The Arkansaw traveler., 1884-07-19

doctor.
 We are going home," she said, and all the human music had died out of her voice. If he should open his e7es with all these people looking at him, he would be frightened E
 Yes said the doctor gently. "You mus, take him home. will come too. See, where is your address sr
 He stopped cab and put her in it, fol- lowing himself.
 l. l. was the flowers said woman as the cab drove of, leaving the plying crowd, and the fragrant flowers, all crushed and soiled now, as they lay scat tered in the dust. "Yes, they suffocated the child as he slept they were killing him."
 CHAPTER ".
 l. was true. The doctor said that the powerful seen. in the close air had poisoned the sleeping child, wearied out by his days pleasure, and already weak ened as he was by the confined life and want of fresh air in his town home. If he had been stronger child, such thing nigh, no, have happened. For the next two days, Estelle did not leave the side of the bed upon which they had placed the boy.
 She neither ate nor slept-scarcely even spoke. Madame would come in. her face swollen and flushed with crying. half dozen times in the day, to see her nd take another look a. the child who had grown as dear to her as one of her own might have been. She tired to in- duce the girl to break the terrible watch she kept over the dead child. But ii was useless.
 There is tragedy there, voyez-vous. |" she said to the kind-heaTted doctor. who came again 10 see the Englishwoman. " That child was more to her than were most peoples. She has a story to her life, but would not ask She came jus, SIX months ago-one bitter day. She was shiyering, but only thought of pro- tec;ins the boy. She has lived here ever since, working as only the poorest work. She saic her name was Estelle-she called II Esther-or something English, soyez-vous, but could not remember. so called her Estelie. She gave no other name, and she flushed scarlet as a poppy swhen she said it. It was droll having no surname, bu. 1 would not ask. She knows no one in Paris but the little one; and madame melted into tears again.
 Up stairs, the woman, whose last earthly tie seemed to have snapped with the chiid's life, sat white and fearless by the bed.
 They took him away from her after those two days. She came back quite late in the evening of the day of the funeral. Madame Jeff her by the tiny grave in the morning, and she supposed she had been there ever since. But she l asked no questions and let her % up to | her room, on her return, undisturbed.
 For second or two EstelIe stood in | he doorway, as if trying to remember 1 she wished to do. Then she i vent over to the old chest of drawers.
 had better let him know that he | ,an do nothing now," she said to herself. l she opened one of the drawers. In i, ay the few little garments belonging to | he child. On the top of them lay the and the tiny slippers they had aken on him that morning. She took hem out and turned them over slowly in Ter hanr. But her eyes were perfectly ivy. She had never once cried since the ,hlld died. She pu, them back. "It vas not that wanted" she said.
 Then she opened another and found a sriting-desk. She took out from 1t a etter. IL was in English, written in a ,old, mans hand. dated year back.
 My DEAR EsTHER-Do not let this etser distress you. know that what 'ou told me the day I leA you in Paris sas perfectly true-that could never rin your love. would not have spoken hat day, only you seemed to be quite Hone, and wished you to know that rAs always your friend. But l will not rouble you again am going abroad. md shall be out of England some vears. md as l shall be always travelling about
 am going to give yoa the address of my awyers in London. Do not be angry. lou refused my help. dear, for yourself- 'ut the boy. One day you might, for ome reason. be glad of what have done.
 have left certain sum in their hands. ou know am rich. le is no longer nine, and you mus not be angry at my |, ,iving il over for the use of your boy. Nrite 10 me now and then, and my law 'ers will forward the letters. Now. dear. .ood-bye for long time. God bless you nd your boy. Yours.
 DONALD HUNTLEY.n
 She read l; through once or twice be- ore quite understanding tha, it vas the etser for which she had been searching. Then she sat down and wrote two or hree lines to Mir Donald Huntley. She aid nothing of hefself, only that the | hild was dead. She sealed it, and ad- lressed n to his lawyers in Loodon. Then she sat still, and went over some f the events that had happened to her | ince that letter had reached hes. This riend had brought her to Paris a year go. at her request Then leaving her in ome rooms, he had gone inso Sxistzny l pc. that quest of hers, so sse if he | ouid not right that terrible uzonx done Q hex. He had failed. Then ke had ,one away leaving her in Paris. He had | .ished tc nake sure of her future, but he had refused, saying thas she and her Doy would have enonRh n livue rus~es,v