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’ ,1. I: "' s++++++++++++++++++4++ ++++++++++++++++++++++ Not Guilty _; assesses '+'+H++++' W¥¥+T+W ' ' '+‘+'+++ CHAPTER IV. Gordon had never before felt so thank- ful for the independence of his position as when he opened the door of his home on that eventful night, and deposited his precious burden on the coach in the hall. The house, a pretty twostorcyed build- Ing, standing in its own secluded grounds some distance from the street, had been his home and that of his par- ents from the days of his childhood. Ills parents had been dead some years, his «only sister had married, and George had . .spent the later part of his life in many distant lands, but he had never sold or let the house, and when he had left. the .Army and decided to take up an idle life, he had returned naturally to the -ol(l home and “Mother” Cramp, the old family servant, whom he had never wished to get. rid of, and who had cared for the house and furniture with in- creasing walchfulness against the day when Master George should return. The old lady was fast asleep when ‘George hammered at her door, but she rose and dressed with wonderful speed, -at his command, and soon made her way downstairs into the hall where she .stcod and gazed, speechless, at the senseless form on the couch. “Lor, Master George, and you never even told me you was going to get mar- ried," she murmured reproachfully. "‘And she's asleep, poor young thing, tu‘ed out! Why, wherever have you come from ?“ “Not far. But you're right, she’s tired -out. I‘m even afraid she hasfainted. You must get a room ready for her at onceâ€"Hem! she‘s not. my wife, Mo- ther Crampâ€"J' “Not. your wife, Master George! at-~ this ever?” “It's all right, Mother; the poor girl's hadâ€"had an accident. She's in great ~trouble, and ill, too, I fear." “Why, she do look ill, too, Master George! Poor young lady! \\'hat a sweet pretty, innocent, young thing." “Innocent? Yes, she‘s innocent, Mo- 'ther, I'm sure she is; but, bali, what am I talking about? We must get her up- .stairs quickly. Is the blue room aired and all right?” “I always keep all the rooms aired, Master George, but the big front room would be the warmer." “Very well, anywhere! but quick, can _you help me to carry her?" Mrs. Cramp took the young girl‘s feet, and, George gently raising her head and shoulders, they made their way up- stairs, and deposito! their burden upon the bed in the front room. As they lay her down, the unconscious girl moved restlessly, and her eyes opened slowly. George bent over her, expecting her to speak, but she only gazed round her rather dazedly for a little. seemed to struggle with-a great fatigue; and then with a gentle sigh appeared to fall to sleep. “She has gone to sleep. It is the best thing that could have happened," said George quickly, “Get her to bed as soon as you can, Mother. I'll go downstairs and have a smoke." “lladn‘t. you better go to bed, too, Master George? I will look after the young lady. I've had four hours sleep, and that’s all I want at my age." “I‘ll see; I’m not sure. But in any case, don‘t bother about me,“ returned George. “I'm going down now. It is just possible I may go out again." “Go out again?" echoed the old lady. “Go out again? \vny, it's nearly two O‘clock! “by, whatever is happening?" “Nothing much, the worsi's over now. Don’t you bother about me. Good night. Mother, I leave her in your (331121 And George, to avoid further questioning, hastily left the room, and made his way downstaii-S, where, after a moment‘s hesitation, he seized his hat. and. open- im; the door quietly. made his way out again into the street. The truth is. he wanted to return to the mysterious house in Regent Street: or rather. he felt that he could not keep away from it. He. knew that he had dcne a dangerous thing in bringing this young girl home with him, in sheltering her. in keeping her from the hands of justice. when even she herself accused herself of a terrible crime: he knew he was doing a still more dangerous thingr in venturing back to the boas..- where . And time of night? Whyâ€"what- Or, A Great Mistake. ++++++++ HH++++++++++ .++++++++++++++ ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ Good heavens, thougn, I don't feel by anv means so sure of myself as I did at dinner,- or so certain of their lack of brains. The Major! Good old Major! flow strange, how unalterably strange. that I should find myself opposed to Scotland Yard like this within half a dozen hours of our chat. Awful strange! And I wouldn't like the Major to know it, but I‘m in a deuce of a funk, too. llowever, it‘s too late to tank now. The only thing is to go straight through. Let me think what to do first. I m ghtn’t to go to that house againâ€"but I must. I don’t like leaving that knife there, in the first place. The girl is so mixed up with this affair, innocent or guilty. that the knife might be really hers. I was so keen on_ getting her away, too, that I did not make absc- lutely certain that neither 1 nor she had left anything behind as in that room. 1 must, yes, I must haveanothcr look round. Besides, who knows that half an hour‘s examination may not put me on the real truth of the affair, and that‘s what I've got to get at, if I want to give this girl more than a temporary sanc- tuary. By Jove, if I am a fool all along: if she really did murder that man, what kind of a maniac shall I look? And where shall I find myself? Accessory after the fact. What's the penalty. I wonder? I am beginning to wonder if I didn't drink too much at dinner. Yet, if she were innocentâ€"if this was, as i think it is, some terrible misunderstand- ing, how well worth the risk is that girl! I have never seen one lovelier, or one who looked more pare, more inno- cent. Mother Cruinp’s remark must have been a good omen, I feel sure . . . but here we are at the Circus! I must be careful now." Gordon halted for a moment by Jay‘s and looked about him. It was past two o'clock, and the fog had commenced to fall again; the streets were entirely de- serted now, save for an occasional cab, and the only footstep was that of a policeman who paced leisurely along on the other side of Oxford Street. Gordon waited until the heavy tread died away in the direction of Stratford Place, and made his way quickly down Regent Street. Nearing the spot where the pin had fallen, he slackened his pace again; but this. time no sound of any kind come to his ears. For a momenteven the few belated vehicles had ceased to run, and he might have been in a city of the dead. He walked boldly towards the house of the tragedy, as if he meant to paSS it gave a quick look around, and turned in. At the time he left the house he had had no intention of returning to it, yet be had not troubled to shut the doors be- hind him, and as be mounted the stairs, h.) was thankful for the fact, for a latch-ed front door would have been a scriouskhstaole to his task. On entering the flat he hesitafead for a second whc- ther to close the entrance behind him or not. “I can hear better if anyone should chance to come up if I leave the door open," he decided, and he entered the apartment, turning on the felectric light as he did so. The room was exactly as he had left it. The glare of the brilliant globes shone down again on the rich furniture, on the silk-covered walls, on the pale face of the dead man, who lay staring up at. the ceiling with glazed impassivc eyes. By his side, where the girl had pointed it out to Gordon. lay the knife with which he had been killed. a plain horn-handled weapon with a catch which kept the single blade from clos- my, unit! releasedâ€"a nastywlcokingr wcn~ pct), made more disagreeable now by the binod which dried upon its pointh blade. ‘ Gordon took the weapon up and put it in his pocket after a hasty glance at it. “Possibly traceable, probably not.‘ if: said. “for it is by no means a new one. Certainly not. the kind of knife a girl would be likely to carry about with her. However. there's nothing in that.’ He turned and looked roulul the room. “i wonder who this man was 1’" he thought. An examination of the room laid him little. Tllt‘ nnintlcpicm and \\‘.‘llls were covered with pictures and Costly china. lbit none of the pictures were Ikll'll’tlil~:_ tllltlâ€"ril very unusual thing in a young: man‘s lawnsâ€"there were no phobu "iaphs anywhere to be sci-n. “Yet flu:0 have been sonic,” thought [It‘nl‘gp‘ gill. even now someone, might have Slit" hp; at several harked lilljil‘t‘.\\lvill\‘ in a prised that awful thud. but (N‘ltlUH \tip of subunit-colored lel>lf which was hardly knew what fear meant, and hav- :,.1 m to the nlulltlcpith‘. and lately, to... ing once entered upon a cmnse, \\':l~j\\']":l-p my. “my WHO-y: ‘little likely to be turned from il. “l have made up my mind to >il\'0 \'.\>[ji__f;j{i,;l1 of mu ,. het.’ he thought, as he made his way along llakcr Street, "and unless sill‘ lirm‘lf interferes to spoil my plum. l‘lt‘ 1, ,1 sup iv lint it» “pi-n iri photographs in cvidrntw, thuugh have :1 good try at doing so. i t Quickly and carefully be madc an in- apartment. \ure three r-ozns: a be browni. a draw- ing-rf‘nm. and anothir room. apparent- g-roorn. liii-l‘n a till then“ great flung is to have time to look about t “(m there had been some, and that rc~ me If 1 Jun not careful irnv I shall umtlv. certainly not have time. if the polite, lle' turned to the drawers and cup- were to :Jct upon our trail. and :irrcst t l~.ard~~. In the l,|t‘.l»l'u~illl thrre \‘.;-I< a Iii-it: in twenty-four hours. she \\'<it.'.«li; nrdt‘alu‘ full of (“tithes with th‘ name ti-h the same stof‘ywl uni convinmd she would; and then i should be ]‘«i\\i‘t‘lf‘\‘<_‘ The great thng is to make >tll‘n‘ flu» pal mic up lice \\«-n't get on our track. my argument with ttn‘ Major! liy jove, tlu, ha! -.i n writâ€"lniown tailor on ttn‘ir buttom, :f name which Gordon made r, jal‘tfflli There were letters in sum? of fly} lukgkets, he felt sure. but he also felt that there were limits beyond which his investigations could not go, and he continued his search for the photographs which he felt sure existed, and which he hoped would tell him something of the owner and his friends. Neither the bed-room nor the drawing- room gave him any results, though he searched everywhere with care. He was about to conclude that a large safe, which he had seen in the corner of the bed-room, and which he assured him- self was locked, contained what he sought, when he. discovered that there was a drawer left which he had not ex- amined, in a small table in thes mok- ing-room. He had not noticed it. at flrst II: a cloth covered the knobs in front, tuft as soon as he opened it, he congratu- lated himself upon his penetration for the receptacle was crammed with photo- graphs. They had evidently been taken down from their positions and shoved hastily away pell-melle, for some of their corners were doubled up, and here and there the frames were markd with scratches, assuredly recent. Gordon looked them quickly through, only to give a sigh at the result. AC- tresses, ballet-dancers. professional beauties, ladies of dubious quality. there, were plenty of these, with here and there a picture which might have been that of some member of the ownch family, but Gordon knew none of them, none of them were written on, and of their form-er possessor they told nothing. “'I‘hat. fellowu-(Zarlton, I suppose he wasâ€"was handsome, rich, and evident- ly a bachelor. That accounts for the photographs, I suppose," Gordon thought. “Evidently a pretty rapid character. But why were they all put away?" And then he thought of the girl he had found there. Was it because of her? Had the dead man been awaiting her that night, and had these dumb evidences of former loves, of former fan- cies. been smuggled hastily away lest they should offend her eyes? Ami what was she to him? Gordon'sighed as he pondered. innocent of the murder, per- haps: but what was she doing in these rooms at that hour? A sentiment of jealousy. which he felt was absurd, but which he still could not conquer, touched him as he re- called the pale, handsome features of the dead man, and remembered the girl's piteous cry of “Claude! dear Claude !" And then he shrugged his shoulders. After /all, what was it to him? He had not fallen in love with this beautiful, but- mysterioas girl, or so he told him- self; his wish had simply been to help her in misfortune, as he would have helped her had she been as ugly as she was lovely. It was not love which had made him take the risk he felt. he was taking, and returnitto the house that night. It was curiosity, love of adven- ture, fate, blind fate, which had led him on, which was still leading him on, in a road whose end he could not see, but it was not love, he repeated to himself; he had never known love: it could not be love. Suddenly a sound made him start viclently and, in spite of his excellent nerves, turd pale. Ile listened eagerly, remaining motionless, hardly daring to breathe. ‘ For a moment. he doubled, for a moment he hoped wildly that he had been mistaken and that his ears had deceived him; but no, his senses were too acute, too highly trained to fail him especially now in the stillness of that solemn house. lie was right. Someone was coming slowly and cautiously up the stairs from in: street. ‘ .. ., Moving his arm only, '(iordon reached out and turned the button of the clef;- tric light behind him. The light wentoal and he was alone in the smokingâ€"room hidden by the darkness, Like the room where the dead man lay. and where he had first seen the beautiful girl, the panels of the smoking- room were of glass, and they faced directly on to those of the drawing- room. \\'ith breathless anxiety. as the foot- steps came. along the passage, Gordon listened and wondered. \\'as it the, po- lice already, and was he trapped? or was it someone else, who might enter the always brightly lighted drawing- room, and leave him a chance to es- cupe now that his task was finished? \\ho was it? The steps drew nearer, growing slower and more cautious, as they ap- proached; and Gordon peered out of the darkness of his room. it. was not the police. at. all events. he! thought. with gratitude. as he caught the first glimpse of the ncw-romcr, Clad in eveningr dress. covered by :1 wellâ€"cut black overcoat, and wcnring a glossy silk lltlt. ticrtainly not lllt.‘ police, but perhaps as bad. for the new arrival bud gone straight into the tlf‘mving-rt'uun. in another moment he would discover the dead body. raise the alarm. and (it rdon himself would still be caught. Should he make a rush for it while there was still fnn-‘, while he had only man to deal with. flat it was ob 'l‘hcrc . till: too late: the new comer had i* round the table and seen the ‘i“‘l'i‘.\\.‘ ill lll.‘ li‘t‘l. i ,\nd lhcn Liordon renounced all idea of flight and set him»le to watch him as. t'l--~t‘l}' as n :puli-r watt-tics a fly ap- proach its web: for lh1~ strange man had llil$>t'tl by the dz-tul body :1»: if it had burn it rug upon the flaw. hardly even (“Mining 1.. on rye ujon it. and iaftcr a quit-k glance round the ruin: was leaning up tlgillllrl :\ corner of flu- i:.:mt!c-piwc biting its fingers as if in deep pf f‘ph‘zyil)‘. ‘ liv'l'tltfll lr~~kcd at him full for thi- fi1‘~'t lime. illltl indnnily ivok n \‘iobnt div like to him. lie w?» a man about forty. full and unit-manic. and as the dizrl n r-zn on lizn ’ii....r turf lrwn lxanvlwizz-z this innit wn. llflndxllll“ it l.2llil>'illlv't‘. p.1- tinpsz yt‘t (mi'tliuf it‘ll tuii’ llw mung,“ mist l1u;_ if: ,unhl lmvu Eovi‘wl lllllt 1t» lm did lam: \v'igl'j iumgimd women town; fltc with.“ . again. .lorinn tlgt‘, lv'llo\\'lt‘t.lgc, cspf‘ciully of flit'l l i t I ‘ll‘ nerd and sit up feared him, perhaps cringed to him if’ once mastered, hated easily. His features were regular and rather heavily formed: his hair was black and ported in the middeâ€"a thing Gordon felt he had always disliked~his skin was very white, not precisely pale, but as if it had never been anything else but while; his jaw was strong, am! his mouth sneering and savage. As he stcod there biting his fingers he seemed to remind Gordon of nothing so much as the black panther at the 7.00. There was the some savage cart at the corners of the mouth; the same strong jaw and green eyes with yellow lights in their depths; there was the same sense of sinewy strength, the same instinctive feeling of a necessity fer being upon one‘s guard, for constant watchfulnoss. lnvolt'uitarily he found \himself mea- suring his strength, in his mind, with this man. and calculating the result of tln: first spring and grapple. Yet the man had never looked in his directionâ€"could not. have seen him had he done so. lie stood there slill biting his fingers, and giving an occasional doubtful glance into the corners of the room; and Gordon, with the quick ob- servation which was his, seemed to read at least something of his thoughts. He had taken no notice of the corpse upon the floor, therefore he had known that it was there. It was not for that that he had come, yet his first anxious glance around the room, his ptrplexity, told that he had expected to find some- thing or someone in the room, and had been disappointed, puzzled, anxious. It was the girl he was looking for! Suddenly he started, looked at the body at. his fret, and then commenced to search furiously upon the floor. lift- ing ther ugs, flinging the cushions from the chairs, and even shaking the cur- tains in his task. , “I know what you are after now, my man." thought Gordon. ‘,You are look- ing for the knife, your knife? By Jove, if it, was your knife 1" The man ceased to search with a gesâ€" ture of impotent rage; and for a mo- ment his fingers went to his mouth Then apparently arriving at a conclusion, he nodded. and turned to the door. Gordon draw back further in- to the shadow, and the man passed the smoking-room again, and closing the front door after him, went out. “My business here is done," thought George. “I have a fancy to follow that gentleman and see where he makes for. If I am not mistaken in my ideas, I shall know now where my lovely guest ll\CS, when she is not sheltering under my own roof." And quickly and noiselessly h-e follow- ed the man into the street. (To be continued). ' â€"â€"'â€"â€"â€"»-X~ TIIE PASSING OF EMPIRES. (By a Banker). From time to time, in the long and varied history of the world, epochs have come and gone when for a period, more or less prolonged, certain races of man- kind liave attained to a high state of Civilization, and gifted, talented ability, afterwards relapsing again into a slate of comparative barbarism. Looking back down the long, dim vista of time, we had first in order the Egyptians, ni- parently the pioneers of civilization, who excelled all other races down even to the present day, in the massive grandeur of their buildings, temples, and palatial tombs. _Then the Jews, who produced the most magnificent and most costly structure- ever erected on this earth; Greece, whose statuary by far excelled thame any other nation before or since, down even to our. own times, the febri- cator too of the most perfect architec- ture the world has ever seen, and the orale of poetry, of refined oratory, and of the higher drama; and Rome, mistress for a time of the world, a mighty empire whose code of laws con- stitute the basis of the laws of the preâ€" sent time. And yet all these great and wealthy states, one after the otlm‘, were broken up by anarchy and vice, barbar- inn and poverty taking the place of Coin tentmcnt, law, and order. And then ensued a long, murky pcr- fod. those dark ages when a miasma of superstition stifled all advance, ton- dcmncd science as witchcraft and heresy, and would even condemn :1 Galileo to the horrors of the rack for teaching the rudimentary elements of fi.\ll'0nOlll)'. .\nd so it Continued, cen- tury after Century, on the same dead lcvel of shallow knowledge, illiteracy and crushing demoralizatfon and im- quity; until at length by slow degrees the dawn of advancing light and pro- gross faintly illumincs the darkened horizon. cvor gaining uugmr‘ntrd vigor and lustre. until. with the glorious Vii;â€" nit-ans of utilizing the mighty force)- “i: nature. advanced with icup< um]: lt‘undsz in :1 fcw dcczulcs the subjugu. lion of those forces, and the ability h). make them subservient to our require. ments having,r made grt’aicr struhs thle , during the entire rouch of all m,- lung, ages preceding. Let us lioin iliut. lilin‘ finish bygone. eliipirus. \vt‘, too. shall nml also i» savupl nu av by anarchy and \1w. :2: (t‘llilllflll and unlniduu‘; :tlitl olw-y fin“ ,\ ‘ llft,‘ U_\‘- â€"‘ r ~ i, gm]! gift o. mi. | ‘ .,-.1\ \‘,'|'4!llgfll f“. u) pintlwli for our in. lv llis .\Un «,n t:.~* my purity and static ' out t.- ntlt‘ cv l‘tti.:i and i'wiing n: wit. v v; l‘riend: “(me -f yor'r vim”: km! ins slimy 1nd («ii mini. unlvr wifnf’y ll'mn s~ .‘xlI‘u; at! ';:_v w "ran “inf; ‘ l >l-‘ll'l I f ' ‘\‘. acre lint if. lntll ;‘ Hg llis ‘~ s, ll."ll .~l:rili bros-l uttt¢+++++tt+tts++++++j About the Farm I ¢ Hm++++++¢+++++++++ REGULATING THE [[06 SUPPLY. l note the statement in your late is- “W‘ “ml thickets are now receiving too f"””.\' Ol'cr-fcd hogs, writes I“. S. \V.. in Farming \\'orld. i cannot explain this in View of the high prices prevail- ing throughout the spring and early, smnnier, except it be that farmers, not fearing either a decline In prices or dsrriminatL-on against over-weights, held their hogs as long as it seemed profitable to feed them. Or it may b0 the price on light hogs had the effect of making some hold back from market: Eng longer than was necessary. Packers could do a great deal to- ward overcoming this difficulty of an overrun of unsuitable weights coming" a any time, if they would go about it in the right way. but I do rot alto! gI-thrr like the harsh means suggested in your letter above referred to, be- coming the rule. Such discrimination might be all right occasion-ally when other means fail. But since we are all glad to see the good feeling now ap- parently existing between packer and farmer, any sudden action taken that could be termed unfair to either party would be unwise. Farmers generally seem to be well suited (as we think they should be) with the prices and treatment accord: ed them for the past year and a half. The discussions of two years ago which at one time threatened to seri- ously affect the production of hogs, seem to have resulth in bringing about' a better understanding betwrcn hog, raiser and packer. lioth- undrrstand‘ ncw more fully that the one cannot: exist. without. the other. and that they are really partners, between whom it', is necessary" that a feeling of friendly confidence should exist. It would be! a mistake if that feeling of confidence; should again be shaken. And I would suggtst that some channel for the free interchange of information be estab- lished, whereby the packrr can acquaint the farmer of the condition in which hogs are arriving, the class of hogs,1 and the weights that must command the highest price at different seasons. And impress, if accessory, the fact, that if other than the right kind is shipped, ++++++++¢ z, x + r t they will have to be discriminated against. in price to the extent neces- sary to cause their discontinuance. This, with other information. which could be given, would, I think, have a good ef- fect from the standpoint of the packer alcne, and also do a great deal ‘toâ€" wards stimulating the interest of farin~ ers in the hog industry. The proper medium through which to convey this information is the agri- cultural press. as some paper of this class cntcrs almost every ,farmer's home. If this plan were adopt-ed farm- er: would also communicate their side of the subject through the same nich- um, and give. the packers much infor- mation, which they at present do not appear to obtain. As fixings arc and have been. about the only channel of information cx'sting between the pack- er and farmer is the drovcr, who, very often, cafes absolutely nothing for the interests of either party. or for the fu- ture of the. industry, his only anxiety bring to take as much profit as he can off both the producer mid packer. Many farmers as well as the pack: (‘1’: will agree with me when I say that if a ipl‘upvl' understanding between {ticker and farmer is to be maintained, and the best interests of both served, it is t'iuh time that new methods be adopt-ed for conveying information from the packing house to the hog pro- ducer. It the packer finds it acres. sary to encourage, or discourage the breeding of certain classes of hogs. the marketing of the unfit, or the actual state. of the nun-ket. he can be stir; that. hf: wishes will be expressed as dseir- co. and the farmer will know that he 3.» receiving the same. CHE ESE AND SOIL FERTILITY. ln answtr to a correspondent lloard's Dairym-an deals with this subject as follows: ;\ cow that gives 1.080 pounds cf ll:lll( a year is prrlmps a fair av<rage, 't'bat amount of milk Contains nitrogen m the form of cascing, which has a ter- tilizing value of Over Md“); that is, you .\ll fufd have to pay that amount for the some anrumt of nitrogen if you ltught it in lllt‘ fertilizer. If you made, butler you would 53nd away only the latter fut, which has no It'l‘iilizln}: value. fly fecding the skim milk I.) calves or pits. you rrtniu at least 7.3 pir «cut. on the form m the form of manure. So it has lM‘n fuzml li‘nil. .m'tions of country win-re lnttcr l.\‘ nod» and yonerr stock l.\ groun, cin- simily iiu'rcusCs in fti'lility. Scull-ins ' f’ll"0‘«.‘ is in‘idc the milk ~ Lllll'Vl - :t. gradually t,lt"(-rcn:\r-\ in for. f‘I“v. Some of the old (:l\~r“.‘-m:ik~ ,_ >i«,'ll“IlS « f .\'L\v \ork and (Jizio w:ll' . t prwducc tC-dtly ln-u'v than fifty per "Ll. of tie ' .;’n and gram tau-y flf'l “t' 15f '.fi_v trill“ :5 \\lf.'.‘ llil> Lulll\"',l lbw}; \\'f- tlli)\\"l', cut-tom refitting away, {mm the l'llflf ‘f i:itr~j_‘r-:i and pfiriszi [him and '.;‘- adcquab- wtfi ri ‘-) put ill l;>"‘:'. l7o1k’.\‘..": on this jl:ll'_\‘ is the; ‘ 'li' If 't 'Oi', of humus >4) ’:'.-fv«‘r‘: it prov. ‘ Twoâ€".â€" \t"l'l('l,\'\' \'\'. \‘.'t|lil).\'. a. m 5‘“ " “"i-‘i‘ 1‘ than words)? ~ nanny/J "Yo lrj- n-d lth tlvtllfll‘iflizf'r, “but don! spank so often by u \‘.'ll-}l: «wry-2..“