Evening Star Newspaper, January 1, 1898, Page 16

THE 1898—24 PAGES. EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JANUARY 1, ANTHONY .HOPE COPYRIGHT. 1697 ig BY AMMAWKINS. Written for The Evening Sta: S)> neopsin, Simon Dale, the teller of the story, born shortly after the execution of Charles I, 1s looked upon as destined to greatness be- cause a wise weman has prophesied that he what the k ng loves, know what des, and drink of the king's cup.” Falling in love wit Barbara, daughter of the parish magistrate, Lord Quinton, his young affections are diverted by the ap- pea of a mysterious London beauty named Cydaria, who <ecretly sojourns at Hatehstead. On Cydaria’s return to Lon- den he receives a commission in the King’s Guards. He goes to London, discovers that Cydaria is really ynn, and decides to re rm his commission because she pro- cured it. He becomes a favorite of the young Puke of Monmouth, and is attached to his suite. goes to Dover with the duke, where a re mm is given the king’s sis- | ter, n The queen and her suite are received with much pomp a ceremony, but t greatest interest cin in the arrival of M. De Perrencourt, who comes by right from Calais ferences are held. While in an outer hall for one of the meetings to break w non overhears Monmou ishiy complimenting Mos: De Perrencourt a:; to whom ~ the young duke bows in most abject submis- sion. M. De Perrencourt is very partial to ms Getermined to win her On his departure, Simon ppearance to assure her of his nce and services when needed. He is prisoner In his own apartment on the as punishment for his curi- hurriedi:y summoned into presence ,and commanded to “drink the King’s cup.” At the first draught his senses ve him. The drink prove wine sent to him by Pi and offered to the king by his friend rell. Tate is apprehended and conte abolical purpose and is sen- tencec n attached to the suite of M t that gentleman's req s him in ment nowing the French king's purpos and tries, first by po ia on ard then by thre © prevent his going to France. This interview is interrupted by trance of King Lo is _wiseif, who causticly dismisses Carford and commands Dale te prepare for the journey at once. His prep- the en- rations made, he seeks to warn Barbara (who is also going) of their danger and to devise seme way of escape. Without a definit an, they embark with the king At a moment when the boat is in nse fog, they jump over- the pilot's boat, but before they Louis discovers them and le: beat. Dale overpowers him while rows some distance from the find: him f ata di nusly acquie.ces, and, hav- the ship, dismisses the young pe who row back to the Eng- lish coas' near Dover. Simon discovers that he bas but a single guinea. This he ents t9 Barbara as a token of his de- ship. The king, advantage, graci ing been rowed » to » her to the utmost. In a mo- ment of temper she flings it into the sea. Pennyle nd in danger of apprehension for their cor duet, he upbraids her. CHAPTER XVI Some Mighty y Business. “In truth, madame,” said I, “it’s the wont cf your sex. So scon as a woman knows a thirg to be hers entirely, she'll fling it away.’ With this scrap of love's lore and youth’s philuscphy, I turned my back on my companion, and, having walked to where the battered pasty lay beside the empty jug. sat down in high dudgeon. Bar- Dara’s eyes were set on the spot where the guinea had been swalowed by the waves, and she tcok no heed of my remarks or of my going. Say that my ple ntry was mispla: say that she was weary and strained be- yond her power, say what you will in ex- cyse, I allow it all. Yet it was not reason to fling my last guinea into the sea. A flash of petulance is weil enough and may beauty as summer lighting decks but tury is for termagants, and naught but fury could ing my wast guinea to the waves. ‘The offeuse. if offense there ore, W: mall fur so monstrous an quarrel, I with such women Also I she would no patience weary a man of sen: cir turn ill by using them, r some small srevie han call it to her mind, but it ce in her to remem- . Brew to its height, re, back to st nd ow of all that had for th cottage ntful thi ys in Barbar needed me, I 1 who lay dead t but returning alw ea § ere 1 should face 1 would do ™my leom my ph more t oked for, nay, by no possibility could he leome, to keep away her was to please her be G was well, for In that her mind jumped with In two hours now we could set out , I'm hungry.” re came from behind my shoulder, r two awa voice very meek eloquert of an exhaustion and “Pm Vired and Nungry.” @ weakness so great that, had they been real, she must have fallen by me, not stood upright on her fect. Against such rate- gems I would be tron. I paid no heed, but lay like « log. “Simon, I'm very thi I gathered m: ing, bowed. “There's a fragment of the pasty, “but the jug ts empty I did not look in her face, and I knew she Gid_not look tn mine “I can’t eat without drinking,” she mur- mured. have nothing with which Uquor.”* “But water, Stmon? trouble you. “I'll go to the college and seek some.”* fut that’s dangerous.” ‘You shall come to no hurt.”’ too."* If up and stand- to buy Ah, but I mustn’t But you?" ndeed, I need a draught for myself. I should z ‘e gone after one in any case. ‘asa pause. Then Barbara sai it; my thirst has passed away “Will you take the pasty?” ‘0: my hunger is gone also.” I bowed again. We stood In silence for a oment. Tl walk a little,” said Barbara. “At your pleasure,” said I. “But 4cn't go far. Thers may be danger." She turned away and retraced her steps to the beach. The instant she was gone I sprang up, seized the jug and ran at the best of my speed to the cottage. Jonah his apart- | ; 1 would | Wall lay still across the entrance, no living creature was in sight. I darted in and looked around for water: a pitcher stood on the table, and I filled the jug hastil: | Then with a smile of sour triumph I hur- | ried back ty the way I had come. She |The have no cause to complain of me. I had been wronged and was minded to hug my grievance and keep the merit of the difference all on my side. That mo- tive, too, commonly underlies a seemin: patlence of wrong. I would not for the world enrich her with a just quarrel, there- tore I brought her water, aye, although she feigned not to desire it. There it was for her, let her take it if she would. or leave it if she would, and I set the down by the pasty. She should not that I had refused to fetch her what she | asked, although she had, for her own good i reasons, flung my guinea into the sea. She would come soon; then would be my hour. | Yet I would spare her; a gentleman should show no exultation; silence would serve to point the moral. | But where was she? To say truth, I impatient for the play to begin, and an- | Ucipation grew flat with waiting. I looked down to the shore, but could not see her. h 1 rose and walked forward lay open before me. Where was Barbar: A sudden fear ran through me. Had an madn ed the girl, some uncontro’ whim made her fly from me? She could not be so foolish. But where was she? On the moment of the question a cry of sur- ‘ ran from my lips. There, ahead of not on the shore. but on the sea, was arbara. The boat was twelve or fifteen Barbara's face was Was rowing out to sca. Forgetting pe and jug, I bounded down. What new fo was this? To show herself in the boat was to court capture. And why id she row out to sea? In an instant I Was on the margin of the waier. I called She tock no heed. The boat : but, putting her strength into the strokes, she drove it along. Again 1 called and called unheeded. Was thi¢ my riumph? I saw a smile on her face. Not she, but I, afforded the sport then. 1 would not stand there, mocked for a fool by her eyes and her smile. “Come baci 1 cried. ‘The boat moved on. I was in the water ull the b toward me, ar to my knees. “Come back!” I cried. 1 | heard a laugh from the boat, a high, nery- JONAH WALL LAY STIL madame, tell me the meaning of this freak of yours.” “Nothing, nothing. I—Oh, forgive me, Simon. Ah, how I shuddered when I looked rcund on the water and couldn't see you! I vowed to God that if you were saved— She stopped abruptly. “My death would have been on your con- science?” I asked. ‘h,” she said. said I, “I'm very glad “Till my own dea “Then, t I wasn't t's enough that you w she murmured, woefulls “I pray heaven,” said I cheerfully, “that I may never be in greater. Come, Mistress Barbara, sport for sport, trick for trick, feint for feint. I think your intention of leaving me was pretty much as real as this peril of drowning from which I have es- cape.” Her hands that had still implored me fell re in peril of to her side. An expression of wonder spread over her face. f “In truth, I meant to leave you,’ she said. “4 “And why, madam? “ause I burdened you." But you had consente to accept my While you seemed to give it willingly. But I had angered you in the matter of that—" ‘Aye, of that guinea. Well, it was my . of the guinea. Although T was fool- Again tated. “1 would not stay where my c suffered rather than prized,’ “So you were for trying fortune alon “Better that than an unwilling defender,” e. old your injustic rather than lose you 1 hav drowning!" And I laughed. Her eyes were fixed on my face, but she did not speak. I believe she feared to ask me the question that was in her dark eyes. But at last she murmured: “Why did you pak of tricks? why do you laugh “Why, since by a trick you left me—in- deed, I cannot believe it was no trick.” swear it was no trick. rant it was. And thv contrived to thwart it. “For, faced all, even Simon, by a trick I h an oath | cast my sword from mo, throwing ous laugh, but the boat moved on. W it behind me on the beach, and plunged into the water. Soon I was up to the ne and I took to swimming. Straight out | Sea went the boat, not fast, but relentle: jly. In grim anger I swam with all m: strength. [ could not gain on her. Sh had ceased now even to look where m head had bobbed among th face lifted toward the sky. By did she in very truth mean to leav 1 called once more. Now she answered “Go back,” she said. “I'm going alone. y God, you aren't,” I muttered, with a gasp, and set myself to a faster stroke. Bad to deal with are women. Must she fly trom me and risk all because I had not | smiled and grinned and run for what sh needed, like a well-trained mon | L would eatch her ani } But catch her I could not. A poor oars: to beat a fair swimmer, and she i the start on me. Steadily out to s she rowed, and I toiled behind. If her mood lasted—and hurt pride lasts | dainful ladies who are more wont to deal strokes than to bear them—my choice was | 1 must drown there like a rat, or turn back a beaten cur. Alas for my tri- umph. If to have thought on it were sin I now chastened. But Barbara rowed on, n very truth she meant to leave me, pun- jishing herself if by that she might sting me. What man would have shown that | folly—or that flower of pride? Yet ? 1 do not love to be beaten, abo game has seem ed in my and between m: yas it }came into my mind. I glanced over my shoulder. I was hard on half a mile from . Women siona pride’s heels there com: Ked at the boat; the inter quick remorse. 1 al that part- e compa: with half a mile | ter?’ | tated voice, from it had not and its head was straight for the of France. I raised my voice, crying: ‘op, stop!” answer came. The boat moved o1 | rowed by an No , The slim figure bent and rose again, the blades moved through the water. Well, then, the card should be played, the trick of a wily gamster, but my only resource. “Help, help!" I eried, and letting my legs fall and raising my hands over my head, I inhaled a full breath and sank like a stone far out of sight beneath the water. Here I abode as long as I could; then, after swimming some yards under the surface, I rose and put my head out again, graspli ard and clearing my matted hair from before my eyes. I could scarcely stifle a ‘The boat's head was turned now, and arbara was rowing with furious speed toward where I had sunk, her head turned over her shoulder and her eyes fixed on the spot. She passed by where I was, but did not see me. She reached the spot und dropped her oars. “Help, help!” I cried, a second time, and stayed long enough to let her see my head -fore I dived below. But my caught at the gunwale of the boat. A gr cry broke from her. The oars .jell from her hands. The boat was broad and steady. I flung my leg over and climbed in, panting hard, In truth, I was out of breath. Barbara cried, “You're safe, hid her face in her hands. We were mad, both of us, beyond a deubt, she sobbing there on the thwart, I panting and dripping in the bows. Yet for a touch of such sweet madness now, when all young nature was strung to a delicious contest, and the blood spun through the veins full of life. Our boat Iny motionless on the sea, and the setting sun caught the undergrowth of red-brown hair that shot through Barbara's dark locks. My own State was, I must confess, less fair to look on. 1 controlled my voice to a cold steadi- ness, as I wrung the water from my clothes. “This is a mighty silly business, Mistress Barbara,” said I. I had angled for a new outburst of fury. My catch was not what I looked for. Her hands were stretched out toward me, and her face, pale and tearful, pleaded with m. “Simon, Simon, you were drowning. Through my—my folly! Oh, will you ever forgive me? If—if you had come to hurt, I wouldn't have lived.’ “Yet ycu were running away from me. “I didn’t dream that you'd follow. In- deed, I didn’t think that you'd risk death. Then her eyes seemed to fall on my @rip. pirg clothes. In an instant she snatcned up the cloak that lay by her and held it toward me, crying, “Wrap yourself in it.” “Nay, keep your cloak,” said I. be warm enough with rowing. “I shalt y shorter now. Up again, I looked for h s 1 but over me as she went b: e panted, she sobbed, and the oars but just touched water. I swam five sirokes I pray you, “By a trick “Most assuredly. Am I a man to drown swimming in smooth wi Again I laughed. She leaned forward and et Imperiously “Teli me ‘the truth. Were you Indeed in danger and distress?” “Not a whit said T, compos you wouldn't wait for me.” Slowly came her net qu “Tt was @ trick, then?” “And crowned with great succe: “All a trick?” “Throughout,”’ | answered. Her face grew set And rigid, and, if it might be, yet paler than before. I waited for her to speak, but sh id nothing. = drew aw: the cloak t she had off about her shoud ‘: stern of the boat. L took id hold of the oars, your pleasure now, madam?” 1 poke in an agi- “But ly. “What you will, I looked at her. steady regard. I had expected found grief and hurt. Accused by the sight, | wrapped myself in a cold flippanc: “There is small choi said 1. “The ‘e, and that we have found not Calais is yonder, where certainly we must not go. To Dover, then? Evening nd if we go gently it will be dark yre we reach the town.” “Where you will. I care not,” bara, amd she folded her cl face that I could see litt her eyes and her brow Here at length triumph. As sweet as such j lice is their fount, and they smack of its bitterness. Had I followed my heart I would have prayed her pard A sore spirit had impelled her; my revenge lacked justice. Yet I would not abase myself, be- ing now in my turn sore, and therefore ob- stinate. With slow strokes I propelled the boat toward Dover town. For half an hour I rowed; dusk fell, and I saw the lights of Dover. A gentler mood came on me. TI rested an instant, and, leaning forward, said to Barbara: “Yet I must thank you. Had I been in peril you would have saved me.” > answer came. I preceived that you were moved by my fancied danger,” I persisted. Then she spoke, clearly, coldly: she said, briefly. She met my ga » with a corn, but aid Bar- so about her more of her than calmly and ouldn’t have a dog drown under my said she. ‘The spectacle is pain- 1 performed such a bow as I could, sitting there, and took up my oars again. I had made my approach. If such were the wel come, no more should come from me. 33 rowed slowly on, then lay on my oars a while, waiting for darkness to fall. The night came, misty again and chill. I grew cold as I waited (my clothes were but half dry) and would gladly have thumped my- self with my hands. But I should have seemed to ask pity of the statue that sat there, enveloped in the cloak, with closed eyes, and pale, unmoved face. Suddenly she spoke: “Are you cold, sir?” “Cold? I am somewhat everheated with rowing, madam," I answered. “But, I pray you, wrap your cloak closer round you.” “I am very well, 1 thank you, sir.” Yet, cold I was, and bitierly. Moreover, I vas hungry and somewhat faint. Was Barbara hungry? I dared not ask her, lest she should find a fresh mockery in the question. When I ventured to beach the boat a little way out of Dover it was quite dark, beirg hard on 10 o'clock. I offered Bar- bara my hand to alight, but she passed it by unnoticed. Leaving the boat to its fate we walked toward the town. oe are you taking me?” asked Bar- ara. “To the one person who can serve us,” I answered. “Veil your face, and it would be well that we shouldn’t speak loud. “I have no desire to speak at all,” said Barbara. I would not tell her whither she went. Had we been friends, to bring her there would have taxed my persuasion to the full, as our affairs stood. I knew she would Me the night in the street before she would go. But if I got her to the house I could keep her. But would she reach the house? She walked very wearily, faltering in her step and stumbling over every loose stone. I put out my arm to save her once, but she drew away from it, as though I had sought to strike her. At last we came to the narrow alley. Making a sign to Barbara I turned down it. The house was in front of me; all was quiet; we had escaped detection. Why, who should look for us? We were at Calais with King Louis; at Calais where we were to be married! Looking at the house I found the upper SS windows dark! there had heen the quar- ters of Phinéhs* Tite and the king had found him otitrs. But below there was a light. 4 - “Will it plelise yu to walt am instant, while I_go fotward and rouse my friend? I shall see then whéther all is safe.” “I will waft heré,” answered Barbara, and she leaned against the wall of the alley, that fronted the house. In much trepidation I went *on and knocked with my knuckles on thé doo. There was no other course, yet F knew not, how either of them would take my action, the lady within and the lady without, she whom I asked for suécor tind she in whose cause I sought it. My entry was easy. A man servant and a maid were just within, and the house seemed astir. My request for their mis- tress caused no surprise; the girl opened the door of the room. I knew the room and gave my name. A cry of pleasure greeted it, and a moment later Nell her- self stood before me. “From the castle or Calais, from Deal or the devil,” she cried. In truth, she hud a k1ack of telling you all she knew in a sen- tence. “Why, from half way between Deal and the devil,” said I “For I have left Mon- mouth on one side and M. de Perrencourt on the other, and am quite safe through.” “A witty Simon. But why in Dover again? “or want of a friend, mistress. Am I What would me to one?” With all my heart, Simon. ns to go to London.” “Now, heaven is kind. I go there myself in jew hours. You stare. In truth, ivs worth a stare, tut the king com- mands. How did you get rid of Louis?” { told her briefly. She seemed barely to listen, but looked at me with evident cu- riosity, and, as I think, with some plea: uri “A brave thing,’ she cried. ‘ome, Vil carry you to London, Nobody. shall touch you while you’re hid uncer the hem of my petucout. It will be like old times, Simon. “Lt have no money,” sald I. “But Th plenty. For the less the king comes the more he sends. He a in his apologi Her sigh 1 more contentment than repini o you'll take me with you the world’s end, Simon, and if you sk that, at least to London.” gut I'm not alone,” said TL ing. She looked at me for an Instant. Then she _ beg: “Whom have you with you “The i She laughed very heartily “Tm giad,”” she , “that one man England thinks me a good Christ heaven, you do, Simon, or you'd nev. me to ¢ your ‘love.”” e's no love in the matte ne know to whom she is brought? “Not y 1 answere: smile. “She has no other help,” said 1. “Oh, Simon, what a ‘smooth tongue ts She paused, seeming to fall into erie. Then she looked at me wieked]) ou and your lady are ready to face the perils of the road?” “Her peril is greater here, and mine as great. “The king's pursuit, Monmouth’s lers, officers, footpads “A fig for them all.” “Another peril? “For her or for me?" “Why, for bbth, good Simon. understand? See, hen.” She came n smiling mst sducily, and purs #8 Unough she meu rage, Don't you to together to the lady, 1 fear the test,"USait'T, “but Tam free. “Where is she?*asked Neil, letting my answer pass with 4 pout. “By your very door.” “Le ve “her in,” cried Nell, and straightway st ral into the alley. 1 followed and came up with her just as she -reached Barbara. Barbara leaned no more poole the wall, but lay huddle: at the foot of it. Weariness and hunge had overcome Her. She was in a faint, he lps colorless and her sed. dropped beside hex murmuring low, tions. 4 stogd by in awkward’ heip- Ss. Theyg mytters were beyond my rning. ‘ae ‘ t her and earry her in," Nell com- manded, and, stooping, I lifted her in. my arms. The maid and the man stared. Nell shut tne door sharply on them. “What. have you done to her? she er! od in angry accusation. “You've let her go without food. “We had ne She flung my last money ede 3 ded, And why? Oh, hold your peace and let us be ‘To question and refuse an answer is wo- man's way; should it be forbidden to who was woman from crown to sole? shrugged my shoulders and drew off to.the far end of the room. For some months I heard nothing and remained very not knowing whether it were allo look or not, nor what pas: Then 1 heard you, I thank you much. and who are you? you?” Dover, But Forgive me, ft and a1 sa “WwW enough, matters madame, it who this to ple: >m » but who you? I seem to your face,” “Like enough. Many have si be ut tell me who you are.” “Since you will know, stand sponsor for me, imon Dale Here, Simon!” must I rose in obedience to the summons. A thing t man does not feel of his own accord, a 's eyes will often make him feel. I took my sta by Nell boldiy enough, but Barbara's ey and I full of fear.” “Tell her who L am, Simon, I looked at Nell. 3 were on mine, said Nell. As I live, the fear that yas in my heart was in her ey Y she had faced the word and laughed to scorn all England's frowns she understood my thought and colored red. Since when had c aria learned to blush? Even at Hateh- my blush had been t et for hei mockery! Tell her,” she repeated, angrily But Barbara knew. Turning to her I had seen the knowledge take shape in her eyes and grow to revulsion and dismay. I could not tell what she would say; but now my fear was in no way for myself. She seemed ch Nell for a while in a strange mingling of horror and attraction. Then she rose and, still without a word, took her way on trembling feet toward the door. To me she gave no glance and seemed to pay no heed. We two looked for an in- stant, then Nell darted forward. “You mustn’t go," she cried. “Ww! would you go? You've no other friend.” Barbara paused, took one step more, paused again. “I shan't harm you,” sald Nell. Then she laughed. “You needn't touch me, if you will have it so. But I can help you. And I caa help Simon. EH not safe in Dover.” She had grown grave, but she ended with another laugh. uu needn't touch me. My maid is a good girl—yes, it’s true—and she shall tend you.” r pity’s;saké; Mistress Barbara—" n. “Hush,” said Nel, waving me back with a motion of hr hind. Barhara now stood Still in the mi@die of the room. She turned her eyes on fie, “afd her whisper sounded clear through all the room. “Is it?" she asked. “It is Mifffess Eleanor Gwyn,” said I, bowing my head. Nell laughed a''khort, strange laugh. I saw her breast rise and fall, and a bright red patch marked either cheek. “Yes, I'm Nelly suid she, and laughed again, Barbara's eyes now met hers. “You were at Hatchstead?” “Yes,” said «Nelly and now she smiled de- flantly, but ig a woment she sprang’ for- ward, for Barbara had reeled, and seemed like to faint again and fall. ‘A proud mo- tion of the hand forbade Nell’s approach, but weaknes¥ baffted pride, and now per- force Barbara caught at her hand. : moment,” stammered ere Nell held one hand. Very slowly, very timidly, with fear and shame plain on her face, she drew nearer, and put out her other hand to Barbara. Barbara did not resist her, but let her come nearer. Nell’s glance warned me not to move, and I stood where I was, watching them. Now the clasp of the hand was changed for a touch en the shoulder, now the comforting arm sank to the waist and stole round it, full as timidly ever gallant’s round_a deny- ing mistress. Still I watched, and I met Nell's bright eyes that looked across at me, wet and sparkling. The dark hair almost mingled with. the ruddy brown, as Bar- bara’s head fell-on Nell’s shoulder, ‘I heard a little sob, and Barbara moaned. “Oh, I’m tired and very hungry.” “Rest here and you shall- have food, my pretty,” said Nell Gwyn. “Simon, go and bid them give you some.’ I went, glad to go. And as I went I heard, “There, pretty, don't cry. Well, women love to weep. A plague on them, though, they need not make us also CHAPTER XIX. A Night on the Road. In a man of green age and inexperience a hasty judgment may gain pardon, and moze reed wonder that his hopes carry him on straightway to conclusions born of desire rather than of reason. The mect- ing I feared had passed off so softly that I forgot how strange and delicate it was, and what were the barriers which a gust of sympathy had for the moment leveled. It did not enter my mind that they must raise their heads again, and tnat friend- ship, or even companionship, must be in- Possible between the two whom I, cesver- ately seeking some refuge, had ihrown together. Yet an endeavor was made, and that on both sides. Obligation blunted the edge of Mistress Barbara's scorn, free- dom’s respect for virtue’s chain schooled Neli to an unwonted staidness of demean- or. The fires of war but smouldered, the faintest puff of smoke showing ouiy here and there. 1 was on the alert to avoid an outbreak; for awhile no outbreak came, and my hopes grew to confidence. But then—I can write the thing no other wa that ancient devil of h 3 into the. heart of Mistress Gwyn. 1 was a man, and a man who had loved her. It was, then, twice intolerable that b should disclaim her dominion, that I should be free, nay, that I should serve ano.her with a sedulous care which might well seem devotion; fer the offense touching the guinea was forgotten, my mock drowning well nigh forgiven, and alth: arbarn had few words for me, th e such that gratitude and friendship shone in them through the veil of embarrassment. '$ made re-ent Mistr I's shrewd eyes were on and she watched while she aided. in truth her intcrest, as she cone Barabara safe there was kindne: out of Dov also in her omple suc- r slave to the rkie of ra share of our journey’s charges full return. Rarbara was ach, a good horse was provid me, her servant found me a sober suit of clothes and a sword. Thy sua, party stole from De e town . Nell, ob "s com- mand, which sent her baci \. and delighting that she could punish him for it by going in our company. I ide behind the coach, bearing mys servin man until we reached open country, when I quickened pace and stationcd myself by the window. Up to this time matiers hal gone we if they spoke it was of service given 4 kindness shown. But as the day wor and we came near Canterbury the n to busy himself. Perhaps 1 showed some discouragement at the ness of Barb: mann growing col , and my anxiety to warm her to greater cord ucted as as ur companio' Nell laughed s* gai tl at- tention and my compliments no ret n, that Jarbara would not talk of our adve of the day before, but ha coming § arging me fr merry look declared n Would not pl a fusiilade of g 1 fei see, chagrined into some there followed words, half-whisp on and m my forced if M ery tr nother r- I re- d, that loud, not sparing in reminiscence of other days and misch| pointed with tender sentiment. The challenge to. my manhood was too tempting, the joy of en- counter sweet. rbara grew uttert: lent, sitting with ps down: t and .ips pproval that needed no speech ion. Bolder and bolder cam when I sought to drop b called me up; if I rode ahead swore she would bid the driver zaliop Ss horses till she came to me again, “I n't be without you, Simon. Ah, ‘tis so long since we were together,” she whis- pered, and turned naughty eyes on Bar- bara, Yet we might have come through without declared contiict had not @ thing befallen us | at Canterbury that brought Nell into fi tempiation, and thereby broke the s cords of amity. The doings of the at | Dover had set the country in some stir, there was no love of the French and less of | the pope: men were asking, and pi loudly, why madame came; she had been seen in Canterbury; the Duke of York had > a great entertainment there for he did not know what L knew, but the vere uneasy concerning the king's religion and thelr own, Yet Nell must needs put | her head well out of window as we drove in. 1 know not whether the sequel were what she desired; it was at least what she seemed not to fear—a fellow caught sight of her and raiscd a cheer. The ne' quick among the idle folk in the stre the busy, hearing it, cume out of th | hou! A few looked askance at our pro- | but the larger part, setting the! a their scruples, g1 and made a procession for her, cheering and encouraging her with c which had more friendliness than deli in them. indeed, 1 dropped t and ro¢ e mounted servant. a-grin riump! z in popularity. Even so she hers it, and threw all around ne and alas, repartees con- | m) rit as the jests | his ft mistress" exulted in and smiies, ay ceived much in thi that called them prth. 1 could have cri on the earth swallow me, not for m own sake (in itseif the scene was enter- | taining enough, however little it mignt tend to edification), but on account of Mi afraid to ride tor- | E , and dreaded to re- | that I had brought her to this But Nell laughed and jested, flinging back at me now and again a look that mocked my gium face, and declared her keen pleasure in my perplexity and her situation. scorn of Barbara’s shame. Where now were the tenderness and sympathy that had made their meeting beautiful? ‘The truce was ended, and war wagel relent- lessly. (To be continued.) >: Beards Allowed, From the London Mail Time was in England when the employes of banks might not wear beards or mus- taches. This restriction has in almost every instance long been removed. One € ception still remains. A bank, whose name | is known all over the world, declines to | alter the rule of a bygone age, and visitors | to its ancient halls will note ‘that its em- ployes present a remarkably trim and smart appearance. The younger clerks yearning for those hirsute adornments so dear to budding adolescence, are said to have at one time memorianzed the partners on this subject, but without success, —— Immedinte Assistance. From the Detroit Free Press. “Mr. Grumpy,” said the chronle borrow- er, “I'm financially embarrassed today. Can you help me out?” “Cheerfully.” Then Grumpy kicked his caller through two offices and a long hall- way. °-—____ Quite an Insult. From Punch. Grandinamma (to the boys, arrived for a week's visit)—‘‘So, my dears, as that nasty old leather foot ball of Uncie Frank’s is too dangerous for you, { have made this nice new worsted one for you to play with ete | man ‘into th HER GOLDEN JUBILEE California Will Celebrate an Interest- ing Anniversary. RECOLLECTIONS OF A FORTY-NINER Queer Characters in the Mad Rush of Fortune Seekers. STORIES OF MIN ens ee aon LIFE Written for The Evening Star. T IS PROBABLE that January 24 will be made a state holl- day in California. It is the fifticth anni- versary of the dis- covery of gold in Cal- ifornia, and active work is being done make the golden ju- bilee a great succes: The Native Sons’ As- sociation is eng in the work of prep- aration and the par- ade which will take place in San Franci Promises to e a spectacle well worth wit- nessing. This is a worthy affair, and I hope it will be all that fs promised for it. But I wonder how many of the real old ‘4vers will be present to witness this fif- tieth anniversary of what, after all, has been the biggest gold excitement that this country ever experienced. I wonder if . + people who will witness the pageant which is to typify in its way the final triumph of the early struggles, hardships and destitu- encountered in fully realize in their what those first years tion which the old mine: the old days, will sent prosperity nt to the gold rs.” The speaker was George 8. Lee, who, in his youth, took part in the great rush aeross the continent, which followed th discovery of gold in California. Mr. 8 adventures in search ef the yellow Were as varied and as sttartling participated in by any other his reminiscences are wi “It was not all hardship, to be says Mr. Lee, “but there was enough of it to go round nearly enough of the pieasanter side of life. At the same tim every man who was there and is still li ing will, on the oc look back to the o 4 ¢ gret. The sc characters believe, been duplicated in rict In the world. T have scriptions of life in the old c but none of caem seemed to have got deep down into the human life of the thing. There were many facts and incidents which have never be recorded, and yet the were essentially typical of the old days and stood out prominently, and will be remem- bered by any ‘forty-niner.’ ” A Curious Lot. ‘ “Characters met with in no other part of the world outside of mining fields c gregated there—broken down and dissipat- ed preachers, gamblers, h: thieves, law- yers, doctors, clerks; men of every na- tionality and of good and bad repute. But s0 strictly were the laws of meum and tuum inforced in impartial trials by miners’ Jury, that cabins and camps were left Without lock, bolt or bar, often with great in gold dust or other property left n, but few instances of theft occur- red, murder being far more frequent than robbery. Saloon ‘rows were of daily or weekly occurrence, and there were al- Ways one or more victims to be planted never, I mining di: mp: {with their boots on. Gambling was car- ried on openly at all times, more espe- ciaily from Saturday night’ to Moadlay morning, and the weekly earnings of the miners generally were in the pockets of the gambler on the latter day. Every mining camp beasted of its typical bad or men, and at slight provocation the revolver made itself heard, and another Metim was ¢ to the already large score of the desperado. “One of the typical characters whom I recall was a man named Bronson, a good looking, well-meaning fellow, without edu- cation, but with intense desire not to let lited the lack of it Whi er he heard a word not common use he treasured it up, and whenever opportunity to use it presented elf he was sure to bring it ‘sation. Thus he heard the ‘quondam.’ Seated one day on a h when a woman went by, he asked who she was, and mate an- ‘Why, that is Mrs. Smith, quondam "AS 1 and greatly de sired favor he was invited to one of the infrequent word sal weddings that took place in the section. The bride, a girl of fourteen, had attended school in San Francisco for yeral months, and, being also the daugh- of the stage driver (a high functionary in those days), It was esteemed a mark of great favor to receive an invitation co her wedding. After the ceremony Bron- son Was seen in conversation with the bride, and the following mversation be: tween them was overhea: “Was you right glad Miss Nellie?’ ‘Well, no; it was about t my education Goin’ to hang out in the old diggins?” ‘Sort o° think I will, Bill's got right smart show to pan out well in the Lottie’ (his mining claim). ““Sull, Miss Nellie, it sorter beats me, after swingin’ ‘round with them high- toned intes in "Frisco how you can tent yourself in these nefarious hiil: sentary from all female sociability.’ Dramatic and Pathetic. “Some of the pages in the history of the time were highly dramatic, others exceed- ingly pathetic; they were all interesting. During this period the valley of the Sacra- mento was one vast mesa, reaching from the coast range of the Pacific ocean on the eust to the Sierra Nevada mountains on the west, and from the head waters of the Sac- ramentv on the north to the bay of San Pueblo on the south. No inclosure or fence restricted or bounded any special domain, and transportation across the plain was generally accomplished in the old-t.me prai- rig ‘schooner.’ Several of these outfits trav- eled in company, so as to aid ach other in case of accident. ‘Once during the hottest month of the year I remember seeing what to me was one of the strangest sights I had ever en- countered. Behind one of the prairie schooners was a man trudging along in the aust of the rear or trail wagon. Noosed about his neck was a rope, the other end of which was fast to the rear end of the wagon. When a halt was made to feed the animals, either at noon or when camped for the night, instead of joining the trav- elers assembied around their camp fires, this erratic individual held aloof, stretching nimself on the heated, barren ground to sleep, partaking of food only when it was thrown to him by one or another of the campérs. In every respect it was his en- deavor to follow out and imitate the ac- uons,of a dog, and to be treated as such. Day after day this strange procedure was persistently followed to the end of a long and weary journey, when, with gruff thanks to the travelers, who would have befriended him and shared with him all the comforts of the camp, he disappeared. The causes impelling this singular personage to adopt such humiliating self-sacrifices were not known for years; but afterward I had the good luck to come across him in a mining camp, and we became partners. The story I gleamed from him was as fol- lows. A Typical Argonaut. “Before coming to California he lived on the shores of Cayuga Lake, New York, with his wife and four children. His life as a farmer had been happy enough, until some unfortunate speculation swept away all of his property. California presented a view of golden promise, so, bidding adieu to home, wife and en and eigen ¥ a sheapest possible transportation Cape Horns he reached the mining regions. For a year or more he was unsuccessful, but at length his luck turned. By working a and hoarding every duilar earn- ed, he finally secured a sum that would not only release all obligations on the old farm, but leave a comfortable surplus which, in those times, would fairly entitle him to be to get hitched but dad sort of reckoned seein’ as T had finished ab- -estimated as a rich man among his fellow- farmers. With visions of home and longing to arrive there as quickly as possible, he went by stage to Sacramento, then by boat to San Francisco, and engaged passage on the first outgoing steamer. But as fate several days elapsed before th Sailing of the steamer. This ne an unforeseen and unweleomed w Strange city. With nothing to occupy his time, and in truth being what is known at the present time as a ‘come-on’ or ‘ha seed,” he not only accepted invitations drink promiscuously, but made the ac quaintance of disreputable characters, (in- horn gamblers and short-card men. The re- sult was inevitable, The lamb fell into the hands of the shearer and soon parted with its golden fleece. Then followed the season of reproach. Crazed by the effects of drink and remorse, but one of two courses was left to be followed—death, or a retrieval of bis fortune. “W:xh a roll of blankets on his back and & few meager belongings, he worked his wa: on a river packet te Sacramento. Landing at Sacramento — penniless and ft Hess e secured free sieeping quar- ters at om { the numerous corrais of the cHY, Where freighters to the interior kept their stock and stored their wagons. Taen he drove a bargain with a driver of a team whereby he was to accompany this slow moving outfit on foo! Ths punted for his strange appearance with a rope around his neck. Moroid, half-crazed, re niant, anguished in mind, aged in body, with th Visions of disappointed loved wat for his previousiy heralded return ever $e fore h.m, with no p.ausible excuse to ren “ thing n which to build @ future, ashamed t he was known. ing and self-abasement Sierras were re hed. hh And Living poorer th Kain uy turn to places where days of siow journey- the the hills of ting asso. meanest riendless, me thn h prospecuing and holuing aioof from every one, he at dawn aiways to be seen with pan. and shovel on his shoulder, trudg.ng the couniry, sinking prospect holes, and Keneraily the shadows of night overtook hun returning to his camp with unreward- ed ho was pick over aetrieving His “So passed the days, weeks and months in fa almost a year. One evening, while cut later than usual, and di . he jumped Into a shaliow 7 ot to shield the match from the wind, lighting 1t he glanced around. In that short moment some peculiar feature of the exposed gravel attracted his attention, and iring to light in he decided to retur to Um spot the next ring. ‘fhe next day, and the next, found him persistently at work in the same less likely to yield gold found, In the estimation of miners. Soon the tunnel or driving into the mountain be- came an object of curiosity. Neighboring mii often went to the sceni his ta- bors, but learned nothing from t sollttary recluse. Curiosity was foliowed by aston- ishment that no bed or mother rock was encountered, and that all the material cavated was a pile of which was accumu entrance to the drift. ing made by the own seen, to extract whate pay dirt might contain “One day the community was electrified by the delivery at the claim of a large lot of sluice lumber, nails, ete Chinamen wer set at work digging the ditch from the wa- ter company’s main line, and preparations were being m large scale to wash the dump. Soon the big pile of pay dirt and sand disappeared under the systematic method of washing, while rumors floated round the camp of the fabulous returns. Then it became known that the claim could be purchased, and the hitherto sealed and secret. gates of the hermit miner were thrown open to the curious, and, of course, envious miners. It then ‘became known that the owner had each day piled up in the drift all the choice gold-bearing rock gravel, to be manipulated in the night with pan and rocker. All of the water used by him he personally carried tn from on- venient spring. By this primitive and slow process, he had successfully mined a large of gold, using the least moiety of umulations for necessities, not even trusting himself as guardian of his own every dollar of which had been ex w York for deposit—by what method was never known; for the supply stores never received any dust from him unless in payment for purchases made. After Four Years, “The sale of the claim was In time ef- fected and the property proved remunera- tive for years. His find was in a former piehistoric course of the American river. On reaching San Francisco he secured a steerage pasage for New York, but I have never heard of him since that time. From a few words dre d in conversation, I learned that ir doliars and cents his last pile Just equaled the recklessly distributed and squandered stake lost in San Francisco four years previously; that the time of his departure from t city to the Atlantic coast exactly corresponded with the date day and steamer of his first disastrous trial, 1 evidently being his paramount idea to blot out, to never consider or allow th there had been any interruption to his inal plan, or that any time had en the one event and the other; that his first experiecce in San Francisco had been merely a dream and no interference had been met with in his original plan, ‘Another remarkable and widely known character in old days was ‘Old Nigger Kir Not a mining camp in three coun- ties but knew and welcomed him on his bi+ monthly trips. He was a full-blooded n gro, we.ching 250 pounds. He was as as he was high, and had a fat, kindly and a Wide mouth wNich was always on tng grin. His approach to a camp was her- alded by a yell which could be heard fully a mile. Mounted on a mule leading another equipped with a p ile and expansive canvas paniers, he sold papers througn the mountain sections, His arrival with those containing home news from the Atlantic states was eagerly and anxiously Icoked for ll classes. He vended his wares at the uniform price of two bits (twenty-five cents), that being the smallest cin In use. A drink, the most trivial ser- vice or cheapest thing, was purchased for two bits. Mormon Island, on the American river, was, for a mining camp, a very superior town, and King was reputed to own the greater part of the camp, to have invested there the then very large sum of $100,000. Bat after all, like many another argonaut, he died poor.” ald spot. Or not have experienced drift he w: vidently gold-bearing gravel at ated the ts were be- as could be gold contents wre r. SAVE THE BABY! AP, _A mother will risk hes Syd own lif many times t W over, to save her babe ‘id from the horrors of hy- y drophobia. There are graver perils from which a mother should protect her child. A mad dog is @ rarity, but thousands of children die daily be- cause of the seeds of disease implanted in their little bodies be- fore birth. A woman may in. sure the health of her babe if she sees to it that she is thoroughly strong and healthy in a wo- seg d way dur. gestation. Dr, Pierce's Favorite Prescription cures all weakness and disease of the delicate and important organs that sustain the burden of maternity. It makes them strong, healthy, vigorou: gad Seay It banishes the squeamish spells expectant period introduction to the world and makes baby’ easy and nearly painiess. It rids maternit of page It insures the newcomer’s heal| and an ample supply of nourishment. It transforms sickly, nervous, fretful,