THE TERROR AND THE CHILD.

Southland Times, Issue 16792, 22 July 1911, Page 10

THE TERROR AND THE CHILD.

CHAPTER 111 “And la It really you, Dick? Really, really you?” “Who else should It be ?” Taverner said in his earnest tones, as he looked Into the shy depths of Katharine’s brown eyes. It W’as the same evening at the Btrthnlght Ball, and they sat together In a flower-creepered verandah at Government House, as much alone as though there were no one but Dick and Kathy In the world. Crow’ds were passing to and fro in the adjoining rooms, the soft strains of waltz music floated in through the open doorways, but Dick saw and heard no one but Kathy ; and even Kathy's horizon was, for the time at least, bounded by this surprisingly determined personage who had suddenly taken possession of her. Dick was very spare and slight and brown ; he was not a commanding personage by any means, and. though he was essentially a gentleman, he had none of Gilbert Courtelyon’s polish. His manners were too simple. He was deferential In the extreme, and yet there was a rare and tender intimacy in his greeting of her, that somehow bridged the years between them all at once and awakened in Katharine Instant response. His very presence thrilled her as she gazed with girlish delight and wonder at his lean, brown face. He brought back the breath of the gum trees, and all the sights and sounds of the Selection where she had never been since the days when they had wandered through the Scrub hand in hand. “ You haven’t changed so very much, she said. His Intent face lit up smilingly. “I can’t say the same for you, Kathy! you’ve changed a lot. “Ohl have I?” she asked, half laughing. a whimsical curve at the corners of her mouth tempting him to take her in bis arms and kiss her then and there, fts he might have done years ago. “You’ve changed all over,” he said more seriously. “You’ve changed so much that I wonder whether this grownup young lady”—he softly touched a fold of her dress—“can really be at heart my little mate.” “You’ll soon find out,” she retorted, with a sparkle of coquetry such as her admirers seldom kindled In her. But for sheer happiness to-night she was obliged to be merry ; she could not help It. “There is not actually any difference in me, Dick. My nose Is still snub, and my mouth as wide as a mouse-trap —as you used to call It.” “I didn’t.” he protested, "or, if I did—” “As for my heart,” she went on calmly, “that’s exactly where it was.” There was a pause between them. Kathy’s calmness was forced. She played with the sticks of her fan, opening and shutting them sharply, and feeling all the time Dick’s eyes upon her. The unexpectedness of his appearance had excited her, changing her usual rather phlegmatic bearing. "Is your heart where It was?" he said gently, breaking the silence. ‘T hope that is so. He laid his hand for an instant over hers —a quick strong pressure, brotherly In its kindness, yet more than brotherly in its intensity. “ r ..’ell me all about yourself, Kath," he said. She beamed upon him in the old eager way. “Oh, how delightful to hear you call me ‘Kath’! No one has used that name since you did.” “What do they call you?” he asked, leaning back and taking her fan, with which he began to fan her in strong, measured sweeps. “Oh, ‘Kate’ or ‘Kitty’ as they used ; and ‘Katharine’ for dignity." “When you’re a swey, as you have been to-day. But I don’t care. I shall still call you Kathy, my little, mate." She smiled. “I’m not very ‘little,’ Dick. There is plenty of me.” “So much the better. Tell me. Kathy, do I seem dreadfully out of tune with your surroundings?” “You could never be that, Dick,” and her smile softened.

“You are such a grandee now,” he ■went on half amusedly, half moodily. ••It’s difficult to understand how you and I ever kept house in a blacks’ gunya. We built imposing edifices which we were to inhabit together, in the future. If you remember, and somehow you seem to have realised them so much more than we expected ; while I,” his voice broke a little, "have, so far, realised nothing.” She longed to comfort him. “Never mind, * Dick. It will come, all of it, perhaps, by and by.” “I wish I could think so. Kathy, you’ve heard how things have been with me?” “You mean about losing your father, and the station, too. Yes, Dick, I was so sorry.” She was all sweet, sympathetic womanhood now. It was, as he had always thought, her nature held all that was most beautiful in woman. She was made to be a true helpmate. With her encouragement a fellow could face the most up-hill struggle. He drew a little closer to her. “See here, Kath, things have gone very hardly with me. 1 don't want to grizzle, but there last years have just seemed sheer waste of force. You see, I oughj to have taken my degree in England by this time, a’nd now I can only get it by being a pensioner of other people’s bounty.” “A pensioner? Oh, Dick!” Kathy gave him a puzzled stare. Her full lower lip dropped uncertainly. “Yes, my uncle in England is going to run my medical expenses.” "How kind of him. Then you’ll get your degree?” “ I hope so. But I don’t care for the arrangement.” “Oh. Dick! you were always so proud. What does it matter?” “It’s galling to a man, Kathy. I’ve lost these years anyhow—though not by my own fault —and the outlook isn’t particularly cheering.” Kathy’s hand went out towards him. “Det me help you to bear it, Dick. We were always mates,” she faltered. “What’s the good of having a mate who doesn’t stand by you?” “Dear little mate,” he said slowly, taking her hand. “That’s the kindest word you’ve uttered. Yes, stand by me all you can. God knows a man would be a fool who’d refuse the support of a woman like you—and 1 waiit it—God alone knows how badly. But Kathy, I’m going to England.” “To England! When, Dick?” “To-morrow morning. I’m booked in the E. and A. boat and am due to start at ten.” Poor Kathy. The girl felt that Dick couldn’t want her so very badly after all, or he wouldn’t go away from her like this. What was the use of his coming back into her life, only to leave her? She argued unreasonably. Young gills in the first stages of love are apt to he unreasonable. "I hope you’ll get on well,” she said stiffly.

"Is that all? But you will think of me sometimes?” “Xaturally. But you will have other things to think of.” “Tlie thought of you, Kathy, will make all the rest Give me only some assurance that you’ll not forget me, that you’ll still be my mate when after two years I come back again.” Two years more! Katharine withdrew her hand. She looked rather wearily away from him, across the verandah anil between its pillars wreathed with foliage out into the dusky, sweet-scented nigut. Some dark vision which she could not define seemed looming before her. •■Oh. a lot may happen in two years!” Bhe said with a little catch in her throat. “Who knows what may come alo; g in two years," "I know this,” said Taverner, leaning suddenly towards her; “when God made man in His Own Image, he made woman to be hie mate —and one woman—tlie ■woman f*r the man—and that’s how I fee! about you, Kathy. You're my mate before God ; and whether it’s two years or twenty years hence that I’m free to do so, I’U come and claim you fast enough.’ Tlie swift urgent speech, his hot breath on her bare shoulder as she sat half turned from him, and above all, that vibratory thrill that made their hearts beat as one, insensibly affected Katharine. She swayed slightly in her

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seat, for the shadowy verandah, with its faint coloured lights, its gleaming loliage and heavily scented flowers, had all become part of a dream in which stic seemed to have lived before, and Dick was the only sure thing about her. Then suddenly she was recalled to mote practical considerations by another man’s voice—that of Gilbert Courtelyon saying suavely, „ “Miss Henfrey! Our dance. 1 think. Katharine looked up, dazedly ; and Taverner sprang to his feet. “I've been searching for you everywhere. How unkind of you to hide yourself here,” murmured Countelyon reproachfully, as he bent over her, offering his arm. Katharine’s lips trembled. She had not yet full control of herself. Counrelyon noticed this, and glanced angiily at Taverner. "Didn’t I see you this morning in the Strangers’ Gallery at the opening of Parliament?” he exclaimed. Dick bowed awkardly. It annoyed him to be compelled to meet this man who he saw was undeniably an admirer of Katharine’s. “Mr Taverner is a very old friend of mine,” said Katharine, speaking now in the slow, careful enunciating way tlva-t. was usual with -her. There was faint self-excuse in her tone, and a plea for it In her eyes as she looked up at Courtelyon without offering to rise. “Do you really want to dance this with me, Mr Courtelyon? You know I’m a very bad waltzer.” "The best In the room —for me, replied Courtelyon gallantly. “Come. Miss Henfrey, you cannot expect me to give up my waltz to anyone else, however fortunate your friend may be in claiming longer acquaintance with you.” Katharine feot up, giving a slow laugh. “If Mr Taverner’s good fortune in life were to hinge upon his acquaintance with me, lie would be poorly provided. I wish him better things.” She gave Dick a look half smiling, half suggestive, as she spoke. It went to his head. That and the aggressive presence of Courtelyon made him feel fiercely aggressive, too ; and Katharine, as she stood between the two men, felt that the scales of fate rocked on each side of her. “For once. It would be Impossible that I could desire a wish of yours to rfemaln unfulfilled.” said Taverner, too much in earnest to care whether he appeared a fool. Courtelyon considered this a clumsy attempt at a compliment, and shrugged lightly. “Come, Miss Henfrey, we are wasting the music.” . Dick drew back. “I shall wait till yotf are disengaged. You have promised me some more dances, remember.” Courtelyon frowned angrily, for Taverner’s tone was masterful, and he had half a mind to tell this uncouth stranger what he thought of him for trying to monopolise the Premier’s daughter, on whom he had set his own facile affections. Katharine said nothing, but as she went into the ball-room beside her partner, there was something in her face that made him scrutinise her with dissatisfaction. Taverner, standing in a distant doorway. watched her. Her face in repose was heavy, almost unattractive and just now, all the sparkle which he himself had kindled had gone from it. She scarcely seemed to be the same girl who had been so shy and yet so exquisitely alluring a brief half an hour ago. The change in her confirmed Dick in the Inward conviction he had been cheiishing, that he alone held the key to Katharine s nature, and that is was, like that of every true woman, manifold. But if she only presented this side to Courtelyon, what was the secret of her attraction for him? Money, of course — those fellows were right—Courtelyon was after old Henfrey’s dollars! Well Kathy desevred a, better fate than to be courted as a make-weight, and Taverner gnashed his teeth, forgetting for the moment that the same Imputation might be laid to him.

It was brought home to him, however, when he tried to have a few words with the Premier. Henfrey remembered Dick perfectly, but at first ho affected not to do so. It was the ex-bullock driver’s way to Ignore earlier associations and acquaintances that might prove inconvenient. Some blundering faculty which served him as intuition told him now that Taverner was likely to fie, from his point of view, troublesome. Dick was not awake to this pleasing trait in the man, and was amazed to find that he had to recall himself so clearly to Henfrey’s remembrance. When at last lie had left no doubt in the Premier’s mind as to his identity, Dick saw that it was on account of Katharine that Henfrey chose to rebuff his advances. This treatment warmed Dick up ; lie liked Henfrey better for it, but it made him square his shoulders and throw his chin up grimly, as he faced the fat pompous man, who was scanning Ills lean frame and ill-cut dress clothes so comtcmptuously. They had no topics in common, and had soon exhausted the few on which they could touch concerning those earlier days. But before he turned away the Premier inquired with an air of ill-natured jocularity ; “You’re dancing, 1 suppose—eh, young Taverner?” “I’m not,” returned Dick gruffly. I’m unused to playing the fool at halls. t haven’t yet learnt the tricks of polite society.” For tlie life of him he could not help giving that' slap—impolitic though it might lie. But Henfrey did not seem to mind. As a matter of fact, lie was relieved at the reply; Taverner's not dancing secured Katharine. lie thought, from too much of the fellow’s society. “Ah, well! You don’t look a ladies' man." lie retorted, "but no one expects it from a man who's gone under. Sorry to hear yon suffered so in that lust drought.” "The drought punished mo severely, but I haven't ’gone under’ altogether, yet, Mr Henfrey. You’ll hear of me again. I mean to come out on top.” “We haven’t all got your power in that respect, sir,” put in young Court elyon genially. He was passing with Katharine at that moment, and happened to caich the last words. The sight of Katharine with the other man was almost more than Dick could hoar ; lie clenched his badly fitting gioves behind him till tlie common kid split across the hack. But Henfrey smiled in a paternal manner on Gilbert. Nothing pleased the Premier so much as to he addressed deferentially by his social betters, and Courtelyon’s English way of saying “sir” to him tickled his ears gratefully. It was with a curl nod to Dick that he went off towards a buxom, but rattier too resplendent, young lady—the centre of a noisy group—who was vociferously beckoning to him. CHAPTER IV When he had first come across young Gilbert Courtelyon and Ills father in the colony. Bob Henfrey had been considerably taken aback, for ho naturally suspected their relationship to that Sir Marmaduke whom his own father had defrauded. A few adroit questions iiad diced the facts, which were that Sir Marmaduke, now senile and childless, was cousin to Mr Gilbert t’mirtelyon senior—a gentle who had come mil in Australia early in life, made money on the diggings, lost it again, married nut altogether creditably, and been left for many years a widower with one son. Neither father nor son, however, evidently knew anything about Henfrey’s own antecedents, so lit: determined to hold his position by sheer bluff. The bestowal of Unit appointment, of Usher of the Black Roil was a stroke of genius in keeping with a certain grim humour in Henfrey, and largely tinged with an inherited strain ot tlunkeyism which, demagogue though lie professed himself, made him cherish in his heart an almost servile worship of blue blood. The Courtelyons were ail exceedingly poor. The family estate, Henfrey discovered. had gone to the hummer long ago. But their pedigree dated back in

a direct lino to the Tudors and the elder Qiloerl —if lie lived long enough—and his son after him, must succeed to the baronetcy. Now the idae of all> ing himself with their bluer blood pleased the man whose father had been a butler in the Courtelyon family. Ho liked the idea that a grandson of his might some day sit as master where the but-ler-thief'had. been turned out. So Premier Henfrey encouraged young Gilbert’s obvious fancy for Katharine, in the hope that it might prove stronger than a mere fancy. Moreover, the Premier was himself .contemplating re-marriage, and the lady whom he hoped to make the second Mrs Henfrey was the one* to whom he had iio\n gone io speak—a. handsome hotlempered young Irishwoman, known as MBs Biddy McCormnek. 'When Dick met Katharine later lie told her all that lie could of his prospects. of things that would enable him to pass quickly for Ills doctor’s ■ degree, and how lie hoped ultimately to settle in practise somewhere in Leichardt’s Band. He had a fancy, lie said, for the northern half of the colony as promising a more varied field. “There should be a fine opportunity up there for dealing witli things outside of an ordinary practice, and you know, Kathy,” Dick went on enthusiastically, “you mustn’t think me conceited, but I’ve been working all I could at tropical diseases. I’m tremendously keen on them. They are going to be my speciality. I’m going to make myself famous by finding out some cure for plague or leprosy.” But Katharine had even more then a young girl’s usual instinctive loathing of such subjects. “Oil, don’t talk of those horrible things! I can’t boar them.” she said. Then, as his face fell, she added hastily: “Of course, it’s splendid of you to want to find cures for dreadful diseases, and to do good to mankind —that was always your craze. But leprosy!” she shuddered again, “It’s so unpleasant. “You used not to mind unpleasantness, dear, in the old days, if you could save poor creatures pain. Don’t you remember our nursery of sick and motherless animals?” “Yes, 1 know —but they were different.” “Only imagine, then, what it would mean to millions of suffering human beings if 1 could find a oure—say, for leprosy!” "Don’t, I shall shut my ears!” and she made a half-smiling movement of putting up her hands. But Dick did not smile. Very young men, who take themselves and life seriously, are apt to be a bit priggish over matters which they feel to bo part of their earthly’’mission. Nevertheless, he drew down the hand of Kathy's nearest him. She yielded it, in the simple confiding manner of her childhood, and they remained silent for a moment or two, each thrilled by the touch of the .'other. Suddenly, she said : “Oh, Dick, I wish you weren’t going away! It*makes me feel safer to have you near.” “Safer!” He echoed the word in surprise. “It’s good to know you feel like that, little mate. But Kath, you’re not afraid of anything in particular are you?”

A shadow seemed to come over her face. "N—no,” she answered in rather hesitating' fashion. “Only, Dick, do you believe in presentiments dreams things like that?” “I —don't know,” he answered, weighing his words with the conscientious air of an embryo scientist. “ I rather think that a man who’s going in for medical practice ought to stick to the physiological side of life and avoid the psychological—anyhow,' until he knows his business.” “Which means that deep down in your heart, Dick, you do believe in such things, only you won’t admit it.’ "Possibly. But I’d like to know what sort of tilings you mean, exactly, Kathy. Presentiments of what kind?” “Of some sort of dread overshadowing me. I don’t know how to describe it precisely, but it seems connected in my mind with horrible Illness. That is why X cannot bear to think of those diseases you were talking about.” "But, Kathy, you can’t really think you would ever suffer in that way. Nothing is more Improbable. It isn’t like my old mate to have morbid fancies. I have always looked upon you as such a practical, level-headed little woman.” “So I was, Dick —so I am. But when I was about fifteen at the convent, I got Into a queer nervous sort of state—what you would call morbid, I suppose, and it was then I first had that sense of a terror which would come upon me some day. I’ve never lost the feeling ; it comes upon me at odd moments.” “A terror!” he repeated, and gave her a searching, puzzled look. “But, Kathy, there must have been some reason for that. How did it begin?” “I think,” she answered, “that it began in a dream.” “A dream! What sort of a dream?” “Oh, a vivid, ghastly dream! You know I don’t often dream. Dick. I go to bed and sleep all the night through, and so when 1 do have a real dream it makes a great impression on me. I could never forget that one.” "Tell mo all about it, Kath.” Again she seemed to hesitate. "It—it was—about a sick child,” she began. “Don’t they say that it’s a very bad omen to dream that you are carrying a sick fluid?” He shook his head vaguely. “I fancy I’ve read of some, such superstition. Was that your dream, dear?” “Yes, but the child didn't seem ill at first. I dreamed that I was carrying a little boy in my arms through the Bush —such a wild lonely sort of Bush—not like anything I've ever known—miles and miles of black, gloomy forest—and sometimes dead gum trees —white skeletons —like those in the Selection paddock —do you remember, Dick?” He nodded. “Only these, were older and weirder and more twisted, and there were great grey rocks, too —and black shadows ; it is all confused —and yet so distinct. And then the child —” “Ves, go on, Kathy ” “I had him in my arms, and he was heavy, Iml in Urn beginning of my dream I didn't seem to mind that. His head was against my shoulder —it had yellow curling hair. Tie was a splendid boy, and at first it gave me quite a beautiful feeling—bolding him close like that —because —just fancy—l thought it was my own child!” “Ves, dear. And then?” She paused a moment. “And then—oil! it was dreadful horrible.” "What was dreadful, Kathy?”

“j foil him growing heavier and heavim' in my arms—like a dead thing'—till 1 trembled ami ached till over with fatigue. There were rocks. .1 told you, and the way was very rough, and I was so tired: I stumbled and fell, with the boy clinging to me. Ho never uttered a sound, hut a-' soon as [ was on my feet I stooped to pick him up again—and then 1 saw that the hoy had changed. He wasn’t Hie beautiful hoy I had been carrying. Inn a horrible loathsome thing -.-all corrupt ion—oh ! The ghastly horror of Ills face —I can see it now. And in my dream 1 seem to hear a voice saying, "Accurst: Accurst! Unclean! Unclcanl’ ” Kathy’s own voice had sank almost to a whisper, hut there was in it a ring of such fear and pain, Unit Taverner was astonished. The dream had evidently affected her deeply. He pressed In-r hand. "it was only a dream, Kaithy—only n dream —a nightmare-. 1 dare say 1 could explain it all perfectly satisfactorily on physiological grounds, if you were aide to tell me exactly what you had read Unit day ; what you had done; what you hal talked about: and—don’t he angry—what you had eaten. You woke up a t that point, 1 conclude?” ••I woke up. sli ricking. The dormitory Sister came rushing in, and for a long time after that they gave me a light in niy cubicle." "And you’ve never dreamed the dream a-.-ain since?" "Oli. no. no. I’m thankful to say!” i’lun forget it, .Mate. 1 assure you it can only have been due to a •lartieulnrly laid hou! of indigestion.” She smiled, hut answered seriously: “I. wish I could think so. And 1 could forget it. But that wretched child haunts me. I seem to bo carrying him in my heart.” Dick stroked the gloved hand tenderly. He had noticed that Kathy spoke of the dream-child as her own without, any touch of ne!f-consciousness, and it gave him feeling of pleasure that she should he devoid of the avergae girl’s affectation of modesty in such mailers. He himself had the scientific, medical mind which regards all that is elemeni ary and human with complete frankness end simplicity, and he was glad that Kathy’s mind should he tints akin to his. As lie watched the disturbed face, the wide-lipped mouth qui-ering with nneomprehended emotion, the welling of tears in the soft, brown eyes;

and then at the finely curved lines of her fuli modelled figure, the thought followed sabyxzfififfffi vbgkqj cmwfpy followed as by natural consequence that the primal passion of Katharine’s nature would be that of maternity. "This is a queer kind of conversation for a ball-room,” she said presently ; “but it’s a relief to speak out what's in one's mind. It’s like old times, Dick. I always did say things to you that I should never dream of uttering to anyone else.” Kathy stopped suddenly. She was resting her chin onher hand, iter elbow on her Knee. The other hand was prisoned tight in Dick’s clasp. Both seemed to have forgotten that he still held It. "Do I. shock you dreadfully?” she said. “Did you expect the Sisters to turn me into a meek and mild young lady?” He shook his head. “Go on,” he said ■huskily. “Tell me more. You never wanted to become a nun?” "I? No, Indeed. Some of the girls did, but I wasn't drawn to it. I attended the services in the chapel, of course. Wo wore obliged to do that, but I could never have bound myself to have become a nun. I’m not built that way.” Dick nodded nnderstandingly. Not for worlds would he have checked her confidences. ”1 wasn’t meant to be a saint,” the girl went on. “I’m much too ordinary an individual —though some people urged my father —I’ve heard since—not to keep me at the convent too long, in case I should want to stop there altogether! Why, I was only panting to come out. I wanted life and happiness!” “But you are happier now?” asked Dick gently, delighting in her frankness. This stream of free girlish talk gave him an insight into her real self, a vision of the true Katharine, and, however unvarnished the portrayal, she became every moment dearer to him.

“I get a great deal of going about,” she rejoined with a shrug. “People make much of me because I’m the Premier’s daughter, but I’d gladly give It all up if only ” “If only what, dear?” Dick’s fervent pressure of her hand emphasised the question, but Kathy ; turned suddenly shy. “I suppose every woman wants—something,” she said, gazing blankly at the waxen bells of a great clump of daturas growing close by. “My life is very —lonely,” she went on, swallowing a lump in her throat. “My father doesn t lore me, you see. He never did. “Poor little mate. I know,” said Dick very tenderly. “Don’t you think ” and Kathy looked up with childlike candour. “Don't you think, Dick, that love is the need of every woman?” Had any other woman asked the question, it would have , savoured of coquetry. Kathy’s simple face must have disarmed a more, suspicious mind. And Dick was too simple himself to misunderstand her. “It is tire need of every man, too, for that matter,” he said; “but surely in your case it is a need not likely to be very long unsupplied.” There he paused, watching the lovely flush that rose under her fair skin. She had dropped her eyes again and half drawn her hand away. He let it go. He had a mind all on a sudden to find out how she felt towards Courtelyon. “Surely in your case,” he persisted, “there is likely to be plenty of love offered you?” “A woman doesn’t want exactly—any love,” murmured Kathy. Dick felt that he had bungled somehow. “Of course not,” he said, “but what about young Courtelyon?” “He? Oh!” Katharine looked startled. "Guess what I heard some fellows saying in the gallery at the Legislative buildings this morning, Kathy?” “Were they saying that father wants me to marry him?” asked Katharine simply. Dick nodded gravely. “Oh, 1 wish father wouldn’t think of such a thing!” she said. “I do hope it hasn’t been put into Mr Courtelyon’s head.” • " Then you can’t care about him? There was such a relief in Dick’s voice that Kathy smiled. “Yes, I think I do, but not in that way,” she replied hestatlngly. “He’s always so very kind to me you see and he doesn’t seem to mind when I’m stupid.” “You couldn’t be stupid. You have been well educated and you’re full of interesting ideas.” “Ah, but one cannot talk about one’s own ideas! Nobody would care to hear them if I did. , I don’t know what to say when I’m with most young men and girls.” “Because' you’re so different from the regular run of them. Listen to me, Kathy, darling!” Dick stooped nearer, when suddenly a movement at the far end of the verandah disturbed them. The place had become contpletely der sorted during the last few minutes, for a waltz was being played, and all the couples, except a few, bent on flirtation in the garden, had gone indoors to dance. Now a padding footstep sounded on the inlaid floor of the verandah, and between the tall flower-wreathed pillars some one was seen advancing. The someone was a small, ferret-faced, elderly man with a peaked grey beard and short-sighted grey eyes that peered from side to side as he came. “Wtha’s he after?” said Dick softly, inwardly cursing the intruder, and wishing that he himself had made more use “of these few precious moments. “Not a partner of yours, is he, Kath ? You promised mo these two dances, remember.” „ ~ “They are not his. anyway, said Katharine under her breath. “I bought them from Mr Courtelyon, as it happens,” “Bought them?” “With four at the Masonic Ball last week.” “Compound interest! It s usury, smiled Dick, who felt lie could afford to smile now at any mention of Courtelyon. “But who is this old chap? I hope he’s not looking for you.” “I expect he is.” said Katharine hurriedly, she had been scanning the in--ruder with vexation, and now put up her fan to conceal her face. “It’s Mr

Ratcliff, the Postmaster-General, horrid old man! He’s always spying after his daughters when they sit out with anybody.” "Well, you needn’t bother about them, if he isn’t after you,” said Dick soothingly. “I’m afraid he is, though. I've got to go into supper with him, but it can’t be time for that yet. I didn’t hear them play “The Roast Beef,” did you?” “No,” said Dick, and the couple listened a moment to the strains of “Estudlantina.” “They’ve dancing still.” “Perhaps father’s asked him to hunt me up,” said Kathy uneasily. “He’ll make mo go back to the ball-room with him. Oh, Dick! What shall we do?” Just beyond where they sat, a door stood 'temptingly open, leading out into the quiet star-lit night, where the garden with its shaded paths might conceal a hundred couples. But Richard, manlike, had not his wits about him as much as the girl. If she had waited for him to decide, the new-comer would have had time to bear down upon them, and their opportunity would have been lost. It was Kathy who sprang first to her feet. “We’ll go into the garden for five minutes." she whispered. “Follow me.” "To the end of the world!” answered Dick Impulsively, obeying her. And when the Postmaster-General, who had suddenly caught sight of the pair, hastened after them, it was only to perceive as he reached the open doorway that Kathy’s white silk skirt was disappearing in the distance under some tVees.

A U G-MAN'S I.L.T i HR. “Some years ago 1 was taken til with pain in the head and fainting sensation ; there was also a severe pain between my shoulders and down my bank. I coulu scarcely get my breath; after nearly every meal I w*as seized with such violent pains in the stomach that I was almost afraid to take my food. A nervous sensation would frequently overtake me with a .choking in the throat. I became really alarmed and thought I \yas going to die. We had heard of * Warner’s Safe Cure; my husband purchased a few bottles for me and I commenced to take it with almost immediate good results. I continued taking the medicine for some little time and was soon once more in the enjoyment of good health. I could eat ad-most any kind of food without any had effect. Since them, my son, who was quite a little lad, developed symptoms of jaundice and was treated by medical men without any good results. We again had resort to Warner’s Safe Cure with the same beneficial result. I advise any woman suffering in like manner to give Warner's Safe Cure a trial as I am sure she will thereby be greatly benefited.” The above letter is from Mrs. Catherine Brown, of 21, Sherrard-stre-et. Black Hill, Ballarat, .Vic., and is published so that many other women, whc suifer in a similar manner, may learn how to obtain -relief.