CHAPTER I.
A still and sultry dusk had fallen,
closing an oppressive, wearing day:
one of those days whose sole function
seems to reside in rendering us irri
tably conscious of our too-close cas
ings of too-solid flesh; whose humid
and inert atmosphere, sodden with
tepid moisture, clings palpably to the
body, causing men to feel as If they
crawled, haif-suffocated, at the bot
tom of a sea of rarefied water.
The hour may have been eight; it
may have been not quite that, but it
was almost dark. The windows were
oblongs, black as night in the yellow
walls of O'Rourke's bedchamber in the
Hotel d'Orient. Monte Carlo.
I have the honor to make known
to you the O'Rourke of Castle
O'Rourke in the county of Galway,
Ireland; otherwise and more widely
known as Colonel Terence O'Rourke;
a chevalier of the Legion of Honor of
France; sometime an officer in the
Foreign Legion in Algiers; a wander
er, spendthrift, free-lance, cosmopol
ite—a gentleman-adventurer, he's been
termed.
He was dressing for dinner. The
glare of half a dozen electric bulbs dis
covered him all but ready for public
appearance—not, however, quite ready.
In hla shirt sleeves he faced a cheval
glass, pluckily (if with the haggard
eye of exasperation) endeavoring to
outmaneuver a demon of inanimate
perversity which had entered into his
dress tie, inciting it to refuse to as
sume, for all his coaxing and his strat
agems, that effect of nonchalant per
fection so much sought after, so sel
dom achieved.
Patently was the thing possessed
by a devil; O'Rourke made no manner
of doubt of that. Though for minutes
at a time he fumbled, fidgeted, fumed
! t was without avail.
His room Itself was in a state of
"nisiderable disorder—something due
mainly to O'Rourke's characteristic ef
forts to find just what he might hap
pen to desire at any given time with
out troubling to think where it ought
properly to be.
Something of this confusion, mir
rored in the glass, was likewise re
flected in O'Rourke's eyes, what time
he paused for breath and profanity.
"Faith, 'tis worse than a daw's nest,
the place," he admitted, scandalized.
"How ever did I—one lone man —do
all that, will ye be telling me?" He
flung out two helpless baffled hands,
ami let them fall. After a meditative
pause he added: "Damn that Alsa
tian!"—with reference to his latest
and least competent valet, who had
but recently been discharged with a
flea in his ear and a month's unearn
ed wage in his pocket. "For knowing
me ways," sighed O'Rourke, "there
■was never anyone the like of Danny."
For as many as three livelong days
this man had been reduced to the ne
cessity of dressing himself with his
own fair hands—and that at least
thrice daily, who did nothing by
halves. And, somehow, mysteriously,
his discarded garments had for the
most part remained where be had
thrown them, despite the earnest ef
forts of the femme de chambre to re
store something resembling order from
this man-made chaos. For servants
all liked well the O'Rourke, improvi
dent soul that he was, freehanded
to a fault.
You are invited to picture to your
self O'Rourke as invariably he was
in one of his not infrequent but ever
transient phases of affluence: that is, <
a very magnificent figure Indeed.
Standing a bit over six feet, deep of
chest and lean of flank, 'with his long, 1
straight legs he locked what he had
been meant to be, a man of arms and
action. His head was shapely, its !
dark hair curling the least in the 1
world; and, incredibly stained, a trans
parent brown, his features were lean,
eager, and rendered very attractive
by quick boyish eyes in whose warm
blue-gray depths humor twinkled
more often than not. though those
same eyes were not seldom thought
ful, a trace wistful, perhaps, with
the look of one who recalls dear mem
ories, old friends and sweethearts
loved and lost . . . For he had
begun to live early in life and had
much to look back upon, though for
all that it's doubtful if he were more
than thirty at the time he became in
volved in the fortunes of the Pool
of Flame.
For the rest of him, barring the re
fractory tie, the man was strikingly
well groomed, while his surroundings
spoke for comfortable circumstances.
On the authority of the absent and re
gretted Danny, who had long served
the O'Rourke in the intimate capaci
ties of 'jody-servant, confidant and
chancellor of the exchequer (this last,
of cpurse, whenever there happened
to tafe any exchequer to reauirc a chan
there was never aoyoaa at «il I'
E&-POOK?/ ■
FLAMES*^®
by LOUIS JOSEPH
COPYRTCHTI9O9 By LOUiJOSEPH VA
who could spend money or wear
clothes like himself, meaning the mas
ter. And at this time O'Rourke was
ostensibly in funds and consequently
(as the saying runs) cutting a wide
swath. Heaven and himself only knew
the limits of his resources; but his
manner a Monte Cristo might have
aped to advantage. His play was a
wonder of the Casino; for the matter
of that, his high-handed and extrava
gant ways had made the entire Prin
cipality of Monaco conscious of his
presence in the land. And you fail
In the least to understand the nature
of the man if you think for a moment
that it irked him to be admired, point
ed out, courted, pursued. He was, in
deed, never so splendid as when
aware that he occupied the public eye.
In short, he was just an Irishman.
. . . So, then, it's nothing wonder
ful that he should seem a thought fini
cal about the set of his tie.
Now as he stood scowling at his
image, and wishing from the bottom
of his heart he had never been fool
enough to let Danny leave him, and
calling fervent blessings down upon
the head of the fiend who first design
ed modern evening-dress for men —he
found himself suddenly with a mind
divested of any care whatever and at
tentive alone to a sound which came
to him faintly, borne upon the heavy
wings of the sluggish evening air.
It was nothing more nor less than a
woman sino-***" softly to herself (hum
ming Tbably be the more ac
curate >id it was merely the
tune that >t his fancy; a bit of
an old so' himself had once
been wont to sing, upon a time when
he had been a happier man. It seem
ed strange to hear It there, stranger
still that the woman's voice, indistinct
as it was, should have such a familiar
ring in his memory. He frowned in
wonder and shook his head. "The age
of miracles is past," he muttered;
" 'twould never be herself. I've had
me chance—and forfeited it. 'Twill
not come to me a second time. . .
The singing ceased. Of a sudden
O'Rourke swore with needless heat,
and, plucking away the offending tie.
cast ' 112^ e ' y f rom him. "The div
vle 1 112 with ye!" he said. "Is it
bent ving me mad ye are? I'd
give ru une to have Danny back!
. . . Me fortune —faith!" He laugh
ed the word to bitter scorn. " 'Tis
meself that never had the least of any
thing like that without 'twas feminine
—with a 'mis-' tacked onto the front
of it!" And he strode away to the
window to cool off.
It was like him to forget his exas
peration in the twinkling of an eye;
another mood entirely swayed him by
the time he found himself gazing out
into the vague, velvety dusk that mo
mentarily was closing down upon the
fairy-like panorama of terraced gar
dens anil sullen, silken sea. His
thoughts had winged back to that
dear woman of whom that fragment
of melody had put him in mind; and
he was sighing and heavy of heart
with longing for the sight of her and
the touch of her hand.
Even as he watched, stark night fell,
black as a pocket beneath a porten
tous pall of cloud. . . . Far out
upon the swelling bosom of the Med
iterranean a cluster of dim lights be
trayed a stealthy coasting steamer,
making westward. Nearer, In the har- •
bor, a fleet of pleasure craft, riding
at anchor on the still, dark tide, was
revealed in many 'faint, wraith-like
shapes of E" ay, all studded with yel
low stars. Ashore, endless festoons of
colored lamps draped the gloom of the
terraces; the facade of the Casino
stood out lurid against the darkness;
the hotels shone with reflected bril
liance. the palace of the Prince de
Monaco loomed high upon the penin
sula, its elevations picked out with
lines of soft fire.
The O'Rourke shook his head, con
demning it all. " 'Tis beautiful," he
said; "faith, yes! 'tis all of that. But
I'm thinking 'tis too beautiful to be
good for one —like some women I've
known In me time. 'Tis not good for
Terence —that's sure; 'tis the
O'Rourke that's going stale and soft
with all this easy living. . . . Me
that has more than many another to
live for and hope for and strive for!
. . . And I'm lingering here In the
very lap of luxury stuffing meself with
rare food, befuddling meself with
rarer wines—me that has fought a
day and a night and a half a day atop
of that on nothing and a glass of
muddy water! —risking me money as
If there was no end to It, throwing It
away in scandalous tips like any
drunken sailor! And all for the scant
satisfaction of behaving like a fool of
an Irishman. . . 'Tis sickening—dis
gusting; naught less. . . . I'm
thinking this night ends it, though;
come the morning I'll be pulling up
stakes and striking out for a healthier,
simpler place, where there's some
thing afoot a man can take an In tar-,
est in without losing his self-respect.
. . . I'll do Just that, I will!"
This he meant, firmly, and was glad
of it. with a heart immeasurably light
ened by the strength of his good res
olution. He began to hum the old
tune that the unknown woman's voice
had set buzzing in his brain, and
broke o£T to snap his fingers defiant
ly at the Casino. "That for ye!" he
flouted it—"sitting there with your
painted smile and your cold eyes, like
the brazen huzzy ye are—Goddess of
Chance, indeed! —thinking ye have
but to bide your time for all men to
come and render up their souls to ye!
Here's once ye lose, madam; after this
night I'm done with ye; not a sou of
mine will ever again cross your ta
bles. I'll have ye to understand the
O'Rourke's a reformed character from
the morning on!"
He laughed sortly, in high feather
with his conceit; and, thinking cheer
fully of the days of movement and
cnange that were to follow, the song
in his heart shaped itself in words
upon his Hps.
"I'm Paddy Whack
From Ballyhack,
Not long ago turned soldier—O
At grand attack.
Or storm or sack,
None than I will prove bolder—O!"
His voice was by way of being a
tenor of tolerable quality and volume,
but untrained—nothing wonderful. It
was Just the way he trolled out the
rollicking stanza that rendered It in
fectious, Irresistible. For as he
paused the voice of the woman that
had reminded him of the song capped
the verse neatly.
"An' whin wo get the route
Wld a shout.
How they pout!
Wld a ready right-about
Goes the bould soldier-boy'"
O'Rourke caught his breath, star
tled, stunned. "It can't be—" he
wliispered. For if at first her voice,
subdued In distance, had stirred his
O'Rourke Caught his Breath, Stunned.
memory with a touch as vague and
thrilling as the caress of a woman's
hand in darkness, now that he heard
the full strength of that soprano, bell
clear and spirited, he was sure he
knew the singer. He told himself that
there could be no two women in the
world with voices Just like that; not
another than her he knew could have
rendered the words with so true a
spirit, so rare a brogue—tinged as
that had been with the faintest,
quaintest exotic inflection imagin
able.
But she had stopped with the
verse half sung. His pulses quicken
ing, O'Rourke leaned forth from the
window and carried it on:
"O 'tis thin the ladles fair
In despair
Tear their hair!
But- 1 'Tls iJlvvle a bit I care!"
Cries the bould soldier-boy!"
There fell a pause. He listened
with his heart Lu his mouth, but h«ard
1 nothing. And it seemed impossibly to
surmise whence, from which one of all
the rooms with windows opening upon
that side of the hotel, had come the
voice of the woman. She might as
well have been above as below him,
or on either side: he could not guess.
But he was determined.
Now there was beneath his window
a balcony with a floor of wood and a
rail of iron-filigree—a long balcony,
extending from one corner of the ho
tel to the other. At intervals it was
splashed with light from the windows
of chambers still occupied by guests
belated or busy, like himself, with the
task of dressing for the evening. The
window to his left was alight; that
011 his right, dark. With half his body
on the balcony, his legs dangling with
in the room, O'Rourke watched the
opening on his left with jealous,
breathless expectancy. Not a sound
came therefrom. He hesitated.
"If that weren't her room, I'd hear
somebody moving about," he reasoned.
" 'Tis frightened she is—not suspect-
In 'tis me. . . . But how do I know
'tis herself? . . . Faith! could me
ears deceive me?"
With that he took heart of hope and
broke manfully into the chorus, sing
ing directly to the lighted window,
singing the first line with ardor and
fervor, with confidence and with hope,
singing persuasively, pleadingly, anx
iously, insistently.
"For the worrld is all befo-ore us "
he sang and then paused. He heard
no echo. And again he essayed, with
that in his tone to melt a heart of
ice:
"for the worrld Is all befo-ore us "
And now he triumphed and was
lifted out of himself with sheer de
light; for from the adjoining room
came the next line:
"And landladies ado-ore us "
Unable to contain himself, he
chimed in, and in duet they sang it
out to the rousing finale:
"They ne'er rayfuse to sco-ore us.
But chalk us up wld Joy
We taste her tap, we tear her cap—
'O, that's the chap
For me,' cries she—
'Whlroo!
Isn't he the darllnt, the bould soldier
boy!" "
As the last note rang out and died,
the next window was darkened; the
woman had switched off the lights.
He heard a faint rustle of silken ruf
fles. " 'Tls herself," he declared in
an agony of anticipation—"herself and
none other! And I'm thinking she'll
be coming to the window now—"
He was right. Abruptly he discov
ered her by the reflected glow from
the Illumination behind him. He was
conscious of the pallid oval of her
face, of a sleek white sheen of arms
and shoulders, of a dark mass of hair,
but more than all else of the glamour
of eyea that shone lata his softly,
like limpid pools of darkness touched
by dim starlight.
Inflamed, he leaned toward her.
"Whist, darling!" he stammered.
"Whist! 'Tis myself—'tis Terence —"
But she was gone. A low, stifled
laugh was all his answer—that and
the silken whisper of her skirts as she
scurried from the window. He flush
ed crimson, waited an instant, then
flung discretion to the winds, and
found himself scrambling out upon the
balcony. Heaven only knows to what
lengths the man would have gone had
not the slam of a door brought him up
standing; she had left her room!
So she thought to escape him bo
easily! He swore between his teeth
with excitement and tumbled back
whence he had come. Regardless of
the fact that he was still in his shirt
sleeves he rushed madly for the door.
On the way a shooting-jacket on the
door, perhaps in revenge for neglect
and 111-treatment, maliciously wound it
self around his feet and all but threw
him headlong; only a frantic clutch at
the footrail of the bed saved him.
Kicking the thing savagely off he
flung himself upon the door and threw
it open. His Jaw dropped.
The lift shaft was directly opposite.
Before It, in more or less patient wait
ing, stood a very young and beautiful
woman in a gown whose extreme can
dor was surpassed only by the perfec
tion of its design and appointment—
both blatant of the Rue de la Palx;
a type as common to the cognoscenti
of Monte Carlo as the Swiss hotel por
ters. But O'Rourke did not know her
from Eve.
"The dlvvle!" said he beneath his
breath.
He was mistaken; but the young
woman, at first startled by his uncer
emonious appearance, 611 instantan
eous second thought decided to per
mit him to discover that twin imps,
at least, resided in her eyes. Ami
when his disappointment prevented
him from recognizing them, her dawn
ing smile was swiftly erased and her
ascending eyebrows spoke eloquently
enough of her haughty displeasure.
Synchronously the lift hesitated at
that landing and the gate clanged
wide; the young woman wound her
skirt about her and showed him a
tmck which at any other time would
have evoked his unstinted admiration.
Then the gate shot to with a rattle
and bang, and the lift dropped out of
sight, leaving the man with mouth
agape and eyes as wide.
A beaming but elderly femme de
chambre on duty in the corridor, re
marking O'Kourke's pause of stupefied
chagrin. hope Hand believed ho need
ed her services. She bore down upon
him accordingly.
"M'sieu' Is desirous of—?"
He came out of his trance. "Noth
ing," he told her with acid brevity.
"But, •es," he reconsidered with
haste. That lady who but this mo
ment took the lift—her Lime?"
"Her name, m'sieu"? Ma'm'selle Vol
taire."
"Impossible!" he told himself aloud,
utterly unable to forge any connecting
link between the lady In the lift and
her whose voice had bewitched him.
"But assuredly, m'sieu'. Do I not
know —I who have waited upon her
hand and foot these three days and to
whom she has not given as much as
—that." The woman ticked a finger
nail against her strong white
teeth. "Ma'm'selle Victorine Vol
taire," she asserted stubbornly.
O'Rourke fumbled in his pocket and
found a golden ten-franc piece, surren
dering it to the woman as heedlessly
as though It had ,been as many cen
times. "I'll be leaving me room in five
minutes, now. And do ye, for the love
of Heaven, me dear, try to set me
things the least trifle to rights. Will
ye now, like the best little girl In
the world?"
The best little girl In the world,
who was forty-flve if a day, promised
miracles —with a bob of a courtesy.
But so disgruntled was O'Rourke that
he shut his door in her face.
" Tis meself that's the fool." he
said savagely enough, "to think for a
moment that ever again I'll set me
eyes on her pretty face —God bless it,
wherever she may be! . . . For
why should I deserve to—l, the pen
niless adventurer?"
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Carte and Pierce.
He —What do you women do at
your club?
She —Talk about the faults of you
men. What do you do at yours?
He —Try to forget the faults of you
women.—Boston Transcript.
Kind Insinuation.
He—l see where the hunters are
shooting people, mistaking them for
game.
She —Then you had better be my
careful about going out, or tfety m i
shoot you lor a «ocm
Lamb's Tenure of Life Not Long.
A party of privileged sightseers
were admitted to a private view of a
menagerie between performances,
and among other things were showa
what was called a "Happy Family,"
that Is to say, ID on* and the earns
cage there was a toothless lion, a
tiger, somewhat the worse for wear,
and a half-famished wolf. Beside
these wild animals, curled up In one
corner, was a diminutive lamb which
shivered as It slumbered.
"How long have the animals lived
together?" asked one of the party.
"About twelve months," replied the
showman.
"Why," exclaimed a lady, "I am
sure that little lamb Is not as old aa.
that."
"Oh," said the showman, quite un
moved, "the lamb has to be renewed
occasionally."
"WHY SHOULD I USE
CUTICURA SOAP?"
"There is nothing the matter with,
my skin, and I thought Cuticura Soap
was only for slcln troubles." True, It
is for skin troubles, but its great mis
sion is to prevent skin troubles. For
more than a generation its dellcato
emollient and prophylactic properties
have rendered it the standard for this
purpose, while Its extreme purity and
refreshing fragrance give to it all the
advantages of the best of toilet soaps.
It is also Invaluable in keeping the
hands 6oft and white, the hair live
and glossy, and the scalp free from
dandruff and irritation.
While its first cost is a few cents
more than that of ordinary toilet
soaps, it is prepared with such care
and of such materials, that it wears
to a wafer, often outlasting several
cakea of other soap, and making its
use, in practice, most economical.
Cuticura Soap is sold by druggists and
dealers everywhere, but the truth of
these claims may be demonstrated
[ without cost by sending to "Cuti
cura," Dept. L, Boston, for a liberal
i sample cake, together with thirty-two.
! page book on the skin and hair.
Those who seem to escape from
discipline are not to be envied; they
*ave farther to go.—A. C. Benson.
Which wins? Garfield Tea always wins
in Us merits as the best of herb cathartics.
A double wedding is one kind of a
[ four-in-hand tie.
WIFE'S HEALTH
RESTORED
Husband Declared Lydia E.
Pinkham's Vegetable -
Compound Would Re
store Her Health,
And It Did.
Ashland, Ky. " Four years ago I
seemed to have everything the matter
i ~i: ii.i 11 mm mi with me. I had fe
maleand kidneytrou
' /yKttjV , i ble and was so bad off
I could hardly rest
W 3fs /&■ lsvri' day or night. I doc
* Jf ;* tored with all the
|\ V, /\J* best doctors in town
• ifrnii-ff *°°k man y kind 3
medicine but noth
|»#if ing did any good un
\\\\lWll •• /§ I I tried yourwon
! // ■>' 7 derful remedy, Lydia
■ ' 1 E. Pinkham's Vege
table Compound. My husband said it
would restore my health and it has."—
Mrs. MAY WYATT, Ashland, Ky.
There are probably hundreds of thou
sands of women in the United States
who have been benefitted by this famous
old remedy, which was produced from
roots and herbs over thirty years ago by
a woman to relieve woman's suffering.
Read What Another Woman says:
Camden, N. J. —"I had female trou
ble and a serious displacement and was
tired and discouraged and unabletodo my
work. My doctors told me I never could
be cured without an operation, but
thanks to Lydia E.Pinkham's Vegetable
Compound I am cured of that affliction
and have recommended it to more than
one of my friends with the best results."
—Mrs. ELLA JOHNSTON, 324 Vine St.
If yon want special advice write to
Lydia E. Pinkham Medicine Co. (confi
dential) Lynn, Mass. Your letter will
be opeued, read and answered by a
woman and held In strict confidence.
Make the Liver
Do its Duty
Nine times in ten when the liver is
right the stomach and bowels are right.
CARTER'S LITTLE
LIVER PILLS
gently butfirmly —
pel a lazy liver
do its duty.
Cures VJTTLE
■tipation, I [VtR
digestion,
Headache,
and Distress After Eating.
SMALL PILL. SMALL DOSE. SMALL PRICE,
Genuine must bear Signature
FOR SALE—OId Indian Fort Property with his
torical Spring one nil In south of Fort Pierce on
Indlun RiTer, Six acres abuMdant shade trees.
Orunges and bannna trees. Three bungalows.
Stable and windmill. One bnngnlow with all
modern Improvements. N«-w dock and motor bout.
Fine home for a retired gentleman. lIOX 308,
FORT PIERCE, FLORIDA.
OEYE WATE R
JOHN L. THOMPSON SONS * CO., Troj, N. V.
H|<VP||TII Watioaß.rolemßii,Wsmu
111 1 PH I V liitfton. l>.<\ Hook*lree. HUb
■ Ml !■!« H Vwi retereaoua Bust rosuita