Evening Star Newspaper, July 24, 1897, Page 19

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JULY 24, 1897-24 PAGES. “SHREWSBURY.” —__s—__—_ BY STANLEY J. WEYMAN. _—— (Copyrighted, 1897, by Stanley J. Weyman.) Continued From Last Saturday. 1 was so engrossed with watching on that side and taking every one who iooked to- ward me for an informer that {t was with a kind of shock that I found my two friends had grown in the course of their covered this before the newcomer left the other two and sauntered up to me. “Oh, ah." he said, carelessly, “and who do you say— and there stopped, staring in my face, and then, “By heavens, it is!” he cried. By this time I was something astonished, and more amazed, and answered with spir- it-though he was a hard-bitten man, with the air of a suldier or gamester, to whom ordinsrily I should have given the wall— that I was merely a messenge> and knew nothing of the matter on which I was there, nor for whom they took me. His face, which for a second or two had Diazed with excitement, fell, and when I had done speaking he laughed. don't you?’ he said. so,” said I, “not a groat.” * he said again, as if that Well, then, what is your es Taylor,” I answered. you core from that t. F., 1 mean?” id rogue, ou can go back to him,” he me with a nod. “Or wait at gentleman, my friend? i ait one, trom Adam,” I said. d! Then there is no need you sbovld, wswered, coolly. “So go, and dco you that old fox to lie close. He was never in anyth et but he spoiled it. Teil se and keep his brag- ging ton: if he can. And w be fF. will 1t before outh was Bedtord trand and home by a The farther [ left the however, the highe: so that by the time I re » and had climbed the sta i was agape to know more, and life was glad to find the r in my room. Nor was it with- out satisiaction that to his eager question, “You the note to the gentleman?” I ly that I had given it to * he exclaimed, starting up In nu d—d cur, if you have betrayed What io y only that T did what you told me,” I answe < at which he sat down again. “I gave it to the gentleman, but he had two with him.” more re to hang him,” he sneered, overing himself. “And what did tle. Nothing that I remember. two with him—"" ef them said, ‘Tell the old fox,’ or for he ed you both, ‘to He added,” I continued, spite courage, “that you had hitherto spoiled everything you had been in, Mr. n. 4 t I do not think that I ever saw a man in such a rage. Fortunately, he did not turn me, but for two or three minutes he cursed and swore, bit things at the mouth, trampled on his and down like nothing so madman, while the impreca- uttered against his enemies were I feared to stay with him. At ed to occur to him that the uld send such a message to Ieng s man who cx him, Ferguson, the great Ferguson, the Ferguson with a thousand guineas on his head, must be a very great man, indeed, which, it consoled him in some meas- nordinate a numbe ed his curiosity in another and legree. He hastened to put to of questions, as: What were the two like? And did the one pay the other respect? And how were they dressed? Ant had either a ribbon or a star And Id tell him no more ungest was extremely tall thirty, and of eas . and in appearai ugh for him; he presently he had it. and slapped Lis h ! It ia Jamie Churchill.” he cried. Berwick, stop my vitais. He had a jainous French accent, had he of the kin h as much of a ras I dared, gibe and sco s like a Sawney himself, and for English, but in his overy he had made he 1 at me—he ere are fine times is like Monmouth’s day over warrant Hunts down in the like a penny ferry with their The fat is fairly in the fire we do not © little hook- or him I'll hang for it. He sin man th is father, is Jamie he very same ficure of a man that old-blooded, gre ur-boots and i-for-a-groat uncle was at his age. fo Jamie ts over. Well, w: and if we know precisely where he wa. 1 where he Nes nights, there are two ways about It! Ve-es!" And th old rogue, ‘alling first ‘awl and then into silence, looked slyly and began to ruminate—on a rason, I was mistaken—rub- bing now one calf and now the other, and now dressing his ragged wig with his fin- as he continued to smile at his wicked . and sat the he veriest bald- ed. In tho . I thought, tehed hin an the schemes ia his mind, how- he was, as I expected, 1 the Duke of Berwick as > more to ma on ut presently went to his own left, L thougit it high time to I stood, being all of a trem- » what I had heard and tossed through the night, fear- ¥ A which I found striving to gain strength to ‘am that day her and further from fool or vain boy, un- er of being mixed up and great names; rather which I had followed d@ me with only he iron pot and ®, I slept at it was to dream oad ard the or- my cant a marvel- . Broma—and a wall of ed the way and never ceased * pound to Edgeware road a dream taken with my night's thoughts left :ne eager to put tn execution @ plan I had more than once considered. “which was to « I,to fly from 1 and, hiding state of affairs freed me from danger. At a distance from him I might even gain courage to inform against him; but this I left for future decision, the main thing now being to pack up my clothes, secure about me the money I had saved, which amount- ed to 30 guineas, and escape from the town on foot or in a stage wagon without any of his myrmidons betng the wiser. To adopt this course was to lose Mr. Brome’s friendship and the livelthood which his employment provided; but such was the fear I had conceived of Ferguson's schemes and the perils they involved that I scarcely hesitated. By noon, an hour which F thought least open to suspicion, I had en- gaged a porter and bidden him wait below, and made all my other arrangements, and in five minutes should have been safe tn the streets with my face set toward Ken- sington—when at the last moment there came a tap at my door and a voice asked if I was in. 3 It was not at an hour at which Fergu- son had ever troubled me, and trusting to this I had not been careful to hide the signs of removal which my room presented. For a moment I hung over my trunk panic- stricken; then the door opened. I discover- ed the girl who had intervened once be- fore—I mean at the door of the secretary's office, and whom I had since noticed, but not often, gcing in at the opposite rooms. She curtsied demvrely, standing in the doorway, and said that Mr. Smith, which was one of the names by which Ferguson went, had sent her to me with a message. “Yes,” I said, forcing myself to speak. “Would you please to wait on him this evening at 8, sir,” she answered. “He wivhes to speak with you.” “Yes,” I said, helplessly assenting, and there was an end of my fine evasion. 1 took it for a warning, and my clothes from my mail, and going down, paid the porter @ groat and received in return a dozen porter’s oaths, and so dismissed hif@ and my plan together. PART IX. Chapter XV. It must be confessed that after that it was with a sore shrinking and foreboding of purishment that I prepared to ed Mr. Ferguson's summens, and at the hour he had fixed knocked at his door. Hitherto | he had always come to me, and even 80 | in @ voice ce some smusement, if he new knew who I was. éaw in the jay’s feathers!” sald he scornfully. “And you do not know him?” Ps “Not I—except for the silly fool he is. “Then you do not know—well, some one you ought to know!” the stranger answered dryly. “You are getting old, Mr. Fergu- son.’ My master cursed his impudence. “I am afraid that you do not keep abreast of the rsing generation,” the other contin- ued, coolly eyeihg the rage his words ex- cited. “And as for your Shaftsburys and Monmouths and Ludlows and the old gang, they don't count for much now. You must look about you, Mr. Ferguson; you must look about you and open your eyes, and learn some new tricks, or before you know it you will find yourself on the shelf. It would be difficult to exaggerate the fury into which this threw my master. He raved, stamped and swore, and finally, tearing off his wig, flung it on the ground and stamped on it. “There!” he cried, with herrible imprecations, the more horrible for the bald ugliness of the man, “‘and that is what I will do to you—by and by. Mr. Smith. On the shelf, am I? And need new tricks? Hark you, sir, I am not so much on the shelf that I cannot spoil your game, whatever it is. And G—d d—n me, but I will!” Mr. Smith, Hstening, cool and dark-faced, shrugged his shoulders, but for all his a sceming indifference kept, I fancied, wary eye on the plotter. “Tut, tu Ferguson, you are angry with m said. “And say things you do not mean. Besides, you don't know— “Know!” the other shrieked. “Yes, know what my game is. “I know this,” Ferguson retorted, drop- ping his voice on a sudden to a baleful whisper. “Who is here, and where he lies, Mr. Smith. And—" is “So do Tom, Dick and Harry,” the other answered, shrugging his shoulders con- temptuously, and then to me, “Mr. Taylor, he continued, with politeness, “I think we will be going. Light the dcor, my dear. That is it. I have a coach below, and— good night. Mr. Ferguson, good night to you. I'll tell Sir George I have seen you. ‘And do you think over my advic At that my master broke out afresh, cursing the other's {mpudence, and frantl- AND STOOD LISTENING. and on my own ground I had suffered enough at his hands. What I had to e pect, therefore, when entirely in hi I failed to guess; but on that ace felt only the greate ion, so that as with relief th ognized tir: threshold, 4 appreher at I s if Ferguson at hore were s rent trom Ferguson abroad, that he was not alone, but enter- ained a visitor. ‘aNiither of these things, to be sure, alter- ed his bearing toward me, or took from the brutality with which it was his constant humor to address me, but as his openin: words announced that the visitor's busi- ness lay with me, they relieved me from my worst apprehension—namely, that I was to be called to account for the steps 1 had taken tu ese and at th: same time amused me with the hope of better treat ment, sitc> no man could deal with me than he had. “Othis is your man,” he cried, lying back in his chair and pointing to me with the pipe he was smoking. “Never wes such @ brave plotter. Name a repe and he wi at. For my part, I wish you joy of him. rooms thing dif secondly sw Here, you, sirrah,"” he continued, address- ing me, “this gentleman wishes to spcak ‘and mind you, you will do what he leman cut him short Mr. t taat the g: vati e. “Softly, with a deprecating gesture. “Softly, ! Ferguson, sofuy,” he sald, and rose and bowed to me. Then I saw that he s the last comer of the three I had met in Co- rd d th ad dis- vent Garden, and the one who had 4 m me. “You go too fast,” he went 1 here a on, smiling, nd give our frier a wrong impression of me. Mr. Taylor, I— But it was Ferguson's turn to take him up, which he did with a boisterous laugh. The man’s name—" - whatever he struck in with another ask it nor seek to know It. between gentlemen and tn th neither here nor there. It ts e€ perhaps too much, that I am c you to do me a favor and a serv Taylor, both of which are in your pow He spoke with a politeness which went far to win me, and the further for the con- trast it afforded to Ferguson's violence. With appearance I was not so greatly taken, finding in it, though he was dress- ed well enough, clearer signs of recicless- ness than of discretion, and plainer evi- dences of hard liv: than of cha y or study. But perhaps the prayer of such a man, when he stoops to pray, is the more powerful. At any rate, I was alr ly half 8 d when I answered, asking him timid- ly what I could do for him. vay a call with me,” sald h ‘Neither more than that nor less. asked him on whom we were to call. Jn a lady,” he answered, “who lives at the other end of the town.” “But can I be of any service?” I sald, feebly struggling against the inevitable. ou can,” he answered. “Of great serv- Such thiags ¢ times are ough, and @ to ask Mr. lightly. ice. “Devil a bit!’ said Ferguson, testily, and stared derisively at me out of a cloud of smoke. It occurred to me then ihat he was not quite sober; and further that he was no more in the secret than I was. “Devil a bit!" said he again, and more of- f vely. ‘ou will let me judge of that,” sald the gentleman. And he turned to the table. “Will you mind changing the clothes you wear for these?” he sald to me with a pleasapt afr. On which I saw that he had on the table by his hand a suit of fine silk velvet, clothes, surmounted by a grand dress ‘peruke, with a laced steinkirk and ruffles to match. “Pardon the imperti- hence,” he continued, shrugging hfs shoul- ders, as if the matter were a very slight one, while I stared in amazement at this new turn. “It is only that I think you will aid me the better In these. And, after all, what is a cnange of clothes?” Naturally I looked at the things in won- der. I had never worn clothes of the kind. “Do you want me to put them on?” I said. “Yes,” he answered, smiling. “Will you do it on the faith that it will serve me and trust me to explain later?” “If there is no danger in—in the busi- ." I said, reluctantly. “I suppose I As a fact, whatever he had asked with Ferguson beside him, [ should have had to do it, so great was my fear of that man. “There 1s no danger,” he replied. “I will answer for it. I shall accompany you and return with you.” On that, and though I did not compre- hend in the least degree what was required of me, I consented, and took the clothes, at the stranger's bidding, into the next room, where [ put off mine and put them and presently, seeing myself in a ttle square of glass that hung against the wall, scarcely knew myself in a grand suit of blue velvet slashed and laced with pearl color, a dress peruke and lace ruffles and cravat. Being unable to tie the cravat, I went back inte the room with it in my hand, where I found not only the two I had left, but the girl who had summoned me that morning. The two men greeted the change In me with oaths of surprise; the girl, who stood in the background, with an opsn-eyed stare, but for a moment and until the stranger had tied the cravat for me, nothing was said that I under- stood. Then Mr. Ferguson getting up and walking round me with a candle, gazing at me from top to toe, the other asked him, cally swearing to be even with him, but I lost what he sald In a sudden consterna- tion that seized me as I crossed the thresh- old, which came over me at the prospect of the night, and the dark coach ride and the uncertainty of this new adventure. The lights in the room and Mr. Smith's polite- ness had given me a courage which the rk staircase dissipated, and but for the hold which my new employer, perhaps un- consciously, laid on my arm, I think I should have stood back and refused to go. Under his gentle compulsion, however, I went down and took my seat in the coach that awaited us, and my companion, fol- lewing me and closing the door, some one unseen raised the steps, and in a moment we were jolted out of Bride lane and turn- ed in the di-ection of the Strand. More than this I could not distinguish with all my curiosity, and look out as I might, for Mr. Smith, muttering something I did not catch, drew the curtain over the window on my side, and, for the other, interposed himself so continually and skill- fully between it and my eyes that the ch turning two or three corners, In a few minutes I was quite tgrorant where we were or whether we still held a westward direction. A hundred notions of footpads, abductton, Mr. Thynne and the like passed through my mind while the coach rumbled en and rumbled on and rumbled on en lessly, the fact that we appeared to the business parts of the town and chose wilighted ways having anything but a ri suring effect on my nerv At length, and while T still debated whether I wished this suspense at an end or feared still more what was to follow, the coach stop- ped with a jerk which almest threw me out of my seat. “We are the ‘aid my companion, who ad been some timé silent. “I must trouble you to descend, Mr. Taylor. And have no fears. The matter in hand is very simple. Only be good enough to follow me closely and quickly.” And without releasing my arm he hurried me out of the coach and through a door in wall. This admitted us to a garden only, and that so dark, and so completely ob- seured by high walls and the branches of trees, which showed faintly overhead, feathering against the sky, that but for the guidance of his hand I must have stood unable to proceed. Such an overture very far from abating my fears: nor had I expected this sudden plunge into a solitude which seemed the more chilling as w stood in London, and had only a little while before passed from the hum of the Strand. I tried to consider where we could be, and the possibilities of retreat: but my conductor left me litle room for indecision. Stull holding my arm, he led me down a walk and to a door which opened as we ap- proached. A flood of light poured out and fell on the pale green of the surrounding trees, and the next moment I stood in a small bare-furnished lobby or ante-room and heard the door chained behind me. My eyes dazzled by the lamp, | saw no more at firat than that the person who held it and had admitted us was a woman. But on her proceeding to set down the lamp and look me up and down deliberate- ly, while Mr. Smlih stood by, as if he had brought me for this and no other, I took uneasy note of her. She appeared to be verging on forty, but was still handsome after a coarse and full-blown fashion, with lips overfull and cheeks too red; her dark hair stil kept its color, and the remains of a great vivacity still lurked in her gloomy eyes. Her dress, of an untidy rich- ness, worn and tarnished, and ill fastened at the neck, was no mean match for her face, and led me to think her—and therein 1 was right—the waiting woman of some sreat lady. Perhaps I should, if let alone, have come something nearer the truth than this, and quite home, but Mr. Smith cut short my observations by falling upon her in @ tone of anger. “Hang it, madam, if you are not satisfied,” he cried, “I can only tell you——” “Who said I was not satisfied?” she ai swered coolly, still surveying me. “But—’ “But what?” “I cannot help thinking—what is your name, sir, if you please?” This to me. “Taylor,” I said. “Taylor? Taylor?” name as {f uncertain. ‘Taylor; and yet" You remember? You know very well whom you remember!” Mr. Smith cried impatiently. “It is the likeness you are thinking of. Why, it is as plain, woman, as the nose on his face. It is so plain that if 1 had brought him in by the front door—" “And kept his mouth shut,” she inter- posed. “No one would ‘have been the wiser.” “Well,” she said, grudgingly, and eyeing me with her head aside, “it is near enough.” ; “It 1s the thing,” he cried with an oath. “As a Chelsea orange is @ China orange!”* she answered contemptuously. At that he looked at her in a sort of dark fury, precisely, so it seemed to me, as Fer- guson had looked at him an hour before. “By heaven, you vixen,” he crted at length, surprise and rage contending in his tone, “I believe you love him still.” Her back being toward me I did not see her face, but the venom in her tone when she answered made my blood creep. “Well,” she sald slowly, “and if I do? Much good may it do him!" Ambiguous as were the words-—-but not the tone—the man shrugged his shoulders. “Then, what are we waiting for?” he asked, irritably. = “Madam’s pleasure,” she answered. And I could see that she loved to balk him. She repeated the “I remember no However, -her pl lived, and at that kled in a distant room, and she took up mp. “Come,"’ she sald. “And do you, she centinued, turning to me and sp. aking sharply, up your head and look as if you But your ows food. You are going to see an old woman. Do you think that she will eat you?” I let the gibe pass, and, wondering of whom and what it was she reminded me whenever she spoke, I followed her up a short, dark flight @f atairs to a second ante- room or closet, Ate, as far as I could Judge, over the others. It was hung with dull, faded tapestry, and smelled close, a: if seldom used, and more seldom aired. Set- ting down the la om the little side table whereon lay alre: a’crumpled domino, a couple of masks and an empty perfume bot- tle, she bade us,,4m a low voice, walt for her and be stent, and, enforcing the last order by placing her finger on her lip, she glided quietly through a door so skillfully masked by the tapestry as to seem one with the walls. Left alone with Mr. Smith, who seated himself on the table, I had leisure to take note of the closet, and remarking that the wall at one end was partly hidden by a couple of curtains, between which a bare bracket stood out from the wall, I was not slow to conclude that the place had been a secret oratory, and had witnessed many a clandestine mass. I might have carried my observations further, but they were cut short at this point by the return of the woman, who, nodding in silence, held the door open for us to pass. + this time was short- @ littie bell tin- Chapter XVI. The first to enter, and prepared for many things, among which the gloomy surrouné- ings of an ascetic, devoted to the dark usages of the old faith, held the first place in probability, I halted in surprise on the threshold of a lofty and splendid room, suffused with a rose-tinted ligkt, and fur- nished with a luxury to which I had hith- erto been # stranger. The walls, hung with gorgeous French tapestry, presented a suc- cession of palaces and hunting scenes, in- terspersed with birds of strange and tropi- cal plumage, between which and the eyes were scattered a profusion of Japanese screens, cabinets and tables, with some of those quaint Duteh idols brought from the east, which, new to me, were beginning at this time to take the ‘public taste. bracing the upper half of the room, and also a rueile, in which stcod a stately bed with pillars of silver, a circle cf stronger light, dispersed by lamps cunningly hidden in the ceiling, fell on a suite of furniture of rose brocade 2d silver, in the great chair of which, with her feet cn a foot- stool set ism- upon the open hearth, sat an elderly lady leaning on an ebony stick. A monkey mowed and gibbered on the back of her chair, and a parrot, vying in bril- liance with the broldered birds on the wall, hung by its claws from a ring above her head. Nor vas the lady herself unworthy of the splendor of her surroundings. For though her face and piled-up hair, painted and dyed into an extravagant caricature of youth, uped the graces of sixteen, and at the first glance touched the note of the grotesque rather than the beautiful, it needed but a second look to convince’ me that withal this was a great lady of the world, so still she sat and so proud and rk was the gaze she bent on me over her clasped hand At first it seemed to me she gazed like one who, feeling a gr: ed to hide that and all other emettor presently, “Come in, boob a voice petulant and cracked with age. “Does a woman frighten you? er, I say. Ay, T have But the lamp has gone out. The woman who hai admitted me rus- tled forward. “It has sunk a little per- haps, madam,” she sai in a smooth voice. But I—” “But you are a ‘fool," the lady cried. “I meant the lamp in the man, silly. Do you think that any one who has ever seen him would take that block of wood for my son? Give him a brain and: light a fire in him and spark up these oyster eyes, and—turn him round, turn htm round, woman!” “Turn,” Smith mut-cred, ima fierce whis- per. “Ay,” the lady cried, as I went to obey. e his back and he is like enough nd perhaps, madam, strangers—” trangers? They'd he strange, indeed, man, to be taken {n by him. But walk him, walk him. Do you hear, fellow?’ she con- tinued, nodding psevishly at me; “hold up your head and crass ‘the room like ‘a man, if you are one, Do vou think the small- pox is in the air that you fear it 40? Ha! ‘That is better. And ayhat is your name. I wonder, that you have got that nose and mouth and that turn of the chin?” “Charies Taylor,” I made bold to answer, though her eyes’ went Killed the courage In me. ut surprise, has learn- Come ne: en your double. through me and “Ay, Charles, that is like enough,” she replied. “‘And Taylor, that was your moth- er’s. It 1s a waiting-woman’s name. But who was your father, my man?” “Charles Taylor, too,” I stammered, fall- ing deeper and deeper into the lie. “Odds my eyes, no!” she retorted with an ugly grin, and shook her piled-up head at me, and “and you know it! then when I obey Come nea , “take that your lie! she cried, and, leaning for with an activity I’ did ‘not suspect, aimed a blow at me with her ebony cane, and catening me smartly across the shins, made me jump egain. “That is for lying, my man,” she continued, as I stooped rue- fully to rub myself. “Before now I have had a man stopped and Kilied In the street for less. Ay, that hav man than you, and a ge walk! walk!” she re: floor imperiously, “anc money in your purse. I obeyed, but naturally the smart of the cane did not tend to set me more at my ease, or abate my awe of the old witch, and, left to myself, I should have made but a poor show. But both the man and the woman prompted and drilled me with stealthy eagerness, and whispering me con- tinually to do this and that, to hold up my culn, to lay back my shoulders, to ake out my handkerchief, to point’ my I suppose I came off better in this nge exhibition than might have been expected, For by and by, the lady, who never ceased to watch me with sharp eyes, grunted and bade me stand. “He might bass,"" she said, “among fools, and with his mouth shut! But odds my life!” she con- tinued, irritably. “God ha’ mercy on us that there should be need of all this! Is there no ioyalty left in the world, that my son of all people should turn traitor to his lawful kirg and spit on his father's faith? Sometimes I could curse him. And you, woman,” she cried, with sudden fierceness. “you cajoled him once. Can you do nothing now, you Jezebel?” But the woman she addressed stood stift- ly upright, looking before her and answer- ing nothing, and the mistres, with a smoth- ered curs sh It and a prettier tleman! And now ated, tapping the ney that you have turned to the man. ‘Well,” said, “have you nothing to say? nly, madam, what I said before,” he answered, smoothly and gravely; “my lord's succession ts no longer an tssue. The question is how he may be brought back into the path of loyalty. €o be frank, he is not of the stuff of those of whom your ladyship knows, who will readily Hck both sides of the trencher. some little Z er Ana so, without ressure, he will not be brought back. But were he once committed to the Sood cause, either by some indiscretion on his own part, or ff he gould be induced to ““Which he canngi, fan, he cannot,” she struck in, impatigfitly” * ‘ second eysmbaticfitly.2: “He will make no «ftue, madam,” the man answered. “Then there remafns nly the way which does not depend on!him, and which I before indicated; some rise which may lead both the friends and the enemies of the good cause to think him committed to it. After- ward, this opinton being brought to his no- tice, and with it the impossibility of clear- himself to thé’satfsfaction both of St. Germains and St: James’, he would, i think, come over.*** ~“ “'Tis a long way round,” sald madam, dryly. ! “It is a long way'to Rome, madam,” said the man, with meaning in his voice. She nodded and shif seat. n uneasily in her ‘You think that the one means the other?” she said at last. “I do, madam. But there is a new point which has just arisen. ‘A new point? What?" x “There is a design, and it presses,” the man answered, In a low voice, and as if he chose his words with care. “It will be exe- cuted within a month. If it succeed and my lord be still where he 1s, and unrecon- ciled, I know no head must fall so certain- ly. Not Lord Middleton's influence, no, nor yours, my lady, will save him.” What, and my Lord Marlborough es- cape?” “Yes, madam, for he has made his peace, and proved his sincerity.” “ “I believe it,” she cried grimly. “He ts the devil. And his wife is like unto him, pont ithexels Sidney Godolphin. What of im? ‘He has made his peace, madam.” ‘Russell?” “The same, madam, and given proofs.” “But, odds my soul, sir,” she cried sharp- ly and pettishly, “if everybody ts of one mind, where does it stick that the king does not come over?” “On a life, madam,” Smith answered, slowly letting fail each word as if it were Jewel. “One life intervenes.” “Hal she said, sitting up and looking straight before her. “Sits the wind in that quarter? Well, I thought so.” “And therefore time presses.” “Stil, man,” she said, “our family has done much for the throne, and his gracious majesty has—" ‘Has many virtues, but he is not forgiv- ing,” quoth the tempter, coolly. On that she sighed and deeply, and I, hearing the sigh, and seeing how uneasily she moved in her chair, comprehended that in old age the passions, however strong they may have been, become slaves to help others to their aims; ay, and comprehended also that, sharply as she had just rated both the man and the woman, and great lady as she was, and arrogant as had been her life,whereof evidence more than enough was to be found in every glance of her eye and tone of her voice, she was now being pushed and pushed into that to which she was but half inclined. But half inclined, I repeat; and yet, the battle was over, and she persuaded, I think, but T am not quite sure that some assenting word had actually fallen from her, at least she was In the act of speaking one, when a soft knock at the door cut short our conference. Mr. Smith raised his hand in warning, and the wo- man, gliding to the door, opened it, and after speaking a word to some one without, returned. “My lord is below,” said she. ‘ It was strange tc see how madam’s face changed at that, and how on the instant eagerness took the place of fatigue, and hope of ennui. There was no question now of withstanding her, or of any other giv- ing orders. The parrot must be removed because he did not like it, and we fared no better. “Let him up,” she cried peremp- torily, striking her stick on the floor. “Let WEALTH FOR A SQUATTER. He Gets Land Worth $125,000 by Just Holding em to It. From the St. Paul Pioneer Press. James Griffin, squatter, is held to be the owner of eighiy acres of land in the heart of the town of Sheldon, Iowa, worth $125,- 000. Such is the tenor of the decision hand- ed down by Register Evans of the federal land office at Des Moines. The land is not tmproved, and the thriv- ing little city has grown all around it. The question of the title arose before the land was taken into the corporate limits, and since then nobody would buy it lest the title should prove bad. Griffin, an oli man with a dogged deter- mination to take care of his rights what- ever might come, and convinced that in the end he would own the property and be made rich by it, has lived alone on the land, in a little tumble-down shanty, in pov- crty. He has come to be regarded as an eccentric old genius, but the suspicion of his insanity will doubtless be dissipated by the decision, which makes him one of the richest men in town. In 1582, when It was first discovered, there was a question of the validity of the patent made to the state by the govern- meat of a land grant fcr the Sioux City a St. Paul road, and that the land might he opened to homestead entry, Griffin squatted on an eighty-acre tract Just north of the village of Sheldon. He offered to home- Stead it and his application and the rejec- tion thereof are on file in the land office. Then followed the long litigation between the government and the railroad for the restoration of 55,000 acres of the public do- main. Two years ago the Supreme Court of the United States decided the allotment was illegal and that the land should be re- stored to the public domain, subject to the rights of homesteaders and Z him up, And do you, ponte orga: tlers. original set. tinued to the woman, “‘be gone, and SENT SS et ‘ ly. It irks him to see you. And, Smith, to- | Grittin incase taal CS the. tigation morrow! Do you hear me? Come tomor- | p.. ye ny times it was rejected. Finally, the row and I will talk. And take away that | order came opering the land to Setthomins oaf! Ugh, out with him. My lord must not 0 in February, 1996. Griffin wa e 2 be kept waiting for such canaille. Tomor- | first to reach Des Moines, ana tool A =a row! Tomorrow!” sition at the door of the land office, where — he re a Chapter XVII. remained all night. ———_~e.-—__ Desiring nothing so much as to be sone | President Perce Sec slice and be out of this imbroglio, and the wo- Street. man, whom madam had called Montiret, | From the Boston Herald. twitching my sleeve and whispering to me, I foliowed her, and slipped out as quickly a3 I could through the door by which we had entered. Nor even so were we a mo- ment too soon, if I was to retreat unseen, for as the curtain dropped behind me I heard a man’s voice in the room I had just left, and the woman with me chancing to have the lamp, which she had lifted from the table, in her hand at the instant—so that the light fell brightly on her face—I was witness to an extraordii ‘y change which passed over her features. She grew rigid with rage—rage I took it to be—and stood listening with distended eyes, In per- Mr. Plerce often walked out among the more frequented sircets, just as any pri- vate geatieman would, and was rarely in- terrupted. One evening after sunset, when I was walking slowly toward the White House, I heard the voces of two persons approaching behind me, one of the speakers obviously under excitement, the other per- fectly calm and steady. Glan-Ing over my shoulder I saw that one of the two was the President, the other some one io me unknown. The excited tone of the latier induced me to time my gait with theirs, fect forgetfulness of my presence. until. [-while not seemin, : 'y s ~ to notice them. It seon seeming to remember me suddeniy, she | became obvious thay Honey ee as glanced from me to the curtain, and from he excited man was from Mr. Pierce's state, and was in an 2ngry mood because he had not been given something he wanted. He was obliged to admit that the President had never prom- ised it, but for some reason he chose to be angry, and he used language which any magistrate would have decided at once was ‘alculated to provoke a breach of the peace.” Mr. Pierce had it in his power to the curtain to me, in a kind of frantic un- certainty, being manifestly torn in two be- tween the desire to hear what passed and the desire to see me out, that I might not hear. But, as to effect the latter she must sacrifice the former, it did not require a sage to predict which impulse, curiosity incited by hatred, or mere prudence, would prevail with a woman. And, as the sage v summon assistance at any moment, but he ment, it | throughout. No one but myself was near ce hands, she id it a 5 . anger of either party. I heard the angry reproaches—to speak mildly—of the one and the calm disclaimer of obligation and pv- lite regret at disappointment by the other while passing most of a block. Near the gateway to the grounds of the President's house I paused as if looking across into Lafayette Square. Mr. Pierce turned in at the gate, lifting his hat with a courtly bow and said good night calmly and po- litely, adding: “You will pardon my quit- ting you now to a binding engagement, and will doubtless feel differently after you have reflected.” The angry man’s splutter was checked in mid career. I have never been mcre impressed with the impregnable force of self-command and the imperturb- able bearing of the cultivated gentleman. — — When the Irish Ate Shamrocks. From Notes and Queries. That the shamrock was used as diet be- fore it was adopted as the national em- blem is conclusively demonstrated, though Mr. Colgan shows that one writer borrows from another; very few drew their infor- mation from personal observation. Spenser undoubtedly did. and he is perhaps re- sponsible for the familiarization of th's fact to his contemporaries, I quote the passage from “The View of the Present State of Ireland.” ‘Out of every corner of the. woods anda glinnes they came creeping foorthe upon theyr handes, for theyr leggs could not bears them; they looked like anatomyes of death, they spake Iike ghostes crying out of their gra they did eat of the dead carrions * * * and yf they founde a plotte of water-cresses or shamrokes there they flocked as to a feast for the time. This dietary use was known to the Eliza- bethan dramatists: “I vill give tee leave to cram my mouth phit shamrokes and but and vater creeshes instead of pearsh and peepsh.”"— making me a sign to bent eagerly to listen. I take it, {t was the mention of her own name turned the scale, for that was the first word that caught my ear, ard who that was a woman would not listen, being mentioned? The speaker was her mistress, whose words, “What, Montiret?"’ uttered in a voice a little sharp and raised, were as clearly heard as if we had been in the room. es, madam,” came the answer. “Weil,” she replied, with a chuckle, “I do uot think that you are the person who ought to—"” “Object? Perhaps not, my lady mother,” came the answer. The speaker's tone was one of grave yet kindly remonstrance; the voice quite strange to me. “But that is precisely why I do,” he continued. “I can- not think it wise or fitting that you shoulc keep her about you.” “You kept her long enough about you!” madam answered, in a tone between vexa- tion and raillerv. “T own it, and I am not proud of it,” the newcomer rejoined. Whereat, though I was careful not to look at the woman lis- tening beside me, I saw the veins in one of her hands which was under my eyes swell with rage In her, and the nail of the thu grow white with the pressur was placing on the table to heep herself still. ‘I am very far from proud of it,” the speaker continued, ‘‘and for the matter of that——” “You were always a bit of a Puritan, Charles,” my lady cried. t may be.” “I am sure I do not know where you get it from,” madam continued, i ring in her chair—I heard it cr voice told the rest. “Not from me, swear.”” “I never accused you, madam.” That answer seemed to please her, for on the Instant she went into such a fit of laughter as fairly choked her. When she had a little recovered from the fit of cough- ait and be silent, ck, and her rn in ‘ollowed this, “You can be more | Ben Jonson's Irish Masque. Pe sine Chest sontinie Charen’ fans {ii Chie| i ‘ootman, a wild kerne, a aid. “If your father had had a spark of | frog; re spwin. Longed 1 for shamrock?’—Thomas Dekker. ‘The shamrock thus used as food (says Mr. Colgan) was one or other, or, perhaps both, of the meadow clovers or trefoils, trifolium pratense (purple clover) and T. repens (white clover) of modern botanists.” —+ee Summer Visitors, From the Churchman. It must be confessed that the summer vis- itors are not at present a means of grace. They present a demoralizing example of idleness which makes the country people discontented with their own hard and mon- otonous lot. They introduce social distine- tions which are new to the natural and fine democracy of the village and the farm. They are seen making merry on front porches as country foik go by to church, and on Sunday afternoons they play golf. Labor Time ‘our humor— ; “I thought that it was agreed hetween us that we should not talk of him,” the man said gravely, and with a slight suspicion of sternness in his voice. a “Oh, if you are on your high horse, mzdam answered, “the devil take you! But there, I am sure, I do not want to talk of him, poor man. Let us talk of some- & livelier. Let us talk of Montiret in- i; what is amiss with her? I do not think that she is a fit person to be about you. : Why not? She is married now.” lady retorted. “D'ye know that?” Yes, I heard some time ago that she was married; to Mr. Bridges’ steward at my “Yes.” “And who recommended him to my hus- band, I should like to krow swered in a tone of malice. friend.” “It is possible. the kind.” “And who recommended him Why, she did, in the dz warn people against her. “It is possible,” he answered, “but the matter is twelve years old, and more; and I do not want to— 'Go back to it,” madam cried sharply. “Nor to have Montiret about, to remind you of it, and of your wild oats.” Perhaps.” “Perhaps, Mr. Squaretoes? You know it is the case!” was the vivid answer. “For otherwise, as I like the woman, and now at all events she is married, what is against her?” “I do not trust her,” was the answer. “And, besides, madam, in these days peo- ple are more straightlaced than they were; and it is not fitting.” “That for people!’ my lady cried with a reckless good humo that would have been striking in one half her age. People! Odds my life, when did I care for people; but, come, I will make a bargain with you. Tit for tat. A Roland for your Oliver. If you will give me your Anne I will give you my Montiret.”” “My Anne?” he exclaimed in a tone of the utmost astonishment. “Yes, your Anne! Come, my Montiret for your Anne!” ‘There was a silence for a moment, and Be “I do not at all ugderstand you,” he sald. “Don't you? I think you do,” she an- swered lightly. “Look you: “When William king is, Willlam king no more.’ “Now you understand (To be continued.) madam an- Why you, my I remember something of to you? when you did not From the Boston Courier. “Dear Husband: We've been here a week; I've had no chance to write, For things have fotlowed in To tax me day and night. Dan’s had the colic awful bad From eating unripe quince, Jack tumbled In the creek, and’s had = An ague ever since. “Ma's suffered from mosquito bites ‘Til she is most insane, Oe st WaAsHING PowDER ‘What more can be asked? Only this; ask your grocer for it, and insist on trying it. Largest package—greatest economy. ‘THE N. K. FAIRBANK COMPANT, ‘Of Sue and Mary Jane. A tree on Patrick fell and cracked ‘His skuil; he bled a stream: @dicago, St. Louis, New York, 19 The impression which they give to the re- fective rural mind is that well-dressed ;0o- ple set ttle value upon the institutions of rel! The country parson dreads the sight of them. They give no support to his labors, either material or moral. They de velop all that is most mercenary in the lives of his people; they introduce a dis- tinctly harmful influence into the neigh- borhood. For it is possible for fine youhs fellows in white flannel suits and for nice girls in summer gowns to do harm to th. whole community just by doing nothing _— oo Durability of Floorings. Some interesting tests of flooring mater ijals recently made in Philadelphia are de scribed in the Scientific American. The irvestigators used an ordinary iron rub bing-wheel, such as is used by stone work ers for rubbing a smooth face on marti: or sandstone. The samples to be testo were cemented to blocks of sandstone, an! laid, face downward, on the rubbing whe=l which revolved at the rate of seventy-ti revolutions a minute and was kept su plied with sharp sand and water. The blocks to which the floorings were cemeni- ed were of equal weight, so that the rub- bing was effected under nearly the sav pressure in all cases. Curiously enough, the material which resisted best this vere test was india rubber tiling, which after an hour's rubbing, lost only one-six ty-fourth of an inch of {ts thickness. to this, English encausti: tile gave th results, losing only one-eighth of in an hour's treatment. The stone known as “granolithtc” was thirt josing three-eighths of an inch: North River blue stone lost nine-sixteenths of an inch. All the mai very rapidly. A piece of marble mosai disappeared entirely in thirty-five minu while solid white Vermont marble lo» three-quarters of an inch in an hour's r ng. Most of the wood floorings, inc n inch artificial ted abrasion better than the marb!: White pine, for example, lost only sex sixteenths of an inch ‘under treatmer which removed nearly twice as mach from solid marble. Yellow pine showed suir stantially the same resistance as wi pine, while oak lost more than either the pines. It would seem as if the trea: ment with water was hardly fair to th> wooden floorings, which depend a good deal on their elasticity for resisting wer but, even under such unfavorable circuin- siances, their superiority to stone is re- markable. —- coe A Juvenile Strateg: From the Buffalo Expr A family went to C day. Toward evening tired and cross. got into a flerce got the worst of it, and in a fit of sulks le clared that he would go home lnmediately To preserve the peace, he was ziven his ticket and the key of the house. parted on the 5 o'clock boat. The re der of the party went several hours jater When they reached home they discovere4 why the younger son had been so anxivis to precede them. He had got at the fi works beionging to ail the other childr and had had a celebration all by himse { The fight was counterfeited for the pur- pose of obtaining this opportunity rh on Mon- ildren the two The younger one the Presently fight. Krew boys He de na TO THE RESCUE. When a Newfoundland dog plunges into the water and saves a drowning child, every one has a word of raise for the no- le animal. There is agraver danger than that of drown- ing that mewa childhood. It is danger from which every Jro- spective mother may save her babe if she will only take the right care of the health of the deli- cate organs that bear the burdens of m ternity, during the period auguring moth- erhood. The threatening danger is that baby will be weak, puny and sickly, and come into the world with the seeds of disease and death already implanted in its little body. Hea’ cannot be born of ill-health. The chil born of a mother who is suffering from weakness and disease of the feminine or- gaus is condemned upon the very thre old of life to suffering, disease and death. Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescription fits a w: man for motherhood and insures a healthy baby. Thonsands of women who were either childless or whose children had all died in babyhood, bless the “ Favorite Pre- scription’ for the fact that they are now the happy mothers of healthy children. The medicine dealer who says he has sor thing “just as good” knows that he falsi- es. Mrs. Jno. H. Jones, of Peely, Luzerne Co. Pa,, writes: “I was induced to buy two bottle. of! Dr. Pierce's Favorite Prescription to see it the medicine would make the coming of my by more easy. I had seven children before at died during birth or shortly after. 1 am lia; to say that my eighth child (born Sunday, Ociober living and I suffered none a ith what I had with the others.” ‘The names, addresses and photographs of hundreds of women cured by Dr ?: s medicines are printed by permission in “People’s Common Sense Medical viser.” It’s free. For a paper - cov copy send 21 onerGent stamps fe corer » ing only. French cloth binding 31 st Address Dr. R. V. Pierce, Buffalo, N.Y ery woman needs a great medic. Dr. Pierce's Common Sense Medical viser fills this want. It cont: pages and 300 illustrations. ters are devoted to the ph: organs distinctly feminine Ad. To) ' Ad nS Over 1090 everal chap- ology of the and health making are included in the making of HIRES Rootbeer. The prepa- ration of this great tem- perance drink ts an event ofimportance ina million well reguiated homes. is fall of good health. Invigorating, appetiz- ing, satisfying. Put some up to-day and have it ready to put down whenever you're thirsty. Made only by The Sey E. Hires Co. Philadelphi: A pack age makes 5 jons. Sold everywhere. OR.CHASES Blood+Nerve Food For Weak and Run Down People. tive foods, because it re- — the essentials of Life that are exhausted y disease, indigestion, high living, overwork, | Sorry, excesses, abuse, etc. | ? by maki a What it Does! ',,™¥s, 00, pone digestion perfect—it creates solid flesh, muscle and strength. The nerves being made strong—the brain becomes active aud clear. It restores lost Vitality, stops all wasting draius and weakness tn either sex, and as a female regulator bas no equal, Price 50c., or five boxes $2.00. or hy wall. We can belp you. Advice and book, free. _ Write Us About Your Case. | Static Electricity is the only proper treatmont for Neuralgia, Sciat! Diseases. At ‘es Gout, Rheumatinta and Nervous John H. Woodbury Institute. 127 West 42d at., i. treatment can be had for these disases. Bixtio electricity ts recommended and our system of ap. Profession. Coa plication indorsed by the Medical suliation tree.