" 1 5
"lL, ':' MRS. ft)RliTfti
I l "vT
CHArTER XI.
February had come, bringing some
pring-like days; the feathered lovers were
already serenading their ladies-;; primroses
iind crocuses were springing to meet the
first smile of their god. And June was
decidedly growing less wan and white,
her step was more elastic. Grief was still
her master passion; but, already, Time
was doing for her what he does for the
young, and indeed for the old, too, only
jnnw slowly. And Tom hud bravely aided
Time. " 1
"Should you be very nngry if I were to
say something to you?" he asked June
one day.
"No," answers June, placidly, with a
tolerably good intuition of his meaning.
"I have been afraid to say a word yet,"
ie utters, still much perturbed in his
mind. "But but oh, my darling, will
vou some day come and live here for good
and all? do you care enough for me to
raarry me?"
June does not answer in words, but she
fives a little pressure to the hand which
holds hers.
After that, what could any man do
under the circumstances, especially a man
madly in love, but Buatch his darling to
lis breast and cover her face with kisses?
June trembles violently; this time it is not
from horror or disgust, but because the
-sudden remembrance of Dallas' kiss
smites her, and with it the awful neces
sity of confessing her shame to Tom. In
a moment she tears herself from his arms,
and, Btarting up, rushes over to the-fire
place. He dares not pursue her; already
he is accusing himself of indelicacy to
ler grief; the moment of delight is being
punished by remorse too frequent se
quence!
At last, making a tremendous effort
over herself, June goes back to the sofa
and sits down at a little distance from
him.
"I have something to tell you," she say,
in a trembling voice. "No, do not come
near me, do not touch me, until you have
"heard it; perhaps, afterward, you will not
-want to."
A feeling of stupefaction comes over
Tom. What can she mean?
Then June turns iter face from him- and
begins to cry niteously.
"Oh," she sobs, "how can I how can
I tell you?"
"What do you mean?" cries Tom, at
liis wits' end, unable to believe a breath
against her, but unutterably .pained and
mystified by her words and her agitation,
"Do you remember," Bhe says at lrst,
"when whpn vour cousin was here in
the summer?"
Dal! What is this? Tom feels liter
ally turning to stone. He cannot speak,
"You went away for a day or two, and
and I saw a good deal of him, and I
fancied" oh, poor, poor June, the agony
of this confession! "that I was in love
with him and he with me, and" suddenly
checking herself, and sneaking in a strain
eed, unnatural voice "he kissed me."
Tom is dumb; if any one had plunged
the knife up to the hilt in his heart, he
does not think the agony could be dead
lier. June, this model of purity, on whose
spotlessness he would have staked his
soul, kissed by Dallas!
She has buried her face in the sofa
cushions and is waiting with a beating
heart for Tom's answer. There is a huge,
long silence, and then a voice, distorted
out of all likeness to Tom's, says:
"And you let him!"
Silence, utter silence.
It is enough. She does not deny it.
And, after giving her a full minute in
which to reply he gets up and walks
Away, and June hears the door close upon
11m.
She has lost him, lost the truest, brav
est, kindest heart that ever beat. She is
quite sure now that she loves htm, that
she would lovfully have been his wife,
that she has lost the chance of Immense
liappiness. and that a blank, lonely life
Dreads Itself out before her.
She trembles at the bare thought of
meeting him again. How will she look
him in the face after this?
Mr. F.iinameni Is not surprised at din
tier to remark that June's eyes are red
from crying that is not an Infrequent
event but she is surprised, very much
surprised at the change In Tom's man
ner toward his beloved one. The ex
treme tenderness which has characterized
it ever since June became an Inmate of
the Hall is gone, and Is replaced by a
careful and studied politeness. Tom s
mother hopes and believes that June has
been refusing to. give him any definite
Lope or to discuss the subject or mar
riage. The change in Tom's manner has
In one way a beneficial effect on June;
It makes her angry. . She feels that he
Is unjust, and she resents Injustice more
than anything else In the world. She has
told him this shameful secret of her own
free will. He Is welcome to give her up
It he chooses, but he has no right to treat
ler in a way to arouse the suspicions of
others. June's conscience being guilty,
ahe fancies that the Impression his be
havior may give Is that it 1 he, not she,
i... i i..i.r, ha tin between them.
up; he is suffering mortal agony and try
ing with all his might to conceal it.
June takes a book after dinner. She
will not bestow one look upon Tom. He
tries to read the paper, but glances cov
ertly at her from behind it and wonders
if this awful thing she has told him can
be truewonders why she should be an
gry, which she evidently is, aud, most of
an, longs to take her in his arms and say
he forgives her, and to hear from her that
she really and truly consents to be his.
Mrs. Kllesmere, waking from her dose,
goes off to her boudoir to write some let
ters. Tom sits for about ten minutes
thinking how he shall approach his lady
love, when she saves him the trouble by
turning round, laying her book down and
saying coldly;
'I have made ud my mind to leave this
house to-morrow. Under the circum
stances it will be much the best thing I
can do. I feel that I have already tres
passed too long upon the hospitality of
Air. and Mrs. Ellesmere."
Miss June, who has such a love of jus
tice, can be a trifle unjust herself under
the influence of anger. June in a tem
per is quite a new spectacle to Tom; he
is positively daunted by the manner of
this slim young girl. He springs from
his chair in a moment, crying:
vv hat do you mean, my darling?"
"I am not your darling," returns June,
waving bun off as she sees, with her
quick woman's instinct, that she is going
to get the best of it. "I shall never be
anything to you now. As for your pre
tending to eare for me, It was a farce."
A farce! For a moment Tom is speech
less. Then he cries: -
"Don't talk like that! Don't be angry
with me, darling. It was such an awful
blow."
June's eyes blaze; the blood mounts to
her cheeks.
"Why need I ever have told you?" she
exclaims. "I have humbled myself in the
dust," and here she begins to cry, half
from pride, half from shame, "just be
cause I thought it wus right and honora
ble, and you treat me like this."
Tom feels himself the most utter brute
on earth, as men do the first time they
make the woman they love madly, cry,
He essays to take her hand, but she
snatches it from hiin; she turns her back
upon him; she refuses to ucccpt the ex
pression of his penitence.
"Aunt Mary will be glad to have me,"
sobs Miss June; "she will not find me a
trouble; she will not want to get rid of
me."
This shaft, as we can well understand,
is intended for Mrs. Ellesniere, but Tom
feels it and the truth of it most keenly,
He cannot find words with which to
answer it, therefore he tries once more
to nut his arm round June. To avoid him
she jumps up and runs to the fireplace,
"You need not come and see me there,"
she adds. But this is too much for Tom.
He approaches her with resolution, he
takes both her hands in one of his and
nutu his other arm about her; she may
resist if she pleases, but it is of no avail
aeainst his strength.
June does not hurt herself by strug
Kline; she has a more potent weapon than
Tom's strength in that Bharp little sword
which Providence has given her not only
to defend herself with, but to wound her
adversary.
"Of course I am no match for you if
vou use violence," she says, coldly.
But even this taunt does not cause Tom
tn relax his hold.
"I have never loved any woman but
you," he says, in a voice that is not quite
steady. "My one idea of happiness is to
hnve vou for my wife; my one Idea of ut
ter misery and wretchedness is to lose
von. But." and here his emotion Is al
most too much for him, "I would rather
lnso vou ten times over than tnat you
should find you had made a mistake
that after you married me yor. should feel
you might have cared for some one more.
Ymi onlv saw Dul a few tiir and
vot " . . .
"Don't speak of himl" cried June, ve
hemently. "I hate the very sound of his
name!"
nut If vou saw him again
"Never! never! I despise him. Oh,
Tnm ." and the girl looks up in his face
with eloquent eyes, "you need not fear
him or any one else now. v nen i wnen
I thought I fancied him, It was because I
aa nnt rare for you. I did not know you
then, dear, dear Tom, nor how kind and
good you were. I may tell you frankly
I never believed I could love you then;
w nnw i do I do with all my heart."
"Are you quite sure you love me i ne
cries, passionately.
"OnitP mire." she answers, softly,
After that there is no more talk of
doubt; Indeed, there is very little talk at
all ' But yet neither of them has ever
been so happy before.
CHAPTER XII.
The wedding day was fixed for the
middle of the last week In August, and
Mrs. Bryan wrote to her sister-in-law,
Mrs. Ellesinere, and suggested the pro
n.i nf Inviting June to go to her In
London for the purpose of selecting her
Mrs. ETlesmere was extremely annoyed
by the suggestion, but, after mature de
liberation, she came to the conclusion that
it was useless to fight against fate, and
that the only thing to lie done now was
to make friends with June In order that
the Hall might still be open to her when
she chose to go there after the marriage,.
So, very much against the grain, she indit
ed a charming letter to her future daugh-ter-in-law,
begging her to come to her,
and promising that she should not be
druwn Into any sort of gayety that would
be repugnant to her feelings.
Tom, not being in the secret of Mrs.
Bryun's letter, was delighted with this
proof of kindness from his mother, and
wrote her a very grateful epistle, over
which Bhe mnde a wry face. Still, it was
as well to have eurned his gratitude, as it
lay In his power to do a great deal for
her if he were so minded.
June was ten days in London, and found
them pass very agreeably, though she
lived a quiet life enough. But the fact
of seeing so many people, of being in the
throng and bustle of a town, was suffi
ciently exciting after the country. Mrs.
Lllesmere went out nearly every night.
and Tom and June were life tete-a-tete to
their mutual satisfaction.' June would
not hear of going to the play or even to
the opera. She consented, however to
drive in the park, and to sit In the Row
with lorn in the morning, and was ex
tremely amused and interested in watch
ing the gay crowd. One day Dallas, who
was ignorant of her arrival in town.
dropped in to luncheon. It was an em
barrassing moment for every one, exeept,
apparently for Dallas, who greeted June
with the greatest cordiality and had evi
dent!' forgotten that there had ever been
a love passage between them. June re
covered herself in a moment, and behav
ed as though she were equally oblivious;
indeed, Bhe was now so devoted to loni
that she felt absolutely nothing for his
quondam rival. It was Tom who felt the
least at ease.
Tell me, my darling," he said that
night, with extreme anxiety, "has has
seeing Dal made any difference in your
feeling to me?"
June put her hand Into his, and looked
frankly into his eyes.,
"Not the very, very least," she answer
ed. "I rather wonder now what I saw in
him before. Tom," In a questioning voice,
"could you love two people at once?" then
with a lovely, rippling smile, "I could
not."
Tom's answer need not be chronicled.
In due course the day arrived to which
the young squire had looked forward as
the one that must infallibly be the hap
piest of his life only that general flutter,
turmoil, nervousness, agitation, speechi
fying, are not generally very conducive
to bliss. Still, everything "went off beau
tifully," as the phrase is.
Miss June, as we know, was a trifle
self-willed, and, in spite of what anyone
might say, she declined to be married in
white with a bridal wreath and veil. As
a matter of fact, she wished to go to the
altar In black; but she was not allowed
to offer this insult to the god Hymen, and
therefore compromised the matter by
wearing a charming toilet of silver gray.
Aud sweetly young and modest and pret
ty she looked, with a faint carnation in
her cheeks, and eyes bright with tenrs
that she was resolute not to shed. For
was she not happy? and would she do dis
honor to her love by being a weeping,
mournful-looking bride?
The wedding was a very quiet one, but
a great festival was given to the tenants,
The rector and Mrs. Ellesniere did the
honors of that, while the bridegroom and
bride were bowling away in their carriage-
and-four on the first stage of their jour
ney to Dover. For June had never been
abroad, and was to see all those lovely
parts of Switzerland and the Rhine,
which we, who have often seen theni, turn
up our noses at, but which to the novices
are so entrancingly lovely and charming.
And if ever two young people "did" the
Continent pleasantly, Mr. and Mrs. Elles
niere did. Tom was the most liberal crea
ture In the world, and endowed with a
fair amount of wealth, and he was sensi
ble enough to know that the value of
money is the pleasure it can bring you.
The services were secured of an admira
ble courier (who prevented their having
the smallest trouble nnd made semi-paternal
love to June's maid). Tom's pock
ets were full of gold and silver and bank
notes, which he flung about with the gen
erosity and recklessness of the traditional
"niilor (less well known on the Continent
now than formerly); the best of every
thing was scarcely good enough for his
his darling; his good temper was imper
turbable, and his adoration at its topmost
pinnacle.
One question constantly perplexed her.
How was it possible that Tom, the apple
of her eye, the object of her Intense de
votion In whose absence she felt it would
be impossible to know happiness could
once have inspired disgust and weariness
in her? Sometimes she was compelled
to say, twining her arms round his neck,
How Is it possible thut I did not always
love you as I do now? and he would an
swer, pressing her to his faithful heart:
"It seems more wonderful to me, dar
ling, that you should care for me now
than that you should not have cared for
me before."
(To be continued.)
PATROLMAN MONROE'S LONG BEAT.
"plr.
Chicago Tribune.
VENEZUELAN CORRUPTION.
An American's Criticism of Affairs In
South American Kepubllc.
Notwithstanding President Cleve
land's action on behalf of Venezuela,
which saved that country the loss of
part of Its territory and which would
have rendered the people of any nation
our warmest friends, gays an American
long resident In the South American
republic, the government and people
of the United States are really more
hated by the Venezuelans than those
of any other nation not excepting Ger
many and England up to the time of
their present attack on Venezuela.
Through their Illiteracy and dense ig
norance the Venezuelans have Imbibed
the Idea that the United States govern
ment intends to absorb all Central and
South American countries.
ness men or their managers and "bor
row" $5, $10 or $50. These "loans" are
always made, and at once charged to
business losses, as they are never paid.
Nothing at all Is done by the general
government of Venezuela In the Inter
ests of Its people. Everything attempt
ed by Castro Is with a view to bis own
perpetuation In office and his own en
richment. That also has been the pol
icy of his predecessors, for he Is no
worse than the others. After each one
is overthrown it is found that he has
anticipated such result and has laid up
a fortune In Paris, not in view of the
proverbial "rainy day," but to 'sport
upon In Europe.
There Is no attempt to enforce any
health regulations in Venezuela, and
smallpox and yellow fever are always
with them. In fact, It Is not unusual to
' t ' . '
A River that U Not.
One of the mot remarkable freaks
of nature occurs In New Mexico. It i
a river that Is not a river. No one baa
ever neen 1- The bed of It lies In
valley between tb- Rio Grande and
Pecos Rivers. Il If well defined, and
many travelers hav followed. Its
windings to learn, If possible, what be
come of the great volume of water
which should be there. It Is not a dead
or drled-up stream. It Is simply lout,
Numerous big tributaries flow into I
from the neighboring mountains. Im
mediately, however, they reach the bed
of the main stream they dlHappear
from slgbt. Thu, for some reason or
another, a river which should be thres
hundred miles in length bus no exist
enos wLdch oouU be proved.
CARACAS, THE CAPITAL OF VENEZUELA.
Their hatred of citizens of the United
States was noticed and remarked upon
by all our people residing In Venezue
la, and was shown by them In various
ways. Foreigners of other nationali
ties, among them English and Ger
mans, considered the treatment of
Americans by the Venezuelans a great
Joke, and Improved the occasion to
make sarcastic remarks .about tne
"love" of the Venezuelans for us.
The Venezuelan government officials
are as cnaracieriess aim i-urruyi
those of any on earth.
While Venezuela Is a so-called "re
public," President Castro has not per
mitted an election since he succeeaea
Guzman through a revolution to the
Presidency. Castro arbitrarily regu
lates the tariff, and an Import that has
a duty of 5 per cent on It to-day may
by his order have 25 per cent on It to
morrow. One of his acts since ne De-
came rresment was o oruer, uuu
the penalty of Imprisonment for its
violation, all olive trees, cut aown, in
order that he might derive more reve
nue from Imported olives.
Most of the foreign companies and
business men ascertain after they Lave
Invested their capital In Venezuela
that they are subjected to systematic
blackmail. If they do not contribute
as called upon by the government offi
cials they soon find their business bam-
nered. It not entirely ruined, by said
officials, who are responsible to no one
but Castro, and It Is understood that
be "stands In" with them In their de
mands upon the foreign business peo
nle. As be alone, as already stated,
regulates the tariff, It Is plain bow the
business of any or ail roreigners may
be affected.
It 1 s. quite common thing for the
Secretary of war, the Secretary of the
Interior and the private secretary, of
the President to call on foreign bual-
see persons broken out with smallpox
walking the streets In the towns and
cities of Venezuela.
There Is one disease I should have
excepted, however, and that Is leprosy.
Near Caracas they have a reservation,
a few miles out of the city, for lepers.
As insufficient provision Ib made for
clothing and feeding these unfortu
nates, It Is not unusual for the lepers
some of them minus ears, noses, An
gers and toes to parade through Car
acas and demand food to keep from
starving to death.
Convinced Him.
Mr. Plnchpenny stepped aboard the
car at 4th Street, and paid his fare,
but tue conductor, who was very busy,
forgot that he had received the nickel,
and at 7th Street held out his band.
"Fare," he said.
"I paid you half a mile back," pro
tested Mr. Plnchpenny.
"I think not," rejoined the conduc
tor. "I say I did."
"I soy you didn't."
Mr. Plnchpenny hesitated a moment,
and then saWI, with the air of an in
jured citizen:
"Don't you ree'lect a man that got
on about five minutes ago and held
on to his nickel as If be didn't want
to give it up, and you almost had to
pry It out of hlsxband?"
"Yes."
"Well, that was me."
"I remember you now," said the con
ductor, passing on with a grin.
A Timclr Combination,
Let not this good old world be grave.
Since sorrow has forsook it;
The oyster's here and soon we'll have
The coal with which to cook 1L
The price paid to quiet conscience
keeps mighty few people poor.
1
fiut poor Tom baa no Idea of giving, her j trousseau.