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M e +o+o+o+o+oÂ¥90Â¥o+o+o+o+o+o+o+o+ DARE HE? .b OR, A SAD to o+o+o+o+o+o+o+qp+o+o+o+o+o+o+o+o+om . " CHAPTER XXVII. _ The sun rides high, as Burgoyne issues into the open air, and beats, blinding hot, upon the great'stone flags that pave the Florentine streets, and seem to have a peculiar power of absorbing and re- taimng light and heat. He must have been longer in the Piazza d’Azeglio than he. had thought, and the reflection quick- ens his step as he hurries, regardless of the midsummer blazeâ€"for, indeed, it is more than equivalent to that of our mid- summer~back to the Anglo-Americain. As he reaches it, he hears, with annoy- ance, the clock striking one. He is an- noyed, both because the length of his absence seems to argue an indifference to the tidings he is expecting, and also because he knows that it is the Witsons‘ luncheon hour, and that. he will proba- bly find that they have migrated to the saile-a-manger. In this case he will have to choose between the two equally disagreeable alternatives, of following and watching them at their food, or that of undergoing a teteâ€"a-tet-e with Sybilla, who, it is needless to say, does not ac- company her family to the public dining- room; a tette-a-tete with Sybilla, which as. of all forms of social intercourse, that for which he has the least relish. But as he apprehensive-1y opens the salon door, he sees that his fears are un- founded. They have not, yet gone to luncheon; they are all sitting in much the same attitudes as he had left them, except that Sybilla is eating or drinking something of a soupy nature out of a cup. There are very few hours of the day or night in which Sybilla is not eatâ€" ing something out of a cup. There is that about the entire idleness of the other couple which gives him a fright. Are they too unhappy? Have they heard too bad news to be able to settle to any oc- cupation? Urged by this alarm, his question shoots out, almost: before he is inside the door: “Has not he (30ch yet? this not the doctor come yet?” “He has been and gone; you see. you have been such a very long time away,” replies tlecilia. She has no intention of conveying reproach, either by her words or tone, but to his sore conscience it seems as if both carried it. “And what did he say ?" “[10 did not. say much." “Does heâ€"‘-does he think that it is any- thingâ€"anything serious ‘3" ' “He did not say.” “Do you mean to tell me”â€"-indignant- lyâ€"“that you did not ask him?” “If you had been here,” replies Ce- cilia, with a not inexcusable resentment, “you might have asked him yourstlf." “But did not you ask him?” in too real anxiety ‘0 be “fended 31': 01"t3V911 “WUITO‘ with relief that it does not demand an- oi, her fleer. “Did not he say ‘1” “I do not think he knew himself." “But he must have thoughtâ€"he must have had an opinion 1" growing the more uneasy as there seems no tangible ob- ject for his fears to lay hold of. “He says it is impossible to judge at so early a. stage; it may be a chillâ€"-I told him about that detestable excursion yesterday, and he considered it quite . enough to account for anythingâ€"it may be measlesâ€"they seem to be a. good (teal about; it may be malariaâ€"there is a good deal of that, too." “And how soon will he knew? flow soon will it declare itself ‘2” “I do not know.” “But has be prescribed? Is there. no- thing to be doneâ€"to be done at once !"j asks Jim feverishly, chafing at the idea of this inaction, which seems inevitable, with that helpless feeling which his own entire ignorance of sickness produces. “Do not you suppose that if there was we. should have done it?” cries Cecilia, rendered even more uncomfortable than she was before, by the contagion of his anxiety. “We are. to keep her in bedâ€"â€" there is no great. difficulty about. that, poor soul; she has not the least desire in get up; she seems so add and heavy 1” “So odd and heavy ‘2” “Yes; I went in to see her just, now, and she scarcely took any notice of me; only when I t01u her that you had been 1?. inquire after her, she lit. up a little. I believe”â€"with a rather grudgiug smile -â€"-“that if she were dead, and some one mentioned your name, she would light I) up Q" .A sudden mountain rises in Jim’s lhroa t. _ “If she is not. better to-morrow, Dr. Ccldstremn will send a nurse.” “But. does he think it will be neces- sary?" “He does not. know. » Jim writhes. It seems to him as if he were. being blindfolded, and having his arms tied to his sides by a hundred strong yet invisible threads. “Does no one know anything?" he cries miserably. H- l “l have told you exactly what the doc] it r said.” says tit-cilia, with the \rniul crt'nssness bred of real anxiety. “I sup- pose you do not wish me to invent. st'iii'iethirg that he did not say?” “(if Course no! ; but I wish I had beenl LIFE STORY her disquiet. “What prevented you? I thought, when you left us, that you meant to come back at once ‘1‘" “So I did, butâ€"â€"â€"" “But what“.m “I could not; I was with Byng." “Willi Byng '2" repeats Cecilia, too genuinely astonished to remember even to prefix a “Mr.” to Byng’s name. “Why, I should have thought that if there were one day of his life on which he could have done without you better than another, it would have been to- dav l" ‘- “\\'ere not you rather do trop '1" chimes in Sybilla’s languid voice from the sofa, “rather a bad third ‘2" “I was not a third at all." “Do you mean to say,” cries Cecilia, her countenance tinged with the pink of a generous indignation, “that you were fourâ€"that Mrs. Le Merchant stayed in the room the whole time? I must say that now that they are really and bona- fide engaged, I think she might leave them alone together.” “Mrs. Lc Marchant was not. there at all.” Then, seeing the open-mouthed astonishment depicted on the faces of his audience, he “aces his mind to make the inevitable yet dreaded an- nouncement. “I had better explain at once that neither Mrs. nor Miss Le Mar- chant were there; they are gone.” “Gone t” “Yes; they left Florence at seven o'clock this morning.” There is a moment of silent stupefac- lion. “i suppose,” says Cecilia, at last. slow- ly recovering the power of speech, “that they were telegraphed for? Mr. Le Marchant is dead or ill? one of the married sisters? One of the brothers?" Never in his life has Jim labored un- der so severe a temptation to tell a lie, were it only the modified falsehood of allowing Cecilia‘s hypothesis to pass un- contradictcd; but even if he were able for once to conquer his constitutional incapacity, he knows that in this case it would be useless. The truth must transpire to-morrow. “I believe not." “Gone 1” repeats Cecilia, in a still more thumterstruck key than beforeâ€"- “and where are they gone?" “I do not know.” “Why did they go ?" Jim makes an impatient movement, fidgetting on his chair. “I can only tell you their actions; they told me, their motives as little as they did to you." “Gone! Why, they never said a word about it yesterday." This being of the nature of an asser- tionâ€"mot an interrogalionâ€"Jim feels , answer. “Gone at seven o’clock in the morn- ,ing! Why, they could not have had ' time to pack their things i" “They left them behind.” The moment that this admission is out to? Burgoyne’s mouth, he repents having ‘made it; nor does his regret. at all ,diminisli under the shower of ejacula- : tions from both sisters that it calls forth. “Why, it was a‘ regular till! they , must have taken French leave.” I There is something so horribly jarring ,in the scmi-jocisity of the last phrase that Jim jumps up from his chair and walks towards the window, where Mr. Wilson is sitting in dismal idleness. Mr. Wilson has never cared much about the Le Merchants, and is now far ‘too deeply absorbed in his own trouble it.) have anything but the most inatten- tive indifference to bestow upon the topic which to his daughters appears so riveting. Jim blesses him for his cat- lousness. llut the window of a small room is not so distant from any other part of it. that sounds cannot, with per- fect case, penetrate thither, as Jim finds lwhen Cecilia's next eager question pur- sues him. “Did Mr. Byng know that they were ' There is a pause. “It is absolutely incomprehensiblel" says Cecilia, with almost a gasp. “I never saw any one human being so |much in love with another as she was lyesterdayâ€"«there was so little disguise , about. it, that oinc was really quite sorry ,for herâ€"land this morning at cockcrow she decamps and leaves him without. a I word." I “You are mistakenâ€"she left a note for him.” ' “t‘oor dear boy t" sighs Sybilta. “is not. ihc quite prostrated by the blow? I am not apt to pity men generallyâ€"they are so coarse-grainedâ€"lmt he is much more Edelicalely strung than the general run.” j “I suppose he is frightfully cut up," tsays Cecilia. with that inquisitiveness as 1to the. details of a great atlliction which i we. are all apt to experience. For some perverse reason, inexplicable ‘even to himself. .lim would like to be : able to answer that his friend is not cut {up at. all; but. truth again asserting its empire, he assents luconically, “fright-' fully l" hero-l wish i had been hertil'lâ€"wpogtq “flow did he take it?” lessly. “\Vhy were not you ‘3" .\'o immediate answer. “flow do people generally take such things ’ The. impatience of the key in which “Why “(we not ygu-yv ,.,-,,,L,,,l_,- shay t this is uttered. coupled with the implied Cttl‘hy‘ll)’, for the moment. superseding side-allusion to an acquaintance with .__â€"â€"t-â€"uâ€"â€"_:â€"-â€"_a sorrows of a somewhat similar nature on her own part, silences the younger and sounder Miss Wilson for a moment, but only for a momentâ€"a moment long enough to be filled by another sighing “Poor dear boy i" from Sybilla. “You say that she left a note for him ?” â€"-with a renewed light of curiosity in her cycsâ€"-“have you any idea what was in it?" Jim hesitates; then, “res,” he replies; “but as it was not addressed to me, I do not. think that I have any right to repeat it." . “Of course not t"â€"reluctantty; “but did it throw no IigtitFâ€"absolutely no light at allâ€"upon this extraordinary stam- pede ‘2" “NO.” “Did not she even tell him where they were going ‘2" “N0.” “Nor whether they were coming back?" “NO.” “Nor ask him to follow her ‘2" “If she did not tell him where she was going. is it likely that she would ask him to follow her 1’" cries Jim irritably, deeply annoyed to find that he is, by the series of negatives that is being forced from him, doing the very thing which he had just denied his own right to do. “It is the most incomprehensible thing I ever heard in my life. I wonder"â€" with an air of even alertcr interest than beforeâ€"“what Mr. Grcenock will say? Perhaps he will now tell what he knows about them; if they are gone, there will no longer be any need to conceal it. I am afraid this looks rather as if there was something i” . For the second time in one day the mention of an amiable flancur‘s name makes Jim vault to his feet. “Well. I will not keep you any longer from your luncheon,” hecries hastily. “I will call in again later." “Are you going?" asks Mr. Wilson, dully lifting his head from his chest, upon which it is sunk. “Well, you are about right; we are not much good to any one when our mainspring is gone." The phrase strikes cold on Jim's heart. “Are you going back to the poor dear boy ‘3” inquires Sybilla as he passes her. “By-thc-bye, if it is not too much trouble, would you mind tucking the Austrian blanket a little closer in on the left side?” and as he sleeps to perform the asked-for service, she adds: “Let him know how sincerely l sympathize with him; and if he wants anything quicting for his nerves, tell him that there is nothing that I can more con- scientiously recommend than-â€"â€"” But what Sybilla can conscientiously recommend is shut. into the closing door. Outside that door Jim finds that Cecilia has joined him. Anxiety has quite han- ished the not altogether disagreeable curiosity of five minutes ago, from the troubled face she lifts to his. “You will come back, will not you ?” she asks, “You are not of much use, I suppose; but still, one feels that you are there, and we are all so much at. sea. You have not an idea how much we are at seaâ€"without her.” “I think that l have a very good idea," he answers mournfully. “Tell me, Cis; do you think she is really very ill Y" As he puts the question, he feels its irrationality. He knows that the person to whom he is making his futile appeal has already given him all the scanty tidings she has to give; yet he cannot help indulging a faint hope that her res- ponse to this last query of his may per- haps set Ainelia’s condition in a slightly more favorable light. A look of helpless distress clouds Cecilia’s already cloudy face. “I tell you I do not know; ,I am no judge; I have seen so little real illness. Sybilla would kill me if she heard me say so, would not she ?"â€"with a slight. parenthetical sn'iilcâ€"â€"“but I have seen so little real illness, that I do not know what it means that she should be so heavy and stupid. As I told you before, the only time that she_.roused up at all was when I mentioned your ” 110 steps her, brcakii’ig rudely into her sentence. lie cannot hear to hear that. it is only at the magic of his name that. his poor faithful love lifts her sick head. “Yes. yes; I remen‘ibcr.” “Someone ought to sit. up with her, I am sure,” pursues Cecilia, .still with that helpless air of disquiet ; “she ought not to be left alone all night; but who? i should be more than willing to do it; but I know that I should fall asleep in five, minutes, and i am such a heavy sleeper that, when once 1 am off, there never hear to have me near him when he has the gout.”_ Burgoyne is too well aware of the per- fect truth of this last. statement to at- tempt any contradiction of it. “Amelia has always been the one to st up when any one was ill,” continues she, woiutly; “and even now, by a stu- pid confusion of ideas, I catch myself thinking. ‘Oh, Amelia will sit up with her i" before I can realize that her is Amelia herself." , ,, Jim can well sympathize with this same confusion, when, several times during his walk back to the Piazza d‘Azeglio. a muddled thought of comfort, . in the idea that he will go and tell Amelia what a terrible day of anxiety about some one he has been having, taps at the door of his brain. The portals of No. 12 are once again opened to him by Ammnziata, who indicates to him, by a series of compassionate gestures and liquid Tuscan sentences, that the povero is still within, and the Padrona, who this time also appears on the scene, and who is possessed of somewhat more English than her handmaid, intimates, albeit with a good deal of sympathy for his sufferings, yet with still more of de- termination, that it would be no bad thing were he to be removed since, whether the sun shines or the rain falls, people must live, and the apartment has to be prepared for new occupants. Anything that speaks less intention of removing than Byng‘s pose, when his is no possibility of waking me. I am a dreadfully bad sick-nunse; father can t ESTIMATES and RESULTS. When the Great-West Life commenced business in 1892. participating rates were issued calling for dividends in 15 and 20 years, and also with the “Quin- qucnnial" or 5 year dividend period. Life Policies issued in 189?. on the five year dividend plan received their first dividend of‘thc full estimated bonus of $50.00 per $1,000.00; their second dividend in 1902 of 50 per cent. over the estimated dividend ; and this year, 1907, are receiving their third dividend of just double the first dividend and estimate. Every. Policyholder has expressed his gratification with these dividends. which are paid at. the option of the Policyholder as fully paid bonus addi- tions. the equivalent in cash, or in reduction of future premiums. The distribution is on the English basis of an equal percentage of the sum assured, and not on the American so-called "contribution" system. and the eminent English Actuaries, R. P. Hardy, F.I.A., and George King, F.I.A., F.F.A.. reported recently to the New Zealand Government. "that. as 0. work- ing system “(has marked advantages over the contribution plan, because It gives more uniform‘results.” Our 15 year Deferred Dividend Policies issued in 1892 mature this your, and our Actuary has reported that they have earned, and are entitled to be paid. the full amount of the profits estimated at. the time. Our Non-Participating rates are. and always have been, very low, buoy the results of our fifteen years' experience prove that the cost of Participat- ing Insurance has been very much less than these low non-participating rates, because of our high interest. corn!!!“- The applications for the first quarter of 1907 are over a. million dollars in excess of the same period of 1906. every Province of tho Dominion having con- tributed its quota. to these magnificent figures in appreciation of the unpre- cedented results accomplished by this representative Canadian Company. No attempt. of (eddy foreign actuaries. disgruntled newspapers that fail to get. the advertising they expect, or legislative committees, well described by D. P. Facklér, the well-known (ax-President. of the Actuarial Society of America, as “absolutely innocent, of any life insurance knowledge." must- be allowed to "knock" the Canadian business of Life Insurance. - Fors'fuller particulars, send for a. copy of the Greathest: Life Report. for 190 . v / The Great-West Life Assurance Company HEAD OFFICEâ€"WINNIPEG. BRANCH OFFICESâ€"Vancouver, Calgary. Montreal, Toronto. Halifax, St. John, N.B. 1906 shows large gains over 1905. New business amounts to $5,503,547 in 3,026 policies, of this $46,000 was written in Newfoundland and the balance entirely within the Dominion. The following are some interest- facts from the Company’s 37th Annual Statement. ______________,._____.._.____â€"â€"-â€"-â€"â€"â€"-â€"- DISBUBSEMENTS. . , . . .3 027,075.50 INCOME. MI- Premlums, len- tennnurâ€" Death Claims nee“ ' - - - - - - 5 11904958134 Muturcd Endowments 163,486.00 Igte'rlfit and iremit:1 - ‘- 404.6465”! Purchased Policies 88,007.47 '° Wm'a'” 6“ Surplus ,, 33,047.55 Emma " "- " "' " 3’19'1'“ Annuities .. , 10,045.63 Expenses, Taxes, etc. .. 338,717.40 Balance , . . . . . . . , . , , 1,054,048.53 W n 2,072,423.13 $2,073,4234a W Ass-st, LIABILITIES. m m Mortgages . . . . . .8 5,018,047.45 Debentures and Bond: 3,429,025.42 Lonn- on Policies . . . 1,120,517.20 Reserve, 4t 81/: and 8 per cent. . , . . . . . .8 9,05C,382.18 Reserve on lapsed pol- . lclen liable 'to re- giea?“g=tntgbflzfu?nf 25%?)ng vivo or surrender , , 3,001.98 .4 ' a Company“ Death Claims unad- neld Dame . . . . 30.87539 juntcd .. .. .. 43,083.00 11 Mutuxed Endowments Cash in Ba“:- - “5755*” unadjusted .. 3,000 00 ’- 0 v I O I Call: at Head Ofllco 3.040.333 present Vame of Duo and Deferred Death Claims pay- Premiums (net) ~ - 70.98131 able ln instalment. . 45,338.00 Interest and rent. due Premiums pnld In ad- and accrued u. u... 107312-83 vancc , , . . . . . . I . . . . 13,781.50 " " ‘ Amount due for medi- cal fees . . . . . . . . . .; 0,482.00 Accrued rents . . , , . . 805.00 Credit ledger balances 10,367.50 Sundry current ac- count. . . . . . . . . _ , 2,870.06 Surplus on Company’s Valuation Standard. 1,203,378.58 W $10.385.538.84 $1.0£S5.580.84 The Company has a surplus on Government standard of valuation of $1,552,364.26. The following are some striking gains made in 1906. In Income, $115,904.22; In Assets, $1,089,447.69 ; In Surplus (Company’s Stand- ard) $251,377.46; In Insurance in Force, $2,712,453.00. Send to Head Office, \Vaterloo, Canada, for booklet: giv- ing Annual Report and proceedings of Annual Meeting. Robert Melvin,President A. Hoskin, K.C. Vice_ Geo. Wegenast, Manager IHon. Justice Britten Pres. W. H. Riddell, Secretary to imagine. lie is stretched upon the yellow anemones, that. he must have parquet floor, with his head lying on the plucked for her yesterday in drenched small footstool that has been wont to \‘allon‘ibrosa, are crushed under his hot support Elizabeth's feet; her rifled work- cheek. 311t.out\\‘urdly he is quite quiet. basket, stands on the floor beside him, Jim puts his hand on his shoulder. while her hit of embroidery half shrouds “COMIC “\thl’. “1“” i3 110 “9” ill i'OUt‘ his distorted face. The needle, still staying here fill)" IOHLIL‘IH" stickng in it, may prick his eyes out. for (T0 t"? COlllillllt'fdt. a't he cares; the book she last read is w” 4‘ I open at the page where she has put her Doctor‘s fees are the reward for well- friend rejoins him, it would be difficult mar: of a skein of pale silk; and the doing.