Pm a. ote ay Hy ee ee ea gen A STAR OF SONG ZZ "They call your force a legion of lost souls. Let me make one of them. Only before you accept me as a recruit you must know one thing." expeditionary The young man had spoken in hard, even tones, but now, as he paused on those last words, there was a slight break in his voice, a touch of almost uncontrollable emotion that was, however, in- stantly repressed. The man upon whom he had _ al- most forced his presence ghkanced at him with cold blue eyes, a thoughtful frown casting a shadow over his worn, sun-blackened feat- ures, "Go on," he said, in the curt voice of a man accustomed to com- mand. The other obeyed. "'J--T want to go away, to clear out of England, for if I remain J shall be an Ishmael--a pariah." Horace Stone's eyebrows lifted a little. He threw an eagle glance at his visitor--a searching, merci- less glance that resed a full min- ute upon that sullen, reckless face, that was yet, for all its boyishness, so firm and strong. His own face relaxed. "What .was it, sonnie?" His voice had altered; the iron 'had gone from it; he spoke in almost a lazy tone. "Cards. They said I cheated. I didn't deny it then. I don't deny it now."' "That's a big blot, sonnie, on a young career. It will cling to you for life." "T--TI can't help it. care." "Not now. You are young. But in the years to come?' "Oh, hang it, sir, don't moral- !? The boy's voice was rough, I--I don't ize ! "Will you accept me upon your ex- pedition or will you not?' "Do you realize the dangers, the deprivations ?" "Oh, the danger is what I.want."' His eyes brightened, he hrew back his head. The sullen 'look began to fade. "Then, yes--I welcome' you among my little flock of black sheep. But--wait a moment. You have been frank with me; TJ shall now be the same with you. You must know something of your lead- er. I, too, was kicked out of club- land and = drawing-rooms, years ago, for the same thing. Only, my lad"--the deep-set eyes grew som- bre with a light that was almost tragic, so intense was its regret-- "'the difference between us is this-- I was guilty,"' "The difference?' stammered Geoffrey Harding. "What--what do you mean? Haven't I told you that I----" He broke off beneath that steady gaze, coloring and con- fused, No more was said, but the two men, the hardened captain of peril- ous enterprises, this hunter of the wilds, and the lad with the stigma of dishonor on his name, clasped hands. * * * * * * The scene came back to one of them with vivid distinctness as he sat on the balcony of his hotel watching with absent eyes the twinkling lights of the gay Contin- ental city stretched out before him. Geoffrey Harding had accompan- ied that expedition its rawest re- cruit. He had returned from it as captain. The man in whose service he had volunteered they had bur- ied beneath African suns, in alien ground. First in every exploit where dan- ger threatened life, vigilant, cour- ageous, daring, the younger man had soon risen to be second in com- mand, for military rule prevailed amongst that little band. j Upon the death of their leader Harding had been chosen to fill his position--a firm captain, though | the youngest there, a man of mas | terful purpose, whose eyes, whose | voice, whose very mien carried | command, i They had done wonderful things | in Africa, wringing important con- cessions from reluctant chiefs, penetrating into previously unex- plored parts, and, although fur- nished by private expenditure, all the advantages they had _ reaped had been placed at their country's tlisposal--a gift that the Govern- ment had gladly accepted. They would have feted Geoffrey arding, flung Jaurel ¢rowns lm, only such things as these were istasteful to him, for many reas- ons, and he had been glad to es- cape from London. Suddenly he started forward in his wicker chair, glancing with a newly-awakened interest across the wide public square upon which his balcony looked, wiiaacthe at the sudden animation it displayed. | | Within the last few moments, as he had been idly dreaming there, | | absorbed in past reflections, it had filled with a concourse of people. |, Far and wide they stretehed, fresh arrivals swelling the human tide at every second. A sea of human faces u platform at the base of a column, on which a woman was standing. A huge arc Jamp shone down up- on her face, clearly revealing her lcert by a the wreck and burnt in the subse- quent fire?' at! lowered, moments; then :-- she asked, '"'in such a sudden, sec- ret manner, without a word of fare- well? his emotion--"was--was I missed?' now she make you vain,"' breaking the tension of the mom- \ : ent. Harding laughed constrained- oe toward a certain point--a y and sat back in his chair. coming again into her voice, "And you would have good cause to be 'vain. I have read all that you have forget it. [profile as it was turned towards Harding. Then he remembered. A famous star of song, visiting the city, had declared her intention of Singing in the square for the bene- fit of those too poor to pay for places in the opera house. All the' street traffic had been suspended, for this woman, young but already famous, had captured every music-loving city of Europe. A small band of stringed instru- ments, grouped behind her, was to accompany her, and now a hush, an expectant silence, fell over that waiting crowd. Harding bent eagerly forward, his eyes staring, his breathing hur- ried, his soul shaken by a wave of emotion, Was he mad or dreaming, or was this woman, this dazzling figure in the forefroht of fame, one he had passionately loved five years ago, herself a girl then, but unknown beyond her own little world, albeit she had a wonderful voice? It must be she--he could not be mistaken. He would have known her by the beat of his heart had darkened place, he could have pick- ed her out from the brightest -of heaven's angels. But now, instead of an obscure girl, she was a star of song--a wo- man with a matchless gift, he had been told, this woman known to fame as Margaret Delvain. She began to sing, the notes fall- ing in clear and liquid cadences, in sound and effect as unpremedit- ated as skylark's song, but every note considered, every phrase shaped by art into a flawless gem of sound, It had the wonderful quality, too, that only the few great singers possess, of stirring within the hum- an heart that heard it strangely mingled emotions of sadness and joy. The great crowd stood enraptur- ed. It might have been some vast concert hall, filled with a well- mannered and habituated audience, the sweet notes, full, rich and clear, a web of entrancing sound, seemed holding them in invisible meshes. When it was all and the last song had been sung, they fol- lowed her in triumph to her hotel. Geoffrey Harding joined in the crowd, his eyes shining like stars. But when he approached the hotel the old look of stern self-repres- sion came back into his face, and abruptly turning on his heel he went off in a fresh direction. [t was all an old dream that was never anything more, even in the past, why had it come back to mock him with reviving memories that were better sleeping in the grave of the past? over, quarters, it was to find there a let- ter awaiting him. He broke the seal with an exclamation of sur- prise, after he haal read the first line. A warm letter from La Del- vain, recalling an old friendship, when the unknown girl had been five years younger than the famous woman of: to-day. lt sent the blood leaping through his veins. His stern, grey eyes glowed with sudden tenderness. To be in her presence again, to speak with her--this woman who had been even in his thoughts during all the perils of those adventurous five years, Ten minutes later he entered her private suite of rooms. She had more about her of the remembered girl than the brilliant opera singer, now that he saw her, dressed sim- ply in clinging robes that fell in supple lines about her slim, tall figure, no longer hidden beneath velvets and furs. She gave him both her hands, and eagerness showed in every feat- ure, It was a welcome that would have flattered a king. The cold- ness that Harding showed to the world fell away from him. For once he lent himself to the intoxi- cation of the moment. With animated voice she told him her history--how she had been heard singing at some small con- travelling impresario, who had been struck by her then untrained voice, and had offered inducive terms. "Terms I was thankful to ac- cept,' she admitted; '"'for with the loss of my father I was practically penniless." A grim line or two Harding's face. 'He was killed in the accident to the Scottish express, was he not, soon after I went away--one of the unfortunate victims pinned beneath came into she passed a shadowy form in a 3ut when he returned to his own | ed, apart from her glorious gift of ing aith Margaret. the courage of a strong man done. And you must be proud, Geoffrey, for the world is ringing with your deeds and the courage of your little band of heroes." He sprang from his chair, col- oring and confused, a picture of absolute embarrassment. "Oh, it wasn't anything very much, after all," he expostulated. "There's been a lot of fuss--and for my part I am tired of it. That was what made me clear out of Eng- land. I'm going away again-- soon."' "Again?" Was it a treacherous fancy, or did there sound in that voice some touch of regret. 'You have not yet told me what it was made you leave England in the first instance ?"' He frowned unconsciously. "A roving disposition," he turned, evasively. 'I understand," she replied, a little hardly. "After all, you were only a boy, longing for adventure in unknown lands." Was it pique that gave such an edge of ice to her tone, or real contempt ? "By the way,' she went on, "TI wonder if it will interest you to know that I am going to be mar- ried ?' : Harding was silent, angry and perplexed with himself on account of an overwhelming sense of dis- may that had come over him. ""Who---who is it?' He asked the question quietly, after a pause. "Barton King," she murmured. "You know him ?" His face lighted, re- "Yes; we were friends in the past." Barton King, «who knew what the world did not know--what only the dead man, Horace Stone, had divined--his own innocence in that ugly eposode. '"I--T am glad," he said. 'Barton King had all the gifts, all the chances, and he will gain what must crown them all when you become his wife. We us- ed to think he was singled out for a brilliant career. Has he achieved it yet?' His words seemed to cause her some uneasiness. "Not yet," she said. ""He--he has not been altogether fortunate. But there is time--is there not?' There was a trace of doubt in the voice that asked the question, and, whilst Geoffrey nodded reassuring- ly, his heart misgave him, He sud- denly remembered certain failings of Barton's--failings that were likely to handicap a man in life's race, He took his 'eave soon after, con- scious still of that sense of desola- tion which he had felt at her an- nouncement. As he was leaving the hotel he came upon the very man in his thoughts--Barton King. The latter started violently at the sight of Geoffrey, and his face kent a greyish hue. He seemed un- certain whether to advance or re- fancy you wanted to cut me." The other gave a little gasp, al sigh as of relief. Confidence came back into his face. "My dear old chap--welcome."' He extended a hand, which Hard- ing grasped. "You--you have seen Margaret--you know?' Geoffrey nodded. ""Come, Jet's have a drink, a talk over old times."' The two men returned to where Geoffrey was staying, and Barton King, after a stiffish whisky, began to talk, bewailing his ill-luck, de- claring that he was born under ad- verse stars, whilst Geoffrey listen- ed with growing but concealed ir- ritation, The other's excuses for his fail- ure to make his mark sounded so weak and paltry to the man of ac- tion, and he also strongly suspected that the greatest cause of them was to be found in an unmistakable predilection for alcohol that Barton betrayed, Heavens! what a fate for Mar- garet, to be wedded to a man who might soon become a moral wreck, and s0ng. : The following day Harding re- turned to England. He would not é remain there to risk another meet- He possessed who She nodded silently, her head Neither spoke for a few "Why--why did you go away," bent forward, vibrating with '"Margaret"--he strong voice She had spoken in a tone of ming- | | ed tenderness and reproach, but gave an evasive littlei] augh. "Oh, [ mustn't answer that ques- | ¢ ion in the affirmative, or it may she said lightly, Then e added, with that earnest note can run away from danger that he fears. Geoffrey Harding in making pre- parations for departuze once more. People were at last beginning to It--it left a certain blank."| jeave him alone; his peace was un- disturbed, and the showers of in- vitation cards had almost ceased. | « might be making the mistake of her ever delicate a fashion, how was it possible for him to hint at other man's weaknesses, he whose own blackened. 7 brought very rudely home to him, * r* * " *% * ] Weeks passed by, employed by One thought persisted in troub- | ¢ ing him--that of a woman who ife. t Yet, what could he do to save her rom a self-chosen fate? In how- an- was character irrevocably Only that day the past had been had he ever permitted himself to treat. But Geoffrey would not let] .. se him pass by. : ation beyond admitting that she "Come, man; you can't pretend cared for him. not to know me," he said; then, in Did your doubts deserve any a lower voice, "1f you were one of explanation ?" : those who didn't know, I should{ But the other had relapsed into whom you shielded. covered the truth itself yesterday, only then knew that you had ever] is been accused. her father's guilt. isn't a club house in the whole of! ce London that wouldn't be proud tol a throw open its doors to you. mine be the pleasant task to assist man's voice was emotion, her eyes were misty. ed you,' the man answered simply. would have lost his had discovery been other brought to light--the use he had made of money belonging to others, | je lost in rash speculations. have meant prison for him and a wrecked life for you, his child. But self, no one else." save us both!" 3 of rigid if just principles, had pass- ed him by with stony gaze, refus- ing to recognize a man whom others would have acknowledged as a hero. Geoffrey smiled bitterly, not un- prepared for this slight; indeed, his own face had been set and hard enough. This was one of the few men who had been present at that card party at which some one had cheated--a suspicion formulating at last into a direct accusation against Harding, to be received by him in silence, without any attempted defence. The scandal had not been widely circulated at the time--he was too unimportant a young man for it to create a sensation--but now that prominence had been, in a measure, forced upon him, it was always pos- sible that it would find it way into some of the baser gossip journals-- rags that trade in scurrility. Turning towards home one night, almost upon the eve of departure, he passed outside a big restaurant, attracted by a small crowd. fn the centre of them, with flushed face and defiant attitude, stood King, addressing them in foolish, hector- ing tones. In a moment Harding was at his side, holding his arm in a close grip. A few stern words, and the crowd had melted. The sight of him seemed to sober King, but an ugly, malicious smile came into his face as he obeyed the other, and passively entered a taxi which Geoffrey hailed. "Tt's at right, old man," he said, "But--but I've had a blow to- day. It's all over between Margar- et. and myself." "She has given you up?' For all his care it was impossible for Geof- frey to keep from his voice the won- derful relief tht he felt. And King detected it. He looked at him with a sneer, that ugly expression deep- ening, "Tt was I who broke it off," he said, with an attempt at dignity. ""T found there was some other man in the background of her life." "What do yo mean?' Geoffrey demanded the question harshly. "Some man whom she secretly visits--an invalid, I believe--some man of low birth, illiterate, a boor, since she is ashamed to acknow- ledge to the world her acquaint- ance and evident attachment. She spends most of her time there when in London. Spies have informed me of this. There is a natural in- ference----"' "No more!"? WHarding's voice was terrible. There was murder in his eyes, a light that silenced that blackening tongue. "She stooped when she let you approach her. She is pure and true. If she loves this man, why should she not become his wife ?' The other shrugged his shoulders sullenly. "She would give me no explan- € sutky silence, and refused to speak again. Geoffrey at last desisted, and, after seeing him safely to his own home, returned to his apartments. | t He was lingering over a some- y what belated breakfast--for he had sat long into the night, anxious and wide-awake--when an unexpected visitor followed close upon the an- nouncement of his name. a Harding glanced at him with steely eyes; this was the man who had "'cut"? him a few days before. "T foreed myself upon you, fear- you forgive me and others for ever doubting your honor? We should have known better. In my name and theirs, will you take hand?' w Geoffrey looked at him bewilder- ed; but a sudden be slipping away ers--a burden he tiently for years. "We know you innocent,' the} ki other continued, unbending in mar- from his should-| it had carried pa-| sh 1a "7 ashi enn oy 7 > ore with shattered nerves and broken vellous fashion. The proofs are will in our hands. The true cheat was] fo Yet he was the man who must janet Dale. ps ne sated the have won her from a crowd of suit-|f4mous diva, : reat sheeple, ors that a woman so lovely as her-|C#me to us herself only last even- self was certain. to have attract-|98- It was her own dead father She only dis- An old diary, found imongst forgotten papers, betrayed Harding, there Let n your rehabilitation,"' * * * * * " "Why did you do this?' The wo- tremulous with "Margaret, it was because I lov-| je 'Your father begged me to take he responsibility of his--folly. He appointment made; worse] jin han that, investigation once begun matters would have been It would} aj} --I was alone--it only hurt my- "But what a price you paid -- to A former friend, a man "Margaret, now that my honor is ( Cream together fresh butter and one cupful of cas- ter beaten yolk of an egg and a cup- Work well together and flavor with any essence desired. Mix a teaspoonful of baking-pow- der with two teacupfuls of flour, and gradually add to the mixture. Steam for one hour and a half in Turn out and sift ful a greased basin. caster sugar over. Haricot beans cooked as follows Boil one pint of haricot beans in cold water till you between your finger and thumb (the beans must previously soak twelve hours). Strain off the water, add pepper and salt and one ounce of clarified Shake up well over the fire, and serve hot with chopped parsley scattered over. N. B.-- Salt must never be added to beans while cooking. can dripping. though it was, But as it is--well, I know there is some other man."' you two, fide in him--a secret, my burden seemed to} Geoffrey, this man whom I visit-- been not killed, in that accident, struck upon the head by a piece of wreck- age, and ever since then he dwelt in mental twilight, his reason hopelessly afflicted. hife--this is the only man I love-- except"--her one of trembling King?' sistent, my walking shadow through Europe, and he had a claim upon my gratitude, for he when he said that it was he broke off the engagement." "'He told me that he was the mai who had accepted my father's guilt clared, was the.secret cause that kept him down. ance at one whom they thought to I believed him, until that locked 'diary, hidden for years in a secret drawer, was discovered by mys and the paltry meanness that ha been played upon my pity revealed, together with your silent heroiem." --London Tit-Bits, ~The Home NS Notes of Particular Interest to Women Folks z, A DUCHESS TH ROMANCE IN THE PEERAGE, i TESTED RECIPES. Haricot béans and Spanish on- ions served with baked bacon wi make an excellent and economical dinner. Vegetable Shape.--Take. boile potatoes, carrots, and cabbage i equal proportions. Mash thes together with butter, salt, and pep- Press all into a mould and per. bake in a cool oven for an how Stewed Cheese.--Take four oun- ces of dry cheese which has becom too dry and hard for table purpdés- es. Set this in a stewpan with gill of milk and half an ounce of butter, and stew the whole ver gently till dissolved. When near] cold, add a beaten egg. piedish and brown in the oven. A Plain Batter Pudding. -- Fo a quart basin take twelve table- spoonfuls of flour, a good pinch of salt, and by degrees mix with thre beaten eggs. Finally, half of hour. milk. Let stand Then beat up again, pou into a well-greased mould, and boil one hour and a quarter. Brown Scones.--Take pound of wholemeal flour and hal a pound of white flour, add a tea- and together three ounces each of lard and butter, and then rub into the flour. an egg with a little milk, and with it make all into a soft dough. Roll out rather thick, cut into shapes, brush 'over with milk, and bake in a moderate oven. spoonful of some salt. baking-powder Mix Steamed Railway two ounces 9 sugar, add to this the well of milk. ure excellent. rub them into meal Beef kidney is inexpensive and Put in a beat all thoroughly with one pint and a for an half a Beat up Pudding. -- ping. n '3 Let the boil ketchup. gravy serve on a thick round of toast. e hours in two quarts of cold watei with salt and pepper. Peel y : {cut up an onion Vv mered for one hour add these »{it. Take care that ful of chopped parsley. To place the meat on a hot dish, ar- range the rice round, thicken and color the gravy, and pour over the meat. A Good Beef Stew.--Cut pound and a half of beef skirting into neat pieces, free from fat, dip each in seasoned flour, using plen- p| ty of flour. Melt one ounce of dripping, and brown the meat in it. Take up the meat, add some flour to the fat, and stir till browned; gradually stir in one pint of gravy, add one onion, sprinkle with cloves, add one teaspoonful of vinegar, pepper and salt to taste. Place the meat in this, set the pan at the side of the fire and let it cook very gently for three hours. Serve on a hot dish garnished with sip- fj pets of toast. 2 A calf's heart makes a nice roast, and can be cooked in a stewpan, so that no oven need be heated. Clean the heart well, soak it in warm water so as to draw out the blood. While it is soaking make the stuffing as for veal. Take the heart, dry it with a clean cloth, cut off the "deaf ears" and stuff it full. Sew up the heart, and place it in the pot with two ounces of dripping, over a very slow fire; baste it frequently and turn occa- sionally. Cook for hour and a quarter. Serve with a good thick gravy and red-currant jelly. The heart should be cut in thin slices at table. Spotted Dick.--Take a good large saucepan three parts full of water, and let it come to the boil. Take one pound of flour, and work it with the hands, halfa pound of suet, a teaspoonful of baking-pow- der, and then add sufficient water 8 one Yr one cleared, through you, if I dared--if here was any hope--I would tell ou that all this love, useless has meant to me. She started nervously and looked t him with widened eyes. "You--you have seen Barton King? He has told you?" between another is over there is "Yes--that. all that ing that you would refuse to see} man.' me," his visitor began when the "Yes, a man whom I pity and door was shut. "Harding, will} love.' "Then, alas, there is indeed no hope for me." "Wait! <A strange and wonder- my|ful smile came into her face. "I il] tell you what I dare ndt con- secret. is my own father--the man you rielded." "But--but he is dead! He was lled in that railway disaster !" "Supposed to have been; and thus he has been saved prosecution, r exposure at last would have inevitable. He' was injured, has Geoffrey, this the man in the background of my softened into surrender--"ex- pt yourself, who so well deserve woman's love--my love." * * * * * * "What made you accept Barton tone ""Can't you guess? He was per- supposed <l tome, as he lied to you, Geoff, who a card scandal. And this, he de- Men looked ask- an acknowledged card cheat, and advancement was barred to him. to make a stiff paste. Roll out abou half an inch thick and spread the fruit over the paste. Roll it up and wet the edges. Dip a pud- ding cloth in boiling water, wring it out, and flour it, turn the paste on to cloth and tie it up tightly, allowing room for the pudding to swell. Plunge the pudding into the fast-boiling water and cook it at a gallop for two hours and a half. THINGS WORTH KNOWING. Buy articles of the best quality, They are cheapest in the end: Cold water, a litthe ammonia, and soap will take out machine grease, When wanted to use as a disin- fectant carbolic acid will mix read- ily with water, if the latter 'is boiled. Ground ginger used for plasters instead of mustard is just as good to "'draw" and never blisters. Cream is an excellent substitute for cod liver oil, and ean be taken by many who cannot digest the oil. To boil ham and cabbage with- out odor, throw red pepper pods or a few bits of charcoal into the pan they are cooking in. ting them in after it has boiled up, and been skimmed. Add a handful of chopped wal- nuts to your cranberry sauce be- fore taking off the stove; it gives the sauce a delicious flavor. When cooking onions, set a tin cup of vinegar on the stove, and let it boil, and no disagreeable odor will be noticed in the room. Do not salt stock until you have ] done skimming it, as the salt pre- vents the scum fro mrising. Add a very little at a time. When baby is troubled with cold hands fill a small sized water bag with warm water and let baby play with it. It amuses as it warms the little hands. Stains and discolorations on tinware can be removed by dipping a damp cloth in common soda and rubbing briskly. Then wash thor- oughly and wipe dry. > my Many people eomplain thst drinking milk always upsets their digestion, The reason is not that the milk itgelf is not wholesome, but that it has bem taken too t A very tasty if cooked as follows: Cut the kidney into thin slices, flour i, | these and fry a nice brown in drip- } When cooked, make a good gravy in the pan. putting in a small q| piece of butter, a quarter of a pint of boiling water, pepper and salt, and a tablespoonful of mushroom up, stir well, add the slices of kidney, simmer gently for ten minutes, and Stewed Knuckle of Veal.--Wash four pounds of the veal and put it on to simmer, let it cook for two and wash four ounces of rice, and when the veal has sim- to} Man. all cooks slow- ly, adding at the last a tablespoon- serve For seasoning soups always use{social affairs conducted by the whole spices and peppers, put- Duchess brought together greatest minds of the period. | was said that many a far-reach measure of diplomacy was born the discussions in her famous Devonshire House. From that time forward the Du ess seemed to grow more fr She gave up most of her social tivities--even which she had been enthusias was her first public appearance | some among a group of friends when | suddenly swooned. ried to the Vincent House, but without regaining consciousness. : fill them quite full with dry This grain has a great fondnes' damp, and will rapidly absorb the small : on them, peel till they are n with French peas cooked w: The death ager Duchess -- of who was almost of those beautiful an women who have had 5 g influence on English -- politi moves from the earthly st last figure in the romance dured through sixty years left its mark upon the hi Great Britain. Through one great mist result of a sudden quarre girlish sweetheart--the Duch dured thirty years of an 1 marriage with the late D | Manchester before his death mitted her marrage with th she really loved. : The Duke of Devonshire But throughout the loi iod of their penance their tru was known and understood pathetically not only by the _| lights of court society but by Qt Victoria during her reign and by King Edward and Queen andria. as ROYAL RECOGNIT This royal recognition of ; mantic attachment lifted the D ess to a position of social dig which her brilliant mind r turned into political power. was the wife of Manchester she was the friend and shrewd viser of Devonshire---a man of riotism and sound sense, but: who required a guiding genius aid him and to offset his deficiene in personality and eloquence. It was believed by many that t devotion of the Duchess of M chester to the career of the Dt of Devonshre was the result of - heart-felt repentance for havi thrown him over. when he had fir courted her--the beautiful Coun ess Louise Von Alton, of the the mighty Court of Hanover. In those happy days of youth s had been one of the most famo beauties of Europe. The Hano erlan court was naturally Engli in sympathy, and young Englis noblemen, each her to a vast esta and a dukedom, came to pay cour to the lovely daughter of the Coun! Von Alton. One was the Viscoun Mandeville, who would one day Duke of Manchester; the other w the Marquis of Hartington, w. was to inherit the insignia and the power and mighty wealsh of the house of Devonshire. ' COUNTESS DID NOT GIVE IN Le The Marquis was the favore suitor. But the young Countes: was a person of high spirit, and hi was a man of stubborn pride. The was a lovers' quarrel--one of tho trifling misunderstandings th have a way of changing the cour of human lives. They parted. Viscount proposed and was a cepted. They were married in 18 in the court chapel of Hanover a came to England. The Viscount succeeded to the tle of Duke of Manchester. F children were born. by right of influence, the Duche became the second mightiest won an of England. The Duke of Devonshire, who re- maned a bachelor, met her every- where. There was no mistaking" his continued devotion to her. one ever thought of asking one. them to a function without also 7 viting the other. WAITED THIRTY YEARS. This remarkable condition of fairs endured for 30 years. It just a year after the aged Duke Manchester passed away that, 1892, his widow became the Duch of Devonshire, and realized at her long-delayed happine The star of Devonshire in the ascendant. The Duke. powerful in Parliament. He held the confidence of the Crown. he home The Duke died in 1908 at Can bridge whis' y fond, Her visit to recen Sandown She time. was stand She was When wet boots are taken ast vestige of it from wet lea A new and delicious dish is ! est possible onions han your thumb and mix_ quickly. i little cream.