Evening Star Newspaper, November 28, 1896, Page 15

Part L In the summer of 1796, two years after the second battle ct Hochstett, which Eng- Lichmen call Blenheim, ir a world ringing with the names of Marlborough and Eu- gene, Louis of Baden and Villars, Vileroy the Incapable and Boufflers the Brave—a world, for us, of dark chaos luridly lit by flames of burning hamlets, and galloped through by huge troopers wearing peri- wigs and high boots, and pistols two feet Icng in the barrel—one of the Austrian captains sat down before the frontier town of Hvuymonde in Spanish Flanders, and prepared to take it. Whereat Huymonde was not too greatly moved. A warm town of fat burghers and narrow streets, and oak wainscots that winked in the firelight, and burnished flagons that caught the drinker’s smile, it vas not to be lightly excited; and it had been besieged heaven only knows how many times before. Men made ready as for a long frost; took count of wine and provsions, and hid a portion of each under the cellar floor; thanked God that they were not the garrison and that times were changed since the Thirty Years’ War; and, in short, fell very easily into an idle life flecked with bubbles of excitement. When the Austrian guns rumbied without, and the smoke eddied slowly over the walls, they stood in the streets, their hands in their muffs, and gossiped not unpleasantly; when the cannons were silent, they smoked their long pipes on the ramparts, and meas- ured the advance of the trenches, and lis- tened while the oldest inhabitant prosed of the sack by Spinola in "24 and the winter siege of "41. Whether the good townsfolk were as brave in private—when at home with their wives, for instance—may be doubted; but this for certein the burgomaster’s trouble lay all with the women. Whether they had less faith in the great Louis—who, indeed, seemed in these days less superior to a world in arms than in the dawn of his glory—or whether they found the oldest in- habitant’s tales too precisely to the point, they had a way of growing restive once a week, besieging the good burgomaster’s house and demanding—with a thousand sErill and voluble tongues—immediate sur- render on terms. Between whiles, being busy with scrubbing and baking and wash- ing their children, they were quiet enough. But as surely as Sunday came round, and with :t a clean house and leisure to chat with the neighbors, the burgomaster’s hour came too, and with it a mob of women shaking crooked fingers at him, and deaf- ening him with their abuse. He began— though a bold man—to dream at night of De Witt and his fate; and from a stout and “How dare you come here to make mischief t” pompous burgher dwindled in six weeks to a Yean and morose old tyrant. Withal he had no choice, for at his shoulder lurked the French commandant, a resolute man with a grim wit of bis own and a pet cur- tain—between the stadthaus bastion and the bastion of the Bronze House, and very handy to the former—whereat he shot de- serters and the like on the smallest pre- text. Still the burgomaster, as he wiped his sallow face, ard watched the last of the wemen withdraw on the nth Sunday of the siege, began to think that, rather than pass through this again, he would face even the curtain and a volley. The ordeal had been more severe than usual: his cheek still twitched, and he leaned against his official table to belie his trem- bling knees. He had been settling a change of billets when the viragos broke in on him, and only his clerk had been present; for his council—and this rub he felt sorely —much bullied in old days, were treating him to solitude now and the monopoly of the burden. His clerk was still with him, but affected to be busy with the papers on the table—perhaps he was scared, too, and equally bent on hiding it; so it was the burgomaster himself who first dis- covered that they were not in fact alone, but that one woman still lingered. She sat in a corner of the oak seat that ran round the paneled room, and the stained glass of the windows, blazoned with the arms of Huymonde and the Counts of Flanders, cast a veil of tawny lights between her and the gazer, a veil behind which she seemed to lurk. The burgomaster started, then re- membered that the danger was over for the time, and in a harsh yoice bade her follow her mates. “Begone, wench,” he said. “And go to your prayers! That is women’s work. Leave these things to men. The woman rose. “When men,” she an- swered, in a strident voice at which the burgomaster started afres! “hide them- selves it is time women stood forward. Where is your son?” The burgomaster swore. Where is your Son?” the woman re- peated firmly. ‘The burgomaster swose again, his sal- low face grown purple; then looked at his clerk and signed to him to go. The clerk Went wondering and gaping—for this was unvsual—and left the two together. Then the burgomaster found his voice. “You Jezebel!” he cried, Passionately, ap- Proaching the woman. “How dare you come here to make mischief? How dare yeu lay your tongue to my son’s name? Do soe now, shameless one, that if I were io But at that the woman caught fire, bl: up and fairly outdid him in rage: tees middle-aged and spare, with a face natural- ly pale and refined, and an air of pride that en through the neat poverty of . But at tha® word she shook her hands in his face, and her eyes blazed. “Shameless!” she retorted. “No, but shemeful, and through whom? Through your son, your villain, your craven of a a. wie hides foe Through your base- mm tradesman of a son, neither woman nor mana “n® dare face “Silence!” the burgomaster cried. She flung up her hands. “Beware!” she cried, wildly, and for the first time raised her voice. “Beware! You and yours Look eens = shame, but the end is not yet.- ie el is not nae aa yet. You do not It was not their first interview. 8] Plead with him. before, had knelt anaiwens and abased herself before him, had done all that the love that tore her heart strings, the love that made {t so much more diff cult to see her child suffer than to suffer herself, the love that every moment paint- ed the bare room at home and her daugh- ter prostrate there in shame and despair she had done all that even that love could suggest. There was no room here for fur- ther pleading; and she had threatened—and failed. What then remained to be done? Nothing, the burgomaster thought, as in @ flush of triumph and relief he watched her go, outfaced and defeated. Nothing: and he hugged himself on the prudence that had dispatched his son out of the way in time, and rendered a match with that proud pauper brat impossible. Nothing; but to the woman, as she went, it seemed that everything, everything, was yet to be done. As she left the little square and “plunged THE HOUSE ON THE WALL BY STANLEY J. WEYMAN. THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 1896-24 PAGES. Author of “Under the Red Robe,” “A Gentleman of France,” Eto. Ny (Copyright, 1896, by Stanley J. Weyman.) into the narrow street that led to her House on the Wall, the story of her life in Huymonde spread itself before her in a string of scenes that now—now, alas, but never before—seemed to find their natural sequence in this tragedy. Nine years be- fore she had come to Huymonde with her artist husband; but the great art of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries was dying or dead in Flanders, and with it the artistic sense and the honor once paid to it. Huymonde made Delft still, and pottery: but on old conventional lines, in endless repetition of old formal patterns, with no touch of genius or appreciation. Trade, and a desire to win the florid ease, the sleek comfort, of the burgher, possessed the town wholly. The artist had found himself a stranger in a strange land; had struggled She Paused in the Darkening Street, An She Thought of It. on, despising and despised, fn the quaint house on the wall, at which he had snatch- ed, on his first coming, because it looked over the open country; and there after sev- en years had died, scarcely better known, and no whit more highly appreciated, than on the day of his arrival. After that the story was of two women living sola cum sola, one wholly for the other; suspected, if not disliked, by their neighbors, and for thelr part alien in all their thoughts and standards, since the artist's widow could not forget that he had been Peter Paul's favorite pupil, or that her father had counted quarterings. Sola cum sola, until‘one day the war began, and, Huymonde setting itself to look to its defenses, a young man appeared one cer- tain evening to inspect the House on the ‘Wail, and see that the window which look- ed out over the country was safely and properly built up and strengthened. “You must have a sergeant and guard billeted here!’ was his first sharp word, and the widow had sighed at this invasion of their privacy, which 's also their pov- erty. But the young girl, standing side- ways in that very window, had pouted ber red lips and frowned on the intruder and the sergeant had not come. Instead, the young man had returned, at first week= ly, then at shorter intervals, to see that the window defenses remained intact. With his appearance life in the House on the Wall had become a different thing. He was the son of the burgomaster of the town; he would be the richest man in the town; his wife might repay with interest of advantage the duil bovine scorn to whicn the city dames had treated her mother. The widow permiited herself to hope. Her child was beautiful with the creamy fair- ness of Guelders, and as pure as the sky. The young man’ was gay: and handsome, and doubtless these qualities made their due impression on the elder woman's heart, long unfamiliar with them. So, for more than a year, he had had the run of the house, been’ one of the family and then one day had disappeared, and then one other day— Oh, God of vengeance! She paused in the darkening street, as she thought of it. Beside her a long low window, warm- ly curtained, let out a stream of ruddy light. From ‘the opposite house issued cheery voices and tinkling laughter. And before and behind, whichever way she look- ed, firelight- flashed through diamond panes, or glowed on the heart of green bottle glass. Out in the street men shoul- dered past her, talking blithely, and in distant kitchens cups clinked and Ware clat- tered, and every house—every house from garret to parlor—seemed to her a home happy and gleeful. A home, and her home? She stood at the thought and cursed them; cursed them, and, like the A Man Advanced Out of the Darkness and Touched Her Sleeve. echo of her whispered words, the solemn boom of a cannon floated over the town. Part I. A chance passer, seeing her stand thus, caught the whiteness of her face, and thought her afraid. “Cheer up, mother!” he said, over his shoulder. “They are all bark and little bite.” “Tt would they bit to the bone!” she cried furiously. But luckily he was gone too far to hear or understand, and resuming her course she hurried on, her head bowed, and in a few minutes came to the foot of the stone steps that, in two flights at right angles, led up to the low-browed door of her house. There, as she set her foot on the lowest stair, and wearily began the ascent, a man advanced out of the darkness and touched her sleeve. For an instant she thought it the man, and caught her breath, and stepped back. But his first word showed her her mistake. “You live here?” he said abruptly. I come in?” In ordinary times his foreign accent and the glint of a pistol barrel, which caught her €ye as ke spoke, would have set her on her guard. But tonight she had nothing to lose, nothing, it seemed Yo her, to hopa. She scarcely looked at the man. “As you Please,” she said dully. “What do you want?” “Can And.she did not turn to him again until they stood together in the room above and the door was shut: Then she asked him a second time what he wanted. “Are we alone?” he returned, staring sus- piciously about him. “My daughter is above,” she answered. “There is no one elze tn the house.” “And you are re She shrugged her shoulders indifferently, and by a movement of her hands seemed to put the room in evidence; one or two Pictures, standing on easels, and a few common painter’s properties redeemed it from’ utter barrenness, yet left It cold and faded. Nevertheless, his next question stirred even her apathy: “What rent do you Tirade et, ann ee * she re out of her moodiness, . “Yes. How many crowns?” “Twenty,” she answered mechanically. “A year “Yes, a year.” ‘The man had a round shaven face that sat in the circle of 4 tightly tied Steinkirk cravat like an ivory ball in a cup; and short hair, that might on occasion line a periwig. -Notwithstanding his pistol, he had rather the air of a tradesman than a sol- dier, until you met his eyes, and they flash- ed with a keen glitter that belied his smug face and shaven cheeks. They caught the . widow's eyes, as he answered her, and held them. “Twenty crowns a year?” he said. “Then listen. I will give you two hundred crowns for this house for one night.” “For this house for one night?” she re- peated. “For this house. for one night!” he an- swered. Then she understood. She® was quick- witted; she had lived long in the house, and knew it; she knew without more that God or the devil had put that which she scught into her hands. And her first im- pulse was pure joy. The thirst for ven- geance welled up, hot and resistless. Now she could he avenged on all; on the hard- hearted tyrant who had rejected her pray- er; on the sleek dames who would point the finger at her child, on the smug town that had looked askance at her all these years—that had set her beyond the pale of its dull, groveling pleasures, and shut her up in that lonely house on the wall! Now —now she had it in her hand to take ten- fold for one; and her face so shone at the thought that the man watching her felt a touch of misgiving, though he was of the boldest or he had not been there on that errand. ‘ “When?” she said. “When?” “Tomorrow night,” he answered, and then, leaning forward and speaking lightly, but in a low voice, he went on: “It is a simple matter. All you have to do is to find a lodging and begone from here by sunset, leaving the door on the latch. No more; for the money, it shall be paid to you, half tonight and half the day after to- morrow.” “I want no money,” she said. “No money?’ he exclaimed, incredulous- No, no money,” she answered, in a tone with a look that silenced him. “But you will do it?” he said, almost timidly. “I will do it,” she answered. “At sunset tomérrow you will find the door on the latch and the house empty. After that, ece that you @o your pa: His eyes lightened. said, grimly. “But mark one thing,’ mis- tress,” he continued, “it is an odd’ thing to do for nothing.” “That is my business!” she cried, with a flash of rage. He had been about to warn her that dur- ing the next twenty-four hours she would he watched, and that, on the least sign of any message passing between her and those in authority, the plot would be abandoned. But at that look he held his peace, said curtly that it was a bargain then, and in a moment left her. With her secret. But for a time it was not of that or of her vengeance that she thought. Her mind was busy, instead, with the years of solitude and estrange- ment she had passed in that house and that 1com; with the depression that, little by little, had sapped ker husband’s strength and hope; with the slow decay of thcir goods, their cheerfulness, even the artistic Joys that had at first upheld them; with the aloofness that had doomed her and her child to a dreary existence; with this last great wrong— Yes, let it be! Let it be! She rose on the thought, her face set like stone. In fancy she saw the town le below her—as she had so often seen it with the actual eye from the ramparts—she saw the clvs- tering mass of warm red roofs and walls, the outlying towers, the church, the one long, straight street; and with outstreteh- ed arm she doomed it—doomed it with a She Did Not Observe That They Had Left the Door on the Latch. perfect sense of the righteousness of the sentence. : Yet, strange to say, that which was up- permost in her mind and steeled her soul and justified thé worst, was not her daugh- ter’s wrong, but the long years of loncli- ness, the hundred, nay, the thousand petty slights of the past, bearable at the time, and in detail, Dut intolerable in the retro- spect, now hope was gone. She dwelt on these, and the thought of what was com- ing filled her with a fearful joy. She thought of them and took the lamp and passed into the next room, and throw- ing the light on the rough face of brick- work that closed the great window, eyed the cracks eagerly, and scarcely kept her fingers from beginning the work. For she understood the plot. One man work- ing silently within, in darkness, could de- molish the wall in an hour; then a whistle, rope ladders, a line of men ascending, be- fore midnight the house would vomit arm- ed men, the nearest gate would be seized and the town would lie at the mercy of the enemy. <3 Presently she had to go to her daugh- ter, but the curren of her thoughts kept the same course. The girl was sullen, and lay with her face to the wall, and gave short answers, yenting her misery in the com- mon human fashion on the one who loved her best. The mother bore it, not, as be- fore, in the patience that scorned even an upbraiding, but grimly, setting down each peewsh word to the scorn that was ac soon to be paid. She lay all night besfle her child, and in the small hours heard her weep and felt the bed shake with her unhappiness; and carried the scorn farther —farther, so that day, and the twittering of sparrows, and the booming of early guns, took her by surprise. Took her by surprise—but worked no change in her thoughts. : She was so completely under the influ- ence of this idea, indeed, that she felt no fear; the chance of discovery, and the cer- tainty in that event of punishment withcut mercy, did not trouble her in the least. She went about her ordinary tasks until late in the afternoon; then, without preface, told her daughter that she was going out to seek lodging. ‘The girl was profoundly astonished. ‘A lodging?” she cried, sitting up. “For us?” “Yes,” the mother answered coldly. “For whom do you think?” “And you will leave this house?” “Yes.” “But when?” “Tonight.” “Leave this house—for a lodging—to- night?” the girl faltered. She could not believe her ears. “Why? What has hap- pened?” Then the woman, in the fierceness of her mood, turned ‘her arms against her child. ‘Need you ask?” she cried bitterly. “Do you want to go on living in this house —in this house, which is your father’s? To go in and out of this door, and meet our kind neighbors, and talk with them on these steps? To wait here—here, where every one knows you—for—for the man who will never come?” The girl sank back shuddering. ‘The woman covered her head and went out. Presently she returned, and in the gray of the evening, which within the walls fell early, the two left the house, the elder carrying a bundle of clothes, the younger whimpering and wondering, and so stupe- fied by the suddenness of the movement, and the other’s stern purpose, that she did not observe that they had left the door on the latch, and the house on the wall unguarded. ‘Fhe people with whom they had found a lodging, a little room under the sharpl: sloping tiles, knew them by name ani sight—that in so small a place was inevita- ble—but found nothing strange in the wo- man’s reason for moving—that at home the firing broke her daughter's rest. The housewife, indeed, could sympathize. “I never go to bed myself,” she said, roundly, “but I dream of those wretches sacking the town, and look to awake with my throat cut.” “Tut-tut!” her ‘husband answered, an- grily. ‘You will live to wag your tongue apd make mischfef a score of years yet. And for the town being sacked, there is small chance of that” = ea . ‘The elder of his new lodgers repeated his words. “Small chance 9f that,” she ‘said, mechanically. = = The man looked at her_inquisitively. “IAttle or none,” he said.—“It we have to cry ‘enough’ we shall cry it in time, and on terms, you may be’ Sur€, and they will march in like gentlemenjfand an end of it.” “But if it happened at night?” the wo- man asked, curiously. She felt a strange compulsion to put the question. The man shrugged hi8'shoulders. “Well; then, of course, things flight be different, he said. “But God forbid! God forbid! he continued, hastily, j.in a tone that betrayed his thoughts. “And you, wife, back to your pots and leave? this talking: The woman from the‘hduse on the wall wént upstairs to her room, She did not repent of what she had \dgpe, but a feeling of solemnity began to,take hold of her; and presently developed into one of walt- ing—of waiting and watthiiig, for she alone knew what. Given a osmpanion less pre- cceupied with her owm misery, and she must have been suspected. But the girl lay moodily on her bed, and the widow was left at liberty to stand at the window, with her hands spread on the sill, and look and listen, look and listen, unwatched. She could’ not see the street, for, below the window, the roof ran down steeply a yard or more to the eaves; but she had full com- mand of the opposite houses, and at one of the windows a girl was dressing herself. The woman watched her plait her fair hair, looking sideways the while at a little mirror; and saw her put on a poor neck- lace, and remove it again, and try a piece of ribbon. Gradually the watcher became interested. From interest she passed to speculation; wondered, with a slight shud- der, how this girl would fare between that and morning. And then the girl looked up, and met the woman's eyes with the blue innocence of her ownand the woman fell back from the window as if some one had struck her. Part HL She went no more after that to the win- dow, but until it was quite dark sat in a chair with her hands on her lap, forcing herself, as women will, to quietude, where men would tramp the floor unceasingly. When it was quite dark she trimmed and lit the lamp, aad still she did not repent. But she listened more and more closely and with less concealment. And the face of the girl preening herself at her poor mirror returned again and again, and troubled her. She could contemplate the fate of the town as a whole and say: “Let it be.” But the one face at the window, the one case brought home to her, clung to her mind, and pricked and pained her strangely. By and by she heard the clock striking ten, and her daughter, turning feverishly on her bed, asked her if she were going to lie down. “Presently,” she answered. “Presently.” And still sat and listened, and still the girl's face haunted her. She began to picture more in detail the thing for which she was waiting; she fancied that she heard the first alert, followed by the roar of alarm, and the wild rush of feet; then the crashing volley, the rattle of hi fs on the pavement, the whirl of the ight through the strécts, the shouts of Germany! Germanys’ as the troops swept in triumphant! And then—ah, then—she heard the things that would ‘follow, the crashingvin of doors, the sudden flaring of flames, the screams of men driven to the wall, the yells of drunken Saxons, the shrieks of tortured women, the— No more! No more! She could not bear it. With a shudder ghe stood erect and looked wildly about her. The lamp burned low, her daughter was asleep. With a swift movement the mother caught up a shawl that lay beside her, and twisted it round her head, and turned to the door. ‘Alas, too late. She-had repented, but too late. Her hand already on the latch, she stood, arrested by a low, distant ery that caught her ear, and swelled, even as she listened to it, into a roar of many voices rousing the town. What,was it? Alas, she knew; she knew, and cowered against the door, ‘white-faced and shaking. A moment, and ‘the alaria, after sinking, rose aguin, and now there was no doubt of Its mean? ing. Shod feet clattered through the street, windews were flung up, a wild medley of voices broke out, and again, in a few sec- onds, were lost in the crashing sound of the very volley she had foreseen! From that moment it~secmed that hell had broken loose in the town, and she had «it! She could no konxer, in the came up from the street, distinguish one sound from another, but the crash of distant cannon, the heavy tramp of feet near at hand, the screams and-cries and shouting, the blare-of trumpets, all rose in a confused babelof sounds that blanched aod the cheeks and @rovei the bi! to the heart. The woman, cowering nst the door, covered her.ears and grouned aloud; her horror at what she Wad done so great that she did not heed what was passing near her, or even give a thought to the child in the same room with her, until the latter's voice struck her ear harshly, and she turned and found her standing im the middle of the floor, her hand to her heart, and her eyes wide. Then the mother awoke in her again; with pallid, shaking iips she cried to her to lie down—to lie down—fcr there was no danger. But the girl raised her hand for silence, and bent her head as one listening. “Hush!” she said. “I hear a voice! And it is his! It fs his! He is coming to me!” The mother imagined that terror had turned her brain; it was inconceivable that in that roar of sound a single voice could make itself heard or be recognized. And she tried, In a voice quavering with horror, to repeat her meaningless words of com- fort. But they died on her lips—died still- born, as the door flew open, and a man rushed in, stood an instant looking, then caught her child in his arms. It was the burgomaster’s son! The woman from the House on the Wall leaned an instant against the door post It Was the Burgomaster’s Son! gazing at them. Little by little, as she looked, the expression in her eyes changed, and they took the cold, fixed, distant look of a sleep-walker. A’ moment, and she drew a shuddering breath and turned and went out; and, groping in the outside dark- ness for the balustrade, went down the staircase, and passed unfaltering into the street. | * A part of the garrison happened to be re- treating through the street at the time, a few still turning to fire at intervals, but the greater numher hurrying along with bent heads, keeping close to the houses, and intent only on escaping. One of these ran against her as she issued from the doorway, and nearly mocked her down; but she recovered herself, and, reaching the middle of the roadway, stood there like a rock, her face turned in the direction whence the fugitives were hastening. And presently she saw, what she wanted. In the reek of smoke’ above the burning gate, toward which she looked—and the flames of Which filledithe street with a smoky glare—a sudden glitter of steel shone out; and in a moment, rank on rank, @ dense column of men appeared, coming shoulder to shoulder. She watched them tramp, learer and nearer, ‘filling the street from wall to wall, ung she could see the glare of their eyes; tffen, with a cry that Was lost in the tumult, she rushed on the Envenetsy ith eyes shut, with arms open to re- ceive the thrust. But the man whom she had singled out had dropped his point with an oath and delt her a buffet with butt and elbow that flung her aside unhurt, a second did the same to her, and a third, until, bandied from one to another, she fell against the wall, breathless and dizzy, but unhurt. The column swept on, and she rose. She had escaped—by a miracle, as it seemed to her; but despair still held her, and the roar of a mine exploding not far off, the stun- ning report of which was followed by heart- rending wails, drove her again on her fate. Nor had she far to look for death that night. Hard on the foot followed a troop of dragoons. The horses, excited by the fire and the explosion, were plunging in every direction; and eyen as the crazed woman's eyes alighted on them, one fell and threw its rider. It seemed to her then that she saw her doom; and, darting from a wall, she flung herself down before em. ‘What was one woman on such a night, in such a riot as held the captured town. The torrent of iron, remorseless, uncheck- ed, thundered over her. and tore, along the street. It seemed impossible “that she should escape. Yet, when some came to look to the fallen soldier, whose neck was broken—the woman beside him rose unhurt and without a scratch, and stagg@red to the wall. There she leaned a moment to recov- er her breath and shake off her giddiness and a second to think; and then, with a strange, new expression on her face, an expression between hope and fear, she took her way weakly along the street. The first turning on the right, the second on the left, brought her unmolested—the enemy were quelling the last resistance in the square—to the front of the House on the Wall. She looked up eagerly and saw that the windows were dark; looked at the door, and, by the light of the distant con- flagration, saw that it remained closed. Still, she scarcely dared to hope that that was true which her miraculous es- cape had suggested to a mind almost un- hinged. She scarcely dared to hope, and it took her more than a minute to mount the steps and push the heavy door open, and, peering in fearfully, satisfied herself that in the outer room, ‘at least, all was as she had left it. A spark of fire still glowed on the hearth. She’ groped. her way to it, and blew it into a flame, and, with shaking hands, lit a spill of wood and waved it above her head, then held it. Yes, all was as she had left it here. But the farther room—the room? What of that? She stared at the door, and dared not open it. ‘Then fiew at it and tore it open feverishly ard stood on the thresh- old. Yes, and here! Here, too, all was as she had left it. She waved the little brand above her head, heedless of the sparks, waved it until it flamed bigh and cast a light into every corner. But the woman's eyes sought only one thing, and that was the mask of brickwork that block- ed the great window. It was untouched! It was untouched! She had expected as much—for the last five minutes everything, the closed door, the unchanged room, had pointed to it. Yet, now- that she was assured of it, and knew for certain that she had not done the thing—that, guilty as she had been in intention, not one life lost that night lay at her door, not one outrage, she fell on her face and wept, though it was the sweetest moment of her life; prayed, though she sought nothing but to thank ——— But the Woman’s Eyes Sought Only One Thing. God—prayed and wept with childish cries of gratitude, until the light at her side went out and left her in darkness and through a rift in the rough masonry a single starepecred in at her. In Huymonde there was wailing enough that night. Ruin and loss, and a bro: casting of lifelong sentences of penury. And many prayed, and a few when morn- ing came, and found their roofs still ing, gave thanks. But to this wom prostrate on the floor of the lonely Hou on the Wall, all that night was one long prayer and thanksgiving. For she i passed through the fire, the smell of the singeing was on her garments, and yet she was saved. (The End.) ——— THE LUCK OF ROARING CAMP. The First Publication of the Sketch Which Made Bret Harte Famous. Charles Warren Stoddard in the Atlantic. In July, 1868, when the Overland Monthly was founded, Bret Harte became its editor. Mr. Rour sevelle Wildman, the editor of the Overland Monthly, new series, has recently written: “When Anton Roman made up his mind to establish a monthly magazine in connection with his publishing and book- selling business, he did so with the advice of Noah Brooks, Charles Warren Stoddard, B, B. Redding, W. C. Bartlett and others, for most of whom he had already published books. When the question of a suitable editor arose, Stoddard recommended Bret Harte, then an almost unknown writer on the Golden Era, at that. time a popular eekly. Bret Harte accepted with some givings as to financial matters, but was reassured when Roman showed him pledges of support by advertising patronage up to $900 a month, which he had secured in ad- vance.” In the August number of that magazine appeared “The Luck of Roaring Camp.” If Mr. Harte had been in doubt as to his vocation before, that doubt was now dis- pelled forever. Never was a more em- phatic or unquestionable literary success. ‘That success began in the composing room, when a female compgsitor revolted at the unaccustomed combination of mental fo! virility and ‘originality. No doubt it all very sudden and unexpected the editorial and composing rooms, busines: the office, and a limited number of worthy people who had seen “The Luck” in manuscript, as they had never been shaken save by the notorious Californian earth- quake. The climax was precipitated when the justly indignant editor, whose motives, litera judgment and good taste had been impeached, declared that “The Luck of Roaring Camp”.should appear in the very next number of the Overland Monthly or he would resign the office. Wisdom finally prevailed; the article appeared, the Over- land’s success was assured and its editor was famous. Proved His Love. From the Chicago Daily Tribune. They were two working girls, and they happened to meet the other day at the restaurant where they -eat luncheon. The brunette ordered baked beans and lemon- ade, and the blonde selected fruit cake and coffee. ‘Tomorrow is pay day, you know,” she said, in reply to the inquiring look of tHe other. “Oh! Well, have you heard the news akout Mary? She’s resigned.” “I know,” said the blonde. hopes I'd be the first to tell you. ing- to be married.” “Yes; in a lovely blue silk. I forget the name of the man she’s going to marry. He isn’t very good looking, they say, but Mary says he's intellectual. She says—” ‘Oh, pshaw! You can’t tell from Mary. “No; but Sadie’s seen his photograph, ‘and she says he wears glasses.” “Does he? Well, Mary’s lucky, if she is red-headed. Why, he would just do any- thing in the world for that girl.” “Humph!” said the brunette. “That's the way she talks now, but you can’t tell a thing about it until after they’re married.” ou can tell it easy enough in this case; he’s proved it already,” said the blonde, warmly. “Said he’d die for her, I suppose,” re- turned the brunette, scornfully. “Lots of *em talk that way before they have t the butcher.” ‘6 eee “This isn’t talk, anyhow; he’ loves = te you" 'yhow; he’s proved his “How? e save her life—or oe Bale is golden?” ne tebne a er; he sold his bi an engagement ring.” Pee ae +o+—_____ Urban Ignorance. From the New York Weekly. Mrs. Hayfork (who. had summer board- ers)—“Yes, Mrs. Hayseed, the ig’rance of city folks about country life is just amaz- in’. Ye know, I had two families from New York last season.”* Mrs. Hayseed— vantin’ around.” “Well, it’s an actual fact, them people brought toothbrushes with ’em, jest as if we were such savages out here as not to have sich a simple thing as a toothbrush in the house.” “I was in She's go- x . merits of Johann Hoff’s JT is a pleasure for me to testify to the which is used in my family.” LAT Hains, BEWARE OF IMITATIONS. Ask for the Genuine JOHANN HOFF’S MALT EXTRACT. It makes Z FLESH AND BLOOD. EISNER & MENDELSON CO., Sole Agents, New York. Malt Extract, THE BARBER’S PARIS FRIEND. A Cleveland Tourist Found Him, but Did Not Get a Haircut. From the Cleveland Plain Dealer. A rather amusing adventur2 happened to two Clevelanders who were abroad last summer, or, rather, to one of them, for the other considered himself as merely an out- side passenger in the funny affair, and, of course, he is the man to tell the story. It appears that he was a little ahead of his friend in reaching Paris, owing to a difference in selection of routes, and the first thing he did after getting to the hotel was to seck out a barber shop and have his hair and beard trimmed. He had no trouble in discovering a skilled artist and a neat shop, and was impressed with both the dexterity and his charges. When tourist No. 2 arrived at the hotel he noticed the improved appearance of No. 1 and commented upon it. “I'll take you to the same shop,” said No. 1, “and act as interpreter. It’s only just a step or two from here.” No. 2 had another place in view. He fum- bled a moment in his pockets and then brought forth a card. “The man who does my barbering,” he explained, “a man in the Forest City House shop, gave me the card of a friend of his in Paris and I promised him I would go there.” He held forth the bit of pasteboard. “Rue Sebastopol,” said No. 1, “that isn’t alk. Let's take it.” So they started forth on the interesting quest, and after a half hour's steady ‘Jog finally reached the number indicated on the card. Both the tourists looked at the build- ing in some astonishment. It was really the finest barber shop they Mad ever seen. There were three stories of it, too, with a rich stone front and high steps to reach the great carved doors. In the windows were numerous bottles and packages, and through the big plate-glass panes could be seen handsome mirrors and fine office rail- ings. ‘The tourist looked at the building and then looked back at the card. The name was the same, and so was the number. They went up the great steps. The main hall was exquisitely frescoed and daintily carpeted, and the tourists paused for a moment to admire the sur- roundings and get their bearings. A door to the right was open, and through this they passed. The room they entered was also richly decorated, and arranged along the wall were ten or a dozen peculiar cases or cabinets. “Something new in barber shop furni- ture,” said No. 2, as he pointed to the cabi- hen he proceeded to divest,shimself of his cravat and collar. No. 1 looked around. He was just won- dering how a barber shop could be suc- cessfully conducted without chairs, when a liveried servant entered and looked at him inguiringly. By this time No. 2 coat. “Is the proprietor of the establishment in?” asked No. 1 of the liveried servant. “Oui, monsieur, he is here.” The curtains at the back parted and a short, stout gentleman of an exceedingly handsome appearance entered the apart- ment. He bowed gracefully and waited for No. 1 to speak. “You are the proprietor of the shop— maison, I mean?” inquired the American, ith a little hesitation. . “At your service, monsieur.”” Well, my friend—my friend here,” and he turned toward No. 2, who at that mo- ment was walking about the apartment looking for a hook on which to hang his ccat, “my friend here wishes to have his hair cut. The elegant proprietor did not move a muscle. “We do not cut hair here,” he remarked. “Don't cut hair? Isn't this a barber shop?” “No, monsieur, this is Pinaud’s, chemists, perfumers. I am M. Pinaud.” Then No. 1 remembered the name. He had seen it thousands of times. It was a famous name. He looked toward his com- panion. No. 2 had thrown his coat over one of the cabinets and was now loosening his vest. No. 1 caught M. Pinaud’s eye and smiled. The famous chemist smiled back. Then they both laughed long and heartily. When No. 2 had the matter explained to him he put on his garments with the celerity of a fireman aroused at midnight, and the two made a hasty exit, the amused M.. Pinaud standing on the stairs and gracefully bowing his adieus. “That was an awful good joke,” said No. 2 as they hurried away. “I’m afraid that Cleveland barber worked me. But, say, I wee — to have the story get out. “I'm a little afraid you can’t trus: man Pinaud,” chuckled No. 1. peat But M. Pinaud didn’t tell. They Ate Up the Church. From the Troy Times, Bishop Wiltlams of Marquette was re- cently invited to serve his alma mater, Cornell University, as university preacher. He did so, coming straight from the synod of the Canadian Church at Winnipeg and bringing this story with him: “There was a missionary bishop there,” said Bishop Williams, “who had been six weeks in coming, most of the way by canoe. He rose and began by saying that he would speak for himself and for a brother bish- op, who, unfortunately, could not be pres- ent. He was sorry to say that his brother's diocese had gone to the dogs! A general gloom followed these words. He went on to say that the bishop had ‘found so many inquirers after religion among the Esqui- maux north of Hudson bay that he had to build a church. As there was no wood he used whale’s ribs for rafters, covering them with tanned walrus hide, and so made a church to hold eighty persons. ‘All went merry as a marriage bell’ for a time, until—the dogs grew famished and ate the church.” was removing his ———__+ e+ —___ His Religion. From the Northwest Magazine. “What is your religion, Mr. Gilbert?” ask- ed the landlady of her new boarder. “Meat three times a day,” was the reply that startled the good woman ané put her into a reverie as to whether the man was a heathen or misunderstood the question. PINE CONE FIRE: They Make a Pretty and a Blaze in Open Grates. From the Philadelphia Record. Few dwellers in the city, even if they, enjoy the soul-satisfying luxury of an open fire, know how to make it yield them all of the aesthetic pleasure which it is capa- ble of yielding to those who have found which of the woodland treasures make richest fuel for the flames and the prettiest pictures in the coals. The pines cones that fall from the trees in autumn and are now strewing the ground make a very beautiful fire when laid upon the burning logs of the fireplace or on the anthracite in the grate. They flare up with a bright, steady flame until burnt to a slowing red cinder, each cone preserving its shape and outline, and remaining @ thing of beauty till it finally falls into kaleidoscopic fragments. ‘ As a pleasing diversion for an invalid one could not do him a kinder little ser ice than to collect a lot of these cones from under the trees in the park and send them with an appropriate line or t Last winter the holidays brought nothing that pleased one hopeless consumptive so much as a large burlap bagful of selected ine cones for the fire that made the uty cf his waning days. The donor ‘ote on the bag: “Give me of thy balm, © fir tree,” but a beautifully sug: to have written under the weuld have been this from Lowell “Singing Leav “But the trees all kept their couns And never a word said they; Only there sighed from the pine tops A music of seas far away.” There are many apropos quotations about the pines that will occur to ry one. The lettering may be done with a pencil and then outlined with heavy brown cotton or wool on an ordinary bushel bag tied: when filled with a yard of brown ribbon. It would surely give pleasure to a weary, one. Small branches or twigs of lichen: od oak or hickory also make delightful top fuel for the open fire, the tiny mosses emitting many colored lights and the cheery, crackling trying in vain to drown the singing of the “pixie” or fairy in the wood, as the legend has it, but which peculiarly soothing sound cold science attributes t@ an imprisoned insect. so A Walking Telephone. From the Chicago Tribune. A walking telephone caused considerable merriment in the business houses of Gak Park yesterday. J. C. Chester of Glendi Mont., was the curiosity, and the s king tubes and 400 yards of wire carricd upon ove! his person caused excitement ataong p destrians. A sign upon his breast, whic! read, “Yell hello! and wait for a bell ring,” made him conspicuous as he walkel trom and stcre to store. Chester is an inventor, is deaf and dumb. He says he is on way to Washington, D. ent on a contrivance persons to hear and dumb pe: He needs money to get there, ks for assistance by means cf a litile tin whistle, through which he lisps and breathos at the same time. The sound thus p a is distinct, but resembles a Punc Judy, dialect. He receives a rep ha miniature telephone transmit:er. teles phone is connected with the ear four feet of insulated wire, and receives its cur- rent from a dry battery carried 1 pocket. Chester says he is a gradi the Columbus, Ohio, deaf mute lum, and carries credentials purporting to be signed by Professor C. M. Tulton of that institution. His journey thus far from Montana has occupied six w and he expects to make Washington during the coming month. pe = —s Comes Gladness Wits better understanding of the transient nature of the many phys- fcal ills, which vanish before proper ef= for ntle efforts—pleasantefforts— rightly directed. There is comfort in the knowledge, that so many forms of sickness are not due to any actual dis- ease, but simply to a constipated condi tion of the system, which the pleasant family laxative, Syrup of Figs, prompt- ly removes. That is why it is the only remedy with millionsof ilies, and is everywhere esteemed so highly by all who value health. Its bencficial effects are due to the fact, that‘it is the one which tes iniernal _ Cleanliness without debilitating the on which it acts. It is therefore all im it, in order to get its bene- ficial effects, whasy grand you = chase, that you have the genuine a! cle, which is maanetnctuared toy the Cali- fornia Fig Syrup Co. oniy and sold by all reputable druggists. fe If in the eg of good health, and the system is regular, laxatives or other remedies are then not needed. If afflicted with any actual disease, one well-informed _ eve! Tyw! stands highest and is \ be pear plete peated