The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1922-01-20

her that soon, perhaps, on the NOR
row, his duty demanded that he in
form Sir Leicester OF his wife's for
mer disgrace. Il am quite prepared"
she said icily, as he started for home.
But, with an inward fire consuming
her, she would walk in the garden for
an hour or more, she told turnkey.
No, she would need no further escort.
The next morning London rang with
the news that the great lawyer, Mr..
Tulkinghorn, the trusted solicitor Of
nobility, the impregnable guardian Of
family confidence. had been found by
terrified servants In his chamber in
Lincoln's Inn Fields lying face down
ward ON the floor, shot through the
heart.
Oh, with what fear / heard this. If
but then came the newspaper report
that Mr.. George, fine and hearty ex-
soldier, who had been heard to threat
en- Mr.. Tulkinghorn, because the law
yer had squeezed him financially. and
who had been seen at Lincoln's Inn
Fields on the night of the murder, had
been arrested, charged with the crime.
But why? The mystery was not
solved, it seemed Mr.. Bucket, found,
was still on the trail of-some one.
Then one day MIR. Bucket told my lord
that it was not the soldier who had
killed Mr.. Tulkinghorn, but woman.
And he went on with all the story OF
my mothers early disgrace with Cap
tain Hawdon, and how Mr.. Tulking-
horn had discovered 1t, threatening
her with exposure; how my lady had
been seen going out on the night of
the tragedy and how a yelled woman
had been noticed near the lawyers
rooms at the same time. "It Is my
duty to tell you this" said the detec-
tive. "to prepare you for the reyela-
ton am about to make. Others know
OF it; you must" Then in was brought
Hortense, my lady's discharged French
maid (who hated my lady and hatel
Mr.. Tulkinghorn still more because he
had refused to pay her hush money on
account of the masquerading scene be-
fore Jo), and Mr.. Bucket proved her
guilty OF the murder and arrested her
on the spot. But they left my lord
stricken with paralysis, his proud fig
ure beaten to the earth.
Next 1 heard that my poor mother
had fed the great London mansion,
leaving a letter for Sir Leicester con-
Tossing her youthful shame, but pro-
testing her innocence of the murder.
"Ful forgiveness; find" wrote the
baronet on a slate for Mr.. Bucket.
Then began the strangeSt chase that
was ever known. Bucket came for me,
and we left the inspectors Office in
London before two of the morning in
a barouche with position and post
horses, Mr. Bucket seated on the box.
A wild, uncanny ride it was, down by
the waterside, over the London bridges,
crossing and recrossing the dark river |;
out of the empty city streets into the
country white with snow. On and on
with little rest for two days and more,
toiling through the sleety, sloppy
roads; snatched bit of rest here and
there; suddenly back to great, roaring
London, hot on the scent now, and
fetching up on foot at last at the
grim gate of the terrible paupers'
graveyard where my father was buried.
And there on the steps, with one arm
creeping around a bar of the gate as
if to embrace it, lay mother cold and
dead.
But sunshine came again, as it al.
ways comes to the young and hopeful.
My dear guardian brought it the soon
er. / had promised him that wouli
be mistress of Bleak House some day.
He had been kind; / was grateful. /
thought Allan Woodcourt, who had
been absent from England, had grown
away from me. Returning, he had
spoken too late. All, dear guardian,
how did you know, and why did you
take me down into Yorkshire so soon
to show me pretty, rustic dolls
house of a cottage ON pretext of get
ting my opinion of it as residence
for Doctor WOodcourt who was to set
tie in those parts? And "Bleak
HOuSeW Yes, that was the name over
the cottage door. And on that beau
tiful day, you, my generous, self-sac-
rificing guardian, gave it to me and
me to Allan Woodcourt. Thus was I
made the happy mistress of Bleak
House. Happy in the knowledge thar
widowed Ada with her boy was to live
at the older Bleak House always.
Happy to learn at last that Jarndyce
and Jarndyce was devoured by its own
costs and that its curse was laid for
evermore.
Copyright, 1919. by the Post Publishing
Co.. (The Boston Post.) Copyright In
the United Kingdom, the Dominions, its
Colonies and dependencies. under the
copyright act, by the Post Publishing
Co., Boston, Mass, u. s. A All rights