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| 1 3e Bc CI want to see Miss St. Clair," he said. "I am Miss St: Clgir.‘ ‘Then I‘ve got a letter for you, and I‘ll wait for an answer.‘" The boy was very modest in his speech, and exceedingly deferentiâ€" al. â€" ‘"‘Who is it from?‘ asked CUhris tine, as she reached out her hand to take it. ‘EFrom _a â€" young gentleman, ma‘am, who said I was to wait for an answer. He is out by the hedge beyond the lawn." that he has no power to turn my heart from you. I will be true to the end. Yet, from cireumstances which Iâ€"cannot here explain, I canâ€" not come to your cottage toâ€"night. But you can come to me, just for one brief minute. I must see you â€"I have an important matter to communicate. ‘The boy who brings this will lead you to me. You may brus6 him fully. _ He is an honest fellow, and devoted to me. _T shall wait for you. But, perhaps, 1 ought to explain, for your under standing, that I am under & solemn pledge to my father, that I will not visit the Brookside Cottage for two days. But that will not prevent you from coming to Christine. asked the â€"lad. if he would come into the hall while she read the note ; but he preferred not. He would rather stand where he was. He liked the fresh air. She arose, and went to the winâ€" dow and looked out. There was no moon, and most of the stars were hidden beneath a vail of clouds. She was in the act of turning from the window, when she was startled by a.rap upon the outer door.. Had the summons been by the usual meâ€" diu mof the bell, she would have waited for a servant to answer it, but this rap was significant. _ She thought of Paul, and without furâ€" ther thought, she went to the door and opened it. By the glimmer of the hall lamp, she saw a boy standâ€" ing upon the piazza. She could not distinguish his features, because, either by design or accident, he shrank away from the direct light. Without further remark, the maiâ€" den retired to the drawingâ€"room, where, beneath the mantel lamp, she opened the missive, and read as follows : "Dear Christine: Perhaps you have heard that my father has turned me from his doors; but know Christine‘s meditations were broâ€" ken in upon by a sharp click in the corner, as a tiny door above the face of the old clock flew open. She looked up,. and saw the little woodâ€" en cuckoo swing out, and she counâ€" ted the fluteâ€"like chimes which told that it was ten u‘clock. â€"Surely Paul would not éome after that hour. ties would fail to shake him. If such a hope there was, she did not know it. She did not realize that the very strength which enabled ner te plan so soberly for separation, came of an inward, hidden consciâ€" ousness, born of her great love, and her great faith in Paul, that he would never break the solemn vow. Sould there have been lurking in her heart a secret hope that Paul would not suffer himself to be turnâ€" ed from her; that even her entreaâ€" All the evening Christine had Leen looking for Paul. During the day she had learned from Lora that her lover had had trouble with his father, and had left the paternal roof. Lora had received her inforâ€" mation from John Downey, who bad obtained it from one of the Elmside servants. Our heroine had heen schooling herself to meet the emergency, but she had desired to gee Paul before open rupture took place. She had convinced herself that it was her duty to release him from the engagement to her. She deemed that she should make the release _ peremptory â€" that â€" she rhould demand it. She would not come in between parent and child. Her own lifeâ€"long orphanage had led her to reverence the sacred ties of paternity. She did not feel that Mr. Waybrook had done rightly or justly ; but he was possessed of auâ€" thority, and he had chosen to exerâ€" eise it. Christine hoped Paul would come. Bhe would try and make his burâ€" den lighter by restoring him to his home. She knew full well that her own heart must break under the orâ€" deal ; but it was her part to suffer. The calamity which had occasioned the trouble should be hers alone. 1t belonged to her, and she would endure it. The Near to the Dregs ; J L } ought 1 d CHAPTER XVI t that this might not adâ€"writing never preâ€" to . Christine‘s mind. Paul had written, and for her, she accepted â€" o And â€"vet the subâ€" OR, SAVED BY THE LOVE OF A wWOMmAN. PAUTL,.*" ]cul »Cv O p_ucouy OJ belng again smo thered, and she held her peace. But | she held ib with pain and anguish ]unutterable. In the darkness and (the whirl, with the painâ€"giviag 'c}utch of her eaptors upon her limhs her thoughts were busy ;â€"and if they had not logical sequence, they at least grasped stern facts, with deâ€" ductions that were not entirely il: \logical. And the events of which Eshe thought were dark and gloomy Lones. Caspar HMugo was her enâ€" :omy; Endora and Appleton were her frieads; and Hugo had learned Soon the pavements were struck, and the hood was removed ; but Christine could see _ nothing. The curtains of the coach were closed, and the blinds drawn up over the windows. She only knew that the two men were with her, and_ that she was being driven rapidly away from her home. If she thought of asking any questions, the lond clang and rattle of the wheels upon the cobbleâ€"stone pavement admonâ€" ished her that she might have to raise her voice high enough to inâ€" cur the penalty of being acain smo ‘By and by,"‘ said he., "when we strike the pavements, I‘ll take off the robe ; but, mind, if you make a particle of noise, T‘ll make it worse for you than you‘ve found it vet." "I‘m going to remove my bhand from your mouth, and let you breathe ; but if you make the least bit of noise T‘ll smother you worse than you are smothered now.‘" Christine was sorely frightened, but she was not deprived of sense. She had control over her reason sufficient to show her that forcible resistance on her part could do her no good. Against the two strong men she could do nothing, and the instinctive conclusion in her logiâ€" cal mind was that the men who could inaugurate such an outrage would not stop at crime to insure success. So she did not cery out, though she tried to free herself from the painful grasp of her tor mentors. The hand was removed from over her mouth, but the covering was not thrown from her head. She showed by her struggling that she sought to remove the suffocating hood, and her companion underâ€" stood her. The boy took the letter and deâ€" parted, while the man rejoined his companion just in time to assist in lifting the girl into a hack which had been drawn up unon the roadâ€" side. The stouter of the two men entered with her, and the other imâ€" mediately followed. She struggled with all her_ might â€" and her strength was considerableâ€"but it was of no avail against the power of the two strong men who held her, one of whom sat upon the seat by her side, holding her head and shoulders, while the other sat beâ€" fore her rendering it impossible for her to move even a foot. The door was shut . tight, and the driver mounted to his box and drove away. At length the man who sat by her side said : "‘Take this, Dick, and leave it on the table, if you can. â€" If you can‘t reach the table, do the next best thinz. You know what is wanted. / And toward the road Christine turned and looked, while from out the shadow of the hedge, directly behind her, leaped two men, one of whom threw a thick robe over her head, while the other took her in his arms and bore her away. The man who had thrown the robe next turned to the boy and gave him a second letter. It was dark when they got away from the house ; Christine kept close upon the heels of her guide. They gained the hedge of arborâ€"vitac, and passed through the opening to the farther side, which was next to the highway. Here the boy stopped and looked aroundâ€" TL left him here,"‘ he said. : Ah there he comes!‘‘ and he pointed toward the road. Christine had never heard Paul speak of Mrs. Chadwick, nor did she remember anything of his fevâ€" er, but she did not doubt the boy ; and she told him to lead on. She thought of Paul as an outâ€" cast for her sake, and she could not refuse to go to him. She got her hat and mantle, and went softly out upâ€" on the piazza. She found the boy in waiting, and told him that she would follow him; but before she stepped from the piazza she asked him if he knew who had entrusted him with the letter. ‘‘Yes, ma am,." he said. _‘ It was Mr. Paul Waybrook.‘"" ‘‘And what is your name?!‘ "Sammy Chadwick. My mother was Mr. Paul‘s nurse when he had the fever." stance of the note troubled her. It did not sound like Paul.. As she had known him he would not seek thus by subterfuge to break faith with his father. She felt that it was her duty to chide him for this. "It is late, and I know you. raust be fatigued, and I shall tell you the whole story in a very few words. I need not tell you that you are beautiful ; but: L may tell you that the very first time I saw you I thought you the most beautiful girl I had ever seen; and I think the same still. I thought to myself that I should be the happiest man alive, if I could possess you for my own; though at that time I did not dream that the thing could ever come to pass. But the events of life are not at our own disposal. I may tell you further, that I feel desperately in love with youâ€"so you may safely conclude that I cannot mean you bharm. On the contrary, I mean to make you a‘ bed of roses, and be your slave for life. Do not abuse the power I thus willingly place in vyour hands." WAITING EORâ€"THE, MAN. A gentleman meeting a young woman who had formerly been a servant in his house, and in whose welfare he was interested, the folâ€" lowing conversation took place. "Why, haven‘t you got married vet 1? s No.â€"sirâ€" "Well, I thought you would have been married before now." "Oh. no,. sir:; there‘s=â€"two wailâ€" J "Two!â€" Why, you don tâ€"mean to marry two, do you 1" SNoyâ€"sir~* 3 ‘"‘Then who are they * ‘"Why, tlie two that‘s waiting is the parson and me; we are waitâ€" ing for the man.‘" The familiar tone aroused her inâ€" dignation, and gave her strength. But she answered him only with si lent attention. If it was his purpose to inform her, he would probably do so. He seemed to understand her, and presently continued : ‘"‘And now, Christine, I have no doubt you would like to know what all this means."" Having thus attracted the maiâ€" den‘s attention, he proceeded, calâ€" ling her by name with easy familiâ€" arity : ‘"‘Those bars,"" he said, ‘"were put there for protection. Thieves have been known to break through skyâ€" lights ; but they can‘t break through this one.‘‘ She looked at him and then she glanced around the room. It was small, and the ceiling was low, and the only furniture consisted of a few chairs and a small table. There were two doors, upon opposite sides of the room. One was shut and one was open. Through that which was closed she had probably entered. Beyond the other she saw another apartment, and the cornerâ€"po;gt of a bed.â€" The â€"wallsâ€" were picrce}â€" for no windows; but upon looking upâ€" ward she saw a small square winâ€" dow overhead. The ceiling was slopâ€" ing, and the window was in the roof of the house. And she observed that it was guarded by stout iron bars, like the bars of a prison. They were ominous, and she shudâ€" dered when she saw them.. Caspar cbserved the glance and the shudâ€" der. She knew the voice. She looked up, and by the light of a single candle which stood upon a small table near them, she saw Caspar Hugo. | She did not: start as she might have started at some terror unexpected, for this man had ocâ€" cupied her thoughts, and she had associated him with the present caâ€" lamity.. Of all the people she had ever seen or known, she had not known another whom she thought so base and wicked as the man now before ‘her. She looked upon him, and she saw him exactly as she had seen him on that day when he had first come to the Brookside with his master. He was dressed very nearâ€" ly the same, and his face wore the same serpentâ€"like experession, and the beaming of his eyes was os oph1â€" dious as then, save that now there was more than malevolence in them. "Easy, my lady ! You‘re past all harm and danger. You are in a castle where no power on earth can come to ruffle the smooth waters of the fate I have in store for you.‘"‘ of their interference in her behalf, and had resorted to this method of overcoming it. His visit to her durâ€" ing the day had been only for the purpose of sounding her _ and for laying his plans. The letter bearâ€" ing Paul‘s signature had been a forgery. She had arrived at this point in her wildly whirling fancies, and was thanking fortune that Paul had not written the unworthy words, when the coach stopped, and, before she cold make a motion to prevent it, the thick robe was again thrown over her head, and very soon she was lifted out upon a hard sideâ€" walk and hurried away through a narrow passage. She knew it was narrow by the manner in which her conductors were forced to crowd their way. At length, a door was unlocked and opened, and she was led into a small hall, and then up a flight of contracted stairs ; thence np another flight, until finally, she was led_ into a small chamber, where the hood was removed from her head, and a voice said to her : "Sit down!‘‘ and a hand pushed her back into a chair; and she was so weak that she did not attempt to rise. Itb was a rockingâ€"chair, low and easy, and she sank back with a smothere sob. (To be continued.) A surprisingly large quantity of poultry coming to market is not {asted before killing and often arâ€" rives with ecrops full of food and protruding. . This distended crop is decidedly unsightly and percepâ€" tibly lowers the appearance of the birds. Why will not people learn that a bird‘s crop gorged with food is a handicap to its sale? _ Moreâ€" over it distinetly lowers the quality of the flesh as well. It has been deâ€" monstrated that the flesh of poulâ€" try that fasts for from twentyâ€" four to thirtyâ€"six hours before kilâ€" ling is more delicate of flavor and The question as to whether the calf should come in the fall or in the spring is to be determined by the comparative profit of the sumâ€" mer‘s or winter‘s market. The winâ€" ter‘s milk cost more money, but it brings more. It costs more in feed, in shelter, and about the same in labor, and the relative price of milk fed must determine whether the calf shall come in the fall or in the spring. As farmers settle down to dairying as a businessâ€" they ‘will more and more aim to make it an allâ€"theâ€"yearâ€"round _ business,_ and herncee will have calves coming all the year around, with a greater proportion of fall calves than hereâ€" tofore.. This will ‘give creaseries permanent work which is esseatial to their profit, and will bring dairyâ€" of better_ keeping quality _ than those which have food in process of d gestion at time of killing. The digestive process carries with it certain ferments that affect the flaâ€" yor of the flesh. The vice cannot be cured ; that is, if the hens once begin to eat eggs they will always do so if they can. The best remedy, however, is to get rid of them ; begin with a new flock. By arranging the nests eggâ€"eating may be sometimes prevented, but does not destroy the desire. Get a soap box with a top and compel the hen to go into the box for a nest at the end, so as to compel her to walk in. . The box should be just large enough for her to sit in, and not stand up comfortably. Fix the nest ten inches from the floor or so she cannot stand on the floor and eat the egg out of the box. If she cannot stand in the box she will not attempt to eat the egg when on the nest. The Michigan Poultry _ Bzeeder says that at this period of the year some of the hens will be guilty. of eating their eggs, and it is one of the most annoying vices that can exist in a flock. It is a habit that is acquired, one hen becoming adâ€" dicted to it and teaching the others. Hens will never eat their eggs, however, unless induced to do so from some cause. If fresh shells are given them or an egg becomes broken, they learn that they have a source of food, and take advanâ€" tage of their opportunity. the extra milk receipts for profit. Winterâ€"raised calves are a sucâ€" cess and less costly than those nursed on grassâ€"made milk. Their production fits in well with the plans of dairymen who are alive at once to the profits from winter dairying with the aid of a silo the difficulty of buying springers of good quality and the certain inâ€" crease in milking capacity in herds replenished by wellâ€"sired homeâ€" grown heifers.â€"Breeders Gazette. Now that farâ€"sighted dairymen are becoming impressed with the improvement in quality of their berds to be secured by saving homeâ€"bred heifers, the subject of winter calfâ€"raising is engaging their attention. Winter high prices for milk and its products induce increasing numbers of dairymen to freshen their cows in the fall, as they have found that the silo goes far toward reducing the cost of production so as to leave much of the extra milk receipts for profit. Winterâ€"raised calves are a sucâ€" cess and less costly than those Fall calves can be more profitâ€" ably raised than those dropped in the spring, according to reports from the Irish Department of Agâ€" riculture. When it is considered that the mortality of calves is greater in summer than in winter the figures for the South of Ireland being 9 per cent. and 0.5 per cent. respectively, a substantial induceâ€" ment is held out to breed more fall calyes. This success _ with winterâ€" raised calvyes may not be duplicatâ€" ed in this county yet it is common abservation that flies and heat do the spring calves a lot of damage, and its frequent neglect during the first winter just after _ weaning proves a distinct loss to its feedâ€" ers. _ Fall calves suffer less from flies and make good use of the grass, suffering little inconvenience from the withdrawal of milk in the spring. During their first winter, they have the support of the milk and by the next winter they can shift for themselves far better than can the freshly weaned spring calf. B4444 +444 ¢+++¢+++++++¢++4$ CO4L444 4444 +4 +444+++++¢ FALL CALYVES. : About the Farm SPRING OR FALL CALVES HENS THAT EAT EGGS FAST BEFORE KILLING An old Trish steeplechase horse called Tornadoy who was well known at one time, was a perfectâ€" Years afterward Cannon visited his stable, and the horse still reâ€" membered his old grudge and atâ€" tempted to "go for him‘"‘ again diâ€" rectly he heard his old jockey‘s voice. Diamond Jubiles was another famous horse that gave a good deal of trouble to its trainer owing to the violence of its likes and dis> likes. He hated Mornington Canâ€" non, the famous jockey, and on one occasion flew at him while exercisâ€" ing on Newmarket Heath, knockâ€" ing him flying, and "Morny‘‘ would most certainly have been killed if assistance had not been at hand. Ladas, another famous raceâ€" horse, was perfectly quiet under ordinary cireumstances, but for some redson he had a great dislike for ladies and would "go for them"‘ if any members of the fair sex apâ€" proached the paddock. Good Morning was another of the ugly tempered sort. Once he bit his leading rein clean through with aone vicious snap, caught hold of his attendant and shook him ferociâ€" ously. Sweet Sounds, in spite of his name, was an irreclamable savage. One morning at exercise his girths came undone; he got his boy off and rushed at him like a lion, the result to the unlucky lad being a month in the hospital. The jockey of Marigold IV., who bad himself been unseated, used his whip freely on the brute‘s head to make him release Madden, and other jockeys coming to his assistâ€" ance Marigold IV. was eventually beaten off. Ma«den returned to the paddock bleeding from a wound on the throat which had to have severâ€" al stitches put into it, and it was some time before he was able to ride again. Otto Madden, the famous jockey who only a few seasons ago won the Derby on the 100 to 1 chance Jedâ€" dah, was violently savaged by a horse at Brighton races. He was riding Centre down to the post for the Worthing Plate when a horse called Marigold IV. overtook him, dragged him out of the saddle by the shoulder andâ€"seizing him by the throat shook him as a â€"terrier shakes a rat. Famous Thoroughbreds That Are Hard to Control. Famous racehorses, like famous people, are often very eccentric in their behavior, and there have been many cases of celebrated aniâ€" mals who have turned savage, and bhad to be shot through trying to eat their jockeys, says Pearson‘s Weekly. it will ramnew your bicod and glve you strength of nerve and musole, ing down more and more to a legiâ€" timate and profitable business all the year aroun‘l. RACEHORSES AS MAX EATERS It contains all the nutriment of the besf in a conjga’ntrated* and tasty form. $z . BOVRIL IS ALL BEEF Bovril Cives Health and Strength€ $s No a * PR ons Sm o ® o. n Em o e cm, No ES Sn ons Ni. d m h tss PS ie m aoa EC he4 â€" 235 es C3 Cb s e M ons Bey. 5se en hy Cea s Eus s Sz 5s hy P es m s se k o. s o _ s fely *h C> geel 3 3 4 Bs 0 m hes 25. * & 3 ntmpmmens oS en se mA Res YE oomermmnet es es is . e e se sw esn e M Nigpmommms. as 3 i nc cce s ces i3 $ 5 se 5s eA 54 2s TA 6 5 ta & es [ss No ael ce & ta & & cA s ho real D s Bs in E5 §e. 2 Es y ..;»P“f? 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He & * would scrape all his bedding into â€"_â€"â€" 2 heap in the centre of the floor & ‘and then would slowly pound it = «« to chaff. ns All sorts of ways were tried to. break him of the habit, and eventu _ ally he found solace in the company cf an old black cat. ly good tempered horgs, bipt _he had a hatred of bicycles, and whenâ€" ever he saw one he would {ry to put his forelegs through the wheels. For what reason nobody ever knoew, . for he never seemed to be afraid> cf them. e .9 Year Year Year For sale by all druggists Bistributors All Wholesale Druggists Record cf Annual Sales. 4364 Bottles Sold recipes