The Arkansaw traveler., 1888-05-12

had been too much for Kennard, and he had only time to get to chair when, for the first time in his life, he fainted.
 It was some time before he came to himself again, and when he did, Gladys bent over him eagerly and ex- citedly.
 "Harcourt," she whispered, "have l helped you? Have done as you wished?"
 "Yes," he answered faintly. "l have the clue. It is not much; but it is enough"
 "Ah-I must go," she said suddenly, glancing at the timepiece.
 "One moment" said Kennard, struggling to his feet. "What weak fool you must think me-but am all right now. I shall see you tonight, | Virrel," he continued hurredly.
 My dear fellow" in & determined aside, "I will put Miss Raynor into a hanson, and you will remain quietly here until I return. There," as Ken nard staggered slightly; "you're not fit to walk at present. knew 1t. Sit down, and I will talk to you when I come back"
 "No-no, you must not come," ex- claimed Gladys in quick, nervous tones. "You are i'll. Oh-how white you arep She held out her hands to him as she spoke; and Virrel consid- erately walked into the inner room.
 "Good- bye, then," Kennard said hoarsely. "Forgive my stupid weak ness, but I have been i'll and out of sorts for some days. Gladys-we may never meet again. For your sake l wish we had never met. But you have given me new hope; some inde- finable intuition tells me that-that I am free. I shall leave no stone un- turned-no clue unfollowed. God bless you, my darling. l shall write to you if-if am successful. If not it is goodbye, indeed-until- hereafter''
 He did not kiss her, not even the little hands that lay trembling in his. Their eyes met in silence.
 Then Virrel entered the room again, and in another moment Kennard was alone.
 Six weeks had passed, and Gladys- motherless since her cnildhood-was now left fatherless as we'll. On the day following her fathers funeral she returned, stunned and grief-stricken, to London. A telegram awaited her. It was dated from fishing village in Scotland, and was from George Virrel. It's words were these: "Kennard is very ill. Come, if possible"
 On wet, stormy evening, twenty four hours later, Gladys stepped out on the platform of the quiet little sta- tion at Girvan. MT. Virrel met her.
 "What news?" she gasped, seiziDg his arm.
 "He is better-he is conscious" an- swered Virrel. "I will tell you all as we go along."
 "But-hia wife2" she said, trying to speak calmly.
 "She died year agop was the an- swer.
 "Ah-thank God [" she said in all reverence.
 We'll, I don't know that there is much more to tell. Kennard, i'll as he was, had gone straight to Girvan for he had recognized from Gladys de- scription in her trance the village which was his wretched wife's birth place, and where he had first met her, one ill-starred summer long ago. He found there the cirtifcate of her death, which had taken place in the autumn of the previous year. Her lover, it appeared, had drawn her al- lowance until hiy own death some months ago. Having completed all the links in the chain of evidence which gave him back his freedom, Kennard's strength suddenly gave way, and the fever against which he had been fighting for weeks brought him almost to deaths door. Virrel came down to look after him, and, as we have seen, sent for Gladys. When the sick maL was strong enough to see that young lady, we will presume that he thanked her in suitable and efficient way for the share she had had in lifting the shadow which might have clouded his life forever. At all events, he had a very good time during his conva- lescence, and Virrel kindly effaced himself good deal. Whether Ken nard and Gladys had belonged to each other in previous existence-a fact of which they, with Virrel, were firmly persuaded-I cannot tell; but they mutually agreed to belong to each other in this world and month afterwards they were married. There was one curious circumstance, by the way connected with Kenpard's illness. It was this. On his recovery he found that his mesmeric power was entirely