CHAPTER II. Continued.

Taranaki Herald, Volume XLIX, Issue 11725, 27 July 1901, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER 11. Continued.

Author of "A Girl's Kingdom," "A Kinsman's Sin," " A Woman Scorned," &c.

It had be*n for a long time an opensecret in that village that the doctor's marriage lmd been an unfortunate one —that is to say, unfortunate from .the world's point of view. The man himself would have been the first to refute this ; but when a man loves in the blind, infatuated way in which Oscar Bunting loved his wife, facts which are patent to all the world do not evnn exist for him. He had married ,a delicate, highbred girl, poor, like himself, bat rich ia social ties and influences. He had married her, worshipping her as something too precious for common life, and he had happily never realised that his wife, though she accepted his devotion and adoration, had never ceasad to deplore h«r marriage and to regard it as a sacrifice. While she had lived, life had always been sweet to the man. Her beauty hid her selfishness ; the charm of her presence was sufficient to incite him to every kind of work that could give him the means of providing her with the luxuries she demanded ; and when she died something died also in. his heart. He loved his children—his handsome boy, Dick, his graceful girl, so like her mother, and the study little boy that had cost that mojther her life; yet though he workel on in the same old fashion, there was a great,difference in him, and those who had known him in former days would feel wirh a kind of pang that be was a man who walked always in shadow. Bans alone realised that she coold never give her father complete happi* ness. She had been a little child of four when her mother had died, bat the remembrance of that mother was so vivid, the knowledge of the father's love for that mother so perpetually with her, that it seemed to Babs as if she had known her mother very well indeed. There were pictures of her scattered about the house, and it always gave the girl a thrill of sad joy to be told that she was growing like her mother. And yet, though it was impossible for Babs to bet a9ide a little sorrow of her ovra in connection with her father, the girl's life was a very happy one. She had never been away from home. Her schooling had been, done in the most erratic fashion. Some of her mother's people had been anxious in the beginning to take the child away to educate her, and bring her out in a wider and richer circle, but Dr. Banting had refused the offer, aud in so doing had widened the breach that had always existed between himself and his wife's family ; so much so that his children were entirely neglected by their mother's relations. This was a fact that did not trouble Babs in the least, but it unfortunately rankled in her brother Dick's mind. There was far more of the mother's nature in Dick ; it was a nature destined to bring a fair amount of anw happiness to those that loved him. Babs *as thinking of him all the time that she hurried iiack from Castle Chase to her shabby hoaie. •I wish Dick would not he 30 selfish,' she said to herself. 'He h always writing to ask for mon^y for something or other. I am glad ho had '.he grace this time to write to vk j in'-t-'a:! of dad* I shall answer him »cry straightforwardly. Dick seems t > forcet that Basil has to b<3 educated at -veil as himself, and that there is only one 'person to do all this. 1 She woke out of hnr musings when she realised thai she ha' i^kon a wrong turning, an 1 »>v.l youe considerably out of her way. Sue musi. either rotrac<? ' •<• h'pps, or she must clitnb a c-Ttai . high g»to which barred her pnssago ia.- th- 't'ghroad. To most |>r>ople thn g.v--. with i*< spiky top, in v lit have pro., i -i effeo tual barne , '>ut It* •* *ns u:\ lept v - climbiug, tin !. e'>e <■• I • eva'l -. the epikes.

She took off her coat and laid it along the top, a ad, in l & ss than a moment she had landed herself on the other side, and then she became conscious that she was not alone. A young man on horseback was just a yard or two to her right. ♦Bravo, Baby !' he said, 'that was as neatly done as anything I have ever seen in my life.' Babara Bunting gave him a cart nod. 'How do yoa do ?' she said. She was exceedingly annoyed at lii? presence, and she pat on her coat witb a col.l, proud air. Tho man on the horse smiled. 'By Jcve!' he said to himself, 'she gets prettier each time I see her 1' 'What were yon doing in there, Baby V he asked, and he swung himself from the saddle and came toward her, leading his horse. 'Don't you know tbat ttie great mogul has arrived, and that all sorts or restrictions are gos ing to be started. Bloodhounds are going to be set at every gate to protect this valuable property, bo little j girls like you must not be running about, lest "they get e;«ten up ' 'I wish you wonld not talk such noneense,' observed Babs. 'Good-bv.' She turned to the left, which would lead her dirertly away from her home, a fact which the yoang man duly impressed npon her. 'What a bad temper you are in,' he said. 'I do believe yon were going two miles oul of your way just because you were cross with me.' 'When did you come down ?' inquired Bab?, coldly. 'Last night. We expected you at dinner, but you never turned up.' 'I did not know that 1 was expected,' said the girl. 'My mother told me that she had sent you a note in the afternoon.' 'I never got it.' 'Well, we do not stand much on ceremony, do we? If yon could not come last night, come to-night.' •1 don't care to leave my father at dinner time,' said Babs. They were walking now along the Toad together, and he was watching her with an amused and yet a faintly irritated expression. It strnck him that this child actually was annoyed at seeing him. He remembered now that the last time he had been down to stay with his mother for a few days, Babs had adopted the same stiff manner toward him. 'You have not said yon are glad to Bee me,' he remarked. Bab 3 answered him quite frankly. 'I don't think I care one way or another.' At which he laughed, bnt still with some annojance. 'My dear little Baby Bunting,' he said, 'yon really are too funny. You must let my mother give you a few lessons in polite conversation. I thought, b) the way, that you were to have come to town this year with her, I looked for you, and was picturing all sorts of triumph for my little godsister, but you neve* came.' 'It was very good of Lady Susan,' the girl said, 'and my father was very anxious tbat I should go ; hut, well, there were many reasons why I thought it better not to do so. And apart from this, you know I never care to leave father for a day, if I can help it.' *But you cannot be boxed up her>all your days,' Lionel Villiers said, with some impatience. 'I don't see why not. I am perfectly happy here.' 'Because you don't know any otbei life, my dear child.' '1 don't want to know any other life,' Bab 3 said, stubbornly. They had reached the gate of Tudor cottage and she held out her hand, which Mr Villiers did not take. 'Aren't yoa going to offer me a cup of tea V he asked. With a shrug of her shoulders which was certainly not complimentary, Babs open* d the gate. '1 will send Jim to take your horsp.' 'He can lead it Lome,' observed the young man. *I shall not ride now. It is ever so much nicer Bitting hern chatting with yon.' It was not only a vein of mischief that led him on to tease her ; thcro waa something e'se stronger working in his thoughts. It was a novol experience for young Villiers to fi'td himself snubbed an Babs waa snubbing him. The world was practically at hi* fr"'t, as the worl 5 is prone to kneel :it the feet of all of tho^e who n c kin sof wealth. J^Babs had known him all Iht life. She was hii mother's god-child, and she loved Lady fv.i-an Viili'TS <r<My dearly ; but there novc:- Jad been ai.y afffdion ii> her y<»u;g heart for Lady Susan'rf only child. Ho was not so very much older thai her brother Dick, though be locked a, "..an eio-o upon thirty, and he Lad a dictatorial air

, which Babs remembered had always stirred np Dick's wrath la the past. In schoolboy vernacular Dick had once expressed himself openly about L'onel Villiers. ♦He may be as rich as ever he likpe, ha may have all the ancestors in the world at his back, yet he ia a beastly bounder for all that ' And somehow the schoolboy had hit the right nail on the head. Though h<» came of a splendid old family, and was i be son of delightful, cultured people, Lionel Villiers possessed a heart and UKiure that was utterly lacking in refinement. He was selfish and opinionated, hard, and even croel ; a man, unfortunately, who had much power ; pat in his hands, and who would never 1 use that power for any other purpose than selF-aggrandisement. , Nevertheless, as has just been said, Villiers was much flattered and fluttered after by society, and it certainly did not tend to soften the man's arrogance and vanity to realise that he was 60 very important. It was not possible for Barbara, ronng'and innocent as she was, to grasp the full measure of this man's character ; but something ha*! always siirred in the girl's heart against him — something that seemed to warn her that evil would come to her, and to tho3e stn loved, through this man's influence. CHAPTER HT. Babs left her uninvited gupst in the parlor while she slipped away to order tea. S'-ie heard with a little ping that her father had been in for a few ruinates, and had started off again on a long drive to a distant patient. ♦Did von give him tea, Besaie ?' she asked of her only maid-of-all-work. 'The doctor would not step, miss,' she eaid. 'He left yon this little note.' Baba opeDed it eagerly. •Don't wait dinner for me, Babs/ her father had written. 'I bear that poor Mrs Newton is *cry ill. I may not be able to leave her for some time ' This scrap of paper went to Bab3 7 lips, and then the girl slipped it in her pocket. Her love for ber father was so great that it endowed the smallest act of his with a preciousness that she could not pnt into words. 'Where is Master Basil ?' was ber next question. She frowned a little when she heard that the boy had gone out for the'rest of the afternoon. Though Lionel Villiers was alcne, 9he made no haste to join him. 'What a bit of bad luck it was inepting him !' she eaid to herself. 'What on earth does ho want to come back here for ? I hate his eyes ; they seem to mock me. I never realise bow shabby my home is except when Lionel comes here.' S'ie had to rouse herself from Ou*s mood and go back with Bessie an' the tea tray. 'I cannot give you any cakes, 1 she said, shortly. Mr Villiers smiled. He was standing with his back to the fire. ♦Can't you ? Well, nevr mind ; I bavfl outgrown my faste for oakes.' s And the tea is l>>rrid,' continued Babs. ' He looked at his cup doubtfully as she handed it to him . 'Why are you so inhospitable, Bihy?' he asked. The girl's face flushed. 'Please don't call me Baby,' sha said 'Why not? You are a baby !' The girl sat down and stirred her teat 'I thought you were going on a tonr of thn world,' she said, snddenly. 'My plans are changed,' he answered. *T hftve been asked to stand for Lingford. My mother thinks I ought to do it. What do you think ?' B»' raised her eyes. 'I ? I don't thick anything at all ! abnnt. H, one way or the other.' At this Lionel Villiers put down his enp and came and stood in front of her. ' What is the matter with yon ?' he iisked. 'You used to be such a jolly little thing, and now you are aa snappy a 9 an old maid.' 'I am sorry if I am crosa, Lionel.' she said. As a matter of foct, she dirl feel that she was rather rude to him. 'Bat I am a littl" worried about Dick.' 'Ah ." said Mr Villiers. 'I saw Dick the other day ; he dined with me at my club.' 'I wish he vould not dine out so inncli/ said Babs. 'How can he work if h<» dofs nothing bat enjoy himself.' 'Ob, I don't think you neert bother ; yourself about Dick,' said Villiers. j 'Tie's the sort of fellow who will alwajs tak>- cara of himself.' 'Yes,' said Baba ; *bit will he ever 'iz o care of others? Does Lick evor

stop to realis? that father is working himself into an early grave ? It sometimes makes my heart ache to see him.' There was a break in her voice, and she rose and moved to the window restleß3iy. The, man lookeJ at her with admiration fully awakened in his heart, and with pome other feeling — a vague sensation of envy. Her love for her father stirred his 1 heart. ] 'Sli* is beautiful,' he said to himsulf, ! involuntarily. He changed the subject as she turned and came back. 'I find <he village ia a ejreat state of excitement ab^ut the Castle Chase people. I know Mrs Grantley. She is a wonlerfaUv pretty pprson — wears very well ; one would never take her to be th« mother of Sir Charle?. I cannot quite comprehend her burying herself down her?, though I suppose she will only stay for a few weeks at a time.' Babs did not. seem to be interested in what Mrs Granfcley might to ; in foct, she Wrts so dull, so inevitably desirous of being without his society, that Mr Villiers was at last obliged to , ttko himself off. H-* wulfctt'l away in a really bad temper, 'She is a s*uck-up little minx,' he said to himself. 'I cannot make out why on earth mother raves about her so much 1' Babs watched him go, and clapped h^r hands with glee. She was very far from imagining ia this moment that she had started a feeling of resentment in Lionol Villiers' heart that was destined to bear bitter fruit in the future. 'I h'>pe be will go back to town tomorrow.' she said. 'I like him less every time I see him. Why is it, I wonder, that a dear soul like Lady Susan should have such an odious sou?' She made herself 8^ fresh cup of tea and drank it — not, however, without a pang that sbe should have tea whilst her father bad none. She had told Mrs Baillie that there were heaps of things for her to do at home, and tbis was not wroDg ; and after she had carried the tea things back to the kitchen and washed them herself, she went round- the house and tidied up the various tilings that Basil had flung about, and she looked to sea that her father's study was warm and comforfcalle, for with so much rain and^ dampness fires had been started earlier than r.sual. Iheii she went upstairs and put on an old house-dress, and wben she came down again she took a pile of sock^ and sat by the window mending them industriously. And while she eat, her thoughts wove themselves about the two men whom she had seen that afternoon. •What a funny thing instinct is 1' s 1 c said to herself. 'Why should I always have felt uncomfortable with Lionel 1 . I remember when I was a little trirl I always wished that he would not be n>. tea when I went to spend tho Hft"rnoon with Lady Susan. I don't believe I should ever have had that feeling about Sir Charles. He has something in hi 1 ? face that seems to ■=ay !.p would always be good and kind ; anil then lie has Mich beautiful eyes. I don't like dark eves,' Bibs added, to herself ; 'epp^cuilly when they are small , nrnl shnrp. How any one can call Lionel Villiers nanflsom* 1 , I can't imajjir.e. It makes me so wiM when I hf-ar t.'ie yonnfr girls down here gns'i mc about him !' Ba v is darned her socks until afternoon rln?k deepened, then she determined to nnt, on her hat j»bkl walk up to the BUiioo. for her father's evening paper;; The London train was signalled as she arrived, and she caught sight of Mr Lorrimer's portly figure standing on the platform. 'I had better wait till they have gone,' she said to herself, with a faint smile ; so. standing a little apart, she watched Sir Charles as he leaned | apsinßt the solitary lamp-post that graced the little platform. There was something pathetic in the extreme weariness of his face — something' that gave the same little pangto Babs' heart as was wont to come when she welcomed her father home after an unusually hard day. 'He looks a<* if he wanted some one to look after him and take care of him.' I she saM to herself ; and then the train [ catne rushing in, and in a few moments was ftonr away again, \ earing Sir Charles Grantley and Mr Lorrimer back to London. Babs pot her newspaper from the elation master, and walked briskly home. Tt was Tier iiMial custom to run down the hill, and danco up the qnrrlen path; but, now tb'i irn]nl?e to do t: is permed <o be taken f'om her. SV was pondering on ti';.t youug-old fare, conscious

e.ven in hpr i'^.orance that it carried the story of a torrow that was always present. CHAPTER IV. Sir Charles parted with Mr Lorrimer with a hearty handshake when they reached town. 'I am ever so much ob'iged to you for wiving me so much of your valuable time,' he said, 'and I feel now tb»t f understand far better where I am and what lam expected to do. Nevertheless, I shall look to you for help and counsel, Lorrimer.' 'Which are always at your disposal, Sir Charles. I have to thank you for a very pleasant day. Ib has been a real de'iajbt to me, Sir Charles, to make you acquainted with everything connected with your splendid inheritance, I feel sure that Castle Chase will find iv von a worthy and honorable master.' The ' young man sat back in the corner of the hansoaa and looked ont into the lighted Streets with a bitter pniile on his lips. 'Honor !' he said to himself ; 'what a mockery the word seems to be !' Then, with a quick sigh be passed his hand over his brow and closed his eyes. 'I will forget!' he said to himself 'It only requires will to do all that on* wants to do in this lifp. Why ohould I remember, if I am strong enough to forget ?' ' The cab set him down at some chambers on St. James' street. He found several letters wailing for him, one written in pencil from his mother. 'You must dine with me to-night,' Mrs Grantley wrote. 'Nelia Summers and her mother are coming. If you should get back too late for dinner, come in afterwards.' Sir Charles crumpled tliis note iv bis band and flnng it from him almost impatiently. Tben, with a shrug of his shoulders, he rang the bell for his man. There wap plenty of time in which to dress and drive to his mother's house'; and, though hia first feeling had been one of intense desire to escape this dinner, he set this feeling aside. 'It is so foolish to shirk things,' he said to himself. 'Sooner or later one has to face the things one tries to avoid.' i When he was dressed, he sat and read the other letters, and answered one or two ; then he slipped on his 1 overcoat and walked to his mother's house in Grosvenor street. I He imagined the drawing-room was ! empty when he arrived ; but as he ad- { vanced into tbo softly-tinted room a woman's figure rose from a chair in a far corner, and for an instant Charles Grantley's heart stood still. x She was vCry beautifal x and in the dim, tose-ahadod light which Mr I Grantley always affected, seeded to be extremely youthful. Yet Nelia Summers was a woman verging toward tbirty. . ! She was one of those dainty, deli-cately-tiuted English types of beauty, < small-featured, slender-waisted and cold, with a fascination which belongs to the j Northern temperament— one of that i sort of women whoso mission is to win a J miration aod to keep it, no matter at what cost. The kind of woman whom poor Oscar Bunting had married ; the kind of woman for whose sake a man that loves her will dare and Buffer all ; and this was the way in which Charles Grantley loved Nelia Summers. She gave him her hand. 'You did not expect to see me,' she said, in a voice that matched her delicate appearance. H« did not bold her hand, though she laid it contentedly in his fingers. •On the contrary,' he said, in answer, .'my mother told me you would be here.' 'Did she add that I was staying with 1 er ?' Nelia asked, as she turned and seated herself in the chair from which had jost risen. 'I arrived this afternoon. I hear you have been to Castle Chase. You look tired.' 'I am tired,' the man said. He moved away from her and stood by the fireplace. His manner was so cold as to seem almost indifferent, and Miss Sumvers felt a thrill of anger pass through her. Why was it that Charles Grantley held himself aloof from her ? Throe or four years ago, when he bad possessed neither title nor wealth, he bad been literally her slave. Of course, there had been no nonsense in those days, because Nelia was far 100 clever ; and, though Charles Grantloy had always been known as the heir to bis uncle's property and title, yet such things as unexpected marriages bad . intervened in other caseo, and Nelia had no desire f>r the kind of future that, in those days, marriage with the young man would have signified. She remarked in this moment, as sle lay back in her chair and looked at

I him half fretfully, how completely she i had been able i.) sway him in those other days. How difficult it had been to escape listening to the love that seemed fco burn his lips. What had ■ changed him? She had always been very sweet and sympathetic, -the day , before he left England, to start ont, as I1I 1 he said, to carve his way to fortune, he ; • had said 'go-jd-by' to her in her mother's house, and Jie bad gone from her with tears in fc^. eyes, and a look 02 his face that had betrayed his heart; I and iv the days that followed he had seat her many little remembrances of himself— now and then a letcer, sometimes photographs of some beautiful part in which he bad been travelling. Ooce, on her birthday, a box had arrived which, when opened, had rerealed some wonderful roses packed in such a way that they reached her almost as fresh as the day they were cut. She had set aside these souvenirs at t'^e time almost carelessly ; other influences had been at work in her life, other possibilities bad been drawing nearer to her touch ; yet somehow these possibilities ha«i never become certainties — somehow, beautiful as she was, with a kingdom that apparently never grew leas, Nelia bad not achieved that wonderful success that had been predicted for her. And now Charleg Grantley had returned, rich in rank and wealth, and yet he seemed as far away froci her as though he had re«. mained on the other side of the Atlan'ic. It was now nearly three years since he bad come into his title and possessions, and" during that time she had only seen him once or twice. He had disappeared, no one knew where. Nelia had allowed herself to be bored by Mrs Grantley's selfish peculiarities only because she hoped, by keeping very intimate with his mother, to draw Sir Cbarleß back to her again ; bat she had quickly found that Mrs Grantley had very little communication with Sir Charles ; and, in' fact, wag as much puzzled, or eeemed to be, as she herself over the change that had come to the young man. 'What ib it?' Neiia aaked herself again this evening, 'Why is he s<» cold ? I don't understand him in' l!be least.' Indeed, the position fretted her beycnd measure. As soon as she had heard of Sir Norman Grantley's death, the future bad seemed clear to Nelia. Of course, Sir Charles would come back, he would ask her to be his wife, and in a little while she would reign at Castle Chase, and there would he an end to all the wearisome pecuniary difficulties that constituted the atmosphere of her mother's and her own life. But months had gone, and she was just where she was ; aod the months, added up, made years, and though Nelia looked still a mere girl, she had the bitter knowledge hidden in her heart that she and girlhood had said goodby to one another forever, and that much more of this disappointment and narrowing existence would rob her of those charms which were her only stock la trade. Bo it was that her beart was hot and angry as she sat there, expecting some sign from Charles Grantley to kt her know that the love he once iiad for her still lived in hia heart, aud she was far from imagining what it cost the man to hold himself so coldly from her, or how, when she thought bim utterly indifferent, he dared not let bis eyes rest upon her lest he should yield to the temptation and beat down the scruples which made an unsurpassable barrier between them. They were both silent when Mrs Grantley fluttered into the room. Sir Charles' mother wos, as Lionel Villiers had told Barbara Banting, an exceedingly pretty and marvellously young-looking woman. She was s blonde, with a dainty figure that was nevertheless the scourge of her existence, since it always threatened to lose its graceful proportions and become unduly plump. There was not much likeness between the son and the mother ; in fact, it was difficult at limes for some people to realise their close relationship ; but if a person turned his eyes to the portrait of Mrs Grantlev's husband that hung in the dining-room below, he could see, feature by feature, the marked resemblance of the son to the father. There was the same melancholy look in the eyes, the same tender expression about the month, the samj well-cut features and well-shaped head. "Here you are I' exclaimed Mrs Grantlev. *Ara I late ? I suppose I' am. Charles, do ring the bell ; we must have dinner at once. Give your arm to Nelia. Isn't she a dear girl to conic and take pity on me ? And, oh ! Charles, you have to teli us all about Castlo Ctuse, i

Nelia laid her hand on Sir Charles' arm, and tbey walked together oat of the room: The bitterness and the anger deepened in tb« young woman's heart as they did f •«, for it seemed to her as if Sir Charles drew away even from this conventional contact with her. •You will have to come down and stay with me, Helia,' declared Mrs Grantley, as they were seated at table. •Charles has at last made up his mind, you Know, to open the old house, and to establish ourselves there. I daresay I shall enjoy it for a week or two, but I am sure I shall die of the doldrums if I stay there aiay longer.' Sir Ctiarles looked at his mother. In her piak evening 1 gown, with ropes of pearls slung about her ivhito neck, and a diadem of pearls ocd brilliants crowning her flaxen head, she looked fashionably pretty enough to satisfy all eyes, yet there was a shadow on the young man's face as he looked at her, and his voice was very cold as he epoke. 'There is really no necessity for you to be bnred at all, mother,' he said. *I can manage by myself.' Mrs Grantlev laughed, not very pleas \ntly. ' ', 'You are a very rode and ungrateful boy,' she declared. 'Imagine saying such a thing to your mother ! Why, of coarsf , you could not possibly go to Os'st'p Chase without me. What an ide»!' Tnere was a long spell of silence after this. The thoughts of all were bn?y. and each was conscious of some bitterness. To Nelia Summers the turn the convereation had taken was almost painful. She half regrettei for an instant that she bad come to stay with Mis Grantley ; tli'e next moment a kind of obstinate spirit took possession of her. 'Yet why not?* she asked herself, impatiently. 'Sir Charks has no right to treat me like this. He knows very well that he did all but tell me that he was devoted to me, and that he ga*e me lots of proof tbat he car«d for me. I bave a right, to expect him to speak now.' Her face indicated her utter unconsciousness of what was passing in her heart. It was Mrs Grantley who carried on the conversation eventually. She chattered pnoogh for the three of them, and she hurried them tbrough their dinner, saying that tbey mu3t not miss the first act of the play to which they were' going. When Eelfa had gone upstairß to get her wraps, the mother and sou were alone for a moment, and a stranf r expression j-assed over the mother's face. She gJauced furtively at Sir Charles. He sat smoking in a grave, moody way, and her lips were pinched in with a peevish look. _ Suddenly Sir Charles spoke to her. *" He threw down his cigarette, and , leaning bis armsoa the table, he looked at bpr straight in the eyes. 'Why do you bring this girl here V he asked. 'Why not?' was hie mother's reply ; *ihe is here for me, not for you.' I A slight phirer passed through Sir Charles' frame. He rose, moved aimlessly a^ont the loom, then stoud beside his mother. 'Once,' he said, in a low voice, *I opened uiy heart to you — I showed you the secret it held. You cannot pretend ignorance, yet yon bring Nelia here. Wiiy — why do you do this ?' Hi« tone now was passionate, almost rough . Mrs Grantiey rose to her feet with a flounce. •Oh, dear !' she said, impatiently. •You are too tiresome, Charles ; I really don't know what to do with you. I wish jou wonld behave like an ordinary person. lam so tired of this kind of nonsense — it is so theatrical, no unreal! And do rouse yourself a little, 1 the mother added, fr'etfnllv. 'People are thinking you are so very odd.' She took herself and her silken draperies not of the room as she spoko, and Charles Grantley stood and looked after her with a dark shadow of misery in his eyes. He covered his face with Lis handa for a moment ; then vrith a gesture of despair he lifted his head again and walked out of the room. •What use to straggle ?' he said to himself. 'This is not keeping to my woro. Tt is not even doing ray duty. I scented the burden, and I must carry it, no matter what it costs.' TO BR CONTINUED.

A home— gardening" association has bppn, i'orrned in Clereland. Last spring 50.000 penny packages of seeds were dietnbnted among children, with directions bow to plant tbem. Seventyfive per cont of tbeso efforts were re* warded with successful growths.