The Forrest City times., 1897-07-09

poured out something of her pain in music.
 soft rain drove me home. hut unused long and deeply over my tenant. l called several times, and received cour- teous welcome, was entertained by strictly conventional conversation. heard the piano in some fashionable. showy music, and found the surface so- ciety of Mrs. Raynor. a gentle, refined lady. attractive and dagreeable-no more. might have accepted this for the real woman, but l had habit of lingering about my garden, and as the drawing room of Fern Cottage commanded no other view, my neighbor seldom closed the windows as the spring crept into summer. Paler, more shadowy, with added sadness in the great, dark eyes. Mrs. Raynor became almost ethereal as the warm weather stole something each day from her strength, and 1 was not surprised one morning to see old Susan coming hastily into my hallway. "Oh. Dr. Wilton," she said, .'she has fainted over those horrid picturesl Will you come?"
 l went at once, finding my patient prostrated at last, and gently submis- sive to all my commands but one. the most imperative.
 Il must work" she said, "as long as l can hold a brush."
 But you will die," said, bluntly. eff you do not take few weeks of entire rest"
 "Die!" she said, quietly. not s if there was any terror in the thought, but as if it was new possibility in some prob lem of life. No, I must not die yeti" Then you must obey mel" I an- swered. Il will send a carriage every afternoon, with a careful driver. and you must go with Susan for drive. You must be outdoors as much as pos sible, excepting during the heat of the day, and then, if possible, sleep" Her dreary smile confirmed my opin- ion that sleep was a rare visitor at her pillow. but she did not say so. Indeed, she made no complaint, evidently allow ing my visits solely out of regard for Susan.
 And to Susan I turned at last for counsel. She had come to my house for some medicine l had brought from Paris-an opiate not yet in use in this country. And pointed to seat, say ing: Susan, I am past 60 years old, crippled as you see, seldom leaving my home except for foreign travel-no gos- sip. If you think you can trust me with Mrs. Raynor's secret trouble, may be able to cure her.
 The woman looked startled for mo- ment and then. bursting into tears, she said:
 "Oh, sir, it's awful trouble, and we don't want it to be known about here!"
 "Tll not betray you," said, gently.
 You see, sir, she Is not widow, after thinking herself one for four years. He, MT. Raynor, sir, for she's never hid her name, is a bad man, a man who nearly killed her with his drinking and gambling and bad company. He spent all the money her father left her, he crippled her boy with a blow of his drunken fists, and then he left her poor and sick. and the boy all crushed She worked day and night for the child, lit- tie Harold, and he grew to nine years old, but always crooked and puny. Then MT. Raynor found us out, and he would have taken the child, he would, the fiend, because she loved it. So we stole Harold away in the night and sent him to Germany with friend. I'm telling my story all wrong, sir. We heard Mir Raynor was dead-heard it from his own brother, too, who believed it, and Miss Edna-Mrs. Raynor, 1 mean thought herself free, when she let Mir Duchesne come to see her, and-ah, well, doctor, he was true man; gentle, kind and loving, and so good to Harold She thought she was a widow, and her heart was sore, so sore you can never guess. for she was one to take trouble hard-and what harm, if they loved each other? They would have been mar ried if Mir. Raynor had not come back, pleased as Punch to find he could make little more misery for his wife"
 But he is not living now?"
 "Yes. he is, sir; the more's the pity! Mir. Duchesne is in Germany with liar old, and my poor dear is working her precious life away to pay for the baths for the boy, and to keep Mir. Raynor away. She pays him so much a month to leave her in peace"
 And this delicate woman supports husband and child?" l said.
 Yes, sir, and lives upon the meanest of everything for the sake of being alone! It's awful, doctor, to think of those two loving hearts, one in Ger many, one fretting here, and bad man between them. They won't even write to each other, but we hear from Harold how kind MT. Duchesne is to him. It is like him to try to comfort her by be- ing so good to her crippled boy!"
 Tt is a sad story" l said. And l was too nasty in thinking l might help Mrs. Raynor if knew it. We have no medi- cines, Susan. for such misery as this"
 But yet I was glad to have heard the story. l sent books to the cottage, and I went over frequently, trying to win the heavy-hearted woman away from her own troubled thoughts, and amazed at her rare patience and courage. bod dopa hut little in my efforts fn re-