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c t. , ,,,r_.-‘ _.- , .4 .2, ' '.-â€"I shall know how to get on with ,_ places near. where you can walk' or me,” the girl said, quickly, with the ' patient. I MQWQQQMSEWQ eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaem CONFUSEON or cAsTE. seeseeseeeeeeeeeeseeee CHAPTER XXV. A few hours’ journey on a summer day brought Dorcas at its close to a quiet country station. As she stepâ€" ped on the platform, a servant in livery came up to her and touched his hat. “For Mrs. I-Iarcourt’s, ma‘am ?” he said. “The carriage is here.” And Dorcas took her seat, and in half an‘ hour more had reach- ed the house. . “flow shall we get on together ? What will she say to me ‘? How will it all end ‘2" she had been question- ing with herself a hundred times ; and her heart was beating in great throbs as the sei‘vzmt led her up the stairs, and opened the door of the room in which Mrs. Harcourt was. But when she entered that room, Mrs. Harcourt merely_ half rose from the sofa on which she was lying, and received her as she might have received guest. , “I am glad you have come,” she said. quietly, and put out her band. would the most ordinary “I have been very ill, or I scarcely have asked you.” “Yes, I understand that,” Dorcas answered, in a low voice. And then in another moment they were talking about quite common things. “Are you tired ?” Mrs. Harcourt said. “I think you must be tired. for the day is so hot. You must rest a little, and my maid will show you your room, and then we will have some tea. Do you mind falling in with my invalid hours ? I dine at one o'clock, now that I am alone, and take tea at six." How strange it seemed to the girl, after all her tremors, to be sitting at last by Mrs. I-Iarcourt’s side, lisâ€" tening to her talk about the hours at which their meals were to be served, as if they had no deeper subâ€" ject of interest between them in the world ! Girlâ€"like, she had supposed that their meeting would be marked. by some show of emotion, but it‘ had been marked by no show of emotion; it had been wholly comâ€" monplace and quiet. "If she will but go on treating me like this I shall not be afraid of her her,". she thought presently to .herâ€" self, with no small relief. For Dorcas herself disliked the disâ€" play of emotion, andâ€"except perhaps in the one great case of her love for .Frank, where, it is true, she had broken at one bound through half ,the rules that had guided her in her common .lifeâ€"was always most at ease with those who were reticent on the subject of their feelingsâ€"the Quaker element in her leading her to sympathize- most witlr a. certain amount of outer coldnessâ€"to fin‘d Satisfacuon in a film of ice. “Can you be contented, do .you think, to spend a. few weeks here with very little to amuse you ?” Mrs Harcourt asked her, after an hour or two had passed. “You Will have no society, you know, because I am notl strong enough to see my friends. There are plenty of books in the library, and there are' some pretty driveâ€"and if you care for flowers you will find a garden full of them ; but unless you can make yourself happy amongst such things as these I am afraid you will be dull with me.” “1 am in no danger of being dull,” Dorcas replied. “I have alâ€" ways lived a very quiet. life.” “That is fortunate for me, then,” and Mrs. Harcourt smiled. “Will you bear with me too if I am someâ€" times irritable ? I have not been an illâ€"tempered woman hitherto, yeti perhaps I may try you a little new.” “I am not afraid of you trying color coming,r to her face. “Well, I should think you Were expect you have quiet ways. An invalid Wants soothing people near her, you see, and I can imagine that you will be soothing.” “I will try to be." “You need not try to be, my dear. ' If you are naturally soothing I shall soon find it out: if you are not, try- ing will not make you soâ€"and we will keep apart. At the best I am not; going to make a martyr of you. 11 .Study These Sym ptom er. Chase’s News Food. and weary, no life. no energy, tired all the time, throbbing, palpitating heart asthma, sleepless nights, sudden s‘tartings, morning languor, hot flushes, brain fag, inability to work or think, exhaustion on exertion, general numbness, dead all over, cold hands and feet, flagging appetite, slow digestion, food heavy, easily, excited, nervous, muscles twitch, strength fails, trembling hands and limbs, un- steady gait, limbs puff, loss of flesh,loss of muscular power, irritable, despondent, hysterical, cry or laugh at Restless, languid, wea'k ,vanything, settled melancholia, stea Mrs. Cline, 49 Canada street, Hamilton, states :â€"“l~‘or a, number of years dyspepsia. I had no appetite, and my whole nervous s;;:stmn seemed weak It seemed to go right to the seat from nervous headache and nervous and exhausted. I have found of trouble, relieving the headache, Mrs. Symons, 42 St. Clair street, Belleville, O ment with Dr. Chase's Nerve Food, and found with nervous exhaustion and a weak, fluttering heart. . very distressing. By means of this treatment my nerves of my heart seems to be. regular. I can recommend Dr. weakness and dizziness, which were strong and healthy. and the action Food as a: excellent medicine.” Er. Chase's Nerve Food, 50 cents a box, at a “So you are going to these peoâ€" ple ?” he said to Dorcas, when the - selfish Dr. Chase’s Nerve Food very helpful. improving digestion and toning up the system generally." hf... states :â€"-“Some weeks ago I began a course of it a very satisfactory medicine. I was formerly troubled Whenever my heart bothered me I would have spells of f} ‘ 69 . - - . Q Or g, niolnlng for her Jouiney came. {9 He had made no op'pOSItion to her . . going. ’ “Settle it as you Wish,” he 5; Gentlhty 9 had only said to her, when she had “3‘ asked him what answer she sthould 3 VS. g send to Mrs. Harcourt’s note. And 9 Y r . then, when the time for her deparâ€" 35’; hobfllty Of Soul, ture came, before they left the house , together, he kissed her, and told her tilt $$$$$$$$$W366336§3$33 will not ask you to spend more than a little while each day with me.” “Not ifâ€"you should come to like my being with you ?” Dorcas said, quietly; and then Mrs. Harcourt laughed. I “If that should happen; you think â€"very justlyâ€"that the chances are I shall become selfish ?” she said. “Well, you may be rightrâ€"but that will settle itself presently. 1n the meantime, we know too little of one another to make us wish to, pass a great deal of time together....I am going to say goodâ€"by to you toâ€"night very soon, for 1 go to bed at nine, and I like to be quiet for an hour before I try to sleep." 'Was Dorcas happy as she laid her own head on its strange pillow pre- sently ‘? The last week at home had been a hard one, but it was past now, and there seemed to be rest here, and escape from self-reproachâ€" and was there not hope and the exâ€" pectation of a great gladncss far off ? Surely she might be happy ? And yet the tears came to her eyes before she fell asleep, as the thoughts wont back to the lonely house that she had left behind her. “Oh, why are things so hard ?” she asked herself for the hundredth time. “Why is it made to seem and wrong in me to love« him ‘? I have only done what other; girls do, and yet I feel as if I wast guilty and wicked." ‘ "Father, ought I never to have let myself care for him ’2" she had- said to Mr. Trelawney, sadly, ' one‘ day. He had tried, after she had made her confession to him, to shut his heart against her, and his coldness, and reserve, and silent suffering had cut her to the quick. From her mother she had had sympathy, but from her father none. Day after day he had sat alone with his sorrow, scarcely speaking to her, refusing help from her, trying to go on with his solitary work with a desolate, impotent patience. “Father, do you think I shouldI never have let him care for me ‘2” she said to him at last. “Surely you must think that, or you would never punish me as cruelly as you are dOing. Ought 1 never to have thought of marrying at all? Either I ought not, and you have cause to be angry with me, or I have only done whatâ€"what it is ungenerous to blame me for." And then she put her hand upon’ his shoulder for a minute, and after that minute, suddenly and closely, sflie clung about his neck. “Oh, my dear, I never did it willâ€" ingly. It came before I knewâ€"I could not help it,” she began to cry. “I want you to love me stillâ€"I Want you to be good to me stillâ€"as much as you ever 'did, when I had nobody else to care for in the World.” She melted him for the moment, and made him kiss and bless her. "I have no right to be angryâ€"â€" noneâ€"none,” he told her, gently. "You have gone away from me, that if all; but I shall bear it better pre-l sently. My little Dorcas l” he said, suicidenly and patheticallyâ€"“my little! dear child l" They sat together again for an' hour or two that day, and they both tried to bring back the likeness of the days that used to be; but they: could not do it. The familiar talkl would not come again; there was a shadow between them: the 01d union that had lasted so long had become broken. “on, Gilbert, it will be right for the ,child, I think, but what will you do without her ?" Letty ven- tured to say to her husband on one of these dark days. She had been hovering about him, yearning to speak to him, and yet afraid; she came to him at last, and stole her hand into his as she asked her question. “God knows l” he answered her bitterly. His passive fingers hardly closed round hers; after a moment, he turnâ€" ed away from her. She was nothing to him in his sorrow; her sympathy could not touch nor her love comâ€" fort him, though she had been his faithful wife for one and twenty years. s and see _ ' Nerve Restorative dy decline, complete [rostration if You Are that he hoped she Would be happy. “And you need not think of me. Do not consider me at all," he said, grimly, “nor let me spoil your pleasure. ’ ’ ‘ "Do you suppose that I can help thinking of you ?” she answered quicklv to that speech. And then, half with sadness, nalf with angerâ€"â€" “You might as soon bruise me, and tell me not to feel the hurt,” she said. ‘ She was angry for a moment, but after she had let herself utter these words she reproacth herself for having spoken them, and she hastily took his two hands and kissed them. “Oh, my darling, forgive me for being impatient,” she cried, peniâ€" tently. “I think we have both been very miserable. Forgive me if you can before I go.” Then he took her in his arms, and held her to his heart for a long time in silence. “My Dorty !” he only said, at last, calling her by her old childish name in a passionate, brok- en voice. So the week had been ahard one, and, though it was ended now, the girl’s tears came again as she lay tonight on her fresh pillow, and thought of it; and the sorrow and loneliness sqe had left behind still seemed to follow her to this new place, and make her heart heavy as she fell asleep. They called Mrs. Harcourt’s house the Dower House. It stood in the midst of a rich country, with pleaâ€" sure grounds about it, and beyond the garden on,ono side lay a long stretch of undulating pine woods. “My husband’s father bought, this place for his mother when he marâ€" ried. It will be my home too when Frank marries,” Mrs. Harcourt said, quietly. “A pretty houseâ€"is it not? I have always liked itâ€"and I like the mild climate too. I think it is a good thing to‘live in the south when one is growing olt.” She Was very feeble still after her illness, and only drove out a little each day, or sat sometimes for an hour in' her invalidâ€"chair in the sunâ€" shine under the veranda. She look- ed very fragile, Dorcas often thought. ‘One evening, after a few days had passed, the girl, as they were sitting together, ventured to touch her hand thh a halfâ€"murmur- ed pity. “l-Iow thin it is !" she said, and stroked the fingers softly for a moment . It was the first caress, or apâ€" proach to a caress, that had passed between them. “Yesâ€"it is thin now,” Mrs. Har- court replied, “but it was as strong and firm as yours once, my dear." They had fallen with curious quiet- ness into their life together. Before she had come to her Dorcas had been afraid of this unknown woman, but when no more than only a couple of days had passed it seemed to her that she was fast forgetting that she had been afraid. "She is cold,” the girl thought, “but I do not mind her coldness. She is watching me too, I know ; but if she will be only just to me and act honestly, I am not afraid of her watchingâ€"and I thinkâ€"I canâ€" not help believingâ€"that she will be just." “Are you contented to stay with me ?” Mrs. Harcourt asked her, at a Week’s end, and Dorcas answered inâ€" stantlyâ€""Yes." She said “Yes ;" and then she paused for a moment, and after that To prove. to you that Dr. Chase’s Ointment; is necrtain and absolute cure for each and every form of itching. bleedingand protruylln piles, the manufacturers have guaranteed it. ee tes- timonials hilthe dolly press and ask your neigh- bors whatt ey think of it. You can use it and get our moo v back if not cured. 60¢ a. box, at ah colors or ‘DMANSON,BATES & Co.,'1‘oronto, we, $hsss’s Qintment pause her color rose a little, and she looked into the other‘s face, and “Are you content to let me stay?” she asked. “Quite content,” Mrs. Harcourt answered, with a half smile. “I am a great deal too well off with you to wish to be alone again.” For a day or two she had adâ€" dressed the girl as “Miss Trelaw- ney;” then, without any remark. she In Need of the Great heart. I have been a great sufl‘erer treat:- liave become Chase's Nerve ll dealers, or E-dmanson, Bates &~ 00., Toronto. quietly dropped the formal name. and called her “Dorcas.” - “1t is a quaint old name ; how POOR MR. TIP 9. “Is there anything in the paper?" asked Mrs. Till‘ of her husband, who (1' ’ ' a)” i . I ' . I V V ‘ 1d 50“ come by It ' She plesenuy had been monopolizmg the 'Evcnmg one day asked her; and then Dorcas, with her heart beating a little quickâ€" ly, bravely answoredâ€" “l was called after a grandâ€"auntâ€" Dorcas Markham-a good woman. who had been like a. mother to mam- ma.” "I think I have heard of her," Mrs. Harcourt answered; and then said nothing more. Perhaps she had winced a little too, as well as Dorâ€" cas. “I do not mean to let you spend much of your time with me,” Mrs. Harcourt had said to her on the evening when she first came, and ac- cordingly for two or three days at the beginning they did not spend a great deal of their time together, but gradually after that they came to be together more and more. “I think I must tire you,” Mrs. Har- court sometimes said; but Dorcas answered. quietlyâ€""You never tire me.” Nor, in truth, did she; for, curiously and to her own surprise, a strange kind of liking for this cold, .,mim uls-ive woman was awakening l. , z. in her : somehowâ€"she scarcely knew how or whyâ€"she felt at home with her; she felt as if she might be hard, but not false or treacherousâ€"that she might end by becoming her enâ€" emy, but that, if she did, it would be with an open enmity. . “I can trust you," she said to her by chance one day, in reference to some slight matter they had been speaking of, and suddenly Mrs. Harâ€" court answerediâ€" , “The more We trust one another the better we shall understand each otherâ€"in every thing, Dorcas. Be sure of that." “I am sure of it," Dorcas replied, quickly. On some days they talked together a great deal, and Mrs. Harcourt’s talk soon came to have a great charm for the countryâ€"bred girl, for it Was quiet, but yet clever, full of point and high breedingâ€"very unâ€" like the sort of talk that she was used to, she sometimes rather sadly thought. “If I tried for a hundred years I could never imitate her, nor acquire her manner. No wonder she thinks that I am no fit wife for Frank," she often said "to herself. The elder woman used to tell her stories of the world in which she lived, and it seemed to Dorcas so far away from her worldâ€"so unlike itâ€" so separated from it. “Could I ever take my place there ‘2” she Would often think. “Would they not alâ€" ways see that I was not one of them, and look down upon me, and make Frank ashamed ?" ‘(To Be Continued.) HOT WEATHER AILMENTS . Careful Mothers Should Keep at Hand the Means to Check Ailâ€" ments That Otherwise May Prove Fatal. When the weather is hot the sands of the little life are apt to glide away before you know it. You can’t watch the little one too careâ€" fully at this period. Dysentery, diarrhoea, cholera infantum and disorders of the stomach are alarm- ingly frequent during the hot moist. weather of the summer months. At the first Sign of any of these, or any of the other ailments that afflict lit- tle ones, give Baby’s Own Tablets. These Tablets will speedily relieve and promptly cure all hot weather ailments. Keep them in the houseâ€"- their prompt use may save a preâ€" cious little life. Mrs. Herbert Burnâ€" l‘sam, Smith's Falls, Ont., says :â€" “When my eldest child Was six weeks old he had an attack of chol- era infantum and was at death's door. My doctor advised me to use Baby's Own Tablets, and in twentyâ€" four hours baby was better; the vomiting and purging ceased and he regained strength rapidly. I have used the Tablets for other ailments of children since and always with the happiest results. I can sincerely recommend them to mothers as a medicine that should always be kept in the house.” Little ones thrive, are good naâ€" tured and grow plump and rosy in homes where Baby’s Own Tablets are used. Children take them as readily as candy, and crushed to a powder * they can be given to the youngest infant with the best. re- sults. Sold at drug stores or you can get them post paid at 25 cents a box by writing direct to The Dr. Williams' Medicine 00., Brockville, Ont., or Schenectady, N.Y,I ._.¢___._ POWDERED PIE-BRINGS NOW. Fish-powder is the very latest ad- dition to the list of foods, and it is said by physicians to be the best and most nutritive foodâ€"product in condensed form that has been discovâ€" ered. It can be made in the home. with very little trouble and expense. Any kind of fresh fish will do. First steam them in their own moisture, then, after cooling and drying the mass obtained, expose it to the air for a short time. The next step is to shred the fish, and then treat it to a bath of alcohol and citric acid, that all fat, glue. and mineral matter ’is removed. After drying, it must be again .boiled. dried. and ground. The result is a kind of meal or flour, which can be utilized in a great variety of ways-as, for instance. mixing in soups, frying oyâ€" sters, and making omelets. There are no less than 3.262 dif--' ferent species of fish inhabiting the Bugle.’ “No,” replied Mr. 'l‘fiff. . “It seems to'me that you are, taking a long time to read nothing. Suppose you hand it to me; per- haps 1 can find something in it." "Well, here is something which may interest you. A man refused to pay his wife’s funeral expenses, and the undertaker siued him for the money. The court decided that u husband-must pay for his wife’s burial. Bhat do you think of taking a case like that to court '9'" “I should think the mean man ought to be ashzun-ed of himself,” declared Mrs. Till, mnphatically. “So should I,” assented Mr. Til‘f. “The idea of a man not wanting tli pay for his wife’s funeral ! 1 should have thought he would have been perfectly delighted toâ€"â€"â€"â€"” , “John Henry Tiff, what are you saying ?” demanded the gentleman’s wife.‘ . “()h, of course, I didn’t mean that, you know. I mean that he should consider it a, sacred duty to give his wife respectable burial, and pay for the same cheerfully-â€"" . , “Mr. Tiff, do yOu really mean that lieâ€"that you, for instance, would pay my funeral expenses cheer- fully ?" "That isn’t exactly what I mean, my dear. You what I am trying to say.” ' "I understand perfectly what you are saying, Mr. Tiff. You tell me that you wish I were (lead ; that you would pay my funeral expenses cheerfully; t! .‘I. you would be perâ€" fectly delighted to have the oppor- tunityâ€"‘perfectly delighted’ were your words, John Henry Tiff, and 1 think you are a wicked man.” “Oh, now, look here," protested Mr. Tifl', “you know very Well that what I said wouldn’t bear any such construction if you weren’t so ready all the time to find occasion to scold me." ' “You needn’t try" to defend yonr- self, for you can’t do it. You said you’d think that a man ought to be delighted to have the chance to pay for his wife’s funeral. It’s enough to make any self-respecting woman go and commit suicide, so it And I’d go, too, much to your satis'fao tilOll. Oh, why, oh, why, did I ever think that I could love such a wretch as you ‘2” _ . At this point Mrs. Tiff burst into tears, and Mr. Tifl‘ put on his hat, and walked out of the house. 1?] NGâ€"PONG, NOT PUG ILIl S'M. “I Called ‘on Perkins last ing," remarked Mr. Brown. “Did you have a pleasant time “P” inquired Mrs. Brown. “V’ery. Perkins was beating his Wife when I went in.” ' “What ?” _ "I said Perkins was beating his wife ; but, of course, when I went in.” "Well, I should hope so." “I begged him to go on, but he said some other time would do as well.”_ r “You begged him to go on ?” “Why, yes ; I didn’t want to spoil the fun. you know.” “Oh, you brute 1” ((E11 A?!) “Do you mean to say that you could have looked calmly on while he beat his wife ?” “Certainly ! Why not ?" “Iythought you had at least a spark of man-hood left'. I suppose you will be lmating me next ‘9" “Yes. I think I could ,if you would play ping pong with me." “Play ping pong '9” “Yes. That is what Perkins and his wife were doing." "You horrid brute l" O\' €11- .+.__ _,_____ NE'DDY DRAG GED A BIT. At a prominent railway station it Ireland a farmer was waiting for a train, which a donkey he had pur- chased. On the arrival of the train at the station he asked the guard where he should put the donkey. ’I‘lu guard, who was in a hurry, said : “Put it behind," meaning that he ought to put it in ahorse-box, whiel was at the rear of the train. The lli.hman, not knowing tln use of horse-boxes, tied the donke; to the buffer, and then got into thf carriage himself. Soon the train started, and or! long Was running at a speed of ovel fifty miles an hour. Turning to a companion, Pat said : . "Shure, Moike, won’t Noddy h: footing it now ‘2” SCOTCH. . One of the French mail steamer: calling in at Rio de Janeiro, having a slight derangement of the Ill-achin- ery in the engine room, sent for the representative of an engineering firm on shore to give some help in the necessary repairs. The representative had no knowl- edge of ls‘rench, but could converse freely in the Portuguese language The chief engineer of the liner, on the other side, knew a ffttle Spaniel}; but no Portuguese. Explanations under the Cil‘Cl‘ull‘lSLilllCCS, were a trifle confused, until the shore cn- ginecr, in despair, exclaimed : “l-lech,.sir.=~, this is a dreich job I wislh ye l:an a few words in braid Scotch.” “I hev ye noo, ma freon-J," replied 1the chief euginccr ; “I hev ye noo." Mother (reprovingly to little gir just ready to go for v a walk)â€" |"Dolly, that hole was not in yow waters of America north of the Isthâ€""f-TIOVO t«his lumping." Dolly (prompt mus of Panama. ly)’â€"“l\'here Was it, then, mamma')‘ .A’ don't understand ' he stopped u A t ’» nwru.uaavhu:«roanw;a:ks;‘ . . A,‘ ‘ w‘ s- â€"â€"s~...r WWW