the milker; it is all very Well for men to talk aboulfast. or slow milking, but it must to done in accordance with the construction of the udder and teats, if the latter are large and the outlet the same. free milking may take place, but if the teats are small and the passage somewhat constricted, it is impossible to force out the milk rapidly without causing the animal pain, therefore, slow milking must be reSorted to. lie sure and get the last drop out, that is often what wins. FEEDING SOW AND PIGS. if all goes well at fal‘i‘owing time, the feed for the sow may be gradu- ally increascd after two or three days, with the increasing flow of milk and the growing demands of the pigs, until a full ration is supplied. lirood sows should be heavily fed, for the gains of young pigs are made at low cost for feed consumed. Good lyrood sows with large litters will usually fall off in Weight despite the best of care and feed, but such deâ€" crease is no reflection upon: the skill of the feeder. In feeding a brood sow the herdsâ€" man can draw upon all feeds at his command. Middlings, ground oats and corn meal are particularly useful and should be liberally supplied. Some bran. ground peas, barley and other grains will prove helpful. The byâ€"products of the dairy, skimmilk and buttermilk, are always in place, and may be used to almost any ex- tent. Cooked roots, potatoes or pumpkins, with a liberal admixture of meal, form a good ration. When two or three Weeks old, pigs will take a. little nourishment proâ€" vided for them in a separate trough, which should be located at a com vcnient point in pen or lot accessible to the pigs but not to the claim. At first, place only a pint or two of feed in the trough, and when this is eaten give more. Skimmilk will be the most relished, but in its abâ€" sence a thin porridge of middlingsor sieved ground oats with a little oil meal will prove satisfactory. KEEPING WEEDS IN CIIECK. Our readers of this season of the year are planning a campaign against. weeds. Prof. L. H. Daily and if the person had really (lied from phosphorous poisoning, then he would destroy the phosphorus, and could never discover the cause of death. What usually happens is that a hint is obtained from some liquid or powder found in a glass or bottle. or paper. The appearance of the body, externally and internally, gives further information. And, with these guides, perhaps the analyst goes straight to the point. and discovers the poison quickly. But if he has nothing to guide him, then his task is a long and tedious one, far too complicated to describe in detail here. _____+_‘â€" WISE AND OTHERWISE . What a man can do is his greatest ornament. Don't accept a favor unless expect to pay interest on it. Better to be occasionally deceived than to be always distrustful. It is best to be on with the new Cook before you are oll‘ with the old. Enthusiasm generates energy as naturally as the sun gives forth heat. A man may haVe more money than brains without having much money. Of all the advantages which come to any young man, poverty is the greatest. As soon as a. man begins to love his work then he will also begin to progress. ». A woman may be as young as she looks, but would rather be as young as she thinks she looks. It always pays to be polite. When you are shaking hands with a man you he can't very well be picking your pocket. Faith is that quality which leads a man to expect that his flowers and garden will resemble the views shown on the seed packets. WONDERS WITH GOLD. A particle of gold weighing one 1- 25,000,000 of a grain is readily dis- cernible to the eye. A grain of gold can be beaten out so that it will cover a space of 80 inches. Gold wire so line can be. drawn that it Iwill take 500 feet to Weigh one grain. It can be beaten into leaves of 1â€"280,th0 of an inch in thickness. SHE OVERDII) IT. "My daughter bought that latest popular piece o’ music toâ€"day." said Mrs. Nexdore, “and she tried it on n groa n urged the horse on our piano." replied Mrs. l‘eppeiy, "an: Iit was a wretched lit, wasn't it?"