MIIMBMBBPHIIHHPJW!!' ': "'''' '
THE 'PITTSBURfJ DISPATCH." SUNDAY.- DECEMBER is. , 1892.
SYJfOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS.
Lord Gaston Verner Is a handsome, but unscrupulous member of society, no has
tired of liis yonn and beautiful wlie. To rid himself of Iter lie lias contrived to throw
He promIP'tosonay. Verner -watches tho couple at their teto-u-teto and sees Lord
Wj-vis kiss Lndy Verner's hand. He sets to quarreling with her, thoush lie knows the
hour of departure Ii.irIoiir since passed, and he has managed so the coinp:inv knewfl" her
meetins with Lord Wyvls. Lady BirlnuN mind is poisoned against Lady Verner and she
trrats her very coolly. On the uay home Lord Verner stops at his club, and Lady Verner,
Instend or Ro!n home, coes to Lndy Carysiort's home and tells her or her tionble, disclos
ing that Lord Verner has sent a diamond tiara to a woman whose name she does not know.
hood. On the tecomtnend&tion of her aunt she seeks the post of housekeeper for an un
known but pi esnmably old man. It is a quiet shook to her to discover that he is com
paratively young and decidedly hand-ome. Ladr Verner accepts the placo though she
meet with tnanv embarrassment in manazing Mr. Drayton's household. In tho mean
time Lord Verner endeavors to spread the report that his wife has eloped, and has a vio
lent quarrel witli her cousin Rrenda, Mr. Drayton Is soon convinced thai his new house
keeper is not an ordinary person, and finds himself falling in love with her.
CHAPTEH XXIV.
I will serve her and will not spare
Till her pity awake,
Who is cood, who is pure, who is fair,
E en her lor whose sako
Love hath ta'en me and slain unaware.
The ;:roup has its eyes riveted on him in
turn. iot a word is spoken. Even Tom
Kenrick, who is convulsed with inappro
priate laughter, finds nothing to say per
haps that is why! Drayton stands as if
astonishment ha created him a fixture on
the threshold, and all the others stand on
their particular scrap of carpet as dumb
founded as himself.
For Drayton the moment is as full of em
barrassment as it is of wonder. lie colors
hotly. What will she think? That he
purposely misled her and came home to
to find her out, as it were? Tnereis a train
that takes people away from this part o;
the world at 4 o'clock, and he had firmly
believed that her visitor would have
gone by it. He had thought of one visitor
onlv.
He had missed his own train, and all the
afternoon hid chosen to wander hungry
without luncheon of anv kind over the
country side, until the bell from the station
assured him that the four train had gone
by. lie thought it unlikelv that her visi
tor would stay beyond the train, and had
then hurried "home, anxious to lay before
her the telegrams that had met -him at the
railway station. He had kept them in his
pocket all this time rather than cause her
any disturbance tfr let her think that he was
prying upon her.
But now now!
iPerhaps the first sensation he has on see
ing his housekeeper's visitors is one of mad
dflight.-
Threc! "Three is trumpery," as all the
world knows. But who are thee people?
Friends ol his housekeepei? Did ever vet
houstkcciier entertain such fashionable
friends as these?
Brenda is looking at him from behind
Hhoda with a distinctly frightened glancf,
but with rs just a distinct curiosity. Drav
ton's eyes fall on her, and really it would
be impossible for even an explorer to mis
understand the beanty and the meaning of
her extremely French, her "too, loo French,
French gown."
As for the young men, Gerald Kenrick is
as filled with confusion as any young man
need be. while Tom is filled with'somsthing
else. Tom, as has beeu said, is consumed
with mirln. ,
Drayton's eves having traveled to Tom
rest thert "Where has he teen this man
before? Surely he has" seen him. Tom's
lean, dark, clever fnce is one not easily to
be forgotten and those satirical eyes, too.
Draytpn's mtmory pulU itself "together.
Yes, it was at the Junior Carlton surely
that he had seen him. And Kenrick was
his name. He had a royal memory for
names a'id faces. Kenrick! Is her name
Kenrick?
As for her! His gaze now wanders from
Tom to htr. She is standing a little for
ward, as if prepared to take the blame of
everything, and he can see lhat she is very
colorless and very uneasy. This knowledge
angers him in some od 1 wav. "Why should
she stand there, almost trembling, and as
though she were afraid of him. A frown
settles ou his brow.
"I beg your pardon," he says in an un
compromising tone. "If I had known you
had friends with yon I should not have
dreamt of disturbing you."
"You 'o not diUurb me," says Eboda.
"I regret indeed that my friends are here
now, but you lold me you were going away
for the "whole day," and I thought I
thought" with downcast eyes ''that I
should not be wanted."
Every word she savs maddens him the
more. To speak like this as if she were a
servant and he her master, before these
people how docs she dare to do it! She
has indeed shirked the "Sir;" but he is
quite aware that she has dropped it, onlv
because she finds it impossible to say it
with those three listening.
"Wanted!" says he, almost choking.
"You speak as it yon thought I should not
make welcome, these these "
"Followers!" says Tom Kenrick, sol
emly. He has conquered his first ebullition of
mirth, and is now prepared for anything.
He is indeed fully iniprersed with the
beanty of the situation, and is ready to go
all lengths toward the perfecting of it.
"Ah!" says Drayton. He tow looks even
more keenly at Tom.
"Cousins!" corrects Brenda, in her quick
iweet voice, casting a furious little glance
at Tom.
"The two things are not incompatible, roy
dear girl," says Tom, mildly but firmlv.
"Cousins, regarded in the light of followers,
are in our class, quite de rigueur. I'm sure,
sir," addressing Drayton, with an exagger
ated air of deference, "you will acknow
ledge the truth of my remark."
"I fear I have not' studied the subject as
deeply as you have," says Drayton, dryly.
"Ad, true; you lacked the opportunity so
open to us." savs Tom, with a low bow.
"Look here, Tom, drop all that," says
Gerald, in an indiinant tone, Want to be
a whUper, but audible to every soul in .the
room.
"And why?" demands Tom, regarding
him with a mournful eye. "Are you
ashamed, Jerry, of your rank in life? It is
because you have your Sunday clothes on
to-day that you would deny your humble
origin? I'm sure ilr. Drayton is the
name, isn't it, sir? Would think but
meanly of anyone who "
Here Kboda, having tried twice to wither
him with a glance, and failed each time,
makes now an angry gesture, and lakes a
step that places her before him. Tom thus
extinguished is pressed back by (Jerald and
Brenda into a corner, and there kept
prisoner, though all the timeprotesting
with hands and features, though, 'mercilully,
without words;
'There was something you
to me," says l.hoda, looking 0
ton. 1
fished to say
Jrect at Dray-
"A mere trifle!" says he,j slowly. "It
will keep. Pray do not let me interrupt
your meeting with your frirfndsl"
She bad said "friends." fhe pretty lit
tl girl in grey had laid T'couiim. He
lid
does not forgive his mysterious housekeeper
her determination to keep him forever out
side her life to refuse him the barest privi
leges of friendship.
As he speaks, he turns away from her,
towards the door.
"I fancy it is not so trifling as you say,"
say3 Khoda, following him. "Do not" in
a low tone "make me more unhappy than
I am, by compelling ma to know I have
failed in mv duty."
"To make you unhappv!" He turns
sharply. "What is it you want?"
"Give me your commands now," coloring
warmly, as a sort ot slivness overcomes her.
at the thought of receiving "oraers" while
Brenda and Gerald and Tom are looking on
Tom, whose gaiety is not to be suppressed
and who persists in looking at the whole
thing as a sort of "morning performance."
"If you will come into another room with
me, I can hear and remember better, what
is required of me."
"Come then!" says he, quietly. He stands
aside to let her pass him, as though she
were a duchess, and with a comprehensive
glance to the three behind her, the leaves
the room.
They enter the library. She enters it
first and he following, closes the door be
hind him. She has moved up to the big
black oak table, and having got to far,
stands caimly there, like one awaiting or
ders. Her eyes are downcast.
Some heavy velvet curtains hanging
against the second door at the upner end
of the room are right behind her, and she
lobks quite beautiful (too beautiful for
Drayton's peace ot mind) as she stands
thus; calm, dejected, with one small deli
cate hand resting on the table, and nothing
to relieve the blackness of that long
straight dress, save the dainty whiteness
of the trillings at her neck and wrists.
A sort of csrtninty that she was laughing
before he came, makes her sudden sadness
now, a misery to him. A very rage of an
guish makes his voice harsh. He speaks!
"What does this mean!" cries he, passion
ately. She lifts her eyes for a second only. Then
they fall again." But pale as she was be
fore, she is paler now. i
"I regret," begins she, faintly.
"You regret. You!" interrupts he vehe
mently. "Why will you treat me like thisl
You must be the dullest woman alive if you
think you have anything to regret And I
should be the dullest man if I believed you:
you know right well that ." He pauses;
whatever the madness of the moment had
tempted him to say, is not quite said. He
conquers himself in part. "Thit I would
gladlv serve you in any wav."
"I know that."
"You know it, and yet you receive vour
cousins in that little hole of a rooml Is
not all my house Iree to yon? Do you not
know, too, that I should be honored by
your making use of it? Am I " He
comes nearer to her, and lays his hand upon
the table close to hers. "Am I your enemy j
mat you treat me like this?
There is passion that amounts almost to
violence in his tone, yet his eyes his eyes
are full of nothing but the "tenderest re
proach. Bhoda makes him no answer. Perhaps
she could not trust herself to speak. In
deed after a cruel struggle with herself she
gives in, and when at last after the silence
has proved loo terrible he looks at her, it
is to see the tears running silently down
her cheeks.
"Don't !' savs he, hoarsely. "Don't do
that. What have I said or "done that you
should sutler like this? What a brute I
must be, and yet I only meant all I
wanted was to make you happy." .
"Happy ! I !" She lifts the saddest eyes
in all the world to his.
"Yes, you," says he sturdily. "Why
should you not be happy? The" world is
before you yet, aud because because you
have lost one thine dear to vou. is there no
. hope that you may find something else as
dear?"
He waits a little while to" study her face.
But it shows nothing. It is a oomplele
blank. She has not understood him.
As a fact, how should she when he is
dwelling upon her tad fate as a widow,
whilst as yet widowhood is far from her.
"I have put hope behind me," says she.
"I distrust it."
"It! but why distrust me!"
A quick pang contracts Bhoda'i heart. Is
he nother hope! And does she not Oh,
no, it is he who distrusts herl
"Do 1 distrust you?"
"One can see it," says he, "and I think
even you, if put to it, will not deny it. Yon
do what you can for me, but all the time
you regard me as as what I said just now
an enemy."
"Oh, no," cries she, quickly. 'No, in
deed! You, are kind. Too kind. It is not
that," She breaks oil suddenly. She has
dried her eyes, and controlled herself, and
is now looking at him calmly, seriouslv.
"What then?" asked he. His hand is
close to hers upon the table, and now he
moves it and deliberately lay it upon hers.
It is a very light clasp, and she has no
difficulty whatever about taking her hand
aav.
"You have declared you are not my
enemy," says ihe. "Do not then ask me to
explain."
"I will ask you nothing," cays he, slowly.
"If that is your command I, ""not stirring,
but looking at her with an expression no
woman could fail to understand, so full it is
of love, and faith, and honest devotion.
"I will only tell you something that
Bhoda makes a passionate movement.
".Not a word," cries she sharply. She
has raised both her hands and laid them
against her ears. Her beautiful eyes are
full of fear. Her lips are parted. "Not
one," she says. She falls back a step or
two.
He hesitates; and then suddenly, she
knows she has conquered. She lets her
hands fall from her ears and approaches him
slowly, methodically.
There was something yon came to tell
me about," says siis as quietly as though
no recent storm had stirred the ocean of her
life.
"Ytt," His tone is coldness itself now.
He does not look at her. He pulls the tele
grams out of his pocket and glance at them.
"Some men are cominc here this evenintc.
If I had known 70a wished ie timIt j
friends of your own I could easily have put
mine off; bat". with cold reproach "you
told me nothing."
"Did you. expect me to tell you? I, yonr
housekeeper, ,to tell you "
She had hoped to be able to add "You,
mv master," but the words died on her lips.
"You told me vou were going away for the
whole day, and I I telegraphed to them to
come down, and " she pauses and sudden
ly looks up at him, her beautiful eyes now
again dark with tears. "It was a liberty,
no d'oubt," says she, "but "
"A liberty," interrupts he, fiercely. "A
libertyl Have vou no mercy?"
"Ah! well! Never mind," exclaims ihe,
hurriedly. "I-seeni to be always in the
wrong. "Let us forget everything. Every
thing, but" this business of yours. You
have had telegrams. Some of your friends
are coming?"''
"Yes; but I won't have your friends in
terfered with," says Drayton. "Two or
three fellowajiave telegraphed that they
will be here to-night, and and why should
they expect dinner when they didn't, give
better warning? No, go back to your peo
ple and forget everything, save them. I
dare say you and I (Oh! the delight of that
"you and I") can improvise a supper later,
on." ,
. "I shall not treat your guests like that,"
says she with a smile. "They shall have
their dinner, I promise you that; and as for
my friends, they are going away now; they
must catch the next train, so that in a few
minutes I shall be free to
"To hate mel" interrnpts Drayton bit
terly. "I am driving away your people
your happiness, and all that my wretched
friends may have a dinner."
"No, no, indeed," she smiles it is a
little smile, but kindly. , "My she hesi
tates, "my people must leave by the next
train, so that you need not distress your
self with the thought that you are sending
them' away before their time.
"Is that really so? Well, with a sigh, I
suppose so." Then a sudden thought oc
curring to him, he turns anxiously towards
her. "They they had luncheon?" jisks he.
"Luncheon? Oh, yes. Yes, thank, you."
Something in her manner, which is per
haps over impressive, makes him under
stand at once that they have had no lunch.
"I don't believe they have had anything,"
sav she bluntlr.
"They have indeed," declares she. "They
have haJ "
"What?"
"Tea." rather faintly.
"Teal" says Drayton. "Is that all "you
could do- for them? There " with a
gesture as if one giving her up as a bad job
"go back to them. I shall send in some
champagne."
"Oh, no. No, really!" entreats she. Her
face has grown almost tragic. And yet in
spite of herself she gives way to a sudden,
SO SHE "WAS NOT POOR
frightened, but inexpressibly bright little
laugh, that would have reminded him of
what she used to be, if he had known her
three years ago.
"What are you laughing at?" asks he,
grimly.
' 'I hardly know myself only you must
see that a housekeeper does not as a rule
give champagne to her friends."
"Not as a rule," says he, as grimly as be
fore. "Well, we need not discuss that In
the meantime I am keeping you from them,
and they will not thank me tor that."
He moves toward the door as he speaks,
and she moves with him. Just before they
get to it, she says
"You missed your train?"
"Yes and a good thing too. I had no idea
these fellows," alluding to the telegrams,
"were coming down this evening. It is bad
for a guest, if he arrives when the host is
out But I confess I gave rather- general
invitations, so it is all my own fault"
'There is no fault," says she.
"Oh, yes there is. For one thing, I have
spoiled your day."
"You have spoiled nothing. My day, as
you call it, is at an end. I tell you my
cousins must go by the.next train."
'That is the first time you have called
them cousins to me," says he in a jealous
tone.
"It is? What does it matter?" she says
wearily. "At all events I stall see that
your day Is not spoiled. -I am sure I can
arranee for your guests. How many, sir?"
"I wish you would drop that objection
able 'sir, " returns he crossly.
"How many, sir?" repeats she imperturb
nbly, and very haughtily.
"Fivel" slowly. Certainly she has con
quered. "There may be more to-mprrow,
but five tell me they are coming to-night"
"Dinner for five, then," says she.
She takes a step forward, he moves to-one
side, and she leaves the library, returning
to the room where Brenda and the others
are awaiting her.
"Oh, Bhoda!" cries Brenda, running to
her, "how could vou have said he was old?
Was that really Mr. Drayton? Why, he is
young quite young; younger than Gerald,
I think.'7
"One would think I was the youngest
person in the world," says Gerald, angrily.
"One would, indeed, to listen to you,"
says Tom. "In the meantime, .my dear boy,
let it be borne in upon you that time, as the
copybooks say, 'flies.' What's the hour.
Kboda?"
"You have a few minutes still."
"What did he say about us?" asks Brenda,
anxiously.
"He?" -,
"Mr. Drayton I What a crow-looking
man!" t
"Yes. I hope wo haven't got yon into a
scrape?" says Gerald.
"I hope he didn't beat you." says Tom,
"battery and assault was in his eye, but I
trust you wererequal to him. Pokera are an
unknown quantity at this time of year, but
there is always the good-looking, three
legged stool wherewith to meet the enemy,
and Good heavens, here he is again!"
It is not he, however, but Peter with a
tray. Peter lays the champagne and biscuits
upon the table with much dignity, and then
takes his departure. And indeed this Is
not the only oourtesr Mr. Drayton shows
fcir gueiti, When it length they find they
l W, '
jjiijjiiKB'
must bid her adieu, and they all go down to
the hall door, to get into the ancient fly that
had brought them here from the station, lot
they find the fly gone, and in its place a
brougham, and a prancing pair of bays, and
old Peter, bowing tovthc ground upon the
doorstep, while a groom holds open tor
them the carriage door.
Bhoda waves Her hand to them nntll the
rhododendrons hide her from view; then
she runs back to her room.
She finds herself half laughing, half cry
ing. "Oh, he is ridiculous!" she savs, sinking
into a chair, and then again, "There is no
one like him in all the world!"
She covers her eyes with her hands.
CHAPTER XXV.-
For my heart is set
On what hurts me: 1 not not why,
But cannot forget
What I love, what I sing for and sigh.
Perhaps a few tears run down her cheeks
behind those pretty fingers, but if so they
are very few, and she is soon smiling again.
An idea occurs to her that she would like
to see how she is looking that is, how she
was looking when he they were with her.
What a dowdy old gown. She makes a
little grimace at that, but then what a
lovely face above itl Just now, sparkling
as it is with excitement and joy and delight.
Where can its rival be found?
Lovo was an hungrcd for some perfect
words
To praiso Tier with.
' The coming of her consins seems to have
renewed her, as it were; wakened up old
thoughts, and driven perforce glad smiles
to her lips and eyes. In a measure a
sense they hare demoralized her. The
housekeeper is forgotten; the slim, stately,
pretty creature who had made a, trium
phant progress through her first season is
alone remembered. This one touch pi the
old life has made glad her heart.
She looks at herself again. The glass
looks back at her. After all, she tells her
self with a little soft blush, even in this
old gown she is possible. And, if so, how
had she looked in the old days?
How merry Tom had been; how pretty
Brenda! (Brenda's gown was a dream.)
How sympathetic dear old Gerald! Yes,
Brenda's gown was delicious.
She glances once again at her own gown,
at its dull straight folds and impaculate
collar and cuffs; she makes a second littlo
moue, not so good natured this time. Well,
it is the regulation thing, of course. What
a pity she had not thought of adding a cap.
A cap would have enchanted them.
Somehow there is bat poor mirth to be
got out of that cap. Is she never again to
wear a dress like Brenda's? Soon, no doubt,
she will forget how she nsed.to look, when
silks and satins am' laces were allowed to
AS HE HAD THOUGHT
her. To forget!
Was there ever so straight or so black a
gown? It is hideous. The wonder is that
she can look so well in it A sad thought
comes to her. Perhaps she has forgotten
how well she could look.
A longing to see herself once again as she
used to be takes hold of her. That gown
she had mentioned to Brenda it won't take
her five minutes to put it on and then she
can judge
Still filled with the gaiety that her cous
in's coming has created, she runs upstairs,
pulls open one of her trunks anil in a little
time has arrayed herself in her costly laces.
The desire to perfect herself draws Her still
lurther: she unlocks her jewel case, and
covers her throat, and hair, and arms with
the magnificent diamonds inherited from
her mother.
Ske peeps at herself in the small glass
that lies on her dressing table Fouf! It
is quite inadequate. How can it shoir her
to herself all at once, as it were? Why,
she might as well have no train, no body at
-all from the waist down; all she can see is
just face and neck and part of her arms.
She remembers suddenly the long glass
in her own sitting room, wherd she had
been mentally abusing her black gown of
servitude a little while since. Why not
run down to it At this hour all the servants
are engaged, and Mr. Drayton is of course
wandering, gun in hand, somewhere miles
away. The thought is father to the deed.
Flinging n Jong silk fur-lined cloak over her,
she escapes down to her own sitting room, .
and throwing back the cloak there, looks at
herself with., surprised amusement and
honest delight in the old-fashioned mirror,
that had been some time or other set into
one ot the walls.
"It is the mynd that maketh good or ill,"
and certainly Bhoda's "mvnd" at this
moment stands her in good stead. The
very gayest mood is on her. She steps up
to.tbe glass and then backward, and tells
herself that there truly is a joy in living.
"If Tom could see me now!" says she.
And at the thought she laughs. "What
would he call mc, I wonder. ' 'Madam Con
ceit,' no doubt But certainly I always aid
like this gown!" She laughs again freely,
merrily, this time and raising both her
arms -makes a little effort to subdue the
small wandering locks upon her forehead.
'They get beyond me," says she. "See
what it 11 to have no maid! Whv, in the
old days I "
Suddenly the laugh freezes on her lips.
She turns from the glass and towards the
door as if shot Her hands still cling to
her head, she has indeed forgotten to take
them down.
"Mrs. Clarke," cries Drayton from out
side. There is a thundering knock at her
door. "Mrs. Clarke can I see you? I have
lorgotten something."
A stifled cry escapes her. He evidently
accepts it as permission to enter, and throw
ing the door open advances quickly into the
room.
Not very far, however. It is his second
shock to-day, and, undoubtedly,it is greater
than his first- He abruptly closes the door,
and she runs quicklv towards where the
long daric cloak is lying mat nau covered
her as she ran downstairs. He checks her
by a gesture.
"Wh.t 4h n nt tlt9" unit. --I-
'tinjuphhiluni . j
No use at all, indeed. She recognizes
the truth of that, aud stops short in the
middle of the room, gazing at him fasci
nated, as if unable to remove her eyes.
Hor first thought perhaps is one of anger.
What hateful things men are! Why isn't
he out shooting at this hour of the day!
Her second is one that shakes her with
tremulous mirth. Oh! if Tom were here.
Tom, who is so great on theatricals. What
a situation it would be. In her frightened
state, seeing Tom's comical face before her,
she breaks out uuddeuly into a little rip
pling burst of laughler.
Short-lived laughter! The very sound of
her own mirth so terrifies her, while that
graveface over there staring at her with open
astonishment in his gaze, and something
else that she fails to read, reduces her to
silence again.
Condemnation! That is what is darken
ing his eyes, and making his face so cold
and stern. That is what she has failed to
read. That he should think her vain, fool
ish: that he should wonder who she was
and where she came from all that seems to
her unfortunately quite unavoidable now,
and all through her own folly; but that
there should spring into his mind other,
worse thoughts than these, does not for a
second suggest itself to her. She looks
nervously towards him. His continued
silence, and the cold, questioning, immov
able gaze he has fixed on her, all help to
unuerve her. At last, unable to bear his
speechless scrutiny any longer she takes a
step towards him.
"I know I understand," says she, ap
pealingly. "You you are surprised!"
"Surprise hardly expresses it, though, I
confers, I nardly know why I am so sur
prised. Something of this I imagined
thought possible before now."
"You thought?" questions she, anxiously.
'That you had seen a great deal of the
big world, the world of town. The country
does not seem to suit vou."
"Ob, don't sav that,'" says she. She has
thrown the cloak round her again, but it she
hoped by that to dim the dories of her
toilet, to dull the beauties of her face and
figure, she erred. The soft, dark, costly fur
clinging round the bare white throat) the
glimpses of the beautiful gown in front, the
one slender, naked arm holding the wrap to
her, the small queenly head rising above,
with the diamonds flashing in it all create
a picture perhaps more exquisite than the
one she has sought to bide. "I love the
country," she says softly, gently. "It is
the one place in the world that does suit
me, I think." She sighs sadly.
"Those diamonds you are wearing are evi
dently of great value," says he, icily, tak
ing 11b notice of her tenderoutbiirsts of ad
miration for the green fields and delicate
solitudes' around her. "When choosing to
come here to masquerade in a black gown
as a housekeeper I wonder it did not occur
to you to place them first in some sale
place."
"Is there a safer place than this?" asks
she meekly, not resenting iu any way his
tone, which truly is both cruel and unkind.
A terrible word comes to him as a solution
of this mystery. He fights with it, battles
with it valiantly, but it overcomes him.
Guilt! Guilt is the hideous word. She has
flown from her home. She has sought to
bury herself alive down here, fo escspe the
consequences of her iniquity! And (and
this seems to him the worst trait ot all) she
has been so little contrite that she has
brought away with her the gems, the gar
ments that once made life sweet to her;
she
Her soft voice breaks in upon his miser
able fears and doubts, that now, alas! seem
certainties. .
"Is there a safer place than this?"
She repeats her gentle question, and goes
on
"There cannot be, I think. And where
I am safe surely my diamonds are safe tool"
It is a pretty speech, add the lips that
utter it, how far above mere prettiness they
rise! Were ever lips so lovely! .Did ever
lips look more pnre? And the little half
frightened, half-earnest smile!
With a groan that is unheard, but troubles
his very soul, Drayton gives in.
"Why can't you confide in me," he de
mands, roughlyjindeed, but she feels that
all the anger has gone out of him, and hope'
once more rises in her breast "Why?"
asks he again. It is impossible, whatever
evidence there be, to doubt that earnest
truthful face. "Believe me, I wish only to
restore you.to that part in file you were
wont to'nlar."
"You mean that vou want to get rid of
me," savs she in a low tone, tears rising'
and sparkling in her eyes.
"Yon are unjust"
"TJnjual!"
"If you do not want to get rid of me, why
do you speak like this?"
She is still holding out her hand, but (he
never afterward quite forgives himself tor
that) he lays his own against it, and pushes
it aside.
She shrinks from him as though he had
struck her, and that shrinking kills him.
"Can't you see. Can't you see." cries he,
passionately, "that when"l say I am will
ing to help you to return to to your people,
that I am sacrificing to vou all my hope
and joy. AIL Everything! What will
be left me when you gb? When I tell you
that I will help tb send you awav from this,
you must know how honestly I mean to
serve you."
'If "you mean that," siys she in a low
tone, "Don't send me back to my own
people!"
"But "
"Let there be no buts," she lifts her
hand. "It you send me from this this
sanctuary k"
"I send you! Yon mistake me."
"Well. 1 don't want to go," says she.
She glances suddenly up at him. And jnst
as suddenly she smiles. Such a charming
smile. Radiant as a burst of sunshine on a
winter's day. And yet there is a touch of
slnr in it "Don't send me away" she
says.
"Rhodn!" he has learned her name by
heart To himself she is Bhoda always.
It is he who now goes to her, and it is he
who is now repulsed.
'There is one thing I remember," says
he. "One thing that I temember above all
the words lhat you have said to mc and all
of them I recollect Once you told me you
weroawidow."
"Did I tell you that? OV, no!"
"Yes! I think so. At all events you
permitted me to believe it"
"When?"
"I forget But
"You should not forget"
"Well, I don't either. It was in the
garden, and I am sure you told me then
that you were a widow."
"Ah!" cries she, with a touch of gaiety
that is only badly assumed, but yet imposes
on him, "But I have told you so many
things."
"You meant that, however?" His tone
is a question.
"I so seldom mean anything!" persists
she with an uneasy little langh, and a
sudden dreadful knowledge that for the
first time in her life she is compelled to de
spise herself.
"Answer mel" saya he, with passionate
entreaty.
"I have answered too much already,"
with a swift frown.
"Pardon me. You have answered noth
ing. "Is that a crime?" cries she, turning
suddenly upon him with a sort of vehement
reproach. She is so ill at ease with her
own self that her discomfiture cannot con
tain itself, and therefore breaks forth iu
sudden anger upon him. "Did I come
here, to answer questions?" demands she,
looking 'at him like a young angry queen
from out of all her finery the diamonds on
her neck and in her hair flashing hardly
more fiercely than her eyes. "Dismiss me",
sir,- if vou will but subject me to no more
of thlBl"
She sweeps past him. She is gone.
Indeed he has thought of her. as gone,
and is gazing with mixed feelings at the
door through which she passed, when once
more he sees her. That is part of her.
Her bead only. She has caught hold of the
door with one hand and is looking round it.
He can see that her eyes are full of tears.
"Oh! I am sorry!" murmurs she, and
after that he sees no more of her.
2b be continued next Sunday.'
l'cejTxttt,!t7tMuts4v
TOPICS OF THE TIME.
Lord Bosebery Said to Be Safely
Betrothed.
CUSPIDORS IN. EMS' STREETS.
Wolselej'i Jealousy Fald to Be Responsible
for EoDerts Fall.
THE OIL DISCOVERIES Iff BTJITATBA
rWRITTEir TOO. TUB DISPATCTI.1
Two weeks ago Mr. Grundy had the
talented Lord Bosebery safely betrothed
to the Prince of Wales' daughter, Victoria.
Now he is every bit as safely engaged to the
Princess Helen, widow of the Duke of Al
bany. Where does all the ridiculous English
gossip come from? The chances are even that
Bosebery is not even contemplating matri
mony. However, as The Dispatch has
already published the portrait of the first
alleged fiancee, it might.- as well do the
same with the second.
The Duchess is not yet 32 years of age,
but has been a widow nearly nine. She is
' The Duchess of AIaomj.
a daughter of the Prince of Waldeek. She
married Prince Leopold, the Queen of
England's youngest and brightest boy, on
April 27, 1882. Exactly 23 months after
ward he died, leaving two children, the
youngest ot whom is now known as the
Duke of Albany.
New Oil Field for the Standard.
Another new oil field has eutcred into
competition with the "United States. This
last one, aud very promising it is too, is
away off in Sumatra. The new territory
contains 326 square miles and the Standard
Company already has its agents on the
grounds making deals. There is hardly a
donbt bnt what the old name of Srimat or
Srimata "the happy" applied to this island
by the Arabians was very appropriate. I
do not know of any place of like extent,
that is much richer in productions valuable
to commerce. Gold, silver, iron, copper,
lead, alum, sulphur and amber abound. It
is especially rich in tin. One district
Achceu exports more than 8,000 tons of
pepper annually, beside gold, precious
stones, cotton, raw silk, camphor, benzoin,
betel, sapan wood, sulphur, etc. Many of
the finest woods of commerce come from
Sumatra. The fruits are unexcelled in
flavor. The orange, lemon, pineapple,
citron, pomegranate,cocoanut, water melon,
mango and bread fruit flourish in a wild
state. Sumatra is, in fact, a very desirable
place. When the inhabitant wants rec
reation he has not far to go to look for all
sorts of game front an elephant, arhinoeeros
or a tiger down to a peafowl. Some people
nar think this an objectionable feature. It
all depends on taste.
A Great bnt Quiet Man.
The Kt. Kev. Charles Wordsworth,
Bishop ot St Andrews, England, who died
Monday last, never personally made much
of a nBise in the world, but the annals of a
quiet lite. are sometimes a3 interesting as
those full of stirring events. Dr. Words
worth's is chiefly interesting on account of
its associations. In his youth he was that
boy's hero, a noted athlete on the cricket
and football fields of Harrow and Oxford,
and still later as an oarsman at Oxford and
Bishop
Henley. As a scholar he wa3 the compan
ion of famous boys and atterwurd acted as
tutor to the now' celebrated Gladstone and
Sir Thomas Dyke Acland and the deceased
Cardinal Manning, Duke of Newcastle, Sir
Francis Dovlc, James Hope-Scott and
Bishop Hamilton, of Salfsbnrv.
His autobiography abounds in many an
ecdotes of persons whom most people like
to read about He was the author of an ex
cellent Gieek grammar, and during his con
nection with Oxford and Winchester as a'
master instituted many reforms which are
still in force to-day. When Gladstone first
became powerful, nearly two score years
ao, he lost no time in giving hi sunny
natured friend and teacher of many rears
before a lift up the ladder. The Bishop
also composed some good poetry.
Cuspidors in the Streets.
The Bathb of Ems were known to the
Romans and their curative- qualities it ere
celebrated as early as the fourteenth century.
The little town that built up around thein
was made famous by the dispatch which
Prince Bismarck sent from it, precipitating
the Pranco-Jfrussian War. Now that Bfs
marck admits that the dispatch was a brutal
falsehood, framed for the purpose of paus
ing a bloody conflict, the name of the little
place is in everybody's mouth again. Ems
is most picturefqnely lituated iu one of the
loveliest of the Rhine valleys. The town
possesses splendid hotels and parks. An
interesting feature is its cleanliness. The
authorities aim at perfection in that respect
Only a week: since a local law went into
effect prohibiting spitting in the town
thoroughfares, cuspidors being placed at in
tervals in the streets for the couvenience ot
the public.
Our Treatment of the lied Man.
There is a somewhat widespread belief that
all our Indians want to make them nice,
good and honest men is an education. The
educational idea is all very good in its wav,
but something more is required. It is cer
tainly ridiculous to expect improvement
among these people when living illustra
tions of dishonesty and injustice are sent
among them to act as tutors and masters.
A very good example is now to be found out
In Arizona. Some eight or nine years ago a
I youngludlan was sent to Carlisle school.
.'& vu Terr brifht fellow, and ioob
I AY
Wordsworth.
learned besides the two or three Indian
languages he spoke, English and Spanish.
When he left the school he could read and
write both tongues with ease. He then
entered the army and speedily became a
general favorite among the soldiers. Then
the time came to give his people another
good "push," so to speak. Somebody cov
eted the lands they were on, and of course
the red man had to go. With rare good
Tht Kid.
judgment the authorities selected the In
dian scouts at toe neare:t post to neip
"push." The young man I refer to was
among the number selected. Here n'as his
opportunity, according to the white man's
idea, to prove his loyalty. If he drove his
people, among whom were members of his
own family, bsfore him like animal he was
a brave and true man. If he did not, he
was a traitor.
Now this young man had some spirit in
him. What do you think he did? What
would the reader do under like circum
stances? Why he turned on bis people's
oppressors and shot them down. With a
few companions he fled to the mountains.
They made a good fight of it, but were cap
tured eventually. They were tried and
given life sentences in the Columbus peni
tentiary. Somebody wanted to make mbro
money'out of the cases so they were taken
to Arizona and given another trial and
sentenced to the prison at San Quentin.
Within the year they were tried a;ain and
sentenced to Yuma. The young Indian
said he had done enough of traveling, so
when the Sheriff and he were riding
through the lonely Canyon del Oro, the lat
ter suddenly snatched the other's pistol
and in a moment laid his captor dead at
his feet A companion was busy with a
deputy at the same time, but not long. The
pair then rode off into the wilderucM and
have been a terror to ihe whites of Upper
Mexico and Lower Arizona ever since. The
companion was killed by the Soldiers last
January, but the other still lives and will
be the leader of the Apaches if they ever
break out again. He is widely known to
fame as 'The Kid." His savagery is gen
erally condemned, the people reasoning
that because he is an Indian he cannot be a
hero. And yet of such material, Spartacns,
the gladiator, was made. Compare the two
and find in what degree the one's actions
were any more heroic than the other.
The Green-Eyf d Monster in Uniform.
The reduction of General Lord Frederick
Sleigh Boberts, commander of Her Majes
ty's troops in India, to a minor position,
which took place a week ago, had been ex
pected. More than a year ago his friends
caused the report to circulate that Lord
Boberts would soon retire on account of
failing health. They knew that it would
Genrral Lord Roberts, of Candihar.
only bs a matter of time until Wolseley ac
complished his downfall. Wolseler lost
bnt little love on Roberts. The disposition
of good jndges to class Boberts with such
men as Vou Moltbe and Sherman, to tho
exclusion of Wolseley, was not relished by
the latter, who liked to hear himself termed
".England's only General."
General Boberts is really one of tho
bravest men that ever donned a British
uniform. The army dispatches and the
camps teemed with stories of his heroism.
He is a quiet, unassuming man of great
height and strength. He is greatly liked
by his men, notwithstanding the fact that
he was one of the strictest of disciplinar
ians. He never spared man or beast when
the occasion demanded: yet his soldiers
knew that he always worked, if anything,
harder than themselves, and was ready at
any time to share the privations ot his
army. The British service owed much to
lioborts, and it is cartainly a great injustice
that jealousies of his superiors are permit
ted to work to his detriment But, what's
the use of talking about injustice? Is not
the world full. of it?
Reclamation of the Nestorians.
The final reclamation of the Nestorians
by the -Roman Catholic Church after a
separation of more than 1,300 hundred years
is one of the interesting events of tiie time.
It wonld require too much space to detail
the distintive doctiine of this sect Hon;,
ever, it can be said that its principal feature
was the deuial that the Virgin Mary could
be truly called the "Mother ot God," bein?
in truth the mother of the man Christ..
Nejtorianism prevailed principally in A
syria and Persia. Pora tune it was til
national church of the latter country. Iu
the sixteenth century a portion returned t
the jurisdiction of the Roman pontiff TheT
stiff are faithful to the latter and are know0
as the Chaldean Christian'. The others
have retained their old creed and organiza
tion up to the present time. Willi the ex
ception of the body that exists in India
under the name of" Syrian Christians, the
main portion have their chief seat in the
mountain ranges ot Kurdistan. They num
ber probably 100,000 and arc pcoraad illiter
ate people.
W. G. Kaufman:.-.
. ; " WORTH A GOTNSii A SOS." i
oiccpy.
If a men 13 drows? 5
In tho day
time 3
n:tor a good?
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i CoreredwilhaTastitess and Soluble Coating.
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new ycitk enpot. 30 1 ana 1 ot. .
vwwvwwrrrtTiirTr'"-'-
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Physician not needed. I will gladly send (eealedl rn rr
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Use Johann Holt's Malt Bonbons for
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Getall that's
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colt's Emulsion
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Bronchitis and kindred diseases
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Frtpired br Scott A Bawne. N. T. All drarxlita,
J1EDICAI.
DOCTOR
WH1TTSER
f 14 l-ESS AVENUE, PITTSBUKO. PA
As old residents know and baolc diet ot
Plttsbure papers prove, is the oldeae estab
lished and most prominent physician in ttis
clty,devotinspecialattentfontoalicbronl9
& NO FEE UNTIL CURED
sponsible Mrnr IO and mental dn
parsons 111 Crl VUUO ease, physical de
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rtiBLOOO AND SKIN
eruptions, blotches, ratlins liair.boneK.pain-i
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eradicated Iroin I IDIM A DV kidney an I
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prompt relief and real cub.
Dr. Whittlor's life-Ions extensive experi
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trotted as If here. Offlco honrs. Va.it. to I
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