Evening Star Newspaper, June 7, 1890, Page 10

10 . < - THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, D.C., SATURDAY, JUNE 7, 1890—-TWELVE PAGES. WHOSE WAS THE HAND? BY MISS BRADDON. I remember your courteous greeting—so courteous yet so careless, How could you dream that I was to be so potent a factor in your sum of life? How could you guess t the lovely face which you turned toward me, 80 unconscious of its power to influence me, was to change the whole current of my exist- ence—to make me first your passionate lover and next your husband's murderer? ‘ ra, his murderer. From that hour I c Axthor of “Lady Auiley’s Secret.” “Like and Unlike,” | was foredoomed to do evil for your sake. I “Ishmael,” “The Day Will Come,” 4a ooo WALL RIGHTS RESERVED} ———_ CHAPTER XXXIIL AMBROSE ARDEN'S CONFESSION. OMORROW morning, before the day is old, Claude Morel will expiate his last and worst crime on the sc fold. He is now sitting in his con- demuned cell writing his confession, the story of the murder in Denmark street, the hideous history of his crime and of mine, which he has sworn that he will leave behind him tomorrow morning to be published broad- cast to all civilized Europe before tomorrow night. ‘This room, where I sit in the deep of night, inasilence rarely broken by some belated footfall in the lane, this room is my condemned eell, The day that will dawn in a few hours will be as surely my day of doom as it will be Claude Morel’s. The sentence of death that was pronounced upon him was asentence of death pronounced upon me. His fate involved my fate. When I made him the instrument of my crime I made myself his slave. Ob, my beloved, the only idol of my life, it is for you I write the history of my sin. No other eye but yours need ever look upon these lines less you so will it—and I do not think you ill expose my confession of weak passion and unscrupulous crime to an ind:fferent public. Let the world know my story only as it will be told by my accomplice—a ghastly record,crueily and brutally told, no doubt. These details of my temptation and my fall are for you alone; for you who may perhaps execrate my memory just @ little less if I urge my one plea for merey—I loved you with a love that was stronger than honor anhood; stronger than ali the instinets of fe that had been blameless whilst it was passionless; a love that made me a villain. I first saw Claude Morel at an Italian public house in Greek street, where I went to distrib- ute some money. collected from afew of my friends, among the distressed communists who had come to London for « refuge, and who were some of them all but starving. Most of the people assembled in that upstairs room over the tavern were depressed and dispirited by their necessities, and had very little to except to express their thankfulness for the aid which I took them; but Morel had a great deal to say about the political situation in France. He spoke well and I was interested in his fervid eloquence and in the latent passion which burned in every phrase. I put him down | as a dangerous man in any country, a firebrand in such a city as Paris. He heard. en passant. that the friend who had given more than half of the sum I had col- lected was Robert Hatrell. I saw the startling effect of that name upon him, and I was hardly prised when he followed me into the street and began to question me about my friend. I Was surprised, however, at the malignity ot his nh and the intensity of malice which be- trayed itself im his tone and manner. BE TOLD ME THE STORY OF HIS SISTER'S WRONG: He told me the story of his sister’s wrong: she had been fooled and duped by a wealthy Englishman, who coolly refused any reparation for the wrong he had done—for a girl's blighted Mame and broken heart. He was not very ex- Plicit in bis char; but this was the kind of thing which he gave me to understand, and he was just as vindictive as if he had been certain of his facts. I heard the true story of the case from your husband afterward and he gave me his honor that his worstoffense had been a sentimental firtation with 4 grisette, an innocent, unso- phisticated girl.with whom he had been almost seriously in love. His attachment had just stopped short of a serious passion, and he had but just escaped the folly of a low marriage. I believed my friend's statement and thought of Morel’s malignity, which I did not ould ever take any overt form,thougb considered it my duty to warn Robert Hatrell of the existence of this vindictive feeling and let him know that his enemy was in London. He laughed at the man’s th is and the sub- Ject was dismissed by us both, Thad almost forgotten it when I met Morel in Gower street one afternoon on my way from the museum to the Metropolitan railway sta- tion, He told me his troubles, the difticulty of getting employment, his schemes and inven- tions, which sounded chimerical in the last de- and his want of money. He talked again friend Hatrell, but I stopped him per- emptorily. “Lhave heard of your sister's story from my friend's own lips,” I'said: “I know that your Version is a tissue of he: He was furious at this believing a gentlen Of the people. It He upbraided me for preference to a man sold story. The well- born seducer could 3 escape the conse- ences of his wrong doing; but for once in a way the world should see that retribution may foliow wrong. Robert Hatreil had broken bis sister's heart and had grossly insulted him, and he meant to:be even with him. He asked me for half # sovereign, but I had only a few shillings about me; so he gave mea a written address upon it, begging post office order next day. T have since discovered that he had appealed to your husband for money and had been Sternly refused, and no doubt that refusal was more unpardouable offense than any sin his sister. within a week of this accidental en- counter with Claude Morel that I received an 7 visit from my father’s old lw r. me to Lamford in order with his own lips to communicate some very wonderful news. A second cousin of my father’s had lately died in Chicago, leaving me his residuary legatee, and, insiguiticant exceptions, the inhe! « large fortune acquired in trad Teven heard of Matthew Arden had begun life with asmailestate in the East Riding. where he tarmed his own land, and had ended life as one of the richest merchants iu Chicago. Forme this fortune was a fortune dropped from the clouds. I told my old friend that I should make no Gifference in my mode of life, and that I should teli my son nothing of this change in our for- tunes for some time to come. I begged the good old family lawyer to exercise the discre- tion which had always been his distinguishing quality, aud to take care that no newspaper ‘agraphs descriptive of my unexpected luck d their source in his office. When the lawyer left me Isat alone among my books—the companions of my life—and thought over the change in my fortunes. A stroke of luck which would have made most men half mad with joy left mecold. What could wealth give me? Nothing, for itcould not give me you, ‘Yes, Clara, it was of you, and you only, that I ho I thought, as I tried to estimate the value or the worthiessness of these riches that had fallen into my lap. What was their worth to Me. what could they do for me, what could they buy for me? Nothing. nothing, nothing. I loved you from the first day [ saw yo Ob. God, how vividly I and hour, that casual the whole course of my life for good or evil. Your face tlashes out of the dimuess beyond the lamp light—a vision of gladness and beauty —as it shone upon me that clear October Morning when you stood before me leaning Sgaist Your husband's arm, newly returned from your honeymoon a two months’ bride. You remember our first Llooked in through the ope standing deep in conversation with your hus- band and his architect. who was holding an | a plan for you both to look at. I had made r. Hatrell’s acquaintance a few days before, when he came down to Lamford alone and wo happened to travel in the same railway car- Fiage. He introduced himself to me as my future neighbor, and insisted upon giving me a lift In Lis fly from the station, though I told him it was my habit to walk home. “I want you to tell me all about the neigh- qorhood,” be said. ‘This had broken the ico, and we exchanged friendiy greetings through the open gate. He called me inte the garden and introduced me 10 bis wile. wm recall that first day ting which decided was fated to blight your happiness, and to miss being happyyeven though 1 gained tho wages of my crime. Your husband liked me, and you were al- ways kind. For the first years of our acquaint- ance we met but rarely; and it was not till you were established at River Lawn that I came to be intimately acquainted with you both, and gradually to be almost one of the family. Daisy was the link which united us I had the good fortune to win the child's love, and this assured me of the mother's friendship. You loved books, while your husband cared little for reading or any intellectual pursuit, being, above all, aman of action. I was able thus to supply something wanting in your life, and to fill a place which he ought to have been able to fill. {£ was the adviser of your studies, and the sharer of your ideas, I felt sometimes as if I were the husband of your intellect, as he was the husband of your heart. You have both of you reproached me some- times for keeping aloof, for burying myself among my books and shunning the hospitalities of River Lawn. If you could have seen me in those supposed studious intervals you would have seen @ man possessed of devils, given over to perdition. Had you been free fortune would have meant everything forme. Had you been free—the widow of arich man—it would have been a hard thing to approach you asa pauper. My pride would have revolted against owing all to you, fortune as well as happiness, But now— now that I was rich—your equal at least in for- tune, my motives could not inspire doubt even in the meanest mind. Were I to wed you no malicious worldling could ever say of me, “He gained all by that lucky marriage.” Were you but free! I began to meditate upon the uncertainty of life and picture to myself the accidents and udden unforeseen diseases by which men as young and vigorous as Robert Hatrell are I thought of railway d imagination conjured up the pic- mity in allite vivid detail—an en- gine off the line—a coach or two wrecked— and Robert Hatrell lying dead upon the side of the embankment. I pictured the sudden hor- ror of his home-coming upon the shrouded bier. Your agony, your tears, I passed over those lightly, thinking of how it would be my lot to console you. to win you back to happi- ness and a new love. I never doubted your love for him: I knew that your heart was en- tirely his; but I thought I had an influence over your mind which would speedily ripen into love, he being removed. 1 understood you so little, you see, Clara. I had not fathomed the mystery of your heart. He has been dead nine years and you love him still, You have never loved me, 1 thought of the river, saw him rowing to- ward the sunset with his strong, slow stroke, in such a scene as our English jundscape ainters love; the village church beyond the low line of rushes; the clustering willows, pale in the evening mists; the glory of the suuset behind chureh tower and tall elms. I thought that even on that placid river there were possibilities of danger—a boat of silly, chattering cockneys upset. a strong man swim- tls to thelr rosene taal losing his life in the struggle to save those unknown lives. Such things have been. I thought of fevers which seize men suddenly in the fuil vigor of youth. I thought of insid- ious diseases which creep upon a man unsus- pected and sap the citadel before he knows that Death in one of his numerous disguises is at the door. Last of all I thought of Claude Morel and his threats of vengeance. Ilaughed at the notion. Harmless thunder. no doubt. It is common enough for angry men to threaten, yet threatened men live. There was something in my recollection of Claude Morel which mate me dwell upon his image in that long reverie, as the lovely light of the June afternoon slowly faded, and the gold of the western sky shone into my room, dazzling my dreaming eyes. I recall the color of the sunset, the feeling of the air, as it gradually cooled into evening. I recall’ every half unconscious impression of hours which marked the crisis of my life, and saw me change from an honest man to a villain. there were in Claude Morel’s tone and manner certain indications of a malignity which Thad never seen in any other man. There was a concentration of purpose,a resolute in- tention to injure, which must ultimately take some detinite form. I told myself. unless cow- ardice should intervene. And I did not think Morel a coward. The man had so little to lose. Fis fortunes were desperate enough to make him daring. What if the opportunity arose and he were to murder the man he hated—the man who had refused to help him in his distress, I im- pleitly believed Robert Hatrell’s account of his love affair, and I did not give Morel credit for caring very much about his sister's reputa- tion, What if he really meant murder? I pictured that sinister figure lurking iu the rustic lanes, lying hidden in a dry flowery ditch, under the spreading hedgerow, ready with pistol or knife when his enemy passed by. Opportuni! Why, if he meant murder, it would be easy enough for him to create his op- portunity. But when the thing was done, when that gnawing’ rag@ had satiated itself, there would be nothing gained but the gratifi- cation of his anger and there would be the hazard of the gallows, The murderer's craft may minimize that risk. The old saw, that murder will out, has proved a lying proverb of late years, ‘The art of murder has improved with the march of civilization and the modern murderer is more than a match for the modern policeman. My wicked scheme did not shape itself all at once. For many days and nights I was haunted by the image of Claude Morel. haunted by the tones of his voice, the lurid light in his eyes when he talked of his enemy. Again and ‘again I found myself mentally measuring the force of that hatred, which ex- pressed itself in biting tones and malevolent looks. Did it amount to so much, or so much, or so much? Was it really strong enough to plan and accomplish an assassination in broad daylight in the streets of London. All this time my life went on upon the old lines—the calm monotony of rustic surround- ings, the unvarying graciousness of your friendship. Your child sat beside me at her books, under the willow, or hung upon my shoulder in the exuberance of lov aud there was no instinct in her childish mind to warn her that the man she loved and trusted had given himseif over to the powers of hell. While the wicked web was slowly spreading the msn who was the incarnation of my own sinful &eging appeared upon the scene, He had weiten me two or three begging letters after that chance meeting in Gower street, and Thad sent him small sums of money, such amounts as a men of my supposed means might send to such an applicant. These concessions had made him bolder, and he came to my house in the dusk of a summer evening, having walked all the way from Staines. He had just the railway fare to Staines he told me, and no more. [took him in and fed him, and let him sit at my table and vapour about his inchoate inventions, all burked for tke want of capital. 1 let him talk of yonr husband, and I answered all his questions about the man he hated, J told him of Robert Hatrell’s happy and peace- ful life, his prosperity, his last fancy for sink- ing four thousand pounds in the purchase of a few acres of land to increase his pleasure grounds, “In your native south I take it you would be able to buy an ol a wood and @ Vineyard with sa He nodded ves and went on eating and drink- ing in « meditative silence. “Now, were any man as savage @ foe to Robert Hatrell ‘as you pretend to be,” I said, after « long panwe. “he would have a good chance of taking his revenge and making his fortune some time next week.” lie looked at me wonderingly. and I explained that Hatrell would have to pay for the land in Bank of England notes. It was an old-tash- ioned etiquette with solicitors to expect to be paid in bank notes, even when a man’s check was as good as the bank paper. He would go up to London on au appoited day, cash his check at his bank and then carry the money to the solicitor’s office. I told him casually the name and address of the bank and the name and address of the solicitor, and 1 saw him sit- ting there before me, with his eyes kindling like two burning coals, and his under lip trembling curiously «s his halting breath came and went. “Hatrell and his money will be safe enough,” he muttered at last. “A’man isn’t robbed and murdered in broad daylight in such a city as London. “There you show your foreign ignorance of our manners and customs,” I said, and then I gave him the brief history of several metro- politon assassinations which bad occurred within my memory. He became very serious and silent, sitting before his empty plate. with his chin drooping on his chest, iis inky brows bent in a medita- tive frown. Suddenly, after an interval which seemed long, he lifted his head and turned and looked at ime, with a devilish cunning in his eyes. “You hate Robert Hatrell as much as I do,” he said. “You are in love with his wife, I dare say, “Nonsense; I am only that all your talk about hat so much i to prove to you and revenge is melodramatic bluster and that you 1 | health, I knew that I was as much a sufferer haven't the slightest intention of injuring my friend.” “Your friend, your friend, mockingly. And then, after another interval of silence. during which he walkod over to the window and stood looking across the placid summer twi- light in the direction of River Lawn, he came overto me and stood in front of me, looking at me fixedly, and emphasizing evry sen- tence with a sharp blow of his knuckles upon the table. " he repeated, M “YOU WANT THAT MAN KILLED, 80 DO 1.” “You want that man killed, so do I—cela c'est convenu. I would kill him for sixpence— kill him for the mere pleasure of making him understand that he was a fool to trifle with Claude Morel’s sister, and a greater fool to in- | sult Claude Morel. I take too lofty a view of the situation, perhaps. That is in my blood. We Provencals do not easily pardon an injury or an insult. I would kill him for sixpence; but | I would much rather kill him for four thousand | pounds. You say the purchase is to be com- | pleted next week?” I nodded yes. My dry li speak, “Let me know the day . Let me know, if you can, the route he is likely to take from Pall Mall to Linco!n’s-Inn-Fields. Give me twenty pounds to be ready for what I have todo andso that I may have a few pounds about me to get me out of England in case of failure, Do this and you may lie down tonight secure inthe thought that Robert Hatrell’s days are numbered and that his wife will soon be his widow.” I gave him twenty pounds without a word. ‘ll think about the othef part of the busi- ness,” I told him. “Remember, 1f Iam_ to act yon will have to be prompt and decisive,” he said. “I can’t stir a step without exact details, [ shall shift my lodgings tomorrow. so astobe near the scone of action, My present quarters at Cain- den Town are too far afield.” His devilish coolness was too much for’ me. Itoid him I bad been talking atrandom, I meant nothing except to test him. He had proved himself a greater villain than [ had thought possible, and 1 never wanted to see hia face again, “You will think better of that,” he said. “Til telegraph my address tomorrow morning and I shall wait for your instructions.” Not till the last moment—not till I crossed the threshold of the post office at Reading—an hour after your husband left for London on that fatal day—did I make up my mind that I was going to do this hideous thing. Again and again and again with agonizing iteration I had argued the question. i had told myself that this horror could not be, that I, Ambrose Ar- den, was not the stuff of which murderers are made—and again and again and yet again my thoughts had gone back to the pit of hell—and Thad pictured you free to return my love, and Thad thought that such love must finally ‘vin its reward, that in all intense passion there is a force and @ magnetism which can compel re- Sponsive passion, as fire will spread from one burning fabric to another that was dark and cold till the flame touched it. When your husband left the gate that morn- ing I knew that I must act at once, or never. I walked to tie station, caught the slow train that left half an hour after the express by which he traveled, and went to Reading, where the wording of my telegram was not likely to arouse official curiosity. I had only one fact to communicate—the hour of Hatrell’s appointment with Florestan’s solicitor. Morel knew the locality of the bank, and it would be for him to watch and find out the route taken from Cockspur street to Lincoln's Inn, Can you think what my feelings were that night when you came over to thm house at 10 o'clock to tell me that your husband had not returned? Iknew then that one of the most hellish schemes ever hatched had been carried out to the bitter end, and that the murder had been done, Did Judas feel as I did, L wonder, be- fore he went and hanged himself? I did not | give myself up to that blind despair of remorse | which moved him who betrayed his Master. I} was baser, harder, viler than Judas—for I stood that night with your hands clasped in i, pretending to comfort you. repeating lying assurances that all would be well, while my heart beat madly with the thought that you were free, and that it would be my life's dear labor to win your love. And through those days of doubt and horror I acted my part and hypocrisy came easy to me. Anything was easy so long as I was with you, consoling, advising, sustaining, you lean- ing upon me in your innocent unconsciousness Of the deep flood of passion below the stead- fast quietude of friendship which I had schooled myself to maintain, ‘Throughout those days I was haunted by the fear that the murderer would be caught. tried and condemned, and that he would reveal my part in his crime. I feared that which has now come to pass, after a respite of nearly nine years, Then came the darkest period of all my hateful life, the period of your illness, when your life hung im the balance, when every day that dawned night be your last on earth. I lived through that time, atime of fear and trem- bling, which I shuddered even to remember years afterward, And then, and then came my great reward, the reward of treachery and bloodshed, base betrayal of a noble friend, a long tissue of les and hypocrisies—then, after years of patience, in which I had shrunk with an unconquerable hesitancy from putting my fate to the touch, Ihad the price of my sin, Your love, not That love tor which I had played my Judas part was no nearer my wining after seven Years’ apprenticeship than it was while my vie- tim lived. You gave me gratitude—graitude py lite, You ed me for the steadfastness of a triend- h in somewise linked my image with your murdered husband. Oh, how you | willabhor my memory, when you look back | ur noble sacrifice, your generous pay- | a fancied debt. Oh, how you will nate | yourself for having been cheated into giving Yourself to the man who plotted your husband's death, who was to ull iutents and purposes his murderer, Well, it is all over now, I grasped the dead sea fruit and tasted the bitterness of its ashen core. I knew that you did not love me—and I was more miserable as your husband thi when I waited at your gaté as a suitor. ‘There | were glimpses of paradise then—gleams of hope shining on my crime-darkencd spirit— but afterward when [ bad con ined you to be mine, when I had won all that fate could ive mie, I knew that your heart was with the dea ips refused to 1 hou to me, who had bighted your rewar' “‘Naught's bad, all's spent, Wheu our desire is got without content.” ‘That was the motto of my lif Then came a new horror—a haunting fear of the dead, which I take to have been rather physical than mental, Could I, disciple of Shopenhauer and Hartmann, I who had grad- uated in the school of exact science, and re- duced every thought and feeling to its logical sequence, admitting nothing which my mind couid udét conceive—I to be haunted and paralyzed by the dread of a shadow—I, to tremble aud turn cold on entering your dead husband's study lest I should see a pale image ot the dead seated where the living man used to sit--I to walk those familiur gardens with wu ever-present dread of a well-kuown fooistep sounding behind me, or when no imaginary sound pursued me, with an absolute certainty that I was being followed by the noiseless movements of a phantom: Ito become the slave of such fears—I who believe in nothing beyond the limitations of our understanding— who have bounded ali my speculations to the real and the finite! 1 kuew from the first that these horrors had their birth in shattered nerves and broken from physical causes us the ¥ im of alcoholic Polsouing who sees devils and vermin about his bed. Yet the thing was as real tome ts if I had been the firmest believer in supernatural influences, and I suffered as much from these false appearances and imaginary sounds as the} believer could have suffered, That is one forny which retribution has taken; the other form has been my ever-present sense of disappoint- ment in not having won your heart, Tortured thus, life has been only a synonym for suffer- ing, and I can look forward coldly and calmly to tomorrow, when I shall have ceasod to live, How can I plead to you at the close of this full and deliberate confession? How dare I hope that you can have any feeling except loathing for the writer of these lines? For my- self, therefore, I will ask nothing. I ask oply that you will be kind to my son, who, if Morel carries out his threat, must bear heuccforward the burden ofa name blurred by his father’s infamy. He hasa tine character and wili re- ward your kindness. His mother was ono of us-—why he broke the tie between him and Daisy and shook the dust of his father’s dwell- ing off his feet. He had found me out, Clara. Accident had put him in the way of hearing his father's guile pronounced by the lips of the wretch who executed the crime which his father had only meditated in evil dreams. Clande Morel hunted me out in our house in London and forced his way to my study in or- der to ask me for money. It was not his ‘rst attempt upon my purse. I had been pestered by letters from him, sometimes at long inter- vals, sometimes in rapid succession; but I had answered none of those lette: ind now when he dared to force an entrance’ in my house I was rigid in my refusal of money. I knew what the word chantage means for a French- man of his temper and that if 1 my purse to him I should be his Q Iwas no coward in my relations with that scoundrel, although he threatened me with the oue thing which Thad to fear—he threatened to tell you the story of his crime and how he took the first hint of it from my lips. He had kept the telegram sent from Reading on the morning of the murder—the telegram givin the hour of your husband’s appoiutment—an he swore that if I denied him substantial help he would tell is story to you and lay that tele- 4 gram befare you. Ibade him do his worst, strong in the as- surance that he would do nothing to incrim- inate himself, and that he could not touch upon the subject of Robert Hatrell’s death without jeopardizing his own safety. Least of all did I beheve that he would reveal himself to You as your husband's murderer, No; I felt that I had nothing to fear beyond personal an- noyance from the existence of Claude Morel; yet the memories which the man pressed upon me were so hideous, his presence was so intol- erable, that I would have given half my fortune to be rid of him forever. It was as it my crime had taken a living shape and were dogging my steps. Mostof all did I loathe his presence when he came upon me in my quiet study—in the room where his crime and mine had first shaped itself in my disordered mind. He had resolved to weary me out, I believe, and to that end he had taken s lodging at Hen- Jey. He appeared upon pathway at ail oars and in the most unexpected places, but I was rock, We had several interviews before the one which was fatal to my son's peace of mind and which parted father and son forever, On that particular morning Morel overtook me in the lane near my cotti nd urged his demands with a savage persistence, rendered desperate, I suppose, by the disappointment of hopes which he had encertained from the hour he discovered that I was a rich man. “You say that I knew you in London some years ago,” I said, “and that we had confiden- tial conversations together in this place, and that we two together plotted the murder of my best friend? You admit that you are »# mur- derer, and you usk me to believe that I am one. ' I choose to deny all your assertions—I choose to say that I never saw your face till you forced your way into my London house. If you persist in the form of ‘persecution which you have been carrying on for the last six weeks it will be my duty to hand you over to the police, and it will be their duty to discover whether you are a lunatic at large, or whether you are really the man you pretend to be, and the murderer of Mr. Hatrell, In the latter case there must be people who can identify you, Some of those witnesses at the inquest who saw you go inand out of the house in Denmark Street may still be within reach of a subpana, If you annoy me any further in my own house or out of doors it will be needful for me to take this step and you may be sure I shall take it.” Thad never been cooler than when I gave him this answer. I had weighed and measured the situation, and I did not believe he had power to harm me, be his malignity what it might. My crime might be even darker than his, but he could not touch my guilt with his little finger without his whole body being drawn into the meshes of the law. I knew that, and I could afford to laugh at his fury. Yo ‘give him money, were it so much asa ingle sovereign, would be in somewise to acknowledge his claim and to make a link between us. here should be no such link. And over id above this motive I abhorred the mun, and his necessities had no power to touch y pity. He could do me no harm, I thought, nor could he but for the accident of my son's crossing the top of the lane while this man was was with me and having his attention attracted by the strangeness of the man’s gestures as he talked tome. The angry flourish of bis arm as he poured his rancor into my ear suggested a threat of personal violence; my son followed us in order to protect his father should there be need of his interference; and once within earshot he stayed his footsteps and listened to the end of a savage recapitulation of all the details of those vague suggestions which led to the echeme of tne murder and of the sending of the telegram that furnished the information which rendered the crime possible. He, heard the history of my sin, ved. I stopped at the end of the lane and looked around. Cyril stood a few paces from me, deadly pale. looking at me in terrible silence. Claude Morel turned and saw hum stand there, almost at the same moment, and slunk aside in abject fear. “HOW DARE YOU INSULT MY FATHER.” “How dare you insult my father with your lunatic ravings!” cried Cyril, lifting his stick threateningly. ‘Be off with you, fellow!” He pointed Londonwards with his stick, and Morel crept slowly away along the dusty road, leaving me face to face with my son, “You don't believe—” I began; but his face told me that he did believe Claude Morel’s story, and that nothing I could say would undo the mischief that scoundrel’s tongue had done, ‘he story of the telegram had condemned me in my son’s eves, and perhaps, too, my guilt was written upon my brow, had been written ere from the beginning in characters that deepened with the passage of time. Oh, God, how often, sitting amoug you all, within the sound of Daisy's innocent laughter, I have } found the burden of my guilt so heavy. so intolerable, that I have been tempted to ery cret aloud and make an end of my long isy’s husband — | that the murderer's son must not marry the victim's daughter. “Oh, how she would hate me,” he cried, “if years after our marriage she found she ha¢ been entrapped into such a loathsome union!” He told me that he should leave England at once and forever, He was not without pity for me, 4 d the passion that prompted it lay beyond the region of his thoughts. Yo him such a churacter as mine was unthinkable, He who could renounce love when honor urged him could not understand the love that makes light of honor, truth, friendship, all things for love's sake. His happier nature’ has never sounded that dark depth, And so we parted. I wanted him at least to share my fortune. There was no taint at the source of this, If he were to begin « new life T urged that he might as well begin it with in- dependence and comfort, but he told me he could take nothing from me; and he was reso- Jute in his refusal. “Tam young enough to make my own way in the world,” he toid me; “thews and sinews must have their value somewhere.” And so we parted, just touched ice-cold hands, and parted fara rc She Took His Arm. From the Chicago Herald, John MecWade, the popular baritone of the “Said Pasha” Company, who is well known in Chicago, has but one arm, as every onc kuows, Ho used to wear a false arm, attached by straps, and this he first wore when he traveled threugh the northwest in comic opera ulider the management of Will Davis of tht Hnymarket, Onc morning the eompuny arrived: st a small town, where they were to sing that night. ‘heir arrival had been noised abroad and there was a large crowd assembled on the station platform to see the “troupers.” As the train pulled into the station on the rape cage tims of one of le jumped before the train came to astandstill, and the bent fingers of his false arm caught on the car rail, The traps snapped at the shoulder and the arm slipped out of the coat sleeve and feli to the platform. Jessie Bartlett-Davis, the con- ‘tralto, whe was just behind John, jumped off, secured tho lost.arm and slipped it under her coat. Then she took John’s good right arm and walked off with him, leaving the crowd of curious country people staring after them in the best and purest of women; think of him as inheriting her virtues and not my dark and evil spirit. It is not in his nature either to live as I have lived or to sin as I have sinned, amazement. That evening they packed the Opera House to hear a man who could lose an arm without flinching and a woman who could pick up the lost member without fainting. Tue Best axp SuREsT Dyk to color the beard desired, brown or black, be ls ham's Dye for ie Whiskers. It never fails. ‘ a COUNTING THE PEOPLE How Uncle Sam Looks After the Welfare of His Children, HIS DAUGHTERS’ AGES, Experience of His Hired Mem who Are Numbering Noses—The Interviewers terviewed—Doors Slammed in Their Faces—Boarding House Trials. NCLE SAM has been making per- sonal calls on the members of his large family during the past week. He performs this duty every ten years, The call is very much of the same nature as the social interchaages which are constantly going on between neighbors. He asks how you are getting on and how many children you hawe, and he inquires after their health. After sitting in your parlor, or per- haps he gets no further than the front hall, he takes his departure, and to the vast majority of the members of his large and interesting family they are not con- scious that they have an Uncle Sam until another ten years roll around. In this city the members of the family have displayed a gen- uine appreciation of the visit, and have given Uncle Sam, or rather his representatives, a cordial welcome. he enumerators appointed to take the census have been unanimous in their report of the good reception which they have met und the facilities extended to them, NO DISTINCTION OF PERSONS. They have or will call at every house and it makes no difference whether the house is lo- cated on a fine street or in some obscure alley, There is no distinction recognized. For the purpose of counting noses the rich man does not stand for any more than his poor neighbor. He can only be counted as « ie may be ric and influential and his name may be wide’ known and respected. But he answers the same questions that are put to the humble and obscure. and the information obtained in the one instance is of equal value with that which is secured in the other. The contrasts of hfe tiat have come within the knowledge of the enumerators have no doubt been startling. There is hardly a phase of human nature that they have not come in contact with. EVERY DAY FXPERIENCES, Some busy man, who has been called upon to ide his business for the time being, may no doubt be justified in the attitude which the artist has shown in the accompanying cut. He has probably felt very much bored at being obliged to give a sort of resume of himself when he is engaged in the more interesting and profitdble task of trying to learn something | about the man with whom he happens to be doing business, The census taker has got through with him and he appears to be pretty well pumped out. In the meantime the enum- erator has gone in search of avother citizen for the parpose of extracting all the informa- tion possible from him. There are some cases where the enumerator in his effort to interview is himself interviewed. He accepts that as one of the hard conditions of his Jot, unless the attempt is made by a portion of the population which is not included in the classes to be enumerated in the census, » horror of it | LOOK OUT FOR THE DOG. The enumerator finds the canine member of the family is frequently quite persistent and usually begins the interview. Unfortunately the enumerator discovers that his outfit does not comprise the proper facilities for taking an effective part in such an interview. He has his portfolio containing the census schedules, Dut these are intended for the consumption of the superintendent of the census, and not for the dogs in the enumerator’s district. His legs might be suitably incased if the govern- ment had only made the proper provision. But this has not been done, and so the enum- erator begins to feel, after he has been at work for several days, that his legs are grad- ually being chipped off, as if the dogs were collecting specimens of enumerators for some canine exhibition, DISCRETION AS WELL AS VALOR NERDED. The dogs, however, are only incidents in the life of an enumerator. The permanent fea- ture is the variety of human nature with which he comes in con’ . He finds what he prob- ably knew before, that ladies, as a rule, object to giving their The enumerator, ho ever, is allowed to exercise 2 certain discretion and so when a lady of un ain age retuses to ver that question of gives a metaphorical then the enumerator sizes her up with oficial eye and puts her down at forty or forty-five with such an agreeable smile on his countenance that the fair but faded female 1s unconscious of the fraud which | he is perpetrating to balance her attempted fraud. ors state that they have had some trying experiences in boarding houses, where the ladies, even if they should be willing to whisper iato the ear of Uncle n the awful seerct of their age, are unaltcrably opposed to let any of their lady friends into their confi- dence. Asthe inmates of a boarding house constitutes one family according to the Census Oiice only one schedule can be used, and so the anxious ones cannot be gratified by having their biographies detailed on separate sheets, TAKEN FOR A BOOK AGENT, There have been instances where, under the impression that the enumerator was a book agent, the front door has been violently slammed in his face to the imminent peril of his nose, After one of these sudden repulses the astonished enumerator searches his face to ascertain if i nose is still and then he proceeds in the discharge of his duty to again sound the alarm on the door bell. A census enumerator must be per- stent in order to be successful. This and other similar traths have becn instilled in their minds by Supervisor Dingman, and asa result = et census is running along on greased whee! eens Wnx Dox't you « Se aged wien yd time in making 8 an Bre win one of THe Sran’s liberal prizes offered in its advertise- comsicnbaananaiel Duluth is to have ‘a new $500,000 theater, be known as the Midway Grand. It wili be ‘oP ened in December, DISTRICT RAILROAD EVILS, Relief Asked by Successive Commis- stoners, TOO MANY SURFACE TRACKS—ORSTACLES TO TRAVEL AND IMPROVEMENT—THE RUINED MALL AFFLICTED NORTHEAST aND SobTH WASK- INGTON—UNHEEDED APPEALS FOR A REMEDY. “Since the settlement of the question of the Potomac flats and the water supply et the last session of Congress there is nothing of so much importance to the interests of the city as the settlement of the railroad question, and it should be pressed with the utmost urgency.” So said Lieut. Greene in his report of 1882, The present District government, since its es- taplishment in 1878, has recognized the im- Portance of this problem, and has constantly Siven voice to the appeal of the District tor relief from the evils endured. It has not been the fault of the District or its representatives in the local government that the railroads have remained in practical control of the streets and reservations of the city, and have con+ tinued to exercise unlimited power harshly and injuriousiy. The prospect of a discussion of the railroad question in the House next District day gives interest to the representa- tions and requests for legislation of the Com- missioners representing the District. During the period covered public sentiment has also been indicated in meetings of citizens and by delegations appearing before congressional committees. Their statements and recom- mendations are substantially reproduced, though, perhaps, in a mild form, in the offic: reports of the needs of the District, The Commissioners in their report of 1873 said: “We feel it our duty to refer to the pres- ence of the two railway depots in the city of Washington, both of which are serious ob- stacles to the improvement of the localities where they are established, besides being sources of unnecessary danger to the public in the streets along which the tracks pass, The Baltimore and Ohio railroad depot, with its tracks for approach, prevente grading the streets upon the north side of the iutermediate vieimity of the Capitol grounds, Ite tracks from Baltimore to the west occupy a consider- able portion of the northeastern part of the city in such a manner as to impair the value of the property and impede the progress of im- provements, while they cross Massachusetts avenue, practically severing the finest street in the city. It 1s entirely practicable to unite these two lines outside the city and bring them in upon one line of street to a station some- where north of Massachusetts avenue and thus remove much of the objection to and damage arising from the location of the depot in that portion of the city, The Baltimore and Potomac railroad depot and tracks are equaliy injurious tothe improvement and welfare of the part of the city they occupy. Crossing the mail they divide and disfigure this beautiful park, extending from the Capitol to the Pres- ident’s house, besides greatiy imjuring the streets on the south side of it on account of the circuitous manner of approach, and obstrace ing improvements on the south side of the Capitol. The depot of the company should be removed across the mall and to the vicinity of reservation No. 17. It is not to be expected that the surroundings of the Capitol can be- come what they ought to be while these two railway stations occupy their present sites,” In 1879 they again urged action as follows: “Washington is increasing rapidly in popul tion and the improvements now in progress are generally of asuperior order. But large sec- tions of the city in the vicinity of ghe tracks and stations of the Baltimore and Ohi® and Bal- timore and Potomac railway compames do not share in the development and prosperity else- where so apparent, and it happens that these tracks and stations are in the vicinity of the Capitol, upon the north and south sides, The Capitol grouads, the grounds of the Executive Mansion and those which connect them form together a magnificent park of 331 acres in the heart of the city. But, occupied aud severed asit is by railway tracks und depot, it can never be effectively improved and its beauty as well as its enjoyment by the public are fatally marred, This is, we think, a grievance which should no longer be tolerated. * * * We again earnestly invite the attention of Congress to this subject.” In 1880 they come to the scratch with undi- minished enthusiasm: ‘The Commissioners again respectfully, but earnestly, invoke spe action by Congress on the all-important sub; of steam railrovd stations, So long as one of | P’ these stations is permitted to obstruct the ex- tension and improvement of streets at the very doors of the Capitol and another is al- lowed to sever and destroy for free public use the magnificent park and boulevard which con- nects the Capitol and Executive Mansion the growth and adornment of the federal capital must be seriously, if not fatally, impeded, “In this connection we recommend that all steam roads be required, when practicable, to enter the city on grades below the grades of the streets, so as not to interfere with street traf- fic. The Commissioners’ annual report of 1881 calls attention to Capt. Hoxie’s report of that year and to a special report to be furnished to Congress in reference to a request from that body. The features of Capt. Hoxie's recom- tions are embodied in this special report, A majority of the Commissioners favor the K street route in South Washington, but indorse the report and bill of Maj. ‘Iwining. the Eugi- neer Commissioner, and forward them to Con- gress on the theory that Maryland and Virginia avenues are to be used for railroad purposes, Maj. T'wining’s plan brought the Baltimore and Ohio down 12th street east, in tunnel at G street, carried both Baltimore and Ohio and Baitimore and Potomac through South Wash- ington above or below grade, along Maryland and Virginia avenues. with a union station at their intersection, Speaking of the Baltimore and Ohio he says: “This road has been con- structed without regard to the established grades of the several streets and avenues which it occupies or crosses. This » Which at the time was probably considered of littie importance, has, by reason of the xrowth of the city, become a serious nuisance and the cause of constautly increasing com- { plain Of the Balumore and Potomac he says: “This road occupies the two great a nues in the southwest portion of the city grade. and employs them for standing trains and for the unibading of heavy freights to the great discomfiture of the ordinary business and travel of the streets. Italso crosses the grand park which extends from the Capitol to the Executive Mansion end prevents its improve- ment. * * * When the privilege of this location was granted to the company the mail east of 6th street was unimproved and the ob- jection was not so obvious. At present this improvement is progressing by annual appro- priations and the presence of the depot and tracks is a serious and unsightly obstruction, These branch lines are open to the common objection of occupying the greater part of a narrow streetat grade. These tracks should be removed and the road should be confined to the line of Virginia and Maryland avenues es in the case of the Baltimore and Ohio railroad.” In 1882 tho Commissioners sai he pres- ent status of the steam railway in this District is a most unsatisfactory one, not only to its citizens, but to the managements of the roads as well. Ihe report of Lieut. Greene, ap- pended hereto, gives a clear statement of the tacts in the case, and recites the steps hereto- fore taken with the view vf bringmy about an improving state of affairs. At the last session of Congress a bill for the construction of a union depot was introduced, but no action taken. ‘This proposed to bring the Baltimore and Ohio and Baltimore and Potomac tracks together near North Carolina avenue and Ist streeteast, and thence reach the Long Bridge by an elevated road to Virginia avenue, where, passing below grade, it was to be continued as asunken road via Virginia and Maryland ave- nues. The present depot and tracks of the Baltimore and Potomac road on 6th street were to be abandoned anda union depot was to be built at some place on line between South Cap- itol street and the bridge. The estimated cost of this project was, in round numbers, $2,400,- 000. In the opinion of the Commissioners the interests of the District could be served in no better way than by carrying out the general project as outlined above.” Licut. Greene's report, above referred to, is athorough and satisfactory discussion of the whole subject. Speaking of the Baltimore and Potomac’s occupation of the mall he says: “The park has been virtually destroyed east of 6th street, all travel on a portion of 6th street (one of the main thi ‘bfares to ‘the wat Car cues poaran mate id company, owing ‘A road sompany, Pi ory tn a pany the option of co! pe ncadler it on any one of thothros routes above named; also repealing the act which the Baltimore and Potomac road the to cross the park on the line of 6th street,’ otherwise confirming the present route of » The report of "83 follows the lead of * *2. “Referring to theso reports (of assistants to Engineer Commissioner) tor detailed imforma- tion and for the reasons leading to their recom- mendations, the Commiss.oners would recom- mend and urge upon Congress the importance of legislation as follows: * * * That the bill to regulate steam railroads reported to the Senate Febraary 23, 1883, by the Hon. J. J. Ingalls, chairman of the Senate committes for the District of Columbia, in order that the status of the road may be definitely fixed be- fore the close of the session.” The report re ferred to is that of Lieut. Greene, extracts from whose fail report of the year before are given above, ted their be taken In 1884 the Commissioners rey recommendation that action should Lieut. Greene reported: “The question of steam railroad routes within the city limits is still unsettled. In fi Mt seems to be no nearer a settlement than i was four years ago, when the Commissioners were first directed by resolution of the Senate to investigate and report upon it. In every succeeding annual report the subject has been discussed at length, and at every sqmsion it hae been considered by the committees of Con- gress, but no action has yet | taken, ‘The views which have b ntly advocated by the Commisio: wire the removal of the Pennevivania railroad depot to a point south of the mall; the removal of the Balti more and Ohio railroad depot to a point which would not obstruct North Capitol street; an the uniting of the two branches of the Ia road at some point outside the city limite fr which they could enter the city on the pro grade. The bill embodying these views met the approval of the Senate mittee, and it Was reported favorably to the Senate im Feb- ruary, 1883, at the close of the Wax notacted upon. At the begiunin last session the matter was again t the committee, where it was vig ¥ opposed by the Pennsyivama railroad, which desires no change iu the existing condition of things, as it has an unrivaled location for its own inter- ests, A modification was also desired by the Baitimore and Ohio railroad in order that it might be enabled to pass through the obtain a southern con: Namere at th : autim tral park of the city continues to | by one road, and the str: ern section rendered impassable by the other In 1855 the Commissioners said: “1. So far as practicable the two roads (Baltimore and Ohio and Baltimore and Potomac) should and pass through the city on substantial same lines; 2. The should be a union two independent structures adj other; 3. This depot should ntral in ate location and conveniently ed from the prince hotels; 4. Suitable provision should made for bundling freight a meeting the requ:rements of railroad without unduly injuring th ing property: 5. Provision should be avoiding to the greatest extent possil crossing of the steam-car track at grade The duties and powers of the Commissione railroa cut in two is of the northeast “a of the District in relation to the should be more clearly defined, In relation to the route to be followed through the city the two roads might be allowed to place their main depots in the vicini of the present Potomac depot, approaching the same by covéred tracks, leaving V streets west, should be eutirely removed, so ae to open that mmport- ant thoroughfare to the public use. The Com- missioners are aware of the great opposition that has shown itself (on their part as well as by the public) to the occupation of # re of the mall for railroad purposes; but having already held on to ite lolgment there for the paet twelve years, the Potomac company will strenuously antagonize any movement ng nd undoubtedly at ta depot site that would better accommodate the traveling y lic, citizens of the District as well ax its nun ous visitors. The principal objection to the present arrangement is the complete appropri ation of 6th street by the railroad and the « struction of pleasure travel through th tom of parks extending fi it to the Capitol. But both of these objections will be elimmated if the approach to the should be made in the manner now in in this report; certainly the rai panies could make no substantial objection to it.” In 1886 the Commissioners show that the dis- ent which be mendations is felt b; “While in general commou entrance the Commissioners do not at this time urge upon Congr 3 cal alteration of existing routes, but do earnestly invite attention to the ty for compelling some minor alterations which could be pres- ently effected at no great cost and at the same time serve important public interests.” ‘The changes recommended are to require the Baltimore and Potomac to cease using streets for freight and storage purposes and to abanon 6th street and to require the Baltimore and Ohio to come into the city by «ingle line of entrance and to remove station to the castward of North Capitol street, In 1587 hope seemed to revive in the Com- missioners and an admirable special report te the Senate resulted. They said: «The existing means of rail transportation of both kinds exhibit many objectionable features and serious defects. Prominent among these, in the case of steam railways. the occupan: of numerous streets and « multiplication of grade crossings, alike dangerous to life and limb, destructive to property interests « value, inimical to private rights and oj to public policy as in conflict with the ri: and of a modern community, Orig- shed when Washington was au un- considerable extent and tion and of no importance save as the seat of government, the railroads, more mind- ful apparently of their corporate interests th of their true character and functions as public servants, have not only failed to adapt them- selves to the growth and enlarging interests of the community, but have in some respects put themselves in direct antagoni-m thereto by an unlawful expansion of their holdings and the eccupancy of public space far beyond ther | chartered rights and privileges, * * * “It is but just to the Baltimore and Potomac to say that in the construction of its main lince ; and stations it is believed to have restricted itself to its lawfully acquired privileges, and that its service partakes of that minuteness ! of care and attention to the comfort and satety of passengers which is so marked a feature im | the railway system of which it forms a portion; but im the occupation of public space to: which } it is not entitled, in the crossing of streets not authorized by law, in the expansion and muiti- | barrmersseeg of side tracks aud switches and in | particular in the unlawful use and occupa of public streets as freight and storage yard to the obstruction of public travel and the Great detriment and annoyance of private | rights, the road has exhibited that tendency them as in 1885, approving the idea of @ rs | toward apy meng of its own interests im disregard of those of others and the violation of public rights which large business | corporations of this character are sure to dis- play in the the absence of watchfulncss and needful restraining influences. * * * “The unnecessary burdens imposed upon the ublic by both these wealthy corporations have jong been the cause of earnest protest and ; have ledto frequent and urgent appeals to Congress for redress on the part of the Dis- trict government and others. From time to time plans have been prepared and submitted for the better adjustment of the railway sys tems to the public need, but as yet no step of importance has been taken, and the interoste of the District coutinue to suffer in yearly in- creasing measure, It is believed that Con- gress is now prepared todeem the time ripe for action, and to make such final order upom the subject as a whole as shall best suvserve the public interests and allay, so far as may be, ali legitimate grievances. *'* * “As to the union station, the considerations controlling the selection of the site, if the pro- posed route be adopted. would clearly indicate the intersection of Virgin yland ave- nues and 8th and C streets best meeting the trements. A circle struck from the d i { g if | i : ; i 8 if i | gS i z i ; |