CHAPTER V.—(Contijtoid.) Nevertheless, the young people had fco doubts about their coming bliss. Everything was going smoothly and pleasantly for them. Carrlston had at ■once spoken to Madeline’s aunt, and •obtained the old Scotchwoman's ready consent to their union. I was rather vexed at hie still keeping to. his ab surd whim in concealing his true name. He said he was afraid of alarming the -sunt by telling her he was passing under an alias, whilst if he gave Made ■ Hue his true reason for so doing she ■Would be miserable. Moreover,'I found he had formed the romantic plan of marrying her without telling her in what an enviable position ehe would be placed, so far as worldly gear went. A kind of Lord of Burletgh surprise no doubt commended itself to his imagin ative brain. The last day of my holiday came. I bade a long and sad farewell to lake and mountain, and, accompanied by Cisrriston, started for home. I did not see the parting proper between the young people—that was far too sacred a thing to be Intruded upon—but even when that protracted affair was over, I waited many, many minutes whilst Carrieton stood hand in hand with Madeline, comforting himself and her by reiterating, “Only six weeks—six short weeks! And then—and then!” It was the girl who at last tore herself away, and then Carrlston mounted re ■ luctantly by my side on the rough vehicle. From Edinburgh we traveled by the night train. The greater part of the way we had the compartment to our ' selves. Carrlston, as a lover will, talked of nothing but coming bliss and hie plans for the future. ‘ After a while a grew quite weary oi ine monotony or the subject, and at last dozed off, and for some little -time, slept. The shrill whistle which told , us a tunnel was at liahd aropsed me/ companion was ■. si tting opposite "to me, and as I glanced across at him my attention was arrest ed by. the same strange, in tense look j which I had on a previous occasion at Bettws-y-Coed noticed in his eyes—the -j same fixed stare—the same oblivious-1 ness to all that was passing. ‘ Iteihem-' bering his request, I shook him, some what roughly, ib&ck to his senses. He regarded me for a moment vacantly, then said: “Now I have found out what was j wanting to make the power I told you oi complete. I could see her if I i wished.” “Of course you can see her—in your mind's eye. All lovers can do that.” ‘ “If I tried I could see her bodily— ! know exactly what she is doing!” Ho epoko with an air of complete convic* tion. “Then, I hope, for the sake of mod- i esty, you won't try. It is now nearly three dclock. She ought to be in bed ! and asleep.” I spoke lightly thinking it better to try and laugh him out of his folly. He took no notice of my sorry joke. “No,” he said quietly, “I am not go-. Ing to try. But I knew now what was wanting. Love—such love as mine such love as hers—makes the connect ing link, and enables sight or some other sense to cross over space, and pass through every material obstacle.” "Look here, Carriston,” I said seri ously, “you are talking as a madman talks. I don’t want to frighten you, but I am bound both as a doctor and j your sincere friend to tell you that un- ; less you cure yourself of these absurd i delusions, they will grow upon you, de- j velop fresh forms, and you will prob- j ably end your days under restraint Ask any doctor, he will tell you the same.” “Doctors are a clever race,” answered my strange young friend, “but they don’t know everything.” So saying he closed his eyes and ap peared to sleep. We parted on reaching London. Many kind words and wishes passed between us, and I gave some more well meant and, I believed, needed warn ings. He was going down to see his uncle, the baronet. Then he had some matters to arrange with his lawyers, and above all had to select a residence for himself and his wife. He would no doubt be in London for a short time. If possible he would come and see me. Any way he would write and let me ! know the exact date of his approaching j marriage. .If I could manage to come to it, so much the better. If not he would try, as they passed through town, to bring his bride to pay me a Hying and friendly visit. Some six weeks afterward—late nt night—while I was deep in a new and iclevcr treatise on zymotics, a man hag gard, wild, unshorn, and unkempt, rushed past my startled servant, and entered the room in which I sat. Ho threw himself into a chair, and I was horrified to recognize in the Intruder my clever and brilliant friend, Charles ‘Carriston! oana, then without a word, sunk back •into his chair and buried his face in | VL HE END has come sooner than I ex P e c t e d.” These were the sad words I muttered to my self aa, waving my. frightened servant away, I closed the door and stood, alone with the sup posed maniac. He rose and wrung my be was, as he said, as sane as I was. "Thank heaven you can speak to me and look at me like this,’’ 1 exclaimed. "You are satisfied then?” he said. "On this point, yes. Now tell me what is wrong?” Now that he had set my doubts at rest his agitation and excitement seemed to return. He grasped my hand convulsively. “Madeline!” he whispered. “Made line—my love—she is gone.” “Gone!” I repeated. “Gone where?” “She is gone, I say—stolen from me by some black-hearted traitor—perhaps forever. Who can tell?” “But, Carriston, surely in so short a time her love can not have been won by another. If so, all I can say is-” “What!” he shouted. “You who have 3een her! You in your wildest dreams to Imagine that Madeline Rowan would leave me of her own free will! No, sir, she has been stolen from me—en trapped—carried away—hidden. But I his hands. A sort of nervous trembling seemed to run through his frame. Deeply distressed, I drew his hands from his face. "Now, Carriston,” I said as firmly as I could, “look up and tell me what all this means. Look up, I say, and speak to me.” He raised his eyes to mine and kept them there, whilst a ghastly smile— a phantom of humor—flickered across his white face. No doubt his native quickness told him what I suspected, so he looked me steadily in the face. “No,” he said, “not as you think. But let there be no mistake. Question me. Talk to me. Put me to any tost. Satisfy yourself, once for all, that I sm as sane us you ore.” Ho spoke so rationally, his eyes met imue so unumcningiy, mat l was re joiced to kn*w that my fears were as yet ungrounded. There was grief, ex citement, want of rest in his appear ance, but his general manner told me will find her, or I will kill the black hearted villain who has done this.” He rose and paced the room. His face was distorted with rage. He 1 clinched and unclinched his long slen der hands. % % '“My dear fellow,” I said, “you are talking’ riddles. Sit down and tell me calmly what has happened. But, first of all, as you look utterly worn out, I will ring for my man to get you some food.” “No,” he said, “I want nothing. Weary I am, for I have been to Scot land and back ao fast as man can travel. I reached London a short time ago, and after seeing one man have come straight to you, my only friend, for help—it may be for protection. But I have eaten and I have drunk, know ing I must keep my health and strength.” However, I insisted upon some wine being brought. He drank a glass, and then with-a strange enforced calm, told me what had taken place. His tale was this: After we had parted company on our return from Scotland, Carrlston went down to the family seat in Oxfordshire, and informed his uncle of the impend ing change in his life. The baronet, an extremely old man, infirm and all but childish, troubled little about the matter. Every acre of his large prop erty was strictly entailed, so his pleas ure or displeasure could make but little alteration in his nephew’s prospects. Still he was the head of the family, and Carrlston was In duty bound to njfilte the Important news known to him. The young man made no secret of his approaching marriage, so in a very short time every member of the family was aware that the heir and future head was about to ally himself to a nobody. Knowing nothing of Madeline Rowan’s rare beauty and sweet nature, Carriston’s kinsmen and kinswomen were sparing with their congratulations. Indeed, Mr. Ralph Carrlston, the cousin whose name was coupled with the such abeurd suspic ions, went so far as to write a bitter, sarcastic letter, full of ironical felicita tions. This, and Charles Carriston’s haughty reply, did not make the affec tion between the cousins any stronger. Moreover, shortly afterward the young er man heard that inquiries were being made in the neighborhood of Made line’s home, as to her position and pa/r entage. Feeling sure that only his cousin Ralph could have had the curi osity to institute such inquiries, he’ wrote and thanked him for the keen in terest he was manifesting in his future welfare, but begged that hereafter Mr. Carrlston would apply to him direct for any information he wanted. The two men were now no longer on speak ing terms. Charles Carrlston, In his present frame of mind, cared little whether his relatives wished to bless or forbid the banns. He was passionately in love, and at once set abcut making arrange ments for a speedy marriage. Althot gh Madeline was still ignorant of the ex alted position held by her lover—al though she came to him absolutely pen niless—he was resolved in the matter of money to treat her as generously as ho would have treated the most eligible damsel in the country. Tl.ere were several legal questions to be set at rest concerning certain property he wished to settle upon her. These of course caused delay. As coon as they were adjusted to his own, or, rather to his lawyer’s satisfaction, he purposed going to Scotland and carrying away his beautiful bride. In the meantime he cast about for a residence. -Somewhat Bohemian in his nature Carrlston had no Intention of settling down Just yet to live the life ofan ordinary moneyed Englishman, tils Intention was to take Madeline abroad for some months. He had fixed upon Cannes as a desirable place at which to winter, but having grown somewhat tired of hotel life wished to rent a furnished house. He had received from an agent to whom he had been ad vised to apply the refusal of a house which, from the glowing description given, seemed the one above all others he wanted. As an early decision was insisted upon, my impulsive young friend thought nothing of crossing the Channel and running down to the south of PYance to see, with his own eyes, that the much-lauded place was worthy of the fair being who was to be its temporary mistress. He wrote to Madeline, and told her he was going from home for a few days. Ho said he should be traveling the greater part of the time, so it would be no use for her writing to him until his return. He did not reveal the object of his journey. Were Madeline to know it was to choose a winter resi dence at Cannes, she would be filled with amazement, and the innocent de ception ho was still keeping up would not be carried through to the romantic end which he pictured to himself. VII. - :? 4 nis uai oeiore ne started for France Madeline wrote 'that her aunt was ' vory unwell, but a eald nothing as to -] her malady causing / any alarm. Per . haps Carriston thought less about the old Scotch wid ow than her rela tionship and kindness to Miss Rowan merited. He started on his travels without any forebodings of evil. His joumoy to Cannes and back was hurried—he wasted no time on the road, but was delayed for two days at the place itself before he could make Anal arrangements with the owner and the present occupier of the house. Think ing he was going to start every moment he did not write to Madeline—at the rate at which he meant to return a letter posted in England would reach her almost as quickly as it posted at Cannes. He reached his home, which for the last few weeks had been Oxford, and found two letters waiting for him.- The first, dated on the day he left England, was from Madeline. It told him that her aunty’s Illness had suddenly taken a fatal turn—that ahe had died that day, almost without warning. The sec ond letter was anonymous. It was written apparently by a wom an, and advised Mr. Carr to look sharp ly after his lady-love or he would find himself left in the lurch. The writor would not be surprised to hear'hofbo fine day that she had eloped with a cer tain gentleman who should b«r name less. This precious epistle, probably an emanation of feminine spite, Car riston treated as it deserved—he tore it up and threw the pieces to the wind.’ But the thought of Madeline being alone at that lonely house troubled him greatly. The dead woman had no sons or daughters—all the anxiety and re sponsibility connected with her affairs would fall on the poor girl. The next day he threw himself into the Scotch Express, and started for her far-away home. On arriving there he found it occu pied only “by the rough farm servants. They seemed in a state of wonderment, and volubly questioned Carriston as to the whereabouts of Madeline. The question sent a chill of fear to his heart. He answered their questions by others, and soon learnt dll they had to communicate. Little enough it was On the morn-, lng after the old woman’s funeral Mad eline had gone to Callendar, to ask the advice of an old friend of her aunt’s, as to what steps should now be taken. She had neither been to his friend, nor had she returned home. She had, however, sent a message that she must go to London at once, and would write from there. That was the last heard of her—all that was known about her. Upon hearing this news Carriston be came a prey to the acutest terror—an emotion which was quite inexplicable to the honest people, hi 3 Informants. The girl had gone, but she had sent word whither she had gone. True, they did not know the reason for liet departure, so sudden and without lug gage of any description—true, she had net written as promised, but no doubt they would hear from her tomorrow. Carriston knew better. Without re vealing the extent of his fears, he flew back to Callendar. Inquiries at the railway station informed him that she had gone, or had purposed going, to London, but whether she ever reached it, sr whether any trace of her- could be found there, was, at least, a matter of doubt. No good could be gained by remaining In Scotland, so he traveled back at once to town, half distracted, sleepless, and racking his brains 'bo know where to look for her. “She has been decoyed away," Be said in conclusion. “She is hidden, Im prisoned somewhere. And I know, as well as if he told me, who has done this thing. I can trace Ralph Carriston’s cursed hand through it all.” I glanced at him askance. This mor bid suspicion of his cousin amounted almost to monomania. He had told the tale of Madeline's disappearance clearly and tersely; but when he began to account for it his theory was a wild and untenable one. However much he suspected Ralph Carriston of longiug to'-'Stand in his shoes, I could see no object for the crime of which he ac cused him, that of decoying away Mad I eline Rowan. I (TO •> C0XT1SBBD.I DAIRY AND POULTRY. | , . FARM. INTERESTING CHAPTERS FOR | OUR RURAL READERS. . How Successful Farmers Operate This Department of the Farm—A Few Hints as to the Care of Use Stock and Poultry. HE NAME "Poul try Yard” ia given to that part ot a rural estate where rural estate where fowls are reared; frequently it also contains rabbit hut ches. The poultry yard la a valuable Bier's family, but to derive all tbe pro fit obtainable, a certain number of principles must be followed which may bo epitomized as follows: The first is to utilize for the fowls the resources of the locality or farm itself without going to any great special expense. Fowls should be fed on the least val uable substances or aliments which could not be otherwise utilized. Grain, etc., being of some commercial value, should be added in small quantity as a complement, and particularly for fattening. The poultry yard should be dally opened so that the fowls may wander about in the vicinity in search of Insects and waste seed; these sub stances, of no value, should play an important part in their maintenance. This principle, however, should be ap plied, reckoning the neighborhood of cropB, which fowls might injure. In poultry yard girl has to be employed, who should be aupertlied during he* apprenticeship.—Dlctlonalre dee ' Sci ence!. Winter ltalaed Chicks. Eggs are too valuable In winter to be used tor hatching purposes unless one Is confident of securing good hatches and of raising the chicks, says an ex change. To use a dosen eggs from which only six chicks come and then lose three of them, means an expen diture of four eggs for one chick, and no one can afford the cost In that re spect The heaviest loss of chicks Is with hens—not with Incubators and brooders—and this fact should not be overlooked. It Is admitted that in the spring and summer, when the hen has everything In her favor she will be more serviceable than the brooder, but In the winter, when cold winds, ice, snow and rains prevail, the hen has a difficult undertaking to care tor her self Instead of attempting to raise a brood, and as a rule the hens are for tunate if they raise one-halt of the chicks, hatched. When a hen becomes broody and makes her nest In a warm place, and when she brings off her brood have a place prepared for her, under shelter and where the sunlight can come. Be careful that the chicks are not exposed or become chilled, and aim to raise every one of them. In that case the chicks will pay, because the expense of the eggs will be reduced by reason of the larger number of chicks marketed. Weaning the Dairy Calf. • One of the reasons why dairying Is a failure in some localities Is that the calf Is desired tor beef making, and to give him a good start it is allowed to SINGLE COMB WHITE LEQHORNS. ‘ The illustration of an ideal Single Comb White leghorn, male, ie by Sewell, the well-known poultry artlBt. It is af the most advanced dairymen strong ly advocate never letting the calf suck. Others, and the greater number, prefer to let it suck until the milk is good and this is what the writer recommends. Alter the milk 1b good for use the cow it once increases it in quantity, and good butter fat la too precious for calf Food. There is no difficulty in taking jff the calf then without any objections From the mother, if you use common sense and good tact. If she is inclined to worry tie the calf by her side while rou milk for the first time or two, and she will be reconciled, but on no ac :ount permit it to suck after the milk becomes good for use. Farm mortgages are Increasing. ONLY A MINOR CABINET PUCE, IF ANY. p V* t- „_. „ WILL GET COLD SHOULDER. Factional Difference* Put the BapfHk •tale la u Almost DuunpM Flight—Platt and Quay Said ta Ba lchlnli|—The/ Are to Hold a Conference ta Florida Xhia Month. WASniKOTOir, Feb. 6.—Gossip eon. corning the next cabinet and the posat bility of a division of the Republican senators into administration and anti administration groups fill up the legist latlve gaps here. The most interesting phase of the situation is that New York seems likely to get the cold i shoulder. A cabinet with no repre sentative from the Empire state will be an anomaly, and a marked contrast to the consideration which has beat shown to the state by President Cleve land. Even if New York shall be re membered it can now only receive one of the minor portfolios. General ■ Stewart L. Woodford's name is men tioned for the position of attorney ' general, but there is nothing so far to indicate that he is to be selected. Ib is said by the friends of Mr. McKinley here that the factional Ugh tin New York has been so bitter as to make it practically impossible for him to select a Republican from that state. While Mr. McKinley holds New York in the balancce, Senator Platt of New York has gone to Florida to spend m month, a considerable portion ad which time will be passed in the com pany of Senator Quay. The latter’s^ state, Pennsylvania, is also to be ignored,although New York and Penn sylvania rolled up the highest Re pub* lfcan majorities of the last election. Platt has no love for McKinley and Qnay is in thorough sympathy with Platt. The conferences which will be held in Florida will be of interest, and their result will be seen in the devel opments of the Senate during the extra, session. ; ^2-., MILLIONAIRE A CAPTIVE. ; ‘ , , ■ • i . •te Rlohardioo at Kew Hampshire at tba Merer at an Unscrupulous Pair. Montreal, Feb. 6.—Some tlmeagoe couple who announced themselves aa Mr. and Mrs. Stanton of Mew York came here with a slight, dark mate about 50 years old, who was never al lowed to leave the fashionable house where they lived, or to see any one who by ehanee should call. This man was said to be a Mr. Richardson, an. American millionaire from Mew Hamp shire. It is also said that be was kept under the influence of a powerful drop and in this semi-rational condition bin captors forced him to write checks for large sums of money. An agent of the millionaire came here about two weeks ago to find him. The police say this agent saw the Stantons, but they had their victim hidden, and told the agent they knew nothing about him. The trio disap peared a few hours before the detec tives finally decided to search the. house. The detectives are divided in their opinion as to where the mysterious trio Rave gone. The police say Stan ton's real name is Fraser, and that h» is an ex-Methodist preacher, formerly known in Mew York conference. ASKS FOR MERCY. ■eaters Alarmed et Pending LefMe> Use la Kansas. Topeka, Kan., Feb. B. F. Ripley, president of the Santa Fe, made a for mal appeal to the Legislature yester day against the railroad bills pending in both houses. The appeal is in the form of a carefully prepared pamphlet, entitled, “Memorial of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe Railway Com pany to the Legislature of the State of Kansas.” In it President Ripley endeavors to point out the injustice of the reforms proposed. He asserts that, none of the Kansas lines are paying investments, and that existing ratea are already lower, in comparison, than those of neighboring and more thickly settled states. He intimates that the passage of the proposed bills would be equivalent to confiscation, and ex presses the hope that no appeal to the courts will be necessary in order M» protect the company’s oorporrte rights. KENNY NOW A SENATOR. The Oilmn Hm Dtasmt Taka* the Oath of OBIca. Washington, Feb. 8.—Richard B. Kenny, the silver Democrat from Dela ware, wss sworn In ss senator in the Senate to-day. This marked the close of a contest over the vacant Delaware seat. . The committee on electionshad met prior to the Senate's action and. by e vote of 6 to 1, decided against Mr. Du pont's claim on the ground that the Senate had once finally passed on it and no new evidence had been dis covered. '_ British Army to Be Increased. London, Feb. S.—The Marquis ot Lansdowne, the secretary of state for war, replying in the House of Lords to Viscount de Vesei, announced that the government proposed to increase the army by 7,385 men. A Snowball Causes a falelds. St. Paul,Minn., Feb. 8.—Yesterday afternoon a 13-year-old boy threw a snow ball at a friend in a cutter, but the missile struck the horse, causing e runaway, which caused three othera and considerable damage. Some of those aggrieved told the boy's father that he would have to pay andhe shot himself dead. He was Peter Joseph Dreis, one of the oldest druggists int the state and a well known Demount. John William Ohms, an aged St, Louis miser, was found dead in hia room with 810,000 in money and bond% concealed in an olg iron pot, -r 3.."