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when you cc “stance.” lle waited and glanced at Mr. Heron impatiently. and at last that, gentleman rose. but not, too eagerly. to the occasion. "'I need scarcely say." he said. slowly and solemnly. "that I should not approve of my cousin's accepting these offers of charity. which, though no doubt kindly meant. appear to me somewh_it~er-ob- trusive. I am not a wealthy man: my simple home cannot compare in size and grandeur with Heron Hall and the estate which my late unfortunate cousin up- ware tunhave squandered, but such as it is. Ida will be welcome in it. I am not one to turn a deaf our to the cry of the orphan and fatherlesa~" Mr. Wordley frowned and reddened, and cut in before Mr. John Heron could finish his same so rouse l‘er impo 'jQuite lume "I must go, then," said Ida. as if there were a. stab in every word. ’_ Mr. Wordley bent his head, and laid his hand on her shoulder. "Yes. I fear you must go," he assented. 'But. thank God, you are not without friends, many friends. Lord Bannerdale charges me to tell you what his good wife has already wrimen youâ€"{hat a home awaits you at the Court, where you will be received gladly and lovingly; and I am quite sure that the door of every house in the dale is wide open for you." Toln ‘Lunnl. :,, 1,, 1 - a. . .. , __‘ __.- .., u.“ HM. w. ,vu. Ida shrank in her chair. Clothe the other as kindly as he might. it spelt Char- ityâ€"not cold charity, but charity still: and what Heron had ever tamely accept~ ed charity from mere friends and strangers? Mr. Wordley saw the shrink- ing. the little shudder, and understood. "1 undemtand, my dear!" he said in a low voice. “But there is another offer. another home which you can accept with. out humilimion or compunction. Your cousin. Mr. John Heron here. will, I am sure, be only too glad, too delighted Lo~ M .. delighte takinst it is 53an t0 will the f burux Ida for e\' "The prevailing \‘ice of lhis most, wicked of ages." he said. "The love of money. the gambling on the raceâ€"course and the Stpgk Exchange. are the root of all evil." Ida seemed not to hear him, and Mr. Wordley ignored the comment. "It. now remains for you. my dear child, to decide what, to do. I do not think you cou!d possibly live on here; you have not the meansyofio so. thoth you should be Ida. drew a long breath and was‘ silent for a moment. as she tried to reahze the siggificance of his words. Mr. Wordley blew his now and coughed two or three times. as if he found it dif- iicult to reply; at last he said, in a. vome almost as low as hem: “Put. shortly, I am afraid, my dear. that, is what, 1 must tell you. I had no idea than the position- was so grave._ thought that there would be something left; suflicieut. at. any rate, to render you independent; but. as I told you. I have been kept. in ignorance of your father“ afiairs for some years past, and I did not knpw how things were going. 1 am sur- prised as well 86' grieved, deeply grieved; and I must, confess that I can only ac- count for the deplorable confusion and loss by the theory that I Suggested Do you the other day. - I cannot but think ghat your poor father must have engaged xn__son_;i_e disastrous Vspeculation.” When Ida came down, no led h chair beside the fire which he had to be lit. and laid his hand gen tenderly on her shoulder by way Duration and encouragement. "Your cousin and I want to tally about. the future. Ida." he said will have to be told some time ( exao‘ly how your father's ufiair and I have come to the cont-lusi it. is better you should know at. or that you should be permitted to in ignorance of the gravity of ti Ida raised her eyes to his and tried to regard him calmly and bravely, but, her lips quivered and she cha‘ked a sigh. Mr- Wordley coughed and frowned. as :r man does when he is engaged in u disagreeable and painful task. . "The principal mortgagee has given me notice of foreclosure. and the amount of the debt is so large that, I am afraidâ€"It would be cruel and useless to conceal the ‘ truth from yonI know that the property sold would not, be sufficient to meet it. 0” ready money there appears to be noneâ€"l Mr. .7th Heron groaned and raised his melancholy tree to the ceiling with an expression of reprobation. Ida appeared unconscious of his presence and kept her sad eyee teadily._ fixed on the lawyers kind and mourninl‘tace. "In a word, my dear child, your poor father appears .to here left absolutely no effects behind 1m. as eronomical as you have been in the past; the house must pass away from you In six mont.hs' time or little more. and l_here 'would be nothing gained by your lmgermg hopeleser here for that per-10d." “I mus; go! then," said Ida. as if there “Do you mreian that Irrrau‘l quite penni less?" she said. in a low volce. M}: Herafi'éébifi'ed'aéfih'.{xii shook his head. - d I have come to {he conclusion that: it. is better you should know at, once Lhnn that, you should be permitted to rcumm in ignorance of Lhe gravity of the situa- tion. I have gone over your father‘s pa- pers and looked into his affairs very care- fully and closely. and I am sorry to say that. they are in a very unsatisfactory condition. As I told you the other day. the. estate has been encumbered and very senouely embarrassed for some time past. nnd the encumbrance has been increased of flame. notwithstanding the admirable way in which you have managed the estate and the household afl‘airs." ofdkav 5s. 1d: Qliit A 1mm Young Man: Wordley frowned and reddened, and before Mr. John Heron could finish mtence even more offensively. and lse Ida‘s spiral. and render his of- Ipoesible of acveptance. te so. quite so. my dear sir." he “I am sure you will feel only too ted and honored at the prospect of r this dear child into your family." said Mr. Heron uuctuously. “We Jko her in as a lamb gathered into ‘lduas :1 brand is plucked from the mixed at him half 1 be feared some my dear uilt-y of CHAPTER. XX VII ma‘id‘wrvu and M156 her imen my own. and othex at an envelope ix laced some bank- him and slowly 1U you hat Thoti me for advice Or, the Belie of the Season. nd I he i such 1 advance in he, preceede His teats aka ll ]10 led -her to a. 11 he had ordered hand gemly and r by way of re- Interrupted Mr. hink the sooner better; and I stupefied doubts ( auee auwh 1651!; stood th ybil and 1e J ason IVE hem led, and d finish 15'. and his of- Miss some ‘You ther and ap- i it not. the EVE we 35 That. ca age came all too soon, thohgh Mr. John Heron had awaited its arrival impatiently. and with watch in hand. He seemed grimmer and gaunter than ever that, morning. and as he looked around the great. Hall. he shook his head at ‘18 faded grandeur reprehensively, as if he could. if time permitted, deliver a. sermon on the prodigality. the Wicked wasteful- ness. which had brought ruin on the house. and rendered it. necessary for him to extend his charity to the penniless or- phan _ Winh Donald and Bess close at her heels, as if they were aware of their coming loss, she went. round to say good-bye. She crossed the lawn and went to the spot un- der the tree where she had met Stafford that never-to-he-forgotten night, and from thence walked to the corner of the ter- race where they had stood and watched her father coming in his sleep, from the ruined chapel. Then she went to the stable to say good-bye to Rupert. who whinnied as he heard her approaching footetep. and thrust his soft, velvety nose into her neck. She had to fight hard against the tears at this point, and she hid her face against that of the big horse with her arms thrown round his neck. as she murmured her last good-bye. But the tears would not be kept back when it came to saying farewell to the two faithful souls. Jessie and Jason. with whom she had grown up from a girl all legs and wings, and whom she had learnt to regard rather as devoted friends than servants. Jason broke down com- pletely and hurried away, his old and feeble frame shaking; and Jessie, her arms thrown round her young mistress. and with sobs and ejaculations, implored her to take her faithful Jessie with her. Perhaps the parting with the two dogs was as bitter as any. for. as if they knew quite well that she was going. they clung closely to her, and when she hugged an kissed them on the forehead, they had to be dragged 01? by Jason. and locked up in the stables lest they should follow the carriage which was to bear their be- loved mistress away. that» later on. You must go now and rest; you are tired." He drew her arm within his, and pat- ting hl‘l‘ hand tenderly and encouraging- ly, led her out of the room; and stood in the hall watching her as she slowly went up the great. stairs, such a girlish. mournful figure in her plain black dress. Ida lay awake that» night listening to the wind and the rain. She was familiar enough with the dale storms. but, never had their wild music wailed so mournfnl an accompaniment to her own thoughts: Compared with her other losses, that of her home, dearly as she loved it, weighed but little; it was but an added pang to the anguish of her bereavement; and be- hind that, the principal cause of her grief. loomed the desertion of her lover. She tried not to think of Stafiord; {01‘ every thought bestowed on him seemed to rob her dead father and to ‘be disloyal to his memory; but, alas! the human heart is despotic: and as she lay awake. and listened to the wailing of the Wind and the rain as it drove against the Win- dow. Stvaiford‘s voice penetrated that of the storm; and. scarcely consciously. her lips were forming some of the passionate words of ondearment which he had whis- nertd to her by the stream and on the hill-side. Though she knew every word by heart of the letter he had written her. she did not yet understand or comprehend why he had broken his solemn engage- ment to her. She understood that some- thing had risen between them, something had happened which had separated them. but she could form no idea. as to what. it was. He had spoken of “unworthiness,” of something which he had discove'ed that had rendered him unfit to be her husband; but she could not guws what it was; and confused and bewildered as she was. there was. at present. at any rate. no resentment in her heart. A mist hung over the dale on this. the day of her departure from the Hall, and all the hills over which she had so loved to ride and walk were shrouded as if Iu tears. She stood and looked at, them from the hall Window with vacant eyes. as if she did not, realize that she was leaving them. perhaps for ever; but she had not long for gazing, for Mr. Heron and she were going by an early train. and the moment for fnreiwelquamerquittlx upon .her.‘ She sank back into the carriage a drove away from the Hall. and closed eyes that she might not. see the fami trees in the avenue, the cattle, every of which she knew by name. grazing the meadow. the pale and woebegoue f: of the servants who stood by the stem catch the last glimpep of their be‘.0} it, proved a. difficult good-bye for once the usually fluent old bereft of the power of speech Ida's small hand, and looks tear-dimmed eyes at the whit howful face. He had intended sorts of kind and encouraging he could only manage \he “Good-bye;" and lthey were audible. riff. Wordley was there to say good-bye to Ida apd mug]te into the carriage; bug 1 can do?" She turn( with a little anxious. am stronngery strong IIcrondaleâ€"I can ride stand a. farm. I am 11 there is something 1 ca Her voice broke. she and the tears star’md ‘ “Yes. yes: no doub child!" (said Mr. Wordls were moisL. “We will Hum later on. You m un EDI child were ‘hac rest: He ting time. extended both In eloquan gratitude. T gotten Mr. John Herc were reminded of n tween :l cough and a s at a glanct‘ from Mr. ed to the gaunt. figure hand. 1h" Her v and the Thank will (:4 .ilâ€"un 10mm n2. 75 ah do mois. la (er You drew her 1 1d fin the . Orme she said in a rith you and stay (5an find somebhi which I can ear) W both almost in and Ida. doubt, no d ’ordley. whose will think )u must, go hand They ‘2‘; by nit? fro: Wordley : and 11' 111 no doubt had both, for- presence, b1“: something be. from him; and Hey. Ida. turn- 1 held out. her to say and lawyer wag as he held ~d through :9 and sor- we 31: ' the mute. both. low voice own eyes about all now and ad at ‘ts as if he a. sermon wasteful- on the for him ngs, bl before whose first, 21.]. Put or- , but; dhe So you have 'come at last. my dear Miss Heron! Your train must have been very late. John; we have been expectmg you for the last hour. and I am afraid the dinner is quite spam. But anyway. I am glad to see you." "Thank you." saiJ poor Ida. It was Isabel's turn, and she now came forward with a. smile that, extended her mouth from ear to ear. and in a gush- ing__ma1mer said, in» staccato sentencgg: The room was seedy and shabby. but with a different seedian and shubhinvss from that of Heron Hall; for there was an attempt to congeal its loss of fresh- ness with antimacassars. large in size and hideous of pattern. A grim and ugly por- trait of Mr. John Heron occupied a great portion of one of the walks, and was con. fronted by a, portrait. of a similar size, of his wife, a middle-class womanof fad- ed aspect and languishing expressioni The other pictures were of the type one usually sees in such houses; engravings printed from worn-out plates. and third- class lithographs. There was a, large sofa covered with dirty cretonne showing that the spring had "gone;" the centre- table was adorned by several well-known religious books arranged at regular in- tervals. A cage containing a canary hung between the curtains in the win. dew. and the bird. :1 wretched-looking animalâ€"it was moultingâ€"woke up at their entrance and shrilled in the hateful manner peculiar to canarries. This de- pressing room was lit by one gas-burner. which only permitted Ida to take in all that has been described vaguely and dinglyt “We are a very quiet family," Mr. Her- on had said, “and you will no doubt, miss the space and grandeur of Heron Hall; but I trust we are contented and happy. and that. though our means are limited, our sphere of usefulness is wider than that of some wealthier people. My wife is. unfortunately. an invalid, and requea constant care and attention; but, I have no doubt she wil find strength to bear any fresh burden which Providence may see [it to put upon her. Though our circular emncee are comfortable, we nre not sur- rounded by the luxuries which so often prove a stumbling block to weaker breth- ren. I trust, you may be happy in our humble home. and that you may find some opportunity of usefulness in this new state of life to which you are called." “I hope so,“ said poor Ida. trying to smile and speak cheerfully and amiably. as Miss Isabel's rather large hand closed round here; but she looked from one to the other with an appalling sensation of strangeness and aloofness. and a lump rose in her throat which rendered the smile and any further speech on her part. impossible; and :15 she looked from the s‘unpering. lnckaduisical mother Lo the vulgar daughter with the meaningless smile. she asked herself whether she was really awake, whether this room was in- deed to be her futurt home and them strange people her daily companions. or whether she was only asleep and dream- ing, and would wake to find the honest. face of Jessie bending over her. and to “something in the City;" and that Mrs. Heron was extremely proud of her hue- band's connection with the Herons of Herondale, and was firmly convinced that she and her family possessed a]! the taste and refinement which behmg to “the aris- tourney}: “Yes, 9 are so glad to see you. How tired you must be! One always feels so dirty and tumbled after a long journey. You'll be glad of a wash. Miss Heron. But, there! I mustn't call you that; it sounds so cold and formal! I must call you Ida. mustn't 1? ‘Ida!’ It sounds such an odd name; but I suppose I shall get used to it In time." She looked round aghast and with a sinking of the heart. She had never been in any room like this before, and its lack of comfort, its vulgarity. struck upon her strained nerves like a loud discordant note in music; but its owner surveyed the apartment complacently and turned the gas a little higher, as he aid: "1 will go and fetch your cousin. Won't you sit down?" As he spoke. the door opened and the original of the portrait on the wall enter- ed. followed by her daughter Isabel. Ida rose from the bumpy sofa and saw a thin, harassed-looking woman, more faded even than the portrait, and a tall and rather good-looking girl. whose face and figure resembled. in a. vague, indefinite way, those of both her father and mother; but though she was not bad-looking, there was a touch of vulgarity in her widely opened eyes. with a. curious stare for the newcomer. and in hei‘ rather coarse mouth. which appalled and repelled poor Ida; and she stood looking from one to the other, trying to keep her surprise and wonder and disapproval from reveal- ing themselves through her eyes. She did not know that these two ladies. being the wife and daughter of a professional man, considered themselves very much the su- perior of their friends and neighbors, who were mostly retired tradespeoplgor A simplier and homelier woman would have put her arm round the girl's neck and. drawn her towards her with a few Iovmsz Words of greeting and welcome: bus Mrs. Heron only extended a hand. held at. the latest, fashionable angle. and murmured in a languid and lackadaisical vomce: . Ida tried to remember all this as stood in the centre of the drawing‘r and looked round upon the modern heavy and ugly objects with which it furnished. name was Joseph and the daughmfs Ieabel; that. Joseph was a clerk in the city. and that Isabel was about the same age as Ida. ' Reinforccmcnts ( om. but. she In the result, such forebodings have been proved unjustified. The reality may turn out to be strin- gent and stem enough, but it is not â€"-nor does it seem likely to beâ€"a. hundredth part as appalling as the state of terror which the imagina- tion conjured up. The nation knows that it has to fight economic difliâ€" culties of substance. But, at least, it has shaken itself free from the fear of shadows. First of 3.11, Great Britain knows that she need no longer dread any grave shortage in her food supply. Secondly. Sille need fear no currency crisis. 'Dhirdly. she has her trade routes open. The Atlantic and the Mediterranean alike are, forrpracti- cal purposes, safe for her shipping. With the great waterâ€"ways of the world clear for their transport. she can both get. her raw material from every country, save those with whom she is at war. or those so It Is Standing lip Well Under the War Strain. Among many admirable qualities that the British people are exhibit- ing just now, not the least admira. ble is the cool way in which they are adapting themselves to abnor- mal commercial conditions. Cour- age and swiftness of action on the part of those in authority, combined with common-sense and coolness on the part of the main body of the general public, ere enabling them to make the best of wholly unprece- dented economic cornditions. And (as so often happens) they are find- ing the reality of every-day com- mercial life in war-time far less ter- rible than they would have expect- ed before they tasted it. In days not long gone by, whenever the mere possibility of a. vast European war, with Great Britain for a. par- ticipant in it, was contemplated, there were not wanting prophetsâ€" and many of them not ill-informed people, eitherâ€"«who forecasted that, if Great Britain were not brought within a. few weeks to the brink of starvation, her currency system would collapse, her sea-borne trade would do ditto, and her industries would stop almostl of themselves. see the familiar objects of her own room at Heron 119.11. BUSINESS IN GREAT BRITAIN Extra Granulated SI CANADA: SUGAR REFINING C0., LIN/“TED‘ WHEEQE‘E Way do Yoaa Buy Sugar? I‘IA (To be continued.) ing a River to Join (In French Army. actually affected by the war that. they can provide none, and she can1 send her manufactures into every‘ country save those in which the war' has wiped out her market. Herl European market has, of conrseJ been seriously diminished But even that diminution is a. matter ofi far less concern to her today thlanl it would have been a score of yelarisii ago . For toâ€"day her markets in then United States, in “the East, and in;l the British Dominions 0verse:as,l have attained an increased andl ever-increasing importance. And in such markets she finds herself, in this time of war, practically withoutI any European competitor at all. At home, Great Britain's indus-‘: trial position, while not free froml anxiety, is not such as to cause mag violent alarm. Some factories ar working short time, but very f6 } have closed down. There is a. good deal of unemployment, but not a larger percentage of it than has’ been known, ere now, in time oil peaceâ€"so far, at any rate‘ it is welll within control, particularly in View& of the very remarkable expedition; with which relief arrangements have! been made. Those who make and sell luxuries have, perhaps, most! reason to fear a slack time. But, on; the other hand, the war itself «ac-l tually stimulates production i111 many directions. And dockyards,‘ arsenals, and armament factories will all be responsible for a. vastly“ increased demand for labor. Alto-‘ gether. in comparison with the comj mercial outlook of any other bel-j ligerent nation, that of Great Bri-‘ tain is remarkably favorable. His Foot Wore Clean. Billy, the grocer‘s boy. was lum- bering up the kltchen stairs at Mrs Clarke’s, With his arms filled with parcels. r "Maud Wellalong had nothing but palms at her wedding.” “Well, the palm is an emblem of “B6y.” called out Mrs. Clarke, somewhat sharply from above, “am, your feet clean?” ’ “Yes’h.H was the prompt reply, as he continued climbing the stairs, “it‘s, only me shoes that’s dirty.” ,0 I‘)‘ SUGAR .‘l u d u (‘zlpt 11 1'0. MONTREAL; 35%