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“Bruce, Dr. Greene says you arc; to go in at once; the air is chilly for you.” He laughed grimly. “You see, Lady Lynch, they in- tend to treat me as an invalid still, and I suppose I must, bow beneath their tyranny! I shall see you at dinner.” “Better dine in your own room to-night, Norman, I think,” said Dr. Greene. “You have done quite enough for today.” Lord Norman, as he shook hands and responded to their kind expres- sions, kept glancing to the right and left and beyond them to the hall door, with barely suppressed eagerness. » Before shé'could énséver, Lady Blanche laid her hand softly on his arm. They arrived at Ballyfloe at dusk, and were greeted by Lady and Sir Joseph Lynch with the most corii- a1 and affectionate welcome. It was quite a reception, in fact, all the guests who remained thronging lbe terrace and pressing forward to ex- press their delight ab seeing him among (chem againu “Where is Floris?” he asked, quitq audibly, of_Lady Lynch; They started early in the mom- fng'. Lord Norman and the young (Motor travelling in the big carri- age, and the rest of the party travâ€" eling as best they liked. From that moment Lord Nor- man’s recovery was rapid. At the end of the week a comfortable, the most comfortable of the Ballyfioe travelling carriages, filled with every luxury 3. convalescent could teqfiire, arrived at Scarfross, and to his immense satisfaction, he started for “home” as he called it. Bruce, poor Bruce!” Lady Blanche’s face flushed. “Save your pity for those who need it,” she said, quietly. “ ‘Poor Bruce,’ as you call him, is a. fortu- nate man to,have been deceived heâ€" fore marriage, instead of after- ward,” and, with this last dagger thrust, sh_e left her. “Go back to Ballyfloe,” said Lady Blanche, firmly. “He does pot know you are here. Go back to Ballyfloe, and I will tell him that; you would not see him for fear of pxoiting him, and that you have taken Floris Carliale with you.” “Yes, I will go,” said Lady Ectty. “I will go at once. Pour “What shall I do?” demand-a p093. Latjy Betty, hglp»1_es_sly.w lisIe has gone with Bertie Cliffonle, and that Lady Matilda is on the Continent?” she. said, contemptu- busly. I Lady Blanche smiled. She knew that Josine had taken the letters frqgg the posfibag. “How Gould 37011 have received any a_mswer, seeing jahat Floris Car. I “I wrote her before I left. Bally- fioe,” said Lady Betty. I wrote to Westbury, where her mother livad. I wrote to Matilda, who first rec 3m- fvended her to me when she came, as a companion, but I have receiv- éd no answer.” I “Jilted him and ran off with Ber tie Clifforde ‘1" said Lady Blanche, Icily. “I admire your faith. I suppose you have written to her?" “It is dreadful!” moéhVéoilrLady Betty. “1 cannot understand it. I will never believe she has done what you say.” “I would tell him anything to avert. the blow I It must come soonâ€" er 01' later, but unless you want fulfill him, let it come later.” “Yes,” said Lady Blanche, curt- Ky; “he is better, but his life hangs by a threadâ€"J know that. I have come to ask you what you intend to do.” “To do 2” “Yes. Do you mean to see him? “If you do, he will see by your face that something is wrong; he will ask you questions about â€"- about Floris Carlisle. And what will you say? Can you keep your counten- ance and lie, as I have done? I have told him that she is resting.” "Oh, how could you do that ’1” Lady Blanche laughed. It was an awful laugh, and it made her listâ€" ener ghudder. “Oh, Blanche, is-he really betâ€" ter 1” she exclaimed, forgetting her animosity for the moment. Lady Betty was waiting for her In the sitting-room, waiting in the greatest agitation and distress, mingled with her joy for the news. Thév- escorted him to his apart- Fighting Life’s Battle; CHAPTER XXIV. 0R, LADY BLANCHE’S BITTER PUNISHMENT “Oh. Bruce Bruce!” she moan- ed. “It is so hard; for me to have tn tell you! But you will hear it from me best! Bruce, be firm; be brave! Don’t look at me so, or I cannot go on I” for his eyes seemed penetrating to her soul. “I can bearianything better than this suspense,” he cried, hoarsely. “DQf‘l’t- you see it’s maddening “No, Bruce she is not dead that I» know ofâ€"â€"indeed I do not know. Butâ€"bubâ€"oh, Bruce, can you bear it ’l’i’i she whispered. “Quick! te’l me all. She is dead! I kfiow it! I can read it in your face! Quick, tell me'” “What!” he cried, in a terrible voice; “whatâ€"â€"where? I have had no letter! Ah, I seeâ€"you have kept it from me because I was ill. I see -â€"I see! But for Heaven’s sake, give it to me now~give them all to meâ€"â€"â€"” and he held out his hand. She shook her head. “I have no letter for you, Bruce; she has written to no one.” His hand fell to his side. “Written to no one, Blanche!” his face growing white. ‘.‘Wha.t is this infernal mystery? Why did you lie to me the other day, and tell me she was at Scarfross? Has she not been there at all ’1” “She has not been there, Bruce. She left here when you did. and we have not heard a word from her since.” He strode forward and seized he: arm. Her heart hardened, and she met his impatient gaze stqadily. “She left Bé/llyfloe neérly three weeks ago, Bruceâ€"the day you started for Scarfross.” “I do not know wherev she 15. Bruce,“ she said; quietly. “th know! Whit do 37011 mean? When did she go and why ‘2” “Not at Ballyfloe!” he repeated with wide-opened eyes and knit brow. “Where is she, then? Great heavens! Why didn’t you tell an before I left Scarfross? I couli have taken train at a nearer point than this. You know I am dying to see her!” “Blanchefl” he exclaimed; “what, does this mean? Is she ill? For Heaven’s sake, if you have any news to tell me, tell me it at once. Sus- pense; kills mesâ€"what it it?” She moistened her lips. “Floris is not at Ballyfloc, Bruce.” Lady Blanche was silent; she could not speak for the moment- could not take her eyes from his, in which already there began to dawn an overpowering anxiety and apprehension. “Blanche,” he said, facing her, “why doesn’t Floris come? Where is she? Why is it that no one mon- tions her name? Is she in the house? She must be at this hour. I asked'my man if she were dress- ing for dinner, but I could get no satisfactory answer from him.” Lord Norman was pacing up and down the room impatiently; his travelling cloak of sable was thrown across a. chair, as if he had but just flung it OK, and he had made no atyolnpt of, changing _h_is clo§hes._ She rose, glanced at her face in the glass, and followed the man. The critical moment had arrived. Lady Blanbhe dismissed her with a wave of her hand, and sank into a chair. She knew that: Lord Norman would send for her presently, and in a few minutes his valet knocked at the door and begged her to come to his master. “Nothing of Miss Carlisle! N0- thing whatever. I know nothing except that Miss Carlisle left Bally- fioe with Milord Clifforde,” she said, steadily. “Thenâ€"then you have heard no- thing ?’f she faltered. Lady Blanche drew a breath of re- lief. “Is there any news, Josine ’2” she asked, calmly. Josine shook her head. “No, miladi.” “Sheâ€"â€"she has not written ’i” “No, miladi, there have been no letters. If there had been, I would have intercepted them and given them to miladi.” Lady Blanche started and flush- ed, then she closed the door. ments almost, as if he were a roy- al personage, and Lady Blanche went to her own room. As she op- ened the door, she saw Josine stand- ing waiting for her. 'n For a moment he appeared unr able to sneak. then he put his» hand or. her shoulder. ‘ “Blanche,” be said, hoarsely, al~ most ilmudibly, as the voice of a man at death’s door, “you can do me no good I Leave me to myself !” “Butâ€"but ” she cast a quick fearful glance round the room; his pistol case stood on a side table, and there was despair, frenzy on his face. He smiled an awful smile. “No Blanche, do not be afraid! I shall not do that. Will you go now ‘2” His face was deathly white to the lips his eyes filled with a despair that seemed to have transformed him into an old man. He was sitting in his chair still, his face turned from her. ‘ He turned his head, and she start- ed and. shrank back. She went up to him and knelt be- :ide him. “Bruceâ€"«Jam, dear Bruce â€" be brave. Oh, Bruce! she is not worth 1-". she is not indeed!” “Go!” he said pointing to the door, and the two went out, leav- ing Lady Blanche standing there with her hand before her eyes. She stood thus for a moment; or two, then she ventured to look at him. “Have you received no letter?” he asked. Lady Bettv shook her head. “No, Bruce‘ not a, word. I have written to her begging her to relieve us of this terrible suspense with one ‘wox'd,r but she has not sent it.” “And youâ€"you believing“ ‘thig-Qr’fihe demffjded, turning to Lady Bettv. "What ’nan I do; Bilge 'Zr’r’ugh'é wailed. "It is true ; I have seen the poyjfigr. the guard. a.ndâ€"-a‘ndâ€"” For cermintv Miss left Banifloe with Lm-d CliFForde. “WE; and even Josine quaked; but she had gone too far to draw back. “Milord, I know inothing but this.” she said in a low, steady voice-and she reheated her lesson. “Girl.” he said. stérrwxillng‘tell me what this means! Sneak the truth, if lqu qan, or by Heaven-â€"-!” In, five minutes she returned with the two others. “Oh, Bruce E” sobbed poor Lady Betty, gaing to him: but he kept her back with upheld hand. He was still sitting in the chair, looking vaguely, vacantly out of the window. “Lady Betty’s maidâ€"a great friend of Floris’." “Fetch her lâ€"fetch Lady Betty!” he; sqideoinping to the door. Lady Blanche Wentoubâ€"she was glad to get out, if even for a, moâ€" ment or two, from the sight of his fags, the sound of his voice. “Josine, Josine! Who is Josine 2” he demanded, hparsely: “Bruce, I can only tell you what I know. The day you left she reâ€" ceived a telegram; she started for the railway station at once. and there she met Bertie Clifforde.” "A lie !â€"3, lie!” he groaned. "Bruce, it is no idle scandal. Joâ€" sirxe saw them go of? together.” “It must be a lie I” he whispered, huskily, just as Floris had whispâ€" ered to Jonine a fortnight ago! She shook her head. “It is the truth. Bruce l” “How do you know? She has not written; she has~oh, Heaven! am I awake or dreaming? Blanche, for Heaven’s sake, tellime all? I know there is some hideous mistake â€"of course there is some mistake, and it must be put right at mice. But tell me allâ€"don’t waste a mo- ment! Nowâ€"now!” He dropped her arm and stepped back. then he looked at her calmly, quietly. “Bruce, it is quite true! Would to Heaven it were not ! She has left you, Bruce! 8116 has gone of with Bertie Clifforde E” “What do you say! Say it again â€"sa.y it again! I didn’t hear youâ€"- I could not have heard you. I must be delirious still! Floris â€" Floris lâ€"well, can’t you speak 2” he said harshly. “Is this an elaborate joke, Blanche?” he asked, quietly; then a‘ he scanned her face his grasp on her arm grew tighter, and he drew her to him so that she. thought he was going to kill her. “Judge for yourself!” she retort- ed. stung into courage. “Floris Carlisle has jilted you, Bruce, and run off with Bertie Clifford‘s.” He looked, at her with a dull, perplexed gaze. gv'hat ?’ ’ “What i” and he laughed a short, wild laugh of mockery. “Go on, go on! You are mad! Floris is “Bruce,” she whispered, almost inaudibly, for her ' heart nearly stood still with fear, with actual fear that when her lips formed the words he should strike, perhaps kill her. “Bruce, Floris Carlisle is not worth a thought from you! She is a bad, wicked girlw” He looked aside and motioned to he;_to gopni Time is calculated among the In- dians by moons instead of months. “We” is the Indian for moon. Janu- ary is called “Weâ€"ted’i,” “the hard moon” ; February, the “racoon moon”; March, “soreeye moon”; April, “the moon in which geese lay eggs”; May, “the planting moon" : June, “the moon when the strawberries are red”; July, “the moon when chokecherries are ripe” ; August, “the harvest moon”; Sep- tember, “the moon when rice is laid up to dry” ; October, “the rice drying moon” ; November, “the deer-killing moon,” and December, “the deer moon.” l “Phew!” he exclaimed. “Tut, tut! That is it, is‘it! Now who would have thought it of such a quiet, beautiful girl? Tut, tut! But as to giving her his messageâ€"n0, no, really I think it would be better to say nothing about him. Dear me! dear me! Looked half mad! Tut, tut! I can understand now why she insisted upon changing her name! Poor girl! I wonder what the rights of the story are, after all? Shoot himâ€"Who is ‘him,’ now â€"-like a dog! No, no, my lord, I can’t send such a message as that I" And so good little. Mr. Morrel de- cided to say nothing about Lord Norman’s visit, and thus another onening door was closed against Floris’ g‘ood_angel! “You can communicate with Miss Callisle‘, I presume ’l” “Certainly. my lord. I shall be hannyutg forward atny‘ messageâ€"J’ “Tell her, nlease." he said, in a. low, clear voice, “that she has no- thing to fear from me; but if he shnuld chance to cross my path I will shoot him as I would a dog! Yhat is all 2” and he slowly turned and went out. Mr. Morrel gasped for breath for a moment. Lord Norman took up his hat and went to the door, then he paused, and facing round, looked steadily into the lawyer’s nervous and em- barrassed countenance. “I do, my lord. I gave Miss Oar- lisle my solemn promise that I would keep her whereabouts a sec. ret. It: is with the deepest re- greatâ€"t” “Yes. my lord; I know it.” “And you withhold it at her re- quest 2” he demanded, his dark eyes gleaming from his white face. ' “Be seated. my lord,” he said. Lord Norma-n declined the chair. “I ask you for Miss Carlisle’s pre» sent address." he said, with a. ter- ribly significant calmness. Mr. Morrel shook his head. “I deeply regret, my lord, that I am unable to furnis‘h you with Miss Carlisle’s address,” he said, graveâ€" ly- , Mr. Morrel flushed. He felt a. strong temptation to answer at once, and tell all, but he had giv- en his promise, and he was a. law: yer; A _ , f n “I Have céme to learn what you know ofâ€"of Miss Carlisle !” he said stetnlyg- Mr. Morrel was considerably startled at; the apparition, as he al- mcst deemed it, of the once hand- some. lightâ€"hearted earl against “horn he had fought so long. “I~â€"I am afraid you are ill, my lord!” he said, with his nervous sharpness. " Loi-d Norman waved all common- placggretings aside. In the morning he. went to his so- licitor’s and obtaining the address 0‘7 Mr. Morrel, drove to his office. They reached London in the ev~ ening, and the whole of the night Lord Norman sat in his room, as he sat at Ballyfloe. his eyes fixed on the ground. his gray face set into a marble calm. The man packed the portmanteau, and they started in the early morn- ing almost like thieves. for Lord Norman had hidden him keep their denarture secret. “We start for London by the first train,” he said, in a hollow voice. His valet found him still sitting there, when he entered an hour afâ€" terward, and was dismissed with a gesture; he found him still sitting, like a figure carved in stone, in the morning, and ventured to touch and speak to him. At the touch Lord Norman looked up at him vaguely; then rose. rose with ~the stiff movement and gait of extreme age. Slhwly she retreated from him, and left him. left him still sitting with his head bowed, and the aw- ful look in his gray eyes. She had gone to the length of her tether for the present: for the fu- ture Tâ€"well it lay in the hands of theigods! 7 She got up slowly. She longed, with a longing past expression, to throw_ her arms round him, to pour out the passionate love of her heart at his feet, to remind him that there was still one who was faithful, but she dared not, dared not! fl): you lgnovy it]? TIME BY “MOONS.” (To be Bontinued.) How many at this time of year stop to think how necessary it is t ' provide a supply of scratching ma»: terial for the hens during the win" ter months. How few take advant-E age of the opportunities that areV presented from now until snow, comes of harvesting‘a supply. Buckwheat is an‘ ealsy crop to raise. It; requires, véry little fertiL iyer, a thin coating of wood ashes will answer, and it ' grows and thrives upon land nele .broken‘ up. The crop ripens in a few months and can be harvested and stored awav with or without threshing. As litter it wears well anrl H16 fowls find much nlen'rnre in ni-l-‘vm off the kernels of grain, Take aimâ€"half bushel' of lime, slake with boiling water. make inâ€" to a milk. and strain through a, fine sieve. Add to this a Deck of salhl dissolved in warm water: three pounds m'mmd rice boiled to a( paste and stirred in while hot. half‘ pound whiting, and mm pound glued previouslv disaolvel‘l in a glue not‘ over a slow fire. To this mixture! add five gullo'ns of hot water. stir: it Well. cove“: and let stand for a} fow rhvs. This mixture is best 85ml pliod hot. with a brush. and a pint will cover a square yard. Nothwithstanding the author’s criticism of more elaborate white- wash mixtures, we venture to sug- gest, on the strength of our own exnerience, that a much better whitewash. (me that will stick and not rub off. and that is vcrv easily hruched on. even ovnr ‘ronn‘lIâ€"hoard surfaces. is prenared as follnwst cure a mixture which the nozule will deliver well. The contents of the barrel or bucket must be kept well agitated. for the lime tends to settle upon the bottom. The spray must be fine, and not allowed to plav upon one place until the wash bettins to run. When applied with brushes, 2). slightlv heavier wash can be used as it is generally well rubbed down. Light coats Ere- (‘tuently applied are better than heavy ones, as the latter are more apt to scale off. While still wet a. light coat seems to have failed in its object, but when drv the whole be‘ comes perfectly white. One bushel of lime will make thirty gallons 6‘; whitewash. Many formulas for making whitewash are published in- lvclving the use of salt, oil, grease, ‘glue, rice, etc., together with the boiling 'of the material at different stages of its preparation. Tlx'ce are too much involved for the (A dinary mam, besides taking too much time. The addition of a. small quantity of salt and oil is said to increase the life of the whitewash. I5 convenient, they should be adâ€" ded, but boiling is not essential where light coats are out on otten as indicated above. When once un- derstood whitewash can be made and applied with little trouble, yielding a large retum in the im- proved condition of the stable. Best satisfaction is obtained by keeping the mixture well agitated and makv ins: applications.” lv Soon after the water is added. the lumns of lime which are expos- ed to both air and water begin to crumble and soon the whole mess begins to steam. More water should be added and the barrel kept cov- ered. After the slaking process in over. several nails of water should be added. and the whole thorough lv stirred. This mixture should b0 strained through a fine sieve before placing in the barrel to which the pump is attached, and, if necessary, more water may be added to se- "Take a half bushel unslaked lime of good quality‘ slack it with boiling water (cold will do) cover during the process to keep in steam, and 'add water as the pro- cess goes on. To do this. the lime should be placed in a tight barrel and water enough added to partly cover the lime. Never I cover the lime entirely with water, else the shaking process will go on too slow- Whitewashing the cow stable should be one of the regular chores ‘every fall on farms where cows are imilked. In the neighborhood of some cities, milkmen who supply milk, are required to have their stables whitewashed with lime each year. What they are comâ€" pelled to do it should be well for every farmer to perform of their own free will. Whitewashing with lime sweetens the stable and add! to the satisfaction and selfâ€"respect of the farmer. The following di» rections for preparing Whitewash are taken from a bulletin fo the Il- linois Experiment Station : WHITEWASH COW STABLES. . SORATCHING FOR HENS.