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“I M” In replied. with 3 well-plagued a. mu cloudy {run tor mt. She sunlight on the jot flood and and My. 3 war was 00 chiming. A man's wife. .Who received the man: "I have heard of times for poaching for fighting for drunken“; but I did! not know @130!» .188 u {up f9r__stealing- v v the fine flint the. law him.” be with im- flia two flushed hotly so he utterod "What was tlio money for, Roche? ex- plain; I do not understand. .What did he give you thug money for f" "It mom that Archer Dighton had to pay me fine thousand pounds,” he upliod. She looked at him wonderi-mgly. “Pay you 3" she said. slowly. “I do liot undentamt He took your wife swuy; but why did ha pay you this honey 1” Be. inade no answer. The horror ‘nd amazement deepened on her face, not remain, I must go away, and what b still more. every one must know why I 3.0 If I have seemed to sanction that which I hold to be wrong. I must make my ntonement as public as my Inuit.” .Her eyes fell on the newspaper 1y- Ins on the table. Suddenly she looked up at him. "Damages fine thousand pounds," were the womb she had seen’. “f'Roohe she asked "what does this mean. ‘Damages. five thousand MP“ '0 n about it. but I have given you my be- lid. If I cwld even allow myself to remain born. I should be wretched, be- me I helium it to be wron'gL I can- "The breaking of one oath dbea not gustify the breaking of another,” she answered. “Roche. we lose time in. talking; my conviction can never be shared. I do_not knew how to argue "That in e point on which we shall lever agree," nhe said. “I have formed my opinion from the teaching of my m conecience .and I must abide by it. I grenit that in certain cases hus- bend and wife ought to part; but no- thing ehall ever make me believe that either of them cam marry again while the other lives. “I hold. such a. cere- mony null and void. No man, no pow. er of man. can pert those whom God hath joined: and the oath taken is not to he kept until one or the other does wrong, but until. death? . "Yo‘i teem to forget that those who 5 wrong break their oaths of tidal- lt_y.'_’_ ho_ raygrked.‘ A. ‘1 ln living apart, but I do not see how you earn excuse yourself for having mar- ried while she lived.” "The law freed me from her.’ he unwerod, firmly. “You were patient, Roche, ’but I think you might hwve been more pa- tient“. You were wise, but you might have been wiper. You were kind. but you might have been kinder. If you -md seen your young wife in danger A death from burning, how quickly you would have snatched her from the flames. Danger for the soul is a. thous- and times worse than dang-er for the body. I cannot, therefore, hold you free from blame, even granting, Roche that Elodie wxonged you very cruelly. You might. perhaps have been justified "A lino for what I” she asked. "For_ having broken the law.” he an "Yes, but they were hers, too, Andâ€" rey. Tell me. did I do wrong- to free myself from the woman who had been Io cruel to me 1” (He looked up into the sweet. white race, He saw tears in the dark eyes. and he began to hope that he had pre- u‘fiilod. "i though-t those were your moth- ar'a rooms.” interposed Audrey. "Stained it," be repeated, “my sweet innocent ‘Audrey. Do you know all that that means? Do you understand It 1 Do you wonder that I took her pio- ture from the wallsâ€"it had stood next to my mother’sâ€"and “burned it? I hooked up the rooms where her face had shone. and I said to myself that no oth- ar toqt' alhbuld tread them." my true, honest love and made a play- thing 01 itâ€"who had taken my heart an}; trampled on itâ€"who took my name andâ€"etained itâ€"stained it,Aud- fey? x‘ She saw great drops of agony stand- ing on his forehead; she saw his hands 31inch and his lips quiver. “It is plain. to you, Audrey, that I have suffered; You will not make me suffer more, will you, darling? You will not leave me? You will take pity on me? Answer me, Audreyâ€"did I do wrong to free myself from the woman who had wronged Incâ€"who had taken She forgot her own sorrows for the time in thinking of his. “My poor Roche,” she said gently, how you have suffered." She did not answer him at once. She laid her hand upon his head. “Another note came from the ‘cap- tain, saying that he was to be found st Paris. Elodie’s flight was a nine d‘yfi' Wonder, but. then every one said they had always been quite sure that it would be so. Audrey my true, faith- ful. loyal, loving wife, now tell me if I did wrong to free myself from a woman no light of love. so false of heart.” ‘ CHAPTER X.â€"Conti.n§1ed. A PRECIOUS PEARL. lt was a fair spring day, and the eight of the newly-springing green leaves filled the rector's simple happy mind with delight. It was only the end of April. yet here in the old-fash- ioned rectory garden, in a warm, shel- tered sunny spot. me lilies of the val- u VVC‘UU loved so wellâ€"vhgazt’me f om rqup 39d left him alone. sobbed. She bent over him 8d The hot tears fell from. his cheek. “I am not cruel enouglh to remain," she answered slowly. “We ' talk of the sorrow; we must and. strong, cnd look the inevitable in the face. Roche,” she pleaded, “there is one thing you must dieâ€"you must set me right with the world. If I had known the truth I would. rather have died than have married you. Most people must think that l marri while cognizant of the truth. you can defend me, you must dosol You must tell everyone that, when I dlifi- covered the truth I left you at once. Will you do me this justice '6‘" ' His voice was broken with sobs as “ W 111 nothing indom to alter your decisic asked. me 3” who said... l “Till death do us part,” she said gent- Y- ‘ “No. even in death I would not see her» Audrey, my true wife, my dear love, tell me what you mean to do." She took both his hands in hers; and: held them tightly clasped. ”I will tell you," she said, sadly, “and remember, all argument will be quite uselessâ€"nothing can change my ide- cision. because it is founded on what my conscience tells me is right. I shall go back home to my father this very day. I do not reproaoh you. I have not one hard or bitter word to say to you. Your notions of right and wrong differ from mine. Nothing could make me consider myself .your wife while home to my father and stay with him-3'} "You will not be so cruel as to leave I ma on .1... --=-1 "She lives in some little the seaooastâ€"Rookdoenue, im I lieve." “And where is Captain D4 “He did not stay many “ her; they disagreed, and he 1 am not so hard as you thin I allow her sufficient to live I have never seen her since. shall," I "Most do," he answered. ' ‘Her face flushed. her dark eyes flash- - ed). "That only shows how false 1and wrong the whole thing is," she cried. “You appeal tothe worldâ€"to the law. You confess to a broken heartâ€"a ruin- ed home-â€"a blighted life; and they con- sole you with the money of the man who had wromged you. :Had I been in your place, Sir Roche, I would have cut off my hands rather than have touched Captain Dighton’s money.” ‘ “I tell you, Audrey, it never occurred to me to look at it in that light." "Tell me,” she asked, suddenly, where is your wife living 3" ' “My wife is here," he said, touching her hand gently. “Nay," she returned sadly. “I know not what name I bear before Heaven and in the sight of just men, but 1 am not your wife. Elodie is your lawful wifeâ€"n0 other. Death has not. [arted ‘fThere are some things I cannot be- ‘ lieve. This is one. Do you. mean to ltell me that you, Sir Roche Villiers. 'la man of honor, took knowingly five 'thousand pounds from the man who robbed you of your wife? Did you do zit 8" “I did Audrey," he answered. A low, bitter cry came from her lips. "Why did you take it? What had money to do with the caee? .VVas that 'the price of your wife's loveâ€"of your 'own fair name ? Icannotnnderstand it" ,Waa it given to console you? Teni ,hundred thousand pounds would not iihave consoled me. ,‘Vhy did you take ibis money? If he had to be fined”. why should not the fine have gone to the poorâ€"to some charity? Why ghould it have come to you? It 6!.', ah.e “I never looked at inn that light.' he answered. ’ “I w_ould not have touched his inan- is like blood money. I declare Inhould have respected you more had you fal- lowed {him and shot him than I do after hav'Lng taken his money.” hen: forgqt the lofty pride and contempt on E m," she said, sadly, “and argument will be quite g can change my “LP- it is founded on what stay 'many week: ant to live upon; hit her since. and never ’wptain Diegh tom ’4'" and kissed him. In her eyes omto little Village on .9 im Kent,1 '18- 1y weeks with he left her, I tkfink Audrey. Sir Roche pleadnd and prayed; he was so humble, so earnest. so persistent in glpohriqc the honesty 91 his belief that tho ."I am a} Christian” Sign: h‘e‘saidl, “and. 90 am bound to forgiwo’ you; but your docojt has slain? my child. You will Then came day s and n lghte of unut- terable sorrow and distress for the saddened household, for ’Audrey lay sick unto death, and her parents felt that she would not recover. Sir Roche came down», but the rector would not allow him to see his daughter. “1’ am ; “kn: nut: --_. ..- '_DO I... _-2_I .4 c “If we wished her well," he said, “we should almost pray that she might nev- er open her eyes again." “My beautiful child !" subbed the poor mother. “What has she dune, Fabian. that she should suffer like this 9" "Audrey," she cried, and the girl rose to go to her, and then fell helplessly to the ground. The rector raised- her and laid her on :her couch and then told his wife her story. “I must never go back to him," a said, “Papa, you must tell mamma; cagpot; my heag‘fi _is_ breaking." There was a slight sound a]: the door. Turning. they saw Mrs. Brooke looking at thorn wi:t_h yonderimg oyec. “No. my child, I do not think you are," he said. She threw u - her arms in distress. “What am before Heaven?" she criedâ€""what am I?" “Innocent and guiltless," said the rec- tor. “You have not sinned; you have been sinned against." He grqaned aloud as he answered her, still he would say nothing but the truth. “Papa. tell me what you think your» self. Am I Roche’s wifeâ€"his lawful wifeâ€"before God and main 2" “Yes, quite right, Audrey," he re- plied. _ She drew nearer to him and he saw how she trembled. “You must not thimk that because I tell you all this quietly. papa. I have not suffered; My hmart is broken; butI could not do wrong and lime. You think I am right in. my decision. papa ?". “You think that I did right to leave him 3" she asked» ”I do, u_1y darling," he said in a sor- rowful voice no rector was touched at lost. "Why dfid you not toll In!" ho laid She told him of all that had happened --of her refusal to assoc-iiate with a div- orcee; of Lady Glenarvon's letterâ€"she felt quite sure that it had come from her; of: her jourmey into the city to find the 00py of the Times; of Sir Roche's dismay and their farewell. Then she looked up at him. “Tell me all about; it, my darling." he said. looking at the white face from which the brilliant. beauty swmed to have fled. “He hears a. high character.” she. re- joined, quietly. “I believe this is his only fault; but then, papa. I find that every one does not think as you and I think. There at eman who honestly he- think. There are many who honestly believe that a divorce frees from mar- riztge ties. and leaves men and women free to m irry again. Sir Roche believes it and is honest in his belief. You know better. so do 1." “It is strange that I have heard no- thing of this,“ he said. “I made every inquiry about Sir Roche, and every one gave him the highest of characters." l “-He does not think so, papa. He ‘ fancies that the law has freed him from his first marriage. and that he was quite at liberty to contract another. That is the belief of many people." “It is not mine. and it is not yours.” he said quickly. "How strange. Aud- rey that I had always a presentiment about this marriage of yours. I had always a fear that I did not like to express." {He walked rapidly up and down the room. can have fwo wives; that is plain en- ough.” “I know nothing about divorces." said the rector. “I only understand the Christianity of the matter. No man "You do not understand, papaiHâ€"eâ€"iâ€"s not a villain; he thought it was all right because he had obtained a div- orce." “It was no marriage, papa, although he thinks it was. (He is not. my hus- band; he has a wife living from whom he has been divorced.“ The rector'a face flushed anagrily. “A wife living, yet he dared to mar- ry you, Audrey! The man is a villain 1" Then she became as anxious to de- fend him as she had been to leave him. all." “My darling child you tremble like anlgpf. Sit down. Audrey, and tell me "I am in sore distress," she repeated. “0h, father, my marriage was no mar- riage. The man I love is not my busâ€" band I” Then they were silent for some min- utes. the rector waiting in sorrowful dismay for his daughter to speak, And- rey trying to collect her strengthL “My dearest chfid, ho mitter what has happened. you have done well to come home. " He took the trembling hands in his, aqdu'helgi them tightly clasped. “Father." she said, “I have come home to you. I am in deep trouble and sore distress. The words were still on his lips when the door Opened. and, to his infinite surprise and wonder, he saw his daugh- ter enter the room. He was too much astonished even for a word of greeting; but when she came up to him his surL prise gave way to dismay. Her veil was thrown back, and he saw that her face was deadly pale, and that her eyes were {liim with tears. She held out both her hands. Then Mrs. Brooke went on her round of visits and the rector went back to his library. He could not settle to his work so easily as usual; the spring sun- shine tantalized him: "I am worse than; a. boy," he said. ”I shall have to shut out the sunshine altogether." “There is am? abuxmdent promise of fruit and flowers,” {he remarked to his wife; “the garden will look well this year. I wonder if Audrey will pay her lonzg-prgxpiaed vis_it home 3" I may do heft food, papa; I will try. I will be kind, loving and gentle to her. It. seems to me that I owe her some atonement; and. it I can in any way do her good, it will make me happier. She must. have suffered a. great deal. I have tried. to call to mind all the things that could make me ’ happy now, and this is the only practi- , icable step. Let! me! take it, papa?" 3 So the matter. was: settled. Her sor- » row and her illness had changed Aud- rey. She was. a, child when she we married; now their wisdom and eXperi- ence, the thought of noble womanhood, i had come .to her. The rector felt no fear. She would do all that was wise, gentle end true." “The poor creature must bemisereble enough," he aaid.’ "It you can do her say good, Audrey. go.’ ‘Audrey was met careful shout: ev- erything. Her mother wept bitter tears when her daughter drew her wed- di'n ring from of! ‘her finger. “ must not die wearing this, mem- me,” the aid; “this theeymhol of an untirtrth. I should not like to be buried in t O . I “Papa," she said, clinging to him. leagerly. "of what: use would it be to me tospend my life in vain regrets and lamentation? None. There is so little left that I can do. I cannot remain with you, and return to the old life; I am ashamed. I cannot tell why, but I feel ashamed, as though I had done something wrong." “It is a morbid; foolish, feeling. my dear," remarked the rector. ‘-‘I know it is; but I cannot quite help it. The position is a. strange one. ‘ As the years pass I will grow accustom-f ed to it, and shall not. mind mixing} with the world; just now I cannot.= But the work I have proposed is lying ready to my hand." “I will not' object to it, Audrey, but I cannOt say that I like your knowing, such a person." \ _-â€"-- wuBQJVL‘L U IUDUII it: 'was quixoticâ€"ii: was. quite unw lyâ€"it was even‘ romantic, but it to liim a noble idea. “My dear Shift-i!” cried the rector Highest. 1 “My dear father, could I do awis- er, better, or more generous deed?” sheesked. “Perhaps not; butâ€"â€"-” 8110 did not allow him‘ to finish the objectionâ€"she kissed it away. Advice and remonstrancen were alike vain. Not that the rector really dis- approved of his daughter’s intention; :+ ‘ . ° °- ‘- .vnfl 4- ----L" “It is spoiled," she continued. “as far as the desirable things of this world are concerned; for me, there will never be husband, or home, or love. I have done no wrong, yet my fair name is tarnished. Ihave no position; I am neither wife nor widow. But a sweet thought has come to meâ€"I have dis- covered an objech' to which I can de- vote my life. I cannot give it to Sir Roche, but. I may amend it for Sir. Roche’s wife. I must not love him, â€"I may love her: and I am going to seek her. and try if I cannot place her by his side again.” I "Tell me what; you have thought Audrqy?” he requested. A'lltll'fiY," no said, “to read this.” ' made. The system has been extendedi .It was a well-written paragraph on and now the solitary uniformed 90‘ divorces, and, as testimony to the fact lioeman on the platform of nearly ev- how strongly some persons were opposcl ery small station in Mexico is an ex- ed to them, the writer noted the 510”, i robber. He is known and respected a: of Lady Vinierg, He told briefly boxy!“ superior person by the peono and she had married Sir Roche without i loafers who know that he Will permit 1(de:ng the history of his previous no petty th'iievmg. He. in turn, knows marriage and divorce, but that as soon that he '39 closely. watched. by " au- as she had. become acquainted with it pernor.offtoer who 13 in the employ of she had left; him. There was no ("om- the chief ext-bandit. ment upon the case. The plain Storyl These facts are given upon the 3‘- ‘ was told, and persons could think what, i thority of a prominent gentleman. who r they would about it. recantly returned from Mexico, where “ [s that what ' ._ . . ,he ad spent. several months in inves- you “Visited, Audrey???“ agreeintfhe“rgfii tigating the industrial conditions of tor. fthat ootuntry. We believe that the "Yes, pupa,” she answered, “that isietatement here made is true, and it. the only amend that. could be made 3 rs oert'atnly .a very (’UI‘IOUS and inter- and I am glad that it has Men’lesttng SOlutton of aserious problem made.” Then they went away to a beauti- ful, breezy, seaside spot, where the A SERFS FORETHOUGHT' soon brought a tinge of color to Aud- ’- rey’s face, and, light to her eyes. When [low In omum-a Ills Freedom In a Little they had been there a month, Audreyo . strategy. satd one day to her father: I . “Papa, I have been thinking very Count Scheremetef. an immensely much about the best thing I can do wealthy and powerful Russian noble “"..t.’3m3'1‘f°7" who lived in the early part at this [ell me \Vhflt "n" havn +l|l\lltrl“~ _ A'ugirey.” 710 said, Vt; V vâ€""_. v Humv- She did feel it when! the time came that she could be taken downstairs ; when once more she was able to under- take the duties of life, they saw how sadly her sorrow had changed her. The doctor advised them to take her to the seaside. ....- vyruluu ur ours. {Leave her in . There was nothing else for him but 't0 8'0 away, and, though they consider- ed that he had. deeply wronged their child, they could feel no anger against him, when they saw how ill and worn he looked. Audrey had a. hard fight for her life; The ascension lilies were in bloom be- fore she was able to get up. She re- ferred but little to .her trouble, but at times she looked at her mother and ”You must not. think that I do not feel the separation because I do not Speak of it. Little sorrows find a voice; great omosgaxje dumb.” QL- J: ,1 ”AA AA V V-J u»: childâ€"when she saw bitterly he suffered; WON firm in one re: not allow him to see 11:10:11.1 its aspect; political, social and religious; but the rector kept his conu- vnctions, while those of Sir Roche were somewhat shelter».- The mother, too, forgave him, when she saw how yery dearly he loved her. (5“;lAI â€".._L - man whos'e life fiad been ‘80. terriply plighteg. They‘diecugse‘d the questlau A gréac deai of Dr. Brooke's anger faded away after this; he could not help feeEing n_1_qat _pr(_)f(_mnd pity for?!” “I cannot understand twhy you kept- your first .marriage a. more ‘.” “I was afraid." he answered; “but my fear was not because I believed ’0“ would think my union with Audnoy wrong. I thought you might be preju- diced against it." ‘ilgp'ught i t he saw hdw keenly and fieâ€"red; but both parents ope reappctfâ€"they would 1dâ€" unwor 'te 8 gm Yeti. I guess it was “am I‘ll! honor, you are regarded as c ahrewdest mufidenoe man i he'rb. “\Ve got out to look for [flux and. found his hat, a piece of his coat' slow. and one of his shoes. but. the rest. seem- ed to be further back under the train. I backed up the engine and got out to look again» There lay the body. I nearly fainted when I saw its distort- od form. ~‘IT‘T'elt like. a murderer. Did I know the man? No. not per. nonaIIy. He. was a scarecrow from a neighboring corn field. uqder the wl'leela W8!” M'bat was my worst accident? I shall never forget it. ', traced on my mind by a streak of lightning .it ooufdn't have made a more How He obtain“! Ills Freedom In a Little Strategy. wealthy and powerful Russian noble who lived in the early part ml" this century, had among his serfs :1 man named Sclmlouchine. who had :lUlassed 'an enormous fortune. He had offered as much as two hundred and fifty thou- ;sand dollars for his freedom, but in ivain. One day Schereuwtef gave a .- dinner-party, and tol his‘ disgust. then were no oysters to begin the banquet with. “They were not, to he had at any price," replied the steward. At that moment Schelouchino was usher- ed in among the guests, and Sphere- metef bullied him as usual. “Your freedom,” he yelled, “you cannot have it if you offered 9, million of rubles. , A million, phsaw! a few dozen oysters would be worth more than that to me at this moment." "D01 understand, then. my lord, that you would grant me my freedom' if I procured them for you?” "Y ," was the answer. Schalouchine had brought! a barrel of oysters, having heard of the dinner. The deed of freedom was immediately signed, Schalouchine took his place among the guests, and his descendants are not only the wealthiest bankers in Russia, but were ennobled about a quarter of a. century ego. l y; ‘ Count Scheremetef, an immensely l TOO MUCH OF MOMENT 0F A‘VFU‘L SUSPENSE There has not been a robbery in that C(district. which was formerly 0. dan- gerous one for tourists to pass through. since that appointment was made. The system has been extended. and now the solitary uniformed p0. liceman on the platform of nearly ev- ery small station in Mexico is an ex- robber. He is known and respected as a superior person by the peonl and loafers who know that he will permit no petty thieving. He, in turn, knows that he is closely watched by a, suâ€" perior officer who is in the employ of the chief ex-handit. low the President or lexloo u lull-c II: Country of Ila-flu. President Diaz, of Mexico. iscredl'fed with the invention of an ingeniou- method of ridding the country of ban- dits, including train robbers, which in working like a charm. A desperado of more than common intelligence Will captured about two years ago. and the President interviewed him in prison .several times. The bandit told him that want of occupation was at the root of the whole trouble. You shall be liberated and I will appoint you Chief of Police in your native district. You are to guard all trains and pro- tect passengers at the way stations. You can appoint your own subordin- ates from your followers. You will be rewarded for maintaininggood order in your district. and held respon- sible for all lawless acts by whomso- ever committed." say what it will 01' Brooke.” Mrs. Brooke took ll: tram her_ with tears. She looked it my; end. If Aud- rey thought of it, she never naked about itâ€" the» little ring in which . so many hope. had centred. Another thing she was scmpuloue about who her name. She would not allow eny one to eddrene her as “Lady Vllâ€" llets." “To listen to that name in silence is to own my complicity in a sin." she would say. "I am not Ledy Vil- llers. By what name I am known before Heaven, I cannot tell, but it cannot he that. The world may SETH! EF TO CATCH THIEF. {am l To Bo Continued.) a as one of u“ 9 men in the “0!!!)- '0 ‘nd ,Qt ’m .r. THING I: um Mini "it”. man. these levms w he re \' tea advtnfl Insure; ‘91P! I z i( kod (191‘ “11 teas u HI lasts h routes All 1 ing an time 01 of mo: gives I find 11 it is d tainmi the en seen u I118 nmrbl nary‘ phe h: motit 'l'hv very mom ra tolur mg m to we! «he re lug-u lure. Hall' It 1' out Mm apar OI therq in?“ have 1 Woull ll‘f the Ito-1 8\€ NO’I‘ I” the nne cu