Evening Star Newspaper, July 30, 1898, Page 18

THE EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JULY 30, 1898-24 PAGES. ' CHAPTER XXVUI—Contianed. The sad knell rang through sonorous, and the sol- on, intoning atonement, ment! { At first she wept, leaning on the icy para- pet; for the justice of God is a fearful thing, and she was young. But her tears froze on her cheeks, and she went down through the house and out, and far into the city he gates. They would not let her pass. She came back through the blind, dead avenues, seeing nothing, hearing noth- ing, until at her own door she paused, her hand on the wall, her listless eyes closed. It was dawn. Red Riding Hood came cut with a covered basket to take her place in the li the butcher's. Hilde smiled when she stooping, kissed the child. saw her, and, “Tell them ti have gone to the Nanterre Fort,” she said. So she went away into the city, to the gates again, where cavalry were passing. d out among the horses and Nobody told her the .road. t a crossway, in the center of a di mantled hamlet, the stupid, freezing troop- ers wheeled to the west. Hilde kept on, her : ‘xed on the road. The gray ind the fortress of the nbardment ceased as the sun t from the forts the smoke ay and the guns flashed stead- pounding the heights of Chatilion and rapets of Cloud, where the sullen artillery lay breathless, waiting for t again to strike. The frozen road seemed endless. The devastated, tree- less fields stretched flat on elther hand. To Hilde they seemed burning with the glitter of the sun, kindling each ice crystal to a living coal. Her tired, hot eyes drooped. her feet dragged. but the fever in her breast gave her no rest, and she moved on unconscious of her exhaustion. There were men who called to her at times; she saw they were soldiers, but she neither heard nor answered their hoarse Perhaps the pickets thought she was crazed, hails. some suffe starved young thing whose her from the doomed ook her for a nurse, for the gray wool and the red ve her elbow. d of Franc-tireurs outside the out- d her to go back. She did not her head. A peasant crouc in a ditch by the roadside warned her that uhlans had been there the night She looked at him and passed before a imbers and piles of brick Twice she stumbled to her knees, she rose and went on, her gray skirt stone. h snow. There was 2 man in wa ahead—a soldier. He n 1 for It was some inutes after he hal dropped alongside that she heard him talking, but even then she did not look at him w: he took hoid of her ll talking and grimacing. The man was Stauffer. He still had her she wrenched it away and moved r, but he followed and held her back. From sheer weakness she fell to her knees; then she hid her face in her hands, crying as though her heart would break. She eculd scarecly rise again: her head swam ard the glare on the snow dazzled her. She noticed there were two men bes arm, Je her now; how the other came she did not , that know, but she saw, with no s one of them was the Mcuse by the arm and was toward Paris. Mouse; “Capt. Stauffer—here, don’t run away—Capt. Stauffer, you are a little rough with ladies—come now, admit You are a littl: ardent—eh, captain?” Stauffer turned a frightened face to the Mouse. “What are you doing?” he cried, | struggling: “let go! “Come on,” said the Mouse amiably, “let get around this house—so—where the | "t see us. It might frighten her.” | you mean?” stammered Stauf- himself free and turning to- the road again. said the Mouse, barring his way. want to tell you something amusing- Do you remember giving me a German gold piece to march with you and your ca Bon! a You lied; it was us neers on the Hotel de Ville? said it was for plunder. for M. Bismarck!” Stauffer took a step backward and drew a revolver; th tween cleared the space be- sit gle bound; there was a i of snow. The Mouse stepped back, wiping his red knife-on his trousers. “Now go and sell the Nanterre fort,” he sneered. Stauffer, stabbed through and through, ed in the snow, trying to rise. to and sell Paris. Hurry or you'll be the Mouse, moving off. ‘The ounded wretch dragged himself calling for mercy, moaning and he might not be lefi to now. He followed the Mouse puse hesitated, watching the ure askance. Then he went c troyed him. When he came tp with Hilde again he he neither looked at him im, for already, over the her strained eyes were hill that rose black and solitar Ss level, the aw it, too. smoke draped the battlem . om an angle hidden on the hill- @ mortar fired slow! Other guns, aled by the recks in the rear of the fort. sent the smoke whirling up over the citadel, obscuring the flag flying there until a current of wind revealed it again. On they went, on, on, and still on. y Nanterre fort. The fert seemed no nearer. They crossed a dismantled railroad track covered with stow. The Mouse slipped on the twisted tails and ros« swearing. The sun beat down on the expanse of Ice snow; the reflection was intolerable. Once, far out on tke plain, something dark appeared. The Movse knew what it was, and he halted. shaking from head to foot. But the squad of uhlans either did not see them, or else feared a shot from the gath- erings on the glacis of the fort, for they disappeared after a while, followed by the hearty curses of the Mouse. About noon, when the fort seemed within stone's throw, a picket hailed them from a Billock to the left. “Volunteer nurse and attendant!” bawled in answer 16 the summons. ty minutes later they were climbing road that wound up the hillside. thickets screen-d it: squads of ar- men in armless sheepskin coats pass- ed them. scarcely noticing. Tke road took abrupt ungles: each angle was covered by non. Gatlings and mitraiilauses glm- i behind parapets jutting from the long “fleld pieces peered through work on every side. Two great iron wates were passed, the sentries falling back and saluting the red ercss on Hilde's sleeve. ey truned into a level street, paved. with Jamps, running between walls of mascrry. Another iron xate hem to a square, also paved, and in with barracks of gray stone, ‘bad- shattered. “You can cross the parade.” said the ar- leryman on guard, pointing with his ‘The Prussians only bombard us at Dense ul said the Mouse briefly, and Hilde followed acress the parade, where sQUaGs of soldiers were repairing the har- hrough @ narrow alley, deep set towering ramparts, into another down fight after flight of broad stone sisps. then into an arcade, dimly lighted by lanterns and crowded with sol- dlers, inoving about aimlessly. Just abo: them # cannon thundered. shaking the ground under their feet. “We're alm: there.” said t he Mouse, e's bloodless face. He pushed open @ door in the wa! tern lighted the darkness. There were some 1 beds there, h: obscured. Around n't dying,” muttered think he’s in that other “Monsieur!” In the half light a head stirred on a pit- lew, was raised—then came a cry. “Hilde!” And Filde fell beside the bed and laid her tired head in Harewood’s arms. * CHAPTER XXIX. The Song of the Mouse. On the 26th of January, a few minutes after 7 in the evening, the artillery officers on the Nanterre fort reported signa!s from Paris to cease firing. From Charenton ‘o Issy, from St. Denis to Vincennes, the sig- Is flew: the cannonade died out at Ivry, Romainville, at St. Ouen, the fort cf the Montrouge fort, the fortress of Bast, the battery of the Double Crown y silent under their floating crowns of cloud. One by one the forts of the east grew quiet, the last bombs soared upward from Vanves, the last shots boomed along the Point du Jour. A deathly stillness fol- lowed; then, as the bells in the distant city tinkled midnight, a clap of thunder burst from Mont Valerien. That was the end. Paris had surrendered. At dawn, through a cold, gray mist that sheeted the desolate plain, two Prussian Uhlans rode to the foot of the fortressed hill. The sad notes of the trumpet sounded nearer and nearer; the mournful echoes staried among the rocks; the drawhridge fell. Hilde, leaning from the iron door of the bomb-proofs, saw a tall, red-bearded Uhlan officer, blindfolded, crossing the pa- rade, conducted by four Mobiles, riffes slung. Behind this Prussian officer marched an Uhlan trumpeter, escorted by four more Mobiles. The trumpeter’s eyes were also bound with a white handkerchief; his trumpet rested on his right thigh; in his left hand he bore a lance, from which drooped a white flag. All that day she sat beside Harewood, listening to the heavy tread of troops, the hushed commands, the creak of siege guns, swinging inward from the ramparts. At noon the Uhlans left, blindfolded, re- conducted in silence by’ famine-stricken soldiers. Again the melancholy trumpet sounded the salute, then stillness fell over rampart and glacls, bastion and parapet— @ quiet so prcfound that Hilde, lying in a at chair by the bedside, heard the flapping of the flag on its iron staff above the cit- adel. In the starlight she saw the senti- nels standing before the magazin vee winding down to the frozen reservoir, the rare lanterns, dimly burning as an ot cer made his noiseless rounds. She leaned over the bed, listening for a while. “Are you awake, my darling?” He stir- red in his sleep and held out one hand. Ske took it in both her own. There was a cimly lighted lamp in a steel socket above her head. Presently 2 rose, still holding his hand in one of hers, and turned the wick higher. “The crutches are finished,” she said, re- turning to her seat by the bed; in the Mobiles sent them for you. You must remember to thank him. He took a great deal of trouble; there was no wood; off two lance shafts, and m: s ire and leather. e whispered: “Jim, are you awake” He laid his cheek against her hard in si- le} “What Is It? Are you still unhappy, you foolish boy? He tried to answer; his voice failed. “Oh, my @arling,” she said, despairingly, “how can you feel so after ail that has been said’ She stooped nearer, touching his hair ith her lips. I have forgiven you—there was but one thing to forgive, for it is true that you should not have gone away; if death had come, you were not nt to die—nor I, my darling.” She kissed his closed eyes; the lashes trembled. “We were so much in love,” she said, so much in love—and I knew nothing—you can never know, Jim—how I love you—and it was even then—from the very first—the same—the same adoration! And, Jim, if you had died, and although I knew ‘th dreadful end—I would not have lost the memory of one hour, one second, one look, or one caress, He tried to speak; he could not. Again, through his closed eyelids, he saw her a3 she had come to him, fainting, exhausted, her frozen hands seeking his. Again be lived through the days that followed, the thunder of the guns, the casemates shak- j ing, the bitter cold, the darkness, and she was always by his bed—her every touch, ber every breath, telling him of a lave so pure, so infinite, that his dark heart, heavy with the bitterness of self-accusation, sank subdued under the strength of such a pas- sion, He thought of the long nights, the pain, the fever, the plercing chill, the hunger, al’ Hilde Starts for the Fort. borne tn silence lest he should grieve for her. He remembered all this as he lay there, his eyes closefi, his temples pressing the soft curls of the girl who had done all for him—who now was to be his wife. “Are you still unhappy?" she whispered. “Think of tomorrow. Sins are forgiven; it is my faith.” “In mine; you are my faith,” he said, “There is nething but you, Hilde—nothing im heaven or earth but you and Ged who sent you.” . 5 . . . . * “The crutehes are here; shall I get them?" asked. Hilde, smiling through her tears. He took them gravely, praising the leather armpieces, the lance shafis, the rubber ferrules. She was contented. The splints on his breken lab galled him; she aided him to sit up to relieve the numbness, and he iay back, his head resting on her breast. “The Prussians sent a-white flag this morning,” she said. “Then it is true,” ae asked, “the news from Parii “Yes. Parts has surrendered.” He was silent; she bent her head for- ward, sighing. “It was a good figh ia the victor; the Prussians are incidents.” “The garrison leaves tomorrow,” WRITTEN FOR THE EVENING STAR BY ROBT W-CHAMBERS. he said. “Hunger she said; “the Prussians enter the forts at sun- set. Our soldiers will take you in the am- bulance; we go by the Porte Rouge. Der- haps Yolette’— She broke down and wept bitterly. He comforted her, saying thet Bourke was the wisest and’ best inan on; earth, and that Yolette was safer than if} she had been in Nanterre fort. After a lit- tle she dried her eyes and reproached her- | self for causing him anxiety. ‘Then beside his bed she said her prayers for the night, kissed him peacefully, turned out the lamp and went into the nurses’ ward to sleep, flinging herself on the iron cot, dressed as she was. As for him, he lay awake, star- ing into the darkness. The beauty of this young girl’s soul, the sacredness of ler Passion, overwhelmed him. Who was he that he should share her thoughts, ber sacrifices, her ideals, her innocence? | Her face was always before him in all its love- liness—exquisite, spiritual. In her eyes he | read the secret of that chaste unselfishness that had given all and surrendered noth- ing. Sleep came and went like a_ brief / dream. It was morning; the drums were already beating in the dawn, the parade re- | sounded with the hum of departure. Hilde knocked and entered, faintly smil- ing her morning welcome. The :.doration in his face dimmed her sweet eyes 4 ‘ittle, she leaned above his pillow, her lips rested on his., That morning he was to try his crutches. When he was ready she helped | THE MOUSE OUTSIDE him to the window—he was scarcely strong enough to stand—and he laughed and ad- justed the crutches, as she steadied him to the door where the foot artillery were pass- ing down the winding street to the mo- notonous tap, tap of a drum. After them came the Mobiles, bugles sounding stridently in the sharp, crisp air. He wished to go to the rampart she |. dreaded the bits of ice and snow; but he had his way, and she guided him across the parade and up the sanded incline to the parapets above. The sun hung over the distant city, glit- tering on a million windows, gilding dome and spire and frosty river, reddening the long gray palaces, flooding quays and roofs and bridges with a hazy radiance that turned the streets to streaks of rose and pearl. A mist of amethyst veiled the heights of Chatillon. Behind it the Ger- man cannon lay, stretching from Clamart northward, then east and south and west, in one enormous iron circle, back to Fon- tenay aux Roses. Across the river from the fort, between Chatou and Croissy, Prussian cavalry were plainly v moving at a gallop over a wasted meadow. Beyond them rose the smoke of camp fires, marking the long line of trenches east- ward to Houilles. “In Paris there is little smoke,” said Hilde sadly. ‘Jim, I can scarcely wait to go, What do you suppose the shells have dene to the city? Think of it! Twenty days of ceaseless bombardment, and my sister there’— “There was more risk in the fort here,” said Harewood; “we have been under fire longer. It has pounded the barracks to powder, but you yourself know that we have not lost many Killed.” He continued; ‘“The Mouse has not reap- peared, has he, dearest?’ Hilde shook her head. “Well,” said Harewood, “he’s In Paris again, unless he was shot outside the low- er parapets. Did he say nothing about geing, Hilde?” “No, Jim. He hung around the case- mates for a week. Then an officer com- piained of missing his gold watch, and asked me whether the Mouse was your Servant. The Mouse was listening—I saw him behind the door. That night a Mobile lost some money and went about the pa- rade swearing terribly. The shells were falling, striking the barracks every min- ute, but the Mobile didn’t notice them and kept right on swearing that the Mouse had taken his money. in the morning the use had vanished. Monee a strange beast,” mused Harewood. “I know less about him than I did the first night I saw him. Yet Paris is fuil of such mice—and I have seen many." Hilde sat down on the parapet and looked out over Paris. Harewood watched her. Care and suffering had not narrowed the lovely oval of her face; her eyes were clear and sweet; the rounded chin, the delicate straight nose’ had not changed. Trouble had once effaced a certain child- like beauty in the lips and eyes; trouble perhaps brought it back; yet now that un- conscious innocence, the frail bloom of childhood, was strengthened by something more subtle, more exquisite. A maid is al- ways a child until knowledge of sorrow comes to make her a woman. A sparrow, the first they had seen for many a month, alighted in the snow under the muzzle of a big gun. “Hilde, do you remember when we freed your birds?” he asked. “Yes, Jim.” After a pause he said, wistfully: “How young we were—in those days.” yes,” she said, “we were very young.” Her serious, sweet eyes met his; her hand stole across the parapet and nestled in his. Some soldiers came through the snow, bearing a dead man on a stretcher. As they passed the cannon the sparrow fluttered up, high overhead, flying across the gulf to Paris. “Tonight we will follow it,” she mur- mured. “Oh, Jim, I am so tired of the snow! I am so tired of winter and white- ness and death!” “You shall see the spring come in the Breton forests,” he said. “You shall see miles of primroses and pinkthorg; you shall see shaded glades purple with violets, and everywhere young leaves, young blossoms —a& young world, Hilde, and all for us.” “A young world,” she sighed; “that is what I love—green leaves, sunlight and youth—cverywhere youth. It is kinder—_” “Youth is kinder—" he repeated. ‘The clock in the citadel struck heavily; the flag on the fron pole fluttered to the ground, “The garrison is going,” said Hilde. “Do you think they will remember us? They promised me two places in an ambulance.” “Look at the high road below,” said Harewood. “See the carriages and wagons coming out from Paris. That is the Nan- | terre road. It leads to the gates of the north.” They leaned over together, watching the sunshine flashing on the polished equi- pages, on wheels and siege,” said Hildey del, where they wtlt tell her.” “not if you choke me to lamps and harness ' ¢, trappings. f{he rpad from Paris was fuil of them. If. w: ice a winter day in the Bois de Bbbioghb, save that the borses moved without spirit, and there were many shabby carts and wagons intermingled with the carriages. se base oF tee h the base drivers, swathed in furs, became visible, and after awhileHilde could hear, far be- low the fortress walls, the tinkle of chain and hoof art wheel. of vehicles approached ill the coachmen and “Parents coming to the fort_to look for their sons,"feaid rewood, soberly. “Sweethearts, perhaps, for their lovers,” said Hilde. On they came, rich and poor, the banker from his home ig the Pare Monceau, the butcher from th jong closed Halles, the mother from the noble Faubourg, the mother frofm the “Faubourg Infect,’ pa- trician and plebélan, sister and brother— and some who were childless and did not know it, and some who were widows and wore, a8 yet, no crape. “They are coming,” said Hilde. “I hear carriages on the gun road below. They will drive to the parade. Oh, Jim, Jim, think of the mothers who are coming only to take back their dead sons! And those who are buried outside the giacis! What will the mothers and fathers do—and their children dead down there under that ‘ice and snow?’ The parade was filling now with vehicles of every description; coachmen were leap- ing to the ground, old men and feeble, white-haired women stepped out into the snow. An old gentleman came toward Harewood, lifting his hat with an anxious smile: “tam looking for my son,” he said. “Could monsieur inform me where ihe bar- racks are?” “The barracks are in ruins,” said Hare- wood; “the troops muster in the casemates, monsieur, where, I trust, you will find that all is well.” Others came to seek information; an an- cient dame, hobbling on two canes, asked for her son, “Jean Bornic, ma belle dame of the Breton marine artillery, and so tall and handsome, my son, madame.” Hilde answered gravely in the Breton lan- guage; the old dame’s whithered cheeks flushed fainuy, “From Carhaix, my sweet lady,” she said with a little curtesy. Hilde told her to go to the Citadel, and CRACKED‘HIS WHIP. she went, sm head. ‘ “Her son was Killed the last day of the ‘I sent her to the cita- fling and nodding her gray 1 There wertearm in cher eyes: she laid her head on Harewood’s shoulder. “Lite is too sud, she’ sata: The bell in the chtadel began to tol; a column of soldiers, marching without drums or arms, entered the parade, already crowded with vehicles, “That ts the end,” said Harewood solemn- ly; ("the fort belongs to the King of Prus- sia.” “Our white. She trembled so that he drew her to him, holding her close. “Walt,” she whispered, “remember what we sald of youth and springtide. ‘The land needs sunshine and pure alr and green leaves and stiliness, Death will be a mem. ory with summer. France can waits her promise is in her youth.” ‘The bell tolled monotonously; three silent files of men entered the gun road and be- gan the long descent, “There 1s somebody in a carriage com- ing this way,” said Harewood. ‘The next moment he uttered an exclamation, half petulantly, half amused. “Hilde! ‘It's the Mouse!” She rose, breathless, excited, hands out- stretched;'a woman leaned from the cats iage, then sprang to the ground. olette! Yolette!” cried Hilde: “little sis- ter, Iam here!” “There's Bourke!” stammered Harewood, and tried to rise on his crutches. Yolette was in Hilde's arms, sobbing. “Little sister! Darling Hilde! Don't ey so, don't_we are going home—home—reaily we are.” Bourke's strong hands clasped Harewood's; his keen grave face question. ed the younger man. What he read in Harewood’s eyes lighted up his own, and he stepped back and took Hilde’s hands In his. When he turned again to Harewood the latter was holding a little court of his own. Yolette, Red Rice ing Hood and the Mouse surrounded him the child had both arms close around his neck; Yolette was grieving over his wound. ed limb, and holding his hand in both hor gloved ones. As for the Mouse, ho chewed a straw and looked on with mixed scnti ments Impossible to fathom. “He brought me a silver cup,” said Red Riding Hood gravely. Bevel Be The Mouse shifted the straw between hi teeth and looked anywhere but at Hare- wood. “We are to have white bread tomorrow in Paris,” observed Red Riding Hood. still holding Harewood’s neck encircled in her fort,” said Hilde, turning very frail arms. “And wedding cake,” he said gayly, “but death, little sweet- one le Sweet The leer on the Mouse's face was impos- sible to describe. Whether he meant it well or ill is a problem. The chances are that he intended to convey the assurance of his benevolent interest in Harewood and Hilde. However, he only said that the car- riage was ready and the drive to Paris a long and cold one, and he, the Mouse, was ready to start as soon as “ces messieurs” were ready. ,,, 5 Harewood laughed and Hilde, coloripg fgintly, around him aad adgied him to rise. “Come on, Bourke,” he said, with a touch of the old boyish iapetuosity—yet, under it there was something tender, even a little wistful, as oon needed the strength of his comrage to,strengthen him in body took his crutehes. Placed one arm and mind. “T think,” : » a8 Bourke picked him up unceremo ; and carried hii off t the carriage; "I think, Cecil, that you'll find hereafter at my Conscience ig straighter thap my; leg.” “We'll mend both, Jim,” laughed Bourke, ag the Mouse, pened the carriage door for Hilde and Yojétte. Red Riding Hood Was set high on the driv- er’s seat besfle the Mouse. Bourke placed Harewood gently ifthe corner beside Hilde, then, nodding'to tlie Mouse, he entered the carriage himéeif. ° “Yolette I ‘Rave taken a house in Passy,” he said, Smiling across at Hare- wood. ‘“Yolette says we must have @ honeymoon if we wait ten years for it, so I'm thinking—if you and Hilde are married and the blockade is’ raised—we might run down to the Breton coast until Paris has cleaned house.” “We were thinking,” ft algnity, “of-dolig thes eth ee swee' ry, “ol ie same thing.” Yolette suddenly ee “leaned across the car- riage and her: = = cracked his whip and The Mouse, outside, sang as he drove: .. icy slush. And always the Mouse caroled his merry catch: A barley sead, A barley seed, The tich shall blood, ‘The poor shall feed, So, brothers, sow the ba: ‘y seed! CHAPTER Xxx. Sainte Hilde of Carhaix. In Carhaix there is rustie through the winter-tinted woods when the March moon dies in the skies and the blue starlight sinks trembling, fathoms deep, into the Slassy sea. hen, through a breathless | dawn, steals the pale light of April, tinting with gilt a world of primrose petals, ereep- ing through woodlands mantled in gray and | brown and silver, till in the deepest forest \ depths a bird awakes and ruffles and looks up amid a millio: tiny newborn leaves. In Carhaix league upon jeague of moor- lend grows sweet scented; the gorse is aro- matic: the marsh is mossed with spongy gold; the blue sea ripples like a river, gild- ed with ribred sand, flecked with reflec- tions where white clouds blow and white gulls drift ‘ike wind-tossed thistle silk. Three houses, wocds, a chapel and a shrine; miles of pink thorn, silvery cliffs and a still safl at sea—that is Carhaix. All day long the sea swallows skim the inlet shores, the silver mvllet, shoal on shoa!, crossing the bar, lace all the shallows with their frosty ropes of foam. All day long the lancons spring above the sands, quiver- irg, shimmering, delicate as pale patterns in the shuttle of a flying loom. April had come in Carhaix. Hilde also had come to Carhaix—back to her own corntry—for the blockade had ended at last, the gates of Paris were opened, and the long Prussiaa colimns, marching back, lined all the northern roads. So she had come—her young heart vague- ly wistful—to be wedded in the Carhaix chapel where she had been baptized, and where, all in filmy white, she had stoien through the dim aisles, an awed communi- cant. For her, atonement did not end at the confessional; there, only sin might be put away, sadness was lifted with the bridal wreath; sorrow ended when the orange buds fell from her breast. Atone- ment never ended, but its bitterness would end like the memory of evil in the inno- cence of a blameless life. It seemed to her that all would be well, now that she had come back. In all the world there was but this one place where, with her child's heart, heavy with memories, her woman's heart thrilling with love and repentance, she could come and kreel and go fcrth in peace forever. The April sun gleamed through the jeweled glass and fell in diamonds, staining her feet with violet and rose. She saw St. Hide of Carhaix, high in her plaster niche, azure robed, smilirg her placid smile among the shadows, she saw Our Lady of the Cliffs, tinseled, magnificent, holding the child by the dim altar where waxen tapers burned and the carved crucifix reared its slender arms. And there her childhood came to meet her. Again she saw the procession- al, the cross aloft, Our Lady of the Cliffs passing amid the knecling crowd: again she heard the fresh young voices swelling in the wind, the chanting of the cure, the mur- mured prayer. The scene shifted seaward —she saw the tempest and the misty sea, the white coiffes on the headland, the men on the shore; then, as it seemed, years af- terward, she heard the bell tolling in the chapel for lost souls. She remembered her fataer, too, always in the forest where the horns sounded all cay long and the hounds’ baying surged and ebbed with the shifting wind. He lay in the chapel yard, near the mother she had never seen, buried, as he wished, with his boar spear on his breast—the last ruin- ed huntsman of a ruined 1ace—the landless relic of a landed Breton line, old as the ancient chapel, which was older than Car- haix. A bird twittered on the chapel porch; the vague odor of the sea stirred her beart. She turned and looked back at the altar where tomorrow ‘she should kneel a bride, then made her reverence and went out intd the sunny world. Yolette sat on the cliffs looking off to sea. Bourke lay fuil length beside her, sniffing the fresh wind and watching Red Riding Hood, who, skirts tucked up, pad- dled Dlissfully in the thia films of water along the shining sands peluw. Harewood stood near ths beach, critical- ly inspecting a steamers trail of smoke on the horizon. When he hear:l Hilde’s voice on the cliffs above him he climbed up slow- ly, for he was still 2 little lame, and met her, smiling. “The child down there is in the seventh heaven,” he said; “she's been nipped by a crab and bruised by the rocks, and when she’s half drown2d shell be contenzed, I fan ts curious,” said Bourke, looking up, “that the Paris papers hay> not come. The last mafl arrived here March 18, and here it is April 2.’ “A mail did com I went into the ch Hilde. ; “Nobody expects brides to remember,” suid Bourke, sarcastical “do you mind letting me see my mail Yolette looked up laughing as Hilde calmly handed the letters to Harewood. That young man sorted the papers, tossed a package and a parcel over to Bourke and said: “There's only one letter; it’s for me. Bourke began to open the parcel; it was sealed and elaborately tied with a sort of rope. “Hello! 1 brought it do apel and forget, What in the name of decency is this?’ he said, holding up a gold watch and chai: Why, the packet is directed to you, Jim.” Harewood looked up blankly from the letter he was studying, then groaned evd handed the letter to Huide. “Read it,” he said; “I can't. e Mouse. Mm ihe midst of a breathless silence Hilde took the letter and examined it in con- sternation. Then she read slowly: “BELLEVILLE, 30th of March, 1871. “Monsieur: I take’ my pen in hand, hop- ing that these few lines may find monsieur in as xood healtl: as I am. I have to in- form monsieur that the weather is as usual. We took the Hotel de Ville and killed Gen. Lecomte and Clement Thomas in a garden. It is raining, but I am quite comfortable, having been made captain in the Naticnal Guard, and find myse:t much better, with nothing to do. “The commune has been and there is food and drink for al work. We frightened the bourgeoisie pass- ably well, and Thiers has run away, where we expect that the citizen, Major Flourens, will catch him and shoot them all, as they are aristocrats and most perfidious to the poor. “I have to inform monsieur that I wish him health, also to Mile. Hilde, to .M. Bourke and to Madame, lately Mile. Yo- lette. Also to the thin, droll little one who was afraid of me. I send her some forks. “The weather continues rainy. I send to monsieur a watch; also to Mile. Hilde, for her wedding, a ‘diamond star. To M. Bourke and’ to madame J send many ore, adieu. ‘our ci a spoons. Theref: re gh MOUSE, “Citizen Captain, National Guard, Unat- tached. “I wish also to say adieu to the little Groll one who is afraid of me.” : Bourke would have laughed, but Hilde’s horror-struck face sobered him. “What on earth shall we do with that plunder?” said Harewood. “The creature has been pillaging woman and children. “You and your citizen friend must settle that,” said Bourke, trying not to laugh. “These spoons and forks have all sorts of initials on them. The watch is marked ‘H. de B.’ and’ the diamond star is to a lady named Nini. Jim, I believe, this time, that the commune means business.” He looked at Yolette, who shook her head decidedly, saying: “If you think you are going to write about it for your stupid newspaper I have Its from established, 1 and no the honor, monsieur, to inform you <hat you sball not.” : Harewood looked at Hilde, smiling faintly. | “J suppose I must send me,” he said. “If I send you, you may go then.’ They turned and looked at the house on the hill, The morning sun glittered on very pane. They saw Scheherazade sprawied on the porch, blinking at the j ocean. They heard the sarcastic croak of the parrot, Mehemet Ali, tiptoeing down the garden among the hyacinths. She passed her slender hand through his arm and leaned her cheek against his, houlder. Down on the yellow sands Red Riding Hood, enchanted, waded ankle deep along the frothy shore. A white gull rose from the shining waves, a distant sail glim- ‘mered. Then from the cliff a skylark roge, high- er, higher .into the azure, si the whole air with song. And Hilde ciosed her eyes listened, her white face on his shoulder, her white =f close in his, go to Paris if you murmured Hilde. “Yes, ‘The —— tO ‘Miss Board'er—“Your milk isn’t as rich as the weather’ so hot lately thet, th THERE ARE MOSQUITOES IN THE KLONDIKE. PERIL AND HARDSHIP Hamlin Garland Describes His Trip to the Klondike. REALITIES OF THE OVERLAND TRAIL Rush of Gold Seekers to the Fraser River Country. THE END OF THE RAINBOW Special Correspondeace of The Evening HAZELTON, June 27, 1898. The long train from Ashcroft to Hazelton is behind. It was six hundred miles of hard travel with a pack train, with poor horses over a trail with little feed, muddy in many places, rocky and steep in others, with very beautiful oases at long intervals. It passes for the most part through a vast forest,*beneath the dense shade of which is little grass. It has few bridges and its streams are deep and sometimes full of quicksand. This narrow, muddy, rocky, tortuous path is today filled with morbidly persistent pack trains moving like heavily articulated canvas colored worms beneath the shadow of the solemn forest. There are no return- ing footsteps on this trail. All are pressing forward; no one thinks of facing about. If a horse sticks in the sand or falls into a stream he is shot and the train moves on. If a horse gives out he is abandoned by the wayside. Several such were passed on the road, and it is hard to imagine any- thing more sorrowful than the gaze of these horses left behind to die. The seek- ers after gold are remorseless. They must march on and on and on—muddy, ragged and sunburnt. Ever Onward. This is written at Hazelton. We swam the Bulkley for the third time yesterday. We swim the Skeena tomorrow. The trail beyond has not been traversed in twenty years. No one knows its length or the number of its streams, and yet the gold seekers go forward. A hundred men are ahead of us. Hundreds are to follow. No one comes back to tell of what lies beyond. Teslin lake is the goal for which most of these men are pushing. There are all kinds and conditions on the trail. Men from | Australia, London, Chicago, Spokane, San Francisco, Manchester, New Hampshire, and Wheeling, West Virginia. Every na- tion and climate seems represented. Some were old packers at the start; they are all expericnced men now; they all know what it means to run a pack train across six hundred miles of trail. They will not do it again. There are nen tramping on this trail who stagger into Indian villages hungry and cold, eaten by mosquitoes and worn to skin and bone—and they are fed. The Indians— the “d—n Siwashes”—do not turn a hun- gry man from their doors, poor as they are. The prospectors are not in posi- | tion to be generous. They hang to their | flour and bacon with relentless grip. They | are in strange lands and likely to be delayed —therefore, let the man who thinks to be helped through by his fellows on the road be careful. He had better keep off the trail or any other Jeading to the Klondike. Mountains and Rivers. This route {s a third longer than is indi- cated by the scale of miles on the map. It climbs high divides and winds along rivers. It is crossed by hundreds of little streams, some of which are swift and rocky, others slow and boggy; some are filled with quick- | sand. There is very little feed on the forest | land between Ashcroft and Grinnell. Very little except pine grass (“sour grass”) on the divides between the Fraser and the Black Water and between the Black Water and the Muddy. It is very beautiful at Tehincut lake. It was “God's country” | after the long stretch of thin grass and monotonous forest. The valley of the Bulk- ley riots in grass and pea-vine. Strawter- ries and new potatoes at Morricetown amazed and delighted us, but the mosqui- toes and flies are appalling. There are nights when the horses suffer tortures and there is no way to help them. A mosquito- proof tent is a necessity. Let no one imagine this trip to bea sum- mer outing. It is work, from the dawn of a long day till the sun sets. It seems not to get dark at all at this season of the year. We go to bed at 8 and the sun is but setting. It is light at 10:30, and no sooner does one side of the tent grow dark than the other lightens. The middle of the day is warm and the nights generally frosty; for many mornings ice formed on the wa- ter bucket. No Game for Food. There is no game along the trail and no one should depend for a moment on either game or berries, though berries seem to be forming. The Hudson Bay Company put a premium’ on the killing of game, and the Indians have no other means of earning money. They keep the game scarce and shy. Some grouse drum in the thickets and occasionally smal) black and white ducks can be found on the ponds. There are no rabbits, squirrels or woodchucks. Aside from the ringing, joyous songs of robins and a sort of thrush, the whole land is silent and somber. For long stetches not a sound save the groan and creak of lodged, uneasy trees, or the roar of streams can be heard. For other long distances the trail leads through a fire-devastated land—a land of tangled, twisted, uprooted ferns, with not a blade of grars. At other times the forest Is black pine mile after ee: with a struggling sour beneath “and the half-dead, ugly, desolate, pointed tree- tops hiding the sky. | | Ville convention songs will be sung. with less than $500, and he should have a reserve at Glenmore in addition. If he wishes to prospect, well and good. Here is @ land of tremendous mountains, roaring streams and the golden sand he is looking for, although no “strikes” are yet reported It is possible to come to this point by canoe during most of the summer months. Port Essington is the usual starting point of canoes. It tckes five or six days by steamer and abou’ seven days by Indian ca- noe. The Skeena is a strong. rough changeable and surly stream. It cannot be gauged or its moods predicted. No trai exists or can be made. The stupendous ks of the coast range grudging!y room even for the river. This make zelton and its lovely valley more inac ble than the map would show. Whether it will soon be opened depends upon the next few months’ prospecting. Should placers develop, the valley will no doubt swarm. it may not contain a single placer. All is at present conjecture. HAMLIN e+ CHRISTIAN ENDEAVOR NOTES Tomorrow is consecration mec for most of the District societi: , and the topic for consideration is “The Evils of Covetousness.” In writing for the Chris- tian Endeavor World on this topic, the Rey. Matt. S. Hughes, D. D., pastor of the GARLAND. ing day Wesley Methodist Episcopal Church, Min- neapolis, Minn., says: “ “Thou shalt not is not directed against man’s ten- to acquire, It is not an - histic pronunciamento. The sacr ness of property is proclaimed by command, ‘Thou shalt not steal.’ The « dinance does not forbid desiring hous cattle, servants and domestic joys. T word to be emphasized in the comman ment is ‘neighbor's.’ The sin consists in desire fastening upon wrong objects; in ignoring the rights of others. “Take heed and beware of covetousness,’ for its premacy means the existence of a force de- structive of all commandments. ‘Ye can- not serve God and Mammon'’—there Boes the first commandment; ‘covetousness which is idolatry,’ in the phrase of the apostle, violates the second; as a fruitful source of perjury in our courts, it clashes with the third commandment; as the great incentive in pandering to Sabbath desecra- tion, covetousness is in active antagonisin to the fourth commandment; as it poisons natural affection, it endangers the fifth; while it is frequently the active agent mn murder and bearing false witness, and al- Ways iu ineft and adultery. The Y. P. S. C. E. of the New York Ave- nue Presbyterian Church has recently elected the following corps of committee chairmen, who will serve for one year: Lookout, Mrs, James A. Finch; prayer Meeting, Mr. W. B. Randall; missionary, Miss S. K. Randolph; social, Miss K. L. Carhart; Sunday school, Miss julia Hoge: music, Mrs. D. E. Wiber; temperance and good literature, Mrs. St. Clair. The Sunday’ school convention of th Baltimore conference of the M. E. Church South met this week in Front Royal, Va. Mr. W. W. Millan, first vice president of the District C. E. Union, is secretary of the c$nvention, and attended its sessions. he August meeting of the Chrisiia2 deavor Union occurs next Monda. at 8 o'clock in the vestry of © tist Churea. The music will 1 Percy 8. Foster,and a number of the the election of Union committees + year, beginning September 1, di will be made by Rev. D. L. pastor of Central Methodist Church, upon “The Office of the Spirit in Organization for Christian Work.” Holy The following quotation is from the ad- dress of welcome by Rev. Ira Landrith, chairman of the committee of "98, delivered at the recent Nashville convention, and very well indic: tes the patriotic atmosphere that pervaded all the meetings: “We Christian Endeavorers of the south needed the opportunity we now have of proving to the Christian Endeavorers of the north that. whatever our fathers thought a generation ago—and your fathers will tell you that ours were as sincere as yours, and as brave—both they and we their sons and daughters, now love our re- united country next to God, and to God alone; and recent stirring events have but mede our desire more intense to show our English and Canadian kindred, in this very heart, the most American part of America, how much thicker is blood than water, and how happy we all are that the fratricidal Anglo-Saxon bitternesses of the past are Gead, now, and buried in a grave fast grow- ing green. We were anxious, too, and are still, that in this convention every tribe and nation, every race and color and clime, might learn that we count them brethren as worthy as are we to know and praise our Savior, without whom both they and We would be worse than worthless.” A formal invitation for the International Christian Endeavor convention of 1:41 to go to Indianapolis, Ind., was received at Nashville. Detroit '90 is eliciting satisfac- tory words from District Endeavorers, and from appearances there will go to the “ci! of the straits” next July a large delegati from the “city of magnificent distances. A great many Endeavorers are also making plans to go to London, England, to the convention of 1900. The Alexandria, Va., Endeavorers are preparing for the Virginia state conven- tion, which meets in their city in Septem- ber. Of course. in a large convention of many Speeches, lke the one recently held in Nashville, a great many witty things are said. Among the witty speakers at the Nashville convention was Bishop O. P. Fitzgerald of the Southern Methodist Church. Along with other bright incident: he alluded to the apparent desire on 1 As Spain, saying it reminded him of a colored brother, who In ante-bellum days ran away and went to New York, expecting there to be free and happy. te Pee in want,” and approaching a company o! gentlemen, asked for alms. He was asked if he had had a good master, to which he answered ‘‘Yes;” if his master ever whip- ped him, “Then you were a fool for not staying there,” one of them told him. “Gentlemen,” said le, “what you say may be true, but if any ef you wants that job ‘the situaiton is still open.” So it was ope to the would-be helpers of Spain. ——-_— The Law of Attraction. Citizen—"They say thot opposit: 6 dispogt- tions attract wan another. Do yez belave tT : an’ Ol @o thot. Of nivyir Rber-—"Shure Aki meet an wie Lim oa th" shpot.” 4