INTERNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION.. ruim'u vi i -fCnsTiM mi l I that she wiik the one to blame. He waa It was half an hour past the appoint ed time when she neared the trysttng place, and she was beginning to won der whether or not Monsieur Causel dlere had grown weary and had gone away, when, to her relief, he emerged ’rom some nook where he had been hid ing and stood before her. Yes, It was he, looking anxious and restless, but brightening up considerably at sight of her face. Now that the meeting had really ?ome about, Marjorie felt somewhat abashed at the thought of her own boldness. .She paused In some confu jlon, and timidly held forth her hand, but the Frenchman strode boldly for ward, and, the place being lonely, look her In Ills arms. "Marjorie, my Marjorie!” he mur mured. Both words and action took her so completely by surprise, that for a mo ment she could do nothing but tremble passively In Ills embrace like a trem bling, frightened child; then, recover ing herself, she drew back, blushing und trembling. "Monsieur Monsieur Caussidlere!" she cried. The Frenchman looked at her strangely; he took her hand, and held It lovingly In both of his. "Marjorie,” be said, "my little friend! It seems now that I have you by me, that I am born again. I have traveled all the way from IJumiries to see you, and you do not know why?—because, my child, you have taught me to love you.” MarJorlP paused In her walk; she felt her heart trembling painfully and her cheeks burning like fire. She looked up at him in helpless amazement, but she did not speak. "When you departed, Marjorie," con tinued Caussldlere. affectionately clasp ing the little hand which still lay pas sively In his, “I felt as If all the light and sunshine had been withdrawn from the world, and I knew then that the face of my little frienil had left such un Image on my heart that I could not shake It away. I tried to fight against the feeling, but l could not. You have ■ made me love you. my darling, and now I have come to ask If you will be my wife?” "Your wife, monsieur!" She looked so helplessly perplexed that the Frenchman smiled. "Well, Marjorie,” he said, "of what are you thinking, ma petite?" "I was wondering, monsieur, why you had spoken to me us you have done.” For a moment the man’s face cloud ed; then the shadow passed und he smiled again. "Because I adore you, Marjorie,” he said. Again the girl was silent, and the Frenchman pulled his mustache with trembling fingers. Presently be Btole a glance at her, and he saw that her face was irradiated with a look of dreamy pleasure. He paused before her and regained possession of her trembling hands. "Marjorie,” he said, und as he spoke httt voice ifrew verv tender and vibrat ed through every nerve In the girl's frame, "my little Marjorie, If you had been left to me, 1 don’t think 1 should ever have spoken, but when you went away I felt as If the last chance of hap piness bad been taken from me. So 1 said, 'I will go to niy little girl, l will tell her of my loneliness, I will say to her I have given her my love, and 1 will ask for hers In return.' Marjorie, will you give It to me. my dear?” She raised her eyes to his and an swered softly: "1 like you very much, monsieur." "And you will marry me. Marjorie?" "1—1 don't know that." "Marjorie?" "I mean, monsieur, I will tell Mr. Lorraine." "You will not! you must not!" "Monsieur!" "Marjorie, do you not see what 1 mean? They are all against me. every one of them, and If they knew ttuy would take my little girl uwuy. Mar Jorie, listen to me. You say you love me and you do love me I am sure of that; therefore I wish you to promise to marry me and say nothing to any soul." "To marry you In secret? Ob, l could not do that, monsieur." "Tlreu you do not love me. Matjo rts?” "Indeed, It Is not true. And Mr. lair ralne ta like my father, aud h« loves uu •u much. I would not do anything tu vex or hurt him monsieur " Kor a moment the Kreuchman's fact was clouded, and lie cast a most unit nuua look upon the girl, then all In s moment again the sunshine hurst forth "You have a kind heart. Marjorie.' be said ‘"It is like my little girl tu talk in, but she ta sensible, and will listen to me. Marjorie, don’t think I wan to harm yon, or lead yoo to do wrong I love yon, far too well, little one and my only thought te how I can keep tad cherish you all my life ' It must m>t he supported ihat V ir. parte was altogether proof against m a • owing an this Me believed that th* PYgnrhmea nas incapable of gev«ls!e«lag to hta persuasive Sooe, so much wiser than she,and he knew so much more of the world; and he loved her so much that he would never coun sel her amiss. Majorie did not consent to his wish, for It Is not In a moment that we can wipe away the deeply In stilled prejudice o fa lifetime, but she finally promised to think It over and see him again. He walked with her to within a quar ter of a mile of the clergyman's gate, then he left her. During the rest of that day Marjorie went, about In a sort of dream, and It was not until she had gone to bed at night (let she was able to think dis passionately of the Interview. The next day she went to meet the Frenchman again. The moment, he saw her face he knew that In leaving her to reason out the problem he had done well. She came forward with all the confi dence of a child, and said: "Monsieur Caussldlere, since I love you, I will trust you with all my heart,” Oh! the days which followed; the hours of blissful, dreamy Joy! Mar jorie went, every duy to meet her lover - each day found her happier than she bad been before. He was good and kind, and her love for him Increased, Ills reasoning seemed ■ogicai us wii uh picasum. anil 11 was beginning to take a Arm hold of her accordingly. What he might have persuaded her to do it Is difficult to imagine, but an event happened which for the time be ing saved her from precipitation. Hhe had left her lover one day, prom ising to think over his proposition for an immediate secret marriage, and give him her decision on the following morning. Hhe walked along the road with her head Ailed with the old and still per plexing problem, but the moment she reached home all such thoughts were rudely driven from her head. She found Mrs. Mentelth in the parlor crying bit terly. Mr. Mentlth, pale and speech less, stood by her side, with an open telegram In bis hand. "What Is the matter?" asked Mar jorie. Taking the telegram from the mln lnter's unresisting grasp, she read as follows: "Send Marjorie home at once. Mr. I-orralne Is dangerously ill.” The girl sank with a low cry upon the ground, then with an effort she rose and cried: "Let me go to him; let me go home!" Not once that night did Marjorie re merit with him on the following day. Her one thought now wan of Mr. Ix>r ralne. She hurriedly left for home. CHAPTER XVII. T wag a raw, wet, windy night when Marjorie arrived at the rallwuy station of D u m f r I e ». Scarcely had the train reached the platform when the figure of a young man leaped upon the footboard and looked, in at the carriage window, whi’le a familiar voice addressed her by name. She looked round, as she stood reach ing down some parcels and a small handbag from the net above her scat, and recognized John Sutherland. "They have sent me to meet you," he said, stretching out his hand. "I have a dog cart waiting outside the station to drive you down." She took the outstretched hand eag erly. quite forgetful of the angry words with which they had last parted, and cried in a broken voice: "Oh, Johnnie, Is he bettor?" The young man's face looked grave, indeed, us he replied: "He is about the same. He is very weak, uud lias been usking for you. lint come, let me look after your luggage, and then we ll hurry down." There were few passengers and little luggage by the train, and they found Marjorie's small leather trunk standing almost by Itself on the platform, A porter shouldered it and following him they passed out of the station and found a solitary dog cart waiting with a ragged urchin at the horse's head A few minutes later Marjorie and Suita ci land was driving rapidly aide by aide | through ihe dark and rain washed streets of the town At last they | drew lip before the gats of Ibr manse With su eager cry. half a sob. Mar Jorte leaped down. "Ill put up the horse and come | back." rried Sutherland Marjotte scarcely heard, hut. opening j lb* gat*, ran in screws the garden, and I kucaked softly a! Ike manna door.w hi. ,i . was opened aimoat Instantly by My sit Ike old serving woman The moment she MV M.trjorte she : put ksr Huger to her lips, Maryortr stepped in and the chair wag softly eluted klvsle led tk< way 'wtu ! the study, where n lamp was dimly burning ' ttb. Mist* how in he now ’ The eld w-.cs.4U * hard w ild wore, face wnn and b»».*»d etpreentug, and her eyes sirs red wttb weeping. “Wheesht, Miss Marjorie," she an awered, “speak low. A wee while syne he sank Into a bit sleep. He's awfu’ changed! I'm thinkin’ he'll no last mony hours langer.” "Oh, Mysle!" sobbed the girl, con vulsively. “Wheesht, or he may hear ye! Bide here a minute, and I’ll creep ben and see If he has waukened." She stole from the room. In a few moments she returned to the door and beckoned. Chok ing down her emotion Marjorie fol lowed her without a word. They crossed the lobby and entered the rudely furnished bedroom where Mr. Horraine had slept so many years, and there, in the very bed where the little foundling had been placed that wintry night long ago, lay the minister hag gard, worn and ghastly, with all the look of a man who was sinking fast. Ills white hair was strewn upon the pillow, his cheeks were sunken and ashen pale, and his dim blue eyes looked at vacancy, while hla thin hand Angered at the counterpane. Marjorie crept closer, with bursting heart, and looked upon him. As she did so she became conscious of a move ment at the foot of the bed. There, kneeling in silence, was old Solomon. He looked up with u fare almost as gray and stony as that of his mas ter, lull gave no other sign of recogni tion. The minister rocked hla heat) from side to side and continued to pick the coverlet, muttering to himself. “Marjorie, Marjorie, my doo! Ay, put the bairn In my arms she has your own eyes, Marjorie, your own eyes o’ heaven’s blue. Solomon, my surpflce! To-day's the christening. We’ll call her Marlorle after hep mnthiH' A hen. ny name! A bonny bairn! firing the light. Solomon! She's wet anil weary. Wo'll lay her down in the bed!" At the mention of his name Solomon rose like a gaunt specter, and stood gazing desolately at his master, ills eyes were wild und tearless, and he shook like a reed. Suddenly there was a low cry from Solomon. Marjorie started up, and at the same moment Mr. I/irraine half raised him self on his elbow and looked wildly arround him. "Who’s there?" he moaned—“Marjo rie!" And for the first, time his eyes seemed fixed on hers in actual recog nition. "Yes, Mr. Lorraine. Oh, speak to me!" He did not answer, but still gazed upon her with a beautiful smile. His hand was still in hers, and she felt it fluttering like a leaf. Suddenly the smile faded into a look of sturtled won der and divine awe. He looked at Mar jorie, but through her, as it wera, at something beyond. "Marjorie!" he moaned, “I’m com ing.” Alas! it was to another Marjorie, some shining presence unbet^eld of other eyes, that he addressed that last Joyful cry. Scarcely had It left his lips than his jaws dropped convulsively.and he fell back upon his pillow, dead. * A • Let me draw a veil over the sorrow of that night, which was spent by poor Marjorie in uncontrollable grief. Suth erland, returning a little while after the minister's breath had gone, tried in vain to comfort her, but re mained in or about the house to ihe break of day. , Early next morning Miss Hetherlng ton,driving up to the mange door in her faded carriage, heard the gad news. Hho entered in, looking grim and worn be yond measure, and looked at the dead man. Then she asked for Marjorie, and learned that site had retired to her room. As the lady returned to her carriage she saw young Sutherland standing at the gate. "It's all over at last, then," she said, "and Marjorie Annan has loct her best friend. Try to comfort her, Johnnie, if ye can." "I'll do that, Miss Hetherlngton,” cried Sutherland, eagerly. “The old gang and the young come," muttered the lady. "She's alone now in the world, but I'm her friend still. When the funeral's o’er she must tomt to stay awhile wi' me. Will ye tell her that?" "Yes, if you wish it." "Ay. I wish it. Poor bairn! It's Iter first puff o’ the ill wind o’ sorrow, but when she's as old as me she'll ken there are things in this world far waur than death." • * • The few days which followed imme diately upon the clergyman's fuueral were the most wretched Marjorie had ever speul. Habited in her plain blue's . dress, she sat at home in the little pur- i lor, watching with weary, wistful eyes the figures of Solomon and Mysle. who, similarly clad, moved like ghosts about her, and all the while her thoughts] were with the good old man, who. after alt. had been her only protector In j the world. While he had been there to cheer j and comfort her. she had never realised j I how far these others were from her ■ j Now she knew, she was as out left j utterly atone. It wa* by her own wish that she re- I ! maiurd at the manse Mr*. Mml-lth , obliged after the funeral to return to 1 b«, home ha>l offered to take Marjon* with h>-r and M e a ted the indignity tv hat m *4. j f you quit the elqh. tttlty ?' ktatet I j enough, I -an tall you 1 sorted Bv* I { rears IS be * In led treasu-sc and than ! j they Insisted on patting in n cnah rsg.a | nr ' Inttsii It*# fttta | TALMAGE’S SEKMON. I — •* COMINO LESSONS” LAST SUNDAY’S SUBJECT. From tl»e Following Tett; “»o business In a pulpit thau have the technical phrases of an anatomist, or ! a physician, In the sick room uf a la tient. The world wants help, imiue- I dials and world uplifting, and It will [ • .'mi through a sermon in which Christ shall walk right down Into tho Im mortal soul and take everlaeiiitg ten ■raaton of It, Ailing It as full of light ; ta la the noonday Q> manu-nt That I Harmon of the future will not deal wtih ( men In the threadbare lilt train ns of Jeaua Christ In lhal coming sermon there will he Instances of vicarious 1 •acriAc* taken right out uf every-d 11 : life, fur there la not a da) somebody i la not dying fur others t» the phyvt 1 -lan, saving kla dtphihem- pat tent hv I Mrrllcisi kla own Ilfs, aa ike thi,v- j -aptain going down with hi* vessel I while he la gstt’ng kla passengers in t« Iks lifeboat; as Iks grsman. ran • timing In Ike burning building. while j be m taking a vkild out uf a foutik stary window as tost summer the strong swimmer at Long Branch, cr Cape May, or Lake George, himself perished trying to rescue the drown ing; as the newspaper boy not long ago, supporting his mother for some years, his invalid mo'ber, when of fered by a gentleman fifty cents to get some especial paper, and he got it and rushed up In his anxiety to deliver It, and was crushed under the wheels of the train, and lay on the grass with j only strength enough to say, "Oh, what will become of my poor, sick mother now?” Vicarious suffering? The world is full of it. An englnee- se.ld to me on a locomotive In Dakota: "We men seem to be coming to better appreciation th&n we used to. Did you see that account the other day of an engineer, who to save his passengers, stuck to his place, and when he was found dead In the locomotive, which was found up side down, he was found still smiling, the hand on the air brake?" And as the engineer said It to me, he put his hand on the air brake to Illustrate Ills meaning, and I looked at, him and thought, "You would he Just as much of a hero In the same crisis." Paul preached until midnight, and j Eutychus got sound asleep, and fell out of a window and broke his neck. Some would say, "Good for him." I would rather ho sympathetic like Paul, and resuscitate him. That accident Is often quoted now In religious circles ns a warning against somnolence In church. It Is Just as much u warn ing to ministers against prolixity. Eu tychus was wrong In his somnolence, hut Paul made a mistake when he kept on until midnight. He ought to have stopped ut 11 o'clock and there would have been no accident. If Paul might have gone on until too great length, let all those of us who are now preaching the gospel remember that there Is a limit to religious discourse, or ought to be, und that In our time we have no apostolic power or miracles, Na poleon, In an address of seven min utes, thrilled his army and thrill's! aslllV/JJC. Vvlll J»l. P »CI IIU/II fill Lilt- 111 * i • • P • i* —the model sermon—was less than eighteen minutes long at ordinary mode of delivery. It Is not electricity scattered all over the sky that strikes, but electricity gathered Into a thun derbolt and hurled; und It Is not re ligious truths scattered over, spread out over a vast reach of time, but re ligious truth projected In compact form that flashes light upon the soul and rives Its Indifference. When the coming sermon arrives In this land and in the Christian church —the sermon which is to arouse the world and startle the nations and usher In the kingdom—It will be a brief ser mon. Hear It, all theological students, all ye Just entering upon religious work, all ye men and women who In Sabbath schools and other departments are toiling for Christ and the salvation of Immortals. Brevity! Brevity! * But I remark also that the coming sermon of which 1 speak will be a popular sermon. There arc those in these times who speak of a popular ser mon as though there must be some thing wrong about it. As these critics are dull themselves, the world gets the Impression that a sermon Is good in proportion as It is stupid. Christ was the most popular preacher tho world ever saw. and, considering the small number of the world's population, had the largest audiences ever gathered. He never preached unywhero without making a great sensation. People rushed out in the wilderness to hear him, reckless of their physical necessities. So great was their anxiety to hear Christ, that, taking no food with them, they would have fainted and starved had not Christ performed a miracle and fed them. Whv hih ... many people take the truth at Christ's hands? Because they all understood it. He Illustrated his subject by a hen an 1 her chickens, by a bushel measure, by a handful of salt, by a bird's flight and by a lily's aroma. All the people knew what he meant, and they flocked to him. And when the coming sermon of the Christian church appears, It will not be Princetonlan, not Rochesterlan, not Andoverlan, not Middletonian, but OllveUc—plain. practical, unique, earn est, comprehensive of all the woes, wants, sins, sorrows and necessities of an auditory. We hear a great deal of discussion now all over lie land about why peo ple do not go to church. Some say R is because Christianity is dylug out, and because people do not believe in the truth of God's word, and all that. They are false reasons. The region un« Ian per* »iodf j with old Iswvers y-uag |gt*ie *na study tank old phvsMaae as-l | be- i i Item It Would he a (feat help if every j ymsng man rtwdytag fur tbe tluepsi * mtatbtry »«*W put him veil is '.be bem# < and heart and sympathy and under the benediction and perpetual presence of a Christian minister. That sermon of the future will be an every-day sermon, going right down In-^ to every man's life, and it will teach him to vote, how to bargain, how to plough, how to do any work he is call ed to, how to wield trowel and pen and pencil und yardstick and plane. And It will teach women how to preside over their households, and how to ed ucate their children, and how to Imi tate Miriam and Ksthor and Vashtl, and Eunice, the mother of Timothy; and Mary, the mother of Christ; and those women who on Northern and Southern battlefields were mistaken by the wounded for angels of mercy fresh from the throne of God, Do yon exhort In prayer-meeting? Ho short and be spirited. Do you teach In Bible class? Though you have to study every night, be interesting. Do yon accost people on the subject of re ligion In their homes or In public places? Study adroitness and use com mon sense. The most graceful, tho most beautiful thing on earth in the re ligion of Jesus Christ, and if you awk wardly present it. It Is defamation. We must do our work rapidly and we must do It effectively. Soon our time for work will be gone. A dying Christina took out his watch and gave it to a friend and raid: ‘‘Take that watch, f have no more use for It; time Is ended for me; eternity begins." O my friends, when our watch has ticked away for us for the last moment, and our clock has struck for us the last hour, may It he found we dl>l our work well, that we did ft In the very best way; and whether we preached the Gospel in pulpits, or taught Sabbath classes, or administered to the sick as physicians, or bargained as merchants, or pleaded the law as attorneys, or were busy as artisans, or as husbandmen, or as me chanics, or were like Martha called to give a meal to a hungry Christ, or like Hannah to make a coat for a prophet. or like Deborah to rouse the courage of some timid Harak In the 1/jrd’s pon fllet, we did our work In such a way that It will stand the test of the Judg ment. And in the long procession of the redeemed that march round the throne, may It be found there are many there brought to God through our Instrumentality and In whose res cue we are exultant. Hut. O you un saved! wait not for that coming ser mon. It may come after your obse quies. It may come after the stone cutter has chiseled our name on the slab fifty years before. Do not wait for a great steamer of the Cunanl or White Star line to take you ofT tbe wreck, but hall the first craft with however low a mast, and however small a bulk, and however poor a rud der, and however weak a captain. Bet ter a disabled schooner that cornea up in time than a full-rigged brig that comes up after you have sunken. In stead of waiting for that coming ser mon—It may be twenty, fifty years off —take this plain Invitation of a man who, to have given you spiritual eye sight, would be glad to be called the spittle by the hand of Christ put on the' eyes of a blind man, and who would consider the highest compliment of this service, If at the close five hun dred men should start from these doors saying, "Whether he be a sinner or no. I know not. This one thing I know, whereas I was blind, now I see." Swifter than shadows over the plain, quicker than birds In their autumnal flight, hastier than eagles to their prey, hie you to a sympathetic Christ. Tho orchestras of heaven have already strung their instruments to celebrate your rescue. And many were tbe voices arouud the throne; Rejoice, for the Lord brings back his own. PICTURED POSTCARDS. They Are slowly Coniine Into I'ae la Kiiglmiil. Illustrated postcards are slowly creeping Into use in this country, but enternrise and art have an nmmrtun Ity here of Increasing and meeting a. demand in this direction, says the Ixin don Telegraph. Postcards with repre sentations of Interesting local scenes have long been popular on the conti nent with resldt nts, and visitors readi ly fall into the fashion. Ornamental postcards and envelopes are constantly used by correspondents, and postcard collecting abroad is quite as common as stamp collecting was In this cotm- ^ try some time ago. The cards are fastened in an album, especially made for the purpose, or artistically arrang ed in groups on walls and tables. Our Illustrated postcards will probably bo made varied as the laates grow, aud with art and technical achoola on every hand there Is no reason why they •hould not lead to the establish meat >f a new department of industry. There la certainly no more ready or |deasing way by which a friend ran live his correspondent an idea of las ittrroundlugs. Many of the great pub lisher* are now Issuing views of K'ag '«h cathedrals aud ulher placon of hi* I arte Interval and not a few pretty hinds* ape* Smile hotels, tuo, aro us ng * ard* with views tabulated to In ■ Ite custom* rs. |lut people ,,, thl* mm!i> generally lire the plainest pa S'r *in*i post. ard*. On the roetieent h*' sale* of these lateresttag little sorhs of srt are *mirmoua. and It ta Hal# I an attempt to get ,M„ better *ii! I* mad* by enterprising mans - a .o turns lh*r# who *oeleiaptata «• >1* Itiitdk viuiki t«| Ihv ti|«| t>t4dt4«tfM § ataiaiu#*' bums la U.ndon who a«w *nar« led with Uvrwaa pabltahera ay th*> **ll a vast Du saber uf Hume 'iiuan biti postcards aktiml, aod tlnst heir * u.lowtera greatly salon UMa Ur>ai gifts ntahe unworthy nature* add and •#*** nature* huwbtw