6 •igliig «- ■» The Man on . the Box I 112 By HAROLD MacGRATH \ Author of " The Grey Cioak," "The ' Puppet Crowu." | | Copyright, 1904, The Bobbs-Merrill Company. CHAPTER XXII. THE DRAMA UNROLLS. It is half after eight; the curtain rises; the music of a violin is heard coming from the music-room: Col. An nesley is discovered sitting in front of the wood fire, his chin sunk on his breast, his hands hanging listlessly on each side of the chair, his face deeply lined. From time to time he looks at the clock. I can imagine no sorrier picture than that of this loving, ten der-hearted, wretched old man as he Bits there, waiting for Karloff and the ignominious end. Fortune gone with the winds, poverty leering into his face, shame drawing her red fingers across his brow, honor in sackcloth and ashes! And but two short years ago there had not been in all the wide land a 'more contented man than himself, a 1 man with a conscience freer. Clod! j liven yet he could hear the rolling, whirring ivory ball as it spun the cir cle of that fatal night at Monte Carlo. Man does not recall the intermediate steps of hia fall, only the first step and the last. In his waking hours the colonel always heard the sound of it, and it rattled through his troubled dreams. He could not understand Low everything had pone as it had. It seemed impossible *1 at in two years he had dissipated a fortune, sullied his honor, beggared his child. It was all so like a horrible dream. If only In might wake; if culy God would be so merciful as to permit him to wake! He hid his face. There is no hell sine conscience makes it. The Tnusi<" laughed and sighed ar.d laughed. It was the music of leve arid youth; joyous, rollicking, pulsing music. The colonel sprang to his feet sud denly, his hands at his throat. He vt: s suffocating. The veins gnarled on his neck and brow. There was In his heart a pain as of many knives. His arms fell: of what use was it to struggle? He was caught, trapped in a net of his own contriving. Softly he crossed the room and stood li> the portiere beyond which was the music-room. She was happy, happy in , v * youth and ignorance! she could .•iA- all those sprightly measures, her writ as light and conscience-free; could sing, she could laugh, she cclild dance. And all the while his lwlirt was breaking, breaking! I How shall I face her mother?' he groaned. The longing which always seizes the guilty to confess and relieve the mind came over him. If only he dared rush in there, throw himself at her feet, and stammer forth his wretched lale! She was of his flesh, of his blood; when she knew she would not wholly condemn him . . . No, no! He could not. She honored and trusted him now; she had placed him on so high a pedestal that it was utterly impossible for him to disillusion her young mind, to see for ever and ever the mute reproach in her honest eyes, to feel that though his arm encircled her she was beyond his reach . flod Unew that he could not tell this child of the black gulf he had digged for himself and her. Thring your cigars into the music room." "Wit |t the greatest pleasure, Mrulom oisella," replied the count. An'l r lay. if you so ri'dre: our busi ness is su'h that your music will be as a pleas ire added." Her father nodded; but he could not force another smile to his Hps. The brass rings of the portiere rattled, and she was gone. But she left be hind a peculiar tableau, a tableau such as is formed by those who staud upon iea which U about to sink and engulf them. The two men stood perfectly still. I doubt not that each experianced the same sensation, that the same thought occurred to each mind, though it came from different avenues: love and shame. The heart of the little clock on the mantel beat tlck-tock, tick-tock; a log crackled and fell between the irons sending up a shower of evanescent sparks; one of the long windows giv ing out upon the veranda creaked mys teriously. Karloff was first to break the spell. He made a gesture which was eloquent of his distaste of the situation. "Let us terminate this as quickly as possible," he said. "Yes, let us have done with it before I lose my courage," replied the colo nel, his voice thin and quavering. He wiped his forehead with his hand kerchief. His hand shone white and his nails darkly blue. The count stepped over to the table, reached into the inner pocket of his coat, and extracted a packet. In this packet was the enormous sum of SIBO,- 000 in notes of SI,OOO denomination: that is to say, 180 slips of paper re deemable in gold by the government which had issued them. On top of this packet lay the colonel's note for $20,000. (It is true that Karloff never ac cepted money from his government in payment for his services; but it is equally true that for every penny he laid out he was reimbursed by Russia.) Karloff placed the packet on the table, first taking off the note, which he carelessly tossed beside the bank notes. "You will observe thai I have not bothered with having your note dis counted. I have fulfilled my part of the bargain: fulfill yours." The count thrust his trembling hands in to his trousers pockets. He desired to hide this embarrassing sign from his accomplice. Annesley went to a small safe which stood at the left of the fire place and returned with a packet some what bulkier than the count's. Ho dropped it beside the money, shudder ingly, as though he had touched a poisonous viper. "My honor," he said simply. "I had never expected to sell it so cheap." There was a pause, during which neither man's gaze swerved from the other's. There was not the slightest, not even the remotest, fear of treach ery; each man knew with whom he was dealing; yet there they stood, as if fascinated. One would have thought that the colonel would have counted his money, or Karloff his plans; they did neither. Perhaps the colonel wanted Karloff to touch the plans first, before he touched the money; per haps Karloff had the same desire, only the other way around. The colonel spoke. "I believe that is all," he said quiet ly. The knowledge that the deed was done and that there was no retreat gave back to him a particle of hl3 former coolness and strength of mind. It had been the thought of committing the crime that had unnerved him. Now that his bridges were burned, a strange, unnatural calm settled over him. The count evidently was not done. He moistened his lips. There was a dryness in his throat. "It is not too late,"he said; "I have not yet touched them." "We shall not indulge in moralizing, if you please," interrupted the colonel, with savage irony. "The moment for that has gone by." "Very well." Karloff's shoulders set tled; his jaws became aggressively an gular; some spirit of. his predatory forbears touched his face here and there, hardening it."l wish to speak in regard to your daughter." "Enough! Take my honor and be gone!" The colonel's voice was loud and rasping. Karloff rested his hands on the table and inclined his body toward the colo nel. "Listen to me," he began. "There is in every man the making and the capacity of a great rascal. Time and opportunity alone are needed—and a motive. The other night I told you that I could not give up your daughter. Well, I have not given her up. She must be my wife." "Must?" The colonel clenched his hands. "Must. To-night I am going to prove myself a great rascal—with a great mo tive. What is Russia to me? Nothing. What is your dishonor or my own? Less than nothing. There is only one thing, and that is my love for your daughter." He struck the table and the flame of the student-lamp rose vio lently. "She must be mine, mine! I have tried to win her as'an honorable man tries to win the woman he loves; now she must be won by an act of ras cality. Heaven nor hell shall force me to give her up. Yes, I love her; aud 1 lower myself to your level to gain her." "To my level! Take care, lam still a man with a man's strength," cried the colonel. Karloff swept his hands across his forehead. "I have lied to myself long enough, and to you. I can see now that I have been working solely to ward one end. My country is not to be considered, neither is yours. Do you realize that you stand wholly and com pletely in my power?" He ran iiis tongue across his lips, which burned with fever. "What do you mean?"—hoarsely. "I mean that your daughter must, be come my wife, or I shall notify your government that you have attempted to betray it." "You dishonorable wretch!' The CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 1906. colonel balled his fists and protruded his nether lip. Only the table stood between them. "That term or another, it does not matter. The fact remains that you I have sold to me the fortification plans J of your country; and though it be in ! times of peace, you are none the less | guilty and culpable. Your daughter shall be my wife." "I had rather strangle her with these hands!"—passionately. "Well, why should I not have her for my wife? Who loves her more than I? I am rich; from hour to hour, from day today, what shall I not plan to make her happy? I love her with all the fire and violence of my race and blood. I can not help it. I will not, can not live without her! Good God, yes! I recognize the villiany of my ac tion. But I am mad to-night." "So I perceive." The colonel gazed wildly about the walls for a weapon. There was not even the usual orna mental dagger. A window again stirred mysteriously. A few drops of rain splashed on the glass and zigzagged down to the sash. "Sooner or later your daughter must know. Request her presence. It rests with her, not with you, as to what course I must follow." Karloff was ex traordinarily r»ile. and his dark eyes reflecting the dancing flames, sparkled like rubies. He saw the birth of horror in the elder's eyes, saw it grow and grow. He saw the colonel's lips move spas modically, but utter no sound. What was it he saw over his (the count's) shoulders and beyond? Instinctively he turned, and what he saw chilled the heat of his blood. There stood the girl, her white dress marble-white against the dark wine of the portiere, an edgp of which one hand clutched convulsively. Was it Medusa's beauty or her magic that turned men into stone? My recollec tion is at fault. At any rate, so long as she remained motionless, neither man had the power to stir. She held herself perfectly erect; every fiber in her young body was tense. Her beauty became weirdly powerful, masked as it was with horror, doubt, shame, and re proach. She had heard; little or much was of no consequence. In the heat of their variant passions, the men's voices had risen to a pitch that pene trated beyond the room. Karloff was the first to recover, and he took an involuntary step toward her; but she waved him back disdain fully. "Do not come near me. I loathe you!" The voice was low, but every note was strained and unmusical. He winced. His face could not have stung or burned more hrttly had she struck him with her hand. "Mademoiselle!" She ignored him. "Father, what does this mean?" "Agony!" The colonel fell back into his chair, pressing his hands over his eyes. "I will tell you what it means!" cried Karloff, a rage possessing him. He had made a mistake. He had mis judged both the father and the child. He could force her into his arms, but he would always carry a burden of hate. "It means that this night you stand in the presence of a dishonored parent, a man who has squandered your inheritance over gambling tables, and who, to" recover these misused sums, lias sold to me the principal for tificaton plans of his country. That is what it means. Mademoiselle." She grasped the pOrtiere for support. "Father, is this thing true?" Her voice fell to a terror-stricken whisper. "Oh, it is true enough," said Karloff. "God knows that it is true enough. But it rests with you to save him. Become my wife, and yonder fire shall swallow his dishonor —and mine. Re fuse, and I shall expose him. After all, love is a primitive state, and with it we go back to the beginning; before it honor or dishonor is nothing. To night there is nothing, nothing in the world save my love for you, and the chance that has given me the power to force you to be mine. What a fury and a tempest love produces! It makes an honorable man of the knave, a rascal of the man of honor; It has top pled thrones, destroyed nations, oblit erated races . . . Well, I have become a rascal. Mademoiselle, you must be come my wife." He lifted his hand some head resolutely. Without giving him so much as a glance, she swept past him and sank on her knees at her father's side, tak ing his hands by the wrists and press ing them down from his face. "Father, tell him he lies. Tell him he lies!" Ah, the entreaty, the love, the anxiety, the terror that blended her tones! He strove to look away. "Father, you are all I have," she cried brokenly. "Look at me! Look at me and tell him that he lies! . . . You will not look at me? God have mercy on me, it is true then!" She rose and spread her arms toward heaven to entreat God to witness her despair. "I did not think or know that such base things were done . . .That these loving hands should have helped to encompass my father's dishonor, his degradation! . . . For money! What is money? You knew, father, that what was mine was likewise yours. Why did you not tell me? I should have laughed; we should have begun all over again; I could have earned a living with my music; we should have been honest and happy. And now! . . . And I drew those plans with a heart, full of love and hap piness. Oh, it is not that you gambled, that you have foolishly wasted a fortune; it is not these that hurt here," —pressing her heart. "It is tho knowledge that you, my father, should let me draw those horrible things. It hurts! Ah, how it hurts!" A sob choked her. She knelt again at her parent's side and flung her arms around the unhappy, wretched man. "Father, you have committed * wtme to shield a foolish act. 1 know, I know! What you have done you did for my sake, to give me back what you thought was my own. Oh, how well I know that you had no thought of yourself; it was all for me, and I thank God for that. But something has died here, something here in my heart. I have been so happy! . . . too happy! My poor father!" She laid her head against his breast. "My heart is broken! Would to Hod that I might die!" Annesley threw one arm across the back of the chair and turned his face to his sleeve. Karloff, a thousand arrows of regret and shame and pity quivering in his heart, viewed the scene moodily, dog gedly. No, he could not go back; there was Indeed a wall behind him: pride. "Well. Mademoiselle?" She turned, still on her knees. "You say that if I do not marry you, you will ruin my father, expose him?" "Yes,"—thinly. "Listen. I am a proud woman, yet will I beg you not to do this horrible thing—force me into your arms. Take everything, take all that is left; you can not be so utterly base as to threaten such a wrong. See!"—ex tending her lovely arms, "I am on my knees to you!" "My daughter!" cried the father. "Do not interrupt me, father; he will relent; he is not wholly without pity." "No, no! No, no!" Karloff ex claimed, turning his head aside and repelling with his hands, as if he would stamp out the fires of pity which, at the sound of her voice, had burst anew in his heart. "I will not give you up!" She drew her sleeves across her eyes and stood up. All at once she wheeled upon him like a lioness protecting its young. In her wrath she was as magnificent as the wife of Aeneas at the funeral pyre of that great captain. [To Be Continued.] AN OLD TIME SEXTON. Church Servitor Who WIIM l'lillo- Hopliic mill Itvady for Ally ISiuerfgenc}'. Old "Jeems" was the doorkeeper in Broughton Place Church, Edinburgh, when Dr. John Brown's father was pastor there. Doctor Brown, it is scarcely necessary to add, was the author of "Majorie Fleming" and "Itab and His Friends," the best child story and the best dog story ever written, says Youth's Companion. Jeems was a genuine Cliristain, but "like all complete men" he had a gift of humor, kindly although un couth. One day two strangers in the Broughton Place Church made them selves over to Jeems to be furnished with seats. Motioning them to follow he walked majestically to the farthest corner, where he had decreed that they should sit. The couple, meantime, had found seats near the door, and stepped into them, leaving Jeems to march ahead alone, while the whole congregation watched him with some relish and alarm. He got to his destination, opened the pew door and stood aside; nobody appeared. He looked sharply round, and then gave a look of general wrath "at lairge." No one doubted his victory. His keen, deep-set gray eyes fell, or seemed to fall, on the two culprit.-?, pulled them out instantly, and hurried them to their appointed place. Jeems showed them slowly in and gave them a parting look they were not likely to misunderstand or forget. On another occasion a parishoner put a crown piece into the plate in stead of a penny, and starting at its white and precious face, asked to have it back; but was refused. "In once, in forever," said Jeems. - "Aweel, aweel," grunted the parish oner, "I'll get credit for It in heaven!" Na. na," said Jeems, "you'll get credit only for the penny!" At that time the crowds and the poor ventilation made fainting a com mon occurrence in Broughton Place, especially among the young servant girls. The young doctor had taught Jeems the philosophy of fainting fits, and had instructed him especially as to the propriety of laying the sufferers quite flat on the floor of the lobby, with the 1 head as low as the rest of the body. As many of these cases were owing to what Jeems called "that bitter yerkin* " of their bodices —in other words, tight lacing—he and the doctor lost no time in relieving the vic tims by cutting their staylaces, which ran before the knife, and "cracked like a bow string," as Jeems said. One day a young woman who had fainted was slowly coming to. Jeems came round to the doctor with his open gully (knife) in hand. "Wull I rip 'er up noo?" he whis pered. It happened not to be a case for "rip ping up"; and thanks to an increasing knowledge of physiology, every year there were fewer opportunities of ad • ministering the wholesome lesson. Shrewd Olal Redskin. At a recent convention of librarians, says the New York Tribune, the fol lowing story was told of Geronimo, the most celebrated Indian prisoner ward the federal government has ever had: "Do not tho poducts of civilized life astonish you?" Geronimo was asked b> his keeper, "Most of them do not, for I see-how they come about," said the aged Indian. "But," he added, "they took me once to New Orleans ant: showed me where they made Jce. At one end of a building I saw wood thrown into furnaces and out of fix other end came blocks of ice. Man did not do that; only the Great Spirit ca: make ice from flro." i Balcom & Lloyd, i 1 I I L fi | WE have the best stocked p B general store in the county jj; ij and if you are looking for re- B> A liable goods at reasonable jj B prices, we are ready to serve | you with the best to be found. | 0 Our reputation for trust- fg U worthy goods and fair dealing }i is too well known to sell any 1 I but high grade goods. |j Our stock of Queensware and J| Chinaware is selected with B great care and we have some of the most handsome dishes ffl ever shown in this section, m both in imported and domestic p makes. 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