THE LAWYER'S SECRET. NOVEMBER, 1886. T was a luxuriously furnished room where a glowing grate threw genial light and warmth upon the occupants that General Langton, lawyer and millionaire, listened with bated breath and pallid cheeks to a low and melodious voice that told a story of a life. The speaker, a beautiful woman of about thirty, yet ten years younger than Mr. Langton, reclined in a low cushioned chair, her attitude speaking of the ease wealth gives, but her face was full of the deepest anguish as her lips recounted the story. NO. 11. it is because I love you that I will not let you link your honorable name with that of the wretch who was my husband. I was very young-not sixteen-when he came to make a visit to some friends living at Grassbank. Uncle Richard has a country seat near the village. I first met Alexander at a picnic, where he was the very life of the party; everybody's cavalier; courteous to all; full of wit and animation and service to all. I believe every girl on the grounds thought she had captivated him, his attentions were so well divided and yet so impressive to each one. He claimed to be no more than a salesman in a large wholesale house with a good salary, but he had the "You love me," she said gently, yet manners of a gentleman of education, sadly, “and I love you as I never loved and the most perfect beauty of face and any one before, although I am a widow. form that I ever saw in a man. It was That you know, but did not know my not long before it was evident he wished husband's name. By my uncle's request to win my love, and he had an easy task, I dropped it and took his with the pro- Such love as a child of sixteen can give perty he had left me. Do not look at me I gave him. He was the impersonation tenderly, Gerald; do not shake my voice of every hero of poetry and fiction with or my heart, for when you know who I whom my limited reading had made me am you will not repeat the offer you familiar. School girl like I had made an made me, and which heaven is my wit-ideal hero, and fitted this, my first adness I tried to avert. "Let your conscience be at rest there," said her listener in a grave yet tender voice; " you have never given me one hope, Maud. By what instinct I knew that you loved me I can never tell. Something in your eyes-some tone of your voice betrayed you. If, as you say, something in your past life does separate us, you have been no coquette to torment me with false hopes. But, Maud, tell me again, whatever stands between us you love me?” "I love you," she said gravely; "and mirer, with all his imaginary perfections. "From the first Uncle Richard disliked him, pronouncing him false and shallow, and assuring me that my personal attractions had not won his heart; but the fact of my being an heiress to a large property had gained me the protestations in which I so firmly believed. "It is a painful story to me now, Gerald. Let it suffice that I have lived in the world of pleasant dreams while Alexander remained at Grassbank. When he left me he carried my promise to be his wife at Christmas. "I think if my money had depended on Uncle Richard, my marriage might have been prevented by his threatening to disinherit me, but both from my father and mother I had inherited money that made me independent in a pecuniary sense of his control or consent. “Most grudgingly, however, uncle did consent, after searching inquiry about Alexander, resulting in no worse report than that his employers thought him fast, idle, and just the man to be a fortune hunter. Even then my dear uncle would have protected my fortune by settling it upon myself; but with the reckless gen erosity of extreme youth I refused to have this done. Never, I was firmly convinced, would my adored Alexander wrong me in any way. "For a year after the splendid wedding that made me Alexander's wife I was very happy, and was too ignorant of value to understand that we were living far beyond our income-enjoyed to the utmost the luxuries around me-the constant gaiety that was in such strong con trast to the school routine from which I had been released. Then began a life of neglect, often quarreling, when I objected to my husband's course of conduct his drinking, his extravagance and his late hours. Still I found my own pleasures in society. "It was four years after my marriage, when I was thunderstruck by Alexander asking me to request a loan of money from Uncle Richard, with the information added that every penny of my property was gone. Since then I have known that a large portion of it was lost at the gaming table. Long before this I had lost all love for my husband. Kespect had died out when I knew the dissipated life he was leading, and foolish as I was, I could not continue to love a man whom I despised. I refused the errand, and brought down a torrent of such great abuse that I really expected Alexander would end by striking me. "Day after day the request was renewed, but I would not yield. Upon my marriage, Uncle Richard had sold the city residence and taken a permanent abode at Grassbank, where, knowing my husband to be an unwelcome guest, I never visited him. I wrote occasionally, but the love of years, like that of a father and child, had been so sadly strained by my persistence in marrying Alex ander that even our correspondence was languid and commonplace. "I would not, therefore, write to him to ask a favor that I knew would not have been necessary without criminal recklessness of expenditure, and each refusal made my husband more furious. Then came an overwhelming blow. Alexander forged a check and drew two thousand pounds of Uncle Richard's money from the bank. I don't think my uncle would have prosecuted him had he guessed who was the forger, but he put the whole matter in the hands of the law directly he heard the check was forged. It was traced to Alexander, and at the same time it was found he had robbed his former employers in the same way. He had given up all business upon his marriage, but when he found himself without money his knowledge of the business enabled him to forge the name of Derkiss & Co. Even if Uncle Richard had spared him for my sake the other forgery would have entitled him to penal servitude. He was sentenced to seven years, and uncle took me home, full of pity for the child who had treated him so ungratefully." "Then your husband is in prison?" said Gerald, in a hard, strained voice. "No, he is dead. He died within the first year. Uncle Richard saw the death in a paper and sent the money for the burial. No, I am free, but I am the widow of a felon. "And you are the woman I honor and love above all others, and hope still to make my wife," said Gerald. It took, however, more than one interview full of love's pleadings to win Maud from her resolution. She so honored her lover, was so proud of his good name and the position he had attained by his talent, that her sensitive nature shrank from even the shadow of misery upon his life. But the victory was won at last, and the lawyer walked home one evening full of a proud, glad joy, for Maud had then promised to be his wife. "If you are willing to take Alexander Hull's widow to be your wife," she said, "I will not oppose you any longer, for I love you with all my heart." He had no thought but of that glad triumph when he turned up the gas in his office. He was in the habit of making a late visit there before going up to his bed room, in case notes or messages were left for him. One lay there on this evening, a shabby looking envelope, but directed in a bold, handsome hand which he recognized at once. He tore it open. After a few words of introduction, the note ran: "You did the best you could on my trial, but the facts were too strong for you. I have now a last favor to ask of you. I die, as you know, at noon tomorrow. You, as my lawyer, can see me at any time. Will you come as soon as you receive this, and win the gratitude of the man you know as "JAMES FOx." "The man I know as James Fox," muttered the lawyer; "the smooth, plausible scoundrel who actually made me believe him innocent of the hideous murder for which he was convicted. I can find extenuation for some murders, but this cold-blooded assassination of an old man for money only was revolting. He deceived me, though, for a time. And how he exulted over his success in doing so when he saw facts were too strong! Shall I go to him? I suppose I must. It is still very early." It was not yet midnight when Gerald Langton was ushered into the cell of the man who, in a few short hours, was to meet the extreme penalty of the law for the worst of all crimes. Yet there was nothing revolting in the appearance of the criminal. His dress was neat, his hair carefully arranged, his mustache faultless, his hands white and refined looking. He rose from his seat upon the bed as his lawyer entered the cell. "I knew you would come," he said, courteously, "though you were offended at my want of frankness. Well, that is all over. You will not refuse the last request of a dying man, Mr. Langton?" Not if I can grant it," was the reply. This," said the murderer, "is not my first offense against the law. Some years ago I was sentenced to a term of years for forgery. By a strange accident I escaped the penalty. On the same day James Fox was sentenced to two years for petty larceny, and we were sent together to prison. James Fox-my companion, understand, not myself-was deranged, but his lawyers had not been able to save him, as his aberration was not always apparent. When we were entered upon the books of the prison, imagine my amazement when my fellowprisoner gave my name for his own. Like a flash I saw the advantage to be gained by the deception, and allowed the error to pass. My companion committed suicide, and I escaped with two years' imprisonment instead of seven. But I feared I lived by my wits, until a year ago, recognition, and went to Canada. There when I returned to try and raise money from my wife, and thought I saw an easier plan by committing the crime for which I die to-morrow. But I want to see my wife. I wronged her—I robbed her-but, as heaven is my witness, I love her. When I was in prison she dropped my name and took her own again. So it is not for Mrs. Alexander Hull you must ask, but for Mrs. Maud Temple." Was the room reeling-the ceiling falling-the wall closing around him? Gerald Langton felt that they were, as the name fell upon his ears. Maud-his Maud-the wife of this cool villain who talked of his hideous crimes as if they were ordinary events! Well, he knew that to carry this man's message was to separate himself from Maud forever. Never would she let him marry the widow of a murderer! Very rapidly all of the terrible facts passed one after the other through his brain, and he said: "If you love her, why add a misery to her life? She may have lived down the old pain you have brought her; why, for a selfish gratification, will you make her whole life a misery?" She is my lawful wife. I would bid her farewell.' "She is not your wife. Your own crimes have released her from any allegiance to you," said Langton, sternly. You know her?" Yes! I know what she has suffered, and beg of you to let her still believe you died many years ago. "She is happy?" 'Scarcely that. Such cruel wounds as hers never heal entirely; but it is infamous to tear them open when they are quiet!" "Has she married?” No, she is still your widow.” "It is hard to deny myself one more sight of her face, and the hope I had that she would say she forgave me. "Think of her, not yourself. There was a long silence in the cell. Every throb of Gerald Langton's heart was pain to him; but Alexander Hull sat in moody silence, evidently reluctant to give up his wish. At last he spoke "You have been very good to me. Tell me, now, if you have any personal reason for your request. Perhaps you love her?" "I do!" was the reply. "She has promised to be my wife, ABOUT MANNERS. We receive some impressions of the character of a person at the first meeting, and in many cases, judge of them by their actions. If they are rude and rough and show a disregard for the common proprieties of life, we would immediately think they never had any advantages or had not profited by those they did have. They are few indeed who will "look beneath the rough exterior and search out the good qualities. We judge greatly by external appearances, which are often very deceiving owing to the great difference in people's taste in regard to dress. Then it will be James Fox who is hanged to-morrow. I meant to give my real name, but I will carry my secret to my grave. It may be in another world that the little last self-denial will be a plea for me. Go. You may trust me. When Maud a few weeks later became his wife she little guessed the terrible ordeal which her husband had spared her. THE COMPLEXION. than of far newer acquaintances. They are always polite, their manners unexceptionable, yet you feel that you have no tastes in common; they freeze you with their very politeness, and you never leave their presence without feeling dissatisfied with everything you have done. In direct contrast to these are those who are timid and gentle; they never hurt any one's feelings intentionally, and have taken idea that such people lack force and intellectual power. Such is not the case; scarcely a day passes but that you may see the contrary proven. The manners of the people are as wideThe best aids to a good complexion are ly unlike as their dress. Some please, cold water, a pure soap, healthful food, some amuse and others disgust us. You good digestion and reasonable outdoor may be acquainted with a person for exercise. A soothing application for sun-years and then know as little, maybe less, burn is water to which vinegar has been added, at the rate of one spoonful to a wineglass of water, and a little starch. Vaseline is good; so is glycerine and rose water, in the proportion of one part glycerine to three parts rose water. Wrinkles are often caused by anxiety, bad health, or study. The cause of their formation having been removed, and the general health restored by means of suitable food, occupation, exercise and cheer-ever a kind word for all. There is a misful surroundings, the wrinkles will generally disappear. Use warm water, not hot, to wash your face, and a soap that does not contain a surplus of soda. White castile is the best that can be had. In this age of the world's progress it At night sponge the face with rose water seems to be quite the fashion to be affectand white glycerine in equal parts, to ed, assuming to be something which we which have been added a few drops of are not. In all cases we should be ourspirits of turpentine. Rub well into the selves, and ourselves only, otherwise our pores, and let the mixture dry on the every action is deceit. The person who face. The use of cosmetics is detrimen- has one set of manners for home and antal. They clog the pores of the skin. If other for society should be shunned like the skin be dry, milk or buttermilk_can an adder. Unless our actions have some be applied. It is well to mix some flour true motive they are worthless. That of sulphur with the milk, and let it stand which pleases us in others is not so much for about two hours, or over night, and the deed or act as the feeling which then use without disturbing the sulphur, prompts it. Pure thoughts give elevated which will have settled at the bottom. and refined feelings, while evil debases This should be used before washing, and and lowers them. Some seem to think if a small quantity should be prepared as they have an education they must necesrequired, as it is not a commodity adapt-sarily have good manners; the education ed for keeping. If the skin presents a will indeed soften and mold the manners greasy appearance, due to an excess of oily secretions, milk should not be used, but a lotion composed of equal parts of rose water and elderflower water, or a little eau-de-cologne may be added to the water before washing. in a certain degree, but not so much as they seem to suppose. We sometimes wonder why some people impress us so much more than others. There seems to be very little difference in the thoughts which they utter, but there is a marked |