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.59”; "3; 1 Im~2°*‘3i***2Ԥ~:~~~:°%0:‘“>€'9}‘4'":0 And you Were right, Sir Basil Stur- lish my innocence, or one day her ‘3‘ g tonâ€"you were quite right.” heart may be broken, as her moth- }. ‘o‘ The banker’s head (ll‘OOpOd and he er's was, by hearing that her fat,th 0 '9. uttered a. few inarticulate words. was a criminal." ‘2' 3 “You, are a mall 0f ripe" years The banker threw his arms out 9 V '1' than In ' webb continuedr “and muSt over the table and buried his face in .3. C 6,1 W d have tasted sorrow. I have heard them groaning ‘3' ' '. ' ' t ' . . . . oz. 1 C ' :ItOIfglfife 15:11:: ingqggsnbgfi?§ 13110:), Webb Watched 111m With glmtmg e 6. tne of those 'a s which ache inces- eyes’ but continued Speaking in a “ d 0 k g p ‘ lOWcr key and rather more gently. 0 O o o 0 o o O o o 0' Q0; $5¢Qg¢$o¢90¢ $0.09,...so.‘ Q. 50 3%.“ 0.0 With a painful struggle for breath Sir Basil shuffled quickly out of the conservatory into the library and. shutting the door, dexterously turn- ed the key in the lock. White and trembling-seeming to have aged by years in a single moâ€" mentâ€"he paused in the middle of the room and glanced round him deâ€" spairing-1y, like a man momentarily expecting attack from any side. The farther door, which led into the hall, was closed, the windOWS were shut- tered and barred, and he was alone. Ht moved quickly, though with faltering steps, and unlocking a drawer of the writing-table took out a revolver, which he laid on the blottingâ€"pad. Then walking close to the wall, so that he was screened from view of anyone outside the conservatory, he drew the heavy cur- tains across the half-glass doors. Even above the rattle of the curtain rings upon the pole he heard the tapping on the pane of the conser- 'vatory. He stumbled back to the writing- ‘table and, falling into the chair, took up the revolver and examined it. Satisfied that it was loaded in .all five chambers, he threw himself forward on his face on the table and wound his arms about his head to :shut out the sound of the spasmodâ€" ic tapping, tapping on the glass of the conservatory. It was an impressive pictureâ€" the big, dignified old man, surrounded by almost. every luxury money could provide, bent in body and broken in spirit by abject fear come suddenly 'upon him. If some of his clicnts could have seen within the library of Sulton House at that moment there Would have been a second run on. the bank next morning, but one very different from the first, which occurred the day following the ar- rest of Cyril Webb, the cashier, on :a charge of embezzlement, ,now (a tu'elve-year-old chnt; for Sir Basil's whole attitude typified ruin, and the destinies of himself and Sturton’s Bank were so inseparany linked that one could not fall and leave the other standing. Presently he became aware that the tapping had ceased. He raised his head and listened intently. He listenâ€" ed long. There was no sound but the soughing of the wind among the ' , trees of the garden, above which the throbbing of his pulse seemed loud. Then he heard a bell ring in the ser- vants' quarters, and he started, u. * look of exaggerated alarm contortâ€" ing his fine features. But it was in ' just such emergencies as this that he was strongest, and recovering quickly from the shock of the fear that the bell might arouse so‘me of the servants he lit a candle and went out into the dark hall. Despite the flickering light he carried, he saw through the glass panels of the hall- door that a. man stood in the porch. Seeing the light, the man tapped up- on the glass. "Who are you?" inquired the banker, speaking through the letâ€" ter-flap “Open..the door," replied a. Cold, even voice. “What do you want?” “Open the door, Sturton,” saih the voice, dropping to a. slightly lower key. “Open the door or I shall ring until the servants come." Quietly Sir Basil pulled back the bolts and turned the key; slowly he opened the door; noiselessly the man in the porch stepped in, when the banker closed the door and nervously led the way to the libâ€" rary. The visitor closed the libraryâ€"door and turned the key in the lock. He was a tall, thin man of middle age, with a narrow face, hollow cheeks, deepâ€"set eyes, and thin lips. set in a straight line of bitter deâ€" termination. He were no hair upon his face, and that upon his head was thin and short. As Sir Basil stood the candlestick upon the writing-table and blew out the light, with a. quick movement he laid a paper over the revolver upon the blottingâ€"pad. “Sit down and tell me what you want," he said, softly. “You have courage, and I admire courage, even in a scoundrel," re~ plied the visitor. “Don’t waste your breath in abuse but explain why you have come here,” said Sir Basil, dropping into his chair and stroking his forehead nervously with his hand. “Surer that would be waste of breath,” the. other returned. He took a chair on the opposite side of the table and sat down facing his host. “Ask yourself what it was you fear- ed when you saw me watching you through the conservatory window! You feared that Cyril Webb had come back to ruin you, to strip you of all the honors that‘have fallen to you since the day the bank, by wonderful good fortune, weathered the storm which was caused by you and paid forâ€"by me! You thought your thief of a cashier had returned to force you to confess your guilt and treachery and thus establish his own 11.nocence. Those were the thouirhts which took the breath out Qf your bodv, the color out of your face. the strength out of your limbs. cannot conceive santly. But you the what I have suffered during past tWelve Years." “You are wasting time, and I have business to attend to," said Sir Basil, with a feeble effort to speak sternly. “You have no justiâ€" fication for coming here so late at night. The penalty you suffered was the penalty prescribed by law for the offence of which a British juryâ€"â€" not Iâ€"found you guilty. If the ob- ject of your visit is to get me. to help you to a fresh start in life, I will remind you that your crime nearly ruined the bank. If you have come with the idea of blackâ€" I . . . . Imailing me by suggesting that 1 Was a party to your crime, I assure you that you are not in a position 'to threaten me. You are a convictâ€" ed felon, and that fact would make your oath of less value in a court of law than my simple word." Webb buried his face in his hands and wopt, his bowed shoulders trem- bling with the strength of his emoâ€" tion. But no sound escaped him for some moments. Then suddenly he dashed the tears from his eyes and started to his feet, shaking with passion. “Give me back my name, my charâ€" acter, the respect of my fellow- mcn!” he cried, with a. gesture of passionate appeal. “Give me back my right to hold my head erect and to speak with honest people! Give me back the happiness which agony 'has stolen from the last twelve years of my life, and my wife and lmy child! Giveâ€"can you do this? .C-an you even make amends to me? Living in the lap of luxury, saved from utter ruin by the crime you pinned on me that you yourself 'might escapeâ€"have you ever thrown [a thought to me tied down in Pl‘i‘ |son? Have you ever thought of my wife, murdered by grief? Have you ever thought of my little girl, cast upon the world, homeless, friendless, ruined for life by bearing her faâ€" ther's name? Think Well of What you have robbed me, and marvel that I have not come for vengeance, but for justiceâ€"just for simple jus- itice!" . “What is your idea of justice in this matter?" “You cannot give me back the best years of my life, nor my wife; but you can restore me to respecta- ‘bility and help me to find my child. To begin with, I want a written :Confession from you that you, and ‘you alone, committed the frauds and .applied the money to saving the bankâ€"that you robbed the bank to save the bankâ€"and that when he found discovery was inevitable you contrived to throw it on me. I want a full history of the whole affair, giving every detail.” “Good heavens!” cried the bank- er, feverishly. "Do you realize what that Would mean? I-â€"â€"I might be willing toâ€"to help you; but not that way! That Way’s impossible! It would ruin me, and send me, greyâ€" headed as I am, to prison! I should never come out, even if I wished to show my face again to the outside world!” ' Webb leant forWard suddenly and took up the revolver from under the ipaper, which had failed to hide it from his eyes. “I can’t help that," he said. “Without such a. confession from you my life is not worth sixpence, and my child is irretrievably lost to me. I shall stop at nothing to gain 'it, nor abandon hope of forcing it from you until I have rendered you incapable of making it.” “I cannot do itâ€"I cannot do it!” murmgred the banker, anxiously eye- ing the revolver in the other’s hand. “Be careful; it is very light at the trigger.” "Don't I! toy with destiny, Sturâ€" Webb, stcrnly, lower- {ing the Weapon. “I have not come lhere to discuss the situation with iyou or to utter hollow threats; I l‘hnzve come for your confession, iwhich shall rc-cstablish me as an ihoncst man, enable me to get some sort of an honest. living, and gather what sweetness I can out of the re- ton, replied maining years of a ruined life. Anal I'll not leave this room until I have obtained your confession or exacted the penalty from you with one of these ‘mllets. and write.” “No, no; I cannot do it!" cried Sir Basil, piteously.‘ “Money I will giveâ€"freely. generouslyâ€"only name What good can you do in Mud sticks, and you are suspected. Where and how could you earn a living? Go abroadâ€" to France, to Italyâ€"anywhere you like, ample allowance shall be all Take paper and pen a sum. this country? and an sent to you regularly to meet your requirements.” “You are trifling with me,” Webb replied, hotly, raising the revolver again and resting the barrel over the back of his hand so that its muzzle pointed directly at the bank- er’s head. “I have no mind to spare you. Why should I?” Think of what I haVe been through. Think of my dear onesâ€"one dead and the other Heaven knows whereâ€"perhaps worse than dead. In my failing Eyears I have only lxer to count on; sh: uhno can impart a mum l-u,»,.| life. i refuge open to her. I must find her; if she is still on earth I will I “The thought of my childâ€"the one tie I have binding me to mortal life â€"â€"has been the single solace of all the bitter years. She was a more babe, 8. child of three, when your treachery robbed her of her father and mother. I believe that she was sent to the Workhouse, as the only find her! But I cannot go to her as what I am. No doubt the factâ€"the whole story has been kept from her, and she thinks her father dead. But she is a girl of fifteen now, and what. would be her first question to Come!" he cried, his '-nanner Write me? suddenly changing. “Come! the confession! Don’t spare yourâ€" self, for you did not Spare me. And if your imagination of what it means to you terrifies you, remember oxâ€" Write your- that I have suffered the actual pericnce and am unrevenged! Sturton, 'flfl now! Come, bestir self and write He pressed the muzzle of the re- volver against the back of the bankâ€" er’s head as he ceased speaking, and Sir Basil started to his feet and, grasped the exâ€" with all his ebbing swinging round, cashier’s wrists st rength . “I can’t! I won’t! Heaven I wonjt!" he cried. “And I will tell you why I won’t! Don't draw backâ€"don’t touch that trigger, But lis- your child from the I took her in compasâ€" and I SWUaX‘ by for I mean you no harm. ten! I took workhouse. sion and remorse her.” “Is she here cried Webb, a strange look of mingled happiness and resentment crossing his face. “Yes, she is here! Three years of I adopted {)1} her life are yours, but twelve are mine; and twelve years of my life hake been wholly hers. She has grown into my heart as the core grows in the apple. You were right â€"a woman came into my life. once and flitted out as light as thistleâ€" down; but she left such a gap in my heart that the rest contracted in an effort. to fill it in. So I have lived wireless, childless. lovoless. And then Ruby came, andâ€"and “She knows nothingâ€"nothing of ‘her parentage. Ah, man," said the banker. remorsefully, “don't look like that! I know what yOm‘ thought wasâ€"that I ruined you and then buried all knowledge of you from your child! I didâ€"I didâ€"for her sake! She is my adopted niece. We have become everything to each other, and everything I have in all the world is too little for me to ofâ€" fer her. ’ Do you realize the posi- tion? To take her away would be like tearing the roots off a seedling and expecting it to flourish. 'l‘o force a confession from me would be to destroy her faith in humanity, for she believes I am the most honest and upright of men. And I would sooner be shot down by you like a dogâ€"here, where I stand, without preparation for deathâ€"than write or utter the words which would destroy her faith in me." He dropped Webb’s hands and half-turned away. “Take off your boots and come with me." There was something in the bankâ€" er's manner which made the exâ€"cash- ier comply without stopping to question; and, although he was quick in throwing off his boots, he acted like a man in heavy sleep. Having lighted and taken up a candle, Sir Basil walked feebly to the door. Webb fOIIOch; but suâ€" spicion must have flashed into his mind, for as Sir Basil passed out of the room he darted back quickly and snatched up the revolver from the chair on which he had laid it a few moments before. Then he fol- low0d the banker across the stately hall, up the wide staircase to the first landing, and a few yards down a passage. Trending lightly, their feet fell noiselessly upon the thick carpet. As Sir Basil paused before a door and looked back wzu‘ningly over his shoulder, Webb slipped the hand that held the revolver into a pocket of his thin overcoat; but he did not relax his grasp. Slowly, and almost without sound the banker opened the door and onâ€" tered. Cautiously and breathing laborcusly Webb folIOWerl. The room was large, with a wide and deep bay-window at one end, a. velvet carpet on the floor. Even in the uncertain light from the candle, which the banker shaded with a trembling hand, Webb could see the room was richly furnished. With the head against the wall facing the window stood a, white French bed- stead; and it was at this Webb turned his hungry eyes after a cur- sory glance round him. In the middle of Basil stopped. “Could you give her all this?" he whispered, with a sweeping gesture of his arm. "Have you suil'ered for nothing?” Webb did not answer, but slid past him and approached the bed. It was a single bed and~narrow, standing out from the wall; and half hidden in the soft, pink curtains, which draped the room Sir from the 1)i'ojcctii|g,\-(m_ iness to the frayed end of my rqud head and fell upon the pillow, Uh? iwon't. rl‘o count on her I must cstabâ€" pink and downy quilt, and the 12m;- lmm. out." edged sheets, Webe behold the head and shoulders of a girl. , She was lying almOst upon her back, with one arm thrown lightly across her bosom, the otherâ€"bare to the elbowâ€"drooping over the edge of the bed. ‘I-Ier dark hair streamed over the pillow; long lashes lay upon her cheeks, and her lips were parted in a faint suggestion of a smile. As Webb stood and gazed down at her his thin, white face seemed to pucker up, and his chest expanded as a great sigh swelled in his heart‘,‘ but he stifled it ere it took Sound. His eyes wore preternaturally bright. Neither of the men spoke. ‘ Presently Webb dropped down on his knees and kissed lightly the hand which hung at the side of the bed. The girl moved resfilessly and turned right on her side, drew away her hand with impatient quickness, and laid it on the pillow half under her cheek. Webb leant more forward, and his white face dipped into the pink quilt. For a few moments he reâ€" mained thus. Then he rose and, looking neither at the girl nor Sir Basil, moved towards the door on tipâ€"toes. With greater firmness in his steps and straighter carriage of his body, the banker followed him out of the room and back to the library. Webb Walked straight to the writing-table and, laying down the revolver, picked up his hat. "Well?" said Sir Basil, in voice, which quivered. Webb walked round the room SIOWâ€" 1y, biting his lips and glancing over the ornaments arranged upon the mantelshelf and the low bookcases lining the room. Presently he stopped and took up one of halfâ€"a.- dozen photograph frames. Unhesiâ€" tatingly he opened the slide at the back and drew out the portrait of the girl in the bedroom upstairs; and without a word, or casting a a low look of inquiry at Sir Basil, he slipped the photograph into his breastâ€"pocket. Then he turned and approached the domm “Webb,” said the banker, who had been furtively watching him, wonderâ€" ing. The old man’s tone was soft and his -manner exceedingly gentle as M SOME CURlOUS lEfiACiES WILLS WITH STRANGE CONDI- TIONS ATTACHED. A Testator Left His Wife a Large Legacy If She Would Wear a. Widow’s Cap. The Frenchman who died recently in Constantinople leaving the Com- fortable legacy of $45,000 to his nephew, M. D’Albi, who lives in '1’aris,-was evidently determined that "child i l l I he moved towards the other. “Youl will let me help you? Someâ€"~some money? Let me make you an allow- anceâ€"for my own sake! You‘have lost much by incâ€"â€"â€"-” his relative should exert himself a little to qualify for his fortune, for lie imposed a strict condition that the young man should cycle all the way from the French capital to fetch his legacy; while Miss Char-- lotte Sage, of Philadelphia, another recent testator, left her entire estate to her sister on condition that she “allows her father to smoke all the cigars and wear all the fancy waist- coats he desires." These stipulations are easy enough of performance compared with those of a Vienna testator who bequeathâ€" ed all his property to his six nepâ€" hews and as many nieces “under the sole condition that every one of my nephews marries a woman named Antoine, and that every one of my nieces marries a. man named Anâ€" toin." The dozen legatces wore furâ€" ther obliged to name their first-born Antoin or Antoine, according to its sex; every wedding was to be celebrated on one of St. Anthony's days, January 17th, May 10th, or June 13th, and was to take place before July 31st, 1896; and any nephew or niece remaining unwed after that date was to forfeit half of his or her SHARE OF THE PROPERTY. Mr. Henry Budd had such a, strong aversion io moustaches that he could not die peacefully without ensuring that no one with such a “facial disâ€" figurement” could possibly enjoy any part of his estate. "In case my 5011 .Edward shall Wear mmistaches,.' his will run, "then the devise herein be- fore coniained in favor of him, his appointees, heirs, and assigns, of my said estate called l’cppcr Park shall be void"; and similarly he do- prived his son ll’illiam of another cs- tate, 'l‘wickenham Park, if he dared to defy his father's prejudice against wearing hair on the upper lip. Br. fllalfus, a Wealthy American physician, who wrote “Everything,” said Webb, harshlygggreen ink, left a large sum of money “But she has gained as muchfi'zg “For my own peace of mi 1’. me," urged Sir Basil. g; events until you find work'i" gm. Webb paused, turned halfâ€"ng a. '_. and threw, a baleful bankzr. (lully at the door, squared his ,slio.zila ders, and left the room. ‘Sir Jasil steadied himself by lean- ing on the edge of the table, and stared after the man. front~door open and shut quietly. Still he leant on the. table and stared into the dark hall. _. Sir Basil went slowly and licavily__ l . ___;~‘ "in. _ “001‘ 'who e'.'icleiiily into the hall and bolted the London Titâ€"Bits. __+_...___ GLORY OF ANOTHER KIND. look on " ' 'i ., The next instant he looked xsfiio'l c- ‘or play He heard the . Sir John Furlbert, who has been identified with the National lledi Cross Society since its organ'zation in 1868, and is said to know more about lied Cross and ambulance work than any other man in Europe, is alâ€" so an old experienced volunteer. Some years ago, as he relates in his recent book, “In Peace and War," Sir John accompanied the British Volunteers to Belgium, where, encouraged by the sight of many Belgian comrades with bemedaled breasts, some of the Britons were inâ€" clined to follow their example, and consequently required to be closely inspected. . >3 ' One day sn" John spotted a man on parade who astonished him by the number of his medals. He was eviâ€" dently flattered by Sir John’s notice, and swelled out his chest quite noâ€" ticeably. "You seem to have seen consider- able service," observed the knight. "In what wars have you engaged?” Bless you, I've never been in a war," returned the resplendent memâ€" ber of the citizen army. “My father and I were awarded these medals at agricultural shows for a special breed of pigs, for which we are famous” .__.-_.__.¢ A DELICATE TOUCH. “Paw, what’s the lightâ€"lingered gentry?” “Did you ever see the corner gro- cer repacking a box of berries that got jolted down?" “Uh huh." “Well, he’s one." .AN UNUSUAL CASE. Prisonerâ€"Yes, I’ll admit I killed my 1notherâ€"in-lawâ€"â€"but I'm sorry I done it! His lawyerâ€"You are? hops I can get you grounds of insanity. Then per- 00‘ on the "Father," said a little boy to his parent the. other day, “are not sailâ€" ors very, very small incn?': “No, "for-the building and endowment of piglncurable’s Hestilouse, “where in- QWQS.DI&Y rest ion-a season on "T1 li-yév'to heaven"; and made it ‘ nditimI , that no visitor, ’guest, or ofiicial should . cards in the house. Among other eccentric provisions in‘ "his will was the following: “I will them to do first of all things, to test my toes with a candle and blis- ’ for them, and try my hands also to see if there is any circulation of the blood the third day after I am dead." a A WEALTHY MALTSTER had no great desire for posterity made the following remarkable conditions in his will: “Should my daughter marry and be afflicted with children, my; trustees are to pay out of the said legacy $10,000 on the birth of the first child to a hospital specified, $20,000 on the. second, $30,000 on the third, and an additional $10,000 on the birth of cach fresh child until the $150,000 is exhausted. Should any portion of the sum be left at the end of twonty years, the balance is to be paid to her to use as .she thinks fit.” f§ 'Anothcr tests -r left his wife a legacy of $300,000, to be increased to $120,000, if she would wear a widow's cap. “She will please me greatly by doing this," he wrote, "as I think it W‘Zi suit her." For six months the good lady wore the cap of bereavement, and then claim- ed the larger legacy, payment of which was refused. In the lawsuit that followed, judgment was given in her favor, on the ground that if the test-alter had intended her to Wear the cap always he should have said so in the will. The very day after ihe decision was given the triumâ€" phant widow made a. second pilgrim- age to the altar. Less amiable, howover, was the testatot who, after expressing in his will his disappoin.tim:â€"nt in his only son. dezlared that he must qualify for his fortune by proving himself a man of grit and perseverance, which so far he had failed to do. The test, uhich the e:»:zu-ut.ors were to see properly perfornn-d, was to pass a certain difficult 4.xa1‘nination; and having done this he was to repair to a specified spot in a field and dig down to a depth of 15 feet, when he would discover the fortune his fa- ther had designed for him. The son set to work imlusiriously, and after a couple of failur-s passed the examination. ’lhm, in the pre- sence of the executors. be repaired to 1b”. field and began to rlig for the buried treasure. After many hours of hard labor be disclosed an ircnvbound box, which he recognized my son," answored the father. “I‘l‘ii-i’ am: having been his fatln-r’s. The what leads you to suppose ilut U20)" tux was rm,”th m Hm Surface and are so small?" “ iccause,“ “1’33"” 'iforced (ifii'll in a stain of l'a-‘Jlxl‘lflll c::â€" the young idea, “'1 read the otth H-ilcnwni: but, alas! for tho diggser‘s: (lay of a sailcl' SOlilQ' ‘0 510(‘1‘ in his iglmxing r-xpOcintionz»:. it remained watch."‘ Eric-thing but a note from (he. testa- (‘anvass‘cr-"lion’t lei me disturb sirâ€"vâ€"" Busy Merchantâ€"~“l Williams, show the gentleâ€"' l I for 10 that the moptv ,‘mx was the son's \‘-'ll(.)ll' forlur;-, z'irl that this disaypoinimcnt would be to him what his whole life had born to his father.-â€"â€"I.ondon Tit-Jilin his will in ’5 s . .mm'm‘vauwa‘ mm._m ..,, . 1:32;».- 2: .-, :4.- -; ‘f.r¢’,.";‘