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P xL ifiuL
CHAPTER XXXV (Continued.)
That Mr. Knox had something to ay
might easily be een.
"What is the matter, mother?" Jaue
asked, quietly.
"Your father' been well-nigh unbeara
ble. First be was angry about those let
ter In the paper about you and Jacob
Lynn, and I could well undemtand that,
for It til hameful drawing your name
in a though you'd murdered the pKir
fellow, when I could prove, if auy proof
were needed, aa none would be to folk
with any sense in them, that you never
left the houae all day. Now hs' taken to
groaning and bemoaning, and aaya your
prospects are all apoiled, that no one
would marry a girl agaiuet whom such
attack had been made in the news
paper, tlK!"
"If that ia all, mother, he need not
trouble. I have no wish to uiarry,"
smiled Jane, sadly.
"So all girl say until their wedding
day i filed," was the shrewd reply.
"But that's not all. He bus done noth
ing but drag np that old story alxmt
Jacob Lynn's letter that that I altered.
He says It has been the cause of all this
trouble. And I'm not at nil sure that it
hasn't," concluded Mrs. Knox, with a
strangled sob.
Jane put her arms around her mother's
neck and kissed her, too loyal to admit
1he truth of the self-accusation, though
at the ssme time unable to deny It; and
yet could she regret the deceit that bad
gained for her those happy fourteen
days?
"You meant it for the best, dear moth
er', and I was very, very happy while it
lasted," she murmured, softly.
"And there is no chance of its coming
to anything again'"
I "ot)e."
1 "And is there no one else? Oh, Jenny,
if juq only knew what a load it would
take from my heart to be sure that you
were settled! Your father he is half
daft. 1 think, at times has been talking
of retiring and going home, and then you
would have no chance of making the
marriage you could now. You hate never
licen in England, but I can remember
how different it was. We should not ta
in society at all, for we have neither
money nor portion, not even that which,
were we with the regiment, might be
from courtesy accorded us. No, if you
don't marry well in India yon can never
do so in Kngland. Is there no one else?"
repeated .Mrs. Knox, wistfully. "I had
hoped so much from your being with
Mrs. Dene, and Miss Knollys so friendly
loo. Have you nothing to tell me. dear?"
And then Jane, thinking it was her
mother's due, confided to her that Major
larron had proposed, and was to receive
a final answer in a few davs.
"Of course it will be 'Yes.'" was the
delighted comment, as the story ended.
"How pleased and proud your father will
be! Why. Jane, with all your beauty. I
npver expected you to make such a
match as that."
"Don't take too much for granted,
mother, dear. I have not promised to ac
cept him, only promised to hesitate about
refusing him." '
"And sh who liesita'cs " laughed
Mrs. Knox.
"Is lost." finished Jntie. gloomily, to her
self, as her mother left.
CHAPTEK XXXVI.
The day on which Jane was to give her
answer to P.r.rry Larron had come, and
as yet she had not decided what that an
swer was to be. If at one moment she
could do full Justice to the advantages
he had offered her, the next a sudden re
Tnlsion of feeling would make her deem
it impossible that she could ever marry
him. Tbe two strong reasons that urged
her to accept him were first, the pleas
ure this would give her parents: and sec
ondly, that if she went away from here
there was less likelihood of the knowledge
she possessed proving a source of danger
to her former lover.
Yet often a doubt crossed her mind
whether Stephen Prinsep would care for
a safety purchased so, and inconsistently
enough the thought filled her with a
strange delight. Though be might have
forfeited all claim to her consideration,
all title to her respect, she would like to
think of him as true to the love he had
once professed. Sometimes she felt as
though she, too, would like to remain tin
wedded for his sake, free to worship the
ideal to which the real man had been so
far from attaining. But such constancy
-was a luxury, and one in which she could
not expect to indulge, situated as she
was. with no settled home or position,
with gossip busy about her name, and
her father anxious, she acknowledged
to see her married. And be was not
worth it. Ah, there lay the sting! It was
not merely the loss of love, for which she
might have felt a healthy sorrow, but
shaken faith, and trust in all good things
and true, uprooted and laid waste.
"Is anything the matter, dear?" said
Mrs. Dene, the girl having been too deep
tip absorbed in thought to note her pres
ence. "Matter? No. I suppose there is noth
ing the matter, except," with an uneasy
laugh, "that a great honor has been of
fered me, and I am hesitating whether to
Allow myself to accept it."
"I think I can goes what it is."
Jane went over to Mrs. Dene's side,
tad laying both anna upon her knees,
looked soberly Into her face and told her
all.
Thra wkJ ahoald you accept Major
larron for the saks of his wealth, for
Ike BMitloa be eoold give yon? Many
itirla woaid think these arguments suffi
cieat, bwt tt to not like yoo. dear."
"No, bo; I don't think it la because of
that. It to boon be can he loves
ate" averting her eyea, in which were
aIr m dread, no responsive
7- ....
IK)
HKRT
"Is he the only one?" asked Mrs. Dene.
"Is there no one you could love in re
turn r
"No one I may," was the auswer, spok
en almost in a whisper.
A silence ensued.
Jane was the first to speak.
"Nora, you are older than I, and have
seen more of life," she began, iu a hard,
unemotional voice that told uothiug of
the inward pain she felt and had been
feeling for so long; "let me bsve your
honest opinion. Given that I love some
one I can never hope to marry not in
any circumstances that could occur
should I be doing wisely, or only mak
ing wrong worse, to accept another one
because he can give me what I want so
much peace? You know how people are
writing of me now in the piers, and
insisting that I have a knowledge
whether they thluk it a criminal knowl
edge or not, 1 am sure I cannot tell of
Jacob Lynn's death. And you must have
guessed that something el.e is troubling
me, though you are too good to question
me about it. Can't you imagine that when
Major I-arron came forward just now,
when others are holding rather aloof
from me, I should le touched by his gen
erosity don't you think it mit'lit be right
to secure such a haven for myself, if it
makes his happiness also, as he ssjs it
will r
"Every one would say you were doing
wisely mid well," answered Mrs. Dene,
constrainedly.
"Ami you, Nora and you?"
"I am not sure. Is there uo chance
of there being some misunderstanding
between yuu and and the man you love?
lie may care for you, and ask you to
marry him still."
"He has asked me once, twice."
"And you refused him?" in surprise.
Jane bowed her head.
Mrs. Dene understood then partly who
it was that troubled and had made her so
unlike the shy, happy child she hud been
a year before.
"Nora"' cried June, impulsively. "Tell
me, is Major Larron a good man. a man
with whom I might have a chatce of be
ing happy?"
"He is good looking, w el! imuiiiercij -and
he loves you. Jenny," she auswen-d
hesitatingly.
"That is not what I menu. Is be
good ?"
"How should I know, dear? We all
wear our best side out ward" a vvkw ardly.
"But you know. They say forgive me
if I am paining you perhaps I have no
right to mention it they euy yon were
once engaged to him, and I wondered
"Why I did not marry him?" finished
Mrs. Dene, in a low, tremulous voice.
"Well, I will tell you, and you shall judge
for yourself whether in that he was to
blame. No, it does not pain me, dear, to
speak of him; my feeling for him was
only a girlish fancy hero worship. I sup
pose it might be called, although ho mis
applied. It is only other things connect
ed with that time that have power to
move me so, for It was through his jilt
ing me that that 1 won my husband."
"He jilted you?" cried June.
Mrs. Dene winced. What it mst her to
reopen this old wound she alone knew,
yet she had resolved to tell all rather
than by her silence mislead Jane.
"Perhaps he una not altogether in fault.
I was young and thoughtless, mid flirted,
though never untrue to him at heart."
"lie jilted you!" repeated Jane, who,
having in her excitement risen to lor
feet, was now pacing up and down the
room.
Her breathless indignation rather
startled Nora Dene, who had outlived
her first auger, though the pain survived
still.
Then the whole story cxtneoiit. nothing
extenuated, yet naught set down in ni:;I
ice. And Jane listened with rising wrath
against the man who, having acted so to
her best friend, had dared to ask her
also to le his wife.
"He would have jilted me. too. proba
bly!" she exclaimed.
"No, dear. He loves you as he never
loved me. I think he would suffer any
thing at your hands rather than give you
up."
"He shall never have the chance."
"You don't mean "
"I mean that my answer to-day will be
'no!' No, no emphatically no!"
"Don't decide hastily, child. Think of
the position he can give you, the luxury
of wealth that would be yours; mid. re
member every one hns some good in him
only waiting to lie brought out. To love
any one, as Major I-nrron loves yon, is
elevating in itself; every man is the bet
ter for marrying the woman he loves."
"He sha'n't marry me," said Jane, with
such a mutinous iout that Mrs. Dene nits
obliged to smile.
Going straight to her own room she
wrote two letters. The first was to her
mother, with an instinctive feeling that
she ought to Is? the first to know of the
step that she was taking, and the second
to Major Larron.
"Dear Major Larron." she wrote, and
smiled a little sadly bitterly, too, at the
stereotyped beginning of what meant so
much to both "do not come to-dny. The
answer which I have to give will ranse
Ws psin to both If written. I will never
marry yon never! Nothing yoo can say
will alter my decision, and it will be
kinder to ssy nothing at all. Circum
stances have come to my knowledge that
make it Impossible I could ever change
my mind. And I never loved you never
should love yon; so it Is better that I
should have come to this decision better
for me, and for yon, too. I am yours
sincerely. JANE KNOX."
She smiled as she dispatched the letter
with something of her old mirthfulness.
That ahe, the former sergeant major's
daughter, should thus be dismissing a
coronet in prospective, and some present
thousands a year, seemed Irresistibly
comic. And ahe felt no regret, only re
lief. It waa the letter to her mother ahe fol
lowed with some apprehension. How
would they take It at home?
CHAPTER XXXVII.
With the morning came a letter from
Mrs. Knox, full of reded reproach at
the disappointment she had experienced,
and openly expressing discontent with tbe
life she was leading now at home alone.
Jenny determined to visit her home,
and told Mrs. Dene of her intention. Dur
ing the forenoon she started.
"Come again, Jenny," Mrs. Dene sid,
wi.-tfuUy, as she pressed her lip to the
girl's fresh face at partiug.
"Indeed, iudeed, 1 will," was the eager
reply, and waiting to ssy uu more than
a "good-by," lest she should betrsy how
loath she wss to leave, Jane went quickly
from her presence and the bouse.
She met no one uu her homeward way;
and even when she entered their own
drawing-room she found it empty. But
Just as she had coucluded tbst every one
was out Mrs. Knox's voire iu an adjoin
ing room undeceived her.
rVrtunately Mrs. Knox wss too much
taken np with her grievance to notice
her daughter's appearance when they
met. Jenny was leaning back in the
chair she had taken a moment or two
before, and wss filing with distended
eyes on a boot that her mother hud
throw a angrily to the floor. The sole w as
uppermost, and she had ample leisure to
see that it had just such a triangular
mark as she alone had noticed on the
foot-print near Jacob Lynn when he lay
dead that day iu the deserted compound.
It might be only a coincidence, it is true;
but the mere suspicion was enough (o
make her blood run cold and her heart
almost stop its besting.
The magnitude of her discovery so
overwhelmed Jane that fur a moment all
capability of thought deserted her. Then
slowly, as one recovering from an illness,
digest first the simplest food, a regret
stole across her still half paralyzed mind,
that she should have done Stephen Prin
sep such a cruel injustice. She even felt
a faint thrill of pleasure at the thought
of hi innocence; but almost immediately
the remembrance of who it was that she
now knew to le guilty rendered all other
feelings weak and vugue. Brain and Im
lug alike seemed saturated with the
knowledge that her father- her father
who had held her so often iu bis arms,
sHithed her childish sorrows, and shared
her joys, and whom she bad honored as
the best man she had ever known, or be
lieved could be he, her father, was a
murderer.
She could have shrieked aloud to have
relieved herself from the burden of her
restrained emotion, yet so silent, and so
often unguessed at, are the tragedies in
real life, that she sat still, making uo
sign to betray the horror that had come
uin her, and her mother, all unknowing
of what through her agency had been re
vealed, went ou scolding in the same
high-pitched key. How xiii. thought
Jane, would all these trifling worries
that now beset her vanish iu thin uir
were she to know the truth! But she
never must she never must! The secret
should le Iss'tween herself and heaven.
So strangel). often unwillingly, are all
our ideas tinged with thoughts of nif
that, after the first shock bad uhidc,.
she rcllienilsrcd to be glad that she had
refused Major Ijuroii.
"Now, Jenny, I am ready," said Mrs.
Knox, lending the way from the room,
while silently June rose and followed.
"Well, and so you refused Major I-arroii.
I can't tell you bow disappointed 1 was
when I got the letter, and your father
looked quite as if some one had struck
him, so dmiifdiliided. He had been more
like what he used to be, since I told bilu
that 1 thought, wits almost sure. 111 fact,
ymi would marry Major Larron. And
this morning be was iinbea ruble. First
one thing slid then another was wrong,
until I lost my temper too, and answered
back. Then he grew furious, and said I
had been to blame for all -as though I
had not lecn as eager as he could be to
see you happily settled -and that Jour
life would be ruined, with a lot more
which seemed to have no sense. I sup
pose it is these letters in the papers,
though nobody taki-s any notice of them.
1 am sure. livery one know s, anil we can
prove, that we were iu the bonne all day,
even if it were possible or probable that
a little thing like you could kill u strong
man like Jacob Lynn."
"I wish we had never known him, lie
has been the cause of all our trouble."
cried Jane, with an anger she It-It uu
reasonable, yet could not restrain.
(To be continued.)
THIS BIRD HAS HORNS.
Hare Specie of the "reathcred Tribe
Found in South America.
The rarest species of bird now extant,
mid one which Is almost extinct, has Its
home iu the jungles of South Aineric;i.
This ornithological inrtimiiy is known
to science its Hip palametlra corumla,
and to the common iH-ople as the "horn
ed screamer." As a rara avis nothing
could excel the coruuda unless It would
Is- the accidental discovery of a living
most or an cpluoris. But few of the
bird books even let you know that such
n horned paradox ever existed, let
alone telling you that living specimens
of the queer creature are still occasion
ally met with. The only one now in
captivity In North Auierl-a, If the w Tit
er has not been misinformed. Is that
belonging to the aviary of the I'hlladel-pli-U
zwhglal gardens, and which
arrived iu tills country alsitit three
years ago. The creature Is atsjitt the
sif-e of a full-grown turkey hen, and of
a blackish brown color. One of Its dis
tinguishing peculiarities is a nillle of
black aud white which surrounds Die
head. Tbe homey appendage which
caused the early South American ex
plorers to write so many chapters on
the "wonderful rhinoccrotm bird of tbe
Jungle," Is alHut four liichtu In length,
And grows straight up out of flie heavi
est and lrdot portion of the head.
But the above Is uot the only natural
offensive and defensive wcaxiu with
which the homed acmuuer baa been
provided. On each w'.ng, at the "el
bow" joint, he has a three-lncli spur,
and Just back of that another an Inch
In length. He Is said to l a match for
any ten game cts ka. St. Ixmla Hepub
Ilc' A Mtupentloua Work.
Tbe nusuvualou bridge over the Hud
son river at New York city will un
doubt.diy be built. The (nurture will
rie one of tbe most Important sire, cost
nd engineering difficulties considered,
In tbe world. It will require more tlian
80,000 (on of atructural ateel, and 28,
000 ton of wire. The total coat will
exceed $22,000,000. Tbe apan will be
three-fifth of a mile; and tbe bridge
1 to be strong enough to aupport, with
out danger of breaking down, tbe equlfi
alent of a loaded freight train twe
ml lea long.
THE MAN FOR SANDY.
I wouldna gie a copper plack
For ony man that turns hi back
On duty clear;
I wouldna tak his word or note,
I wouldna trust him for a groat.
Which he might steer.
When thing are just as things should he.
And fortune gie a man the plea.
Where'er he is
It isna bard to understand
How he may w alk through-house and laud
Wi' cheerful fai-e aud ojien hand
Coutinualiy.
But wher. i' ite o' work and care,
A man must loss and failure bear.
He merits praise;
Wha will not to misfortune bow,
Who cocks hi bonnet on his brow
And fights and tights, he kenana bow,
Through laug, bard days.
I wouldna gie an auld ImwU-e
For ony man that 1 could see
Wha didna hold
The sweetness o' his mirher's name.
The kindness o' his brother's claim.
The honor o' a woman's fame,
Par mair than gold.
Nor is it hard for him to do,
Wha kens his friends are leal and true,
Iive sweet and strong.
Whose hearth knows not from ytar to year
The shadow of a doubt or fear.
Or feels the falling of a tear
For only wrong.
But gie him praise whose love is pain,
Wha, w rong'd, forgives and love again.
And, though be grieves,
I-ts not the dear one from his care.
But loves him mair, and mair, and malr.
And bide his time wi' hoe and prayer,
Aud still believes.
Ay, gie him praise who dm-sna fenr
The up hill tight from year to year
And who grip fast
His ain dear ones through good or ill,
Wha, if rhey wander, loves them still;
Some day of joy he'll get his till;
He'll win t last.
- Pittsburg Post.
DAFT BET.
"Mlrichsteddc, famous for ye flow re
pardons; Infamous for ye fayre." That
is how an old chronicler sums up tho
character of the village. The flower
gardens remain unto this day; so does,
the fair. But the fame of the one and
the Infamy of the other have long been
merged In a decent obscurity. Mlnch
stead has. Indeed, shared tbe fate of a
hundred other villages. It has nue
climbed to an age of railways. For
merly, Londoners used lo visit Mlncli
steud for change of air. They then
took as long reaching it by ctxich or by
si! c!i:im- as they now take over a
railway Journey to St. I-onards or
Kastbounie. Bath chairs and donkey
chaises were quite abundant on Mincli
stead common then, children and
iiursin 'hrotiged it. Jt was a popular
saying lu the place that "seven airs
met them" meaning thereby seven dis
tinct characters of atmosphere. How
that number was arrived at Is scarcely
obvious. But, at any rate, the common
was, and is, particularly bracing, and a
day spent upon It cannot fall to Invig
orate the spender.
Now, however, IcIisIkhI! No one Is
to be met there save the ubiquitous
golfer, the loafer, who lives upon bis
lust balls, mid the dingiest sheep and
most odoriferous goats that are to be
found w ithin the twelve-mile radius.
The fair, ns wp have said, still re
mains. It Is held at Bartleinytide on
the old village green. There is an obi
and there Is a new green at Mlnch
stead. The latter deserves the name,
fur It has a fine expanse of turf; with
the former It Is otherwise. Kvcry
blade of glass haslongdlsappearedfroni
It. It Is a bare, worn space of grave)
and sand, trodden to the consistency of
a road by playing children and loaling
men and women. It Is here that the
denizens, wliw houses lie around the
green, are full of cursing and bitterness
for th rtv whole days in every August.
The strident music of the merry-go-rounds,
the nauseous odors of their oll
t engines, the oiMhs of drunken men,
the shrieks of drunken women, the gen
eral rowdyism and disorders which arc
rampant after dark may serve as some
excuse even for curflng and bitterness.
Many Miiichsteadiles have tried to get
the nuisance put down, but without
avail. The fair is held by royal char
ter. Au act of Parliament alone can
abolish It. And Parliament has Its
hands too full already to Is passing acts
for the abatement of mere ls -a I tiuis
anifs. The fair, therefore, continues. In the
daytime it Is quite respectable; It Is
even arlstisratlc, bk aristocracy in
Mliiehstefid goes. Indies no mere
lydies have been seen In the swing
lug Isiats Ix-fore dusk; gentlemen and
those uot simply gents stroll up there
to while away an hour of tbe afternoon
In cocoa n ut skies and rifle shooting.
There Is a famous shooting range, kept
by one Amos Dtinkley, which has
graced Mlnchstead fair regularly since
tbe early fsTs. You do not simply shoot
down a tills' at glass Isittles. but you
have a sort of miniature Jungle where
in to practice your markjiiiinshlp it
Jungle full of moving rabbit and flying
birds for the experts, of stationary
targets and ltottlca for the inexpe
rienced. To those Minclisteatlltes who used to
patronize this gallery a few years ago
one figure must have Im'cu very famil
iar. It w as that of a middle-aged worn,
an, lielonglng" evidently to the poorer
classes, who used to aland Just at the
ctilrHiice of Dunkloy's gallery nil
through the three day of tliu fair. She
went by the name of "Daft BeL" Passers-by
would ink) to her In a pitying
orl of way, and give ber coppera or
small silver coins. She did not, how
ever, pay much heed to any of (hem, or
I even seem to care wnetner uiey gave
her money or not Her eyes were alt
tbe while fixed upon Uie entrance of
the ghootlng gallery, with a set, eager
expression, a though she were anxious
ly watching for some one lo come out.
So stie waa. So he bad been now for
thirty years. When eleven struck, and
I Hi nk ley came to the door to cbme bis
gallery for the night, she would ak
him, eagerly:
"How alsint Tom? Will he lie coming
borne tu-ulght?" And Duukb-y would
say, with a kindly gravity that did
credit to hi fellngs:
"No, lass, no! Tom must stay to
night to take care of the show."
"But you 11 not keep him tomorrow
night. Mr. Duukley, sir-you'll not keep
to-morrow?"
"Nay, las! I'll not keep him to-morrow."
For thirty years had this same dia
logue taken place on each of the three
nights of Mlnchstead Baniemy fair.
Daft Bet's story was a suffhdeutly sad
one. In the year lWi, a bride of sit
weeks' standing, she had lost her hm
baud In the ' following tragic way:
Duukley, one of whose assistants had
lieen U!ieXMftedly laid up. had engaged
Tom Pllcher, a resident of Mlnchstead,
to help him with his slnaiting gallery
during rbe three days of the fair. To
ward evening, ou the last of the three
days, something went wrong with one
of the running rabbits and Tom crept
Into the Jungle to put the thing In or
der. The shooting was stopis'd while
hp did so, but the gallery was very full
Just then; there was great confusion
and crowding among the would be
marksmen, and somehow one of the
attendants did not observe that Tom
Pllcher was In the Jungle, for he was
Ptisiplng very low and was hidden by
the artificial grass and rushes. The at
tendant handed a loaded gun to a gentle
man who stretched out his hand for It.
The latter, also never seeing Tom, took
aim at one of the rabbits In the grass,
and -before he could bo stopped -fired.
There came a sharp cry from the
Jutigle, followed by an ominous groan.
Dtinkley sprang over the barrier and
rushifl forward. He found xsir Tom
Pllcher huddled upon the ground, Just
breathing his last. An ugly wound in
the forehead showed where the ball had
penetrated.
Everylxidy present was horror-stricken
by this tragical accident. Tbe gen
tleman w ho had fired the shot, esistial
ly, was In a perfect agony of distress.
But the affair was rendered sadder still
by what followed. Tom's young wife,
who hail come there to walk home with
him, was actually waiting for him nt
the entrance at the time when the acci
dent (spurred. Some excited and
thoughtless witness of the catastrophe
went out and told her-never attempt
ing to break It gently, or In any way
to prepare the poor girl for the slusrl;.
She ran wildly hi. She forced her way
through the crowd toiler dead husUind.
She threw herself iimii his body, with
a terrible wall. When she at length
raised her eyes from the dead they were
fixed and strange. The light of reason
was gone from them. It never returned.
This Is how It was that ever after
ward, during the M iniiistead Baniemy
fair, you would find ber at the dsr of
Dimkley's gallery waiting for Tom;
never quitting her sst, never grow
ing weary', always receiving with pa
tient acquiescence Dimkley's Intima
tion that Tom could not be spared from
the show that night, and buoying her
self up with the promise that he would
surely lxi allowed to come with ber to
morrow. The gentleman who had tired the
fatal shot made what amends were
(sisslble to this aflllcted creature. lb
called tixiti the vicar of the parish and
arranged to pay the widow, through
him. a sufllclent weekly allowance to
keep her In comfort for her life, or -sui)ifdiig
such ft coursp should be held
necessary to defray the cost of her
maintenance In a gisid private asylum.
The former course was adopted, for the
dis-tors pronounced her quite harmless,
and declared that there was no reason
for shutting her up. And so poor Daft
Bet lived on In Mlnchstead for thirty
years, pitied and kindly used by all;
not unhappy, never complaining, but
supported from llrst to last by ber mer
ciful delusion, and always confident
that she should see her Tom to-morrow.
It was exactly thirty years after the
fatal accident In the August of IHSo -that
a party of young fellows who had
come over with a cricket team to play
a match against the famous Mlnchstead
Club strolled down to the fair in the
evening on the lookout for a little
amusement. Some betook themselves
to one show, some to another. Three or
four went Into Dtinklcy's world-re-uowneil
shooting gallery. One of them,
a gixid-hxiklng. merry young fellow of
alsiut ;!0. seemed to attract Daft Bet's
attention as he went by. for she sudden
ly fixed her great, hollow eyes tisui
him ami followed him Into the gallery
with an eager glance. By ami by she
went np to the disirkeeper.
"Just let me In. I want to speak to
Tom," she xald, coaxlngly.
"Nay. Bet," said the man, with more
kindness than might have been expect
ed from his rough appearance. "Yon
cannot come In now, lass. Tom's
busy. He has no time to lie speaking
to you."
"Do let me In. there's a dear," she
jxrslsted, earnestly.
The doorkeeper shook his head.
"I luussen. hiss." he said decidedly.
"Oh, rhere Is Mr. Dtinkley!" she
cried. "Id me ask Mr. Dtinkley. Mr.
Dtinkley. sir!"
Amos was standing near the entrance.
He turned round at the sound of his
name, and Bet preferred her request
to him.
"Mr. Dtinkley, sir; let me come In for
A minute to speak to Tom," slm plead
ed. "Tom's busy, lass," said Ann si, using
the same excuse ns the doorkeeper had
done. "He can't be spared from bis
work nt present"
"But let me just come In and wait
Inside till be In ready to speak to uie,"
cried Bet, clasping her hands. "Oh, do
lettne, Mr. Dunkley, air!"
Amos Dunkley waa a soft hearted
man. lie bid always been very kind
to Bet, and it went against him to re
fuse ber this small and easily granted
favor, by which, moreover, tbe poor,
mad creature seemed to s-t such store.
"Well, lass. If you do come inside,"
be wild, "you must Just stand still and
wait patiently. We cannot have buj.1
ne Interfered with, you know."
" h. Mr. Dunkley. sir, 1 11 be a good .
as gold. I ll stand Inside and never
move or sjx-ak till Tom is ready. May
be I shall see Tom when I'm Insider
she added with half wistful Inquiry la
ln-r tone.
"No. uo, lass: you'll not see him.
He' busy at the back," said Amos
Dunkley.
"But I'll see him when he's done, Mr.
Dunkley, sir?"
"Oh. yes. Bet You'll see him when
he's done."
She came Inside the gallery and
stotx! quietly lu a comer. Her eye
roamed alsuit the tent until they fell
upon the young man already mention
ed, and on him they remained fixed.
She followed all his movements eager
ly. Never for a second did ahe allow
her gaze to wander from him. Now
she seemed to tie growing agitated.
She could not stand still. She was
twisting both her hands In a corner of
her apron, then untwisting them, and
so on. rapidly. Her feet shuffled and
fidgeted ou the ground. No one, how
ever, observed her. The place was full.
Amos and his assistants were all busy.
At last Daft Bet could remain lu ber
place no longer. She glided swiftly
forward and mingled with the throng.
Sxn she was close to the barrier
where the marksmen stood and was al
most nibbing shoulders with the young
man, on whom her eyes had been never
ceasingly fixed.
They were glittering now with a pe
culiar light. She lifted her hand and
plucked the young man by the sleeve.
"Hllloa, mother! What Is It?" n
said, turning round and regarding her
good-naturedly.
"Where Is Tom?" she asked, almost In
a w hisper.
"My gisxl woman, really I cannot tell
ou," was the laughing rejoinder.
"You know where he Is-you do know
where ho Is," she persisted, with a cer
tain fierceness In her tone.
"I assure you you are quite mistak
en," said the young man, still laughing,
for he supixised that It was some kind
of Joke. "I know nothing alxmt him."
"You shall tell me!" she cried, pn
slonately. "You shall tell me where ho
Is!"
At this point one of the assistants,
who was standing at the barrier load
ing rifles for use, turned round and saw
Daft Bet clutching the young inaii'
arm.
"Now then, lass," lie said, sharply,
"none of that. You've no buxiinns here
annoying our customers. Come, clear
out of It!"
The woman's eyes blazed. With In
credible swiftness, and before he could
prevent her, she reached forward ami
caught np one of the wiupons which he
had just loaded. She pointed It straight
at the young man's forehead. She
pulled the trigger. It was all the work
of a second. Crack! fianh! smoke! a
heavy thud; and then a moment'H awful
silence.
In that moment, while dismay still
held every onhxikcr paralyzed. Bet
threw down the discharged gun and
snatched up another loaded, ready for
Um". She hebl the ;nii.le against her
own forehead and, crying. "lie does
know he does; he shall take me to
my Tom!" so fired, and fell.
"tJood Coil!" said Amos Dunkley a
few minutes later, to one of the dead
man's companions, "foxsl Cod! Then
that explains It."
"How? What do you mean?" ex
claimed the other, who was nearly be
side himself with mingled grief and
horror.
"I menu, young man," answered
Amos very solemnly, "that the hand
of fate Is clearly present In this dread
ful thing. Thirty years ago her bus
band was accidentally shot iu my gal
lery on this very green. The one as
shot him was your psr friend's
father."- IOiidoti Truth.
PECULIAR RETAINING FEE.
John Chinuniun Had It Arranged Hc
fore He Perpetrated the Crime.
Col. A. T. Vogelsang, thp attorney. Is
regarded as one of Hie l'st raconteurs
of the legal profession. In the Palace
grillroom yesterday he let out a string
of anecdotes. He said that a few weeks
ago Dennis Spencer, the Napa lumin
ary, was called tixni by a Chinaman
one evening, when the following dia
logue ensued:
"'One Chinaman kill another China
man with a hatchet; how much yon
charge make him clear?"
" 'I'll take the case." nald Mr. Spencer,
'for $l.l""i.'
" 'Alice right,' said the Chinaman, 'I
be back after while.'
"lu about a week he returned to Mr.
Silencer's office and laid down $l,orj In
gold colli ou Ills table. Mr. Spencer
swept the money Into the drawer.
" 'Well, the Chinaman, he dead '
'"Who killed hlmr
" 'I did.
"'When did you kill hlmr
" 'Last night.
There was some curiosity on tbe part
of the audience for further light on the
dlsxsltlon of the 1,0SI, but Mr. Vogel
sang immediately spun off on to an
other story. Han Francisco Call.
Buffaloes Help Eaoh Other.
W hen an African buffalo Is wounded
by a hunter It is surrounded by several
others, who Immediately group them
selves round him and help blm along
In their midst by shoving against bis
side until they have reached a place of
safe(y.
Father or Cats.
One of (he chief men In a Mohamme
dan caravan la (he cat sbelk, or "fath
er of Cats," who rides a camel carryln.
doxena of baskets Oiled wilb rata,
r
'V.
lit:.' .'
