DISPATCH, SUNDAT,
ft
4
M!
WEITTEN FOE
SYNOPSIS OF TKECEDING CHAPTERS.
The leadinsr characters or the story are Geoffrey Bingham, a London barrister, and. Beatrice
Grander, daughter ol the rector of Bryncclly, on the Welsh coast, and Tillage school teacher.
tieoSrey is married to a titled woman, Lady Honoria. who married him for an expected fortune
that did not materialize. Bhe fretted at poverty and made life Generally miserable for Geoffrey
during his early strugcles. Thev have a daughter, Effle, a child of sweetest disposition. While
outing at Bryncelly. Geoffrey is rescued from dro nf ng by Beatrice. In spite of themselves this
Incident developed into deep affection. Lady Honoria is not slow to see it, and this makes mat
ters -worse between her and Geoffre). Beatrice has a sister. Elizabeth. 1 he family is poor and
Elizabeth is ambitious to become the wife of 'bquire Owen Davies, who is rich, but stupid. He is
madly in love with Beatrice, flnall) proposes to her, i rejected, but continues to annoy her with
his attentions. During Geoffrev's stav at Bryn jelly he received a brief in a celebrated law case.
Eeatncc reads it ana hits upon the right theory of the case. Geoffrey returns to London, tries
the case on Beatrice's thcorv and wius a great victory.. It is his Ley to fortune. Henceforth
ju-tocv rolls ia to him. lie crashes. Lady Honoria's every whim. Finally he is elected to
Parliament, whero he soon distinguishes himself. All this time h corresponds with Beatrice.
Lady Honoria, at list realizing that her husband amounts to something, is more considerate in
her treatment of him. but cannot extract herself trom tho frivolous class of fashionable people
she has cultivated. Tho poert of the Granger family becomes serious. Beatnco gives up her
talary to her father, but it is not sufficient. Mr. Granger must borrow. Scheming Elizabeth
taVes advintoge of this fact to compromlso Beatrice in the eyes of Owen Divies. She sends her
father to Geoffrev Bingnam, who not onlv gives him 200. but agrees to visit Bryngellv. Before
leaw" homo Lady Honoria charge' Geoffrey with his tendernc-s for tho pretty school teacher.
He meets Beatrice unexpectedly, and on the impulse of tho moment confesses to her she isthe
only woman who can properly Bjrap.itb.ize with him. It is a tempestuous moment to both
another warning of the whirlpool toward which thev are drifting Geoffrey also meets Owen
Davies. who confesses his unsuccessful suit for Beatrice's hand, and says her love for Geoffrey
is the cause. He plcadd for Geoffrey's help, and of course is treated with scorn. Owen talks
more like an insano man than anj thing else. Elizabeth secretly rejoices. The next evening
Beatrice and Geoffrey take a walk togethe-, Geoffre makinr bold to plead Owen Davis' case.
Beatrice angrily reproaches him and at last bursts into a flood of tears. Then they fall into each
other's arms and all is forgot in the tender 0 xprcssions of their love That eight Geoffrey can
not fleen. and is startled at last by Beatrice who in a somnambnlistir state walks to his room,
awakes and realizing the situation, swoons away. The crash of the doors awakes both Elizabeth
and Mr Grander. Geoffrey starts to carry the inanimate form of Beatrice to her room and nar
rowlv escarer beirg discovered by Mr. Granger, who is up to see what caused the noise. As
Geoffrey enters with his precious burden Elizabeth appears to sleep, but in reality is aleit to
every move. Geoffrey puts Beatrice in her bed and retires Next morning Mr. Granger's sus
picions are turned aside with a ghost story. Geoffrey retnrns to London, and Elizabeth, in order
to explode the whole matter, writes an anonymous letter, reciting the events of the night, to
Lady Honoris, On receiving the letter. Lady Honoria wrote to Elizabeth, wno replied, saving
she refused to give any information. This convinced Lady Honoria, and she charged Geoffrey
with unfaithfulness and tureatnea 10 ucj;iu
dear Geoffrey. Things must take their course.-
Beitrlca to be his wife, this time In the presence
CHAPTER SXVL
A FLYING TEIP TO LONDON.
The scene that followed Mr. Davies'
blunt demand for the hand of Beatrice may
veil be passed over lightly. Indignant in
, .spirit and with a sense of the conspiracy
gainst her, Beatrice promptly declined the
proffered honor.
Her sister, Elizabeth, anxious in her jeal
ousy to reduce Beatrice to the lowest level in
Mr. Davies esteem, bluntly charged her
sister with improper intimacy with Geoffrey
Bingham and detailed the events of that un
fortunate night. With blanched face, but
calm demeanor, Beatrice denied the accusa
tion. She explained that she had been walk
ing in her sleep: that she had. a it hap
pened, walked into 3Ir. Bingham's room,
but beyond that the insinuations of her sis
ter were absolutely false. She disdained to
discuss the question further.
Next day was Sunday. Beatrice did not
go to church. For one thina, she feared to
see Owen Davies there. But she took her
Sunday school class as usual, and long did
the children remember how kind and pa
tient she was with them that day, and how
beautifully she told them the story of the
Jewish girl of long ago, who went forth to
die for the sat of her father's oath.
Nearly all the rest of the day and evening
she spent in writing that which we shall
re id in time only in the late afternoon she
went out for a little whib in her canoe.
Another thin; Beatrice did also; she called
nt the lodging or her assistant, ine ueau
school teacher, and told her that it was pos
sible that she would not be in her place on
the Tuesdav (Monday was, as it chanced, a
holiday). If anybody inquired as to her
absence, perhaps she would kindly tell them
that Miss Granger had an appointment to
keep, and had taken a morning's holiday in
order to do so. She should, however, be
back that afternoon. The teacher assented
without suspicion, remarking that if she,
Beatrice, could not take a morning's holi
day she was sure she did not know who
could.
Next morning they breakfatcd very early,
because Mr. Grander and Elizabeth had ar
ranged to visit llereford. Beatrice sat
through the meal in silence, her calm eyes
looking straight before her. and the others,
gazing on them and at the lovely, inscruta
ble face, felt an indefinable fear creep into
their hearts. "What did this woman mean
to do? That was the question they asked of
themselves, though not of each otter. That
she meant to do something they were sure,
for there was purpose written on every line
of her cold face.
Suddenly, as they sat thinking and mak
ing pretense to eat, a thought flashed like an
arrow into Beatrice's heart and pierced it.
This was the last meal that they would ever
take together, this was the last time that she
could ever see her father's and her sister's
faces. For her sister, well, it might pass
for there are some things which even a
woman like Beatrice can never quite forgive
but she loved her father. She loved his
very faults, even his simple avarice and
sell-seeking bad become endeared to her by
long and wondering contemplation. Be
sides, he was her father; lie gave her the life
she was about to cast away. And she should
sever see him more. Not on that account
did she hesitate in her purpose, which was
now set in her mind, like Brvngelly Castle
on its rock, bnt at the thought tears rushed
unbidden to her eyes.
Just then breakfast came to an end, and
Elizabeth hurried from the room to fetch
her bonnet.
"Father," said Beatrice, "if you can be
fore you go, I should like to hear you say
you do not believe that I told you what was
Jalse about that story."
"Eh, eh!" answered the old man, nerv
ously, "I thought that we had agreed to say
nothing about the matter at present."
"Yes, but I should like to hear you say it,
father. It cuts me that you should think
that I would he to you, for I have never
wilfully in my life told you what was not
true;" and she clasped her hands about his
arm, and looked into his face.
He gazed at her doubtfully. Was it pos
sible that after all she was speaking the
trnth? No; it was not possible.
"I can't, Beatrice," he said "not that I
blame you overmuch for trying to defend
yourself; a cornered rat will show fight."
"May you never regret those words," she
said; "and now goodby," and she kissed
him on the forehead.
At this moment Elizabeth entered, saving
ihut it was time to start, and he did not re
turn the kiss.
uood-by, Elizabeth," said Beatrice,
stretching out her hand. But Elizabeth
&&ected not to see it, and in another moment
they were gone. She followed them to the
gate and watched them till thev vanished
down the road. Then she returned, her
heart strained almost to bursting. But she
wept no tear.
Thus did Beatrice bid a last farewell to
her father and her sister.
"Elizabeth," said Mr. Granger, as thev
drew near to the station. "lam not easv in .
my thoughts about Beatrice. There was
such a strange look in her eyes; it in short,
it frightens me. I have half a mind to give
tip Hereford and go bsck," and he stopped
ou the road, hesitating.
"As you like," said Elizabeth, with a
sneer, "but I should think that Beatrice is
big enough and bad enough to look after
hersel ."
"Before the God who made u," said the
old man furiously, and striking the ground
with his stick, "she may be bjd, but she is
nut p bad as you who betrayed her. If
Beatrice is a Magdalene, you are a woman
Judas, and I believe that you hate her and
would be glad to see her dead."
.Elizabeth made no answer. They were
THE DISPATCH.
uu .. reuiira. one aiso wrote loueatnce.
y juavieB, nan crazed Dy 1
of Mr. Granger and Elizabeth.
nearing the station, forher father had started
on again, and there were people about. But
she looked at him and he never forgot the
look It was quite enough to chill him into
silence, nor did he allude to the matter any
more.
When they were gone, Beatrice set about
her own preparations. Her wild purpose
was to travel to London and catch a glimpse
of Geoffrey's face in the House of Commons',
if possible, and then return. Bhe put oa
her bonnet and best dress: the latter was
very plainly made of simple gray cloth, but
on her it looked well enough, and in the
breast of it she thrust the letter which she
had written on the previous day. A small
uouu uag, wiin some sanawicnes ana a
brush and comb in it, and a cloak, made up
the totil of her baggage.
The train, which did not stop at Byrn
gclly, left Coed at 10, and to Coed was an
hour and a hall's walk. She must be start
ing. Of course she would have to be ab
sent for the night, and she was sorely puz
zled how to account for her absence to
Betty, the servant girl; the others being
gone there was no need to do so to anybody
else. But here fortune befriended her.
"While she was thinking the matter over,
who should come in but Betty herself, cry
ing. She had just heard, she said, that her
little sister. who lived witn their mother at a
village about ten miles away, had been
knocked down by a cart and badly hurt
BEATEICE LEAVINa
Might she go home for the night? She
couldcome back on the morrow, and Miss
Beatrice could get somebody in to sleep if
she was looesome.
Beatrice sympathized, demurred and con
sented, and Betty started at once. As soon
as she was gone, Beatrice locked up the
house, put the key in her pocket and started
on her five miles' tramp. Nobody saw her
leave the house, and she passed by a path at
the back of the village, so that nobody saw
her on the road. Beaching Coed station
quite unobserved, and jnst betore the train
was due, she let down her veil and took a
third-class ticket to London. This she was
obliged to do, for her stock of money was
vory small; it amounted, altogether to 36
shillings, or which the fare to London and
back w ould cost her 28 and fourpence.
In another minute she had entered an
empty third-class carriage' and the train had
steamed away.
She reached Paddington about 8 that
night, and, going to the refreshment room,
dined on some tea and bread and butter.
Then she washed her hands, brushed her
hair and started.
Beatrice had never been in London before,
and as soon as she left the station the rush
and roar of the huge city took hold of her
and confused her. Her idea was to walk to
the Houses of Parliament at Westminster.
She would, she thought, be sure to see
Geoffrey there, because she had bought a
daily paper in which she had read that he
was to be one of the speakers in a great de
bate on the Irish question, which was to be
brought to a close that night. She had been
told by a friendly porter to follow Praed
street till she came to the Edgware road,
then to walk on to the Marble Arch, and
ask again. Beatrice followed the first part
of this programme that ls.he walked as
far as the Edgware road. Then it was
that confusion seized her and she stood
hesitating. At this juncture, a coarse
brute of a man came tip and made some
remark to her. It was impossible for
a womanlike Beatrice to walk alone in the
streets of London at night, without running
the risk of such attentions. She turned
from him, and as she did so, beard him say
something about her beauty to a fellow Ar
cadian. Close to where she was stood two
hansom cabs. She went to the fiist and
asked the driver for how much he would
take her to the Honse of Commons.
"Two bob, miss," he answered.
Beatrice shook her head and turned to go
again. She was afraid to spend so much on
cabs, for she must get back to Bryngelly.
"I'll take yer for 18 pence, miss," called
out the other driver. This offer she was
about to accept when the first man inter
posed. "You leave my fare alone, will yer? Tell
yer what, miss, I'm a gentleman, I 8m, and
I'll take yer for a bob."
She smiled and entered the cab Then
came a whirl of great gaslit thoroughfares,
and in a quarter of an hour they pulled up
at the entsanee of the House. Beatrice paid
the cabman his shilling, thanked him, and
entered, only once more to find herself con
tused with a vision of white statues, marble
floors, high arching roofs, and hurrying
people. An automatic policeman asked her
what she wanted. Beatrice answered that
she wished to get into the House.
"Pass this way, then, miss pass this
way," said the automatic officer in a voice
of brass. She passed, and passed, and fin
ally found herself in a lobby among a crowd
of people of all sorts seedy political touts,
Irishpriests and hurrying press men. At
one side of the lobby were more policemen
and messengers, who were continually tak
ing cards into the House, then returning
and calling out names. Insensibly she
drifted toward these policemen.
"Ladies' gallery, miss?" said a voice:
"your order, please, thongh I think it's
full."
Here was a fresh complication. Beatrice
had no order. She had no idea that one was
necessary.
"I haven't got an order," she said faintly.
"I did not know that I must have one. Can
I not get in without?"
"Most certainly not, miss," answered the
voice, while its owner, suspecting dyna
mite, surveyed her with a cold official eye.
"Now make way, make way, please."
Beatrice's gray eyes filled with tears, as
he turned to go in bitterness of heart. So
all her labor was in vain, and that which
would be done must be done without the
mute farewell she sought. "Well, when
sorrow was so much, what mattered a little
more? She turned to go, but not unob
served. A certain rather youthful member
of Parliament, with an eye for beauty in
distress, had been standing close to her,
talking to a constituent The constituent
had departed to wherever constituents go
and many representatives, if asked, would
cheerfully point out a locality suitable to the
genus, at least in their judgment and the
member had overheard the conversation and
seen Beatrice's eyes fill with tears. "What
a lovely woman!" he had said to himself,
and then did what he should have done,
nameiy, mtea nis nat and inquired it, as a
member of the House, he could be of any
service to her. Beatrice listened, and ex
plained that she was particularly anxious to
get into the ladies' gallery.
"I think that I can help you, then," he
said. "As it happens a lady, for whom I
got an order, has telegraphed to say that
she cannot come. Will you follow me?
Might I ask you to give me your name?"
"Mrs Everston," answered Beatrice,
taking the first that came into her head.
The member looked a little disappointed.
He had vaguely hoped that this lovely
young creature was unappropriated. Surely
her marriage could not be satisfactory, or
she would not look so sad.
Then came more stairs and passages, and
formalities, till presently Beatrice found
herself in a kind of birdcage, crowded to
suffocation with every sort of lady.
"I'm afraid I aul very much afraid"
began her new found friend, surveying the
mass with dismay.
But at that moment a stout lady in front
felt faint with the heat and had to'leave the
gallery, and almost before she knew where
she was, Beatrice was installed in her place.
Her friend had bowed and vanished, and
she was left to all purposes alone, for she
never heeded those about him, though some
of them looked at her hard enough, wonder
ing at her form and beauty, and who she
might be.
She cast her eyes down over the crowded
House, and saw a vision of hats, and col
lars, and legs, and heard a tumult of sounds;
tne sharp voice of a speaker who was rapid
ly losing his temper, the plaudits of the
Government benches, the interruptions from
the opposition yes, even yells, and hoots,
and noises, that reminded her remotely of
the crowing of cocks. Possibly, had she
thought of it, Beatrice would not have been
greatly impressed with tho dignity of an
assembly, at the doorsof which so many of its
members seemed to leave their manners, with
BEYKOELLY FOBEYEB.
their overcoatsandsticks; it might evenhave
suggested the idea of a bear garden to her
mind. But she simply did not think of it.
She searched the House keenly enough, but
it was to find one face, ana one only Ah!
there he was.
CHAPTER XXVn.
GEOFFKEY'S TRIUMPHS IN THE COMMONS.
And now the House ol Commons might
vanish into the bottomless abyss, and take
the House of Lords and what remained of
the British Constitution with it, and she
should never miss them. For, at the best of
times, Beatrice in common with most of
her sex in all gratitude be it said, was not
an ardent politician.
There Geoffrey sat, his arms folded the
hat pushed slightly from his forehead, bo
that she could see his face. There was her
own beloved, whom she had come so far to
see, and whom to-morrow she would dare so
much to save. How sad he looked he did
not seem to be paying much attention to
what was going on. She knew well enough
that he was thinking of her; she could feel
it in her head as she had often felt it before.
But she dared not let her mind go out to
him in answer, for, if once she did so, she
knew also that he would discover her. So
she sat, and fed her eves upon his face,
taking her farewell of it, while round her
and beneath her the hum ot the House
went on, as ever present and unnoticed as
the hum of bees upon a summer noon.
Presently the gentleman who had been so
kind to her sat down in the next seat to
Geoffrey, and began to whisper to him, as
he did so glancing once or twice toward the
grating behind which she was. She guessed
that he was telling him the story of the lady
who was so unaccountably anxious to hear
the debate, and how pretty she was. But it
did not seem to interest Geoflrey much, and
.Beatrice was leminine enough to notice it,
and be glad of it. Ia her gentle jealousy
she did not like to think of Geoffrey as be
ing interested in accounts ot mysterious
ladies, however pretty.
At length a speaker rose, she under
stood from the murmur of those aronnd her
that he was one of the leaders of the Oppo
sition, and commenced a powerful and bit
ter speech. She noticed that Geoffrey
roused himself at this point, and began to
listen with attention.
"Look," said one of the ladies near her,
"Mr. Bingham is taking notes. He is going
to speak next he speaks wonArfully, you
know. They say that he is as good as any
body in the'House, except Gladstone, and
Lord Eandolph."
"Oh!" answered another lady, "Lady
Honoria is not here, is she? I don't see
her."
"No," replied the first; "she is a dear
creature, and so handsome, too just the
wife for a rising man hut I don.': think
that she takes much interest in politics.
"Are not her'dinners charming. '
At this moment a volley of applause from
the Opposition benches 'drowned the mur
mured conversation.
This speaker spoke for abont three-quarters
of an hour, and then at last Geoffrey got onto
his legs. One or two other members rose at
the same time, but they gavo way.
He began slowly and somewhat tamely,
as it seemed to Beatrice, whose heart was in
her mouth but when he had been speaking
for about five minutes he warmed up. And
then began one of the most remarkable ora
torical displays of that Parliament. Geoffrev
had spoken well before, and would speak
well again, but perhaps he never spoke so
well as he did upon that night. For nearly
an hour and a half he held the House in
chains, even the hoots and interruptions
died away toward the end of the oration.
His powerful presence seemed to tower in
the place, like that of a giant among pig
mies, and his dark, handsome face,
lit with the fires ot eloquence,
shone like a lamp. He leaned forward
with a slight stoop on his broad shoulders,
and addressed himself, nominally to the
Speaker, but really to the Opposition. He
took their facts one by one, and with con
vincing logic showed that they were no
facts; amid a hiss of anger he pulverized
their arguments aud demonstrated their mo
tives. Then suddenly he dropped tbem al
together, and addressing himself to the
House at large, and the country beyond the
House, he struck another note, and broke
out into that storm of patriotic eloquence,
which confirmed his growing reputation,
both in Parliament and in the constituen
cies. Beatrice shut her eves and listened to the
deep, rich voice as it rose from height to
height and power to power, till the whole
place seemed full of it, and every contend
ing sound was hushed.
Suddenly, after an invocation that would
have been passionate had it not been so re
strained and strong, he stopped. She
opened her eyes and looked. Geoffrey was
seated as before, with his hat on. He had
been speaking for an honr and a half, and
yet, to her, it seemed but a few minutes
since he rose. Then broke out a volley of
cheers, in the midst of which a leader ol the
Opposition rose to reply, not in the very
best of tempers, for Geoffrey's Bneech had
hit them hard.
He began, however, by complimenting the
honorable member on his speech, "as fine a
speech as he had listened to for many years,
though, unfortunately, made from a mis
taken standpoint and the wrong side of the
House." Then he twitted the Government
with not having secured the services of a
man so infinitely abler than the majority of
their "items," and excited a good deal of
amusement by stating, with some sarcastic
humor, that, should it ever be his
lot to occupy the front Treasury bench, he
should certainly make a certain proposal to
the honorable member. After this good
natured badinage, he drifted off into the
consideration of the question under discus
sion, and Beatrice paid no further attention
to bim, but occupied herself in watching
Geoflrey drop back into the same apparent
state of cold indifference from which the
necessity of action had aroused him.
Presently the gentleman who had found
her the seat came up and spoke to her, ask
ing her how she was getting on. "Very soon
he began to speak of Geoffrey's speech, say
ing that it was one of the most brilliant of
the session, if not the most brilliant
"Then Mr. Bingham is a rising man, I
suppose?" Beatrice said.
"Bising? I should think so," he an
swered. "They will get him into the Gov
ernment on the first opportunity after this;
he's too good to neglect. Very few men
hive come to the fore like Mr. Bingham.
We call him the comet, and if only he does
not make a mess of his chances by doing
something foolish, there is no reason why he
should not be Attorney General in a few
years."
"Why should he do anything foolish?"
she asked.
"Oh, for no reason on earth that I know
of; only, as I dare say you have noticed,
brilliant men of this sort are very apt to do
ridiculous things, throw np their career,
get into a public scandal, run away with
somebody or something. Not that there
should be any fear of such a thing where
Mr. Bingham is concerned, for he has a
charming wife, and they say that 'she is a
great help to him. Why, there is the divis
ion bell. Goodby, Mrs. Everston; I will
come back to see you."
""Goodby," Beatrice answered, "and in
case I should miss you, I wish to say some
thing, to thank you lor your kindness in
helping me to get in here to-night You
have done me a great service, a very great
service, and I am most grateful to you."
"It is nothing nothing," he answered.
"It has been a pleasure to help you. If,"
he added, with some confusion, "'you would
allow me to call some day, the pleasure
would be all the greater. I will bring Mr.
Bingham with me, if you would like to
know him that is, if I can."
Beatrice shook her head. "I cannot,"
she answered, smiling sadly. "I am going
on a long journey to-morrow and I shall not
return here. Goodby."
In another second he was gone, more
piqued and interested about this fair un
known than he had been about anv woman
for years. Who could she be? and whv was
she so anxious to hear the debate? There
was a mystery in it somewhere', and he de
termined to solve it if he could.
Meanwhile the division took place, and
presently the members flocked back, and
amid ringing ministerial cheers and coun
ter opposition cheers the victory of the Gov
ernment was announced. Then came the
usual formalities and the members began to
melt away. Beatrice saw the leader of the
Honse and several members ot the Govern
ment go up to Geoffrey, shake his hand and
congratulate him. Then, with one long
look, she turned and went, leaving him in
the moment of his triumph, that seemed to
interest him so little, but which made Bea
trice more prond at heart than if she had
been declared empress of the world.
Oh, it was well to love a man like that, a
man born to tower over his fellowmen and
well to die for him. Could she let her mis
erable existence interfere with such a life as
his should be? Never, never! There should
be no "public scandal" on her account.
She drew her veil over her face and in
quired the way from the House. Presently
she was outside. By one of the gateways,
and in the shadow of its pillars.Bhe stopped,
watching the members ol the House stream
past her. Many ot them were talking to
gether, and once or twice she caught the
souna ot ueourey's name, coupled with such
words as "splendid speech," and other
terms of admiration.
"Move on, move on," said a policeman to
her. Lifting her veil, Beatrice turned and
looked at him and muttering something he
moved on himself, leaving her in peace.
Presently she saw Geoffrey and the gentle
man who had been so kind to her walking
along together. They came through the
gateway, the lappel of his coat brushed her
arm and he never saw her. Closer she
crouched against the pillar, hiding herself
in its shadow. Within six feet of her Geof
frey stopped and lit a cigar. The light of
the match flared upon its face, that dark.
strong face 6he loved so well. How tired
he looked. A gre-t longing took possession
of her to step forw rd and speak to him, but
sue restrained nerseii almost ay lorce.
Her friend was speaking to him, and
about her.
"Such a lovelv woman." he was savine.
"with the clearest and most beautiful gray
eyes that I ever saw. But she has gone like
a dream. I can't find her anywhere. It is
a most mysterious business."
"You are falling in love, Tom," answered
Geoflrey, absently, as he threw away the
match and walked on. "Don't do that; it
is an unhappy thing to do," and he sighed.
He was golngl Oh, heaven I she would
never, never see him morel A cold horror
seized upon Beatrice; her blood seemed to
stagnate. She trembled so much that Bhe
could scarcely stand. Leaning forward, she
looked after him with such a face of woe
that even the policeman, who had repented
hhn of his forbearance, and was returning
to send her away, stood astonished. The
two men had gone about 'ten yards when
something induced Beatrice's friend look
back. His eye fell upon the white, agony
stricken face, now in the full glare of the
gaslamp.
Beatrice saw hhn turn, and understood.
her danger. "Oh, goodby, Geoffrey!" she
murmured, for a second allowing her heart
to go forth toward him. Then realizing
what she had done, she dropped her veil,
and went swiftly. The gentleman called
"Tom" she never learned his name stood
for a moment dumfounded, and at that in
stant Geoffrey staggered, as though he had
been strnok by a shot, turned quite white,
and halted.
"Why," said his companion, "there is
that lady again; we must have passed quite
close to her. She was looking after us, I
saw her face in the gaslight and I never
want to see such another."
Geoffrey seized him by the arm. "Where
is she?" he asked, "and what was she like?"
"She was there a second ago," ho said,
pointing to the pillar, "but I've lost her
now I fancy she went toward the railroad
station, but I could not see. Stop, is that
her?" and he pointed to a tall person walk
ing toward the abbey.
Quickly they moved to intercept her. but
the result was not satisfactory, and they re
treated hastily from the object of their at
tentions. Meanwhile Beatrice found herself op
posite the entrance to the Westminster
bridge station. A hansom was standing
there; she got into it and told the man to
drive to Paddington.
Before the pair had retraced their steps
she was gone. "She has vanished again,"
said "Tom," and went on to give a descrip
tion of her to Geoffrey. Of her dress he had
unfortunately taken no particular note. It
might be one ot Beatrice's, or it might not.
It seemed almost inconceivable to Geoffrey
that she should be masquerading about Lon
don under the name ot Mrs. Everston. And
yet and yet he could have sworn but it
was folly I
Suddenly he bade his friend good night
and took a hansom. "The mystery
thickens." said the astonished "Tom," as he
watched him drive away. "I would give
100 to find out what it all means. Oh!
that woman's face it haunts me. It looked
like the face of an angel bidding farewell to
heaven."
But he never did find out any more abont
it, though the last despairing look of
Beatrice, as she bade her mute farewell, still
sometimes haunts his sleep.
Geoflrey reflected rapidly. The wholo
thing was ridiculous, and yet it was possi
ble. Beyond that brief line in answer to his
letter he had heard nothing from Beatrice.
Indeed, he was waiting to hear from her
before taking any further step. But
even supposing she were in London,
where was he to look for her?
He knew that she had no monev,
she could not stay there long. It
occurred to him there was a train leaving
Euston for Wales about 4 in the morning.
It was just possible that she might be in
town, and returning by this train. He told
the cabman to drive to Euston station, and
on arrival closely questioned a sleepy por
ter, but without satisfactory results.
Then he searched the station: there were
no traces of Beatrice. He did more: he sat
down, weary as he was, and waited for an
hour and a half, till it was time for the train
to start. There were but three passengers,
and none of them in the least resembled
Beatrice.
"It is very strange," Geoffrey said to him
self as he walked away. "I could have
sworn that I felt her presence jnst for one
second. It must have beqn nonsense. This
is what comes of occult influences, and that
kind of thing. The occult is a nuisance."
If he had only gone to Paddingtonl
(To 6a continued next Sunday.)
BollJnff Criminal In Eoclnna.
In 1530, an attempt to poison the Bishop
of Rochester and his family, by a cook
named Bose, who had thrown sdme deleteri
ous drug into their porridge, created quite a
panic in the land. Poisoning had hitherto
been rare in England, and was looked upon
as a peculiarly horrible Italian crime. A
new statnte was accordingly passed to meet
tbe new terror, and the penalty for the of
fense was boiling to death, without benefit
of clergy. Bose was publicly boiled to death
in Smithfield.
This is the most valuable tract of land
ever offered for sale in Pittsburg on
popular payments. Opened for sale
.Monday, May S. See next Sunday's
DISPATCH, but visit the property, if
possible, this week. Ft. Wayne Rail
road, 6 1-2 miles. Lots $10O to $400.
First payment $1 to $4. Nointerest.
No taxes.
"WOOD, HARMON & CO.,
545 SMITHFIELD ST. 545
PITTSPURG, PA,
w
THE SUCCULENT CRAB
A Little Maryland Town That Sup
plies the Leading Markets.
THE FEMALES ARE NEVER TAKEN.
Process of Shedding After Lying Dormant
Daring the Winter.
PBI0ES OP DIPPEEEST VARIETIES
fCOSBESFONDEXCB or thz dispatch. 1
Cbisfield, Md., April 20. This little
town furnishes most of the crabs all the
year around for the markets of the leading
cities of this conntry. The crabs are caught
in the Chesapeake Bay and are packed in
crates and barrels for shipment Over
half the inhabitants of the town make their
living out of crabbing. Whenever a female
crab is scooped up in the crabber's net it is
always thrown back into the bay; that keeps
up the propagation, and hence the supply
is always adequate for the demand. It also
accounts for the luscious quality of the
huge blue crab caught in these waters.
The crabs are caught during every month
in the year and in all stages of development.
Millions of crabs are shipped North on the
East Shore Bailroad every year, and the
Maryland soft crabs meet Jersey soft crabs
in the New York markets on equal footing
in spite of the difference in the distance they
are carried. The crabs in market in winter
are always hard-shells, and, in fact, they
would be if they were brought from the
tropics. They are dredged or raked out of
the mud in the Chesapeake and its estua
ries and thousands of them are caught by
oystermen.
THE PROCESS OP SHEDDING.
The crabs are dormant from fall until
spring even in the Gulf of Mexico, where
they are more abundant than anywhere else
on this country's coast In the spring,
when they come out of the mud and masses
of seaweed, they go right into the business
of sheading. Really, it seems as if the
crab had little else to do in summer bnt
shed his shell and get a new one of larger
caliber. The hard crab first puts on a leath
ery undergarment and while it is growing
he is known as a "comer." In a day or two,
when this under skin is completed, he is a
"shedder," and then he is fitted for bait, be
cause his hard shell can then be stripped
off, leaving the leathery integument entire.
In this condition he is more valuable than
a soft crab, owing to the constant demand
for bait and the fact that the "shedders"
aee less freqnentlv caught than soft crabs.
In a single day the "shedder" parts his
shell and becomes a "buster." Taken then
he is the best of bait, but left in the water a
lew hours he will throw off his shell, crawl
out of it entire and commence to swell and
stretch out his elastic covering. Then he is a
soft crab par excellence.
VHIS HE TASTES BEST.
On the night of the day the crab divests
himself of his misfit shell he is in the best
condition for frying. In another day, if he
ia not taken from the water, his new cover
ing becomes like parchment, and in 12 hours
more the parchment hardens so that it just
yields to pressure. Then he is known as a
"buckler," and is of little use except as a
broiler.
The crab fishing' business is put down at
$500,000 per year by the Fish Commission,
and probably he estimate is by no means
complete, as it is difficult to obtain accurate
information from the men engaged in any
kind of fishing.
In Virginia and Maryland there are sev
eral big canning factories putting np crab
meat for inland cities, and the business is
carried on extensively. The crabs are
caught in summer by baiting set lines with
CLIFTON.
(ripe or fish, and the catch per man will
average 60"dozen a day.
PBICK OP THE LUXURIES.
All the soft crabs taken during the sum
mer are sent to market, and in May and
early June the only soft crabs to be found in
New York come from Maryland, Virginia
and North Carolina. "In the latter part of
June soft crabs fcegin to be caught in Jersey
waters, and the price then declines. When
soft crabs are scarce ?2 or 2 25 per dozen is
not regarded as an excessive price; but in
the height of the season the ruling price is
$1 for large crabs and 75 cents for medium
and small. "Shedders" seldom go below 75
cents a dozen, and are more frequently
valued at 1 CO, and sometimes command $3
per dozen. "
Taking a crab out of water arrests the
process of development, and packed in sea
weed in a cool place the shedder or soft crab
will remain alive for several weeks without
undergoing any change. L. S. Mott.
AN AR0NA?.r3 DESCENT.
Description of a Thrilling Performance la a
Town of Eocland.
The Newcastle, England, Chronicle thus
desoribes the performance of W. H. Ship
ley, of South Shields: At 5:30 the balloon
was in readiness. Suddenly it was cut
loose and in a moment shot high into the
air, amid the cheers of the multitude gath
ered inside the field and out of it.
The sudden ascent did not appear in
the least to have disturbed Mr. Shipley's
equanimity, for tbe thousands of upturned
eyes saw that he was kicking his legs about
in apparent enjoyment. The intrepid voy
ager coolly took off his cap and waved it,
and the action was greeted with enthnsiastic
cheering. The aerostat had risen almost
perpendicularly to a height of somewhere
about eight thousand feet, when it
seemed to oscillate a little, and
then tended in a northwesterly direction.
Soon afterward a sndden involuntary cry
indicated that the crucial moment had
come, and that Mr. Shipley had separated
himself from the balloon 'and was falling
into space.
The balloon and parachute and man were
outlined with perfect clearness against the
sky, and for a second the falling form of
the aeronaut was watched with absolutely
breathless excitement When he had thus
precipitated himself into space, Mr. Ship
ley fell a hundred feet or more with fright
ful rapidity until the air filled out the folds
of tbe parachute, which expanded
gracefully and showed Mr. Shipley
hanging suspended from the ring and
descending slowly toward mother earth
again. When it was seen that he was, so
far, safe, the pent-up feelings of the people
found relief in a prolonged shont of glad
ness. The parachute settled slowly down
upon the town, and Mr. Shipley came down
upon the roof over a backyard stairway,and
slid down safely into the arms of the people
who were waiting below.
The balloon itself shot still higher after
Mr. Shipley fell from it, but soon collapsed
and fell. The whole of the proceedings had
not occupied more than a few minutes.
When it was seen which direction the bal
loon was taking when rising, a cab was
dispatched to bring Mr. Shipley to the
gronnd. But the enthusiastic crowd
unharnessed the horse and drew the cab
themselves, and, when near the field, Mr.
Shipley was borne upon the shoulders of
one known as the "strong man of Snields,"
and, having come safely through the danger
he had already undergone, seemed likely to
suffer from the attentions of his admirers.
Electrocution for Rats.
An American patent has been issued to a
Frenchman for an electric trap, which con
sists of a lure or bait located behind a grid
composed of metal rods or wires, which are
arragned side by side, forming the positive
and negative wires of the circuit When a
rat, for example seeking tbe bait, comes in
contact with the grid, the circuit is closed,
and so are the eyes of the rat
THE ASERICUS CLUB.
Continued from Nineth Page.
and to the -consecration of our en
lightened Constitutional Government
And yet, having known him
as a private citizen and friend for many
years, I can truthfully assert that he was so
full of noble quihties, and bore within
him so noble a soul, that in my intercourse
with him, I held the individual, even when
wholly unhedged abont with dignities, in no
less esteem and reverence than the soldier
and statesman. Indeed, so much have I
been impressed by the constant presence of
his magnanimity and personal honor, his
charity and simplicity, his kindness and
affection, that it I were empowered to estab
lish him in mortal memory, and for that
purpose were endowed with the sculptor's
highest art, I would consider my task but
poorly done unless I could erect a
statue so closely molded upon tha
original as not only to convey
to posterity a perpetual memorial of his
fame and glory, but also reveal to the eye of
every acquaintance of the living man that
wealth ot "sweet amenities" which encircled
and permeated all his private life.
If we would make true greatness the
theme of our eulogies, no more appropriate
exemplar can be found than General Grant;
and if such as he be accepted and retained
as the models for ourselves and posterity,
we shall have received most beneficent in
fluences that can ever be derived from the
contemplation of the lives and actions of the
immortal dead who have fought to glorious
victories the battles of mankind. X am, with
great respect and sincerity,
Very truly yours,
John A. Cbzsvxll.
HILKIN6 THE EEIM1EEE.
Great Herds Driven Into Incloisres and
Attended to by the Women.
Newcastle, Eng., Chronicle. 1
When we reached the Lapp encampment,
which consisted of a number of huts scat
tered about in a grove of birch trees, we
fonnd the men and women absent Jacob,
my guide, pulled aside the skin covering
which closed the entrance to one ot the huts,
when a couple of fine dogs sprang out at
us barking and growling, a greet
ing which was changed to a more
gentle welcome when they recognized
my little guide. I stooped down and entered
the hut, and found it inhabited by three or
four children, one of whom was a baby.
The elder girl gave me a welcome, and bun
dled out the youngsters to make room for
me, placing a reindeer skin on the ground
for me to recline on. However, Jacob would
not let me rest, but made me understand
there was something to be seen outside.
A hundred yards or so away was an in- .
closure called a rengjeerde, formed of birch
branches, into which the reindeer had been
brought to be milked. The old chief, Yens,
with a number of companions of both sexes,
was attending to the animals. Yens came
up and shook bands, and tried to carry on a
conversation with me in his own tongue,
but, of course, the effort proved abortive. I
was then taken inside the ring among the
deer, and had a good opportunity of inspect
ing tbe animals.
Theyshad jnst been milked, and the
women were gathering up their lassoes,
which they throw over the horns of the
animals when they want to catch them.
Yens led the way outside the inclosure, and
when we were safely posted at a little dis
tance the deer were'let out It was a fine
Bight to see the thousands of animab, with
tbeir grand antlers, rush out giving ex
pression to their joy at regaining their free
dom by a great chorus of pig-like grunts.
Gladstone on a Postal Card.
A few weeks ago, Gladstone was Invited
t be present at a festival given in behalf of
a charitable enterprise; he sent his declina
tion upon a postal card; at the festival the
postal card was put np at auction sale and
brought the goodly sum of IG.
7