6 REMEMBRANCE. Wf think of long-past moments. The day we say good-by; The tear we do not care to show Conies stealing to the eye; The voice that lulled us long ago Is tremulous and sad; The busy city tar away Has lost the charm it had; The peacock's cry Is shrill, as though Protesting, and her hands Are pressed against her eyes, as we Look back where mother stands. With prayers to H'm above us, We hurry on the way. And leave the ones who love un—i Too proud, alas, to stay! "We soon forget the heartache, The tears soon cease to blind; We soon forget to pray at night For those we leave behind; We hurry onto gain the height. We strive for wealth and place. And in our e-agerness forget The dear, pathetic face— But some one's hair keeps turning whit#. And while we push ahead A prayer God first heard long ago For us each night Is said. Though we forget they love as And lose our old regret, The God who reins above us Knows that they ne'er forget. —S. E. Kiser, in Chicago Record-Herald. A Knave of Conscience By FRANCIS LYNDE. (Copyright 1900, by Francis Lynda.) CHATTER XXX.—CONTINUED. Andrew Galbraith was silent on the short run before the gale to the pier head at the foot of Main street. For one thing, he was not a man of many words; and for another, he was chilled through and thoroughly un comfortable. None the less, he made shift to thank his rescuers in fitting phrase at the point of debarkation, and to intimate, as a gentleman might, that his gratitude would wait upon a fit ting opportunity to take a more sub stantial form. Charlotte offered to walk home, that Griswold might see Mr. Galbraith safe to his hotel, but this the old man would by no means permit. "Na, na," he said, relapsing, as he did now and then, into the Scottish mother-tongue. "I'm wet as any drowned rat, but I'm not that badly fashed. Take the leddy home, Mr. Griswold, and do you two be seeing after yourselves. You're as wet as I am." Accordingly, Griswold accompanied Charlotte to her own gate, and then went home to change his clothes. Just what he meant to do afterwards was not very clearly defined, but dur ing the changing interval he made up his mind with sudden determination. Whatever should come of it, tbe thing for which all other things must wait it ust be said. He had reached the pai ting of the ways; he knew, as he might have known from the mo ment of love-making on the "Belle Julie," that life without Charlotte to share it with him would henceforth be no more than a shadow of the real. H# had a good excuse forgoing straight away back to Dr. Farnliam's. The very least he could do would be to call and ask if she had come through the adventure with no worse consequence than a shock and a wet ting. And yet, when he had let him self out of Mrs. Holcoinb's gate he did not go directly to the house on the lake's edge. Instead, he made a long detour, walking aimlessly and deeply buried in thought. This thing which he was about to do was not to be done lightly. So far from it, the more he pondered over it the more he realized that it was likely to prove the turning point in his life. Now, that he gave himself the back ward glance which he had steadily refused since the morning of the Bayou bank incident to take, he saw that he had been living tentatively; passing from day today as one who waits upon the event of the day; looking neither backward nor for ward. Though he had worked faith fully, doing the thing that lay next to his i and, he knew now that his work, on his book or in the office with ltaymer, had been purely ex trinsic to any well-considered future. But now the future demanded thoughtful consideration—would have it, whether or no; and, its was in evitable, the past colored every fore casting picture. For one thing, he had come +o that stone of stumbling which he had forseen in his earliest imaginings touching his future relations with Charlotte. Without being unduly be sotted, the hope that he should not plead with her in vain was almost an assurance. If he could gain his own consent to let the past lie buried in oblivion, the vista of the future opened out before hiin with all tin barriers to happiness brushed aside. And yet, try as he might to resolve to hold his peace touching the past, he could not bring himself to the point of tuking her conscience un awares. He was far enough from reali/.ing that his own conscience was iuterposibg this obstacle. lie thought, when he allowed himself to think in that direction, that he had settled the conscientious scruples for himself ones and for all. Neverthe less, there had been momenta, brief, fleeting moments, for the most part, wheu he would have given the rever sion of years of life to be as he had bet-i» before the pi*>to|-drawing Inci dent iu Andrew Ualbraith'a private oltti s. Hut the** little upflaskes of remorse had been but mutch flares, going out in a sudden whiff of the winl <>f finality. For the thing wt» d mi" irrevocably ami cotlhl Utter be ttftdone. 11l the aimless detour which led fc'ur fi '»i sWt • t tu struet uut 11 It* Hi into a road that brought him out upon the lake front far from town, these things all came up for a hear ing, and he gave them room patient ly, as a judge hears a plea that he knows well he must disregard. The storm was over, and the sun was set ting in all the glory of the broken cloud rack in the west. Griswold had the artist's eye for nature's grand eur, and at another time the sunset would have held him spellbound. But now he plodded along with hands behind him and his head down, seeing nothing but the all too clear vista of the past, and that other vista of the future which had but now become a valley of shadows. So plodding along the lake drive, he came at length to the boundaries of Jasper Grierson's domain, and al most before he knew it, he was climb ing the path to Mereside. At the very veranda steps he came alive to some sense of what he was about to do, and would have stopped to weigh the consequences—to turn back, it may be. Hut a trim little figure slipped from a hammock at the cor ner of the veranda and Margery came to meet him. "I'm so glad," she said, standing at the steps to give him both her hands in welcome. "I did so hope you would come." CHAPTER XXXI. However much or little Griswold ever meant to say to Margery Grier son on any of his visits to Mereside, she never suffered him to follow out any programme of his own. She did not do it now; and when he would have spoken about the loss of the launch and her own narrow escape from drowning, she turned him aside with a word. "It was an accident, and accidents are always happening," she said, lightly. "Nobody was drowned, and I hope nobody will be silly enough to take cold. That wasn't why 1 was hoping you would come." "No?" he said, following her as she led the way to a wicker tete-a-tete in the hammock corner. "No. Sit down and be prepared to give me what I have never had; a good, sound flogging of advice —a cool-headed man's advice. You'll do it if I can make you understand how much I need it." His smile was self-depreciative. "You have hit upon the worst pos sible man, I fear. I'm more in need of counsel myself than able to give it." She regarded him with a curious little smile twitching at the corners of her piquant mouth. "Are there two of us?" she asked. He saw beyond and behind the smile; saw troubled depths in the bright eyes, and was suddenly moved to pity, though why she should be pitied he could not guess. The pity was the first step on the way to other things, but this he did not suspect. He was consc'ous only of a certain pleasure in her nearness; flattered a little, too, as any man would be, by her implied promise to take help from him. "I can't imagine your leaning on anyone," he said. "But if a broken reed will serve your purpose—" "Hush!" she commanded. "That is conventional cant, and you know it. You are not living up to your pose here in Wahaska. You may think you are, but you are not." "I don't know why you should say that." "If I couldn't say it, I shouldn't be asking your advice," she retorted. "Not many people here know the real Kenneth Griswold, but I think I do." Griswold smiled. "Describe him to me, and I may tell you if you are right." There was a little pause, and though she was looking past him, there was a certain raptness in her eyes that was new to him. "He is a very ruthless man at heart," she said, speaking slowly; "hard and unbending, and terribly self-centered, but with eyes that see through all shams but his own. He thinks thoughts and would do deeds that would shock conventionality into a state of coma; and yet convention ality is his god. Am I right?" Griswold took time to think about I it. "Perhaps you are," he said, at length. "I am going to assume it,** • she went on,"and ask him—the real Kenneth Griswold, you know—to lend nie those hard, unpitying, all-seeing eyes of his. May 1?" "If 1 say 'yes' it is without preju dice to the right of protest." She waved the condition aside in a quick little gesture of impatience, and what she said seemed altogether irrelevant. "In your opinion, Mr. Griswold, how j far may a father go in demanding 1 the loyalty of his child?" ' The question was so totally unex pected that Griswold had once more to take time to think about it. "if you mean in the ethical field, I should say his right stop* this side of wrong doing." "Thank you. Now supposing that the father of a young woman pressed his demands beyond that point; would she he justified in open rebel lion?" "In refusing, to be sure." "No, but in rebullion in open re prisals, I mean?" "I don't know; possibly the cir i-umstaiK es in some particular case ■night justly open rebellion. Uut I can hardly conceive the contii I lions " ' "('a;;'! you? I.et nie see if I can suppose them for you. Picture to .yourself un unhappy marriage the j unhupplest of Mil in a world of uu -1 happy marriage*. I.et the blame of it lii- where it may fall, on either ide, bill i ''member that the mau was brutal and the woman was weak pi ■ e there was a child, who, in CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 1902 ■tead of being a bvnd between them. w*s a bone of contention. Do you follow me?" "Perfectly." She was looking past him again, and there was a certain quality of hardness in her voice that spoke of unsuspected depths of bitterness. Y'et she went on steadily. "Suppose when this child grew up she was compelled to choose be tween the mother who needed her and the father who could gratify her ambitions. Suppose, if you can, that shu made some sort of a compromise with the little speck of conscience she had and went with the father who, if he was brutal, was also strong." She paused again; and he said: I'Well?" "I—l am afraid I am boring you." The eyes were downcast now. "No, you are not. Goon." "Well, let us say that after a time, this girl, who had some of her fa ther's hardness and some of her mother's weakness, came to see that 6he had taken the winning side mere ly because it was the winning side; that she was helping her father to become harder and more pitiless than ever; that she was really helping him to —to ruin other people who couldn't fight as well. Then you are to imag ine, if you find it possible, that her speck of a conscience rose up in re bellion; that the father tried to bribe her to be loyal, and that she took the bribe and afterward went about de liberately to upset all his plans for ruin—for getting the best of other people. Don't you think such a young woman Wyould be an object of contempt to any really good man?" There was not any of the hardness with which she liad dowered him in her description in the eyes that met hers. In the room of it, there was something she did not understand. "It would depend somewhat upon the man,"he said, slowly; "and much more upon a thing quite extrinsic to all these conditions you have been supposing for me." "Yes?" she said, and she could no longer meet bis gaze fairly. "Yes. If the man, knowing all these hard conditions, still loves you, Margery—" She interrupted him with a sudden, fierce energy. "Oh, but lie couldn't, Mr. Grisewold, indeed he couldn't!" i !i TMi, Jr m XT WAS FROM MARGERY. Her hand was on the low dividing rail of the tete-a-tete, and he cov ered it with his own. "The roan loves you with all his heart, Margery, and will always love you, no matter what you tell him about yourself or your past." "Oh, Kenneth!—may I call you Ken neth? —If I could only be sure of that!" "You may be sure of it now and al ways. Hut —but, Margery, dear, you must cherish that speck of a con science, for I happen to know that this mythical man sets great store by conscience-—will be very unhappy if it is lacking in the woman he loves." She was standing before him now, and lier eyes were alight from with in. Rut what she would have said is not to be here written down. For at that moment there was a heavy step on the gravel and some one came to interrupt. It was Andrew Gal braith, calling with old-school punc tilio to see if his hostess had suffered in the accident on the lake. CHAPTER XXXII. When Griswold took his leave of Miss Grierson, which he did as soon as he could after Mr. Galbraitli's coming, he did not goto Dr. Farn ham's. On the contrary, he went to his room at Mrs. llolbrook's, and spent the hour before dinner tramp ing up and down *ith his hands be hind him and with a sharper trouble than lie liad ever known gnawing ruthlessly at bis peace of mind. All through the talk with Margery, anil up to the very instant of inter ruption, he had made sure that her thinly veiled hypothesis revolved about one Edward Raymer. Rut at the last moment, this conviction hud trembled upon its pedestal and tot tered to its fall, lie thought he had come to know Margery pretty well— well enough to be sure that she would not misunderstand anything that he might have said. Rut when he t'ume to weigh thofte sayings of his in the light of a possible miscon struction he was moved to griud bis teeth iu u very manly ago ay of shame. lie bad neither weighed nor mens ured litem at the time being so sure that wus the man; but in that la .t little outburst of hers there was room for u most disquieting doubt; and since a man may be a knave of conscience and still be a gentleman, tin wold tie-pi >*d Uin»e|f very heartily after the fact, going so far to question his right to go in ( but lot te until after tllla terrible doubt uia drum* and quartered uud decently buried out of sight and be yond the possibility of a resurrec tion. It was during this ante-dinner in terval of self-recrimination on Gris wold's part that two men met behind a closed door in a first-floor chamber of the summer hotel on the Point. One of them was Mr. Andrew Gal braitli, but now returned from his call 011 Mis.s Grierson. The other was a shrewd-faced man, as yet in the prime of life; a man with a square jaw and thin lips and ferrettj- eyes. Mr. Galbraith held a cjgar between his fingers, but it had gone out. The other was smoking a Regalia, and its subtle fragrance filled the room. "You think you are sure of your man this time, are you, Griffin?" said the banker. The detective blew a smoke-cloud toward the ceiling and nodded slow ly. "There isn't a shadow of doubt about his identity, now." "Then, pardon me, Mr. Griffin, why do you come to me. Why don't you make your arrest and take the man to New Orleans? I'll be there to ap pear against him at the fall term of court." "I don't rightly know why I have come to you." The detective's reply was as hesitant as his nod had been. "I've put the irons on some queer cus tomers in my time, and I don't know as I ever hung back till now. Rut this fellow—" "State your case," said the banker, briefly. "I can't conceive of any thing which would come between you and your sworn duty." "That's it; that's just it. Neither could I. Rut something has come be tween, this trip. First off, I got to know the fellow pretty well before I found out who he was, and—well, he sort of captured me, as you might say. He wasn't anybody's hold-up; he was just a nice, square, clean-cut gentleman, all open and above-board. Pretty soon after that, he did me a considerable of a good turn—took some trouble to do it. About that time I began to suspect who he was, and not to be owing him when it came to the handcuff act, I tried to even up on that good turn of his. That's where I fell down. Instead of squaring the thing, I got in deeper, and the cool-headed beggar saved my life, out and out. Now that's my hot box, Mr. Galbraith. What would you do if the fellow saved your life?" Andrew Galbraith answered off hand, as a man will when the sup position is only an hypothesis which can by no means be transmuted into facts personal. T should do my duty, of course. This would be an uncanny world to live in, Mr. Griffin, if we let personal considerations stand in the way of plain duty." fTo Be Continued.] NOT TO BE TRIFLED WITH. An Arab Wife Who I ithclil Her Hon or l>7 llehendiiiK Her Worth lens Huiliaoil, The Times of India tells the follow ing story to show the character of the Arabs of Yemen, among whom there had been some disturbances, says London Telgraph. A man of Zaraniks, who had several times cut the new tel egraph lines, and who was punished more than once, was caught on one occasion by an Arab sheik in charge of the lines. The sheik intended to send him to Meedy for imprisonment, but the wife of the accused came in and stood as a guarantee for his fu ture good behavior. The sheik ac cepted the bail and released him, but shortly afterward he again resorted to his old practice of cutting the wires, and bolted away to another village, at a distance of one day's march, where he had another wife. The sheik then sent for his first wife who stood se curity for him, and told her he would disgrace her among the Arabs if she failed to bring in her husband. The woman asked the sheik not to "spread the black sheet" (a custom of the country when anyone commits a breach of trust) until the following day. She started that night, taking a sharp dagger concealed under her clothes, to the village where her hus band was staying. She found him asleep in his abode, and stabbed him, cut his throat, and carried his head Ijack to her home. The next morning she went to the sheik and presented t he head of her husband, saying: "Here is your criminal, and 1 am freed from the bail. Please do not affix the black sheet." The I*ri>|>er Place. "What on earth," said a gentleman to his son, "are you doing up there, Johnny, sitting on the horse's back with a pencil and paper, when you ought to be at school?" "Teawher said I was to write a com position <>ii a horse," said the boy, "and I'm trying to; but it's awful difVult, 'cos he will keep moving so. 1 s'pose that's why teacher gave it to us to do, aiu't it?"—Tit-Bits. Dtseoverjr of Iron. Teacher —Johnny, can you tell me how iron was first discovered? Johnny- Yes. sir. "Well, just tell the elas* what your Information is on that, point." "I heard pa nay yesterday that they smelt it."—London Spare Mo ments. t he o«ir W my. Cholly—By Jo*#, guide! I've Ituirifeil a bird at hist. The Guide Thai's jest 'eon yer took r.'.y kdvics an' stopped aitnin' at 'em. I've told jriv riifht along dut by shuttin' ver ej.• t a»' bla/in' away al a tloek von wmld sooner or later lsit one. Judge. Heel* %«»» (rum the Dwelt. Kvery time a lit/y man look* at the e • 1 the * \ lues longer. L lil^e go l>»itj Si* f<Mi InitrrA. ■Representative Pearre. of Maryland, }IM a constituent who recently related to him a. hard-luck story. "I've lost two horoea and my wife," an id the stricken man."lt was a good sr>an of horses, too," he added.—l)e« Moines Leader. "Cure the cough and save the life." Dr. Wood's Norway Pine Syrup cures coughs and colds, down to the very verge of consumption. "If ev'y man," said Uncle Kben, "was willin' to work as hahd as he expects his mule to work, dar wouldn't be nigh so much complainin' in dls wort'." —Wash- ington Star. "I suffered for months from sore throat. Eclectric Oil cured me in twenty-four bours." M. S. Gist, Hawesville, Ky. Early frost catches the budding geniua.— Chicago '"Wilv Newa. .. We cannot control the evil tongues of others, but a good life enables us to de spise them.—Cato. "And you say Gittiif/s new production is a problem play?" "That's what." "\\ hat's the problem?" "Why. the prob lem is how Gittnp can stand off the slier- ( iff. - ' —Baltimore News. "A man kin alius tell whut he would do > ef he was in another man's place," said Uncle Kben, "but de man dat gits de place is de one dat keeps a-doin' an' cuts out de tellin'."— Washington Star. "I don't understand," remarked Miss Prettygirl, "how you men can go around in the woods and tielils, shooting down poor, innocent little birds and animals." "Weally, weal I v," replied Mr. Wiilieboy, earnestly, "I don't either; but I have a fellah who lias pwoniised to show me how to do it this week, don't you know!"—. Cincinnati Commercial Tribune. An Ine insistency. "There's another thing I can't understand," said Mr. Sinus Barker as he laid down the paper and took a dyspepsia tablet. "What can that be?" asked his wife in a well-feigned tone of surprise. "Why a woman will fuss over her husband brushing his coat and fixing his necktie and warning him when he needs a haircut, and then rave admir ii.gly over a football player."—Washing ton Star. I l'liieliiu the Hern. "I'm goin' to be married, father," said a young woman tire other day." "Veil, Rachel," responded the father, "BO you're goin' to get married? Vot is he and who is he?" "Oh. father, he is a fine young man, a fine young man." "Rut vat is he and who is he?" persist-' ed the practical father. "Father, he is a line young man; he is a hero," rc-iterated Rachel. "Hero?" questioned the old man. "Vot for beesness is a hero? Makin' but tonholes is a bee- ness, but vot for bees uess i» a hew?"—N. Y. lierpl'' l r - idP AOTfIDS A mmm I WISI — 7 • . , || For Infants and Children. 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The kidneys were too active or the secretions were too copious, and I knew what was wrong, but how to right it was a mystery* It seems odd for a professional r.urse, who has had a great deal of experience with medicines, to read advertisements about Doan's Kidney ' Pills in the newspapers, and it may appear more singular for me togo to 11. 11. Ilay & Son's drug store for a box. But I did, however; and had anybody told me before that it was possible to get relief as quickly as I did I would have been loth to be lieve it. You can send anj-one who wishes more minute particulars about my case to me, and I will b« only too glad to tell them personal ly. As long as I live I will be a firm advocate of Doan's Kidney Pills." Cure Confirmed 5 Years Later. "Lapse of time has strengthened my good opinion of Doan's Kidney Pills, first expressed in the spring of 1896. I said then that had any body told me that it was possible to get relit«f as quickly as I did I would have been loth to believe it. Years have passed and my continued freedom from kidney complaint has strengthened my opinion of Doan's Kidney Pills and given me a much higher appreciation of their merits." A FREE TRIAL of this great kid ney medicine which cured Mrs. Sher bourne will be mailed on applica tion to any part of the United States. Address Foster-Milburn Co., Buffalo, X. Y. For sale by all druggists, price 50 cents per box. c/ Vi» Dubuque, Waterlso tail Albert Lea K»it Vealibuie Night trj.n wr.h tlir.>ukh 31c«i>.ng Car, lluilet Library Car an I tree Hei'lto B| Chiir C4l. Dining Car Heiyka eu ruute. Tickets of ageut* ul I. C. K K. nn t cui«nectiiig line*. > A- M HANSON. Q. P. . OMICACO. ( -A— ________ * MHAtiKiU IMT i tIH I* U'fr K IlKiiltUNti TO Ul V ANY flilSH A 1 • \ » 1 ■ 1 • • I I \l \H •tint |«J» IN*l»i M N IUVI.Vi \\ i AI.L »t lb) 11 I I l tm iW 1 I'A I'tU.N*
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers