THE WORLD BETWEEN THEM.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XXI, Issue 6930, 2 February 1884, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE WORLD BETWEEN THEM.

BY BERTHA M. CLAY. , "Thrown on the World," "A Bitter Blbor A?o»e£3? ■'1W»!»/«*»•" " Set in Diamonds," Ac., &c. CHAPTER XLII. THE ArFRO\CHISO SHADOW. rv-F of the best paying farms belonging to ?■ * A rhandos was called the Valley Farm. L , five miles from the Manor, and lay in • ZVoi the loveliest valley in England. The f „ hplouciog to it was one of those old h °n S orial » - rapidly of buiM--•:*, icllowing no paaticu--1U r S 3 e tv tof aicl.it-cure, built of grey stone Lt had erown mellow with age. A circle f hflT surrounded it-hills the sides of hiM were as lertile as the valley-land proy.s "<=" crops ° f wheat aQd j™ ?>'• °* ta ' a rve The tops were covered with trees, d in the distance lay the shining river that the Valley Farm, but ~,e ft had been tenantless. The rent was {L'v'v and for some years, owing to the bad .p.Vu's, it had not paid its expenses. Year IVvear the valley was flooded, and the rain Ml in torrents from the hill tops. It was no longer the valley of sunshine, but the valley "'so'for some years the Valley Farm had been unlet. Lord Chandos, like many other landlords, had been compelled to take it into h ; 3 own hands at a great loss. He could fand D o tenant for it eveu at a reduced rent. It was a source of great anxiety to him, for the Valley Farm was the very gem of the eitate. Of late Lord Chandos bad mentioned thi< several times to his wife, and they had the matter. Lord Chandos wished ra o=t earnestly that he. could find a tenant for it; he did not like this the fairest gem on bis estate to be neglected. It became qnite a common thing for Lady Chandos to ask in the morning : " Have you any news of a tenant yet, Ray, for the Valley Farm ?" The answer was always : " No, I shall have to keep it on for some time yet, J fear; tenants grow more scarce." Once Lady Chandos, deeply interested in her husband's description of the grand old phee, went to see it. She never forgot any part of it, from the clustering roses round the windows to the oldfashioned garden where the lilacs were in bloom, the court-yard shaded by old chestnut trees ; and after she had seen it, she became doubly anxious that it should be let. There came a day when Lord Chando3 rode to Kvestone on business : a cloudless, lovely uay at the end of the beautiful month of May : he was absent the whole day. Lady Ch&ndcs had resolved to spend it quietly. She declared that she had had enough gaiety in L"ndou to last her at least for two months. Lord Chandos had earnestly begged of her to go with bim, but sli6 declined. " 1 do not like to bo a whole day away from you," he said, this husband who was still a lover. " I am never happy apart from you." " Nor am I apart from you," she replied ; " but give me this day, for the children and the flowers ; I should like it." As every wish of hers was law to him, he screed. He went to Ryestone alone, leaving her with the children, and the flowers. There is always a dead calm before a great storm. This day. spent out in the sunlight under the shadow of the grand old oaks—out in the ;lear, perfumed air, listening to the song of the birds'and the whisper of the summer wind among the green leaves —was the calm 2, her life—the deadly calm that came before the terrible storm. Life was never the same to her after that day. She sat u=der the great oaks in the park. The birds sang in the trees, and the children played besids her. She sang sometimes in a low sweet voice to herself. At times she toot up her book and read ; then she played ■with the children, and watched little Lina learning to walk. A perfect calm. She did not see the advancing shadow—she did not see the oncoming doom ; if she had done so, she would have died before the day was done. A long, beautiful, dreamy day ; but her dreams were all of the present and the future, ne7cr of the past. For her—for her —there was no past ; there was a dark, terrible background into which she never looked. When the lovely May day ended, tho children begged to remain with her; there was nothiug they enjoyed so much as being with their beautiful young mother. Lady Chandcs dressed for dinner, and then went to the Queen's Walk, where the little ones were playing. As he rode up the avenue, Lord Chandos thought he had never seen so fair a picture. She was seated in a garden chair, her dress of pale-bine velvet falling in graceful folds ; her white neck and arms gleaming under tbe wrapper of white lace, a broad band of pearls in her golden hair. Ah, so fair, so very fair, and no trace of the darkening shadow; no sign of the coming doom. So fair tbat his heart went out to her, and he blessed Heaven that had given to him so lovely and so beloved a wife. The children were sUnding at her kuees. "Heaven bless her!" he said to himself. " She is as fair and guileless as one of her own children." The darkening shadow drew nearer aud nearr. He went up to her with loving woTih of greeting ; he was so delighted to see her again. He had not been away from her many hours, yet it seemed like an age to him ; he had so much to tell her ; and she— what had she done ?—sat under the trees and played with tbe children, a long, happy, peaceful day ; she had enjoyed it very much, bat she had missed him. "Bad the children been good ?" asked the hippy, handsome father, as he raised them in bi3 aims and kissed each lovely little face. " The children had been like little angels," she said. Lord Chandos detained them for some minutes and then bade them good-night. "There is still half an hour before dinner," said Lady Chandos. " Will you stay out here, Ray, or will you go indoors V" " 1 will stay with you," he replied. "I met Lady SeEton to-day, Undine, and she is relying on you for her ball next week—shall you go ?" "If you like — if you wish," replied Undine, who had no desire apart from his. Suddenly Lord Chandos looked eagerly into his wife's face. "Undine," ha said, "I have good news for you. I have heard of a tenant for the Valley Farm." She was interested at once. " I am glad, Ray. Who is he ?" "A rich man. I went into Berry's office to-day—Berry is the best lawyer in Ryestone —and I found that he was on tho point of coining to see me. He has a client who will not buy, but wishes to rent an estate in this neighbourhood, and Berry thinks the Valley Farm will just suit him. He has written to ask him to come down and see it. He will be here, I should think, next week." " I am pleased for your sake, Roy. I know that farm has caused you some anxiety." " I am glad that it is likely to be let, and I am glad that we shall have a wealthy tenant. Valley House is by no means the residence for a poor man. I hope, too, that we shall have a nice neighbour as well as a good tenant." Sec the shadow gaining, oh, fair of face ! Even as beauty did not save Anne Boleyn from the scaffold, neither will it save you. That same night a strange thing happened to Heme Manor. The sun sank in rose-red clouds, and after it had set, a chill wind 'wept over the face of the land. A great white mist rose from the River Kye, and lay over the grass ; it Bpread among the trees, and clung to the hedges ; a thick white mist that took Btrange shapes as it rolled 'long; and the wind rose ; it wailed and moaned among the trees, it sobbed and sighed among the great branches. And that night the frightened servants said they saw the ghost—a white figure, that was yet a shadow, floated up and down the Queen's Walk ; a voice was heard wailing and moaning like a soul in distress. They were so utterly terrified that after a tune the butler went for Lord Chandos. He went out, but he saw nothing except the white mist from the river ; he heard nothing except the wind in the branches. Yet, although he knew it was nothing, the lord of Herne Manor did not sleep well, and dreamed strange dreaais that night. CHAPTER XLIII. A TBNANT FOR VALLEY FARM. I-Ord Chandos did not wish his wife to *»ow of the little episode of the night before. •le scolded his servants soundly—called them ''"iid and superstitious—said he should not •'•We Lady Chindos's mind to be disturbed by such nonsense. But, in spite of all his precautious, she heard of it from her lady'smaid. J " I know," said the maid, " that we were Sot to tell you. My lord forbade it to be

mentioned ; he did not wish your ladyship to know anything about it. lam afraid he will bo angry that I have spoken of it." Lady Chandos looked a little pale and startled. • "I will not speak of it," she said; "but are you sure it is true 1 "As true as human eyes and human ear can make it, my lady," renlied tho maids "I saw it myself—a tall, white figure, and I. heard the cries—low, and full of pain." " But Lord Chandos says it was only a roll of white mist from the river, and the sound of the wind in tho trees." But the maid shook her head. " What I have seen, I have seen, my lady, and no white mist ever took such a shape as that." " Do you mean absolutely to tell me that you saw the figure of a woman ?" aßked Lady Chandos, incredulously. "I did, if my eyes have any sight; and oh, my lady, I ought to aak you to forgive me for saying such a thing, but indeed the figure was just like you." " Like me !" she cried, and tuo maid repeated her words. In spito of herself—in spite of her reason and better sense and sound judgment. Lady Chandos was startled. " How could a roll of white mist rising from the river look like me ?" she asked. "I cannot tell, my lady, but it was sc," said the maid. And Lady Chandos was more startled than she cared to own. She said nothing about it to her husband ; but that morning, after she had loft her room, some instinct led her to the picture of the murdered queen. Some instinct led her to the Queen's Walk, but she said no word of that which was passing in her mind. A few mornings afterward as they sat at breakfast the post-bag came. It waß a beautiful June morning, the sun shining and the rosea all in bloom. Lady Chandos looked as fair and fresh aa the dewy morning itself. She wore a morning-dress of fine, white muslin, beautifully embroidered, and a snood of blue ribbons in her golden hair; her lovely face wore the daintiest of blooms. She was smiling as she read ber letters; there was a long one from Lady Estmere, and one from Haidee. She smiled across the table to her husband as she said : "Haidee ha 3 a lover, Ra3\" He looked up with sudden interest; he had a great affection for his sister-in-law. *' Has shei Well, no one can say that she has been in a hurry about it. Who is it, Undine?'' "General Hastings. Mamma that he is, without exception, the finest soldier in the army. He is so young, too, to be a general." "I hope she will be happy," said Lord Chandos. "I should think that is a certainty," laughed Undine; "she has been all those years choosing, she is suro to havo chosen well." A beautiful, luminous smile spread from her eyes to her lips. " Haidee is so wise," she continued. " I often wish I were as wise, as she is." "I do not," replied her husband. "I like you best just are you are ; I do not want you to bo more or less wise. You are per- j lect as you are." "A very pretty compliment, Ray," she I answered ; and Lord Chandos, at the sight of that bright smile, was at the trouble of rising from his seat and crossing the room to kiss her. "I hope," said my lady, and her very heart was in her words—" I hope Haidee will be as happy in her married life as I am in mine." " When is the marriage to be?" »3ked her husband. "Mamma does not say," she replied. " Oh, Ray, how vividly it takes my mind back to the time when mamma took us to the ruins at Ulsdale and lectured us about love and marriage. She had always been happy herself, and her one great fear was that we should marry without love." "A fear that, in your case, was not realised," he observed. "No. I have always thought it was mamma's long lecture that kept Haidee single. You have not read your letters yet, Ray." "No; I will read them outsido. Come with me to the Queen's Walk. Bring\your papers. We shall eDjoy an hour among the roses." A few minutes afterwards they were seated side by side on the garden chair that stood under the trees, Lady Chandos busy with her papers, Lord Chandos with his letters. Suddenly he cried out : " Good news at la3t about Valley Farm ! It will be takon. Berry's client is coming over to see about it. Here i 3 a letter from him — rather a strange letter, too." "What does it say?" she asked, indifferently. "He say?, first, that the rent is immaterial—he is a rich man, and can afford to pay, provided he secures what he wants, and that is a home in the country, where he can find plenty of sport—good fishing, hunting and shooting—also plenty of land for trying all kinds of agricultural experiments. A man, I should imagine, whose pursuit or mania is farming." Lady Chandos was interested, but not so much so as her husband. He went on : " He wants the farm on a long lease. I could not have found a better tenant, Undine." "I should think not," she answered. "I wonder why I think this such a melancholy letter," he-said. "It has left an impression of profound sadness on me." Lady Chandos laughed. "It ought to have left an impression of profound happiness," she said. "How yon have talked about the Valley Farm, Ray, and now a letter about it saddens you !" "No, it is not that; and I do know why I say it, but the letter gives me the impression of having been written by a very melancholy man." " What is his name? " asked Lady Chandos. Her husband looked at the letter. "To tell you the truth," he replied, " the signature is so badly written that I cannot decipher it. Lester, I think—R. Lester ; but it iB more illegible than a, monogram. Mr. Lester will make a good tenant, I hope." "By the rule of contrary, a bad writer should be a good tenant," said Lady Chandos, laughingly. "I hope your Mr. Lester may turn out satisfactory, Ray. Do you remember," she added, suddenly, "that this is the night for Lady Sefton's ball ?" "No, I had forgotten it," he said. "Wo are going, I suppose?" " We must go," replied Lady Chandos ; "some social duties are indispensable, this is one of them. Lady Sefton expects us, and we must go. I do not care much about it."

But when night came, and the exquisite ball costume was spread out and ready, when the carriage stood at the door, she felt more pleased than she had thought to be. .Lady Chandos was never more admired than on this night. She had not seen the Bhadow advancing to her from among the June rosea ; she did not ace it this evening aa she danced among the lights und tlowera. It was drawing nearer and nearer, darker and darker, deeper and deeper ; no one saw it, not even herself. When they returned that evening, a letter awaited Lord Chandos ; with a woru of apology to his wife he opened it, and seemed pleased with the contents. "I must go to Kyestone to-morrow," he said; " this Mr. Lester is to be at Berry's office, and I must see him there." " Yon are always going to Ryestone," said Lady Chandos. "1 shall grow jealous of Berry's ofiice." " Come with me," he answered, but she declined. The time came when she remembered that application with a shudder of unutterable dread. What if she had gone ?" The morning rose bright and warm; a lovely -Tune day, with the scent of the jessamine and the odour of roses. Lord Chandos was in nohurry to start; he talked to his wife as they walked up and down tbe favourite promenade; he ordered the children to be brought to him ; he played with them and caressed them. He went round to the stable to look after his favourite hunter. It was nearly noon when he started. Lady Chandos was seated in her favourite nook, the great mullioned window, when he came to bid her good-morning. "I am riding White Star," he said, "I shall be home before seyen. Good-bye, my darling." Some instinct made her rise from her seat and clasp her arms round his neck ; some instinct made her cling to him, made her kiss the dark, handsome face, made her cry out: " You do love me, Ray? Tell me so, just once again ; I long to hear the words." " I do love you, Undine, with the love of my life," he said, kissing the lovely upturned face • and then he rode away in the sunlight, amid the song of the birds, the odour of fiSwers, and all things most fair and sweet. His wife watched him as lie rode off, surely the handsomest and noblest man of his day. She felt her heart grow warm with its rush of pride and love. Who looked so

gallant and brave, who bore himself in i>uch princely fashion, who rode so well as he ? The sun naver shone on a nobler man ; her hbart yerrned for him ; she could have cried out' after him, have asked bim to wait yet a littls longer, but she repressed the words and the cry. The next moment he had turned the corner of the long drive and was out of sight. She hardly knew why the sunshine and warmth went with iiirn, she did not understand that it was the shr-dow growing deeper and darker. She sent for the children; there was a curious sense of unreßt upon her, a sense of something hanging over her—not a foreboding, but an uneasiness such as scientists tell us comes over a bird before a thunderstorm. " I am not quite myself this morning," sail beautiful Lady Chandos. " I wonder if it is the news about Haidee's lover that has dazed me. I cannot fancy Haideo with a lover, it must be that!" After a time, when the restless impulse had compelled her to walk up and down some time, ebe stopped suddenly. "I wonder,"she said to herself, "if this is what people call nervousness. I have nothing the matter with me, 1 am quite well and strong, yet I have a feeling that cannot bo put into words, that cannot be told. Surely there is nothing wrong with mamma or Haidee." She never even thought of the past. No shadow from her life ia that southern land came over her. It was forgotten. Then the nurse came with the two children, and they began to play ; but tho nurse was not like herßelf—her face was pale and anxious. Lady Chandos, always kind to her servants, asked what was the matter. " Nothing, my lady," she replied. But Lady Chandos persisted, and at last the girl burst- into tears. " I am afraid you will bo angry, my lady," ghe ssid, "but I cannot bear to be here." "licre!" repeated Lady Chandos, " where —at Heme Manor do you mean?" "Oh, no, my lady. I mean here, in the Queen's Walk. Every one says that it is haunted, and I am frightened." "Pray do not talk nonsense before the children," said my lady, more angry than she had ever spoken before. " You do not know how much they hear and understand. If you are afraid of this place, you can take the children down to the grounds ;" and the nurse, only too thankful to get away, hastened with her little charges to the greensward below. And Lady Chandos Btood thinking how deeply rooted this superstition was ; feeling for tho first time that there was something weird in these memories of a murdered queen. CHAPTER XLIV. A MAN WITHOUT A HOME. "A beautiful day for a ride," thought Lord Chandos, as White Star galloped along the broad white road that leads to Ryestone. It was pleasant to rido through the green, laughing land, and his heart rejoiced and grew glad in the glc:-y that surrounded him. He smiled to himtelf as he thought'of the young wife he had just left; how beautiful aad loving she was, how deeply she loved him, and her words seemed still to .'ing in his ears. He rode into the pretty town of Ryestone —the greater part of which belonged to himself. He went at once to the ollice of Mr. Berry, iu High-street, where he found that eminent solicitor waiting for him. After a courteous greeting, Mr. Berry said : "My client has not arrived yet. Will your lordahip take a glass of sherry and a biscuit? He will not be long. I expect him by the one o'clock train from London." "I shall be glad if be take 3 the farm," said Lord Cliandos. "There are so many good farms tenantless just now, that I am anxious over mine. You think he intends taking it?" " 1 know that he is very anxious to secure it," said the lawyer. "To tell you tho truth, my lord, I am surprised that a man of his wealth should care to rent the Valley Farm, beautiful as it is." "Is he so very wealthy ?" asked Lord Chandos, with some interest. "He is rich enough to buy two or three estates like the Valley Farm," said Mr. Berry. "He will certainly make a good tenant; his letters havo interested me much." "Is he married," asked Lord Chandos, suddenly. "No," laughed the lawyer, "and strange to say, he is a most decided woman-hater ; cannot tolerate women; prefers men-servants; will havo no women to wait upon him ; never looks one in the face; avoids them whenever he can." " He need not see much of them at Valley Farm," said Lord Chandos, and aa the words left his lips the would-be tenant entered. Lord Chandos was startled when he saw him ; he had expected a short, stout man, with something of the aspect, as he had tho taste, of a British farmer ; instead of that he saw before him a tall, dark, handsome man, with a proud, resolute face, a dauntless courage, an aspect of defiance quite foroign. A magnificent figure, tall, well-made, with broad shoulders and a grand chest—a man who looked much more likely to lead a forlorn hope—to lead a regiment of heroes than care for farming. A man on whom sword and armour would have sat well ; yet, when he drew nearer, and Lord Chandos saw his face more clearly, he saw that it was seared with a story. It was not merely like hundreds of other faces that a a story was written on ; it was seared with it, as though it had been burned with hot irons. Great lines of horrible pain round the mouth, great lines round tho eyes, great sliadows under the eyes that told of tierce anguish, of sleepless nights and wretched days ; a face that told more plainly than any words could have done that the man's heart had been

wrung. "A life story is told there," said Lord Chandos, as he gazsd upon him. "My impression over his letter is correct; it is, indeed, written by a. man whom melancholy has mirked for her own." A few words of introduction from Mr. Berry and Lord Chandos was quite at home with the stranger. When they had talked a few minutes his first thought was, "He speaks well and forcibly ;" his second, "He is not a gentleman ;" his third like that of Nigel Fielden, " I do not quite like bim." They talked a great deal about the Valley Farm. " It seems just the thing I want," said the stranger, " I should like to ride over and see it. My lawyers, Messrs. Briggs and Allan, of Tkaives lun, want me to buy an estate, but I see no use in it; I have no one to whom I can leave it; I have no interest in such a purchase." "I suppose," said Mr. Berry, "that you understand your own wishes best. Valley Farm it not for sale, but you could not rent a better place." "I do not want to play at farming," said tho stranger, almost fiercely. " I want to work. It is only work that keeps some men from madness. I have a great scheme in my mind for the improvement of the English cattle markets, and I want a place where I can carry out my experiments. The Valley Farm will suit me ; it is the centre of a great agricultural district. State the length of the lease aud the reut required." The nobleman and the lawyer look somewhat uneasily at each other. "As a matter of course," said Mr. Berry, "I must mention references; it is always usual in these cases." "lean give you my solicitors," he said, indifferently. "No one else. I can pay a year's rent in advance." "Nothing of that kind is needed," said Lord Cliandos, with a courteous bow. " The name of your solicitors is quite enough." "The fact is," said tbe stranger, "that I know no one in England. I have spent a greater part of my life abroad, in the colonics. It has a', .vays been the dream of my life to settleiu England, and now lam going to doso. I—l have spent many years in looking for something 1 could not find, and now I have given up the pursuit." The lines deepened, and the great furrows of pain lengthened on his face. Lord Chandos watched him intently. There was some further conversation, and then the master of Herne Manor suggested that the stranger should ride with him over tho Valley Farm, as he would naturally like to see it before taking it. So it was agreed ; and in the bright warmth of the summer afternoon these two so strangely brought together by fate, rode through the sweet highway from Reystone to the Valley Farm. Lord Chandos was muob struck with his companion ; he did not quite like him ; he felt sure that he was not a gentleman, yet he was interested. He found himself picturesque in his thoughts and conversation ; a man of great knowledge ; he had travelled far and near ; he knew an immense deal concerning exports aud imports ; ho seemed to have studied tho commerce of different nations ; the last man in this world to be content with a secluded life. Lord Chandos ventured to say that much. The stranger laughed.

"I must live in the world," he said; "but I prefer to live out of it aa much as possible. The Valley Farm will please me best, where no strangers and no visitors will come;" and again Lord Chandoa saw how the lines of pain deepened on the rugged, handsome face. "This is not the dream I had o£ settling in England," he said, as they rode through the sweet green lanes; "but I am mad to speak of dreams." "Every man has them," said Lord Chandos, and he smiled as he thought how sweet and tender his own dreams had been, and bow perfectly they had been realized. A cry of admiration came from the stranger's lips as the valley lay smiling before him. .Never was scene so tranquil or so fair; the sun shone on the mellowed tints of the red roof, on the grey walls, and tbe yellow mosses and lichens; the sun ahone on the beautiful old-fashioned gardens, and on the thousands of blooming flowers, on the deep, still pool, on the meadow-lands, the clover-fields, the springing crops, and the leafy-trees. It was a sight to raise a man's heart to Heaven in mute and lowly gratitude. "A beautiful place !" cried the Btranger. " I have seen nothing like it before." "There is a look of home about it," said Lord Chandos, '' and I hope it may be a home for you for many long and happy years." "The years may be long, but they cannot be happy," said the stranger, moodily; but he seemed to speak rather to himself than to his companion. "I suppose it will be long years with me. lam strong, and it will take a grest deal to wear me out." " You speak like a man who has had much sorrow," said Lord Chandos. " I have had that which would have driven most men mad," he replied. Then they reached the beautiful old grey house that looked so much like home. "It is a cheerful place," said Lord Chandos. "I like it no»v in the summer time, an'! I like it almost as well in the winter, When the blaze of the firelight shines ruddy red through the windows. It is most like home then." And he saw the stranger's head fall on his breast as he listened. "Home!" he said, in a hoarse voice— '' home ! That means a place where the wife presides, and children play about one's knees —whore the husband is met on tha threshhold with a kiss and warm words of welcome. Oh, Heaven ! if that be a home, what home shall there be on earth for me ?" Lord Chandos did not affect to hear him ; but his noble heart, so full of kindness and gentleness, turned to the unhappy man, full of pity and sympathy. '' You do not speak like a happy man," he said, gently. " I am not a happy man," was the answer, " but I am foing to drug myself by work— kill the pain that will not kill me, by force of sheer hard work." Then one of the farm servants came up to attend to the horses, and they dismounted. "You will like to see the inside of the house," said Lord Chandos, as he led the way to the large, cool entrance-hall. Three doors opened from there—drawing, dining-room, and library; a large room that lay at the back of the house, and opened into the garden, was a morning room, perhaps the most pleasant room in the house. The sunshine lay on the floor, and through the window one could see the apple-blossoms. They stood for some minutes in silence, then the stranger spoke. "This is the room above all others," he said, "where the face of the wife should shine and the voices of the ohildren be heard. May Heaven help me ! for neither will ever belong to ine." He seemed speaking so entirely to himself that Lord Chandos did not like to make any answer. They went through the house; they admired the large, lofty rooms, the beautiful view from the windows, the oldfashioned porch, and the garden where bloomed all the flowers the poeta loved. And thero the stranger stood looking musingly at the grand old house. Lord Chandos did not like to interrupt him. Ho was thinking deeply. "And this—is home," he said to himself. He turned suddenly to Lord Chandos. "My lord," heaaid, " lam but an uncouth companion, I fear. I am a man who has gone through fire." After a few moments he spoke again. " My lord," ho said, "you have heard of an eagle blinded by looking at the sua. I am an eagle. I had the swiftness, the keonness of one, and I looked at the sun. I am blinded for life. 1 shall see no more." "Vou havo had a strange history," said Lord Chandos. "More bitter than strange," he replied, "and more cruel than bitter. I pray to God that no other man has so cruel a story to tell." [To be continued.]