Evening Star Newspaper, May 1, 1897, Page 20

OWOWOVE WONOIOWOWOC, THE THREE Written for The BY BRET (Copyright, 1897, FEN WON NOONE WOOO (Continued from Last Saturday.) “And when it does come you'll see me nd Eddy just waltzin’ in and takin’ the chief seats in the synagogue. And you'll have a free pass to the show.” Either he was teo intoxicated with his vengeful vision or the shadows of the oom had deepened, but he did not see the quick flush that had risen to his wife's face with this allusion to Barker, nor the after settling of her handsome features into a dogged determination equal to his own. His blind fury against the three partners did not touch her curiosity; she was only struck with the evident depth of his emo- tion. He had never been a braggart; his hostility had always been lazy and cynical. Remembering this, she had a faint stirring of respect for the undoubted courage and consciousness of strength shown in this wild but single-handed crusade against wealth and power; rather, perhaps, it seem- ed to her to condone her own weakness in her youthful and inexplicable passion for him. No wonder she had submitted. “Then you have nothing more to tell me?” she said, after a pause, rising and going toward the mantel. “You needn't ight up for me,” he re- turned, rising also. “I am going. Unless,” he added, with his coarse laugh, “you think it wouldn’t look well for Mrs. Horn- castle to have been sitting In the dark with—a stranger.” He paused as she con- temptuously put down the candlestick and threw the unit match into the grate. “No. I've nothing more to tell. He's a fancy- looking pup. You'd take him for twenty- ene, though he’s only sixteen—clean-limbed and perfect—but for one thing—" He stopped. He met her quick look of inter- rogation, however, with a lowering silence that, neverthel changed again as he surveyed her erect figure by the faint light of the window with a sardonic smile. “He favors you, I think, and in all but one thing, too.” “And that?” she queried coldly, seemed to hesitate. “He ain't ashamed of me,” he returned, ith a la “The acocel sed behind him; she heard his heavy step descend the creaking stairs; hhe was gone. She went to the window and threw it open, as if to get rid of the at- Mosphere charged with his presence—a presence still so potent that she now knew that for the last five minutes she had been, to her horror, struggling against its magnetism. She even recoiled now at the thought of her child, as if, in these new ‘confidences over it, it had revived the old intimacy in this link of their common flesh. She looked down from her window on the square shoulders, thick throat, and crisp matted hair of her husband as he vanish- ed in the darkness, and drew a breath of freedom—a freedom not so much from him as from her own weakness that he was bearing away with him into the exonerat-. ing night. She shut the window and sank down in her chair again, but in the encompassing nd compassionate obscurity of the room. And this was the man she had loved and for whom she had wrecked her young life! Or was it love? and if not, how was she better than he? Worse, for he was more loyal to that passion that had brought them together and its responsibilities than she was. She had suffered the perils and pangs of maternity, and yet had only the Mere animal yearning for her offspring, while he had taken over the toil and duty and even the devotion of parentage him- self. But then she remembered also how he had fascinated her—a simple school girl—by his sheer domineering strength, and how the objections of her parents to this coarse and common man had forced her into a clandestine intimacy that ended im her complete subjection to him. She re- membered the .birth of an infant whose concesiment from her parents and frienJs ‘Was compassed by his low cunning: she re- membered the late atonement of marriage proffered by the man she had already be- gun to loathe and fear, and whom she now believed was eager only for her inher- itance. She remembered her abject com- Pliance through the greater fear of the world, of the stormy scenes that followed their ill-omened union, of her final aban- donment of her husband, and the efforts of her friends and family who had rescued the last of her property from him. She was glad she remembered it; she dwelt upon it, upon his cruelty, his coarse- ness and vulgarity, until she saw, as she as he honestly believed, the hidden springs of his affection for their child. It was his .child in nature, however it might have favered her in look self he was worshi: it was his own brutal ing in his brutal prog- How el Id it have ignored her— tts own mother? She never doubted the truth of what he had told her—she had seen it in his own triumphant eyes. And yet she would have made a kind mother; she remembered with a smile and a stight ris- ing of color the affection of Barker's baby ‘for her; she remembered with a deepening of that color the thrii! of satisfaction she had felt in her husband's fuiminations @gairst Mrs. Barker, and, more than all, she felt in his blind and foolish hatred She Ran to the W! low and Crouched Down Beside, Listening: Eagerly. vf Barker himself a delicious condonation of the strange feeling that had sprung up tn her heart for Barker's simpie, straight- forward nature. How could he under- stand; how could they understand (by the plural she meant Mre. Barker and Horn- castle) a character so innately noble? In her strange attraction toward him she had felt a charming sense of what she believed ‘was a superior and even matronly protes- tion; in the utter isolation of her life now— and with her husband's foolish abuse of him ringing in her ears—it seemed a sacred duty. She had lost a son. Providence hai sent her an ideal friend to replace him. And this was quite consistent, too, with a faint smile that began to play about her mouth ag she recailed Barker's delightful and irresistible youthfulness. There was the clatter of hoofs and the over her as “al PARTNERS; Or, The Big Strike on Heavy Tree Hill, Evening Star, HARTE. by Bret Harte.) N WOW NOW the mantel, struck a match and lit the can- dle. The lignt shone upon the bright eyes and slightly flushed face of Mrs. Barker. But the motioaless woman in the chair had recognized her voice and the voice of her companion at once. And then their eyes met. Mrs. Barker drew back but did not utter a cry. Mrs. Horncastle, with eyes even brighter than her companions, smiled. The red suddenely returned to Mrs. Barker's cheek. “This is my room he said indignantly, with a sweeping ure around the walls. “I should judge so,” said Mrs. Horncastle, following the gesture, “but,” she added quietly, “they put me into it. It appears, however, they did not expect you,” Mrs. Barker saw her mistake.” “No, no,” she said apologetically, “of course not.” Tren she added, with nervous volubility, sitting down and tugging at ‘her gloves: “You see, I just ran down from Marysville to take a look at my father’s old house on my wy to Hymettus. I hope I haven't dis- turbed you. Perhaps,” she said with sud- Gen eagerness, “‘you were asleep when I came in!” : “No, Mrs. Horncastle, “I was not sleeping nor dreaming. I heard you come in.” “Some of these men are such Idiots,” said Mrs. Barker, with a half hysterical laugh. ‘They seem to think if a woman accepts the least courtesy from them they’ve a right to be familiar. But I fancy that fel- low was a little astonished when I shut the door in his face. “T fancy he wa: returned Mrs. Horncas- tle dryly. “But I shouldn’t eall Mr. Van EVEN BARKER NOTICED IT, BUT TO NEARER saved you from the consequences of your folly 1. shall be willing to bear even his e* ee ‘blam : = hatever I do,” seid Mrs. Barker, ris- ing 'y, “I shall not stay here any long- er to be insulted.” She -flounced out of the room and swept down the staircase:into the office. Here she found an overworked clerk, and with crimson cheeks and flash- ing eyes wanted to know why in her own father’s hotel she had found her own sit- ting room engaged, and had been obliged to wait half an hour before she could be shown into a decent apartment to remove her hat and cloak; and how it was that even the gentleman who had kindly escort- ed her had evidently been unable to ‘pro- cure her any assistance. She said this in a somewhat high voice, which might have reached the ears of that gentleman had he Leen in the vicinity. But he was not, and she was forced to meet the somewhat dazed apologies of the clerk, and to accompany the chambermaid to a room only a few paces distant from the one she had quitted. Here she hastily removed her outer duster ard hat, and washed her hands and con- sulted her excited face in the mirror, with the door ajar and an ear sensitively at- tuned to any step in the corridor. But all this was effected so rapidly that she was at last obliged to sit down in a chair near the half-opened door and wait. She waited five miautes—ten—but still no footstep. Then she went out into the corridor and listened, and then, smoothing her face, she slipped downstairs, past the door of that hateful room, and reappeared before the clerk with a smiling but somewhat pale and languid face. She had found the room very comfortable, but it was doubtful whether she would stay over night or go on to Hymettus. Hed anybody been inquiring for her? She expected to meet friends. No? And her escort—the gentleman who came | with her—was possibly in the billiard room or the bar?” “Oh, no. He-was gone,” said the clerk. “Gone,” echoed Mrs. Barker. ‘“Impossi- ble. He was—he was here only a moment ago.” The clerk rang a bell sharply. The sta- bleman appeared. “That tall, smooth-faced man, in a high hat, who came with the lady,” said the clerk, severely and concisely, “didn’t you tell me he was gone?” “Yes, sir,” said the stableman. “Are you sure?” interupted Mrs. Barker, with a dazzling smile that, however, mask- ed a sudden tightening round her heart. YJ HER SURPRISE MOVED A LITTLEY TO HER, is Loo an !dtot. He has the reputation of be- ing a cautious business man.” Mrs. Barker bit her lip. Her companion had been recognized. She rose with a slight fizrt of her skirt. “I suppose I must go ana get @ room; there was nobody in the office when I came. Everything is badly man- | aged here since my father took away the test servants to Hymettus.” She moved with affected carelessness toward the door, when Mrs. Horncasile, without rising from her seat, said: “Why not stay here?” Mrs. Barker brightened for a moment. “Oh,” she said, with polite deprecation, couidn’t think of turning you out.” “I don’t intend you shall,” said Mrs. { Horncastle. “We will stay here together ) until you go with me to Hymettus, or until | Mr. Van Loo leaves the hotel. He will / hardly attempt to come in here again if I remain.” Mrs. Barker, with a half laugh, sat down irresolutely. Mrs. Horncastie gazed at her curiousiy. She was evidently a novice in this sort of thing. But, strange to say—and I leave the ethics of this for the sex to set- tle—the fact did not soften Mrs. Horncas- tle’s heart, nor in the least qualify her at- titude toward the younger woman. After an awkward pause Mrs. Barker rose again. “Well, it's very good of you, and—and—I'll just run out and wash my hands and get the dust off me and come back.” “No, Mrs. Barker,” said Mrs. Horncastle, rising and approaching her, “you ‘will first wash your hands of this Mr. Van Loo, and get some of the dust of the rendezvous off you before you do anything else. You can do it by simply telling him, should you meet him in the hall, that I was sitting here when he came in and heard every- thing. Depend upon it, he won't trouble you again.” But Mrs. Barker, though inexperienced in love, was a good fighter. The best of the sex are. She dropped into the rocking chair, and began rocking backward and forward while still tugging at her gloves, and said, in a gradually warming voice: “I certainly shall not magnify Mr. Van Loo’s silliness to that importance. And I have yet to learn what you mean by talk- ing about a rendezvous. And I want to know,” she continued, suddenly stopping her rocking and tilting the rockers {m- Pertinently behind her, as, with her elbows Squared on the chair arms, she tilted her own face defiantly up into Mrs. Horn- castle's, “how a woman in your position— who don’t live with her husband—dares to tal.;.to me.” There was a lull before the storm. Mrs. Horncastle approached nearer, and, laying her hand on the back of the chair, leaned over her, and, with a white face and a metallic ring in her voice, said: ‘It is just because I am a woman in my position that I do! It ts because I don't live with my husband that I can tell you what it will be when you no longer live with yours—which will be the inevitable result of what you are now doing. It is because I was in this position that the very man who is pursu- ing you because he thinks you are discon- tented with your husband once thought he could pursue me because I had left mine. You are here with him alone, without the knéwledge of your husband; call it folly, caprice, vanity or what you like, it can have but one end—to put you in my place at last, to be considered the fair game afterward for any man who may succeed him. You can test him and the truth of as I say by telling him now that I heard “Suppose he beard?” said doesn’t care what you have Mrs. Barker, sharply. “Sup- boned re nobody — believe Mo iz a your game. unnose he is a friend of my husband, and he thinks him @ much better guardian of my reputation than @ woman like you. Suppose he sho be the first one to tell my husband of the foul slander invented by you?” For an instant Mrs. Horncastle was taken aback by the audacity of the woman be- “Quite sure, miss,” said the stableman, “for he was in the yard when Steptoe came after missing the coach. He wanted a bug- By to take him over to the Divide. We hadn't one, so he went over to the other stables, ard he didn’t come back, so I reckon he’s gcre. I remember it because Steptoe came by a minute after he'd gone in another bug- gy, and, as he was going to the Divide, tco, I wondered why the gentleman hadn't gcne with him.” “And he left no message for me? He said nothing?” asked Mrs. Barker, quite breath- less, but still smiling. os “He said nothing to me but “Isn’t that Steptoe over there?’ when Steptoe came in. And I remember he said it kinder suddent— as if he was reminded o’ suthin’ he'd for- got, and then he asked for a buggy. Ye see, miss,” added the man, with a certain rcugh consideration for her disappoint- ment, “that's mebbe why he clean forgot te leave a message.” Mrs. Barker turned away and ascended the stairs. Selfishness is quick to recognize selfishness, and she saw in a flash the rea- son of Van Loo’s abandonment of her. Scme fear of dicovery had alarmed Him; perhaps Steptoe knew her husband; per- haps he had heard of Mrs. Horncastle's possession of the sitting room; perhaps—for she had not seen him since their playful struggle at the door—he had recognized the woman who was there, and the selfish cow- ard had run away. Yes; Mrs. Horncastle was right; she had been only a miserable upe. Her cheeks blazed as she entered the room she had just quitted, and threw her- self in'a chair by the window. She bit her lips as she remembered how for the last three months she had been slowly yielding to Van Loo’s cautious but insinuating so- licitation, from a flirtation in the San Fran- cisco hotel to a clandestine meeting in the Street; from a ride in the suburbs to a supper in a fast ‘restaurant after the theater. Other women did it who were fashionable and rich, as Van Loo had Ppoint- ed out to her. Other fashionable women also gambled in stocks and had their pri- vate broker in a “Charley” or a “Jack.” Why should not Mrs. Barker have business with a “Paul” Van Loo, particularly, as his fast craze permitted secret meetings— for business of this kind could not be con- ducted in pubMc, and permitted the fair gamblers to call at private offices without fear and without reproach? Mrs. Barker's vanity, Mrs. Barker's love of ceremony and form, Mrs, Barker's snobbishness, were flattered by the attentions of this polished gentleman with a foreign name, which even had the flavor of nobility, who never picked up her fan and handed it to her without bowing, and always rose when she entered the room. Mrs. Barker's scant schoolgirl knowledge was touched by this gentleman who spoke French fluently, and delicately explained to her the lMbretto of a risky opera bouffe. And now she had finally yielded to a meet- ing out of San Francisco—and an ostensible visit—still @8 a speculator—to one or two mining districts—with her broker. Was the boldest of her steps—an original idea of the fashionable Van Loo—which, no doubt, in time would become a craze, too. But it was a long step—and there was @ strea! of rustic decorum in Mrs. Ber- ker’s nature—the instinct that made Kitty Carter keep @ perfectly secluded and dis- ‘the fro old home in her father’s hotel, Ka was cs this: propeteties: rie had revived in er suddenly at the of the sitting ps @ new mn her. hase of the situatio: = it was hard for hi seme fore her. She knew the simple confidence and boyish trust of Barker in his wife, in spite of their sometimes on es relations, and she knew how diffoult it would be to shake it. And she had no {dea of betray- Ee Mrs. Barker's secret e him, though interest. Tad Bot in love with Mrs. Barker, and puzsied her when she considered ‘|owho arrived frém Eur 5 she-would not-xtay to be insulted, and they, | and double consciousness came over ‘her -thus secure Brest her intrusion, wer Yaughing at ? She ‘half'roge’at thi thought, but—a-seund of horses’ hoofs: in- the window’ wweh gave upon it, and crouching down-beside it, eagerly. The clatter. pages he stableman. was talking e- one; suddenly she eard the sta say, “Mrs. Barker is ere,” Her haart, ‘Wan-Loo had re- turned. = 2 5-bb But here itip,volce of the other man, which she hag not yet heard, arose for the first tinre distinct. “Are ‘you quite sure? I ‘di@n’t know she left San Francisco.” .. 74 The room reste? srountt her. The voice was George her husband! “Very well,” he coftin#éd, “you needn't put up my horse for!the-night. I may take her back a little tateritn the buggy.” In another :homent she had swept down the passage aad burst into the other room. Mrs. Horncastle was sitting by the table, with a book inher hand. She started as the half-maddened woman closed the door, locked it behind her, and cast herself on her knees at her feet. “My. husband is here,” she gasped. “What shall I do? In heaven’s name, help me.” “Is Van Loo still here?” asked Mrs. Horncastle, quickly. “No; gone. He went when I came.” Mrs. Horncastle caught her hand and looked intently into her frightened face. “Then what have you to fear from your husband?” she said abruptly. You don’t understand. He didn’t know I was here. He thought me in San Fran- { cisco.” £ “Does.ihe know it now?” “Yes. I heard the stableman tell him. Couldn’t you say I came here with you; that we were here together; that it was just a little freak.of ours? Qh, no!” Mrs.. Horncastle thought’ a moment. “Yes,” she saia, “we'll sée him here to- gether.’ “Oh, no! No!” ‘said Mrs. Barker, sud- denly, “clinging to her dress and looking fearfully toward the door.’ “I couldn't, couldn't see him now. Say I'm sick, tired out, gone to my room.” “But -you'll have to see him later,” said Mrs. Horncastle, wonderingly. “Yes, but he may go first. I heard him tell them not to put up his horse.” “Good,” said Mrs. Horncastle, suddenly. “Go te your room and lock the door, and YN come to-you later. Stop. Would Mr. Barkerbe likely to disturb you if I told him you would like to be alone?” “No, he never does. I often tell him that."* ; Mrs. Horncastle smiled faintly. ‘Come, quick, then,” she said, “for he may come here first.” Opening the door, she passed into the half-dark and empty. hall. “Now run!” She heard the quick rustle of Mrs. Barker's skirt dle away in the distance, the opening and shutting of a door, silence, and then turned back into her own room. She was none too soon. Presently she heard Barker's voice, saying, ““Fhank you, I can find the way,” kis still buoyant step on the staircase, and then saw his brown curls rising above the railing. The light streaming through the open door of the sitting room into the half-lit hall had par- tially dazzled him, and, already bewildered, he was still more dazzled at the unex- pected apparition of the smiling face and bright eyes of Mrs. Horncastle standing in the doorway. . “You have fairly caught us,” she said, with charming composure, ‘but I had half a mind to let you wander round the hotel a little longer. Come in.” Barker followed her ‘in mechanically, and she closed the door. “Now sit down,” she said gayly, “and tell me how ‘you knew we were here, -and what you mean by surprising us at this hour.”” Barker's read@yscolor always rose on meet- ing Mrs. Horngastle, for whom he enter- tained a resp¢gtful, admiration, not with- out some fear; of her worldly superiority. He flushed, bowed,, and stared somewhat blankly around. the room, at the familiar walls, at the chair from which Mrs. Horn. castle had just risen, and finally at his wife's gloves, which Mrs. Horncastle had @ moment befote' ostentatiously thrown on the table; seeing which, she pounced upon it with assumed archness, and pretended to conceal it. -. ee “I had no idpa my wife was‘here,” he id at last, ‘and I was quite surprised when the man told me, for she had not , written» ta me,about it, As his face was brightening; she for the first time noticed that his frank, ggay eyes had an abstracted look, and there ‘was a faint line of qon- action. on _his iggitnent forehesd. “‘$till 88," tie Added, “Md I took for fe pleas- to fiquire about my ol rtner, Remo! at, a few days 4g0, and who should haye reached Hyme{tus early this afternoon: But now I hear he came all the way. by Coach instead of by rail, and got off at the cross-road, and we must have passed each other on fhe ale ‘ferent trails. So my journey would Have gone for nothing, only that I now shall have the pleasure of going back with you ‘and Kitty. It will be a lovely drive by moonlight. Relieved by this revelation, it was easy work for Mrs. Horncastle to launch out into a playful, tantalizing, witty—but, I grieve to say, entirely imaginative—ac. count of her escaped with Mrs. Barker. How, left alone at the San Francisco Hotel while their gentlemen friends were enjoy- ing themselves at Hymettus, they resolved upon a little trip, party for the purpose of looking into some small investments of their own and partly for the fun of the thing. What funny experience they had. How, in particular, one horridly inquisitive, vul- gar wretch had been boring a European fellow passenger‘who was going to Hymet- tus, finally asking him where he had come from at last, and when he answered “Hy- mettus,” thought the man was insulting him— “Buf,” interrupted the laughing Barker, “that passenger may have been Demorest, who has just come from Greece, and surely Kitty would have recognized him.” Mrs. Horncastle instantly saw her blun- der, and not only retrieved it, but turned it to account. Ah, yes! But by that time poor Kitty, unused to long journeys and the heat, was utterly fagged out, was asleep and perfectly unrecognizable in veils and dusters on the back seat of the coach. And this brought her to the point—which was that she was sorry to say. on arriv- ing the ‘poor child was nearly wild with a headache from fatigue and had gone to bed, and she had promised not to disturb er. The undisguised amusement, mingled with relief, that had overspread Barker's face during this lively recital might have pricked the corscience of Mrs. Horncastle, but for some reason I fear it didn’t. But it emboldened her to go on. “I said’ I promised her that I would see.she wasn’t disturbed, but, of course, now that you, her husband, have come, if—” “Not for worlds,” interrupted Barker, earnestly. “I know poor Kitty’s headaches, and I never disturb her, poor child, except when I’m thoughtless.” And here one of the most thoughtless men in the world in his sensitive consideration of others beamed at her with such frank and wonderful eyes that the arch hypocrite before him with difficulty suppressed a hysterical de- sire to laugh and felt the conscious blood flush her to the roots of hér hair. “You know,” he went on with a sigh, half of relief and half of reminiscence, “that I often think thet I’m a great bother to a clear-headed, sensiile girl like Kitty. She knows people so much better than I do. She's wonderfully equipped for the world, an ‘ga, only ‘lucky,’ as every- and,’ Y<dare say, part of my luck was to have got her. I’m very glad she's a frien 2 of yours, you know, for somehow I always fancied that you were not interested fn Her, or that you didn’t understand each other, until now. It’s odd that nice women-don’t always like nice women, Ien’t it? I’m glad she was with you, for I was uk startled to hear she was here, and Couldn't make it out. I thought at first.she might have got anx- fous about our :little ‘Sta,’ who is with me and the nurse at Hymettus. But I’m glad it was .@jark. I shouldn’t won- der,” he added,” with a laugh, “although she always 8 she isn’t one of those ‘doting, idiotic: mothers,’ that she found ft thought it wad Detter for ne tontabe Ate thoug! wag Detter for me for @ change of air.” that -for-@ moment. prevented her from meeting his honest eyes. She fejt the shame of being an accomplice mingled with a fierce joy at the ~of a climax that might separate him from his. wife forever. Luckily he did not notice it, but with a continued sense of relief threw himself back in his chair, and, glancing familiarly round 1e walls, broke into his youthful laugh. “Lord! how I remember this room in the old days. It was Kitty's own private sit- ting room, you know, and I used to think it locked just as fresh and pretty as she. I used to think her crayon drawing won- derful, and sti more wonderful that she should have that unn talent when it was quite enough for her to be just ‘Kitty.’ You know, don’t you, how you feel at those.times, when you're quite happy in being inferior—"” He stopped a moment with a sudden recollection that Mrs. Horncastle’s marriage had been notori- ously unhappy. “I mean,” he went on with a shy little laugh and an innocent at- tempt at gallantry which the very direct- ness of his ample nature made atrociously obvious. “I mean what you have made lots of young fellows feel. There used to be & picture of Colonel Brigg on the maniel- Piece, in full unifurm, ard signed by him- self ‘for Kitty;’ and, Lord! how jealous 1 was of it, for Kitty never took presents from gentlemen, and nobdy, even, was allowed in here, though she helped her father all over the hotel. She was aw- fully strict in those days,” he interpolated, with a thcughtful look and a half sigh, “but then she wasn’t married. I proposed to her in this very room! Lord! I. re- member how frightened I was.”” He stopped for an instant and then sqajd with a certain timidity, “Do you mind” my telling you something about it?’ Mrs. Horncastle was hardly prepared to hear these, ingenuous domestic details, but she smiled vaguely, although she could not suppress a somewhat impatient move- ment with her hands. Even Barker noticed it, but to her surprise moved a little nea: er to her, and in a half-entreating w said: “I hope I don’t bore you, but it’s something confidential. Do you know that she first refused me?” Mrs. Horncastle smiled, but could not resist a slight toss of her head. “I be- Meve they all do when they are sure of a man.” “No!” said Barker, eagerly, “you don’t understand. I proposed to her because 1 thought I was rich. In a foolish moment I thought I had discovered that some old stocks I had had acquired a fabulous value. She believed it, too. but because she thought I was now a rich man and she only a poor girl—a mere servant to her father’s guests—she refused me. Re- fused me because she thought I might re- gret it in the future, because she would not have it said that she had taken ad- vantage of my proposal cnly when I was rich enovgh to make it.” “Well,” said Mrs, Horncastle, incredulous- ly, looking straight before her, “and then?’ “In about an hour I discovered my error, that my stocks were worthless; 3 still a poor man. I thought it only honest te return to her and tell her, even though I had no hope. Then she pitied me and cried and accepted me. I tell it to you as her friend.” He drew a little nearer and quite fraternally laid his hand upon her own. “I know you won't betray me, though you may think it wrong for me to have told it; but I wanted you to know how good she was and true.” For a-moment Mrs. Horncastle was amazed and discomfited, although she saw, with the inscrutable instinct of her sex, no inconsistency between the Kitty of those days and the Kitty now shamefully hiding from her husband in the same hotel. No doubt Kitty had some good reason for her chivalrous act. But she could see the un- mistakable effect of that act upon the more logically reasoning husband, and that it might lead him to be more merciful to the later wrong. And there was a keener irony that his first -movement of unconscious kindliness toward her was the outcome ef his affection for his undeserving wife. “You said just now she was more prac- tical than you,” she said dryly. “Apart from this evidence of it, what other rea- sons have you for thinking so? Do you re- fer to her independence or her dealings in the stock market?” she added with a laugh. “No,” said Barker seriously, “for I do not think her quite practical there—indeed, I'm afraid she is about as bad as I am, But I’m glad you have spoken, for now I can talk confidentially with you, and as you and she are both in the same ventures, perhaps she will feel less compunction in hearing from you—as yeur own opinion— what I have to tell you than if I.spoke to her my:elf. I am afraid she trusts im- Plicitly to Van Loo’s judgment as her brok- ‘er. I believe he is strictly honorable, but the general opinion of his business insight is not high. They—perhaps I ought to say he—have been at least so unlucky that they might have learned prudence. The loss of $20,000 in three months——” “Twenty thousand!” echoed Mrs. Horn- castle, “Yes; why, you knew that; it was in the mine you, and she visited; or, perhaps,” he added hastily, as he flushed at his indis- cretion, “she didn’t tell you that.” But Mrs. Horncastle as hastily said, “Yes —yes—of course, only I had forgotten the amount,” and he continued: “That loss would have frightened any man; but you women are more daring. Only Van Loo ought to have withdrawn. Don't you think so? Of course I couldn’t say anything to him without seeming to condemn my own wife; I couldn’t say any- thing to her because it’s her own money.” “I did not know that Mrs. Barker had any money of her own,” said Mrs. Horn- castle. “Well, I gave it to h said Barker, with sublime simplicity, “and that would make it all the worse for me to speak about it.” Mrs. Horncastle was silent. A new theory flashed upon her which seemed to reconcile all the previous inconsistencies of the situ- ation. Van Loo. under the guise of a lover, was really possessing hiraself of Mrs. Bar- ker’s money. This accounted for the risks he was running in this escapade, which were so incongruous to the rascal’s nature. He was calculating that the scandal of an intrigue would relieve him of the perils of criminal defalcation. It was compatible with Kitty’s Innocence, though it did not relieve her vanity of the part it played in this despicable comedy of passion. All that Mrs. Horncastle thought of now was the effect of its eventua! revelation upon the man before her. Of course, he would ov look his wife’s trustfulnees and business ig- ncrance—it would seem so like his own un- selfish faith. That was the fault of all un- selfish goodness; it even took the color of adjacent evil, without altering the nature of either. Mrs. Horncastle set her teeth tightly together, but her beautiful mouth smiled upon Barker, though her eyes were bent upon the tablecloth before her. “I shall do all I can to impress your views upon her,” she said at last, hough I fear they will hav€ Uttle weight if given as my own. And you overrate my general infiu- ence with her.” Her handsome head drooped in such a thoughtful humility that Barker instinc- tively drew nearer to her. Besides she had not lifted her dark lashes for some mo- ments, and he had the still youthful habit of looking frankly into the eyes of those he addressed. “No,” he said eagerly; “how could I? She could not help but love you and do as you would wish. I can’t tell you how glad and relieved I am to find that you and she have become such friends. You know I always thought you beautiful. I always thought you so clever—I was even a little frightened of you, but I never until now new you were so good. No, stop. Yes, I did know it. Do you remember once in San Francisco, when I found you with ‘Sta’ in your lap in the drawing room? I knew it then. You tried to make me think it was a whim—the fancy of a bored and worried woman. But I knew better. And I knew what you were thinking then. Shall I tell you?” As her eyes were still cast down, al- though her mouth was still smiling, in his endeavors to look into them his face was quite near hers. He fancied that it bore the look she had worn once before. less and dione. You were pitying it—you know you were—because there was no one to give it the loving care that was its due, and because It was intrusted to that hired nurse in that great hotel. You were think- ing how you. would love it if it were yours, and how cruel ‘it was that love was sent without an object filncbvae' itself upon. e. suddenly lifted her eyes and looked full into his ik held and pos- sessed him. Yor a moment his whole soul- seerced- to tr€mble on the verge of their luscious depths, and he drew back dizzy and frightened. What he saw there he never clearly: THE LEADING BREWERY IN THE WORLD. Brewers of the Most Wholesome and Popular Beers. The Original Budweiser The Michelob The Muenchener Served on all Pullman The Faust The Anheuser The Pale Lager Dining and Buffet Cars. Served on all Wagner Dining and Buffet Cars. Served on all Ocean and Lake Steamers. Served in all First Class Hotels. Served in the Best Families. Served in all Fine Clubs. The Two Greatest Tonics, ‘‘Malt-Nutrine” and ‘‘Liquid Bread” a prepared by this Association, ap3-s,m&w39t were both row linked by an understanding and consciousness that was irretrievable, ceme over him. He rose awkwardly and went to the window. She rose also, but more leisurely and easily, moved one of the books on the table, smoothed out her skirts, and changed er seat to a little sofa. It is the woman whe always comes out of these crucial moments unruffled. “I suppose you will be glad to see your friend, Mr. Demorest, when you go back,” she satd, pleasantly. “For, of course, he will be at Hymettus awaiting you.” He turned eagerly, as he always did at the name. But even then he felt Demorest was no longer of such impoert- ance to him. He felt, too, that he was not yet quite sure of his voice, or even what to say. As he hesitated, she went on, half playfully: “It seems hard that you had to come all the way here on such a bootless errand. You haven't even seen your wife yet.” The mention of his wife recalled iim to himself, oddly enough, name had failed. But very differently. Out of his whirling consciousness came the instinctive feeling that he could not see her now. He turned, crossed the room, sat down on the sofa beside Mrs. Horn- castle, and without, however, looking at her, said, with his eyes on the floor, “No; and I’ve been thinking that it’s hardly worth while to disturb her so early tomor- row as I should have to go. So I think it’s 4 good deal better to let her have a good night's rest, remain here quietly with you tomorrow urti! the stage leaves, and that both of you come over together. My horse is still saddled, and I will be back at H mettus belore Demorest has gone to bed.” (To be continued.) He Knows. I know not what will befall me! God hangs a mist o'er ty cyes, And o'er each step of’ my onward path be makes Rew scenes to tise, And every joy be sends me comes as a sweet and glad surprise. I see rot a step before me, as I tread the days of Bat_the jets still tn God keep ts ut the past is in God's . the future His mercy shall clear, eres And what looks dark in the distance shall brighten as I draw wear. :Bor, perhape the dreaded future is less bitter than Lord may sweeten the water before I stoop to 3 Or, if Marah must be Marah, He will stand beside its brink. = It may be there is waiting for the coming of my ree Some gift of such rare blessedness, some joy 90 strangely sweet, That my lips can’ only tremble with the thanks I cannot speak. © restful, blissful ignorance! "Tis blessed not to know; It keeps me quict in those arms which will not let me go, And bushes my soul to rest on the bosoin which loves me 80. So I go on not knowing! I would not if I might: I would rather walk in the dark with God than go alone in the light; I would rather walk with Him by faith than walk alone by sight. My heart shrinks back from trials which future may disclose, Yet I never bad a sorriw but what the dear Fond the chose, So I send the coming tears back with the whis- Dered words, “He knows.” Miss G. ERAINARD. From the New York Indep Professor Roberts-Austin has made the remarkable discove! only capable of di‘fusing into each other when they are molten, but also when they are cold. He has shown that if clean surfaces of lead and gold are held together in vacuo at a temperature of only 40 de- grecs for four days they will unite tirmly and can be separated only by a force equal to one-third of the breaking strain of lead itself. Gold placed at the bottom of a cylinder of lead 70 milimeters long thus united with it will have diffused to the top in notable quantities at the end of three days. Such facts as these will tend to modify, if not to revolutionize, our no- tions of solids and our ideas of the rela- tions to the liquid and solid states of mat- ter and open up a wide area of applica- tion. —————— A Hopeful Outlook. From the Chicago Record. She—“An electrical piano has been in- vented. ° He—“Good! Some of them may get struck by lightning.” ——_ + e+ ____ “Want” ads. in The Star pay because they bring answers. that | when Denorest's | FASHION WILL NOT BE CRUSHED. Nor Women Ce. tered Birds | From the Boston Herald It is hopeless, good people. De what you will, a few enthusiastic crusaders can nev- er crush out fashion. You may scotch the snake, but you can never kill the varmint consuming the bright-plumaged denizens of the air. Birdless hats and bonnets, indeed! | Would that it were possible to make it a criminal act to destroy even one bird. Every season the anti-bird millinery socte- ty begins to beg, pray and entreat for mer- cy to the mosi beautiful of all the species, but a class of inhumans, whose bread and butter depend on supplying makers of modes with rarest specimens for ornament, | cry out, and the work goes on as before. The slaughter of birds is a business. It must not be interfered with. Down in Italy, up on the wild coast of England, among the forests of the tropics, even in the woods and fields of civilized America, cruelty hes j run riot, in order that designers of m | dame’s bonnet may have feathers to stick | on it. Talk of “protecting wool,” let the feminine world “protec birds by refus- ing to admire, and much less buy, the fea- ther-trimmed headgear set before it as the “latest fashion!” So universal was the out- cry in England last year at the wholesale slaughter of the prey that ladies were afraid to wear their beautiful aigrettes, and leading milliners soon sought other a vices to take the place of that airy orna- ment. But what did they do- Oh, simply be- gan to kill birds of paradise. The plumage of that gorgeous creature was an excellent substitute for those nesting mothers whose race had been almost exterminated. Fortu- nately, as the plumes of the bird of para- dise are costly, and not becoming to every wearer, their fashion may not last very jong. The murder of the innocent will be- gin once more, unless, perhaps, public opin- ion makes it impossible. Shame be it said, but there is not one woman in a thousand, when purchasing her hats, who gives a | thought to the feathers introduced into its chic trimming. The effect pleases her, and if she is able to pay the price, that is the end of it. Ostrich plumes are not included in the anti-bird millinery crusade, and if ; the feathers of domestic fowls can be util- ized for purposes of ornamentation, well and good. They will never become extinct. aa sess Some Late New Things. From the Chicago News. A new device for use in the sick room consists of a spoon having a dial in the handle, with the hours and half hours marked on it and an arrow revolved by a knob, to Indicate the time for each dose of medicine. Among the many new devices to assist the blind, one of the best is a type in which ‘the keys have raised lett which punctures the paper with efth ters or the dots contained in one blind alphabets. For the purpose of preventing scarf pins frem coming out a handy new device is | composed of a small piece of wire coiled into a spring and attached a chain or cord to the ti the pin being pressed into tie end of the’ coil. A recently patented safety check for berks has coupons attached to the upper edge and each end, representing tens, hun- dreds and thousands of dollars, the lerger coupons being detached until the right amcunt Is reached, when it is desired to use the check. One of the most handy wrappers for use in doing up newspapers and the like has a plurality of slots placed in a straight lite across the outside thickness of the paper, so that when it is grasped in both hands and given a slight twist crosswise it breaks along this line. — Third Upper Set of Teeth. From the Clevelend Plain Dealer. Mrs. J. J. Lower, an aged lady residing at Orrville, Wayne county, Ohio, is experienc- ing a singular freak of nature in the way of cutting her third set of upper teeth, she having lost her original second set ten years ago, after a severe attack of sickness. Early last fall she suffered greatly from weakness of her eyesight and an inflamed Condition of her eyes. Since then she also suffered from much swelling and pein of the gums. The result is a large-sized eye tooth, which is almost full grown, while other teeth are rapidly pushing their way through the gums. Dr. Eugene D. Yager, who extracted and made Mrs. Lower’s ar- tificial teeth, pronounces the case almost unknown in the history of dentistry.