I
X
10
always formed the greater part of her lan
guage to him.
"I'll he true to you," he said, looking
ardently into the girl's eyes. "I swear I'll
be true to you forever."
And at that moment he meant to be.
CHAPTER IL
Summer had gone aud New York was
starting upon its hibernal excitements with
its accustomed zeal. The French actress,
Clarice Binauld, arrived in New York.
One day tne managing editor of the journal
for which Deniing wrote, entered his office.
"You could make a great Btory out of a
talk with her," he said, looking out of the
corner of his eye at Deming.
The latter did not reply. Interviewing
was not a part of his work, and he had that
permissible professional egotism of believ
ing that his time was too valuable to use in
writing picturesque accounts of French
actresses. But alter a good deal of delicate
insinuation the managing editor obtained
Deming's promise of an interview for the
next Sunday's paper. He went up to
"Weft's apartment that afternoon.
"If you dare laugh at me I'll slay you,"
he said to his friend. "I've come to ask you
to take me up to the hotel where Binauld
is stopping and present me to her."
"West lighted a cigar with his usual tan
talizing dehberateness.
"So soon?" he said between the puffs.
"Oh, bosh 1" said Deming, "he sensible,
Jack, do for heaven's sake. Castor has pre
vailed upon me to make a story about the
creature for next Sunday, and I want to
have a decent introduction to her, so I've
come to you. "Will you take me to her?"
"I'll do it, Jerome," replied West, "but,
mark mv words, it's the end of you."
He went to his wardrobe and got his hat
and stick. Deming looked out of the high
-window down on to the avenue. He was
nervous and irritable, he could not say why.
He had been at the office all day, and felt
grimy and pulled down. He was not in a
humor to talk to a woman. He helped him
self to some whisky from a decanter that sat
on "West's table, and shuddered after swal
lowing it. When he glanced at himself in
the mirror he noticed that he was very pale.
He swept his hand up through his damp
hair, and told West he was feeling tired.
"But, come along," he shouted with a
reckless toss of the head. "I've got myself
in a fine mood for seeing your wonderfnl
French devil. I'll promise you to dominate
the scene every moment we are with her.'"
West saw clearly enough that his Iriend
was exhausted by close confinement and
overwork. Deming had been up all the
night before worrying over a manuscript
that he was getting ready for a magazine.
His eyes were dilated, his mouth set un
naturally tight, his face as white as marble.
"But handsomer than ever," said West
to himself as they went out into the avenue
and walked uptown together.
On reaching the hotel West took one of
his visiting cards from his pocket and wrote
something under his name. In a few mo
ments the bell boy who took this card up
stairs, returned with directions to come to
Miss Binauld's parlors.
There were several people in the rooms
when the two were ushered in by a quiet
looking woman, who was evidently the
actress' maid. Deming was conscious of a
number of voices as he penetrated the nar
row private hall behind West, and then he
found himself in a large, conventional hotel
parlor. There were figures of men sitting
about. A woman rose from the opposite
side of the room and advanced toward the
newcomers. Her hand was outstretched,
ler quick moving limbs stirred her heavy
dress noisily, her voice broke the sudden
stillness with a firm, musical, beautiful
vibration.
"You, Monsieur West? Ah! but I am glad
to see you once again. No one in America
could be more welcome."
There was an accent, Jar to) faint to repro
duce in print. It was a beauty added to the
XngKsh language. Deming heard the
sound of West's reply to the actress's greet
ing, but did not make out what he said.
His eyes were fixed on Binauld. With one
comprehensive glance he measured her.
She was glorious. Her hair drooped in a
cloud the color of burnished copper over her
brows and down over one ear. Her face
was pale, but pure in its pallor, and her
wonderful eyes glowed like coals against it.
Her mouth Deming actually trembled
when he sawthe curl of those blod red lips.
There was an expression on them which was
either the sneer of a devil or the smile of an
angel, he could not have said which. Be
side these details of the woman's over
whelming loveliness Deming was conscious
that she was tall, square-shouldered,
and held her perfect head thrust
forward somewhat like a defiant
animal. Suddenly he became conscious
of West's Toice repeating his name,
and then he felt those burning eyes turn
themselves upon him. They gazed, and
gazed, and gazed. The head was raised to
to its full height and the actress drew in her
breath. Then she extended her hand.
"Monsieur!"
That is all she said Deming took her
warm fingers, and the touch of them brought
him to bis senses. He said something about
the honor of meeting so famous a woman,
and then offered his hostess a chair, taking
one for himself by her side. He stated the
professional import of his visit, throwing in
the information that he only consented to
interview the actress because he knew the
duty would provide so much pleasure for
himself. The actress had not noticed any
one beside the young critic since she had
first looked at him. Even West found
himself instantly ignored. She had fast
ened her dreamy and fairly glaucous eyes
npon Deming's face as though she wonld
devour him. Deming had recovered his
composure, and was soon, as he had prom
iced West he should be, master of the situ
ation. It was an excitement for him to sit
face to face with this magnificent creature
nnd feel that he was proot against her wiles.
He had been overcome for a moment by her
exceeding beautv, but now he was easy and
indifferent, and he knewthat she realized it.
But suddenly her manner changed, and
she turned her attention to a tall man witb
a sandy beard who had been sitting very
stiffly and gloomily on a sofa over against
the wall.
"Oh, Count," she said gayly; "I am
afraid we shall miss onr drive should we
not start at once."
"The Russian lover," whispered West
into Deming's ear.
There was no reason why a spasm of jeal
ousy should have shot through Deming's
breast at that instant, but there did. He
rose quickly and asked his hostess' pardon
for detaining her. Again those wonderful
eves turned themselves upon him, and now (J
,- f ,. ? 1 !11 i -- . I
ne leu nimsei. once more in at case, w est
crossed the floor to speak to the Count. The
other occupants of the room it ere busily
conversing. The actress gazed without
speaking at Deming, and he grew hot and
cold as he stood there waiting for her to bid
him good afternoon. Belore he was aware
of what he was saying he asked if he might
call again.
"Why would you care to?" asked the
actress.
"Well, to know you better," replied Dem
ing, mechanically.
She seemed to become provoked after
this, and said quickly, "No, Monsieur, it is
unnecessary to call again."
Deming was made angry by these words,
and flushed up to his hair, stepping quickly
as though he had received a blow that he
was unable to return. He was about to
leave the room without further farewell,
when he felt his hand taken by this strange
woman, felt her warm, sleepy "gaze in his
eyes once more, and heard her say in a voice
as soft as the tone of a bell:
"Yon must come again, Monsieur. To
morrow at this hour. Shall I expect you?"
He looked down at her, and the light in
her eyes flooded him till he seemed in a fire.
He clutched her hand in both of his, bent
down till he was within an inch of that rad
iant mouth, and then he heard her whisper:
"Careful, Monsieur Deming."
Her eves looked langnishingly into his.
He could feel her breath squarely on his
mouth.
"You will come to-morrow?" she whis
pered. "Yes," he replied.
And then lifting her hand he made as
though to kiss the tips of the fingers, but
turned it quickly and pressed his lips on
the center of its moist palm.
As West bade the actress good afternoon,
she said to him;
'
"Monsieur Deming is audacious and
handsome. I like him." '
As the two friends walked down the ave
nue together Deming was silent and moody.
West did not ask him what he thought of
the Frenchwoman. They said goodby to
each other at the corner of Deming's street,
"Caught, by George!" exclaimed West
when he was alone.
Deming sent a note to Madge Maynard
that night, saying he shonld be so busy
writing that he would be unable to call;
and the poor girl cried herself to sleep with
that note clasped against her neck.
CHAPTEB III.
Deming did not go to seo Binauld the
next day, as he had promised. He longed
to do so despising himself as he realized
how much he longed to do so hut the
spirit eyes or Madge conquered the devilish
ones of the French woman, and he stayed
away.
The next Monday night he and Madge
attended the first appearance of a yonng
American actress, who came in at the Mur
ray Hill theater for two weeks previous to
the debut of Binauld. Deming noticed the
manager of the bouse, Sulzenheim, sitting
with his wife in the lower proscenium box
on the right They were both directing
their conversation to some one who sat be
hind the draperies of the box, entirely ob
scured from the audience. After the first
act Sulzenheim caught Deming's eye and
Bowed graciously toward him. In another
minute an usher came down the aisle and,
touching the critic on the arm, said that
the manager would like to see him in the
lobby. Deming excused himself from
Madge and joined Sulzenheim.
"My dear young friend," said the latter,
in a caressing voice, taking Deming's arm;
"I have a strong desire that you shall meet
my wife. She is a great admirer of your
writing, and I want her to see what a good
fellow you really are."
And'he pushed Deming around the curve
of the lobby toward the box. The journal
ist) was thoroughly annoyed, but he saw
no way out of the situation without deliber
ately 'snubbing the manager, and this he
could not bring himself to do. So be per
mitted himself to be led, a most unwilling
captive, into the presence of Mrs. Sulzen
heim. As the door of the box swung open
he heard a voice from within that thrilled
him, and he started back as though he had
seen a ghost. Sulzenheim still held his
arm, and when he felt this sudden spasm
agitate Deming, he clutched him tighter,
not understanding the cause of it
"Why, what ails you, my boy?" said he,
drawing him quickly into the box. There
was no escape then, for both the women were
looking at him.
"Oh nothing," said Deming in answer to
Snlzenheim's question. "I only stumbled,
that was all." And then he turned toward
Mrs; Sulzenheim, awaiting a presentation.
This over, he recognized the introductory
words that the manager passed between him
and the other occupants of the box, with:
"I have had the honor of meeting Miss
Binanld on a former occasion."
"Yes," responded Clarice, raising her
warm, dreamy eyes to his face, "Monsieur
Deming and I have met on one former occa
sion.
She took no further notice of him then.
pretending to read her progamme, as though
it was to be supposed that the young man
was there only to talk to Snlzenheim's wife.
The latter was a sweet-faced, motherly-looking
Jewess, and she told Deming in quiet,
sincere words how glad she was to meet one
whom she had long regarded as the most en,
tertaining writer on the daily press. Deming
thanked her somewhat impatiently, while
Snlzenheim sat to one side seconding his
wife's opinions and scoffing at the modest
deprecation that the young man made to her
compliments. Deming did not doubt the
motive of the lady's praises, but he had
strong suspicions of the manager. When
the latter attracted his wife's attention a
moment later, and engaged herin alow-toned
conversation, Deming believed that he saw
the entire driit of the old man's plans. He
could not now escape the necessity of talk
ing to Binauld. He hesitated a moment
whether or not to get up and make his
adieus, but decided to the contrary, and
then took a chair by the side of Clarice.
She did not raise her eyes from her pro
gramme, and there was not a suggestion of
consciousness of him or herself in her atti
tude or the expression of her face. He again
recognized the infinite beauty of this woman.
It made his pulse beat faster, and his heart
fairly fluttered against his throat Her
hair "in the dim light of the box looked
nearly black. The cheek, brow and neck
were like marble beneath it The corners
of her eyes had the very slightest upward
slant, like a woman in an Egyptian portrait,
and the long velvety lashes, as they lay
heavily against her cheeks produced the
illusion ot sleep, almost of death.
"Miss Binauld."
No movement whatever.
"Miss Binauld."
"I heard you, monsieur. Why do you
not say what you wish?"
Deming remembered at that moment,
strangely enough, that such an answer as
this lroui Madge would have angered him.
He wondered why from this woman the
words should not have a similar effect.
"I only wanted to tell you," he said, "that
I am very glad to meet you again."
The long lashes swept upward, nnd Dem
ing could think of nothing but night giving
place to day; Her lips were wreathed into
a maddening sneer, and there was a heavy,
stormy light in her eyes. She looked long
and hard at Deming an effulgent,hsughty,
offended queen.
"Those words of yours are commonplace,
Monsieur Deming. They never meant any
thing from anyone, and from you they are a
lie."
"They are the trnth," he said, "and you
have no right to say they are not" And
he leaned forward toward her, determined
to meet her in her own angry mood. The
fire of both their eyes met and mingled.
And the sparks fell into their hearts.
"You humiliated me,"said Binauld, gaz
ing steadily at him.
"How?" he asked.
"You did not come as vou said, and von
spoiled ray drive."
"Your drive? Oh!. With the Eussian?"
"Monsieur!" Deming thought she hissed
like a cat Her eyes dilated and then con
tracted again, and her teeth were tight set
"Monsieur le Comte does not enjoy being
put aside in that way?" went on Deming in
a hard, sarcastic tone. "He was angry with
you?"
"Monsieur Deming, I do not know that I
ever gave you cause to insult me."
"You were blaming me for what you con
sidered a brutality. And you ought to
know my reason for not coming to see yon.
I am never second. Miss Binauld."
Deming was fully aware of the fearful
implication of these words as he uttered
them. They were not the result of youthful
indiscretion, but of very mature delibera
tion. He felt by this time the danger of
this woman's influence over him, and a
strange, awful desire to say what she could
not forgive, so that he should be ordered ,
never to speak to her again, came over him. I
Their Flrtt Quarrel.
wmmEiEMmm
OTHE?
He would not admit to her how be, had
struggled against the temptation of seeing
her again. He was angry, aggressive and
nervous and yet he wanted to sit there aud
look on her face forever.
She did not reply to his last words, as he
expected she would. She cast her lashes
down and her lips quivered, pathetically.
Deming could not bear this. He leaned
close to her and whispered:
"Forgive mel I was a brute, a cad. Why
should 1 expect to be first! Why should 1
expect to be anything to you. the most beau
tiful woman alive? Only let me be near
you, so that I may look into your face and
be blessed. That is all I ask."
Again she looked at him with her splendid
eyes, and in his face read the confession of
her triumph.
"You are very changeable, Monsieur,"
she said. "A moment ago you were scold
ing me, insult"
"Ah, don't," broke in Deming, impetu
ously. "A jealous man is a beast, and his
words should not be weighed and charged
against him by the woman he "
"Stop, Monsieur!"
"You refuse to let me say it?"
"Yes. Why should you 'want to when,
vou can only be second?"
"Clarice!"
"Don't forget, Monsieur le Comte."
"Clarice!"
"He drives with me each day."
"And he"
"Dines with me each night"
"And he"
"The curtain is going np. Monsieur."
"May I come to see you to-morrow?"
asked Deming, still looking intently at her
averted lace.
"Oh! I have a little supper at my hotel
after the play. That will be earlier than
to-morrow. "Will vou come?"
"Who is to be th"ere?"
"Three friends beside yourself. Shall you
come?"
"Yes."
Deming went back to Madge feeling like
a cur. She welcomed him with her sweet
smile, and asked if he had a pleasant talk
with the manager. He was very silent, and
as he nnd Madge drove home in a cab after
the play she took bis hand in hers and asked
if anything had gone wrong. He put i.is
face down against her shoulder aud said
nothing was the matter, but, as he spoke, it
almost seemed as though he had difficulty to
suppress a sob. '
After leaving Madge at her house he was
driven to a neighboring hotel, where he
wrote his review of the play he had seen and
sent it by messenger to the newspaper office.
Ten minutes later he was ushered into
Clarice's parlors. The brilliantly lighted
drawingroom was empty. In the center a
table was set, and four chairs were drawn
up to it Deming regretted that he should
be the first arrival.
Presently, in such bewildering splendor
of costume that the journalist was fairly
stunned as he gazed upon her, Clarice en
tered from an adjoining room, and swung
forward to meet her guest, with her hand
held out to him and bcr head drooping, in
the way he had before noticed. Her arms
and neck were bare and supremely beauti
ful. Her flesh was the whitest and bright
est this young man had ever seen, and the
remarkable tinting of her hair, eyes and
mouth was brought out vividly by contrast
In her small ears, which were half concealed
by her hair, were diamonds, around her
throat were diamonds, around her arms, her
fingers and on her breast gleamed starry gems
without numoer. .ueming would have
thought any other woman over dressed. But
diamonds could not exist for him where this
glorious creature's eyes were shining. .The
supper passed spiritedly, and at the end of
its two hours' duration, all the guests de
parted save one, who lingered as though
under a spell.
"Imustgo,"saidDeming,springingtohis
feet
"Yes," she replied, "it is getting verv
late." And as she spoke she rose from the
table and erossed the floor to the mantle.
She placed one elbow on the shelf and
leaned her head against her hand. The
diamonds seemed to fall in a shower of
sharp lights over her shoulders. Arose
flush was on her cheeks, and a mellow light
gleamed from under her lowered lashes, as
she looked toward Deming, waiting for
him to bid her good night He would not
look directly at her, for he was afraid to,
but he was nevertheless aware of the grand
picture that she made as she stood there.
He was awkward in his movements and
speech, as he edged toward the door with
his hat and stick. He tried to call up a
vision of Madge tried to think of her
asleep at that moment and dreaming of
him. He believed he had said the last
necessary good night, and was about to pass
out of the door, when his eye caught sight
of a photograph of the Russian Count
which stood in a frame on the mantel, al
most touched by Clarice's arm as she leaned
there. Impulsivelyr and without Knowing
why or how he did it, he crossed the room
like a shot, clutched the picture from its
place and dashed it on the hearthstone at
the actress' feet. Then he stood with
lowered head, glaring at Clarice, but trem
bling like a frightened animal.
"Do you love him?" he asked her delib
erately and with a terrible intensity.
"No," she replied, and she fell back,
away from Deming, as though she feared
his excitement, and yet she still bathed him
in the fire of her gaze. He came nearer
and nearer to her, and she leaned back against
the mantel to keep her 'face from being met
by his. He took both her hands, followed
her arms up to her shoulders, and pressed
steadily nearer to her until his mind reeled
in an odor like rose leaves; and as be gath
ered her to him, he felt that he had clutched
a great armful of flowers, and was burying
his face in their sweetness. He was aware
beyond this of nothing but her eyes gazing
on him without anger.
"Clarice," he trasped, trying to extricate
himself. "I must go. I must; I must"
She clung to him, weeping, and between
her sobs repeated over and over her words:
"I love you."
And Madge, off in her quiet room, had
awakened, and uttered a prayer for the hap
piness of the man whose wife she was to
become.
CHAPTEB IV.
The night ot the debut of Clarence Bin
auld at Murray Hill Theater was at hand,
and such an audience as only widely adver
tised foreign stars can call together had
gathered to see the woman whose beauty
and art had been a theme for the newspapers
dnring months. The boxes hold clusters of
richly attired women, and men who were
leaders in various professions and in society.
The house fluttered with gay colors and ex
pectant faces. In the seats along the confer
aisle were all the best critics, assembled
like a jury to condemn or vindicate the
women on trial. The ushers were rushing
about trying to getall the people into their
places, and the air was filled with the rustle
of gowns and programmes and the hum of
conversation Madge had not accompanied
her lover to the performance, because it was
necessary for him to go directly from the
theater to the newspaper office after the play,
as he wished to write an unusually elaborate
review. Besides, be wanted to be alone.
In those two weeks since that fatal supper
he had been tortured night and day by the
conflict between his insane, irresistible pas
sion for Clarice and his honest love for
Madge.
The curtain rose, and the play of
"Camille" began. Presently the audience
became aware of the approach of Marguerite
Oauthier, the heroine, and a quiver of ex
citement went over the house like a breeze
ver a lake. There was the sound of musi
cal laughter from behind the, scenes, and
then Clarice appeared in the entrance at
the back of the stage. With perfect com
posure, her lashes dreemily lowered, her
head drooping, just as Deming had seen her
so often in her own rooms, she rwung down
the stage as though she meaut to triumph
from the start For an instant there was a
rumor of astonishment at the picture that
the actress made, some man in the back
part of the house actually -breaking out
with a prolonged "O-h-h!" And then the
applause burst from hands to throats, and
the air was filled with a roar of admiration.
In his suppressed excitement Deming bit bis
lip till the blood came into his month, and
PITTSBURG ISPATCB,
clutched his ehair with both hands. He
felt that all this acclamation was for what
belonged to him. He knew that as she
stood there she was thinking only of how
she appeared in his eyes. Had she not told
him how she should feel how she only
wanted him'to be proud of her? And there
she was eclipsing even his fairest memories
of her, looking divine, and the world aflame
at her splendor.
The applause died gradually away, and
the play went on. Within five minutes the
audience began to doubt the actress. She
did not seem to he well enough acquainted
with her lines, and her acting consisted of
very little beyond the merely graceful
walk with which she had entered and the
pleasant music of her voice. At the end
of tjhe first act the house remained silent
Deming stayed in his seat and studied the
manner of the audience. He heard a man
behind him say that the actress had cer
tainly not done anything very remarkable
yet An unpleasant dread took possession
of him, and he remembered the words that
Jack West had said to him four months
ago. Suppose she would indeed fail?
What coula he say of her?
At the end of the second act a hum of
disapproval was distinctly audible in the
house. Clarice had displayed a most
noticeable weakness. As she worked tow
ard the climax she became awkward and
at last lost control of herself entirely. Her
voice grew hard, her gestures stiff and
crude, and she ruined the scene by such
unnatural and amateurish action that the
audience groaned when the curtain fell.
She had already made an irretrievable
failure. She was a bad "actress.
Demincr went into the lobby. .Everyone
who spoke to him emphasized the disap
pointment that they felt in the French star.
Sulzenheim came up to him, has face cov
ered with perspiration, and grasped his
hand.
"Is there any hope for her, Deming?" he
asked in an almost tearful voice. Deming
could not reply.
"Ah, save her, save her for my sake,"
said Sulzenheim. "She's in for a month,
and I'll lose a fortune on her. Let her
down easy, myvboy, if you love.me."
And the manager went bustling off to in
terview the other critics.
The verdict was general. On every side
Deming heard words of disappointment,
often ot disgust The only mitigation was
the constant ejaculation: "But isn't she
beautiful!"
He went back to his seat wondering it she
could be made a success of on the score of
this beauty alone. But as the play went on
he was forced to believe that nothing conld
save her. He marvelled at the possibility
of a woman of her intense feeling and phys
ical oharm being so utterly incompetent
She ruined every familiar scene by her
weakness or her absurd over-acting, and
during the death scene her struggles with
the part were pitiful to behold. Had the
audience been less refined, and considerate
there would have been hisses when the last
curtain fell; but. as it was, the people filed
silentlv out of the theater, half sympathiz
ing with the poor woman for having made
such an exhibition of her shortcomings.
Deming was dazed with anger and despair.
He rushed up to a little fellow named Van
Erckstein, a hack writer whom he knew,
told him be was taken suddenly ill, and
asked him to review the actress and send
down his copy to the office. He could not
bring himself to blast the woman he loved,
as his duty demanded. But Van Erckstein
had an engagement within 15 minutes which
couldn't be broken. Deming gazed wildly
about for some war to escape the task that
confronted him, but to no purpose. The
audience faded away, and he soon found
himself standing alone on the steps of the
theater. He rushed into a barroom near by
and drank a glass near! v filled with whisky.
Then he hailed a cab, and ordered the
driver to take him to the news
paper office." Over the rough pave
ment be was jolted for some 20 minutes, the
lights dancing in bis half-closed eyes, the
liquor he had drank creeping hotly into
his blood. He ran up the stairs of the
newspaper building and closed the door
behind him when ne reached his private
office. He could hear the steady rumble
ot the presses in the basement of the build
ing. The cry for "copy" came down
through the tubes from upstairs. He
dashed into his work as though he was mad
to free himself of it. For a half hour his
pen scratched over the paper with scarcely
anv cessation. At last he threw it down.
started to his feet, and pressed his hands
over his forehead, swaying to and fro, as
though he were in pain, Then he gathered
the sheets nf paper from his desk, opened
his office door, and called, "Willie!"
A small boy in his shirt sleeves came
running toward him.
"Cony, Mr. Deming?" he inquired, with
a bright smile.
"Yes, Willie, in a hurry," replied Dem
ing. And then, as he went back to the
room:
"I'm even anxious now that it shouldn't
miss getting in."
He went down to the cab and ordered the
driver to go to Clarice's hotel. As he en
tered her parlor she flew across the floor and
flung her arms about his neck, crying, and
telling him that she had made a failure,
and now he would not love her any more.
He sat down with her beside him, and at
tempted to quiet her by saying that she had
not failed, because the "whole town had gone
mad over her loveliness. On the table was
an empty champagne bottle. -
"I had it with my maid," she said, as
Deming's eyes lingered on it. "I was so
nervous I could not keep up. Ah, Jerome,
I wanted you to be proud of me. I wanted
to succeed only to make you love me more."
"I couldn't "do that," he replied, fondly.
"I dropped in only to say goodnight," and
with a kiss he left her.
At 10 o'clock the next morning the cur
tains were unavailing in their efforts to keep
the broad light ot the sun out of Clarice's
rooms. As the clock on the mantle tinkled
softly Deming appeared in one of the door
ways, and glanced anxiously about him. At
the table in the middle of the room sat
Clarice with her head bowed on her arms.
He advanced noiselessly toward her and
looked over her shoulder. His eye caught
the heading of the review he had written
the night before. She had surely read it,
and knew now what a traitor he had been.
He stood motionless for a long time, and'
then put his hand on Clarice's shoulder.
'Dearest!" he said softly.
A scream rang through the rooms, and
Clarice stood before him with blazing eves.
her teeth set like a . vice. Her face wasj
nvio anu iter long, wiiuiy-iosseu nair gave
her the appearance of a fury. She glared
at her lover like a tigress, her breast heav
ing violently, and fearful little cries, like
a dog in tho leash will utter, escaped from
her as she stood panting there. Then she
threw herself headlong at Deming, and,
with frightful curses, tried to tear his face
with her bands. He threw his arms about
her, pinning hers against her body. She
writhed and cursed, and then, finding her
self unable to rend him with her nails, she
sought to bite him. He spoke to her,
called her tender names, but she fought on
and on, until nnaiiy she leil oaclc exhausted,
and lie laid her on the lounge, overcome by
hysterics. He sat in a chair beside her, and,
ai she wept, he thought of what his vile in
fatuation had brought him to, and how de
based he would seem in the eyes of all de
cent people if they could know what sacri
fices he had committed for a woman who
had a heart like a wild beast's. He went to
the table and read what he had written, and
then what the other critics said. His review
was the harshest of all. It did not even
mention her beauty. It only said, in such
terms as no writer but Deming was capable
of, that Clarice Binauld did not command
the slightest dramatic ability, and that the
promises made concerning her were lies o
the most groundless character.
Clarice stopped her wild lamentations
after a time, and fixed her insane eyes on
her lover as he sat reading. He looked up,
and returned her gaze for a long while with
out speakiug.
"Would you have liked to kill me?" he
asked finally.
"Yes," replied Clarice. "Kill you, kill
you. as you have killed me."
"Was I not bound to tell the truth' for my
paper?"
"I do not know. Monsieur, what you felt
yourself bound to do. You have acted like
a villain. How did you dare come to me
after writing a death warrant like that?"
V
SIItmfTOTTST.
Deming could not answer, and Claries
kept her eyes .fastened on him. She stag
gered to her feet after awhile, and, leaning
against the table, she began speaking delib
erately and haughtily.
"Monsieur Deming, you have treated me
as basely as man ever treated a woman, and
now you shall-feel what revenge I can have
on you. You are to be married to a young
lady who thinks you are an honest gentle
man. ' Not only she, but the whole world,
shall know that Monsieur Jerome Deming
has been unjust to Clarice Binauld because
Clarice refused Monsieur Deming's proffers
of love."
Deming sprang to her side, and grasped
her by the wrist
"You will never do that," he said, look
ing menacingly atSier. She shrugged her
shoulders, and returned his threatening
look without fear.
"But I will," she replied, sneeringly.
"You have no proof of such a charge."
"I have 60 ot your letters. I can select
enough to prove what I want"
"You are a -friend," he said, throwing
her from him.
"And you are a coward. Monsieur," she
replied, folding her arms.
He took up his hat and started for the
door. While his back was turned Clarice's
face grew tender, and she took a step toward
him with her arms outstretched. But when
he faced her she had recovered herself and
was as unapproachable as before.
"Clarice, he said, in a softer voice than
he had previouslv used, "when you are
quieter and have tfiought this over I think
you will act like a woman about it. We
have had a dream, a beautiful dream
together, but you and I both knew it had to
eud, and it looks as though it had ended
now. I shall rely upon you not to take the
course you threatened. If you will permit
it we will still be friends, and I shall do all
I can to help you and make you happy
while you are here. But you know my po
sition, and knew it when we began our
friendship. I have been unjust and untrue
to the girl who trusts in all I do, and you
I believe Clarice, you will not find it possi
ble to break her heart Can I come here
again as a friend?
"No, Monsieur!" gssped Alice, her
breast heaving and her eyes filling.
"Will you say goodby?"
"No. You will hear from me again you
and your trusting sweetheart"
He bowed and went awav, leaving her
standing there, with wrath blazing from her
moist eves and her face as white and fearful
as death. When his footsteps died away
down 'the hall she fell prone on the floor,
and cried as only a strong woman with a
broken heart can cry.
CHAPTEB v.
In his heart Jerome Deming forgave
Clarice at once for her insane outburst of
passion, and he felt that if she should
carry out the revenge which she threatened
it would be no more than he deserved. He
considered generously enough the pitiful-
ncss or her position as a dramatic failure,
and of her humiliation in being attacked so
harshly by himself, when he had pretended
to love her so that her faults were beauties
in his eyes. He was filled with sadness and
sympathy as he thought of her sorrow, but
that fierce scene with her had brought him
to his senses so far as love was concerned,
and he at last understood what an insult
it was to the girl he was about to marry to
yield so weakly to an infatuation that
could end only in demoralization and
shame. Clarice continued her season at
the Murray Hill Theatre on the strength of
the fame that her beauty achieved,
and played the usual repertoire of
ihe French star actress. Deming was com
pelled to attend several of her performances.
Even the critics who had no such reason as
he to detect a change in her observed that
her appearance and her methods underwent
a decided transformation after the con
demnation by the newspapers. In her ac
tion there was no longer anything irritat
ing. She was subdued, modest, seemingly
broken in spirit The radiance of her face
gave place to a deep sadness, a pensiveness
which was immensely pathetic, and which
did not detract in theleast from the intrinsic
lpveliness of her features. As they watched
her in "Ffou-Frou," one night Madge
said to Deming that it did not seem possible
that he could care for her when such
splendid creatures as Clarice were living in
the world. The remark chilled him, it
struck so squarely against his conscience.
But he did not doubt, iu fact he never had
doubted, bis love for Madge. Through all
his wild experience of the past month he
was sure that she was the one girl tor him
to marry. She was his ideal of gentle, re
fined and faithful womanhood. And as the
day for their marriage drew near Deming was
satisfied and happy.
The sunny December morning came when
these two were to start on their life's journey
together. The few friends who were to be
present had not yet arrived, when the servant
brought In a card to eming,ag he sat smoking
with Mr. Maynard ont in the conservatory. As
he read the name on the card he crushed it in
his band, and muttered an imprecation on the
one who sent it
"I'll be there in one moment" be said to the
servant, after a moment of deliberation.
Throwing away his cigar, and excusing himself
from Mr. Maynard, he passed through the
house to the drawing room. Near the window
was the figure ot a heavily-veiled woman in an
attitude of dejection.
"Clarice." said Deming, roughly, "what have
you come here for? You don't mean to say you
intend to do what you threatened me with?
She did not answer. She had risen from her
chair, and was standing before him with her
hands clasped in front of her. Finally she
spoke, in a very low and trembling voice.
"You are to bo married, Monsieur, toayf"
"Yes."
"You you love your Intended wife?"
"Most certainly."
"As well as you once loved met"
Deming only shifted nervously about at last
breaking put with:
"Clarice, why have you come here? Answer
me."
To ask you," she replied In a voice whose
tones were full nf immeasurable despair, "to
ask yon to marry me instead ot this girl."
Ho looted at her as though ho thonght she
bad lost her mind.
Clarice," he said, "are you crazyT In an
other hour I shall be the husband of Madge
Maynard. Now, I beg of yon. by all that we
have been to each other, by the deep, sincere
friendship that I have for you at this moment
to go away, and so let my wife be kept in igno
rance of our mistakes and our regrets."
The fire or a terrible rage sprang into her
eyes for one instant but it died as snddenly.
Drawing from her pecket a small package she
held it out to Deming.
"Your letters." she said, and her voice broke
pathetically. He took them from her. Then
she stood there, hesitating in an embarrassed
way, as tbongh she wanted to ask something
of him, but haan't the courage. He took her
band tenderly in bis.
"What isit Clarice?" he asked.
She was twisting a hoop of rubles and dia
monds abont her linger. It was one that Dem
ing had given her the day after their snpper
together. She raised her tearful eyes to his.
May I keep that?" she asked.
"Of course, Clarice, keep it And I hope, I
do hope, my girl, that you'll be happy In the
fnturo. You know I shall always be your
friend."
"She cringed at the word "friend." and began
moving rapidly toward the door. He followed
her. in order to shuw her out
"Good-bye, Clarice."
She turned, and taking his band, she covered
it with kisses. He could feel her hot tears
falling upon it Then she was gone. A moment
later, as Deming stood just where she had left
bim, his heart still choking him. and the sound
of ber last sobs ringing in his ears, Madge stole
up behind him and wound ber arms abont his
neck. And while Clarice Binauld wept in her
bedroom at the hotel these two young lovers
wero made man and wife.
One year of thorough happiness, of perfact
understanding and hope and trust between
them, and then Madge and the tiny life which
had been so eagerly anticipated, faded like two
flowers, and Deming was alone. For months
he lost courage, and his friends believed he
was going to pieces. But the best of them, and
particularly Jack West tried most delicately to
draw him away from bis miserable thoughts,
and after another year bad gone he could oc
casionally smile, and managed to throw some
of tho old energy and brilliancy into his liter
ary work. The next summer he and Jack West
started on a tnn abroad. During June tbey
were in London. One night they went to the
Somerset a music hall which bad its entrance
In a narrow street off the Strand. By chance
they secured seats at a table close to the stage,
and, over brandy and soda, proceeded to enjoy
the peculiarities of the audience the
Coldstream guardsmen with their funny little
hats, the gay women sparkling with diamonds
in the bores, the little group of bard drinkers
encircling tbe Chairman, the immaculate
"chappies." and. putside the rail, under tbe
eaves of1 the galleries, the rough element of
picturesque people from the astnd. with
their funny caps and plaid neck scarfs all this
iMfnri lirt
wjjWWWBBWWBjftiiHBjffiyMPBiBt'MBBBB
AwSSS5ifc;ir TyHffigJit, .. irSS. wjffiF IffpfOP-Up tT "YPrBHraMfrB. .M
18;,, 1889. ivr" , . a-T s - 5C- -flW ia ,ms
r - ''-: j VTBSHBtl
mixture enjoying to tbe utmost a very queer
stage performance, and roaring the choruses of
the songs with a zest that almost split the walls
and rafters. A young man in a blonde wig had
just sung for the fifth time a song which had
for its refrain:
" 'E's a jolly good chap ven you know '1m,
But you got to know 'ira fast."
The Chairman nniwd for the annlanse to
cease, then rising to bis feet he proclaimed in a
husky voire the next act on tbe programme.
"Mam'selle Clarice, with song."
Deming glanced up quickly. Tbe name Clar
ice sounded strange to nlm. He had not heard
it since he used to speak It himself three years
before.
The band played its prelude, and while the
audience applauded the approaching artist
Deming and west both uttered exclamations
of surprise. In tbe center of.the stage, whiter,
more slender, mare beautiful even than before
because a light of divine resignation beamed
like 3 star on ber face, stood Clarice Rlnauld.
She was attired in a eimple black dress with a
broad white linen collar turned away from the
neck. Her hands were clasped before ber. a
half-sad smile played fitfully over her month,
her thick hair drooped, as of old, down over
het brows. She sang a lovely English ballad in
a soft sweet voice. She did not move in the
least, keeping her eyes lifted, and seeming to
feel as sad as the fair melody indicated. A
flood of tenderness and anguish overwhelmed
Deming as lie watched her.
As Clarice finished her song she lowered her
eyes, and they stopped with those of Deming
gazing back into them. The andience bad
urst out with its applause, and she should
have left the stage, but there she stood, trem
bling like a reed, her breast fluttering, her
hands tearing at her throat, her eyes fixed. The
audience began to change its cheers to mur
murs of astonishment Clarice was wavering,
and it was easy to see that she was abont to
faint Tbe Chairman bad risen and was rap
ping for order. At that very moment a broad
tongue of flame leaped out from the wings of
the stage and crept ronnd the prosoenium arch
along the soft draperies of the boxes. There
was a scream from the women, and then a great
roar from the men.
"Fire!"
Clarice bad not seen or heard anything since
her eyes found Deming. She fell face forward
on the stage just as the fearful cry of the aud
ience went up, and lay there as motionless as
though she were dead.
Like demons the crowd was fighting Its way
toward the doors; a few cool headed men were
beseeching the mad ones to move out quietly
and so save their lives more surely. Deming
and West had both moved toward the stage and
tbe fire by one impulse.
"We must save her. Jack," said Deming reso
lutely. "With the aid of heaven, Jerome, we'll do
it" replied West And they both leaped over
the footlights, Deming in the lead, with his
teeth set and his handsome face white with de
termination and dread for this beautiful, help
less woman. West had caught up his glass of
brandy when be left tbe table, and now he
pressed it to tbe lips of Clarice as Deming
lifted her in his arms.-and her fluttering eye
lids showed a return to consciousness. As "he
came to she glanced in terror about her. Her
eyes caught tbe sight of tbe flames, of the
raging crowd on the floor beneath, tbe smoke
bean choking her, and. with her arms clinging
about Deming, she realized the position they
were in.
"Oh, poor Jerome," she cried, "save your
self. Go. Leave met Leave toef
"Now do not talk, Clarice, but lead us as
directly as you can to the stage entrance. If
there Is any work to do on the way we are
going to carry you through it Now, show us
where the doors are." '
"There; there," she said. "Bight through
the flames. There is no other way."
Deminir looked In the direction nhnlmHentnil
The tire was coming fairly out of tbe exit. Be
yond the flame and smoke he caught glimpses
of moving figures. He knew there was only
tho choice of remaining where they were and
being burned t death, or else making a dash
through the Are. When bo turned to Clarice
again he found that she bad taken the skirt of
her dress off.
"Here," she said gasping for breath In the
smoke, and holding out tbe garment toward
him; "wrap this over your bead, Jerome, aud
run through. It is your only chance."
He took the dress and began winding it over
her own head. Then he took off his coat, cry
ing to West to do the same. Holding his coat
up before bis face be throw his arm about
Clarice's waist and told her to go ahead just as
he led her. Then the three sprung into the
fire. For an instant they almost breathed the
flame, and then they were beyond it with only
the smoke choking tbem. Deming beard West
who was jnst behind him and Clarice, shout to
him, and then he saw a heavy beam, charred
and smoldennir. seDarate itself from the floor
iust above them. He dashed forward, dragging
Ilarice after him, but before she could pass
beyond the beam It was down upon her, and she
fell, without a cry. Deming stooped and gath
ered her into his arms. With West he born her
along through the smoky passageway and
aiijcu uio tuccb. iuo viuhu gauiQB cneereu
them as they appeared. Deming took the skirt
from Clarice's head and laid her on tbe ground,
bending over her ana gazing into her face, She
was unconscious.
"Why, it's Mam'selle Clarice," said a young
man wuo stood by. and who was evidently a
stage hand.
"Yes," said Deming. "And now tell me, my
good tellow,where she lives."
Thirty-five Holworthy road." was the an
swer. Within five minutes a cab was got through
the Are lines, Clarice had regained conscious
ness, and supported by Deming and West was
being driven to Holworthy road.
Two hours later Deming was kneeling by the
side of tbe bed in Clarice's room, his arms
about her, his lips close to her ear, whispering
words of tenderness and regiet. In the next
room were Jack West a physician and a priest.
Near the window stood Clarice's maid, crying
softly, aud glancing up every now and again
from her handkerchief to see if her mistress
wanted anything.
Deming talked with Clarice, trentlv and
soothingly; and when he spoke of Madge's
death she stroked bis cheek and said: "Poor
Jerome, poor Jerome," It was Deming who
wept Her beautiful eves were dry. The
calmness was unmistakable. She was dying.
"I have never doubted that you loved me,"
she said. "If I hare deceived myself, do not
now correct mo. I have lived away from you,
but devoted in my heart to you. I have be
lieved that you would have married me if 1 had
not been an actress if you had had confidence
in my integrity. O, do no not set me right 11 1
am wrong. Let me die mistaken, for in that
mistake I have lned worthy of you since we
parted on your wedding day."
Deming told ber in a broken voice that she
was a good and noble woman, and she had done
everything that such a woman could. How
could he help believing her when Clarice was
dying there? How conld be help trusting in
her honesty when he knew of her working as
she had, and living as she did, witb a beauty
that men would go mad over. And Jack West
skeptical, calm, Deming's friend, now hers
grasped Jerome's hand, with tears in his eyes.
"My boy," he had said, "you owe bcr all that
sho now can desire."
So all that could be done before she died to
atone for tbe mistakes of three years ago was
done by tbe request of Deming. As she lay
there Clarice was his wife, for the clergyman
performed over them tho marriage rites of tbe
church.
A half hour passed, and Deming still knelt
by the bed holding Clarice in bis arms. Sud
denly she started up. Her whole figure trem
bled. Her arms tightened, convulsively about
him and then loosened. She gave one look of
boundless love as Deming kissed her, and then
fell back, as softly and as white as snow.
The Ehd.J
Copyrighted, 1SS9. All rights reserved.
CHINESE FLOATLNG GARDENS.
Knits on Which Rice and Vegetables Are
Successfully Cultivated.
China Bevlcw.l
In the month of April a bamboo raft, 10
to 12 feet long and about half as broad, is
prepared. The poles are lashed together
with interstices of an Inch between each.
Over this a layer of straw an inch thick is
spread, and then a coating, two inches
thick, ot adhesive mud, taken from the
bottom of a canal or pond,' which receives
tbe seed. The raft is moored to the bank in
still water, and requires no further atten
tion. The straw soon gives way and the
soil also, the roots drawing support from the
water alone. In- about 20 days the raft be
comes covered with the creeper (Ipomtea
reptans) and its stem and roots are gathered
for cooking. In autumn its small white
petals and yellow stamens, nestling among
the round leaves, present a very pretty ap
pearance. In some places marshy land is
profitably cultivated in this manner.
Besides these Heating vegetable gardens
there are also floating rice fields. Upon
rafts constructed as above, weeds and ad
herent mud were placed as a flooring, and
when the rice shoots were ready for trans
planting they were placed in the floating
soil, which, being adhesive, and held in
place by weed roots, the plants were main
tained in position throughout the season.
The rice thus planted ripened in from sixty
to seventy, in place of a hundred, days.
The rafts are cabled to the shore, floating on
lakes, pools or sluggish streams. These
floating fields served to avert famines,
whether by drought or flood. When other
fields were submerged and their crops sod
den or rotten, these floated and flourished,
and when a drought prevailed they subsided
with the falling water, and while the soil
around was arid advanced to maturity.
Agricultural treatises contain plates repre
senting rows of extensive rice fields
moored to sturdy tries on the banks of
rivers or lakes which existed formerly in
the lacustrine regions of the lower Yangtae
and Yellow river.
BIMJCALDECEPTIONS
The Danger of Careless Interpretation
' of the Hook of Books.
HOW TO BEAD THE SOEIPTDEES.
Religious Controversy Caused by Empha
sizing Single Texts.
DISTORTING BIBLE QUOTATIONS.
rWJUTTEX rOB TUB DISPATCH. 1 '
Even the devil can quote Scripture.
There are great volumes, and a great num
ber of them, which are filled with comments
npon the Bible. And there is also, partly
written, but for the most part unwritten, a
devil's commentary upon the Bible. It is
the Holy Scripture, in King Satan's ver
sion, with the devil's explanations. Beside
there is also onr own commentary upon the
Bible that is, our own silent thoughts
as we read. , And this commentary of our
own is collected, like all the com
mentaries, from all sorts of sources.
It is recorded of one industrious
commentator that he studied upon a very
long and wide table whereon were spread,
open at the text on which he was writing,
the books of all the writers on that part ot
the Bible which he had been able to col
lect together, and there he with a pen in
one hand and a spy glass in the other looked
at each in turn over the immense table and
noted down whatever pleased him in his
own book. Our own private commentary is
made up after somewhat that same fashion.
It is the patchwork of what we have read;
what we have heard; what we have seen;
what we have thought; what we have ex
perienced, in our own lives. From year to
year, if you read the Bible, and do not
merely pretend to read it, from year to year,
especial chapters take on different and
richer meanings. At the Divinity School
the professor of preaching used to advise
the students to reserve some subjects and
not write sermons upon them till they had
been in active work for a number of years.
I remember that prayer was one ot the sub
jects; and "Come unto me, all ye that are
weary and heavy laden," was one of the
texts. No very young man, he said, could
possibly know'what it was to be "weary and
heavy laded," and nothing but years of
deep
COMMTJNIOir -WITH GOD,
and growth in grace, aud experience of
spiritual needs, could fit one to speak in the
right way about prayer. The older we grow
the more entries we are making in our own
individual commentary upon tbe Bible.
But it seems there is a devil's commen
tary. And, accordingly, as we construct
our own, we must be careinl not to put in
any of tbe devil's interpretations. This takes
mere care than we may at first sight think.
The devil's interpretations of Scripture are
not in his autograph, haven't his evil name
signed to them by any means. He takes
pains to disprove" their authorship. He
quietly and gently insinuates them into our
minds. They are in books. They are iu the
lives of saints; at various times iu the his
tory of religion they have been the doctrines
of the wise and good. The devil's com
mentary has been pronounced orthodox, and
all who dissented from it have been branded
as heretics. Not, as I said, under his name,
by any means. No man will accept the
devil's open commentary, known to be in
fernal, false and of the pit but in his
spirit, all the same. Orthodoxy has many
times been of the devil. Take! as an illus
tration, the religions world ot Christ's day.
There were the Pharisees, the professional
ly good, the rigidly orthodox they
acconnted .none righteous save them
selves. In their eyes tne Son of God Himself
was a daugerous heretic who must be perse
cuted, xney naa simpiy oeen studying in
the devil's commentary upon the third book
of Moses called Leviticus. The devil had f
quoted Scripture alter his fashion and the
Pharisee hatl listened. It was Scripture,
there was no doubt about that, but Scrip
ture with the devil's interpretation, which
makes all the difference in the world. Thus
they had come to believe that tithes ot
mint.anise and cummin were on an equality
of obligation with mercy, judgment and
truth, that ritual stood in some measure in
the stead of righteousness, and that robbing
widows' homes was not so had if the robber
only made long prayers. We make a mis
take it we think that the Pharisees were
either unusually dull or unusually imagin
ative persons, easily deluded. Not so. They
were the wisest and shrewdest nien of
their time. They had just as large a fund
of native common sense, and of native
goodness and sincerity as men have now.
And yet they were led astray by the
DEVIL'S QUOTATION OF S8IUPTTJEE.
This illustration of the delusion of the
Pharisee suggests the first point of danger
to which I will direct your attention. The
devil tries to deceive us by quoting the
Bible with a wrong emphasis. "That is, with
the emphasis put in the wrong place. Take
again that matter of the Pharisees. Ortho
doxy ran astray in their time because em
phasis was laid on things outward, rather than
on things spiritual. The chief endeavor of-
religious people was to perform an intricate
conglomeration of never-ending ceremonies
correctly. The accuserof Our Master could
not go in where Pilate sat in bis bouse. The
very atmosphere of a Gentile hall or porch
could not be breathed without ecclesiastic
pollution. If they bad set foot upon these
Gentile pavements they would have so made
themselves unclean that God would not ac
cept the Passover sacrifice at their hands.
So they thought, yet tbey could offer that
sacrifice with hearts full of envy, malice,
hatred and all uncharitableness, and with
the stain of innocent blood upon their souls.
That was nothing. So, too, in the old
time before them. The prophets had to
keep probing and warring and threatening all
the time to counteract the devil's em
phasis, to turu the minds of people
irom the visible to the spiritual.
Listen to Amos: "I hate, I despise your
feast days. Though ye offer, me burnt
ofTerings, and your meat offerings, I will
not accept them, neither will I regard the
peace offeringsofyourfat beasts. But let judg
ment run down as water, and righteousness
as a mighty stream." Said Micah.: "Shall I
come before the Lord with burnt offering:,
with calves of a year old? Will the Lord
be pleased with thousands of rams or with
ten thousands of rivers of oil? He hath
showed thee, O man, what is good; and what
doth the Lord require of thee but to do
justly, and to love mercy, and to walk
numblywiththvGod." Said Isaiah: "Your
new moons and your appointed feasts my
soul hateth. They are a trouble to me; I am
weary to bear them. Wash you; make you
clean: cease to do evil; learn to, do well."
The mission of the prophets was to put the
emphasis '
Jjr THE BIGHT PLACE.
And the work tbey did requires constantly
to be done over again. It is much easier to
pnt the emphasis in the devil's place, to
lay the stress upon things outward. It is
much easier to make tbe sign of the cross
than to pray yourself; much easier to write-
words of petition than to meet uoa witn our
whole soul; much easier to be baptized, con
firmed, to receive holy commnuion and to
attend services regularly than to be pure,
brave, righteous aud Christian in life and
in spirit.
' If you will think over the history of re
ligious controversy, past and present, you
will see howmuch'of it has been begun and
maintained by simply putting the emphasis
in the wrong place. The devil has quoted
Scripture, and Scripture itself so quoted, so
employed has acted as a charm to arouse all
that is worst in men. Take the various
sects into which Christendom is most un
happily divided to-day. What brought
tbem into this? In large part, merely a
difference about emphasis. One party puts
emphasis upon- tills; another upon that.
Each insists that everybody else shall put
the emphasis just where he does. So has
the devil nartedJ
w -a- -. tjFi.
itutihe fronVauotherbyT
different ways of emphasizing 'the Bible,
nn those matters which should alone be em
phasizedthe essential faith, the elements
of practical goodness on these we all agree.
Christian umtv will begin to dawn when we
erase the devil's emphasis out of our denom
inational commentaries.
Akin to this matter of emphasis is the
second danger of which I will speak. The
devil tries to deceive us by quoting the
Bible in single texts, without the context.
It is plain that you can make any book
teach almost anything, and any author con
tradict himself, 'by quoting mere scraps, by
taking sentences out of their connection.
Unfortunately we have a habit of reading
the Bible after this fashion. The Bible is
a library of religious books of all kind's,
written at quite different times, by quite
different men, and for tne nfost diverse pur
poses; and we treat it as no library in tho
world is treated. It is as if vou should go
daily to your bookshelves and take down
some book whereon your hand chanced to
fall, open that wherever it happened to
open itself, read two paragraphs, and put it
back again. And the next day choose after
the same fashion another book to-day, his
tory, to-morrow poetry and the next day
someone's life and letters. What kind of
intelligent idea would vou nossibly get of
any one book, or of the" library. That is
HOVr WE EEAD THE BIBLE,
taking awaj nearly all its charm, much of
its interest and not a little of iu helpfulness.
We do it simply because it is the easiest way
much easier than to read each book steadi
ly through by itself, as we read any other
book. Now the devil almost invariably
tempts us to do easy things, because then he
knows that he. will have on part of our
nature on his side as an enemy besieging'
a city tries to ally himself with one part of
the besieged, and .gets them to open tha
gates for him. The devil easily persuades
us to read the Bible by fragments. Our
natural idleness throws open the gates and
our better reason gets the worst of it. Then
by this fragmentary reading of the Bible
the devil, quoting Scripture, deceives us.
The list of heretical sects from St. Paul's
day to the present would fill a large volume
merely their names. And not one of
these sects but was able to quote Scripture
some kind of Scripture to prove their
position. Everyone had some verseout of the
Bible. In old pictures of the nativity, of
the. creation or of the resurrection," tha
ancient prophets were. represented in tha
margin of the painting, each one holding a
scroll on which was written the words in
which he had foretold the second event.
How interesting would be a great picture of
tue heretics and schismatics of all time,
gathered in a great council, each with a
scroll in his hand inscribed with his own
particular "proof" text. There would not
be one left unscrolled. And what texts
would come to light! and in what remark
able uses! Even Joseph Smith, the founder
of Mormonism, would be there with his text.
The Mormons say that they are the onlv
true followers ot the Bible! And when
these. texts came to be looked over it would
certainly be found that an astonishing ma
jority of them had been torn from their con
texts. As it stood in the Bible it meant
something quite different. Why, it would
be possible and who shall say, among tho
prodigies of sectarianism, that such a sect
shall never arise? it would be possible to
start a sect upon
THE CABDIXAL DOCTBX5E
of lying in bed in the morning, having this
text: "Woe unto them that rise up
early." The rest of the sentence is "To fol
low after strong drink," but that could eas
ily be forgotten. This is a very homely il
lustration of a most important way of read
ing the Bible, about which perhaps tha
most important feature is its connection.
In various degrees we are all doing that,
the devil helping us to our great loss. No
doctrine is the doctrine of Holy Scripture,
simply because you can find it in one text.
Look at the chapter in which that text is
written, inquire into the author's purpose,
and argument. Above all compare it with,
other texts in other chapters and other books'
of Scripture. Remember that truth has
many sides, and that what is true in one
case may not be true in another. It was at'
one time thought necessary by the English,
doctrine of the atonement in every half-
AiiauMitai -Lfocfrucicky iu fuie me wuoie
y
penny leaflet. Such is not the way oi'
benpture. iou must compare things spir
itual with spiritual, text with text, book
with book.
I will point out only one more danger of
which we must beware in reading the Bible.
The devil tries to deceive us by persuading
us that the Bible does not mean quite so
much as it says. If these various Scriptural
pitfalls had been arranged in the orderof time,
this must have come first. For after this
fashion it was that Satan made his first
recorded assault upon our race. "Yea, hath
God said thus'and thus?" he asked. Well,
now, let me explain to you just what that
means. What are the words? "In the day
that ye eat thereof ye shall surely die.'
Now the word "die," there, doesn't mean
die. It means live in this way. God knows
that when you taste that fruit you will be
come as gods, knowing good and evil, that
Is when you have eaten you will enter upon
a new lite, so much richer and happier than,
this dull commonplace life you are living
now, that this life compared with what
awaits you can only be called death. That
is the sense in which you will die so eat
ana die and live. And eat they did, as wa
know, and with what result we'know. And
from that time on the devil has never stopped
persuading men that God does not mean
what he says.
EXAMINE THE CONTEXT.
I think it is Coleridge who declares that
there is not a page in the whole of English
literature, not even a paragraph in all the
text books upon mathematics, nor a leaf in
all tbe ledgers, but what there can be found
in it some logical flaw, some way can be de
vised of rendering the meaning uncertain,
and of allowing a choice of signification. This
interpretation of language the devil makes
abundant use of. . He quotes Scripture so as
to give it the easiest ot all possible mean
ings. It is a principle in the deciphering of
ancient manuscripts, and in determining tha
true text among various readings, that tha
most difficult reading is most likely to bo
the original and correct one. A copyist will
readily change the hard into the easy un
consciously in making out some bad writing
see an obvious thought rather than an ab
truse one and so the hardest to understand
is most likely to be the right reading.
That holds true of the interpretation of
God's wilL It is better anyway to err by
thinking that God requires more than He
really does than less. You are surer to be
right. The solemn and unqualified injunc
tion, for instance, that we are absolutely to
love our enemies, which goes so directly
against our strongest human instinct tha
very difficulty of it may show that it is
vxuuavnu mv... .mww. ..... SJ, vf
no; it doesn't mean quite that; it means be
civil to your enemies, if you can; don't
.avenge yourself by physical injury but
forgive them, love them. No man can do
that. But God says just that not one whit
less. Love your enemies. When we try to
content ourselves with any easy keeping of
that or any other commandment of God,
the devil is" quoting Scripture to us; we are
reading in his commentary.
Now in these three way, among manv
others, the devil tries to make that hurtful
to us wbicb is meant to be our great help;
he tries to translate the doctrine of heaven
into the doctrine of earth and of the pit; he
tries to turns our very prayer into sin. He
puts the eniphasW in the wrong place. He
tears the text from the context. He robs
the truth of half its meaning. He who is
warned is armed. Geobge Hodoes.
Saluting the Bride.
lanxiatawney Spirit. I
One of the rural justices married a couple
the other day, and as soon as he had con
cluded the ceremony the happy groom
tamed to the bride and said: 'There, now I
Didn't I tell y I'd marry you? Dangyer
pictures, yon thought I's only fbolin?
Didn't you, old gal. Eh?" The bride
smiled a sickly sort of smile, aud her lord
looked and felt like a man who hid beea
vindicated.
k
B i Amj. - y t axij, ji Mta. -a, "i-i jtx MxJ lyMtf&ySjTJftiifiiTfiiiMli'fifri l :k&j2B3Ml