6 HUNTING FOR EDEN. Ho traveled In search of purer air, And' he found where It was, one day. But the water supply was beastly there, And so he declined to stay. He hunted t.ir to discover the kind Of water his health required. {tut where It was he was pained to And More winter than he desired. He looked for a climate to suit his taste, And he found Just the kind, at last. But all around was a barren waste. Where nevi r a traveler passed; 8u hr hurrli d "t: and hem archi d around For climate and water and air, But wherever a perfect thing was found Some other was lacking there. IT.' started in search of a healthful place, When his form was erect and strong, When the color of health appeared In his face, Hut hi- visage got pale ere long; lie traveled to keep bad health away, He notlc. d his pallor and worried, fill he 112 iut.il jt: • t the proper place, one day, And th. re, on the next, was burled. —S. E. Kiser. in Chicago Record-Herald. 112 "N | A Knave of | Conscience i By FRANCIS LYNDE. V / (Copy ri* til l'JUu, tiy I'raucis Lyiidu.) CHAPTER IX.CONTINUED. It was all over in a moment. Char lotte saw the mate try to spurn the disabled negro, and saw the white man step between. Then the mate's right arm shot out in a mighty blow at the peacemaker, who was stand ing just within the low guard with his back to the river. She looked to see him hurled fo his death in the brown flood; and what «he did see was scarcely less horrify ing. The fugitive had stepped aside, and the mate, carried off his feet by the impetus of his own blow, stum bled on the low rail ana dropped in to the river. Charlotte saw instantly what would happen. If the mate were not drowned outright, the devouring pad dle wheel would swiftly overtake him and batter the life out of him. But what did happen was more astound ing. Like a flash the man whom the •mate would have sent to the death which was to be his own sprang overboard fairly upon the shoulders of the struggling bully, carrying him deep under water just as the roaring wheel was about to engulf him. All this Charlotte saw; and the rescue of both a few minutes later, the mate insensible and the other in the throes of exhaustion; and when It was over she was fain togo back to her room, with her letter to Mr. ■Galbraith still in her bosom. For heroism is a law unto itself, and were a man guilty of a thousand crimes, the woman does not live who could give him up to justice on the heels of such a deed. CHAPTER X. When Charlotte had made sure of the pseudo deck hand's identity in •the forenoon of the second day out she had thought the assurance un assailable and had conducted herself accordingly. Hut when she awoke late on the morning following the brave rescue of the mate, assurance bad departed. With the admission of the smallest doubt, she eouhl by no means goon with her plan of betrayal until the doubt was removed; and, not know ing what else to do, she went to the captain to find out if possible all he knew about the mate's rescuer The interview was most unsatisfac tory. She led up to the subject by telling the captain the story of the rescue, and so was privileged to ask a few questions about the rescuer. Did the captain know hitn? And, above all, did the captain know the day and hour when the man had joined the «rew? •Capt. Mayfield knew no more than that the man's name was John Gavitt, and that he had joined some time dur ing the day of departure from New Orleans, lie was a sick tramp, work ing his way home to some small river town in lowa. So the doubt remained unsolved, after all, and her hands were tied un less it. could be removed. She could think <>f no other expedient, save an interview with the man himself, and this she knew was impossible—in its bringing about and in tiny definite re sult that could accrue. For if she could bring herself to question him, surely he would li*> in his own behalf. And yet it was the impossible thing that happened. For that even ing just at. dusk, while she was stand ing 011 the guard upon which her stateroom window opened, she heard a step on the stair leading from the deck above. A man descended slowly, and when lie came near enough she recognized hitn. She let him go until her opportunity was ull but lost; then, plucking courage out of the heart of desperation, she recalled him. "One moment, if you please; I—l want to speak to you," she faltered; and he turned obediently and stood •before her. Followed a pause, surcharged with the electricity of things ominous. He was generous enough to come to her rescue. "You have something to say to me?" "Y<-s; I want to ask you at what time you joined the crew of the Uelle .lulle." 'I he question did not surprise hitn, nor ilid he attempt to evade it, though he knew to what it would lead. "ISetween twelve and one o'clock the day before ye terday." Will you tell mi- where you wei4* *t II o'clock I hat flay?" "Yes, if you ask me." "I do ask you." J was in a certain public building >*• *• I am now. Is that sufficiently defi nite ?" "It is. I thought —I had hoped— oh, why did you do it?" she burst out. "It was the old story of one man's plenty anil another's need." "But surely—" "I know what you would say. I was willing to work; I was not willing to beg. I know it was all wrong, from your point of view, but I should be sorry to thinlc that I did what I be lieved to be wrong." "Surely you must know it is wrong." "So, 1 don't. If I did, you would be relieved of what I conceive to be a painful duty. I should surrender myself at once." "Then you are not sorry? I saw you yesterday afternoon, and hoped you were." "I was sorry then—and am now; for the very good reason that I have lost the money." "Lost it?" she gasped. "Yes." And he told her about the hiding of the treasure and its disap pearance. "Oh, dear!" she said; "that makes it all the harder." "For you to do what yort must? You mustn't think of that. I shouldn't have made restitution in any event." "Then you know what I must do?" "Assuredly. I knew it yesterday. It was merciful in you to reprieve me even for a few hours, but it was wrong." "Wrong!" she burst out. "Is it generous to say that? Are you so indifferent that you think everyone else is indifferent?" "I know you are not indifferent— you couldn't be. But you must be true to yourself. Will you goto the capfain now?" "I thought of doing that at first," she began. "It seemed to be what I ought to do. But when I saw what would happen; that I should be obliged—" "I understand. We must guard against that. You must not be dragged into it. But since you can't goto the captain, what will you do?" "I—l wrote a letter to -Mr. Gal braith." "And you have not yet sent it?" "No; otherwise I shouldn't have spoken to you." "To be sure. But now you must re write it, without signing it, and send it. I suppose you have described me so the officers will have no difficulty?" "Ye-es; that is, I tried to. But why mustn't T sign it? They will pay no attention to an anonymous letter; and, besides, it seems so—so cow ardly." "They will telegraph to every river town within an hour after it reaches New Orleans; you needn't doubt that. And as for its being cowardly, it is nothing of the kind. It is your duty to point me out, and when that is done your responsibility ceases. There are plenty of people who can identify me if I ain taken to New Orleans." "It is very dreadful," she mur mured; "only you don't seem to realize it at all." "Don't I? You must remember that I have been arguing from your point of view. I shall escape if I can do it without taking advantage of your candor." By this time her fear of him had so far departed that she asked him what he would do. "I shan't try to run away. So far you have bound me by your frank ness. When the officers appear, my parole will be at an end. Is that fair?" "It is more than fair. I can't un derstand." "Can't understand what?" "llow you can fk> this—how you could do what you did last night, and yet—" He finished the sentence for her. —"And yet be a robber of banks. I suppose it is a bit puzzling—from your point of view. But there are many things indivisible by any rule of two. May I go now?" She suffered him, and when be was gone she went to her room to re write her letter. She finished it and hurriedly gave it to the night clerk, and straightway knew that her peace of mind was wrecked for the remain der of the voyage. Such, indeed, was the fact. After time enough had elapsed to admit of the letter reaching New Orleans she became a coward of landings, fear ing lest she should see him taken. Nor was Griswold without his nerve-wrenchings, though as the voy age grew older he began to take heart of grace. In the ordinary course of things, Miss Farnham's let ter should have reached New Orleans in time to have procured his arrest at (ireeneville; but when the? Mis issippi town was passed, and many others farther on, he began to fear that she had recanted, and to bewail his broken ideal. He had no means of knowing that her letter had lain on the clerk's desk until Cairo was reached, but such was the pregnant fact, and to this over sight (iriswohl owed his first sight of the St. Louis landing. It was at the landing, at the very end of the long period of suspense, that Charlotte saw the final act in the drama. The swing sfaj»e was poised in air, and two men dropped from its out«- ward end and dragged the moorlr;g line to a ring in the levee pavement, i And then, while she looked, there was a sett file of four, a darting away of one of the Julie's men with a small bundle and one of the at tuckers in hot pursuit, followed Immediately by the surrender of the other. The (Treat eye of th<* searchlight over her head wuug slowly shoreward, und •he saw the prisoner's fair anil the .■flint of metal when the officer hand cuffed him. Whereupon her eyes filled and she ►aw no more. For, when ull was said. it MM* »h«S UUU Ull UlliCl h*J CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 1902. clasped the manacles upon the wrists of the man who was on his way to punishment. CHAPTER XI. After all the despairings on the score of the lost treasure, it hail come to light in she final half hour of the voyage; had not been disturbed, as the finding proved. Some sudden jar had shifted the cargo of coffee, clos ing the cranny into which the treas ure had been thrust, und opening an other one. With the prize once more in hand, Griswold had a return of the levitant joy which hail thrilled hitn in the earliest moment of success. Once again he was 011 fighting terms with the world; and if, as he made sure, the final struggle was awaiting hitn on the levee at. St. Louis, he should not fight as one to whom victory is barren. He made ready for the possible struggle while there was yet time. The negro whose part he had taken in the melee with the mate was grate fid, and of him Griswold made a con federate. They would go ashore to gether on the mooring line, and in event of an attack the negro was to snatch the bundle and run. Further than that, his instructions were brief but definite. If Griswold should be overpowered, the bundle, certified by its owner to contain "conjure," harm less if undisturbed, was to be flung into the river. And for all this Gris wold paid well, and in advance. It fell out much as he had pre figured. When the Belle Julie had edged her way into the flotilla of steamers at the landing Griswold and the black trailed the mooring line up to a ring 011 the paved slope. There was a noonday glare of electric light, and the thick-piled pyramids of freight on the paved levee cast inky shadows. Out of the nearest of the shadows leaped two men at the mo ment of rope-knotting, and the fight was on. At the critical instant Griswold dropped his bundle, and the negro snatched it and ran, with one of the 1 officers in pursuit. And a battle- j blown minute later the fugitive found 1 himself looking into the muzzle of a revolver. Even then he would have fought on had he not caught a glimpse of Charlotte looking down from the Belle Julie's guard. But, knowing what it would mean to her to see him shot down in a struggle | for which she was responsible, he j chose the greater of the two evils and j submitted. So it was that the air castles crum bled and he was marched unresisting ly up the levee and thrust into a wait- | ing carriage. Here there was a slight j hitch in the official programme. Five 1 minutes passed, and the officer's col- j league had not yet brought in the 1 negro; and when impatience bios- I somed into thirst the officer went into a saloon hard by to get. a drink, ; first commanding the cabman to come i down and watcli the prisoner. The driver was a little, wizened \ Irishman, and he went about the j guard duty with whining protest. Griswold saw his opportunity, and seized it when the detective's back was turned. "What's your job worth, my man?" he whispered, with his face at the window. "Don't vez be timptin' a poor man wid a wife an' sivin cliilder hangin' to um—don't yez do it, sor!" But Griswold persisted. "It's a hundred dollars to you if you can get me footloose. Have a runaway i —anything! Here's your money!" ] The cabman took "the sheaf of j banknotes. Followed a quick swish of the whip, and the purchased runa way; the driver hanging to the reins like a faint-licarted Autolyeus. Griswold saw the detective dash out of the saloon at the alarm, and waited only until the electric glare was left behind. Then he opened the door 011 the river side of the plung ing carriage and rolled out. CHAPTER XII. When the plunging carriage and its yelling escort of pursuers were gone, Griswold sat up and felt for broken bones. Happily there were none, and in a trice he was afoot and on his way back to the "Belle Julie," the handcuffs hidden by a bit of bagging. The flank movement was not of im pulse; it'was only the carrying out of a plan well defined at the outset; the determination to do the thing that the professional robber would not do. The mate was at the heel of the footplank when he went aboard, and he saw the manacles. "Hi, there, Gavitt!" he called, "what's to pay with you now?" Griswold explained in barest out line. "Who was it, then? Thugs, I sup pose, after your bit of pay, and the cop hustled the wrong man, av course. How come ye to get fo'ot loose?" "Legged it. But I can't get these off." "I'll bet you can't. Come with me; you did be doing me a damn good turn wail night, and I'm not forget ting it." He led the way to his room, found a pair of handcuffs and a key, and freed the prisoner. After which he gave him a long-tailed coat, much the worse for wear, and tin old hat. "Take them and be off with you, before the cops come down to look for their bit.-, of scrap-iron," he said. Gri wold would have thanked him, but speech Gavitt speech was not to be had. Once on the levee again, with all the Improbability of tlmlinc the tie gro and the treasure confronting him, lie had an ill turn thut was most disquieting. Hut in the midst of it he found his man, who had Mtecr fully dodged the officer und Kitvcd lliu prcciuiin tnuiUU», 1 Griswold promptly doubled the black's reward, and went his way to begin a series of metamorphoses. The series began in a pawnshop next door to the saloon which had seduced the detective. Here he made a change of clothing from top to toe, bought a handbag much too large to be filled with the cast-off garments of the deck hand, and sallied forth to seek a barber's shop of cleanly promise. The shop and its bathroom made the next step in the series; and from thence Griswold went uptown to an outfitting establishment of the bet ter sort, and made another complete change; made it with such ample provision for the future that he was obliged to purchase two traveling cases to hold the overflow. Here he explained that he was just up from a fever district, and begged the op portunity to burn all the cast-off clothing in the furnace of the steam heating plant. It was given him, and when a cab was called to take him to the hotel, no one who had known hitn in New Orleans, or on the main deck of the "Belle Julie," would have recognized the clean-shaven, well dressed young man who had tossed his traveling-cases up to the driver and gave the terse order: "To the Marlborough!" No one, I say; and yet it must have been the very irony of fate which sent to him the very cabman who had so lately assisted him in the hazardous escape on the levee. For, among all those who were most, near ly concerned, surely none but the sharp-eyed little Irishman would have penetrated his disguise—as* he did. " 'Tis the divil's own self he is," muttered the sharp-eyed one on Hie short drive to the hotel. "There's nothing left av him but thim eyes, and that cut on his forrud, and his manner of sp'akin'. But thim I'd swear to if I'd live to be as old as Father McGuiniss —rest his sowl." [To Be Continued.] OLD-TIME BELIEF IN DEMONS. In the Ajse of the ItefoVmal inn It >Yjin Hife. and Even I.ullier Ho llered the Devil VinlteU fling. The cures of Jesus excited so much surprise among his contemporaries be cause the} - were effected by His word and look alone, and needed 110 adventi tious aid of magical drugs; though even He would send on his patients to the priests to be finally purified by magical ablutions from the unclean spirit's visitation. In the age of the Gospels everyone, from the beggar in the streets to the emperor on the throne, believed in the existence of demons infesting men and animals, haunting trees and rivers, even inhab iting statues as their tenements. It was only a question of which name was most potent in exorcism, and in Acts 18:10 Gallio drove from the judp-ment seat the Jews, who were rioting about mere words and names; that is to say, were assailing Paul for invoking the name of Jesus Christ as a defense against the invisible powers of evil rather than the names of Abraham, Tsaac and Jacob, says the Interna tional Monthly. In that age. as in the ages that followed, there was thus a background of demonological belief into which fitted the stories which are a stumbling block to modern divines like Farrar and lan Maclaren. In the ape of the reformation, this back ground of belief in evil spirits causing madness and sickness and bad weather was still intact, and entered as a factor into men's lives and conduct to a de gree which only those can realize who will consult the literature of that age. Even Luther, who burst so many bonds of superstition, never questioned the reality of the visits which the devil paid him. Some Fool (liiPHtloni. "We all have our troubles," said the colored philosopher who runs the ele vator in the post office, "but the worst of it is that we think no one lias any but ourselves. My greatest trouble is answering fool questions, and l I get a good many of them in the course of the day. Yesterday there was. a hung jury, and one of 'em asked me if we had good beds for jurymen who were kept over night! I told him I hadn't seen any yet, and I'd been here for a good while. To-day the weather bu reau hung their sign as usual in the elevator. It said 'Fair,' and that's all, same as it often does. It hadn't been there five minutes when a man from up the state came in and asked me: 'Where's this yer fair at?' I told him it was in the circuit courtroom if it was anywhere. 'Wall.' says lie. '1 can't take it in. I've got togo to the cir cus.' And that's the way I get 'em right along."—Philadelphia Telegraph. A Heavy Kali. In a certain school not far from Tar rytown, the head master, with the ob ject of giving his higher class a prac tical lesson in the use of the barome ter, placed that instrument on the window about seven feet from the ground, and told his senior scholars to note any change in it, and report to him. During dinner-hour one boy, more meddlesome than the others, be gan tampering with the glass, with the result that it fell to the ground and was broken to pieces. Anticipat ing matters, lie watched for his mas ter's return from dinner, and. rushing to meet him, observed, excitedly; "Sir, the barometer has fallen!" "How much?" asked the pedagogue, thinking of climatic change. "Scren feet!" was the reply, to tin' miin/ement of the master. Woman's Home Companion. Tin* I'liMir \\ i*m Tomtit. Mrs, Yotiligbride -I've come to coin plain of that flour you sent me. Grocer What was the mutter with it ? "It wax tough. I made 11 pie with it and it was as much us my husband could do to cut I*," —Vl-U'iUelphi* I'rcka. PRETTY HAT MODELS FROM GAY PARJS In the New York shops may now be seen the elaborate display of fall hats that is a feature of every au tumn. They represent, so we are told, the very best of the Parisian styles, and we should imagine they represent, all of them from the great variety that is offered. Flat hats are to be more worn than ever, while laces will be extensively used, and the long scarf in the hack, that has been such a feature of the summer millinery, will be seen again GRJLAT VARIETY SHOWN IN FALL COATS The cool autumn winds that strike I ns at every turn suggest the desira- i bility of new eoats suitable to Ihe j season. It is not hard to find some thing attractive and pleasing, but it is hard to make a choice between the many pretty models and varieties that are offered. What a boon it ! would be if the people who make our fashions for us would but con tine themselves to a few less varie ties in each garment. How much easier it would be to select that which suited us. Now we have fancy coats of all descriptions, ranging from net it paletot to the long ulster like garment that envelopes the en tire oody down to the hem of the skirt. And with these are all man ner of dainty and pretty capes that afford uli the protection needed from the autumn winds. In (he way of materials both taf feta and peau de soie, though by no means novel, will figure in many of the more elaborate garments, while smooth finished cloths are the favor ite for ordinary wear. For the new capes, however, rich and delicate fabrics seem to be the thing, and odd designs, approaching old-fasliioncd I tippets, pelerines and shawl draper ies, are the most acceptable to the seeker after genuine novelties in up to date dress. The illustration represents a rather curious combination of coat and cape, the latter in effect, but really the former in cut, for the body j art is supplied with sleeves in the usual manner. It is made up in suede doth. The entire garment is a series < 112 overlapping tucks about an incli wide, and while on the sleeves these plisse folds follow a horizontal line, on the rest of the coat, or cape, they curve upward from the side to converge at the bust. The neck is finished with a youthful looking col lar fashioned of alternating layers of nioii'scline the same shade as the cloth rnd bands of rich lace. This collar is broad enough to quite cover the tops of the sleeves, and it rounds down prettily to the bust, where it ends under two large and beautiful jeweled buttons. From this point there falls a soft scarf of the rnous seline, which has its ends cut off square and ornamented with a band of the guipure. The wrap is a charm ing little creation for carriage wear DAINTY FALL GOWNS FOR THE LITTLE MISSES The little misses must be cured for in tin- rush for fall Hollies quite in licit ns I lie iiiamniits or oliler sis ters. 'l'o lie sure, their gowns ilo not cull for the rudieal chnng<'M with ciich new seiisoii that the gowns of the elthrs (I i, i»n there i- neurh nl \va\i H new toueh to tin-in of some Mini. This season comes nearer be ing "» • xee|ilion to this rule than any we have had for Keveral yearn, mill tii re is nothing so very new and original offered for the lit t It- ones. The I<• • if• waisted French dresses and tin' M »ther llubhnrd frock are still the thing* for tlir little one , nnd for ;on winter hats, only with longer scarf ends than before. Some oft tits prominent houses are showing - bright red as the keynote of their smartest lials. The grass green which has j been shown so much favor is still to be worn. In a season, however, when j pale bine and pastelle shades promise : to be extremely popular, and gowns | in all i'ght tints are to be much in ; vogue, many picture hats in all black are shown as giving the artistic touch | which completes such a costume. j [ during the early autumn, and it lias I the great advantage of being easy to | assume with any dress. Another pretty model that comes j just between the three-quarter and | ordinary coat in point of length, j This, too, is of smooth finish cloth, and th>; color is the most delightful | tawny shade with insertions of lace jto match. An unusual feature of the , coat is the entire absence of collar or trimming that in any way sug gests this part of an outdoor gar ment. In the front is a deep yoke cfTect of Irish lace, and to this ia given a. drooping curve on each side by a flat band of cloth heavily stitched. The lace insertion and pieces of stitching are arrtmged to present the appearance of panels in the front and back. The full sleeves are drawn into gauntlet cuffs made of a solid incrustation of lace with a border of stitched cloth. Outlining the cut-out neck is a fancy silken cord that loops once at the bust, then is permitted to fall to the lower edge of the garment, while an orna ment if the same crocheted design, with two pendants, marks the join j ing of the yoke and sleeve. ulsters olil enough to start lnt< seliool there lire the |>lnit<*lll the sheet white tire vt. reenforeed h\ heavy underwear, are the usual wear. EIXEN OHMUNI-B.