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-..~. CHAPTER XLIY. One would have thought that Jim had been in some measure prepared for the just-fallen blow, both by the overheard fragments of Mr. Grecnock's conversa- tion with the Dcvonshire clergyman at Florence last year; by the accumulated evidence of there being some blight upon Elizabeth’s life; and, lastly mid chiefly, by tho ravings of Byng. But there is :sometliing so different from all these, .so infinitely more dreadful, in hearing this naked statement from her own lips, that it stuns him as much as if he had never received any hint of that ruinous '.SCCI‘Ct in the background of her life. Having now uttered it, she stop-s, either to pick up her own spent .strength or to give him the opportunity for some question or comment. He makes neither. “I thoughtâ€"I hopedâ€"that you had guessed, from what Mr. Byng said. I bellthYCt'l that when heiwas not him- :se ~â€"â€"” ‘ Again she breaks off, but still no .sound comes from Jim. “You understand, of- course, that that ‘was what I told him. I wanted to tell 'him the rest, but that time he could not hear it, and the last time heâ€"heâ€"did “not carelto hear it.” His continued muteness must daunt 'her, for-she here makes a longer pause than before. Indeed, it is only the fear lest she should mean it for a filial one that enables him to force out the two husky inonosyllables : “Go on." She is always most obedient, and she now obeys. “He came only two days after you left us, that was why the sight of you was 60â€"50 painful to us at first. It was not your fault, but we could not help mix- ing you up with him. You remember how we tried to avoid youâ€"how discour- t-eous we were? You forgave us afterâ€" wards, but you must have observed it.” The listener makes a slight motion of assent. “He was a Hungarian, and had been recommended to father by Sli'â€"â€"â€", who, as you know, is always so extraordinar- ily kind to struggling artists, and who thought highly of his talent, and wished to get him commissions." He was al- most. starving in London; that was one great reason, I think, why father our ployed him." - Even at this moment the thought darts ‘ across Jim’s mind that he has never known Elizabeth miss an Opportunity of implying some praise of that father whose harshness toward herself he has so often had an opportunity of witness- mg. “He was quite youngâ€"not more than twentyâ€"threeâ€"and he looked very ill when he first came; indeed, he was really half starved. It has always been the surest passport to mammy‘s heart to be poor and sick and down in the world, and nothing could have been kinder than they both were to him.” “And well be repaid their kindness,” says .liiii, indignation at last giving him words. . She puts out her hand, as if to stop him. . “Wait. wait i" she says, almost auâ€" thoritatively; “do not abuse him. He seemed very grateful to them. and they allâ€"we nibâ€"became quite fond of him. When he grew stronger, he turned out to be very lively and light-lieariedâ€"al- most as light-hearted as we.” She pauses, pulled up by a deep sigh, at the reminiscence of that young gaiety, then hurries on, as if afraid of his again breaking in upon her narrative with some scathing ejaculation. “Before three weeks were overâ€"you know how cheerful and easy-going we wereâ€"lie was quite one of itsâ€"quite tlS~â€" as. intimate as you were." .lim stirs uneasily, galled by the com- parison. “lie was a long time painting my pic- tureâ€"could not satisfy himself with the likenessâ€"and began it over again sev- eral times. At first therx was always someone. in the room with us when I sat to him, but by and by, as he became more and more one of usâ€"as his pre- sence among us grew to be a matter of courseâ€"we were allowed often to be teleâ€"a-tcte." She'stops to let pass two Frenchmen and a Frenchwoman of the pctit bour- geois class who are sauntoring homo- wavds. frisde about by two little enema, fut curs. and with Ill'lilfllls of hawthorn I no delay; since, when he had obtained -â€"yes: real English liawtlii’irnwin their embrace. They look lnqllisitivf‘ly. but 'i'iot. rudely. at. the pale couple, and now they are out of sight. “it was a very fine autumn. (is you may remember. and we used to go out sketching together. He was supposed to give us sketching lessonsâ€"Abe chil- dren and me. The governess was by way of always being there. but she was a St‘lltlllll‘lllill oi'eiitiiré. generally stray- ing away by herself with a pi'iiilry-liook, and we were virtually alone." Jim secs how increasingly. how hor- ribly dilllcult of relation is the late as it nears ils catastrophe; but he is quite in- capable of helping her. “We fell in love with one another"â€" ' insâ€"going together to ask for an inter- Iliad to be at once modified. imwowÂ¥o+o+owo+o$o$o+o$m the fiftieth time, when at last I saw him through the gas and the fog, oom- ir. r up the staircase. I could not. wait i till he had reached me, but called out â€"â€"â€"â€"..â€"-â€" almost brusquclyâ€"“and he asked me to marry him. What. did his miserable poverty matter to us? He knew almost as little of the practical business of life as I, and he was full of hope and ambi- tion. lie was conviced that he had a future before him. Perhaps he had.; Who knows ‘2” ' over the bannisters, ‘Well? Well?“ His only answer was a sort of sign to me to go back into the room; but I did not understand it at first. Not until I saw coming up the stairs too, a little behind him, the face ofâ€"ofâ€"that clergyman you saw at Certosaâ€"our clergyman whom we used to make fun of. Oh, why did we '3" v She breaks off, with a low moan. but at once resumes as if she could not trust bench to pause: “As soon as I caught sight of him I ran back; but it was too late. I knew that he had recognized-me. I do not, to this day, understand how he came to be in that outcfâ€"th-e-way place; whether it was a most unfortunate coincidence, or whether he had seen us in the train or at ’addington, and tracked us there; I ran back, as I have said, into the room; but I did not really mind much his having seen me; it would all be explained so soon, and l was too much taken up with the bitter disappointment in store for there is mixed With the hurry and me to give him more man a passing shame and anguish of her tone such an element of almost regretful compassion as she pronounces these last words, that Jim’s jealous wrath awakes. Does she, then, love him still? In her heart for how many is there lodging at once? For liyng‘? For this unknown For how many more? , “Even he, high-flown as he was, knew that it was ii‘npossibie that father could permit our marriage if we asked his consent; but what he labored to convince me of was, that if the thing were done once and irrevocable, father would soon, doting as he did on me-â€"you know he did dot-e on me, poor fatheriâ€"he would soon forgive us; and I, after awhileâ€"oh! it was after awhile; do not think it was at once"â€"â€"with a. piteous effort to miti- gate the severity of her silent judgeâ€"â€" “and I have always all my life been ter- rit-ly easily persuadedâ€"I gave in." Far away a dull cloud, rain-charged, is settling over the Kabyle mountains, rubbing out their toothed ridge. Can she hold out till the end? She has not reached the worst yet. “We were soon given an opportunity. Father and mother went away for a couple of nights upon a visit, and left us under the nominal chaparonage of a deaf old aunt of mother's, and of the governess, who, as I have told you, was worse than useless. You know that. our railway-station was not more than a mile from the lodge gates; we had, there- fore, no difl‘iculty in slipping away from ih') others while we were all out walk- lng, making our way there, and getting into the little branch-like line train which caught the London express at Exetcr." . She has repeatedly put up her hand- kerchief and passed it over her brow, but it is useless. The cold sweat breaks out afresh and afresh. , “That journey! I did not know that. it was the end of my'life. We both set. off laughing and saying to each other what a good joke it was. That was at the beginning, but long and long before we. reached Londonâ€"it was not till very late that we did soâ€"I would have given all the world to go back. I did not tell him so because I thought it would hurt him, but I have often thought since that. perhaps he was feeling the same.” Again that touch of almost tender ruth in tire voice makes her auditor writhe. ' “We went to an hotel. I think it. must have been in some very out-of-the-way part of the town, probably the only one he knew of, and at first they would not take us in because we had no luggage; but they consented at last. I heard him telling the landlady that I was his sister. I suppose she did not; believe it as she looked very oddly at me. I did not understand why she should; but it made me feel very wretchedâ€"so wretched that I could scarcely swallow a mouthful of the supper he ordered. I do not think that he had much more appetite than I; but we tried very hard to laugh and keep up each other‘s spirits. They gave me a» very dismal bedroomâ€"I can see it no\\"'â€"shudderingâ€"“and as I had no change of clothes I lay all night out-side my bed. It took a great deal to keep me awake. in those days, and, wretched a3 1 was, I slept a good deal. The next morning I awoke, feeling more cheerful. We should be married in the foreuoon. return home in the afic. ‘_00l'l, to spring our surprise upon the children and Fraulein, and be ready to receive and be pardoned by father and mother on their return to-inorrow. It had not. oc- curred to either of us that there would lie the slightest. difliculiy in pursuing this course. We had decided upon at once inquiring the name and address of tho clergyman in whose parish the. hotel view, and beg him to marry us at once. We had a vague idea that a license might. be needed, but relied upon the clergyman also to inform us where that might be got. In one respect. our plans When I came down I found that there was such a. dense fog that he would not hear of my venturing out into it, particularly. he said, as my staying lfcliind would entail the license and engaged the clergyman, he would. of course, at once come back ' to fetch me to church. I gave in, though 1 had rather have gone with lilin and fought my way through the fog and stayed behind, alone in that dreary sit- ting-room. I was there nearly all day by myself» until late in the afternoon. The log was so'tliick that I could not see :i fingers length beyond the window, nor even across the room. I had neither book nor work. I had nothing to do, but viilk up and down by the fliclv'e'ring'light of the bad gas, which was '1)lll’lllllg' all tiny, and look at a wretched little cad aucuha in a pot. Sometimes I went out thought. Of course, you will understand that it was not in the power of any clergyman to marry us, as neither of us had lived in the parish for the requisite time beforehand, nor could we be mar- ried at a registry office, asour names had not been entered in the registrar’s book for the legal time. I think I should have broken down altogether when I heard this if I had not had to comfort him. He was so overwhelmed with the fear that I should think it was his faultâ€"that he had not done his best. Heaven knows I had no such hard thought of him! Although we consulted together all that evening, and till late into the night, we could not hit upon any expedient. [to had been told vaguely that the Scotch marriage law differed from the English, and that in Edinburgh we might- be mar- ried at once. But we had not enough money to take us there. Our whole stock would only just buy an ordinary license. keep us one day more at the hotel, and take us home third-class. What should we do ‘I We did not even try to laugh sheath rises, from which an unfamiliar that eveningâ€"â€"that last evening !” In her voice is the same echo of some pilying sorrow that had before offended him; but his interest is now too strung up for him to notice it: “I did not once close my eyes that night, and when 1 came down next morning I had made up my mind to beg him to let me go home and ask father to make everything right. I had such confidence that father could set everything right. When I came into the sitting-room he was not there. I waited to.“ llilllhtllld after a while the breakfast was brought up; but still he (lid not come. I waited on. ltsecmed tom-codd that, at such a crisis, when we were both so miserable, he should be able to ov-ersleep himself. I am afraid‘Lâ€"with an accent. of most regr-etful remorseâ€"“that I did think hardly of him then. I looked at the clock; 1 had been down an hour. I rang for the waiter, and asked him to go and tell the gentleman this. He was so long in coming back that I lost pa- tience, and went. out into the passage. I saw a little group of people gathered round a door some way down it. They seemed to be whispering and speaking excitedly, and one chambermaid was crying. In an instant I was among them, through them, in the room. It was his bedroom. lie was lying half on half off the bed. 110 had evidently not undressed all night, and had taken off nothing but his coat. Before they could stop incâ€"I believe that they humanely tri-edâ€"â€"l had caught a. glimpse of his face, and had heard someone, as if at. a great distance off, pronounce the word ‘dcad'l Then everythii'ig went away. I believe I crashed down like a log, as Mr. Byng did. When next. I came to myself mainmy was leaning over me. The people inI-the hotel had found a. let.- te:-;' in iiiy'pocket, with my address, and had teleg‘aj‘ihed for her ,and lath-er. They took me home. I do not remember anything about that, but .so‘I was told afterwards, as I was also told that. he had died of deep-scaled heart-disease, aggravated by his anxiety about me. I have never l.>i'_oiight. good-luck to any one that had to do with me 1" She is crying quietly now. Is it her late. or her tears that have softened Jim's heart? He no longer grudges her that tribute to the lover of her youth. ‘ “For the first few days after I came home i did not feel.aiiythlng at all, and I saw nobody but maniiny. At the end of“ a week she came to me, and told me that I must pull myself together, for that my father wished me to go with him to an agricultural iii-eetlng at. Exeâ€" ter, which we were always in the habit of attending. She said that there were reports about me in the county, which nothing but-,my appearing in public would contradict. She said she knew how hard it was for me, but that she know, too, that I would try to make the effort for their sakes. For their sakes !” ~â€"in a heart-wrung voiceâ€"“was not it the least I could do, for their sakes? I got up; my legs felt as if they did not belong to me. She dressed me herselfâ€"â€" darling mamn'iylâ€"-and she tied on my veil, nnd_-‘â€".put some rouge on my cheeks! Think of mummy rouging any- one! if you remember, we had some charades while you were with us, and had bought some roiigc'for them. And then she took me down to father, and we \vv itâ€"lie and I." v‘ l-Icr breath has grown shorter, and her narrative more disjointed; but she per- severos. Is not she near the end ? “We wentâ€"and we walked about among the sliorthornsâ€"and the prize poultryâ€"and the tentsâ€"father and 1â€"â€" and we met a great many people whom we knewâ€"the whole county was thereâ€"â€" but we were too late. Our i'cclor had been before us with themâ€"and not one o-i the landing to see if there were any of them would speak to me! And then signs of his return. I had done this for it) went home. Oh, poor father!" _______________________________â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"â€"-â€"â€"â€"-â€"â€"-â€" She has covered her face with her transparent hands. The emotion-that she would not permit herself for herself has mastered her at the recollection of that father's abasement and agony. \ “He was quite rightâ€"it‘was quitr natural that he should not allow me to live at home, after that. He said I must not. blight the children's livesâ€"must not stand in the light of the other: So i was sent away to live with some old friends of ‘manuny'sâ€"‘two kind old ladies â€"â€"with whom she had been at school: and they were very good tome, and I lived with them until, as Miriam and Rose were married, father thought 1 could not do anyone any more harm. and he let me come home again. There! that is all!" She stops, her tale ended, sighing with the lnexpressible relief of that lifted load. Speech from him now would be u“ interruptionâ€"would be kindly. ra. ther, and welcome. Yet he still stares lankly before him. Why has she told him that painful tale? Is it that. he may carry a more lenient judgment of her through the rest- of his lifeâ€"that life to be finally severed from hers? Or is it with some hope that that told tale may keep him forever beside her? She does not love him. She lovesByng. But, as it) has often told himself, she is not of the stuff of which great c-onstancies are made. And, since Byng has forsaken her. whom has this pliant. creature, that nature made so clinging and circum- stances so lonely, left to throw her ten- drils round except him? She does not love him. and yet in the depth of his heart he knows that, if he wished it, hr- :ould make her love him. Shall be wish it‘.’ Shall be stayâ€"stay to have those exquisite eyes, tear-washed, and yet laughing, watching for his lightest- wish: that tripping step keeping time to his up the hills and through the valleys of life: that. delicate sympathy, soaring with his highest thoughts, and yet playing with his lightest fancies? Shall be? ’Elizabeth is looking down upon the aspliodels, stooping to stroke, as if it __were a sentient thing. a great plumy plant, like a sort of glorified fennel, out of whose fluthcry breast a puissant it till Milli. WMW PREMATURE RETIREMENT OF CHAMPIONS. It is a popular though thoroughly groundless belief that defeat in the show ring means disgrace and lessening of value. No reason has ever been ad- ,vanced for the existence of this falla- eious tenet, but that it does enjoy a. vogue no one can deny. Winning a first prize or championship in keen ceinpeti- tion at some great show docs invast an animal with the glazuor of victory to an extent which will enable his owner to sell him for more dollars than if he had lost, but the purchaser is willing to pay the added sum, not because the ani- mal is better individually for his vic- tory, lnitbecaiise there is good adver- tising in it. 'i‘l’ioseof his defeated com- pany can suffer no deterioration of value on account of their defeat. That: one is better than they does not make them worse. This idea that defeat means lessening of value has induced many owners to re- tire their champions long before their time. It is only human, perhaps, to (18â€" siro to withdraw a champion from the showyard undefeated, but it is doubtful if there ever was wisdom in withdraw- ing him no long as be retained the full flush of his prime. There may be some application of the pitcher and the well story in the showyard, but it is not when 1 great cliampior gets beaten by a greater. ' It is when the, owner exhibits his champion when the leaf of his greatâ€" ness has begun to take on the sere and Yellow tinge indicative of decay. No one will advocate showing a great animal after it has begun to decline. The pit- :her will surely get broken at the well in such a case, though the damage will not consist in the lessening of value by defeat, but in the exhibition of lessened greatness and the arousing of suspicion that the animal never ,was as good as he seemed to be in former days when he carried all before nan. Many a good horse has been held out of a race which he could have won and many a good animal out of the show- yard where he might have achieved a what a past want of faith in her is cvi- “0131310 mumphi lmdt’l‘ “1C3 mistaken denced by his unspeakable relief at its 10mm “mt Ger-0M 10350113 “11110. A being no worse a one. But who 0150 showman should be able to judge has Wm beneve it? And'jhe more pencil-at- curately when the time comes that his mgiy sweet.' the more poignantly dear champion begins to go back. Until such she is to him, the sharper to him will time have 1101' “18' DI‘OC‘d. the breeders be the ug0l1'2. of the eye averted {mm and the public some claims upon him to her, the suspicious whisper, or the con- SY-CW his best? No one will for a mo- tcmptuous smile. 15 his heart stout. incnt deny that it is the inalienable prer- enough, is his courage high enough, to OSIIUVB‘ OI CV01? 0110 to {10 £15 110 5005 in support and uphold her through her with that which belongs to him, but for life’s long contumcly? Dares he under- all that there are some obligations un- take that hard task ‘I Dares he? posed which are not contained in the Elizabeth is never one apt to take of- decalogue. fence, or she might resent his delay in It is an itnallerable natural law that making any observation on her ended things miis‘ pass, but not that they musk story. Probably she divines that what~ pass and leave no sign. The greater the ever may be the cause of his. slowness, measure of the sign carved in the show- it is certainly not want. of emotion. At length his tardy speech makes it- self heard. “I (to not know howâ€"I have not words strong enough with which to thank you in telling me." “I did not want my friend to go away thinking more hardly of iiiotlian he neer," she answers with a poor, small smile. “ This is one of the bill-crest cups to which her lips have ever been set in the course of her sad history. llis next sentence is almost inaudible. “I could not well think much better of you than I have done all along." He knows, without seeing it, that her trembling band makes a half-motion to gt. out to him at those kind-sounding words, but it is‘d own back again be- fore the action has passed much beyond the stage of a project. The wind has fallen. With how at- most disagreeable a strength does the sharp and pungeht smell of the innume- arable asphodcls assaii the nostril. The light grows lower. Dares he? Has he the steady selfless. valor that will be needed to fight th'ough many years by the side of this forlorn creature-against an enemy uglier and, oh! how much more potentlâ€"than any of the fierce for- est creatures in contest with which he has so often ligh..y pcrilled his life? Dares he? lie has never been lacking in self-relianceâ€"bcen, perhaps, too little apt to blanch at the. obstacles strewn in his life-path. Is he going to blench now? Whether it. be to his credit or his shame, the answer does not come all at once. Dares he? The response comes at lastâ€"some; slowly, comes solemnly, yel comes certainly: “Yes.” He can never again laugh at Byng for his fears, for he is undoubtedly crying himself now. ' ' “Elizabeth! Etizabetlil"â€"â€"lie cannot. 'get further than that at iii'si.â€"â€"“y0iiâ€"~you are the worst-used woman in the world! and 1â€"1 have not the least desire to see the Escurial l" flower is pushing. What a fascination there is in this alien vegetation, in which evelry shut calyx holds a delightful se- ci‘e l Shall be? For himself, he believes her story implicitly, feeling, indeed, with a shock of mixed surprise and remorse. animal has done. Men have shown their ch'aiiipions successfully to the end; others have at- last seen them, as fit ever they were, go down to defeat be- ic re younger and fresher rivals. In such a defeat disgrace never iiihered. The imperial purple makes a glorious shroudâ€"Breeders” Gazette. DUAL PURPOSE COWS. Joseph E. Wing has been telling Us in the Breeders’ Gaze to that he saw some Wonderful dual-purpose Short- hoi'ns in England this summer. and there is a multitude of them on English farms, says Mr. Alva Agoo. John 1". Cunningham tells no in the Ohio Farmer that, he recently saw are milking Short- horns at, “*1 home of Charley Mclntire, in Musk}; :n county, 0., and the farms lying cushvurd from Cliandlcrsville have grand dual-purpose herds, I know that this is true, and yet our specialists is dairying cannot. find or believe in the existence of an animal that can produce both a calf and milk for that call. They have the two things disasscciat-cd in their minds, as is orthodox in an expert dairyincn located in a section needing no calvesfor grazing and feeding. It is specialization rim riot. if the specialist has a brerxl of Cx'iWS‘Ulilt can make more milk or butter than some other breed that puts some value into calves for grazing, it is all right to believe in that breed for himself, but he should regard the larger class of live stock fai'iiiers who want both milk and grazing calves and rejoice that they have cows that pay them better than the specialists cows' she is for the specialist. in butter produc- tion, has done a lot of harm on the gray.- ing. farms of the Ohio Valley. The truly dual-Inirpose «sow pays her owner in milk and butter an] pays again in her call that makes a. good griizrr and feeder. There is room in this country for the pure dairy type. the pure beef type mid the splrndid animal that meets the needs of a great multitude of farmers whose location and surroundings dc- ' - . iiiiit‘d an animal that, has not been rrii- I“.\fr.lll)icepl_ir',: said the hostess, “want-rt ' l/d “'01-”1103.5 (other for milk produc- i“.ml (“‘9‘ “‘“,‘".m‘ one m0.“ “"“g' n... or beef production, but that is 8. Oh. really,” replied the eminent bas- So “the hour is so late. I'm. afraid iii-y singing- will. disturb the i'i-cliglilxn‘s.” “Never mind that! 'f‘hcy‘ve out a (top; He spoke his love in Gi‘i‘nuiiiâ€"-~slie “11.050 hQ\\'ling at, night, (“sun-133 115E"? fillS‘vi'x‘l'iid ll-Ill it \Y-i’ll'il. Ill lfl't‘llCll hi} Small lloy (in awed tones} “1m, (In trfcd l‘.) woo lirrâ€"li'ie n'uiiilcn .itcvor you know, I looked into the parlor just heard. l3: li'icll his luck in English, in now, and what do you think I saw?" lii~‘aliâ€"~:ill in vain: in (ii-ct k. 'l'iii'li‘bh. Fatherâ€""aunt guess. my boy.” Small and Latin, and iii the tongue of Spain. Ili',yâ€"â€"“\\'hy, sister l‘olly was sitting on And thrn an inspiration came to the the piano-stool, and her young man ill"‘,{lll$ll3’i youth. “The llt:!\'i"l'>tll lan- was kneeling in front of bi-r, holding gitagc.“ he cried. “l‘ll fry, llirsootiil" her hands like glue." 1“ilill.l:'l'-â€"”.\ll! lle kiss'wt the -tti,‘l.'illl' maid- n and pr. snâ€" srnsiblc young follow that. lie was cw! her to his trcasl; she. midrrs. oi holding lnr li'n'ds o p even! her play- that language, tili'l--'.‘.'i:':i, you know in;D the ‘1)ltli20.". fly; rest. (T he End). V __ ~..â€"_)“_ firstâ€"class fill'lllt’l"5 first-class cow. v .- . 54--” ._ yard the. great-er the amount of good an ‘ would pay them. The Jersey, good as ‘ by. ..r rrr‘m . r ' VV‘IVW