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1+ :.._ ______.___ 1* M¢+++++H +++++++++f MHH++§H+++++HH* CHAPTER XXV.â€"(C0nt’d). the propriety of her trying a. three» “Now my dear Charles." she reâ€" “’lumc “OWL monstmted; “do be reasonable; The idea revived Alice‘s spirits, _wbat possible object could I have when they were almost below freez- xn preventing your seeing the girl?” ing point; she jumped at the pro- “That you best know yourself,” pesal as if it had been a. bone. tide was the reply. otter of purchase, there made. and “I am sure,“ persisted the lady, there acceptedâ€"thanked her advxs- nv nun-ner nnrl (rI‘nlipFnllv Annlnrnrl “I am sure," persisted the lady, “all that I have ever wanted was to promote your and her happiness; that has been my one sole aim.” “May I be hanged if I don’t think your sole aim on earth is to be married yourself,” vociferabed Dr. Duvard, with considerably more candor than politeness; “but, once got all, will you tell me where Alice is?” “I thought she had declined ever to marry a man who could leave her to run after a. handsome face,” sneered Miss Merdun. “Upon my Word, I no more know where Alice Crepton has gone to. than you do,” said Miss Merdun, earnestly. “I consider that she has treated me very badlyâ€"particularâ€" ly at a. time when I was trying to make her as happy and comfortable as possible. She took offence on very slight provocation, and left the house, notwithstanding all I could say to dissuade her from such a. step. I really do not think she is thor~ ougth sane,” finished the lady, by way of completing her sentence in a. manner gratifying to her audiâ€" tor’s feelings. “She has a good deal more sense‘ than you, at any rate.” murmured Dr. Duvard; and after two or three more ineffectual attempts to get anything further out of his relative, he left the house, determining to write to Mr. Merdun concerning Alice. Very wearily, and very hopelessâ€" ly. he paced along the London streetsâ€"little dreaming that within ten minutes' drive from Miss Mer- dun’s door, Alice Crepton was sit- ting up in a little thirdâ€"floor room, crying “her eyes out"â€"because it had. at last. occurred to her she might have been premature in giv- ing Charles his dismissal. She found out, when it was “too late," that she had only jumped out of the frying-pan into the fireâ€"â€" that her change for the better, had turned out a change for the worse; that Miss Merdun was by no means an amiable. hostess, that her influ- ence and abilities stood higher in general estimation at Combe Rid- gis than in London. It was the old story over againâ€" of a patron pretending to more power than she actually possessed. of a protegee growing impatient. and both losing their tempers, and tel- ling each other of truths more plain than pleasant. - . VLAJ She found out, wh< late,” that she had out of the frying-pan that her change for t turned out a change Then Miss Mcrdun reproached her friend with ingratitude and want of genuine talentâ€"whilst Alice accused her of a lack of straight- forwardness, of having raised hopes she knew never could be fulfilled. The end of which state of warfare was that Alice took leave of Miss Merdun one morning in a. huffâ€"and without so much as informing that lady of her destination, conveyed herself and her worldly efiects to cheap lodgings at the top of a very large house. situated in a quiet street in Portman Square. Where she nlanagcd to pass her time very miserably. For so far she was not short of money. having saved nearly fifty pounds during her three years' so- journ at C‘ombe Ridgis, and. there- fore. all tedious as publishing de- lays are, she fancied she could af- ford to wait patiently for a result; but days and months passed drear- ily awayâ€"â€"and still. though her pen was never idle. no gold accrued The end was that Merdun or without st: lays are. ford to w but days ily awayâ€" was never from her I A SHADGWEB PATH? r 1cm labors 01', The Curse (if The Family @@@@@@©@ The idea revived Alice's spirits, when they were almost below freezâ€" ing pomt; she jumped at the pro- posal as if it had been a. bone tide offer of purchase, there made, and there acceptedâ€"thanked her advis- er eagerly, and gratefully declared, in a. tone which, to do him justice caused him to wince a, little as he thought of how lightly he had utter- ed the wordsâ€"that she was very much obliged to him, turned into a. neighboring stationer's shop, pur- chased a ream of paper, a pint of ink, a, quarter of a. hundred of quills, and hurried away home to commence, without the delay of a single hour, the “great work" which it had been recommended un- to her to attempt. stairs,” was the servant’s reply, and following the steps of the speaker, he found himself in an- other minute at the drawingâ€"room door. “The gentleman, ma’am,” an- nounced the servant, ushering in Judith’s visitorâ€"end, advancing in- to the apartment, he was seized l'y two trembling hands, and ad- dressed by her who had been beau- tiful Judith Mazingford. Had been! â€"he thcught he had never gazed on such a. wreck in his life â€"â€"- pale, emaciated, frightened-looking â€"- with a, restless look in her eyes, and quick, eager, unsettled gestures. Could this be the woman he had known in other days? He gazed in her face. doubtfully. pecuniary difficulties, and fresh anxietiesâ€"he had still time to spare, a feW'thoughts to the woman he‘ had met under such strange and, painful circumstances. Her clothes and trinkets he took linto his own possession, feeling a lvague conviction that some day or another she would return and claim them from him. He remembered the circumstances of the diamonds, |and he thought a similar chance might occur any time again. For months he expected a letter from her, but none arrived; and at last, even with her worldly goods safely ’stnwed away under lock and key in his sittingâ€"room. he grew to for- get to look for tidings of her. Since her departure, he had be~ come almost old. HIS illness, for want of needful nourishment during his recovery, had left dregs in his constitution which were undermin- ‘ing his health. He was weary of athe useless struggle, weary of his lvain search after Alice, weary of this patients. his situation, his abode, himself. everything. If he 'llad not still clung to the hope of some day meeting the foolish girl who had caused him such unhappi- ncss, he would have left England and joinel his sister; but it was impossible to tear up hope hv the rcots, to cut off the last link of come mnnication between himself and Alice-to give up. after having Engrossed as a man was with his own troubles and anx1etxesâ€"w1th Ins vam search after Ahce, mth fine in his postman, a brought a He ret eagerly ‘; read the sideâ€"tra zone ~t1‘ace( V'Oll sit-ting one night over is little parlor, when a. rare visitor at his (1 a. letter to him, direl Ian’s hand. agnized it instantly. l few m2: and [m nes tr appal- am ently )pen. an on the It 1' His the the 1n Leake Loake “So you may, implicitlyâ€"” he replied, putting her gently back in- to her seat; and drawing an ink- stand and portfolio to him, he wrote for a minute or two :â€" “Now,” he said to the servant, who stood at the door, in answer ti his summons, “take that to the :nearest chemist. and tell him I 'want this prescription filled up at onceâ€"And, stop a. moment â€" have you any brandy in the house “I” “No, sir, I am afraid not,. unless Mr Gartmoreâ€"" the woman “Poor soul! a. fugit muttered, as he put 1 fire, and taking his forth to comply with From the time he ‘0‘ per Emery Street, 111 the door of No. 63, 1: ing her new name, tc himself. lest by m take. he should enda ing her new name, over and over tr himself. lest by making any mis- take, he should endanger her chum COS of safety; and when he fairly got the sentence, “Is Miss Leaks: at home?” out, without a slip of any kind, he felt as if he had per- formed a remarkable exploit. “Yes, sir, will you walk up- stairs,” was the servant’s reply, and following the steps of the speaker, he found himself in an- other minute at the drawing-room door. â€"he thcught he had never gazed on such a wreck in his life â€"â€"- pale, emaciated, frightened-looking â€" with a restless look in her eyes, and quick, eager, unsettled gestures. Could this be the woman he had known in other days? He gazed in her face, doubtfully. “You would not have known me?" she said, and the very tone (f her voice was altered. “I should not,” he answered. “Thank Heaven for that,” she cried, and fell back into a chair, sobbing hystericallyâ€"“Oh! I’m so glad!” she continued;‘“sit down, and I will tell you all. No, I can- not tell you; but be quiet, and lis- ten while I think.” He did 'not answer her by words; he only lifted a candle from the table, and looked earnestly at her for a momentâ€"then he laid his fin- gers on her pulse, and, finally. rang the bell. “Youâ€"you won’t betray me 1" she exclaimed, springing up and seiz- ing hold of his hand; “oh, surely I can trust youâ€"I thought I might rely on you.” __ _ “No, sir. I am afraxd 1 Mr. Gartmoreâ€"" t3 stopned. “Who is he '2" “Oh! it is a gentlem: cupies the ground floor, (kl Judith, “do not go notâ€"I am quite well. thing.” “Present myâ€"Dr. Dnvard’s com« pliments to Mr. Gartmore, and tell him I should be much obliged by his letting me have a. small quantity for a. patient who is seriously ill ;” and, putting Judith’s wishes thus quietly in the background1 and sub- for a. patient who is seriously 111; and, putting Judith’s wishes thus quietly in the background, and sub- stituting his own commands in their place, he led her back to her chair, and told her not excite herself. “But do you know Who this Mr. Gartmore isâ€"” she remonstrat- Duvard. “He 18 a heartless old man â€" a. perfect oyster." “More likely to get what we want out of him, then!” returned the doctor. “I want to know how long you have been lll_’§’_' JV“ ._.- ,, “Illâ€"I am not ill; I am onlyâ€"” “In a. bad state of health,” fin« ished Dr. Duvard. “Precisely so; and I wish to hear for what length of time you have beenâ€"not so well as when last I _saw you 2” “I have been growing weaker and weaker for some monthsâ€"oh, I think for nearly a. year past. I was not well latterly at Ashford Ruwâ€"only, only if I confess I am illâ€"you must not say I am mad." “Say you are what?” “You must not think thatâ€"thatâ€"â€" thatâ€"â€" Here Here the sobbing fit re-commencâ€" ed so violently, that Doctor Du- vard was compelled to say, “Now, Mrs. Mazingfordâ€"" “No. no, not thatâ€"â€" ” she inâ€" terruptgd 1njurlous will but think I Nor do I care, W}: 1 1 Mr: G 11 way JUDITH 1t Remember, I am Miss ours Miss Leake, you must- not in this manner. it is very in every respect; if you help me to cure you, I ran; but you must strive part 1 'tmore rvant, fugitive again,” he put the note in the his hat, walked with her 1"eq11est. he turned into Up- t, until he reached 63, he kept repeat- 110. over and over MAZINGFORD gentlemg-n .V'hO 0C- ,, ent 1nyth 1kew replied Doctor ibt ” interpos- to hlm, do I want no- at the maid’s heels; “that if the case is a pressing one, I can go for any medicine or further advice, that may be required; also, that if he can be of any serviceâ€"” “Got the knife in," remarked Dr. Duvard; sotto voce,â€"â€"though not so softly but that the words reached the domesticsâ€"who concluded, how- ever, that the observation applied to some surgical operation. “Best thanks to Mr. Gartmore, and the brandy is all I require; unless, in- deed, you will be good enough to have this prescription filled up for me immediately. Now,” he added, turning to Judith. when they were left once more alone, “did I not say the oyster was good eating?” ”Y‘Yes, out he is Half-brothe'r to Sir John Lestock.” “To whom ’8” “Sir John Lestockâ€"why, do you know anything of him?” “I know no good of him,” an- “I know no good of hlm," anâ€" sweer Doctor Duvard; “but; never mind who Mr. Gartmore is at preâ€" sentâ€"we have got the brandyz” and he set about the work of cur- ing Judith as zealously as if he had not another care or object in life. “What have you eaten toâ€"day '1” he demanded, after a pause. “Nothing,” was the reply; “I cannot eatâ€"I have no appetite“ “Tbere. lie down and don't exert yourself,” he interrupted; “you must keep quiet. or you will have a. very serious illness." “But I cannot keep quiet,” she persisted; “I am so wretched â€"â€" there is a dreadful woman coming here toâ€"night, and I have no money for herâ€"have you any?” He had not. and he looked inquir- He had not. and he looked inquir- ineg in her face as he said so. “Oh! do not look at me that; way,” she cried, “if they come and say I am mad, won’t you defend me, and tell them I am not? What became of the things I left in Ashâ€" ford ROWâ€"they are safe, are they not?” “Yes, you can have them turned into money at any time.” “Then will you see this creature to-night, and tell her you have valuables of mine, and promise her what she wants 'lâ€"and I will go to bed. I am afraid of her. Do stay here till she comes; she will be here directly. And I may trust you, may I not ’2” “As yourself,” he answered; “but I must ask one other question â€"what claim has this woman on ycu? What has given you such a horror of insanity? What is the matter with you?” “You could not guess;’ and she came quite close up to him, tremb- ling from head to foot: “if I tell you, you must not thinkâ€"” 1 v “I vshall think nothing but what you would wish me,” he answered. kin 1-ly. “Well then, do not ask me any particulars; only when I defied him lit said he would break my spirit. and so he lodged me in a Lunatic Asylumâ€"and I was not mad Doc torâ€"I was sane, as sane as ever I wasâ€"as sane as you are.” “And he knew that '2” ‘ ‘Perfecbly.” “The infernal scoundrel!” ejacu- lated Doctor Duvard, heartily. reader, just as you or any other honest man would have spoken the words. “Andâ€"and Doctorâ€"what I saw there nearly made me as bad the rest; I cannot tell you about it â€"my blood curdles when I think of that; placeâ€"another month. and I should have been as mad as She maddest amongst them. But tlfis womanâ€"this keeper, or matron, or whatever she was, helped me to es- cape; and now she is continually wanting money; always, always, more money, when I have none to give herâ€"and I am afraidâ€"for evc': afraid.” The other day an ingenious-look- ing person called with the message Lo the housewife that her husband had sent; him for his dress suit, which was to be pressed and redone 'm' the tailor. “Dear me,” said the housewife, "he said nothing to me about it. Did he look quite well 'l” “Yes, mum. he wuz in‘ good health and spirits.” “And he seemed quite as if he knew what he was about 2" “He did that‘ mum.” “And did he look as if he were quite content with things about him?” stran of th: fen y Well e was all that. mum 'ell,” said the lady. ‘ ge that he should 0' at dress suit now, be ears since he’s dead ‘ md I’ve often wond< STRANGE, INDEED Ld I’ve oft‘ zen getting the (To be Continued.) 111d only thin] .w, because i’t': dead and buri It seems 1111K it++++++++++ H +++++ +4.»; FATTEHING CHICKENS. The following remarks on fatten- H+++++++i¢t++ff+f+ffi+ The following remarks on fatten-, mg chickens are taken from the‘ 1907 annual report of W. R. Graâ€"I ham, Poultry Manager at the On- tario Agricultural College: Owing to the high price of feeds,‘ we made some changes in our ra-i tion for fattening the chickens. Thel cheapest palatable ration we couldi find, locally, was one composed of equal parts of ground corn, low-‘ grade flour and middlings. Thisl mixture cost $1.30 per hundred pounds. The gains made by the birds were not equal to those made in previous seasons when oats and‘ buckwheat were fed along with the corn, nor yet; was the quality oil flesh as good. The birds did notl dress as white as we usually have them. Sour skim milk or butter- milk was used for wetting the ground grains. . Weight when put in the crate, 181.5 pounds. 1 Weight after three weeks’ feed-; ing, 252 pounds. Grain consumed, 249.25 pounds. Milk consumed, 517 pounds. Cost of feed, $4.26. Chickens cost, at 80. pound, live: weight, $14.52. ‘ Total cost, $18.78. Dressed weight, 212.5 pounds. Selling price, at 12c. per pound, $25.50. Profit, $6.72. The profit on each chicken does not appear very large, yet, at the same time, one must consider that there is a gain of $6.72 for the work or we consider an amount over, 500. per hour. This is not an un- usual lot of chickens. Many chick-. ens have made greater gains than‘ were made in this trial. There is‘ nothing in the trial, so far as I know, but what can be accomplish-V ed by anybody. A. _ t Many of the dealers in dressed pcultry complain of the thin chick‘ ens that are sent to market, and ) have noticed that on many of the local markets the birds offered f0' sale were anything but fleshy, an the method of dressing was very bad. Scalded, thin chickens. wherex the skin is mostly torn off, are cer- , tainly unsightly, and, further, they “To market thin chickens is wasteâ€" ful, and it appears to me that there is at least sufficient margin of pro- fit to pay a. reasonable wage. Keep the young colts growing 1'! they are expected to become as large or larger than their parents. A colt once stunted may afterwar ‘ be made fat, but it can never b made to grow as large as it other “ise would. to wmter quartex w1thout sufficlcpp 'Tn numbe whole of Aim? 1513 Farm Tl they LIVE STOCK NOTES quarters without a. queen, lflicient stores, or reduced 1', half or perhaps the the next year passes be- have gained their normal ‘ld. . able best after fah until she