:Fg||g&PO<M^'jßp 101)13 JOSEPH COPYT^ICH7I9O<) £y SYNOPSIS. The story opens at Monte Carlo with Col. Terence O'Rourke, a military frie lance and something of a Rambler, in his hotel. Leaning on the balcony he sees a beautiful girl who suddenly enters the elevator and passes from sight. At the gaming table O'Rourke notices two men watching him. One Is the Hon. Bertie Glynn, while his companion is Viscount Des Trebes, a duelist. The viscount tells him the French government lias directed him to O'Rourke as a man who would undertake a secret mission. At his apart ment, O'Rourke, who had agreed to un dertake the mission, finds a mysterious letter. The viscount arrives, hands a sealed package to O'Rourke, who is not to open It until on the ocean. A pair of dainty slippers are seen protruding from tinder a doorway curtain. The Irishman finds the owner of the mysterious feet to be his wife, Beatrix, from whom he had run away a year previous They are reconciled, and opening the letter he finds that a Rangoon law firm offers him 100,000 pounds for a jewel known as the Pool of Flame und left to him by a dy ing friend, but now in keeping of one named Chambret In Algeria. O'Rourke worsts the nobleman in a duel. The wife bids O'Rourke farewell and ho promises to soon return with the reward. He dis covers both Glynn and the viscount on \ioard the 6hip. CHAPTER Vllw—(Continued.) By dawn they were ready to start; and so, In the level rays of a sun that seemed a dazzling sphere o? Intoler able light, poising itself in the eastern rim of the world as If undecided whether or no to take up its flight across the firmament, the little cara ran rocked out Into the fastness of ■he desert, the Irishman in the van sitting a blooded meharl as one to the wilderness born. On the seventh night they bivouack ed hard on the heels of the flying col umn, having for seven days pursued It this way and that, zigzagging into the heart of the parched land. Now, when they were come within six hours of their goal, reluctantly, long after nightfall, O'Rourke gave consent to halt, conceding the ne :essity; for weariness weighed upon their shoulders a great burden, and the camels had become unusually sul len and evil tempered; if rest were denied them presently they would become obstinate and refuse to follow the road. O'Rourke closed his eyes and lost consciousness with a sensation of fall ing headlong into a great pit of ob livion, bottomless, eternal. Yet it teemed no more than a moment ere he was sitting up and rubbing sight Into his eyes, shaken out of slumber by his guide. , He stumbled to his feet and lurched toward the camels, still but half awake. When his senses cleared ir ritation possessed him. His guide had been overzealouß. He turned upon the man and seized him roughly by the arm. "What the divvle!" he grumbled an grily, between a yawn and a chatter of teeth —for the air was bitter cold. "The moon's not yet up!" "Hush, Sidi!" Something In the guide's tone stilled his wrath. "The Touaregg are all about us. They have been passing us throughout the night—" "Ye knew this and did not wake me?" "There was no need; we could not have moved ere this without detection. Now, they are all astir, and we in the night, may pass for them—until moon-up." The guide turned away to rouse the mehara, prodding them up, mutinous, enarling and ugly. In another live minutes they were again moving for ward. By the time the silver rim of the moon peered over the edge of the east they were pelting on at full speed, as yet, apparently, undetected by the Touaregg. An hour passed, and the chill In the air became more intense; dawn was at hand. A sense of security, of dan gers left behind, came to the Irish man; he began to breathe more free ly. though still the polishe<l butt of a repeating rifle swinging from the sad dle remained a comfort to his palm. He grew more confident, mentally at ease, seeing the desert take shape In the moonlight and show itself deso late on every hand. Even as he gained assurance from tbis thought, the guide turned In his Baddle and cried a warning: "The Tou aregg!" From that moment on both ■wielded merciless whips. For out of the moonlit wastes behind them had shrilled a voice, cruel and wild, an nouncing discovery and the Inception of the chase. The fugitives had need of no sharper spur. A rifle shot rang sharp on the echoes of that cry, but the bullet must have fallen far short. A moment later, in deed, they opened a brisk, scattering fire —naturally Ineffectual, though the bullets dropping right and left In the sand proved that the chaße had got within range. Even with that warning, the end was nearer than he had dreamed or hoped. It came In a twinkling and as unexpected as a bolt out oi a «i*ar sky: a flash t>f fire ahead, a spitful snap and —pttt!—the song of a bullet speeding past his head. The guide pulled up with a jerk. O'Rourke, reining in desperately, swung his camel wide to avert the threatened collision. Simultaneously the sharp "Qui vive?" of a French sentry rang out, loud and sweet to hear. "Thank God!" said the adventurer in his heart. And aloud, "Friends!" he cried, driving past the sentry in & cloud of dust. By a blessed miracle the man was quick of wit, and swift to grasp the situation —of which, however, he must have had some warning from the rattle of firing. He screamed something in O'Rourke's ear as the latter passed, and turning threw him self flat and began to pump the trig ger of his carbine, emptying the maga zine at the on-sweeping line of Tou aregg. The alarm was hardly needed; O'Kourke and the guide swept on over the slip of a depression in the desert and hailed In the midst of a camp already quickened and alive I with shadowy figures running method ically to their posts, carbine and ac coutrement gleaming in the moon light: men of the camel crops, hard ened to and familiar with their work. They buckled down to it in a busi ness-like way that thrilled the heart of O'Kourke. In a trice they were doubling out past lines of tethered mehara, past the white hillocks of the officers' shelter-tents and, like the sentry, throwing themselves down upon the ground to take shelter of whatever inequalities the face of the desert offered; and their firing ringed the bivouac with a fringe of flame. O'Kourke slipped from his camel and turned to watch the skirmish. Massed, the Touaregg, in strength greater than the adventurer had be lieved —something like two hundred mounted men, in all —charged down upon the camp as if to over-run and stampede it. Yet at the critical moment, when it seemed that of a surety there was no stopping them, they divided and swung round the camp in two wide circles, scattering into open order and firing as they scattered. Here and there a horse fell, a rider threw out his hands and toppled from his sad dle, a camel seemed to buckle at full tilt like a faulty piece of machinery; and so gaps appeared in the flying wings. For the men of the flying column were picked shots. They had need to be, who had such tasks as this to cope with. Nor —for that matter —were-the Tou aregg the only sufferers. Here and there in the camp a man plunged for ward in mid-stride, and on the firing line beyond the tents now and again a sharpshooter shuddered and lay still upon his arms. Even at O'Rourke's side an officer was shot as he ran to the front, and would have fallen had not the Irishman caught him with ready arms and let him easily to the earth. As he did so the stricken man rolled an agonized eye upward. "O'Kourke!" he Baid between a groan and a sigh. And O'Rourke, kneeling at his side and peering into his face, gave a bit ter cry. For he had found Chambret. CHAPTER VIII. Preparations for breakfast were to ward; an aroma of coffee and bacon hung in the still, crisp air. The troop ers were bustling about as if noth ing had happened, laughing and jok ing, cleaning rifles, feeding the me hara, striking tents, drawing water from the palm-ringed well round which the camp had been made. Out of sight beyond the edge of the sunken oasis a detachment was dig ging shallow trenches for the dead. In the open Chambret lay dying, a stark grim figure in the growing light. O'Rourke sat by his side, near the head of the improvised litter, el bow in knee, chin In hand, eyes fixed on the face of his friend. Just before sunrise the man on the litter stirred, moaned, opened his eyes and turned his head to see O'Rourke. lie smiled wanly. "Mon ami," he said In tones faint yet thick. The Irishman rose. "Don't talk," said he. "I'll be calling the surgeon." But Chambret stayed him with a gesture. "Has he not told you, dear friend?" he asked. O'Rourke hesitated. "Told me what?" "That my wound was fatal —mortal? . . . Surely he must have told you. It is bo. Presently I die . . Con tent. . . . Let him be—this sur geon: I am beyond his aid. Attend to me, In my last moments, O'Rourke, my friend." i The adventurer vacillated, torn by an agony of compassion. "I must do something for ye," he said miserably. . . . "I must do something. . . . What can I do?" "Comfort me." The dying man closed his eyes and lay still for a lit tle. "You are not gone, O'Rourke?" he asked presently. "I'm here, be your side, mon ami." "Tell me ... of madarne . . . your wife. She Is well?" "She is very well. Chambret." "You have seen her recently?" "Within ten days." "You have . . . returned to her?" "No—and yes. "Twas not for lack of love for her that I gave her up—" "Yes," said Chambret impatiently. "That I understand. ... I com prehend utterly your feeling. . . . But you owe her happiness, though you sacrifice your own—everything— to give it her. She loves you . as she might have loved even me had you not come into her life." "True. . . ." "You are about to pocket your scruples that she may have her due portion of happiness?" "I've promised, Chambret." "I am glad. . . . But you—what has brought you hither?" "I—l wished to see ye," But the dying are oftentimes and strangely endowed with curious In sight into matters beyond their ken. Without perceptible hesitation Cham bret made this apparent. "You have come for the ruby," he said with conviction. "How did ye know?" "It is true, then? ... I fancied so; I knew that some day you would come to claim it. . . . Bend nearer to me. . . . The Pool of Flame is in the keeping of my good friend, the Governor-General of Algeria. It is all arranged. When I am gone, take my signet ring, tell him your name, and demand the package—a small morocco leather box. wrapped In plain brown paper and superscribed with my r.ama and yours. He knows nothing or its value, save that it is great, and will deliver it to you and only you without question. . . . That is all." The hand that clasped O'llourke's was like ice. "Chambret!" "neatrix. . . The cold fingers relaxed. Gently O'Hourk© disengaged his hand and put it to the pitiful, torn bosom of the man who had died with hla wile's name upon his lips. CHAPTER IX. Shortly before midnight the tri weekly train from Constantlne to Al giers pulled up over an hour late at the town of El-Guerrah. It took up a single passenger, discharged none, and presently thundered on westwards, rocking and jarring over a road-bed certainly no better than It should have been. Such, at least, was the passen ger's criticism, as, groaning in an ticipation of the long night of discom fort ahead of him, he disposed himself and Ills belongings about the cushions of the first-class compartment which he occupied in solitary grandeur. O'Rourke had no intention of leav ing anything undone that might tend to mitigate the terrors of the journey. Five days had elapsed since that morning in the oasis. In the Interval he had again dared the danger of the desert, returning to Biskra alone by a route more direct than that which had brought him up with the flying col umn. Discharging the guide with a gratuity larger than his ebbing means warranted, he had proceeded to El- Guerrah by the first daily train, and so now found himself on the direct line of communication with Algiers and the Governor-General. His chiefest concern now lay with the future and the Pool of Flame; both bulked largo upon the horizon and were at once the architects and the nuclei of a thousand different plans of action. So far, the affair had wfcrked smoothly; he anticipated little trou ble. So thinking he drowsed, and In the course of time lulled by the hammer ing of a flat-wheel at the forward end of the coach, fell asleep. He waken ed suddenly after a nap of soma two hours or so, to a confusion of Impres sions: that the train had stopped; that some one had Invaded his com partment; that a cold blast was blow ing across his wrists. Bewildered and not half master of his senses, he start ed up and fell back with a thud, as sisted to resume a recumbent position by a heavy blow upon his chest, deliv ered by some person for the moment unknown. Simultaneously he was aware of a clicking sound, followed by the sensation of being unable to move his feet; inil then, the clouds clearing from bis understanding, nu realized that the cold upon his wrists was that of steel. With handcuffs also on his ankles, he lay helpless, unable even to protest because of a cloth wadded tightly into his mouth and a firm hand that prevented ejection. Other hands werd rifling his pock ets, swiftly but after a bungling fash ion. The train, having paused briefly nt Setif (he afterwards located the station by conjecture), began to move again, was presently in full thundering flight. Abruptly the examination of his person—which was so thorough that it Included tLo opening of his shirt to as sure the thieves that he carried noth ing in the shape of a money-belt— was concluded and the adventurer was roughly jerked Into a sitting po sition. At the same time his gag was removed. He gasped, blinked, coughed, and rolled a resentful eye around the com partment. "Be the powers!" he said huskily; and no more. At first g'ance it became apparent that he had mis calculated the audacity and resource of the vicomte and Mr. Glynn. They had literally caught him napping. The Honorable Bertie, O'Rourke dis covered kneeling in the act of turning the adventurer's traveling gear inside out; at least, he seemed to be try ing to do so. Monsieur le Vicomte des Trebes on the contrary was seat ed at ease, facing O'Rourke, a revolver on the cushion beside him, his in terest concentrated not upon his cap tive, upon his collaborator. O'Rourke remarked an expression on the French man's face, a curious compound of eagerness, triumph and apprehension. Without noting the Irishman's ejec ulation, he addressed Glynn: "Find it?" "No—worse luck!" grumbled the> Englishman, rising and kicking the hand-bag savagely. "There isn't so much as a scrap of paper anywhere about him." The vicomte favored O'Rourke with a vicious glance, muttering something about a thousand devils. The Irish man. quick to grasp thj situation and They Had Literally Caught Him Napping. Inwardly exulting, acknowledged Des Trebes' attention with a winning smile. "O>jod evening," he said, and nodded amiably. "Oh. shut up!" snapped the Honor able Bertie, unhandsomely. "Where's that letter?" O'Rourke chuckled. "Ye're a hard loser, me bright young friend." he commented. "I though Englishmen always played the game as it laid." Glynn grunted and flushed, shame faced, but the Frenchman cut short the retort on his lips by a curt repe tition of Glynn's own question: "Where's that letter, monsieur?" O'Rourke glanced at him languidly, yawned, and smiled an exasperating strictly D«r*oiui su 11*. Then sis atflecntly be clinked the handcuff* u> til they rang on wrist and ankle. "Answer ine!" snarled the vicomt#, picking up hIH revolver. "Dlvvle a word," observed O'Rourk#, "will ye get from me If ye shoot me dead, monsieur le vicomte. Put down your pistol and be sensible." Des Trebes' face darkened, suf fused with the blood of his rage. Yet the man asserted that admirable con trol of self which he was able to em ploy when it suited his purposes. Evi dently, too, he recognized the cold common-sense of the wanderer's re mark. At all events he put aside the weapon. t "Where's the letter?" he demanded again, xnore pacifically. Again O'Rourke yawned with mal ice prepense, yawned and exhaustively and dispassionately. "Not a word," he volunteered at length, "until ye loose me hands and feet. Which," he added, "ye need not hesitate to do, for I'll not strike back —unless ye me." The vicomte scowled darkly for a moment, plainly dubious. Then pre sumably upon the consideration that he could trust O'llourke's word and that most assuredly he would learn nothing from him until his request was complied with, he growled an or der to Glynn to unlock and remove the handcuffs. The Englishman obey ed. Free, O'Rourke stretched himself, rubbed his wrists, and observed a collection of his iocket hardware ly ing upon the seat by him, thrown aside by Glynn in his disgust at not finding what he sought. "Ye'll not be wanting to deprive me of these' few trifles, me gay high waymen, I'm thinking?" he inquired placidly of the pair. "If ye've no ob jection I'll make so free as to take back me own." "Take what you want," returned Dea Trebes in an ugly tone. "But — I give you three minutes to tell me where you have put that letter." "Indeed? Your courtesy overpowers me." The Irishman took up his watch and calmly made a note of the hour— hard upon three In the morning; then, with easy nonchalance stowed it away with the rest of the miscellaneous col lection —the knives, coins and keys, his wallet, tickets and so forth. "Your time," the voice of the yi comte interrupted this occupation, "Is up." He fingered his revolver "Where is that letter? I am losing patience." "Where rust nor moth cannot cor rupt nor thieves break into steal," O'Rourke misquoted solemnly. "Steady. Don't call names—or I'll forget meself. I mean that the letter is in fragments, scattered to the four winds of heaven, destroyed. There ye have your answer. Ye fools, did ye think I would carry it about me?" "By God!" said Glynn tensely. "No —don't shoot him, Des Trebes! He's telling the truth. Make him tell what was in the letter." "I'm afraid 'tis useless," O'Rourke mocked them. "I have forgotten the contents. What use to me to re member?" ho demanded, Inspired. "What made ye think I would have it at all? Sure, and the letter was properly Chambret's. Why would 1 not turn it over to him?" "Oh, cut it!" Glynn interrupted im patiently. "We know he's dead. The news was heliographed in from the column day before yesterday." "Quite so. Yet, if ye know so much, if —as I gather—ye suspect that Cham bret turned over this precious Jewel to me, why do ye not demand it as well as the letter? Not that I have either." "Because we Jolly well know you haven't got the ruby," blurted the Englishman. "Be quiet." snapped the vlcomta, (TO JUS CONTINUED^ INTERNATIONAL SUNMfStIIOOL LESSOR (By E. O. SELLERS, Director of Eve ning Department, The Moody Bitla Institute of Chicago.) LESSON FOR JULY 14. THE SEED IN FOUR KINDS OP SOIL. LESRON TEXT—Mark 4:1-21. GOLDEN TEXT—"Receive with meek ness the implanted word which is able to save your souls." James I:2L Jesus tells us plainly why he taught so much by means of parables (Matt. 13:10-13) viz., to teach the truth to those who sought it, and to hide it from those who refused to receive it. The truth had to be taught, hence the parable, that those to whom it was given to know the mysteries of the kingdom might know and understand but that to the others it might be hid den (Mark 4:11-12). We have in this lesson one of the best known of the master's many parables. Like all the rest Jesus draws his picture from the common experiences of life. Jesus uses the fields, the home, etc.. while Paul in his preaching and teaching draws from the city, the army, the markets, etc. We have in this pic ture the seed, the sower and the soil. We must turn to the parable accounts in Luke and Matthew to get the full and the complete picture. What is the seed? Luke records that Jesus told the disciples that the seed is the word of God (Luke 8:11). Mark also tells us practically the same thing in v. 14 of the lesson. A great deal is being made today of seed se lection and some wonderful results have been obtained!. How much more important for us who deal with immor tal souls that we select the best, viz., the word of God. Sought Not Adulation. Next the sower (v. 4). Notice be went forth not to S-O-A-R, nor is it recorded that he was S-O-R-E. He did not have a grouch nor did he enter into his work that he might receive the adulation of men (Matt. 6:2). It Is however the soil that seems to be most emphasized in this lesson, both in the direct teaching and also in the explanation of the parable. There are four kinds of soil and it is also very significant the manner by which the seed came into contact with each kind of soil. "Some fell by the wayside." The path was well trod den, the ground was preoccupied, o. £., used for other purposes rather than to yield a harvest. It was hard to l»e broken and hence it was an easy mat ter for the birds of the air (Satan v. 15) soon to pluck it away. We need to remember that if men receive with meekness the implanted word there will be of course no such opportunity for the evil one. The trouble is that in this case the word was not implant ed. Thus it is that one-fourth of the seed is lost. That the result is a de plorable one is shown in Heb. 2:1-4. The seed in this case fell "by" the Tayside, in the next it fell "on"the rocky ground. The first is the picture of the heedless, this is a picture ot the superficial ones. Oh for a time they did run well, they even receiver the word with gladness (v. 16) bui th*y had no stability; they lacked *.h< flement of persistence; their surround ings were superficial, there was n< chance for the seed to get a real grij uj-in their lives. Three Fourths Lost. In the s third place Jesus speaks c seed that fell "among" the thorn; Here in this worldly soil it is not 112 much the character of the soil as th character of that which already occi pied the soil ere the sower sowed tl seed. The cares of this world, tl deceitfulness of riches ar.d "othi things" (v. 19) had so entered in th the good seed never had a real chain in the soil of that, human heart, hem it was choked and yielded no fru There was no real grip of the will, l whole-hearted surrender. How oft these thorns, "the cares of life." l:e the housewife, or the business m away from the word. How often t "deceitfulness of riches" snare men as to choke the word that at one ti gave such promise in their lives. A then the "lusts and other thin} which the evil one so well knows h to use that he may keep us from word, for he knows that by it we n be saved (Luke 8:12). We have thus seen three-fourths the word lost. Of the remain fourth which fell "into" (R. V.) good soil, not all yielded the same turn. It all brought forth (v. 7) it yielded, it all sprang up, but noi in the same ratio. We ought to member at this point that this par: plainly teaches us that we who rec the implanted seed, we who rec and obey shall in turn become the ; of the kingdom. There are three distinguishing ures of this last class of hearers They "hear" the word. These the ones who appreciate its value give good heed to its precepts. They "accept" it, eg, they u stand its teachings, they take it good and honest hearts, and (3( "hold it fast" (Luke 8:15 R. V.). 7 are the ones of which martyr: made. Thus we see four i ent soils and four different wa receiving it.(l) Some "by" the side; (2) Some "on"the stony (3) Sctne "among" the thorns: ar 3om« "into" the good ground.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers