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Mc", Ff iii? "NEagaisgEGgig2gg jâ€"NEliL'AMV-l'llwlf'é'l33%Mflifllfliflls'flk'flg. EES72 53E I saw your advertisements, and I wished to know why I was wanted -what had happened. Foolishly enough, I left my home and came in disguise." "Do you know why you are war1t- ed?" asked Lady Fielden. "No," she replied. “I am still in the dark about it." Lady Fielden appeared surprised. "During all these Years," she said, “Sir Karl's name has been associated with the commission of a great crime: but the time has come when people refuse to believe him guilty of that crime, when his fair, young (laugh-l "I wanted to be. free," she said. f'I came over here in disguise, I wanted neither to be known or to know any one. The plain fact of the matter is, "It will be your wiSust course," she said proudly, to Lord Rielden. "to let me go, or I may probably do what you are doing to me now_ imprison you. I have warned Yop. It you keep me here until I die/what will you gain if I refuse to speak?" “Unless you had something to con- ceal or somethingt 0 tear, you would not have struggled so desperately with me in the park," declared Lord Field- "That is the one thing, Lady Field., en, that I refuse to tell," she replied defiantly. L b "Certainly I know; but I will never gshare my knowledge. You can do Wthing you please-imprison me, "Will you tell us cne thing at least? Ts Sir Karl living or dead?'" asked Lady' Fielden. _ "You Wilt she said. " tion." "Justice before men and justice be- fore Heaven are very different things,” he said. "Before Heaven you know your own crimes; you know the lives that have been ruined by your sin;, and, whatever man may say, Heaven at least will not misiudge." The smile she gave them was most insolent. 'm He feared thash was ter what their toxin opi might be, They could ceedings against het tor had written. V PAGE S I “i --. Ah, well, never mind what.' Let me remind you of one thing, my young lord," she said. "Be pleased to bear in mind that you are laying yourself open to a heavy penalty, if not im- prisonment, by the course you are pursuing." Harry knew that what she said was perfectly true. Lord I am the cnly one "who can tell you, and I never will-never!" "You shall be compelled!” cried Lord Fielden. "I do not think so. No human power: can compel me. I would rather of me-if it was he who placed this wedding ring upon my finger-At he be living or dead. All these things you-Want to know; but you never will. "Have I'?" she cried. "I am right well pleased; that is just what I in- tended to' do. I tell you acndidly that you are all right in Your supposition. I, and I only, so tar as I know, can solve the mystery of Sir Karl’s fate. You want to know, of edurse, if he went away with me o'Cmot- it he asked me or I asked him - if he thought the world well lost for love "Do not be obstinate, madam. Think of the lives that you have ruined al- ready." "Tell us one thing," said Lord Field- en--"you, and you alone can tell it. Is Sir Karl living or dead?" A curious smile curled her lips. "I shall tell you nothing," she re- plied. PI have no atonement to make," she answered. "I shall die as I have lived-mute; you may be sure ot that." "Lola de Ferras," said Lady Field- en, in a solemn voice, "do not use such words to my son. Wicked and weak as you have been, make the best atonement you can." "Have you any further indignities to offer me?" she demanded. "Am I to be kept here in prison, a, show tor you and your friends?" They found Lola sitting in a chair by the window, and in her eye ,was the look ot a hunted animal driven to bay. She never glanced at the la- dies, but spoke to Lord Fielden at once. Then Lord Fielden asked if they could go upstairs, and Mrs. Turnbull answered "Yes." -sushe will sjeak," declared Gert- rude, "tor I shall implore 1her to do so in my father's name." "She will never speak," said Lady Fielden; "she is still, as she says, 'queen of the position.' " "But You" know They spent some few minutes dis- cussing what had happened. "Lola t1eHperrast." she cried. "Is it possible? Has Heaven granted our prayer at last?" But Lady Fielden grew deadly pale. "Lola de Ferras! Oh, Harry, I can- not see that woman--that wicked wo- man!” "You must see her for my sake!” cried Gertrude. "Oh, Lady' Fielden, my dearest and truest friend, you must forget everything .else except that you have to help me, and that my father's name must be clearedi” He went up to the side of the low pony-carriage, and in a few words told them what had happened. Gertrude's face hushed and her eyes flashed. Lady Fielden's first words to son were ot_reproach that he been out all night, and that she been greatly alarmed about him. "I am sure," said she, as they drove alon, "that it is something about the advertisements; Lady Fielden, I feel quite certain of it." _ _. TFacPN.FGcP'SGGEGFNGFcPEGFa=FF2G7WPN==s -arrc_=TcT _, a -wMâ€"vmmm-mr7m . mmmmmu a m. [ Cyt; stQiitd.7jQLWcEggtigaiiii' In less than an hour the two ladies were otr,cheir way, Lady Fielden deep- ly anxious and agitated, Gertrude full of wonder. keeper to keep silent as to what had happened-indeed, he had little to re- veal-Lord Fielden had told him nothing. F Continued from last week ‘1 find out your mistake," "I am queen of the posi- fit was true, no mat- I?" m opinions of her could take no pro- said Lord Field; A GOLDEN HEART anything she her had had “Because 'I have faith in him. I have looked 'tor, hours together at his photograph bps face is not that of a man Who \uld be disloyal. Peo- pIe may say but they like; I do not I “I was a little child when my fath- er fath/er us, but 1 feel the deepest and most passionate love tor him. I ' wish that I could remember him, that ‘I had some recollection of his dear face, of his kissing me, of sitting on his knee; it would soften my pain. I cannot even go to his grave and sob out all my grief and longing there. I love mahmma most dearly, but the deepest love of my heart is for my father. All these years," she contin- ued, feeling that her companio1a's in- terested in her was aroused, "I have believed him dead; -but suddenly, and quite accidentally, I have dis- covered that death is not the cloud which overshadows us, but shame. My mother, who had kept the story from us, was comeplled, through our meetings with Lady Fielden, to tell us the truth, but, While my mother, my sister, my friends, and the whole together believed my father guilty, judged and condemnde him, a voice, cried ever louder and louder in my heart, that he was innocent, and that I must clear his name. It was as though by night and by day he called to me, 'Gertrude, my daughter, for long years alt men have traduced me; come and prove to the world that I am innocent of the crime with which I am charged.' Think you, who loved him, that ir all the wide world no one 1 believed in his innocence but I. I‘ stand alone to do battle for him, and there is no one but you who can help me. Mamma has told me everything --how you wrote to my father and begged him to see you, and how he worn: out to meet you. After that night he was neither seen or heard 0f again; every one says and believes that he} went away with you. I alone refuse td\ belive it." "Why o you refuse to believe it?' asked the Ider woman in a low voice The pale face bent over her, the pride and hardness dying out of it as the unhappy woman met the clear, honest gaze of the sheet, loving eyes. Gertrude went on: Lola de Ferras was seated in a low rocking chair by the Window. Ger- trude went up to her, touched with sudden emotion, and kneeled down by her side. "You loved my dear father," went on the pleading voice. "They say I am like him, that I have his eyes and hair, and that my voice resembles his. Look at me, and tell me if it be true?" "Look at me," she repeated, "and tell me if I have my father's eyes." For the first time, the defiant ex- pression on Lola de Ferras’s white face softened, and her pale lips quiv- ered piteously. How long was it since any human voice had spoken kindly to her? "I have none for Dolores. She took from Ine the only treasure on earth for which I longed. Even now the mention of her name maddens me. I have no pity tor my old rival, the Cl1,inte rose. I hate Dolores. Do not ame her to me again." "Then if you have no pity for ma- ma, have you none for me? You loved Sir Karl. I am his daughter; and, strange to say, although you have been our most bitter enemy, I cannot help liking you and feeling a kind of sympathy for you because you loved my father." "That is all past," said Gertrude. "I do not know what your life has been, but no one could hare been more unhappy than my mother. She is so sweet and true, so thoughtful and good, so well fitted to adorn a high position; yet, since my father's disappearance she has been buried alive. Dear mamma, I have never seen her enjoy one moment's happi- ness'. Have you no pity, for one whose life has been wrecked through your instrumentality?" "You are also the daughter of Do- lores, who stole him from me," was the sullen reply. "But for her, he would have been mine." "Let me speak to you,". she said. "You repulsed me yesterday; you will not do so to-day. They tell me that you loved my father very dear- ly, so dearly that your life was ruin- ed tor his sake. " that be the case, you must love me, for I am Sir Karl's daughter." As soon as the door closed behind Lord and Lady Fielden, Gertrude Gertrude went up to Miss de Ferras. As mother and son descended the stairs, it occurred to Lord Fielden that it might not be sate after all to leave. Gertrude with Lola de Ferras; she was so violent that She was quite capable of doing her bodily harm. But he contented himself by pacing up and down beneath the window, where he would be within call of Gertrude if she had any cause for alarm. "Let me speak to you," she entreat- ed. "Dearest Lady Fle1den--Harry, leave me with her; for my father's sake she will surely speak to me! Go and leave me alone with her." It was Gertrude who spoke next; until now she had kept perfect si- lence. "I appeal to you, Miss de Ferras," cried Lord Fielden,"' by the memory of that which on earth you loved most dearly, by your mother's mem- ory, by your lover's memory!” She held up her hand. "It is all in vain," she said. "I will tell you what you Will no doubt think a very shameful truth. This moment, in which I see my enemies humbled before me, is one of the proudest and sweetest of my life. After that, have you anything further to say to me?" "Not if you have lost all woman- ly-feeling," said Lady Fielden. “If pity, compassion, justice, and hones- ty are all dead in your heart, then is all appeal in vain, both for the liv- ing and the dead." “Innocence is a most charming quality," she said; "the difficulty in the present instance is to prove that it ever existed. I refuse to speak. I have not kept silence all these years to be compelled to speak now; there is no power which can force me to do so." Lola de Ferras smiled again the mocking, hateful smile for which Lord Fielden could almost have struck her. tar here demands, in childlike, guile- Jess fashion, proof of his innocence to give to the whole wide world." CHAPTER xxxv. "It Win be no news to you," she said, "that Dolores robbed me of the only Love of my life, Sir: Karl - that she came between us and stole my life's happiness away. It ts not se- cret either that I swore to have ven- geance. I ought, perhaps, to feel ashamed of myself; but I do not. I loved Sir Karl with all the strength A touch from Gertrude's hand controlled her. She avoided looking at the pure. sweet face as she spoke; but her eyes were fixed on Lady Fiel- den. l "The dead!” cried Lady Fielden. “Sir Karl is dead then? Oh, Dolores, Dolores!" "Yes, he is dead," said Lola, slow- ly. "You mus't not think that I am a repentant sinner, nor that, if my life could begin again, I should act differently. I am proud, after my own fashion, of what I did. Few wo- men would have had the strength of mind to act as I did, to keep the si- lence that I kept. I have had my re- venge!" She resumed her seat in the low rocking chair, carefully keeping the lace on Gertrrude's dress clasped in her hands. Lord Flelden placed a chair forms mother, and stood be- hind it. "Your eyes and your voice to me, child," want on Lola, "are like those of one came back from the dead." “I have something to tell you," she said-"that which I have long kept secret, and which I reveal now for her sake-only for 11ers, for she is the only being who has touched my heart for years-this girl who is Sir ICarl's daughter." "I have something to tell you," she said-Vat which I have long kept secret, and which I reveal now for “For Miss Alla.nrnore's sake?" Lola asked, looking at the’noble face with a, wild longing that it were possible to undo the past. _ "Yes," he replied. "What touches her is life or death to me." She was deeply moved. She Ile- membered having seen the expression of Lord Fielden's eyes in those of the men who had loved her, but never, alas, in the' eyes ot the man she lov- "You are too clever a woman not to guess that whatever you have 'to tell is life or death to me for Miss Allanmore';: sake," he said to Lola. "It he never went away with you, and if he is dead, tell me how and where he died. After being so good to me, you will not refuse me this?" Lord Fielden followed his mother into the room with Gertrude. There was a struggle in the heart of the miserable woman; and then she answered slowly-- "Ask Lady Fielden to come here, and I will tell you all." For-some time the young girl's Wild, incoherent cries for her dead tath.. er continued; then she sprung sud- denly from her knees and looked at Lola. Gertrude’s excitement had almost reached fever-heat. "How could they say it of him?" she cried. “How did1they dare?" Lola, bending over her said- "It was I who caused them to say it for a purpose ot my own." It was the first time for so many years that any one had prayed Heav- en to bless her, the first voice for so many years that had spoken kindly to her, that Lola was completely over- come. " "I knew it, I knew it! Ah.' my darling, if I could but see you, hear you, tell you how much and how dearly I love you, and how I have al- ways believed you innocent!" Then, turning to Lola, she added, more ear- nestly, “Heaven bless you for telling me even so much."' "Dead," repeated Gertrude, with a burst of bitter tears; “dead! Ah, then I shall never see him.' Oh, my dear, dear father, I have longed for you, I have worked for you, and I have loved you; yet I shall never see you! But butter a thousand times dead than living as they believed! Tell me one thirur,more. Did he go away with you ?" t "No," she answered, “he did not." She paused, startled even in her own pain by the cry which broke from Gertrude’s lips. "He is dead," replied "Lola in a low voice. "I long for my father," said Ger- trude to Lola. de Ferras, who still kept silence. "My heart is thirsting for a look, a word from him. Ah, tell me, if you ever loved him, is he living or dead?" Lola de Ferras was silent for a few moments. It seemed to her as though the words pierced her inmost soul, while the thought overwhelmed her that Karl's daughter, with Karl's blue eyes and clustering hair, with the well remembered tones of his voice, was praying to know whether he was living or dead. With a bitter cry, Lola fell upon her knees. ”You torture me," she said. “For Heaven's sake, let me alone!" "I cannot," answered Gertrude. "Oh, tell the truth! Tell me one thing, I pray, I beseech you? Is my father living or dead?" "If kindness will Win yOu, let me be kind," pleaded Gertrude. "Try to think that it is my father Who is kneeling here, pleading to you, ask- ing you to clear his name from a foul stain, to clear me, his innocent and loving child, from the shadow ot guilt that is on me. I call upon you by the memory of the Jove you had for him to speak'." believe that my father went away with you. Then a letter came from you, saying that you had had your revenge, and that my mother should never see nix father again. Do you knew how I interpret the letter? I found no proof in it of my father's guilt. I came to this conclusion, that, whatever might have been my father's fate, it was known to you, and that you alone could solve the mystery. You may hate my mother because you found she was your rival; but you, even with those hard lines on your face, look too proud and pure to have spent your life as the world believes you have done." aThe pale lips quivered, and it seem- ed as though the elder woman's eyes were filled with tears; she held out her hands with a gesture ot pain. C "Do anything," she cried, "except be kind to me; that is the-one thing I' cannot bear." CHAPTER XXXVI Luner Went away letter came from 011 had had your my mother should THE TIMES d,, GUIDE, WESTON, 1irEhDNES10AY, 1)ECEDIBER 19, 191 CggSggULTir ag "But he had not fallen into the Black Pool. I could see it now, far away under the trees. smooth and dark. Then I remember how Sir Karl had also talked of an old coal mine, with its long-disused, open shafts-pit/s of danger, he had called them--aad, more than that, he -"I-tried to rise and hurry on; but I had hurt my foot so seriously that I could not move, and for many long minutes I lay, on the ground suffer- ing intense physical pain. At last I managed to struggle to my feet, and then I remembered that I had once before been in this place with Sir Karl. We had been in the neigh- borhood of the Black Pool, far back in past happy days, before any other had come between us. One day I had wandered with him through the grounds, and we had come to this very part. He had stopped and told me about the Black Pool, and had said that many people believed there was a subterranean communication be- tween the pool and the river. That conversation recurred to my mind now with terrible force. , on which we had been walking and crossed the green. I saw that I had distressed him, and my hatred of Do- lnres increased. 'Think of me at least, with a little kindness!’ I cried. 'it is all Dolores, nothing but Dolores.' 'I must think of her first, last, and al- ways,' he said. 'Dolores is my--' No other words followed. There was a terrible crash, a great cry, and he was gone. I stood in the long grass alone. "We walked where great boughs shaded us; but I did not notice the place. I told him that the one desire of my heart was to come back here and live near him, where I could sometimes see him, talk to him, make him what he was once, my best friend and adviser. Ah, mel He was not willing; he who was all the world to me refused me /this small crumb of comfort. Where" we were walk- ing the grass was thick and long and the branches of the trees adrooped low. He pushed them aside with care- less hands. 'It would not do, Lola,' he said. 'I would do anything to please you or help you; but the step proposed would not be prudent. Your best plan would be to go tar away, my dear" child. I have done you evil enough; Heaven forbid that I should do any more. Try and for. get me, and fill your life with new interests. I am grateful for your love-L could not be otherwise; but you must, if you wish to be happy, overcome it. Even were what you contemplate acceptable so far as you and I are concerned, it would not please Dolores. Dolores would not like it; Dolores would not---' I interrupted with a fierce cry--'How' cruel you are! Will think of no one but Dolores! You stab me over and over again with that name 'Dolores.' 'I must think of hor,' he said: and what followed was my fault. My words startled him; he seemed sud-l denly to remember that we were outl tcgether alone, that it was late, andi that he was distant from home. I saw him give a quick, startled glance around him; he seemed to be consid, Cll'l1se.' the shortest path across the wood. 'Come this way, Lola,' he said. And we left the long, straight path‘ " 'You are crue1--truell' I cried at last. 'I came to you in deep dis, tress, and you tell hie only of your own happiness." He stopped abrupt- ly. 'You are right, Lola,' he said, 'I am selfish-horritoly selfish.’ Then he tried to console me. All I next re- member is that we walked away from the light of day, and that my heart was full of burning hate br. wards Dolores. " 'My dear Lola,' he said, 'you should not have done this.' a wanted to see you,' I cried to him. 'How can you be so hard and cruel to me? I have been longing for a glimpse of you. How can you scold me? My very life was fadmg because I could not see you ' 'My dear Lola, you must not speak to me in that fashion,' he said. 'You must remember your own self-respect, also that I am married to the woman I love.' 'The poor man who begged the crumbs from the rich man's table asked only tor the crumbs, not for the luxuries. I am the same. I ask only for what you have to give-your friendship and kindness; I cannot live without them,' I replied. , "I trembled when I saw his shad- ow on the grass, I trembled when he spoke to me. He held out his hand in all kindness to me. "The night was fair and brilliant. I remember the odors from the trees, the song of the nightingale, the soft murmur of the brook. I remember--- oh, Heaven, would that I had died then and there! Look at me, child, with your father’s eyes. With a kind- ly light those same eyes rested on me that night so long ago-there was no reproach in them, no anger, no contempt. "Oh, blind, mad folly! As well might a hungry man try to eat stone.' I thought that looking at him would slake the thirst of my fever, would cool the fire that burned my brain. I wrote to him, telling him that I had a. favor to ask .him. I begged that I might see him, prayed and implored him to meet me. I told him that I would wait at the white irate near the c ppice. I went to Deeping by train; no one recognized me, At eight o'... clock I was standing at the coppice gate, wondering with a, doubting heart it he would come. many correspondents in this neigh- borhood, and my brain was fired by these hort1e-pietures. I felt that I must see him or die. I wanted to heap burning reproaches on him, to make him wretched by seeing my wretchedness, to show him my great misery, their! the sight of it might chill his happiness. Let me be truth- ful. I hungered to look on his face, to hear his voice, to touch his hand! Never did thirty hart pant for liv- ing streams as I for one look at the man I loved! , "I heard hcw happy Sir Karl and his ‘wife were-that a iittle daughter had been born to them, that they were a model couple-she so tender, he so proud. In those days I had so well that, if he had asked my life, I would have given it to him with- out a, Sign I had sworn to her and to him that I would be revenged -- and I was! I persuaded my dear mother to leave Beaulieu and go to Germany. She did so, and she died there. I need not dwell on any of the details: but when she died I was alone in the. world, my heart full of the bitterness of disappointed love and of a, fierce longing tor revenge." ot my 1leart--a strength that your weaker natures do not.even under, stand. I may have been blinded by my affection; but I certainly thought that I saw in him some Sign that he loved me. It all ended when Dolores became a widow, and he married her. It was then that my blind, mad, furi- ous hate against her began, and I resolved upon revenging myself, cost whatsoever it might. I loved Sir Karl To be continued And here too the Norseman came full five hundred years before Colum- bus set out in his three tiny ships. Urged on by their dauntless spirit the wild Norsemen drove their war galleys tar south and west from Ice- land till they reached the land which a no less hardy race were later to name Nova Scotia. rt was at Yar- mouth they landed; and two mighty boulders, bearing .lnscriptlons in Runic. now may be seen near the town of Yarmouth-lasting evidence of that daring adventure made near one thousand years ago And then came these Intrepid ad- ventures from France. De Moms and ICH in its history of strong men R and heroic women whose stir. ring adventures by land and sea set the imagination aflame, ap- pealing in its wild scenery of lakes and streams and wooded hills, charmL ing in the lawns and hedges and shady streets of its villages and towns, the country from Yarmouth to Digby, Nova Scotia is the Mecca of the historian, the sportsman. the painter, the geologist. and the vaca- tion seeker In this land. which even to-day abounds in rivers and lake, teeming with lusty. leaping fish. and is clothed with forests of fir, pine. hemlock and spruce, home of deer, moose and bear. the Indians must have lived from time imme- morial. Such a paradise for the huntsman must trave been the sulr feet of song and story among the redmen The Times & Guide wishes its' many readers _ ' A merry (lWristtttas v' e 17/ @§ I 'iii':?',",;,?,; 'itfri: / ' l TT-: . l, JCcr2-r',1i-uei-rirrc--ti, 'fe-rits, E tE ' fr-si,'-,';-;,??-:'-;::'--" Ci),?s J _ T cj)fdii', _ 1lrC, mi:,-;-:-,--,--"-.--:-,-),,,-: h " f" _ c/i'-""'?,)' 'ce"-"-:-;-)';;;),, , [dir'"'" ' Fae ttgf Nts, - 49" 44rT/hllrD1!f4?hc'6iii.1 4r"tll,Fr' ”IQ-DAY w” The Acadian farmers flourished In this land until 1775, when they were expelled by the English, and only the ugly scars of their cellars told ot the farm houses which had once been there Six years later came families from New England, adventurous, in. domitable and hardy pioneers. It was Champlain In I604; Charles do la Tour and his Huguenot wite--"a wo- man, who by her gentle breeding and beauty, her heroism and her mistor. tunes, was destined to win the most romantic immortality in our history." Lett in charge ot her husband's fort, she inspired her noble band of tol. lowers, was overcome by intrigue alone when attacked by her husband's rival. and died of a broken heart after being forced to watch her followers hung while she stood with a. halter around her neck. \‘5‘: f , A Fee, “C “\\,1":". " . A K _ 4 'W.\ _r,fcrii-a'-"tt' 'iiiiiiii)e _ -ter , 'iqlh3tNill1irjiriif), , 'ttta 2 L/l 2 . 7 $lÂ¥i§zl lt 'fl-ir-r-tie',-':-)" 2 'ji En. It' . 'i'", 'i) A ' \ Is A aoc.-.vcl-Cccuxh')tii"g, anda Partrlage Island. Piwrsboro, But the Acadians returned; and to. day for miles the neat villages of their descendants skirt the shores of! Fundy Bay, from Yarmouth to Digby. The descendants of the Acadians have cultivated the soft marsh lands and fresh water meadows, preserving the simple manners. customs and langu- age of their ancestors. And here one finds fifty miles at. rugged storm swept coast, lofty beet-u ling cliffs, coves like volcanic crater: ---wilder than the dreams of a and} poet. their descendants who later built hundreds ot the fastest sailing ships, sailed them to the seven seas and built up mighty fortunes which now show themselves in magnificent resi- dences set in beautiful surroundings ot lawns, hedges and trees. if}