Evening Star Newspaper, July 17, 1897, Page 19

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JULY 17, 1897-24 PAGES. 19 “SHREWSBURY.” BY STANLEY J. WEYMAN. , 1897, by Stanley J. Weyman.) Xll—Continued From Last Saturday's St: I suppose that there never was an abrupt change in the government of a nation more quietly, successfully and bloodlessly carried through than our great revolution. But it is the way of the pendulum to swing back; and it was not long before those who had been most deeply concerned in the event began to reflect and compare; nor, with the example before them of the civil war and the consequent restoration—that great warning against rebellion—being also per- sons bred right and passive obedience, whether they had imbibed these doctrines or not, was it wonderful if a proportion of them soon turned to repenting at leisure (Copstts Chapter what they had done in haste The late king’s harsh and implacable temper and the rity with which he had suppressed one rising were not calculaced to reassure men when they began to doubt. The pos- sibility of his return hung over the more timid as a thick cloud, while the favors which the new king showered on his Dutch advisers, the wretched state of the coin and of trade and the many disasters that attended the first years of the 1.ew govern- ment, were sufficient to shake the confi- dence and chili the hearts even of the stoat- est and most patriotic. So bad did things become that it was more than once rumored that King William weuld. abdicate: and this aggravating the general uncertainty, many in high places spent their days in a dreadful looking for- ward to judgment, nor ever I believe slept without dreaming of Tower Hill, the ax and the sawdust. The natural result fol- lowed. While many hastened in to make their peace with St. Germains, others either as a matter of conscience or because they felt that they had offended too deeply re- Mained constant, but perceiving treachery in the air, and themselves beset with the daily fear of invasion, breathed nothing but threats and denunciations against the seceders. Hence a period of plots and counterplots, of perjury and intrigue, of denunciations and accusations real ‘and such as I believe no other country ever known, the Jacobites considering toration certain and the time only doubtful, while the whigs in their hearts were Inclined to agree with them and fear- ed the worst. During seven such years I worked on quietly with Mr. Brome, who, partly, I think, because he had come to his political ngs late in life. and partly because tories and Jacobites already had a r in the notorious Mr. Dyer—to letters Mr. Dryden, it was said, ome tribute — remained 1st in his whig opinions, and did no lit- the country parts to lessen the stir the non-jurors’ comp! nts must have I saw much of him and little of and being honestly busy and honor- y emple i—not that my le made any in the coffee houses, which was nee it all passed —I began to regard my l came to London as an ugly It had left me, however, with two es which are not common at the » which I had then reached; the one a tade and a retired ‘life, which, ion me at first by my fear of de- . srew by and by into a habit, the an averseness for women ‘that ed almost to fear of them. Mr. Wio was a confirmed bachelor, did to alter my views on either point, oncile me to the world! and as my passed between my attic in Bride his apartment in Fleet street, had a tolerable library, few were inted with public ‘affairs or had |} xperlence of private than I; or knew more intimately the order of ‘the s and the aspect of the houses between > Fieet prison and St. Dunstan's Church. mart partly out of a de- s2if off from my former Ie, known to no one in Hert- but some five years aft my ar- ondon, having a sudden craving I walked down one Sun- There ng cautions in- hop cf Siordford carrier, I ; h, and on the return jour- -urst once mto a great fit of weeping hought of some kind word or other ken to me. But with that trib- i Idi i my family, and that goed fri om my mii going t my lod with a contentment this glimp = of my former life won- ee the cruel woman who had I was not likely to hear; but a a he the only stranger {nium had shown me kind ame my pen was frequently transcribe, and whose fame ys in all men’s mouths. 1 heard that my nm one of the s to sign the invi- used others abl had ure the youngest t the king had named him two secretaries of state: and two years, curing which his nd more the public ear, ood for the govtrnment, that nd mysteriously igned d retired into the country. in the same year, in the sad days at of Beachy Head, jailed the channel, and © the most confident t he had ridden post to ace his sword and purse feet; and then again, but hen 2 ars of silence I heard with h surprise, that fice unt stood 's favor. died. This, who thronged th nd lived by this new t ne disclosures of thet ormers. In the precarious po- the zov< : stood they nor even s. stand on its of alarm, therefore, aon ng to close the ute a house-to-house for Jacobites, the most notorious i and ad-lresses of the less taken. One of these searches prised the city in the month of had for me results so im- may make it the beginning cutive narrative. 1 to be sitting Im my attte ing over a | shape some whiz nage bill, our news letter ten ‘ing more and more to take the form of a pamphlet. A frugal supper, long postponed, siood at my eliow, and the first I knew of the search, a man without warni my door, which . and thrust in his head. I rose in alarm; and we stared ther a moment by the light of my Only the intruder’s head but I could see that he k, and a great bird's Was on the late Naturali he, utter a moment's pause, his oyes, leaving me, glittered of the rocm. “I sse you are have a very handy ‘curtain Strange an exordium The stranger nodded d, and siowly ec ard a sharp, tapering 2 to grotesque ugliness pite of which his features wore a smirk of impor and though he breathed quicly, "ke a’ man pressed and in haste, it was impossible not to see that he was master of himself. And of me, for when I went to ask him his meaning, he shot out his great under- lip at me and showed me with an ugly grin the long barrel of a horse pistol that he carried under his cassock. I recoiled. “Good sir,” he said, “tis an argument I thought would have weight with you. To be short, I have to ask your hospitality. There is a search for Jacobites: at any moment the messengers may be here. I live opposite to you and am a@ Nonjuring clergyman, liable to suspicion: you are a friend of Mr. Timothy Brome, who ts known to be weil affected to the govern- ment. I propose, therefore, to stand be- hind the curtain of your bed. Your room will not be searched, nor shail I be found if you play your part. If you fail to play it, then I shall be taken, but you, my dear friend, will not see it.” He said the last words with another of hfB terrible grins, and tapped the barrel of hie pistol with so much meaning that I felt the blood leave my cheeks. He took this for @ proof of his prowess, and, nodding. | as well content, he stood for a moment ti ‘ of his aspect | Cutis’ the middle of the floor to listen. the tail of his eye on me. Ale had no reason to watch me, however, for I was unarmed and cowed besides; nor had we stood many seconds before a noise of voices and weapons with the trampling of feet broke out on the stairs, and at once confirmed his story and proved the urgency of his need. Apparently he was aware of the course things would take, and that the constables and messengers’ would first search the lower floors, for instead of be- taking himself forthwith to his place of hiding, he looked cunningly round the chamber, and roughly bade me sit down to my papers. “Do you say at once that Yet with | you are Mr. Brome’s writer?” he continued with an oath; “and, remember, my man, betray me by a word or sign and I strew your brains on the floor!” After that threat, and though he went then and hid his hateful face—which al- ready filled me with fear and repugnance beyond description—behind the curtain, where, between bed and wall, there was a slender space, I had much ado to keep my seat and my self-control. In the silence which now filled the room I could hear his breathing, and I felt sure that the search- ers must hear it also when they entered. Assured that the Sancrofts and Kens, and the honest but misguided folk who fol- lowed them, did not carry pistols, I gave no credit to his statement that he was a Nonjuring parson, but deemed him some desperate highwayman or plotter, whcse Presence in my room, should he be dis- covered, and should I by good luck escape his malice, would land me at the best in Bridewell or the Marshalsea. By and by the candlewick grew long, and terrified at the prospect of being left in the dark with him, I went to snuff it. With a savage word he whispered me to let it be, and after that I had no choice but to sit, wait- ing in fear and semi-darkness, listening to the banging of doors below, and the alter- nate rising and falling of voices as the search party entered or issued from the successive rooms. In my chamber, with its four white- washed walls and few sticks of furmiture, there was but one place where a man could stand and be unseen, and that was behind the curtain. The most heedless messengef must search there, I thought, and, listen- ing to the steps ascending to the last flight, I was in an agony, foreseeing the moment when the constable would carelessly and mark me? Then, d—n you, down on your knees! Down on your knees, you white- livered dog, and swear by the gospels you will tell no living soul by tongue or pen that you have seen me.” He pressed the ring of cold steel to my elbow, and I knelt and swere. When it was done he roared and jJeered at me. ‘‘You see I have my oath," he cried, “as well as little Hooknose!"” And no non-jurors! Now say, ‘Down with King William!’ * 1 said it. “Louder! Louder!” he cried. I could only comply. “Now, write it! write it!” he continued, thrusting a piece of paper under my nose and slapping his huge hand upon it. “I'll bave it in black and white, or write this— ha, ha! That will be better. Are you ready? Write, ‘I_hereby abjure—my alle- giance to Prince William.’ ” “No,” I said faintly, laying down the pen which I had taken up at his bidding, “I will not write it.” “You will write it,” he answered, in a terrible tone. “And within a very few sec- onds. Write it at once, sirrah! ‘I hereby abjure my allegiance to Prince William!’ ” I wrote it with a shaking hand after a glance at the pistol muzzle. “‘And swear that I regard—King James as my lawful sovereign. And I undertake’ to obey the rules of the St. Germain’s Club —and to forward its interests.’ Good! Now sign it.” 5 I did so. “Date it,” cried the tyrant, and when I had don end flou: shed it in the air. “There is my passport, quoth he, with an exultant laugh. “When I am taken that will be taken, and when that is taken the worse for Mr. Richard Price if he is taken. He will taste of the hangman's lash. So! You are a clever fellow, Richard Price, but Rob- ert Ferguson is your master, as he has been better men’s.” The man was so much in love with cruel- ty that even when he had gaired his point he could not bear to give up the pleasure of torturing me, and for half an hour he continued to flout and jeer at me, some- times picturing my fate if the paper fell into the secretary’s hands, and sometimes threatening me with his pistol and making sport of my alarm. At last, reluctantly, and after many warnings of what would happen to me if I informed, he took him- self off, and I heard him go into the oppo- perfunctorily draw the curtain—and the flash, the report, the cry, the mad struggle up and down the room which would follow. So strong was this impression that though I had been waiting minutes for it, when the summons came and a hand struck my door, I could not at once find voice to speak. The latch was up and the door half open when I cried “Enter!” and rose. In the doorway appeared three or four faces, a couple of lanterns, hei} high, and a gleam of pike heads. ichard Price, servant to Mr. Brome, newswriter,” cried one, reading in a sonorous voice from a paper. “Well affected,” answered a second—evi- dently the person In command. “Brome is a gool man. I know him. No one hidden here?” “No,” I said, with a loudness and bold- ness that surprised me. “No lodger?” “Non “Right!” he answered. “Good night, and God save King William!’ “Amen! quoth I, and then, not before, my knees began to shake. However, it no longer mattered, for before I could believe that the danger was over, they were gone and had closed the door, and I caught 2 sntygering laugh behind the curtain. Still, they were on the stairs. I heard them knock on the opposite door and troop in there, and I caught the tones of a woman's voice, young and fresh, answering them. But ina minute they came out again, ap- parently satisfied, and crowded down stairs, whereon the man behind the curtain laughed again, and swaggering out, Boab- dil like, shook his fist with furious ges- tures after them. Damn your King William and you, too!” he cried with ferocious ex- ultation. “One of these days God will squeeze him like the rotten orange he is; and if God will not, I wtli! Trot, for the set of pudding-headed, blind-eyed moles that you are! Call yourselves constables! But, as for you, my friend,” he continued, turning to me and throwing down his pis- tol on the table, “you have more spunk than I thought you had, and spoke up like a gentleman of metal. There is my hand My throat was so dry that I could not speak, but I gave him my hand. He gripped it and threw it from hin with a boastful gesture, and, stalking to the further side of the room and back again: ‘There!’ cried he. “Now you can say that you have touched hands with Fer- guson, the famous Ferguson, the Ferguson whose .d 1,0) guineas have been set. Ferguson, the kingmaker, who defied three kings and made three kings and will yet make a fourth! Fire and furtes, do a set of boozing tipstaves think to take the man who outwitted Jeffreys and slipped through Kirke’s lambs?” I stared at iim in astonishment, hearing who he was; but in astonishment the more largely Ieavened with fear and hatred, in- asmuch se 1 knew the reputation he en- Joyed and both what he had done and of what h> was suspected. That in all his adventures and imtrigues he had borne a charmed life, and where Sidney and Russel, Argyle and Monmouth, Rumbold and Ay- loffe had suffered on the scaffold, had es- caped scct free, was one thing and certain, but that men accounted for this in strange Ways was another scarcely less certain. His enemtes, and men, who were only so far his enemies as they were the enemica of all that was most base in human nature, hinted that in all his plots with Russel and with Monmouth, with. Argyle, and with Ayloffe he had played the traitor, and tempting men and inviting men to the gib- bet, had taken good care to go one step further and by betraying them to secure his own neck from peril. Such was the man I saw before me, on whose face, as if heaven purposed-to warn his fellows against him, malignant passion and an tnsane vanity were so plainly stamped that party spirit must have gone lengths indeed before it rendered amen blind to his quality. A shambling galt seemed fitting conveyance for a gaunt, stooping figure so awkward and uncouth that when he gave way to gesticulation he seemed to be moved by wires; yet, once he looked askance at you, face and figure were forgotten in the gleam of the eyes that, treacherous and cruel, leered at you from the penthouse of his huge, ill-fitting wig. 5 Nevertheless, I confess that while I hated and loathed the man, he cowed me. - His latest escape had intoxicated him, and astride on. my table, or stalking the floor, he gave way to his vanity, and, pouring cut a flood of ribald threats and imaxin- ings, now hinted at the fate which had never failed to befall those who thwarted him, now boasted of his cunning and his hundred intrigues, and now touched, not obscurely, on some great design soon to be executed. His audacity no less than his frankness bewildered me; for if he did no: tell me all, he told me enough, were it true, to hang a man. Yet I soon found that he had method in his madness; for while ¥ listened with a shamefaced air, hating him and meditating informing against him the moment I was freed from his presence, he suddenly turned on me with a hideous grin, and, thrusting the muzzle of a pistol against my temple, swore with endless curses to slay me If I betrayed him. “You will go to Brome tomorrow, as usu- al.” he sald. “The whiggish old dotard. I could pluck out his inwards!—and you will say not one word of Mr. Ferguson! For mark me, sirrah Dick, alone or in com- puny, I shall be at your elbow, nor will all guards avail to save you. Do you site rooms and slam the door. Be sure I was not long in securing mine after him. I was in a pitlable state of ter- ror, shaking at thought of the man’s re- turn, and in an ague when I considered the power over me which the paper I had sign- ed gave him. I could hardly believe that in so short a time anything so dreadful could have happened to me. Yet it were hard to say whether with all my terror I did not hate him more than I feared him, for though at one time my heart was water when I thought of betraying him, at another it glowed with rage and loathing, and to spite him and to free myself from him I would risk anything. And as I was not wanting in foresight and could picture with little difficulty the slavery in which he would hold me from that day forward, and wherein his cruel spirit would delight, it was the latter mood that prevailed with me and determined my action when morn- ing came. Reflecting that I could expect no mercy from him, but had little to fear from the government if I told my tale frankly, I de- termined at all risks to go to the secretary. I wouid gladly have done so the moment 1 rose, the thought that at any moment he might burst in upon me keeping me in a cold sweat, but I was prudent enough not to alter my habits or anticipate by a sec- ond the hour at which ft was my custom to descend. I waited In the utmost trepi- dation until half-past 7, when with a quak- ing heart, but a mind made up, I ventured down to the street. It was barely light, but the coffee houses were open, and between early customers to these and barbers passing with their curl- ing tongs and milkmen and hawkers plying morning wares and apprentices setting out their ter’s goods, the ways were full ond noisy, so that I had no reagon to fear pursuit, and in thls hubbub gained courage the further I left my oppressor behind me. Nevertheless, I took the precaution ot geing first to Mr. Brome’s, opposite St. Dunstan's, and, passing in there as usual, Mr gered a little in the entry.. When by this ruse I had made assurance doubly sure I slipped out and through the crowded Strand to Whitehail. Mr. Brome had a species of understand- ing with the government, and on one occa- sion, being ill, had made me his messen- ger to ihe secretary's. I knew the piace, therefore, but none the less gave way to timidity when I saw the crowd of door- keepers, spies, tipstaves and busybodies that hung about the door of the oilice, and teok curious note of every cne who went in or out. My heart began to fail me at the sight, and I was already more than half inclined to go away, my business undor when some one touched my sleeve, and I started and turned. A girl, still in her teens, with a gentle, scared face, and a handkerchief neatly drawn over her head, handed a note to me. ‘For me Yes," she said, without more. I took it and opened it, my hands shak- ing. But when I read the contents, which were these, “Mr. Robert Ferguson's re- Spects to the secretary, and he has today changed his lodging; he will tomorrow be pleased to supply the bearer’s character,” I thought I should have fallen to the ground. Nor was my alarm the less for the refles- tion which immediately arose in my mind that the note had of necessity been written and dispatched before I left Mr. Brome's door, and consequently before I had taken any step toward the execution of my de- sign. till, what I held was but a piece of pa- ber bearing a message from a man pro- scribed, who dared not show his face where I stood. A word to the doorkeepers, and I might even now go in and lay my informa- uen. But the man's omnisclence cowed my spirit, terrified me, and broke me duwn. Assured that whatever I did or wherever I went he would know and be warned in time, and I gain by my information noth- ing but the name of a gull or a cheat, I turned from the door. Then, seeing that thes girl waited, “There is no answer,” [ said. ‘Will you please go to the gentleman quoth she. My jaw dropped. “God forbid!” I said, beginning to tremble. “I think you had better,” said she. _ And this time there was that in her voice roused doubts in me and made me waver, lest what I had done prove insuffi- cient, and he betray me, though I re- frained from informing. Sullenly, there- fore, and after a moment’s thought, I asked her where he was. “I am not to tell you,” she answered. You can come with me, if you please." “Go on,” I said. She cast a glance, I thought, at the group about the office, then turned and, waiking rapidly north by Charing Cross, ied me through St. Martin's lane and Bedford Bury to Covent Garden. Skirting this, she threaded Hart street and Red Lion court, and crossing Drury lane, conducted me by Luke street into Lincoln's Inn fields, where she turned sharply to the left and through Ralph court to the Turnstile. Seeing that she lingered here and from time to time lIcoked back, I fancied that we were near one Co or but, si , ime along Holborn and through Staple Inn. Presently it struck me that we Boa ee aE eee “He 4s in my room?” me to go on and disappeared herself in the mouth of an alley by Green's Rents. found hint sitting on my table ewinere hit on my ing his legs and humming an air; and with so so snatched the paper from me | | devilish a look of malice and triumph on his face as sent my héary into my boots. | Notwithstanding, for a while it was his humor not to speak to me, but to leer at me askance out of the corners of his eyes, and keep me on testerhpoks, expecting what he would say br and this he maintained until he had finished his tune, when, with a grin, he fsKeq- after his friend and secretary. “Was it Trumball you saw, or the new duke?” said he, and when I did not answer he roared out an ost 7a snatching up the pistol which layion fhe table beside him, leveled it at me. “Answer, will you? Do you think I am to*speak twice to such uncovenanted dirt as you? Whom did you see?” te “No one,” I stammered, trembling. “And why not?” he cried.. “And why not, you spawn of Satan?”! “I got your note,” I said. ‘Oh, you got my nete," he whimpered, aropping his voice and mocking my alarm. “Your lordship. got my note, did you? And if you had rot got my note you would have informed, would, you? You would have informed and sent me to the galiows, would you? Answer. Answer, or—" es!” I cried, ‘in an agony of terror, for he was brirging the pistol nearer and near- er to my face while his fingers toyed with the trigger, and at any moment I thought he might press it too sharply. “So! And you tell me this to my face, do you?” he answered, cying me so truculently that I held up my hands and backed to the door. “You dare tell me that, do you? Come here, sirrah!" I_ hesitated. “Come here,” he cried, “or, by = will shoot you! For the last time, come here!” I went nearer. “Oh, but I would like to see you in the boot.” he said. “It would be the finest sight. It would not necd the turn of a screw to make you cry out! And mind you,” ne continued, suddenly seizing my ear in his great hand and twisting it until I screamed, “in a boot of some xind or other 1 shali have you if you play me false! Wo you understand, eh2 Do you understand, you sheep in wolf's clothing?” “Yes!” I cried. “Yes, yes!" He had forced me to my knees and brought his cruel, sneering face close to mine. “Very well. Then get up—it you have learned your lesson. You have had one proof thut I know more than others. Do not seek another. But, umph! where have I seen you before, Master Trembler?” I said humbly, my spirit quite broken, that I did not know. “No?” he answered, staring at me with his face puckered up. “Yet somewhere 1 have. And some day I shall call it to mind. In the meantime remember that you are ny slave, my dog, my turnspit, to fetch or carry, cry or be merry at my will, You will sleep cr wake, go or come as I bid you. And so long as you do that, Richard Price, you shall live. But cn the day you play me false or whisper my name to living soul, on that day or within the week, you will hang! Do you hear? Hang! | You Erastian dog! Hang, and be carrion; with Ayloffe, and many another gocd man that would stint me and take no warning!” PART VIII. Chapter 3 The secret slavery into which I fell from that day onward, to a man who knew neither pity nor scruple, and wielded his power with the greater enjoyment and the less remorse for the piquant contrast it afforded to his position as a prescribed and hunted traitor in hiding*for his life, ex- eceded all the anticipations of it which 1 had entertained. Having his favorite lodg- ing in the rooms opposite mine, he was ready at all times, when, the cruel humor seized him, to sally f¥gthigand mock and torment me, while the $riviey of his move- ments and’ the num his disguises (whence it arose that r knew ur saw him whether hefwas there or noi) kept me In a state of Suxpense and misery well nign intolerable.’ Yet such was the spell of fear under which he had contrived to lay me, he being a viol¢nt and danger- ous man, and I no sofdferj and so crafty were the means, no leg§-than the art, with which he g-adually wgund a chain about me, that in spite of m§ hatred I found re- sistance vain, and fof a long time, and until a deus ex machinus, as the ancients say, appeared on the, scene, saw no re- source but to bear the yoke and do his bidding. He had one principal mode of strength- ening his hold upon me, which stood the higher in his favor “as besides effecting that object and rendering, me serviccable it amused him with the spectacle of my alarms. This consisted tn‘ the employing me in his treasonable designs; as by send- ing me with letters and mesrage: coffee house, or to the Blue Post Gardens, or to more private places where the Jacobites congregated; by making me a go-between to arrange matters and meet- ings with those of his kidney who da not stir abroad in daylight, and who came and went between London and the coast of France under cover of night; or by using me to drop tressonable papers in the streets or fetch the same from the secret press in a court off St. James’, where they were printed. He took a special delight in imposing this last task upon me and in depicting, when I returncd fresh from performing it and sweating at every pore, the penalties to which I had rendered ‘myself liable. 1t may occur to some that when I passed through the streets with such papers or missives in my hands I had an easy way out of my troubles, and could at any mo- ment by conveying the letters to the secre- “Until I Screamed.” tary’s office procure the tyrant’s arrest and my own freedom. But besides the fact that his frequent change of lodging, his excel- lent information, and the legion of spies who se:vyed him, rendered it doubtful whether with the best willip the world the messengers would find there I had lett him, he frequently b nd the boast, it founded, added to strust of all with whom I. came i t—that the very tipsters and office! e in his pay, and that Cutts himsel: not arrest him. aa In addition to this, I mora, than suspect- ed ihat often the letterg he gave me were blank, and the erran harmless or un- necessary, and that the one and the other were feigned only for the purpose of try- ing me, or out of pure frruelfy, and to the end that when I return with gusto the process and quartering, and gidat with which I listened fio Practice which he carriefi to, as more than once to regu helpless shame and anguish. Such was my life at home, where, if my tyrant was.not always at my elbow, I was oN me to tears of every hour obnoxious to appearance, for early in our conn he forbade me to lock my door. Ab Iwas scarcely more easy, seeing that, bésides an impres- sion IT had that wherever I went I was watched and dogged, there ‘was scarcely an item of news which it fell to my lot to record that did not throw me into a panic. One day it would be Mr. Béar arrested on @ charge of high treason, and in possession of I know net what compromising letters; another the suicide in the temple of a gen- tleman to whom I had a week earlier taken a letter, and who had in my presence Jet fall expressions that led me to thick him in the same evil case with me. An- other day it would be an announcement that the government had diseovered a new conspiracy, or that letters going for France had been seized in Romney marshes, or that the Lancashire witnesses were speak- ing more candidly, or that Dr. Oates had been taken up and held to ball for a mis- All these ¢ mind with the keenest apprehensions must in a short time have rendered my life in- tolerable. 2 As it was Mr. Brome within a month saw So great a change in me that he would have me take a holiday, advising me to 80 afield, either to my relatives or to some village on the Lea, to which neighborhood Mr. Isaak Walton's book had given a repu- tation among the citizens. He reinforced the advice with a gift of two guineas, that I might spend the month royally, then in @ great hurry, added an injunction that I should not waste the money. But I did worse, for I had the simple folly to tell the whole by way of protest and bitter complaint to my other master, who first, with a grin, took from me the two guineas, and then made himself merry over the In- creased time I could now place at his dis- Dosal. “And it is timely, Dick, it is timely!’ he said, with ugly pleasantry. “For the good cause, the cause you love so dearly, Dick, is prospering. Another month and you and I know what will hap; Ha! ha! we krow. In the meantime, work while it is day, Dick. Put your hand to the plough and don’t look back. If all were as for- ward as you, our necks would be in little peril, and we might see a rope without thinking of a cart.” “Curse you!” I cried, almost beside my- self between disappointment and the rage into which his fiendish teasing threw me. “Cannot you keep your tongue off that? Is it not enough that you—’ “Have taught me to lim quoth he, winking hideously. “Here's to Louis, James, Mary, and the prince, L. I. M. P., my tad! Oh, we can talk the dialect. We have had good teachers.” I could have burst into tears. “Some day you'll be caught,” I cried. bray he said with a grin, “and what en? “You'll be hanged! hanged!” I cried, fu- riously. “And God grant that I may be there to see it. “You will that,” he answered, with com- posure. “Make your mind easy, for trust me, if I am in the first cart, you'll be in the second! That ts my security, friend Dick. If I go, you go. Who carried the letters from France to Mr. Warmaky's chambers, I would like to know? And who —but the cause!" he continued, breaking off. “The cause! To business and no more havers. Here's work for you. You shall go, do you hear me, Richard, to Covent Garden, to the piazza there, in half an hour's time. It will be full dark then. You will see there a fine gentleman walking Pp and down, taking his tobacco, with a white handkerchief hanging from his pock- et. You will give him that note and sa: ‘Roberts and Guiney are good men’—d'ye take it—‘Roberts and Guiney are geod men,’ say that and no more, and come back to me.” I answered at. first, being in a rage, and not liking the sound of this errand bet- ter than that of others I had done for him, that I would not—I would not, thou=h he killed me: but he had a way with him that I could not long resist, and he presently cowed me and sent me off. I had so far fallen into his sneaking habits that, though it dark night when I started, I went the furthest way round Holborn and the new fashionable quar- Soho; and passing through King’s square itself, and before the late Duke of Monmouth’s house, the sight of which did not lessen my distaste for my errand, en- tered Covent Garden by James str which comes into the square between the two piazz At the corner I had to turn into the readway to avoid a party of isterers who had just issued from the ‘ag’s Head coffee house and were roaring for a coach; and be ence in the ken- nel and observing under the piazza and before the taverns more lights and link boys than I liked, I continued along the gutter, dirty as it was, and always is, in the neighborhood of the market, until I had come some way into the square, where { could turn and reconnoiter at my lei: Here for a moment, running my the piazza which had its usual flower girls and mumpers, swearing porters and hackney coaches, I thought my man with the white handkerchief had not come, but, shifting my gaze to the little piazza, on the other side of James street, which was darker and less frequented, I pres- ently espied him walking to and fro under cover, with a cane in his hand, and the air of a gentleman who had supped and was looking out for a pretty girl He was a tall, stout man, wearing a large black peri- wig and a lace cravat and ruffies, and he carried a steel-hilted sword and had som how the bearing of one who had seen serv- ice abroad. Satisfied that he was the person I wanted, I went to him, but, stepping up to him a little hastily, I took him by surprise, I suppose, for he backed from me and laid his hand on his hilt, rapping out an oath. However, a clearer view reassured him, and he cocked his hat and swore at me again, but in a erent tone. “Sir,” said he, very rudely, “another time give a gen- tieman a wider berth unless you want his cane about your shoulders!” For answer I merely pulled out the note T had and held it toward him without a werd, being accustomed to such errands and anxious to do it and begone, the more as under the great piazza a number of persons were loitering, and among them link boys and chair men and the like, who ce everything. "Gyowever, he made no movement to take it, but only said, “For me?” “Yes,” I answered. “From whom?” said he, roughly. za “You will learn that inside,” I said. “I was bidden only to say that Roberts and ¥ y are good men.” Orfay" ‘he exclaimed, and at that took the letter. On which, having done my part and not iking the neighborhood, I was for going, and had actually half turned to do so, When a man slighter than the first and taller came sharply out of the shadow be- hind him, and standing by his side touched his hat to me. I passed. : “Good evening, my lord,” he said, speak- ing with a sort of dignity. “I little thought to see you here on this busin: It is the best news I have had myself, or have had to give to others this many a day. It shall be well represented, and the risk you run. And whatever be thought on this side, be- Heve me at St. Germain’s— i “Hush!” cried the first man, interrupting him at that rather sharply. I think before be had been too much surprised to speak. urely, sir,” he continued, “you are too sty. There must be a mistake here, This tleman to whom you are speaking: 5 ‘There is no mistake. This gentlemar and I know one atother,” the other re sponded, coolly, and in the tone of a man who is aware what he is doing. And then to me, and with a different air: “My lord, you may not wish to say your name aloud that 1 can understand, and this is no very safe place for either of us. But if we conld meet somewhere, say ai-—" “Hush, sir!” the man with the handk chief cried, and this time almost angrily “There is a mistake here, and in a moment you will say too much, if you have not said it aiready. This gentleman—if he is a gen- tleman—brings a letter from R. F., and ls no more of @ lord, I'll be sworn, than I am. ‘From R. F.?” “Yes, and therefore, if he is the person you think him—but come, sir,” he contin- ued, eyeing me angriiy, “what is your name? End this.” I did not wish to tell him, yet liked less to refuse. So I lied, and on the spur of the moment said Charles Taylor, that beiag the name of the man who lived beiow me. The taller man struck one hand into the other. “There, Charles!’ he cried, and looked at me smiling. “I have an eye for faces, and if you are not—’ “Nay, sir, I pray be quiet!” the man with the white handkerchief remonstrate]. “Or if you are so ceriain- and then he looked hard at me anj frowned, qs if he began to feel Joub!--“step this way and tell me what you think. This sentieman will douotless excuse us and wait a mo- ment, whether ke be whom you think him or not.” I was as uneasy and as unwilling to stay as could be, but the man’s tone was reso- lute, and I saw he was rot a man to cross; 80, With an ill-gracc, I consented, and the two drawing aside together into the deeper shadow under the piaxza, began lo confer. ‘This left me to kick my heels impatiently, and watch wut of the corner of ny eye the loitereras under the other piazza, to learn if “any observed us. Fortunately, they were taken up with a quarrel which had just broken out between two hackney coach- men, and, thocrsh 2 man came near me, bringing a woman, he bad no eyes for me, and, calling a sedan chair, went away again almos: iminediately. To be continued.) ———-—_. A Sad Sen Tale. CORRECT SUMMER ATTIRE Proper Articles of Dress for Men During the Heated Term. Suits Will Be Blue—Shirts and Neck- wear Will Not Be “Loud”—Russct Shees Continue in Favor. Frem Harper's Bazar. Summer was so long in coming that it seemed as if tweeds and overcoats would be the fashion well into July. Tailors and haberdashers and hatters were in despair. Bolts of cloths were uncut, and the show- windows were filled with shirt materials, summer ties and straw hats, but orders were few. Now that summer has set in and the watering places are in the glory of their season, one can begin to judge what men are wearing—quite: a different thing from that which the shopkeepers would like them to wear. Blue Suits Arc in Favor. There has been a reaction in favor of the blue serge suit. This year they are most popular. In cut there is much variation. ‘The sack coat is either four button or three button, with a roll collar made very much like the Tuxede or dinner jacket. Again the double-breasted reefer of either rough cheviot or smooth blue cloth is very much worn. With white duck trousers this coat gives a man a nautical air, which is quite Tetching at the seaside. Rough cheviois make excellent and very smart sack suits, and some men are having their coats in this material—the favorite colors being blue and black—made into short three-buttoned cutaways. The blues are worn as business or morning suits, and the black coats seem to solve the question of afternoon dress in sprink and summer, and to prove formida- ble rivals to the frock, which is not an agreeable garment in the warm season. A material for sack or business suits which has come into great favor is a thin rough cheviot of very dark blue, or even Lack, with stripes of lighter blue. These suits resemble somewhat the older-fash- joned oneg, still seen in cheap clothiers’ windows, ‘of biack with thin white stripes. The new material, however, is heavier, and for stout and short men the pattern is use- ful in making them at least look taller and thinner. S Shirts Are Not “Brilliant.” In shirts the very brilliant hues have been put aside, and the blues, the lavenders and not too vivid pinks are the most worn. Solid colors have the preference over pat- terns, although white stripes are still fa- vorites. Even for the warmest weather line is more in form than either Madras or p. sec silk. One sees fewer brown. shirts worn, and the semi-neglige, - with great mother-of-pearl butions, has been relegated to the bargain counters. So active has been the competition among the manufac- rs that today very excellent read: shirts are being turned out and of- ed for sale at very low prices. These are well made, with narrow cuffs and two to three button holes—either number now being fashionable. Colored shirts with de- tached cuffs will never be e wardrobe of any well-dri Detached coilars are permitted, but “fg cuffs never. It is needless to’ state that all-colored shirt except flannels, have cuffs of the same material, and white collars. The collar in Yogue this summer is the ali-around turned down. There are numerous variations of e, many of which are excellent. In ying cr having collars made, be careful as to the quality of the linen, and see that it is of medium thickness. Do not have the “wings” slope, but see that they are almost rectangular. The straight standing collar Is worn with evening and semi-even- ing dress, and its height is undiminished. Collars with turned down wings at the col- lar button, otherwise standing, are not as high, and for men with short necks are comfortable and seemly. The flannel shirts, expecially those of tar- tan and plaid patierns, has come into fashion for traveling and midsummer ex- treme neglige. One must have with these white linen collars and cuffs. The collars y detached, and in this one in- stance, where there is some uncertainty as to good laundry work, the detached cuff may be permitted. There is a raison d'etre for it. No Change in Neckwenr. In ties there fs absolutely little change in fashion, shape, or in effects. One may wear those of last summer, if yet fresh, and be quite up to date. Shopkeapers are pushing the hunting Ascot or stock—the latter a misnomer—and have christened it the “golf and bicycie” tie. The Madras and linen Ascots attached to a white Mad- ras band, to button around the neck, like a Roman collar, are certainly neat, and with a neglige shirt have a good effec they lack coolness. The cluh an inch in width, to be adju self in a plain neat bow, will rem favorite neckwear of the season. ¥ in the oid inevitable dark blues, §reens and black, with the famillar pol: éot er diamond, crescent, crescent and star, leaf, or flower paiterns, are univer- sally wor The designs are numerous, and the combinations all artistic and in exvel- lent ta Cotton, linen and Mai Will also be worn, but the foularc way: are in good form, and it is difficult to find iitute for them. Th ies in ties. One is ix blue, green, or a bi grouad, large poi 0:8 of two ecnirasting sha Thus. white and light biue on a carker ground. Ag: the London eshers have sent to this country large consign- ments of violet-purple and brick-dust red, put there are not many bold spirits who have ventured to adopt them. With the Tuxedo, which will worn a greai deal this summer, at hotel and wavering-place hops, the black silk or satin ties are smaller, and q shape. Although a supp been quoted to support ; never be good form to wear a white wais' ccat and white tie with a Tuxedo. Some fearful sins against the canons of good taste and form have been committed re- if you get a package like this, It contains the genuine ~ OUT From the Philadelphia North American. A live mam strolled down that way, tmeccugeme ~~ | WASHING PoWDER ‘And drowned fn drink. z2 asm wore 0 sane on that lonely beach It cleans everything and ‘That ‘this late Limented little cleans it quickly and cheaply. Thought be was's shea cone fil the breach, | " Largest packsge—greatest economy. pcre td ‘THE E. K. FAIRBANK COMPANY, “Want” ads. in The Star pay because| Chicago, St Louts, New Yor’s, they bring answers. cently in New York, but this last one has yet to be placed on the calendar. At one of the fashionable metropo! restaurants @ man well known at New appeared in evening dress with pleated shirt, small diamond buttons, a white Waistcoat with a double-breasted row of paste buttons, and a white silk bow tie. el he wore an evening and not a Tuxedo coat The straw hat of the summer is of smooth rather than rough straw, although the latter is by no means discarded. The crown is slightly higher, and the brim quite narrow. The black nibbon will al- ways be the proper hat band for a straw. At the beginning of the season the most variegated ribbons of red, pink, blue, Striped and spotted—arranged so that they could be changed at the pleasure of the Wearer—were given with a certain class of straw hats. These were worn somo- what by very young men until after col- lege commencements, when the college col- crs were put aside and the more conserva- tive black substituted. The Paris ribbon- bound hats are also in the market, as well 4s the Alpine-shaped straws, but neither have gained much popularity, both being a little too pronounced for our conservative tastes, ‘The Russet Leather Boot Always F As long as there are summer and sea- side or mountain, so long will the russet leather boot and shoe flourish. Let it be the strong stout footgear for walking, cy- cying, climbing or athietics, or, again, the more dressy Oxford, the russet, square and not pointed toed, will be the fashion this year, The color will be russet, not yellow, and as near the hue of a well- worn saddle as possible. The russet but- toned boots have not been worn to any extent in this country, although very pop- ular abroad. Light-colored shoes can be worked Into proper treatment by the vis- crous application of the dry rag and boot cream. Mince! meous Itema, Fancy waistcoats, double breasted, are very effective with the rough material cu away coats. White waistcoats, double breasted, are worn with frock coats, while single-breasted brown cloth or linen or Holland are for business sack suits. The general rule that all coats are now made without outside breast pockets does not seem to be regarded in England, where yet a few of the old-fashioned gar- s ass tailors ang England also comes the fashion gazelle-skin gloves and Striped bow Ues, both n etiquette demands a frock si the white Ascot p remains the ceremonious afternoon wear when the foulard or linen bow al ready mentioned is not considered suffi. ciently formal. to Saving a Husband’, Lite. Only the othe day the newspaperg told the story of a plucky woman who saved her hus- “band from drown- ing on the rock bound Atlantic coast. There are * other dam be- side that of drown. eS ing from which shrewd woma may, by a little diplomacy, save her hus- band. “Men are proverbially reckless about their health. They do not think it worth while to pay any heed to a slight indiges- tion, a trifling biligus attack, a little nerv- onstiess or sleeplessness, or a small loss of appetite. The first they know they have dyspepsia, liver complaint, malaria, rheu- matism, nervous prostration or deadly con- sumption. Even then they ate prone to neglect their trouble until it is too late. A wise wife will assume guardianship of her husband’s health. She will always have at hand a bottle of Dr. Pierce's Golden Medical Discovery. When her hushand feels out of sorts she will see that he takes it. It makes the appetite keen, the diges- tion perfect, the live: active, the blood pure and the nerves steady. It builds firm flesh, strong muscles, and healthy nerve tissues. It cures dyspepsia, liver complaint, malaria, rheumatism and nervous prostration. It cures 98 pert cent. of all cases of consump- tion. An honest dealer will always give you what you ask for. “was a sufferer from malaria,” writes Mr. R. D. Hill, of Zauto, Louisa Co., Va.’ “Two doctors failed to cure me. T took three bottles of Dr. Pierc='s Golden Medical Discovery in connection with his ‘Pleasant Pellets,” and was cured. can now do as good a day's work as any man.” Constipation often causes sickness. Dr. Pierce’s Pleasant Pellets cure constipation. One little ** Pel ’isagentle laxative and two a mild cathartic. They never gripe. They are tiny, sugar-coated, anti -bilious granules, in little vials. Druggists seli them and have nothing else “just as good.” They regulate the Stomach, Liver and Bowels. OR.CHASES BloodyNerve Foo Se antl | For Weak and Run Down People. What is I ‘The richest of all restore- tive foods, because it re ces the eseentials of life that are exhausted disease, Indigestion, wigh Living, overwork, Worry, excesses, abuse, «te. What it by making the blood pore and rich and the ‘solid flesh, muscle Js About Your Case. _| The Dr. Chase Company,’ “auemesst the most (of kin diseases. few bad the ‘case Derma bury, 127 West 421 2 skin’ diversen, | on, We.