The McCook tribune. (McCook, Neb.) 1886-1936, February 10, 1887, Image 6
mmmammmaL i i i \ THE FIACRE MYSTERY. | - 4Paris Physician's Horribli h Dispovery. * . ITrantlaUtL Ci-ict/tnatt Enquirer. ] CHAPTER I. j. On a cold , clear night fa January j \ gentleman with his hands in the pock f. ets of his overcoat walked rapidly uj ' the Boulevard Haussman , his stepi t sounding loudly on the asphalt of th ( r avenue , silent and at this hour alraos deserted , though tho hands of thi clock In the cupola of St. Augustini marked but a little past eleven. Pedestrians were rare , but from timi S to time a tram-car passed on its polish I ed rails , the horsed straining and slip [ PBg and enveloped in steaming vapor T and. the heads of the passengers , oi I thair way to the Trocadero or tin I 3iuette , scarcely distingulshabh through tho glass of the windows j opaque with the mist of the interior , i There was little need of the conductor' ; I iiora to warn carriages out of the waj I tlicy were as rare as the passers-by I though at long intervals a vollure < L l place rumbled slowly along on its waj [ to the depot , and occasionally a privati I < oupe , its lighted lanterns and spirited \ high-stepping horses , passing like : | Hash. As I said before , the night was colt and the moon shone brilliantly , casting tipon the ground the perfect contour o ? tall houses and bristling chimneys I and tracing the streets and pavetneute [ -with , strange lines and distorted sil ! liouettes. The sharpness of the atmos- phere , however , seemed only to add tc f hc good humor of our pedestrian as lu -walked on and on , softly whistling , an ( ] [ revolving in his head all kinds of happy , cheerful fancies ; for Dr. Pascal Borstal would have been a malcontent , indeed , , ; to have complained of destiny. Onh , 1 thirty \ ears of age , a surgeon of note , ami also Professor of Science in the College of France , he had achieved ac exceptional position in the Corps Med' I jcal at an age when his colleagues were i still at the bottom of the ladder. fc . Sufficiently wealthy to be independ- t ent of the drudgery of daily practice , t he devoted , his attention entirely to ' scientific pursuits , and has taken as a specialty the nerves of the human t organism , those mysterious agents t which transmit to the members of tho s oody the orders of the brain. I Some of his recent experiments in f this line , the results of which he has j , iust given to the general public , had • drawn upon him the attention of the t whole scientific world. I . No wonder Dr. Pascal Borsier was l happy as he walked along , picturing to I himself the future await ng htm. ' As he approached his home in the Rue de Laraennais his thoughts by degrees took another direction , for he was not as yet so absorbed in his work and researches as to be indifferent to j P all other considerations. Science , for f which he felt such passionate devotion , f had a rival , and a powerful one. Pas cal was * married , and had been for f several year ? , to the daughter of one of I tho chief employes of the Ministry. I Called to attend her father in one of fc tho e maladies which science retai'ds f nd allev.ales , but can not control , he had found beside his patient at every f -visit this beautiful and gentle woman , I watching with sad and questioning I -eyes the unequal battle with death. I Charmed from the first with her artless I grace and modesty , he was soon com- f pletely enthralled by the refined intelli- L cence and pure principles of Christine t Dumarlas. He demanded and obtained | [ her hand , Christine's mother still re- | t znained a widow , with a small but suf- | | liciently ample fortune to meet tho re- l | < juirements of herself and her two if children ; and as Christine's brother , an I" * engineer and inventor of a specialty in f -the construction of foreign railroads , was able to visit his family only at rare [ intervals , Mad. Dumarais felt that she ' was exceptionally fortunate in finding f .a son-in-law established in Paris. \ From the day that he was united to I 'Christine Dumarais Pascal Borsier had \ "been completely happy ; and now , four t years after marriage , loved his wife h with the same ardor that he felt for her r the day he married her. To say that I . he loved her is to say little ; he simply I adored her. E' Such as he had believed her to be he f -had found her in reality , artless , lov- h mg , always studying how to make his h tome more attractive ; happy if ho was I" with her. and resigned if the duties of I his profession called him away. At first L • Dr. Borsier feared that this lonely life \ was a little sad for his beautiful young ; g wife , but if she found it so she never ' allowed it to appear. j * * Educated in a severe and somewhat IL parsimonious home , she did not ask herself if marriage ought not to have If- brought her compensations more auius- \l \ ing than those which had satisfied her \r \ , as a young girl. it The few worldly pleasures she at in- fe tervals enjoyed in the company with jf , her husband amply sufficed her , and it Tier greatest joy seemed to be to asseni- | | ble about her table her mother , her nearest relatives and her husband's friends. At least , such were the reas ons with which Pascal salved his con science of the complete isolation to which he had condemned his wife. However , there was another reason , I more serious than the rest , which help- ; -ed to form the line of conduct he" had gradually adopted • MIIcDumarais , who had passed her earliest years in a somber estressol at the end of a court , suffered from a tendency to anemia , , " complicated with a slight affection of m , v - the heart. But this had not alarmed % Dr. Borsier , for he was convinced that - he could remedvthe evil by vigilant care. Already an appreciable change lor tho better had taken place in Chris tine's condition. A tranquil life , ex empt from fatigue and worrv , was not only an important but an absolutely in- dbpcnsable factor in the course of treatment , and he made it his duty to * * . stnetly enforce this part of the pro- V gramme. * . But , if I must confess it , there was 'Jf vet a thrd reason , more powerful than v MINMBMNHMHHMBHIflMBiMfliHflHHHHIHMMBHttBc all tho preceding ones and of which he was. perhaps himself unconscious ar dently as he loved his wife , his passim was surpassed by his jealousy. Yes , Dr. Brosior was jealous , absolutely , rr diculously jealous. Although he had not tho slightest reason in the world foi being so. On tho rare occasions thai he allowed h s wife to appear in socie ty , instead of onjoving the sensation produced by her beauty and intelli gence , ho had suffered torments , every look of admiration cast upon her seem ing to-h s jealous heart an insult to be avenged. At any rate ho could cut short exhibitions which infringed upon his own privileges and prerogatives , and he kept his word. Tho beauty oi Madame Brosier fully justified tho tri- umphat reception she had met with in society. Her hair , worn in a single massive braid , coiled about her head , was of a light golden brown , and when unbound fell in rich , undulating waves almost to her feet. Her complexion was of that milky whiteness which in variably accompanies hair of a reddish shade , and her eyes long and almond- shaped with dark brown pupils , shaded by silky lashes. A laughing , rosy mouth , an expressive face of a charm ing oval , and great beauty and elegance of form , produced an ideal which justi fied tho immoderate love of Pascal , and even to a certain extent explained his jealousy. Tho nearer he approached to his home , the more Dr. Brosier hurried his stepsv thereby hastening the moment wheu 'he would meet his wife , and she had promised to sit up reading by the fire uutil his return. He could see her now , just as she would look when he entered the room , curled-up in her arm-chair , enveloped in her plush dressing-gown , with her little feet toasting upon the fender and her book in her hand. He was never so happy as when able to quit his work sooner than he anticipated , for it gave her the joyous surprise of an unexpect ed return. Such would bo the caso this even ng. Called in consultation to a patient at Versailles , whoso condition was des perate , and upon whom they were going to perform an operation , lie had gone away at 7:30 , not intending to return until the last train leaving Ver sailles at midnight. But the patient had not considered it necessary to await the operation , and , at tho very moment the faculty were ascending the stairs , had tricked them nicely by slip ping from life to death , considerinjr it preferable to steal away in that style to remaining for a premature autopsy. "Ho was a man of sense , " cried Borsier , laughingly , as , bidding his confreres good-nig ht , he boarded the ten instead of the twelve o'clock train , and an hour afterward was deposited at the foot of the Kite de Eome , whence he had preferred to walk to his home in the Hue de Lamennais. As he passed through tho avenue Friendland his attention was suddenly arrested by the loud rumbling of a fiacre passing rapidly ahead of him. All at once the yellow body of the vehicle and the white hat of the coachman , which he had followed carelessly with his eye , disappeared from view. It had wheeled about , and , unless the dis tance deceived him , into the Hue de Lamennais. A few moments afterward , as he turned into the street himself , he per ceived the vehicle a ain , stopped be fore his own door. The coachman had descended from his seat , and standing by the side of the fiacre , seemed to be expostulating with some one in the car riage. In the silence of that retired quarter his words were perfectly audi- blo to Pascal as he walked down the street. "Madamo , " cried the coachman. "Madame , wake up ! "We have arrived. There was no response. "Madame , " he cried again , raising his voice considerably , "wake , up , if you please ; we have arrived. " St 11 the sleeper did not move. "Well , this is a go , " mumbled tho coachman , gruffly. "She's a regular dummy. What's the matter with her , I wonder ? " And the man in the white hat peered into the fiacre in perplexed uncertainty. "Anything wrong ? " asked Pascal , approaching him. "I am a physician , and perhaps can assist j'ou. " "It's more than I know , " responded the coachman ; "but something's gone wrong with tho fare. Can't move her no more than a block o' . wood. Look for yourself , monsieur. " Pascal , obeying the coachman's di rections , looked into the interior. Stretched upon the cushions , a woman was lying perfectly motionless , her face shrouded in the folds of a thick veil. He took her hand , his trained fingers instinctively seeking tho pulse ; the ar tery did not beat "Hello , " said the doctor to himself ; "this is more than a fainting fit. Bring me a light , ' turning to the coachman. "A light , quick your lantern will do. " The coachman obeyed , and the light thrust into the carriage enabled him to see that the woman before him was slender in form , dressed in some kind of a dark-colored robe , and enveloped from head to foot in a long "fur mantle. Supporting himself on the carriage- step the doctor carefully began to re move the veil which concealed the fea tures. Suddenly a cry of horror burst from his lips. He dropped from the step his legs refused to support him. The 1 feless woman whom he had lifted in his arms , upon whose discolored lips and ghastly face the rays of the lantern Tell broad and full , was his wife his awn wife Christine Borsier ! Yes , it was his wife , dying , perhaps , 3ead ! But how did she come 'to be in that carriage , and at that hour of the night ? A pain as sharp as the stroke of a stiletto pierced his heart as a terri ble suspicion surged through lis mind ; but it was only a Hash there was no time to think of such tilings now ; he ( vould consider them afterward. Mas tering himself by a powerful effort , he turned to the coachman : "Seek the conciergo of the house , " said he. "and tell him to come quickly , Dr. Borsier wants him , " and drawing from his pocket a bottle of salts , ho lield it under the nostrils of the unfor tunate woman. [ to be continued. ] Passing around the hat is one wav of get ting the ccuts of the meeting. Texas Sift- MB U JIWUIIII MM1WBMB MMJ1UM1 "Should Critics Bo Gentlemen ? " Mr. Fawcett in tho last number o Lippcncoti asks the" question , "Shoult critics bo gentlemen ? " and in his replj attempts to prove not only that thf critic should bo a gcntlemau , but that being a gentleman , ho cannot bo a crit ic. Ho holds that neither author , pub' ' Usher nor reader reaps any benefit from the ubiquitous hook reviewer , and thinks the time will shortly be wher Othello's occupation will bo gone. Bui even while ho rails he cannot resist the tomptation of usurping that gentle man's function and criticising the critic. There is much of merited severity in Mr. Fawcett's somewhat illogidal ti rade , and while we cannot agree with him that the remedy lies in tho total annihilation of the critic , for that were to annihilate the human l ace , we give a tervent amen to the original proposi tion that only gentlemen should be critics. Tho Lounger , in the Critic , after ridiculing Miss Cleveland's poem , "Tho Dilemma , " at some length , says : "I hope Mr. Fawcett won't read what I have just written. Sucli words about the work of a lady would go far to con firm his low opinion of the irritable ami ungentlemanly race of critics whom ho scathes in the same magazine in which. "The Dilemma" appears. Mr. Fawcet is very amusing when he is angry ; now and then he is amusing even when he keeps his temper ; the only time you can depend on his not being amusing , is when he tries to be. He takes life very seriously , and noth ing in life so ser ously as himself , his verses , and his stories. A review not altogether laudable sets his teeth on edge and sends a cold shiver down his back ; a really severe notice of his work offends him beyond the limits of endurance. " This is the sort of critic ism against which all persons with tho instinct of fair play protest. Bidicule is not argument , nor is it criticism. A crit cism should be honest , and , , there- oi'e , it cannot be at all times favor able , but surely it need not descend to rudeness and injustice. No man or woman who is capable of doing good work should object to sincere though adverse criticism but all rebell when the reviewer's pen is wielded only to point a wititc sm , and mangle the talc. Miss Cleveland has suffered much from this so-called criticism. While the fact that she is a woman and the sister of the man whom our nation most de lights to honor should not entitle her to more generous treatment at our hands , it certainly should not preclude her from fair and courteous treatment. If her work is bad , she has no right to expect fulsome praise , but she has a right to expect that the manner of the adverse criticism shall be dignified and gentlemanly. A man whose personal ity is hidden behind a reviewer's mask has no more right to address Miss Cleveland as Rose than he would in a personal interview , and yet the penny- a-liner * whose keenest shaft is tipped with this witticism would never dream of offering this indignity in person. A man may be incapable of writing a poem , an essay , or a story , and yet possess the ability to discover merit , or the lack of * merit , in the work of another , but a boor has no more busi ness in the columns of a newspaper or magazine than in a drawing-room , and the time will come when such will be a recognized fact , to the relief of the public and the advantage of the author. "It takes more refinement of soul to discover beauties than to detect Haws. " The Current , Chicago. - - • t > > Among the Gas-Wells. A group of burning wells north of Washington , Pa. , has presented many grand and beautiful night-scenes. Though several miles apart , they ap pear at a distance , to be close together , and their light intermingles. On a lark night , witli all of them burning , they make a great show. These wells in full blast with those flanking them an the right and on tho left , with the broad glare of those at Wellsburg , W. Va. , showing twenty miles to tho northwest , and with those at Murrays- rille , .Pa , thirty miles to the northeast make a scejie which would terrify a stranger , if h e should come upon it un aware of the existence of such things as burning gas-wells. It would only need jolumns of fiery lava to convince him that the whole region was full of volca noes. And his terror would doubtless ae complete when he saw a great fiery jolumn shoot skyward , unless he was made aware of the i-eal cause of tho phenomenon , when he would remain to ldmire what a moment before iiad fill- jdliimwith alarm. The explanation jf the sudden burst of flame is that it s necessary often to "blow out" the veils and the pipes leading to the reg- ilator , to keep them from being clog ged by the salt which gathers in the Sipes from the salt-water thrown up by ; he gas. The flow of the gas is stop- jed for a moment ; and when again re- eased , the gas drives everything before t into the open air. This escaping ; as is burned at the regulator. The sffectof the suddenly increased pres- ; ure is to shoot a tongue of flame , hiss- ng and roaring , high up in the lir. On a misty night , when the ight is broken up and diffused , the snow-covered hills sometimes idding their inflection , the whole iky is brilliantly illuminated , and tho ; cenc is grand and beautiful. Samuel W. Hall in St. Nicholas. Some Other Day. Old Darky ( to gentleman ) Cud yo' lelp a poo' ole cullud gem'men , sah ? dy gran'mother wuz nu'se to jhrist'fer Klumbus , sah. Gentleman Christopher Columbus ? Old Darkv Yes , sah. She cum over inde Mavilowah wif him when he fust liscovered Amer'ca , 'deed she did. Gentleman Not to da } ' , uncle. Life. There She Had Him. He hadn't quite come up to her tandard and she refused his escort to he picnic , He said : "Why , your ' e as full of airs as a land-organ to-day. " "Maybe I am , " she tossed out. 'Anyhow I don't go with a crank. " Sunny South. * . . . * " ri" f * i.iBinfa"B * > f - n > M4ia II ! § ! * * MiHiw ii tto .liiiimw ! i in iiijw.nmi i.iBin IIJiMIIIBMBMM HlillWiHIII IWUWIl > l * Wff HIS PLACE OF REST. "I know a place" tho old man said , Where such as I , can rest ; Where there's a shelter for tho head Of every ageil guest. " "Where none that are Infirm and old , Are driven from tt-e door ; 'for all arc welcome to that fold , Ana doubly so the poor. " "You doubtless speak of heaven , myfrlcndl' The listening parson said ; "Ah ! yes. up there all sorrows end , Up there no tears are shed. " "Nay , nay. " the ancient one replied , " 'TIs not of heaven I speak ; I mean the work-house , sir , " he sighed , "Where I have been a week. " * Hal Berte , in The Arkamaw Traveler. 18 Perils of iitlorsll Mildred's pretty face wore a new ex pression as she toyed with her teaspoon and tried to finish her roll , and coffee. John had just left her for his office. They had been married three months , and tho serious aspects of life were for the first time presenting themselves. The problem of income and outgo had made a fair showing on paper. A small apartment fuel and gas includ ed one servant , and with such loads of wedding presents , absolutely noth ing to buy , they could actually save rnone } ' . But , somehow , thero were leaks which had not been considered , and ten dollars covered a much smaller amount in time and space than John or Mildred had supposed. "I wish I could do something to help John , " thought Mildred , as she gazed abstractedly out of the window. "He has to work so hard , " and she gave a little sigh. "What can I do ? " she pondered. "What can I do ? " she asked herself again and again , as with deft touch she straightened and arranged the dainty apartment. • Suddenly her face looked as if a aoor had opened and Hooded it wit h sun light. "I know what I will do ; I will write a story. I know lean if I try. People do not have to be so awfully clever to do that. It is a knack , not a talent. There is Mrs. , who has made heaps of money ; and her stories are only poor trash all of them. John says so , " Before another hour had passed the outline of a plot was dancing in her excited young brain , and as soon as she could get the time she sat down with pad and sharpened pencil. Then canib a pause. "How shall it begin ? " She drew little geometric figures on the margin of her paper as she reflect ed , her thoughts seeming to revolve in a circle , returning even to the place from whence they started. Finally she wrote : "In a small village on the banks of " "Oh , that is so commonplace. No ; that will not do. " And she tore off the first sheet of her pad and reflected , again , then wrote : "Frank Atwood was the only son of " a- "No , no ; that is too stupid. " and the second sheet of tiie pad went into the waste paper basket. She recalled what John had said of the superfluous three paces , which might with benefit to most stories be eliminated for John was a journalist and literrry critic , and his standard and ideals were just on the measure of her own. So she thought with great defer ence of what he had said about tedious preambles. "He is right , " she said with decision. "It is the personal interest in the char acters which we are looking for in read ing a storv. AH that comes * before that is tedious superfluity. "I will dasli right on with a letter from the heroine , which will at once explain the situation. " So with tiie con fidence which came from feeling her self at last on the right track , she wrote : " 'Dear Frank. I return herewith the letters , which of course I have now no right to keep. I need not tell you what it costs me. " * I have reflected much upon what you said yesterday , but I am at last re solved. I will not see you again. Any attempt to make me break the resolve will be fruitless. God knows you have only yourself to blame that this mar riage has ' • • Please , ma'am , " said the cook , com ing suddenly in upon the young author ess. "Please , ma'am , the butcher is here. Will you come and see him and give the order yerself about havin' them chop3 frenched or whatever it is. " "Oh , what a bore , " sighed Mildred. "I was just getting into the swing of it. " And she left the manuscript upon her desk to be resumed later. The matter of the chops disposed of there were other things requir ng atten tion. tion.At At last , however , she was at her desk again. She red over the letter with which her stoiy opened to see how it sounded. "Really , she said , "I think that starts off very well , " and then she took up the broken thread. "Only vourself to blame that this marriage has " A violent ringing at the tele phone again broke the current. "Hel lo , " said our young novelist. "Mildred , is that you ? " "Yes , is it you , Alice ? " "Yes. Mamma does not feel very well and wishes you to take luncheon with us She has sent the c.irriage. Be ready to come as soon as it ar rives. " Obviously no more authorship to-day. So slipping her paper in her lesk she departed. Now John was a nice sort of fellow. But wc may as well acknowledge at aneE that he was not so heroic , nor so wise , nor so infallible an authority as ais wife supposed. She had taken the outline of the real John , touched it up with the glowing lolors of her imagination and out of it had made an ideal John , which , while it bore a strong resemblence to the real , was nevertheless largely a work of "art. But. after subtracting these additions " or the real , there was still left a very excellent fellow , with good talents , which he was using with rather bril liant effectiveness m journalism and - 1 - - * - - 1111 mi various kinds of litorary work ; win was adorningly fond of his wife , am hail not yet recovered from his surpris at his excessive good fortune in possess ing that much-coveted treasure fo whom he had much contended , witi many others , in those anxious days o courtship. And now there" she was a home , waiting for him , while he wa urging his brain to the top of its speed anil driving his quill in eager haste thinking only of what it would brin' for him to lay at her feot Mildred was right in thinking ho fol anxious at times , for things did not al ways turn out as he hoped. And hi oftentimes felt disheartened when li < thought that with the fullest moasun of success which he could achieve ii his profession could nevericld wha so poerless a wife as Mildred deserved For. of course , he had with his imagi nation retouched tho real Mildred too Tho new purpose of authorshij brought a great light and hope int < Mildred's life. Sho felt important indeed that she was much moro impor tant than people were aware. Tha she was carrying a vorv large secret that if John only knew ! Then she pictured to herself his road in her stoiy , possibly reviewing it. Af ter he has written all kinds of nicf things about it I will tell him that J am the author ; or and her hearl turned cold and sick what if he should say it was trash ? For , of course , Iik ( other good critics , John was seldon pleased. If things wore all excellent , what would be the need of critics ? Sc he had cultivated the art of discovering flaws in what seemed to ordinary read ers pure gems. He had developed rather a talent for pillorying people in a single terse phrase , and was mucL valued for his sk.ll in beating down with the editorial club tender young aspirants who were trying to make themselves heard. This sounds brutal ButJie was only professionlly brutal. In his personal characteristics none could be more tender or sympathetic Mildred knew of this caustic vein anc believed it , too as she did also oi John's attributes and gifts "but , " she thought , if ho shouUKsay any of those dreadful things about me ; what should I do ? I should never never tell himf And so during the entire day she thought and planned. Few intricacies of plot suggesting themselves ' vivid and interesting scenes coming before her stimulated imagination. Her mother urged her remaining and sending for her husband to dine witt them. Her secret desire was to return , but she looked at her mother's wistful face and had not the heart to refuse. She would stay and send for John. That gentleman arrived at home al the usual hour. As he put his latch key into tiie door he smiled , thinking of the quick ear wh'eh was listening foi it. and of the pretty apparition which would meet him in the hall. "By Jove. " he thought , "what a lucky fel low I am ! " But tfie expected figure did not meet him. He was conscious of a little chill of disappointment , and still more as he wandered through the rooms and founc all silent and deserted. He rang for the maid. "Where is your mistress ? " ' Sho is out sir. There ' s a note * s ' r , somewhere , " and she looked anxious ly about. "Oil , it is on the desk. " said she with returning memory , starting tc go for it. "No matter ; 1 will get it , and John turned his impatient steps toward hi : wife's room. There was no note on the der-k , and quite naturally he opened the lid. His eyes were riveted upon the words be fore him. "Dear Frank : I return herewith the letters which I have no longer anv right to keep. I need not tell you what it eosts me " He felt as if his blood were turned into ice. " 1 have reflected much upon what j'ou said yesterday " "Yesterday ! " John felt as if he were roing mad. "Yesterday ! " and he had 50 trusted her ! The room had growr black and a great sledge hammer was beating his brain , but he read on "upon what you said jesterday , but [ am at last resolved. I will not see rou again. An } ' attempt to make me break this resolve will be fruitless. God mows you have only yourself to blame ; hat this marriage has " John stood for a few moments as il ; urned into stone , his face blanched , his jiuscles tense. Then a rav of hope seemed to come to him. "There is nc signature ; it is not hers. " He looked igain. How could he doubt it ? He cnuw too well the turn of every letter , tie was alternately livid with rage and 'hoking with gr-ef. Hs : dream of hap piness vanished. Something like 2 : urse came from between his closec eeth. "She loves this man , and she meets dm and tells him so , and only yesler la } ' . Oh. it is too horrible ! " too horri- ) le ! " He buried his face in his hands tnd groaned. "I shall ; o away ; I shall lever " At that moment the tele- ) hone bell rang. He took no notice of t. "I shall never " Again it rang ong and and loud. What should he lo ? There was no .one else to answer t ; he must go. So he said huskily , • Hello ! " Mildred's silvery vo ' ce replied , "John , sthat you ? " The situation was shocking. How : ouId he reply ? but there was nc ime for reflection. lie knew that the Central otlice would share all his con- idences through that infernal piece of ilaek walnut and obonv. So he said. "Yes. " "Why do yon not come ? Dinner i3 vaiting for you. " How well he knew the pretty inllex- ons of that voice ! "I wish no dinner I am going away -good-bye. " It misrht have been the convetional elephonic "good-bye , " or it might ontain a profounder meaning. The effect at the other end of the ine cannot be described. Ten minutes iter a cab drove furiously up to ; the oor of the Apartment house , and lildrcd , with white face and fast beat- ng heart , rushed into tiie room , and rould have rushed into John's arms il ic had let her. "You are going away ? " she said reathiessly. "You are avery clever actress , " sad * that gontlcman repulsing hor intended | u mi ) race. > "A what ? " said she , amazed. "John , | what's the " I "A very clever actress , " said he , 1 quite as if sho had not spoken , "but | hereafter wo will have a more perfect 1 understanding , and you need not trou- I bio yourself. " | "Why , John , " said sho , "have you I lost your souses ? " . | "No ; on tho contrary , I havo recov- 1 ered them. I am no longer a dupe. I I was fool enough to think you " | "John , for God s sake tell mo what this means ! " "Oh , Mildred ! Mildred ! " said ho , V breaking down utterly. "Why did you not tell me like an honest woman that you loved some one else ? " I "John , you know. I " "Stop ! " said he. "Stop ! do not stain your soul with any moro falsehood. "You need not have married. 1110 , " I went on tho wretched man. "God | knows I wish you had not. " 1 Sho tried to put her arms about him S as ho paced to and fro in rapid strides , 1 but ho pushed her away angrily. "No , | no more of that. That lias lost its | charm. " . * / I Mildred burst into tears. "I never would hayo believed ycu would be so so cruel , " sobbed j she. "What have I done ? " "Done ? " shouted the exasperated- 1 man. "Why , you have spoiled the life f of an honest man , who doted on you , f believed on you like a trusting fool who would have risked his life on your / honesty " \ "Stop ! " said Mildred , and she gath- / ered herself up to a fuller height than - ' , John's eyes had ever before beheld in j I her. She too was angry now. , "If you have charges to make I dc- • ' , mand that they be definite , and not in , base innuendo. You are very cruel and and also very insulting to me. 1 shall ' ( not remain in this house to-night , nor ' > return to it until you have apologized. " ' And she swept from the room aud from ; John's astonished sight. i A moment later he heard the messen- ; ger call , then heard his wifegiyo an or- I dcr far a cab , then saw her packing a } handbag. He intended doing the same j things himself. But somehow having- , - her do them was infinitely harder to * _ j bear. \ ( Mildred was very angry. "Not a V thing of his , " she said to herself , as she stripped off her rings and gathered . , her trinkets. "My purse , too , " she ii thought and went to the desk to find it. j Her husband had been watching for 1 this. He knew siie would try to secure * that letter. • "Ah , " said he , "you are alittlo'too late. You should have thought of that , before. " J These , to his unmeaning words ut- \ ' tered with much concentrated bitterness s made her seriously doubt his sanity. She 'ij looked at him curiously. How else h could she construe the incomprehensi'J ble fury ? She pursued , the thought 13 had calmed the resentment. She went jl to Ills side , placed her hand kindly on \ his arm. "My dear John , " said " she , 1 "will you explain to mo what all this * 'j ' means ? " > J He felt touched , aud oh , how he , > i longed to take her to his hearl ; but / 'j ' that could never be again. I "Will you first explain to me , " ho y 1 answered , trying to lie hard and cold , | "explain to me where you were vester- * i | " * il [ lay ? "Certainly he is mad , " she thought. J md she tried to be very calm. " 'J "Ah , yes , " lie weit on. "You can J look very innocent , but. woman , look ' 1 it that. " and with tragic gesture he I held up the paper. 1 Mildred looked at it bewildered ; then jl die read , "Dear Frank. " A gleam of M ight came into her face , and gradually 1 lcepened into an expression of interest ' 1 md amusement. She understood it M ill. 1 John looked to see her crushed , de- il ipairmg and penitent ; and instead he | ] vitnessed this unaccustomed , this ex- < 1 inordinary , change ; and laughter peal ,3 ifter peal of silvery laughter rang 'j ' .hrough the rooms. She tried to speak M ait could not. | l John iu his turn began to think that m ; he was mad. Jjfl At last , with tears rolling down her < M : heeks , not from grief this time , she M aid : \M \ "Oh , you dear silly silly thing. Oh , M • on dear goose that's my story and L * - m vas going to surprise you and bring iM rou ever ever so much money and. m low you have gone and spoiled " fa md here she began to cry in earnest. • m • And you have said such cruel , ; l -cruel " 'M Her sobs , together with. John's great ' infolding arms , stiflud the rest. "Ob , m ay angel , my angel. 1 have been such ; 9 . brute. Can you ever forgive me ? " ' iU That was what John said ; but this \M \ ien refuses to attempt the portrayal of jl k'hat he felt. He had been a willing , nd a loving slave before , aud now he > ras in addition a penitent and crest- [ M alien one besides. And so his chains fl rere riveted anew. ( 'M As hinted before , John had a profes- • < U ional character quite distinct from his \M \ [ omestic one. This quality affords a nuch needed outlet to perturbed spir ( m ' , s ; hence as he turned towaids his of(9 ( ce the next morning an ominously ' torn look came into his face. , ! Tiie unfortunate man whose first 9 00k he reviewed that day never sus- fl ected that the average criticism which t M cry nearly threw him into a nervous 'fl jver , and quite into despair , was al- fl lost entirely inp.red by the mi adven- . ires just related. Xeiv York Graphic. jjfl His Aunt Was a Daisy. ( 'fl "I wish would * fl you go away on an- ( ther visit , Mama , * ' said a little bov to fl is mother , who had just returned from ] fl two weeks ' visit in the country. ifl Aunt Mary is a daisy housekeeper. " " ? • jfl "Did you have a good time , Bonnie , S hile Ivas away ? " jfl "Well. I should smile. " replied the jH oy. "Aunt Mary just let us have all jfl le fun we wanted. " > * I guess she allowed you children too 'jfl lany privileges. " H "That's all rijjht. Mama. Aunt Mary fl a darling , and I wil stani ! up for her r fl very time. She is just like ' me , when } jfl run away from school. " ( jfl "I do not understand you , my son , " i jfl lid Mama. , jfl "Well , she is a tru-ant" FretzcVs i jfl Teckly. j H I j . . .