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A House of Mystery fi id OR, THE GIRL IN BLUE ARES Er OH TED ARETE TH+ HLH P04 Bh C4 HE +8 4 BE CHAPTER XXII.--(Cont'd). The day was brilliant, It was July in Devonshire, that fairest of all counties--and July there is al- ways a superb month. The air, warm and balmy, was laden with a scent of roses and honeysuckle, and the only sounds that broke the quiet were the songs of the birds and the soft rustling of the trees. I sat there trying to decide how to act. : For the first time it occurred to me that my position was one of a certain peril, for if I did not act with tact and caution, that woman who called herself my wife, aided by that idiot Britten. might de- elare that I was mad, and cause me be placed beneath restraint. herefore, to gain my freedom, it was evidently necessary that should act with discretion and keep my own counsel. looked around upon the fair panorama of nature spread before me. The world was six years old- er than when I had known it. What pational events had, I wondered, happaned in that time ? Place your- self in my position, and picture to ourself the feeling of bewilderment hat overcame me when I reflected upon what might or might not have transpired. There crept over me a lon, ing to escape from that place, the fabita. tion of that awful woman with the owdered cheeks, and to return to ondon. All my life and pleasure bad been centered in the giant ca- pital, and to it I intended now to o back and seek, if possible, the roken thread of my history, which might lead me to an elucidation of the marvellous mystery. The world around me, the calm blue sea, the cloudless sky, the reen grass-lands, the soft whisper- ng of the foliage seemed so peace- ful that I could scarce believe that so much evil, so much of human malice, could exist. ity of my surroundings induced withip me a quieter frame of mind, and I set to planning carefully how might escape and return to Lon- cn. Tq endeavor so to do openly would, I saw, be to draw upon me the spies of my hideous wife. Was net believed by all to be insane! fen certainly Y should not be al- owed to go at large without some one at my side. ¥ wanted to be alone. The pres- ence of a second person emtertain- ing suspicions as to my sanity would seriously hamper me, and revent me prosecuting the inquir- ies I intended to institute regard- ing my past. No. To escape suc- cessfully I should be compelled to fy to London, and once there alter my appearance and assume another name. Bearch would undoubtedly be made for me, but once in Lon- don I felt confident in being able to- foil any efforts of my wife's agents. Therefore I sat upon the stile and calmly matured my plans. The ohiming of a clock, appar- ently in the turret upon my own stables at Denbury, fell upon my ears. It struck one. Then the sharp ringing of a bell--the lunch- eon-bell--followed. Gedge had told me that the place was near Budleigh Salterton. Was it near enough, I wondered, for me to walk there, and was there a sta- tion? There might, I reflected, be a map in the library. I would be compelled to trace it ou. and seek my route, for I was absolutely 'g- norant of that corner of Devon 8. Yes, my best policy, 1 decided, was to return to the house, as indifferently as possible, = and . meanwhile complete my plans for escape. Ee : TI retraced my steps to the house he path I had traversed, and on. the Tos was met by the man 'who announced-- "~~ " «Me ~ luncheon-bell - has run sir. "X hope you feel a little be ter, Bir ? 0) better," n effort 1 answered at sell the I| this woman sitting The tranquil-| Exmout! "Yes, 1 think after luncheon I shall lie down for a little time, have, however, some pressing Yet- ters to write first." "Let Gedge attend to your cor- respondence for to-day,"' she urg- ed, with that mock juvenility which rendered her so hideously ridicu- lous. ' "No," responded. 'I have, unfortunately, to attend to severa pressing matters personally. torwards I will rest." ; "No, there's a dear,"' she said. I bit my lip. She nauseated me when she used that affectionate term. The unly woman I loved was Mabel Anson, but whether she were still alive, or whether mar- ried, I knew not. The very thought that I was bound in matrimony to ia the high- backed chair of carved oak was dis- gusting. I loathed her. How I continued to eat the dish- es (ill handed me I know not, nor do I remember what conversation passed between my pseudo wife and myself as we sat there. Many were the abrupt and painful silences which fell between us. She struck me as an ascetic, strong-minded woman, who, before others, fawned upon me with an af- fected devotion which in one of her age was ludicrous; yet when we were alone she was rigid and over-| bearing, with the positive air of one who believed me far beneath her alike in social station and in intel- lect. When Gill was absent she spoke in a hard, patronizing tone, which so angered me that with great difficulty I retained my temper Yet it was my policy, I knew, to conceal my thoughts, and to lead her to believe that the words I had uttered, and my failure to recognize ber, were owing to the blow I acci- dentally received, and that I was now, just as I had been before, her husband. What a hollow sham that meal was! Now that I think of it I can- not refrain from smiling at my ex- traordinary position, and how 1 showed her delicate attention in order to the more impress her of my solicitude for her welfare. When at last she rose it was with a hope that I woutd go to my room and rest. . 1 seized that opportunity. "1 shall," I answered. "But don't let them call me for dinner. 1 will have something when I wake. Britten has ordered perfect quiet." "Very well,' she answered. Then turning to @ill, she said, "You hear. Mr. Heaton is not to be aroused at dinner." "Yes, madam," answered the man, bowing as we both passed out. At once I walked along to the lib- rary, shut the door, and locked it. I had much to do to prepare for my flight. es, as I had expected, there was an ordinance map of the Teign- mouth district tacked to the wall; and searching, I quickly found Denbury marked upon it, standing cn the Exmouth road over the High Land, or Orcombe, half way be- tween that Place and Budleigh- Balterton. he = South-Western Railway ran, I saw, from Exmouth tu London, by way of Exeter, and my first impulse was to walk into Exmouth, and take train thence. The fact that I was probably known at that station 'occurred to me, therefore 1. made up my mind to avoid the terminus and join the train at Lympston, a small station further towards Exeter. Taking up my pen I m sketch-plan 'of mi passed Littleham made a rough route, which sountzy, erosein at r ing through the village ma) gga fared mont of the village of Lympston 1g' the left road I should tothe rive 4 hurch, 'then by 'the left-hand 'road struck across|' loki angles, contin 108 es, continu: 0" £ Withy de 1 saw, to sharp: an ank not know my whereabouts. If themselves "my friends,' "made. c tive search to find the fugitive obtain no clue from my bankers. In the same drawer as the cheque: folio, securely locked. = The latter fact impressed' me. Everything else was' to.m secretary, who possessed keys, bo to writing-table and safe. this was locked, apparently because therein were contained certain pri- vate papers that I had wished to keep from his eyes. No man, whoever he may be, re- poses 'absolute confidence in his secretary. "Every one has some personal matter, the existence of which he desires to preserve secret to himself 'alone. : I drew forth the locked portfo- lio, and placed it upon the blotting- pad before me. It was an expan- sive wallet, of a kind such as I re- membered having seen carried by bankers' clerks in the Oity from bank to bank, -attached by chains to the belts around their waists. Surely upon my rig I must pos- sess a key to it. looked, and found a small brass key. 1t 'fitted, and a moment later I bad unlocked the wallet and spread my own private papers before me. What secrets of my lost life, I wondered, might not these careful- ly preserved letters and documents contain ? y In eager, anxious wonder I turn- ed them over. Next instant a cry of dismay broke involuntarily from my lips, as within trembling fingers I held one of those papers--a letter addressed t- me. . I could scarce believe my own eyes as I read it. Yet the truth was plain--hideously plain, (To be Continued.) ------ WORKING FRENCH FARMS. From the Rich "Landowner to the Halt Share Man. In France there is a hierarchy of farmers. or The great landowners ws need not consider. They are not in their fields. They are idling, gaming, talking politics in Paris, y 'Dum- ber their acres by the thousands. Take the French Rothschilds, for instance--they own 400,000 acres ef land, Other barons of finance and many gentlemen of ancient house are masters of similar estates, says the Outing Magazine. "Such '"farmers" as these are at the head of the hierarchy; the farming baron, the gentleman farm- eir lands are exploited in the broad, businesslike way that rules the syndicate wheat farm the great Northwest. down the scale. Next in order come the farmer gonerals. They. are middlemen. ey are the capital ists who stand between the owner, from whom they rent a bundred farms, and the tenants to they sublet. Few of them have ever burned a furrow, The general is an intermediary parasite At this point in the agricultural hierarchy comes the man wh tivates his fields. The largest class is made up of those who rent their farms--as in England--{rom ne reat landowner; if the le ong and the terms be good | not bad. He owns his 's implements. Usually he is do. He employs a en, grers, shicpherds, ea is ming «= the z French farmer, for the small ho plonghed: his o 088 people, who would, I suppose, call] "madman," they wonld eertainly|t book I found a black leather port-| cs But Let us' gol wh om plates leaving all the "How often the fate of ed this wi : y touch? And if this can be true of nations how much more may it be true of individuals," who may be swayed, their fortunes for the time led, or their whole conduct of life determined by the slightest cir- cumstance ? 3k 'Coming back now to cold plates. You take a man who has worked hard and been hurried ail day and who comes home at night tired and worried and whom a square: meal would brace up mightily and cause him to take a new view of life and to set his face in the right direction, and you give this 'man a good dinner with hot plates and don't you see that you head him up right and con- firm in him his good impulses! You nail him, so to speak, you start him off right, and you keep him going. right ; and there's a man saved. "And now you take that same man and give him his dinner on cold, plates; and that may be the last straw that breaks the camel's back, and he may get peevish over it, and not enjoy his after dinner smoke, and 'get 80 wrought up that he doesn't sleep well that night and wakes up the next morning and goes to business already tired out and not fit to do anything; so that he loses his temper and is cross and irritable, 'and misses every play he makes and. goes from bad to worse and winds up maybe by killing some- body before the day is over. All this is absolutely 'attributable to cold plates. "So of major crimes such as mur- der and that sort of thing; but when it" comes to little things, such "as plain sulkiness and kicking 'ever ohairg at home; and being cress to the children and making your wife unhappy and causing gloom to settle on the household generally, why, these cold plates have crimes to answer for innumerable. 3 "Tall oaks frem little acorns grow, mill-dams break and spread their devastating waters from leaks that at first yon couldn' put your little finger through, and I have no doubt that many disturbing, dis- tressing, harowing things have been' primarily dus te so small a thing a8 cold plates, which indeed, as I have said, 1 believe to be the one most prolific cause of crime. Gis "And teking this view, what a re- sponsibility rests upon those whose 'duty it is to see that the plates are Hot! For the good of humanity, if 1 not for our own comfort, well and happiness, give us hot plates I" | In an hour or two after has eaten garlic it is noticeable in the milk. In a short time the entire system is permeated by the pungent ordor. It will damage the sale of the caroass of animals slaughtered, while on pasture infested by garlic. The only effective" way found "to overcome the effects of this odor was to turn the cows on the pasture. for not more than two hours immediate- ly after milking, and keeps them the animal lowing 'm .- Prof. Kendall found no trouble from ib. by follow- og fie k ar "the pl ome follow Cows out ® Pian of keep with garlic for a couple of hours be- fore mi . But this was found not to be effective. The only effec- tive plan is to see to it that the cows have their feed containing garlic be- fore any considerable amount of milk has been elaborated. The safe plan with this and other foods that flavor the milk, such as turnips, is not to feed them at all to mileh cows. In the fall of the year many dairy sections in Canada are troubled with turnip flavor in milk. While this flavor may be got rid of by feeding turnips immediately af- sition to advocate it. 'The patron is sure to take advantage of it, and feed turnips when he should not do so. There are other foods for milch cows just as good and cheap that do not flaver the milk. Then why feed anything that will endanger th quality of the product? : digo FARM NOTES. 'I'he early . generations simply plowed tlie ground and gathered the crops. We must manage very differ- ently to-day. We have been selling from the farm elements of fertility to the soil, : a4 the present day that: the feeding af animals is most economically per- formed by the use of 'a ration i a definite ratio to 'each other. The 'present state of agricultural science too should be fed tions by properly pro- portioned rations or uch » ma Tin 8 x health from access to garlio until the fol- ter milking it is never a safe propo-p which we must return in some way | © which the elements of nutrition bear | would seem-to indicate thas plants keep. thriftly all summer, ready for an early mi enerally the'best. g g-adually and in a shor they may have all they will & 4 ey Englishman (Gust urrive i York)-- 'You say you have in the West for sale. "IT of the pasture 1nrooted | ink West, * Is your farm in fertile climate?' » Westerner -- 'I 'should Why, sir, whenever we hay tors, they just sit themselves' rig down, and don't do a thing # whole day long but write about: feathered = songsiers, soughing winds, an' blushing es, an' gelestial--"' ; "Yes; but 1s the climate 0 far ; © "Well uit tell-you. six hundred chickens this when time came to get 'om a fix. T andr L pick. nd only and my wife to do it." | "Yes, but the olimate---- "That's it. Our beasutifs/§ cultural climate was what us. very day along cyclone, picked up them give Hheiy | mocks a twist, every feather off, an' la hull Tot in the next town front of the market-house: It is pretty generally understood a 3