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FOR THE THIRHTTIHE. CHAPTER VIII. l Facing the falling snow and the bit-l He stopped and stared. The picture was not a gentleman's. It was a vignette: the dark face of a. young tor blast, with! the sturdy defiance of girl of more than common beauty, Two strong, young manhood, Dr. John Ster- great, dark eyes lit up a ling plunged his homeward way through the drifts, whistling cheerily, press l I Christmas anthem. The red light from the curtained windows of his home flared out brightly athwart the fluttering flakes. "No place like home," thought Dr. John, "particularly on a stormy win- ter night, and after a hard day’s work. I hope none of my patients will be so unreasonable as to call me out; brow; again in this tempest. My good mother! . has about given. me up for lost I dare‘ Lilt0ur-" say." He opened the door with his latch- handsome gypsy faceâ€"a bold, bright. daunt- Iess face that! could not fail to im- ~But it was, not the beauty of that pictured face that held Dr. John spell- bound. It was its unaccountable fam~ iliarity. It was as familiar to him. that gypsy face, as his o‘wm in the glass and yet‘ hei could not place it. "'\Vhere have I seen- this woman?” he thought. "it is a. face not easily forgotten. Those big black eyes; that determined chin; that. square, hold that compressed mouth. Great Heaven 1. it; is, the face of Victor John Sterling absolutely recoiled from the picture and his own discov- ery. But in an instant he had re- key, and stamped the snow off his boots covered. and overcoat. The parlor door opened, and his mother's pale and anxious face looked out. "You, Johln? How late you are! You must be nearly frozen and famish; 0d." "Both, mother; and. ready to do won- 13..." ders among your Christmas dainties. But, what’s, the matter? seen a ghost, .that you wear that scar- ed face?" Have you;wa§£1<l the young doctor. ( “It cannot be Victor, Latour, of course. {But if Victor Latour had a. twin sister. on earth, this is her portrait.” g He turned the picture over. On the back “as written, in a. bold, decided hand: " Truly yours, Isa- bel Vance, Framlingham, May 4, Isabel Vance!” re- "I have hea that name. before, too. Ah! I recollect. Isabel Vaan was the young lady'Miss Hardenbrook disinherited. "Isabel Vance! "Something very much like it, John,” \V'lJa-t does she mean by sending her his mother said gravely; "come in. Oh, you will do as you are! Sit dow - also, by n Earle‘s picture here; and. what does she mean being the living image of Amy villainous husband?" hereâ€"End 38*; warm‘ Did You meet; He was interrupted! by his moth- eny one on your way comingier. Mrs. Sterling rose up very home?” 'pale, and placed the letter in his hands. "Did I meet! any one? Christmas eve! There’s a. ques- tion! Did I meet .M'hom, moth- or!” "Amy Earle.” - “Mrs. Latour? My dear mother, what :would bring an: invalid out on such a. might?" "Miseryâ€"madness, perhaps. been here." '“lllotherl” " It is quite true; she left not a quarter of an hour ago. She came like a ghost, and vanished like one.” "Alone?" “Alone, and on foot. \V‘as ever such? madness heard of? The tyrant was: away, for a. wonder, (lining atl Major Mallory’s, and. the imprison- ed slave broke her bars and came here." “Good Heavens! on. such a night! It is enough, with her constitution, to give her her death!” “I don’t think that we need to laâ€" ment that, if! it be so. Death is some- times a. merciful relief. I would lath-i r see" her: at rest in her coffin than! She has hat villian’s wife.” - "Mother,, you exaggerate, I think. What brought her here? \Vhat did she say?” i “Nothing that I can repeatâ€"all was; incoherent and wild. She wished she' Was dead; it: was too late for mutual help; she one! not his wife; she had sworn to keep his secret, and dare not: break her oath. And then she broke‘ out with a. wild storm of hysterical Bobbin and said she would betray her-l self i she lingered longer, but! she was already out of sight. John,! I think misery is turning her brain." l “Heaven forbid!” said. her son. He! had turned very pale, and sat looking‘ into the glowing coals. "Mother, L mush go over to Black- wvood Grange to-night." ‘ "Impossible, John, in this storm." "The storm will not hurt me, mothâ€" er; and I would brave ten thousand, such storms fori poor Amy’s sake. How do we know what may have befallen her on. such) a. night. I will go now at once." “Not until after, supper," said his mother, resolutely. "I! will not hear of it, John; Here, draw up your chair; it is quitel ready, and quite spoiled by, Waiting." . Dr. Sterling obeyed. He had been; hungry enough a moment before, but; now he munchcd his toast and drank! his ten. mechanically. Pale and moody he sat. \Vhat if that little, frail crea- ture had never reached home? What ifl they should find her white and cold among the pitiless snowdrifts'? He pushed away his. cup and plate, and! arose. , "Already?" said Mrs. Sterling, reâ€" roachfully, "and you said you were angry." “I cannot eat. mother. Good Heaven! she may be lying frozen to death by' the wayside while I loiter here. Poor child! Poor Amy! I wish Victor I.a-. tour had frozen, to an icicle in! the winter's storm: the night I first‘ brought him to Blackwood Grange." He seized his overcoat savagely, and put it on. 'l‘hrusling his hands into his pockets. in search of his fur glove. he brought forth a, letter. “Hello! I quite forgot this A; let- ter for you. mother." 4 He threw.- the letter in her lap. Mrs Sterling eyed the superscrip- tion in Somewhat; great surprise. "A woman‘s hand. and an unknown one to me. Postmarked Framlingham. Why, John, that is the Lancashirc vil- lage where Miss Dorothy Harden- brook died. M’hom can it be from?" "you had ,~ better open it and see. ‘ Mrs. SW1 opened the envelope and drew fort a closely written sheet. As she, unfolded it a card fell out upon the carpet. Her son stooped and picked it . - "A. cute vlsltel It can‘t a love letter with the gentleman‘s pictuxn incised therein. \Vhyâ€"" ‘And this ! “Read that, John. . It is a dying woâ€" man's warning, but I fear it comes to us too late." Johln took the letter and looked just at the signature; It was not "Isabel Vance," but "Ellen R-ossiter," and the letter ran thnusz. ' 1 Mrs. Sterlingâ€"Madam;_ Although personally a stranger to you, I know that you are the guardian and nearest female friend of Miss Amy Earle, of Blackwood Grange, the: young lady to whom Dorothy Hardenbrook left her fortune. It is .01) Amy Earle’s account. that I write! this letter. I am a woman lying on my death- bed, and before you receive this I shall be in. my grave. Accept it as a voice from the graveâ€"a voice raised to warn your ward. Pray Heaven it come not ': too late. Dorothy Hardenbrook had. adopted a young relative, a Mia‘svlsabel Vance, l with the resolution of making her her heiress some years before she died. She took this Isabel Vance off the stage, for she was a play actor, and shut her up in the. house at Framlingham. She was very severe with her, and thegirl needed it, for! she was bold, and bad and headstrong and unscrupulous. She was engaged to a young man she had lcnown in the city, Mr. George \Vildair, and he used to follow her secretly and meet her in the village. Miss Harden- brook hated him, and forbade Isabel seeing him on the pain of disinherit- ance. Isabel promised and disobede â€"lyi|ng came natural to her. She met him again and. again, by night and by stealth. Miss Hardenbrook! discovered it, and the result was she 'disinherited Isabel, and left her fortune to Amy Earle. ! Isabel’s troubles came all at once, as troubles do come. Mr. \Vildair jilted her immediatelyâ€"it was her fortune he wanted, not herself. He jilted her, and she left the village and disappear- ed. If ever woman looked possessed of a demon, Isabel Vance did the last time I saw her. I kin-ow then she would do something desperate, and I know she has done it. The next I heard of' Mr. George M’ildair he Was engaged to Miss Earle; the next! I heard he had been foully murdered the night before his wedding. Madam, Isabel Vance did that deed! I am dying.and I say it â€"â€"Isabel Vance shot her false lover just as surely as I shall be judged. I have not: seen her since. I don‘t know what has become of her; but I do know that that is not likely to be her first and last crime. She will wreak her vengeance on Miss Earle, too, if you donot take care. She issubtle use serpent, cunning as a fox.. and un- ecrupulous enough and daring enough for any deed under heaven: I send you her picture, that you may I'e(021'- nlze her if you ever meet, and there is a specimen of her handwriting on the reverse. Beware of her! i say it solemnly and warninglyâ€" a dying wo- manâ€"beware of IsabelL Vance. Ellen Rossitcr. Abruptly and startlingly the letter closed. Dr. John looked up from it to see his mother staring at the pic- ture. much as he had stared. “\\'l‘.o is it?" she asked with a be- wildered look. "Surely! I have seen that face bcfore l John, who is itgll "Try again. motherâ€"think over the people you kno win this vicinity. Ima- gine that splendid crop of hair. cut people you know in this vicinity. Imaâ€" gine that splendid crop of hair, cut short: imagine a mustache on that dainty upper lip, and I think you will have it.“ Mrs Sterling dropped the pictureas if it burnt her, and staggered back- ward with a loud. cry. "It is Viciou- Latour. Isabel Vance is Victor Latour!“ l "Good gracious, mother!" exclaimed the doctor, startled by n supposition that had nevertslruck him. "what a preposterous idea! For Victor latour and Isabel Vance! to he on'e and the some [men is the wildest of wild im- possibilities!" ' "I don't care!" cried Mrs Sterling. hysterically; "it may be impasslhle, but it is true. Oh. my poor little dove! in the claws of that hawk! I understand all nom'shel said she was not his wife, That is the' secret he made her swear to keep; ho had to tell her. and made her swear no}. to betray him. John, he will murder that child!" Dr. J aim stood gazing at his mother with an awful blank face. _ _ such a mad supposition, such an utter- ly incredible ideaâ€"and yetâ€"â€" "I don‘t know, what to do. moth- er." he said; "I never thought of this." “Go up .to Black'wood Grange, at once!" exclaimed his mother. frantical- ly, "and tear the mask of that horrible wretch's face. Hqu Isabel Vance, alias Victor Latour, lodged in jail before morning, for the wilful mur- der of Mr. George \Vildair. (30!" “No, no, no," said Dr. John, “not so fast! There is no hurryâ€"we will do nothing rush. I couldn’t get Victor Latour arrested for murder on the baseless supposition of an old dead We will be slow â€"- we will woman. match strategy with strategy, cunâ€" ning with cunning. Trust me, moth- er, I will save Amy yet." “\Vhat do you mean to do?" said Mrs. Sher-ling. ' m “Give me this; picture. I will go at once to Blackwood and endeavor to see Amy. Heaven grant she may have reached home in safety. Once there, I will know, what to do. Don’t sit up for me,. mother, I may return late." , "As if I could sleep. And John, for Heaven’s cake, take care of that wretch. If Victor Latour; or Isabel Vance sus- pects that youI know the secret of her life, your life. will not be worth an hour’s purchase. You will be found like poor George Wildair." “I am not afraid of Victor La- tour," said Dr. John, coolly; “fore- warned isforearmed; goodâ€"by, moth- er; I beg) you will not sit up for me." ‘ Dr. Sterling mounted his nag and set off. .‘As may be imagined, the young doctor's reflections, were not. of the most lively’ description as he rode along through the night air. He could not help feeling that he had twice lost the heiress through‘his own over- scrupulous sense of honor; and he was not at all certain that he would be able to win, and wear her after all. He had a. sort of misgiving within himself that, even should he be successâ€" ful in rescuing Amy from the thral- dom in which she was held by the ty- ranny of Victor Latour, after all the romance with which her life had been invested, she would consider a. union with him too prosaic and common- place. His was one. of those strong, deep, and self-sacri.'i :ing natures which will do what conscience dictates as the right, even at the~ sacrifice of the dear- est -wishes of the heart, and he was now more than ever determined to do what he considered his duty both to Amy and to himself. His love for her was allâ€"absorbing, and would last his whole life long, but it was undemonstrative and in perfect accord with the, rest of his character. Until he could see that she returned it, he. had. made up his mind that not fine word of passion shoulld escape his ips. But there was one thing he had re- solved with all his heart and all his soul. She should no longer be subject- ed to the vile tyranny of the scoundrel to whom in a. moment of infatuation, she had linked her fate forever. Mr. Victor Latour would; no doubt, be as relentless :1. foe as he had proved him- self a worthless husband; but, come what may, the truth should be dragged from him, and the whole mystery of lis life be rendered as clear as the noonday sun Dr. Sterling compress- ed his lips firmly as he thought of the dailyâ€"nay, hourlyâ€"torture his darling was suffering, and invol- untarily put Spurs} to his horse, as if the action would quicken her re- lease. He had fully determined on the morâ€" row to make his way over to li‘ramling- ham and probe. the affair of the letter to the bottom; but first he must try what could be done at Blackwood Grange. He reached his destination af- ter about an hour’s disagreeable rid- ing. A l'ootman answered his thunder- ing knock. "Is your mistress at home, ter?" "Yes, sir; just arrived out of the storm. Come in, Dr. Sterling, Missus is in the drain ingâ€"room." He threw open; the door of the cosy, crimson-draped room â€". unutterably cosy after the wild tempest without. Carpet, curtains, sofas, chairs, all were of rich, glowing crimson, upon which the fireligbt glowed with flashing brightness. Seated on a low footstool, crouch- ed over the fire, in a strange. distort- ed attitude of misery, was the little mistress of all this splendor. Her hood had fallen back,- her pale yellow hair hung loose and disheveled, and the face turned to the fire was colorless as the winter snow. ' She started up at sight of her visitor with a cry. Sterling! Mr. Latour." She laid her hand on her heart, as if to still its tumultuous bearing. Dr. John advanced, and tno‘: both her hands in his, and looked down with 'in- finite tenderness and compassion on that poor. thin face. "My pale little Amy! You are whit- er than the: drifts outside this stormy night. Thank Heaven, I find you here safe! What madness for you, Amy, to face this I itter storm!" She covered her face. with her hands, and tcarless sobs shook her from head to foot. "1 was so miserable, so lonely, so de- solate, so forsaken. so heart-broken! 0h, John! You don't know. You can't know! l am the most wretched, cre- - ture in all this wide earth.“ "Victor Latour is a villain, a cold- blooded tyrant and villain: but it is not too late to save you from him yet Amy, I think I know the secret of his lifeâ€"the secret he made you aweear to keep." She looked up at. him blank. speechless terror. "It is impossible," she said slowly. “No creature on this earth knows it but himself and me, and I have not broken my oath.” "\Ve will see," said Dr. John. "You would beglad to have your chains brok- Hun- I thought it was ina Oh. i l l i It seemed { thought. v ! ! en, would you not? To be freed from this horrible union?“ “Glad!” Her whole face lit up at the “It would be new lifeâ€" it impossible; I am his wife: I cannul- desert him for what is his misfortune. not his fault. No human law would give me a divorce for an infirmity he cannot help." Dr. John stared at her bewildered. What did she mean? “His wife!" "in- firmity he could not help!” Surely. they were at cross purposes. The secret he knew, or thought he knew, was not the secret she had sworn to keep. Was his wild supposition only a wild delus‘ sion after all? “Where is hfr. Latour?" he presently. . "At Major Mailory’s; he has not yet returned. I expect him every mo- ment; and, John, don’t be angry. please â€"but I had rather he did not find you here.” “I shall not remain long," the doctor, quietly; “but before I go, Amy, have you- any letters or notes of Mr. Lntour‘s in the house? 1 have a particular reason for wishing to iden- tify his writing." Amy looked at him in surprise. "Victor’s'writing? Why, John?" "I will tell you presently. Oblige me in this matter, if you can." "I can easily-await, a moment,"she said. She opened a. volume on n. table near, and produced a copy of manuâ€" script verses. It was Tennyson's "Break, Break," beautifully written; and Dr. John; started at sight of the faultless chirography, as if it. hadbeen a. death‘sâ€"head. It was the handwriting of Isabel Vance. “You will permit mre to retain this, Amy? Thank Heaven! Your freedom is near at‘‘ hand!” He folded the paper and put it in his pocket. Am‘y gazed at him in won- derâ€"he was pale even to the lips. He started up to go, holding out his hand. “Good by, Amy, and good night. Keep up a good heart, I think your trou- bles are almost over.” Amy’s answer was a low cry of ter- ror. Her eyes were fixed *upon the doorway in a. wild, dilated stare. Dr. John wheeled round and confronted Victor Latour. (Continued) ._____...â€"._lâ€"-â€"â€" MOST VALUABLE GEM. " To the question, ' \Vlhich is the most vau'lable precious stone ’s” nine people out' of every ten, at least, will, with- out the slightest hesitation, rep-1y ‘The diamond.’ " said a dealer in gems. "But the value of a goodâ€"sized diamond can- not approach that of a ruby of the cor- rect color and similar dimensions. "The worth of small rubiesâ€"stones that are. of less than a caratâ€"is, if any- thing, rather less than that of diaâ€" monds of alike description; but the rare Occurrence of large specimens of that dark carmine tint which is look- ed upon as the sin qua non of a. perfect ruby causes these gems to increase in a far greater proportion than in the case of diamonds. Rubies weighing more than four carats are so exception- al that when a perfect one of five carâ€" uis is brought to the market it will command ten times as high a. sum as a. diamond of the same weight, while rubies of six carats, without crack or asked replied flaw, and of this 'proper color. would. in all probability. bring as high uprice as $5,000 per carat, or 15 times as much as a diamond of like size and faultlessâ€" ness. " All over the East rubies are re- garded with the greatest possible fav- or, and so it hhs been from the earlâ€" iest times of which we have any rec- ord. The finest specimens are found in Burmah. and from time immemorial it has been a. law of that country that- all rubies of above a certain size are the property of the King, whoever ma have been fortunate enough to find them. It is thought to this day there are concealed in Burmah among the treasurcs which the British invasion caused to be hidden away rubies of far greater size and value than any which have up to now been seen either in Eurâ€" ope or this country." NAGâ€"GING. There are some people who are con- stantly nagging, and, sad to say, the majority are women. ,Nothing is ever done which pleases them, and every- thing calls forth some heartless re- mark. If the nagging woman is a mother she uses her children as a. tar- get for her ill-nature. As a rule, they dare not “talk Lack," but. they finally come to expect nothing but disfavor no matter what they do The little child comes running to its mother with a. gal smile to tell her some news or of some discovery it has made. but she immediately quells its happincas :by finding some fault with it. Instead of taking an interest in her daughter's questions or ambitions she,shows in her scornful glance that eheowants nothing to do with such things. The nagging mother does mt have the confidence of her sons because they never can expect any encourage- ment from her. Her husband's life is made a. burden by the continual com- plaint and faultrfinding of the wife. Unless he is a man of extraordinary patience he has mused long since in trying to please her. The members of her family may love her, but they find much relief in getting axvay some- times where they are better under- stool. Nagging is a form of selfishness that is mod disagreeable. 08pet:ia!ly in a per- son with whom one is compelled to live: One husband was heard to complain once that he had never. in his wife’s estimation. done anything right since his marriage to her. He tries to please and his wife known it. but she has de- veloped that pernicious habit of fault- finding Either his hair is not prop~ eriy combed or his necktie is in such poor fate, or he sits down in such a clumsy manner. etc. How long will he take a’l this fault-finding quietly? And it is oftep so unnecessary. too. would be‘heaven. on earth. But it s A PICTURE or wilt“; in- male Drummrr's Lam Call on the Field of Bullle. A pathetic story of the Civil War was related by the corpora! of an “ linois regiment who was captured by the Confederates at the Battle of “11. son's Creek. The day before this regiment was ordered by General Lyons to march to- ward Springfield, the drummer. of the company fell ill. There was no one to take his place, and while the captain was wondering how he should supply the lack. a pale, sorroxv~stricken wom- an appeared at his tent door. lh‘ggilll an interview. She brought with her a little boy of twelve or thirteen years. \vhom she wished to place in the regi- ment as drummer-boy. Her husband had been killed in the service, and she thought that the boy, who was eager 10 “join the army," might earn some- thing toward lhe support of the fam- ily. “Captain,” she said, after the boy had been accepted, "he won’t be in much danger, will he I" "No, I think not," replied the of~ ficers. "\Ve shall be disbanded in a few weeks I am confident." The new drummer soon became a fav- orite, and there was never a feast. of fruit or other hardly procured dainliel that "Eddie" did not get his share first. The soldiers were stirred by the child's enthusiastic devotion, and declumd that his drumming was different from that of. all the other drummers in the army l After the engagement at Wilson‘s Creek, where the l‘ederuls were defeatâ€" ed, Corporal 3., who had been. thrown from his horse, found himself lying con- cealed from View near a clump of trees. As ’he lay there with his ear to the ground,;he heard the sound of a. drum, distinct but rather faint. In a mom- ent he recognized the stroke of Eddie, the boy drummer, and hastened toward the spot whence the sound proceeded. In a clump of bushes propped against a tree, he found the boy. His drum we: hanging from a shrub within rcach,an.d his face was deadly pale. “O corporal," said he, "l am so glad you came! Won't you give me a drink of water, please!" The corporal ran to a little stream close by and brought the child a draught. Just at this moment there came an order for the retreat, and. the corporal turned to go. “Don't leave me," said the little drummer, “I can't walk. See!" and he pointed to his feet. The corporal saw with horror that feel; had been shot off by a. cannon- a . ‘ “He said the doctors could cure them," continued the boy, pointing to the dead body of a Confederate soldier who lay beside him. "He was shot all to pieces, but he crawled over here and â€"tied--my legs upâ€"so they wouldâ€"~â€" wouldn't bleed so!" And Eddie closed. his eyes wearily. The «\x'poral’s eyes were blinded by a mist. of tears as he looked‘ down. The ' Confederate soldier, shot to death, and in the agonies of the lust struggle, had managed. to take off his suspenders, and bind the boy's legs above the knees! As the corpora! bent down to raise the child a body of Confederate troops came up and he was a prisoner. With u. sob in his voice, he told the story, and the Southern officer tenderly lift- ed the wounded drummer on to his own horse, swinging the drum before him. When the little cwvah-ude reached cwmp “Eddie” was dead, but the little drum- mer's last call had aroused the noblest feeling in the heart of one who was his foe, one whose last act was an! ef- fort to save and comfort the boy enâ€" emy who was faithful to his duty. GREAT BRITAIN'S NAVY. â€".~ \"hill the Colonies l’uy Toward This Bram-h of ilnrlllmc lnnnrnnce. The Fimincial Times in discussing the navy us part of a system of mari- time insurance. says:â€" 'l‘hesma!lness of the amount contri- butcd. byGreater Britain towards this end is also remarkable. The Austra- lian colonies provide about £180,000 8 year. and lndia £313,000; but Canada, Natal, the Cape and the rest of our coloniescontribute nothing, and allvm have got up to date is the dubious pro- mise of-..a battleship from the Cape To put it another way, the foreign trade of our colonies and (lcandcncics is nearly £500,000Jm0 a ycur. but. they only expend Hay. half a million. or about omcrtenth per cent.. in protect- ing it, leaving the, rue-album of lbc charge to fall upon. the, l'niled King- dom. As We lmw sewn. ilu- Capo bus to some extent, mvakl-nwi in n. .‘l‘ll‘li of ils obligation. and has promise»! us a warship, although llml. promiw, has yel. to be carried out; but our ofba-r South African colonies. and above. all, (.‘anadn. lbc mint important, and our of the most loyal of the Whole, has not stirred a him! in :iuis! us in a uni.- ter. so vi! H. not only to our own, but up her info-reels him. it is to be hop- ed that the enthusiasm of the Jubilee Willnullve allowed Insulmule without an effort bein: made to obtain wuan more finish-mini supper! from on! colonies in than m'uler «film firm linv of imperial drfcurc. as TU TAKING 'l‘lllNGS ‘" The easiest way to get a!w;,; world. is to take [hier .‘i-. them. ’l'hal's caught. an Um. 311-: an. all right until .uu gel