Dr. SHELDON'S DIGESTIVE

Marlborough Express, Volume XLVIII, Issue 14, 17 January 1914, Page 2

Dr. SHELDON'S DIGESTIVE TABULES CURE INDIGESTION.

TABULES CURE INDIGESTION.

"For a number of years I have been a constant sufferer from severe stomach ailments, from which I could get no relief till Dr. Sheldon's Digestive Tabules were recommended to me by a friend, who had been completely cured from severe stomach troubles by the above remedy, and persuaded me to give them a trial," writes Mr. James Ball, Snedy Street, Kaiapoi. N.Z. "I was continually troubled with severe cramps in the stomach of a very painful and exhausting nature, and from v whieh I could get neither sleep nor rest, and it at last began seriously to affect my eyesight. Since taking Dr. Sheldon's .Digestive Tabules I am pleased to say all symptoms of the above complaints have vanished, and have left me .in,perfect health and strength again,-and I consider I have them alone to thank for a we-]come and marvellous cure."© Dr. Sheldon's Digestive Tabules are an unsurpassed remedy for Indigestion and all Stomach Trouble:?. Price, Is Gd and 2s 6<J per till. FOR SALE EVERYWHERE «-. by W. E. GASCOIGNE, big van. store.

He stood quite still, and the only movement he made was with his fingers, which he kept spreading out to their full extent and then compressing into his palms. His lips and cheeks were purple, his eyes grew red and suffused. His breath came in wheezing gasps. A couple of minutes passed thus. Then it was as it' the spell were removed. He took a step to the window, but staggered, and, throwing out his hands ito save himself from falling, caught hold of the sash that had been thrown up by Launcelot. The window came clattering down, and with it the strong man fell, helpless for the first time in his life. They found him, some ten minutes later, lying where he had fallen. CHAPTER XVIL CONCERNING AN* AWAKENING, Ten—eleven—twelve—how many clusters of roses were there in that particular line of wall-paper? Had he counted twelve—or was it not thirteen? He must begin all over again. Launcelot had been dreamily countving those clusters of roses for quite a long time and he wondered what time it was and why he was* lying in bed without any inclination to get up— just enjoying a sort of delicious lassitude. .The wall-paper was quite familiar to him—it was that of his bedroom in his Bloomsbury chambers, but the curtains were drawn across *the window, and that puzzled him, for ho was not accustomed, even at night, to shutting out the light. He supposed it was morning, and that he had awakened a little earlier than usual, but it was funny that he couldn't remember going to bed—he couldn't remember anything at all except £nat he had been having a. succession of ugly dreams, nightmares such as he had never experienced in his life before. He lather fancied that he had cried out? in his sleep, because there were moments when he had imagined himself in actual physical pain, and he wondered if anybody had overheard him; it w-as stupid to dream such dreams, and he would have to explain that there was. nothing really the matter. > 1 Anyway, it was delightful tb lie quiet now and to think of nothing except the pattern of the wall-paper. But he didn't want to do that too much, either, for he felt it might make his head ache. He tried to turn, but was surprised to find that he couldn't! muster up strength to do so. Good Heavens, was he going to be-ill? There came the sound of a'gently opened door and the rustle of a skirt. A woman was standing by the side of the bed and looking down upon him. His oyes met hers. "Veronica !" he murmured. "Why. —Veronica " , Surely he must still be dreaming. He would have rubbed his eyes' had lie been able to lift his hand. What was Veronica doing at Bloomsbury— in his bedroom ? She gave a little start at the sound of his voice. "Oh, Launcelot, dear— you know me—thank God." And then it dawned upon him that he was not going to be ill, but that) he had been ill*: His eyes put the question. • { "Yes—very,"'very ill. But you are better now. You are going to pull through." "How long?" "It's over a month. You got, bettier and then relapsed. But it's real convalescence now. You've been sleeping quietly for. nearly twentyfour hours. The doctor said you'd wake up—yourself."

"But you, Veronica? I don't understand. I can't remember. Why are you here?" "Youi shall hear all about that later on. You mustn't talk now, .You must just rest and do as you're bid.'"' He was very quiet and obedient, an excellent patient. It really didn't matter very much why Veronica was there, it was sufficient to enjoy the charm of her presence. What a delightiul sick-nurse she made! You hardly heard her step as< she crossed the room ; she knew exactly what you wanted before you- had time to ask for it, and how cool her hand was upon a hot brow ! Launcelot could lie still and happy as long as she was in the room.

There was- a real nurse who came at night, and he liked her, too. She Iliad very Mnd brown eyes and strong capable arms-^she could lift him up as if he were a baby. It made him laugh sometimes. * Then the doctor. The doctor was no other than his old friend Fred Hornby, who was almast too eminent a person now, with half the letters of the alphabet after his name, to be addressed familiarly as "Fred." But he had found time to visit Launcelot every day and sometimes twice a day; indeed, when the crisis had come lie had not left the bedside for hours and had practically stayed in the house all the night/. As he grew stronger his memory revived, but it took him no further than the dinner at Queen's Gate. He knew that after dinner there had been trouble with his father, but he could not recall what it was all about. He supposed it was a quarrel like innumerable quarrels that had preceded it. It wac curious how little he thought of Ida James, and the fac jj that he had proposed to make her liis wife had escapedl him altogether—otherwise, doubtless, the train of complete recollection would have- J>een set up. He spoke of her now and then to Veronica.

"We've been great friends, you know, Vero. She's the cleverest girl I've ever run across. You should hear her speak, and see how she can make a whole roomful of people laugh or cry—jus jj as she likes—or stir them to the highest pitch of excitement. Even you'd be convinced that there's a lot in her arguments. I can't makje out why she hasn't been to enquire after me—but I suppose she's Ibo busy— slie does such, a lot of organising, you know."

Ho asked after his relations and was told that they had shut tip their London house and returned to Chalton. The Squire had been ill—he had had a sort of stroke —-but iH was a mild one and he had quickly recovered from it. However, he wouldn't stay an hour longer in London than he need and Mrs Holt and Jessica had felt obliged to go with him as- it was not considered sa fe for him to travel alone. As for Mrs Kenley and Veronica herself they had token rooms near Russell Square. They hadl a lot to do in town and they weren't thinking of going back to Fenwick End yet awhile.

7-aunceJot squeezed Veronica's hand when she told him this. "Dear Vero —you stayed on my account. "What can I say to flhank you? I used to think the.ro wasn't a soul in the world who cared for me—except perhaps Ida But she was always so busy, so full of her own ideals—she wouldn't let any-

thing upon earth standl between her and them."

Those days of convalescence from the attack of pneumonia which had brought him to death's door were among the most happy {(hat Launcelot had ever known. Veronica was almost always* at hand and Mrs Kenley, sweet and sympathetic as ever, would often came in, and she had a fund of anecdoiJe that was quite astonishing. There was Dr Hornby too, always with • a strict but sympathetic eye upon'his patient, and Gilbert Hawthorne, now editor of an influential daily paper, together with one or itwo of the old friends whom Launcelot's queer ideas and advanced socialist tendencies had rather alienated from him. He learnt in those days to know who were his friends and who had been merely hangers-on because he had money in his pocket and was reputed heir to a great esttate. "And I thought-1 had no real friends in the world !" he said many a timej and tears came into his eyes, for he was still weak and emotional. There was one thing that troubled him a litflle now and then. He got the impression of someone else—besides .all those whom he knew—being in the house and even coming to his door, and listening outside it when he was supposed to be trying to get to sleep. He was sure he could hear the sound of muffled breathing and a light sitep on the stair, going or coming. He had told Vei'onica about it, but she said that it must be his fancy. And then, one day, when the question was being mooted as to when he would be allowed to go out for his first walk, memory of certain things, came back to him. Tn a flash he recollected what he had gone to ask. of his father at Queen's Gate that night, how he had been tempted! to sell his birthright, and how a tierrible scene had ensued culminating in the wildest threats upoYs ■':'* part. But after th; -what? Surely he was strong enou: 'i now to be told iihe whole truth. Veronica had (hinted more than once that t-Kere were things which he must know. Well, she should tell him-—he would sooner hear them from her lips than from those of anyone else. (To be Continued).