Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, November 26, 1898, Page 6

CHAPTER VI, (Continued.) A glance assured her that it was not The Bride - - of a Day. awful day I would have yielded my life for yours. Had you lived, I would per husband, and she drew disappoint- | have been your loyal wife; and per- edly back; but the stranger came on with a rapid, uneven step, evidently twith the intention of addressing her. At the distance there was, even in the dim and shadowy twilight, some- thing oddly familiar in the outline of the thin, tall figure, in the man’s ca riage and gesture, which ma art beat fast, and thrilled her with a , Superstitious “I must be mac cold drops of perspiration gathered thickly on her forehead. Mrs. Erle tried to move away, for she felt that, although the man would, in all proba- nt to her the face of a nger, and make some or- nquiry as to the road, it would t kill her to see and speak to ut she could not stir, for that ering terror kept her rooted ne thought; and t the man approached her, Al- . it tras evi- haps, as the years wore on, I should have learned to love you. As it was—” Grace finished with a little despair- ing gesture. “As it was,” Mr. Santley said, “I was supposed to die, and so break all tie between us! Oh, Grace, have you =o word of weleome or pity for me now? My love, if you could only know what I have suffered, could imagine how I have dreamed, longed for and looked fo rd to this hour, you would make my return happier to me!” Grace stood in statue-like silence and immobi y, Staring blankly before her, literally paralyzed by pain; but to the man who watched her so keenly, her silence had another meaning. His arms dropped helplessly, and he staggered back against an adjacent tree, My welcome home!” he muttered, uely, while his dark, dilating eyes wandered wildly around. “Heaven help and pity me! My weleome home!” Grace saw him raise a handkerchief suddenly to his lips, and noticed that, as he drew it away, it was brightly- red. The girl forgot everything else in a quick rush of pity. A ery broke from her lips. She opened the gate that had hitherto stood as a barrier between them, and went quick- ly to his side. “Let me help you! This is terrible!” she cried; and her soft, willing fingers fluttered about his throat; her eyes looked at him entreatingly, and, for the moment, Grace Erle forgot all but the pain and distress she looked upon. m an effort, hard, stertorous dent tha for she could he: breathing as he drew near. His low hat, of soft felt, drawn almost down to his eyes, and even when he faced her, he did not for an instant re- move it, but stood hesitating, like a man doubtful of himself and his ac- tions. There was something horrible and uncanny in his silent presence, and Grace Erle felt that anything would be better than this dreadful agony of sus- pense. “What is it?’ she cried, almost pas- sionately, her volce rising shrill and sharp on the quiet air. “Who are you? ‘What do you want?” There was a second’s pause, and then the stranger slowly raised his hat. The faint but still clear light fell upon a face so worn and haggard, so ghastly in its livid pallor, that it hardly looked like the face of a living man, The thick black hair and the glittering, pur- ple-ringed eyes were in cruel contrast with that corpselike pallor. Then, with an agonizing feeling of horror that seemed to stop the beating of her heart, Grace recognized the man, and knew that either the sea had yielded up its prey or that she had been the victim of some horrible, maddening de- lusion. Her supposed dead husband stood before her. “Do you not know me, Grace?’ he asked, in hoarse, broken tones. “My wife, do you not know me?” be Heaven, I thought you were dead!” she exclaimed. She felt his hand close tightly on her own and draw it down, saw the strange gleam in his dark eyes, and ard the voice she had thought hushed % cry, with a strange, yearning welcome home?” CHAPTER VII. ee raised her face, white as that ef the man confronting her, and stared so wildly up the long lane, veiled now in mi dimness, that Herbert Santley naturally thought terror had for the moment turned her brain. “Look at me, Grace!” he said, gently and pleadingly. “I am living flesh and blood; I shall not melt away or vanish into thin air, dear!” He drew back a step or two, and something of the hor- ror that seemed to have completely marred the soft, girlish beauty of her face, sed into h “Grace, do you not » that you are breaking my heart He spoke with a pitiful indication of physical weakness; but it brought to the listening woman no compassion— there was no room for that feeling in the awful surging of her thoughts. “And have you not broken mine?’ she questioned, so fiercely that the fe- ver-parched creature before her shrank bac “Mine, and—oh, Heaven help me- There was a gleam of actual frenzy in her e€ she turned them desper- ately to the clear sky, in which the shining now. It seemed an gainst agony unendurable. t look was a revelation to Her- Santley; he had foreseen that, in his reappearance must be a shock to the girl-wife who thought she had seen him drown. It s sheer accident th had brought him thus face to face with Grace, for he had hoped first to break the news to Ruth or Mrs. Leger. But it not dread of a supernatural pre: -e or the shock of an unwonted surprise that he looked on—it was that of absolute despair. Weak from illness, the man stag- gered under the shock, and caught gid- dily at the gate for support. But Grace isunderstood the gesture, and drew ack with a shvdder that brought a itiful smile to his lips. “Do not fear,” he said, panting be- tween every word; “I shall not touch you! I begin to understand. Although I escaped death, I should not have re- turned.” Grace did not answer. Even in all the terror and anguish of her thoughts there was beginning to mingle a faint pity for Herbert. Strong as he was to wreck her happiness and that of one far dearer than herself, he looked more like a dead than a living man. “You were happy without me,” he continued, in a hollow, grating voice, which was broken every now and thea by a racking cough; “I should have remembered that you never pretended to love me, and that you- would prob- ably rejoice in the freedom that came through my death.” “I did not!” she exclaimed, eagerly. “Heaven knows that I sorrowed for you, and can bear witness that on that ever, ra tim of some horrible nightmare, Gre bent her golden head to the pale face upon her breast, and pressed her cold, reluctant lips to what seemed to be the brow of the dead. There was some- thing repulsive in she dared not draw back, even when she felt the thin hands, with a strange, desperate strength, clasp her neck, and knew that the dying man held her fast. with fond gentlen spoke softly, his lip: eyes glittered—“you are quite safe now; I am here to protect you! Cari ony. But Herbert Santley tried to break away, to push her rudely from him, to refuse help from the woman who had no welcome for him, Physical weak- ness, however, betrayed him—his eyes grew dim and misty, his footing be- came uncertain, and, as he turned, he stumbled and would have fallen, but that Grace caught him and held him fast within her arms. lay, so white and still, that, for the second time in her life, she thought him surely dead. And there he He was not even unconscious, how- though so weak that he did not » the prone head from her shoul- der. With infinite difficulty she dragged her heavy burde nto the grassy slope that bounded the River View grounds, and, as she did so, the man felt her hot tears falling upon his cheek thought that death had come at the call of this dreadful agony, and was content that it should be so. and brow. Herbert Santley “Worgive me, Herbert!” He heard the girl's passionate, remorseful cry, faintly dream of this—I could not know? and from afar. “I did not “No”—the man’s dark eyes opened widely, and into them there came a light of the old, tender fire—“it was— all—a Grace, darling This death is best! once—but—once—my mistake. kiss me With a feeling that she was the vie- the embrace, but 2ce felt the blood rush to her head G —her heart beat with a suffocating quickness, and her breath came chok- ingly. hands, but they only tightened round her, and all her terror and despair found vent in one shrill, broken cry for help. She tried to disengage his Her appeal was quickly answered. She heard the tramp of hurrying fee, a sharp, indignant exclamation, and, almost before she knew what had hap- pened, found herself clasped in Vin- cent Erle’s arms, sobbing hysterically on his breast, while looked with angry, puzzled eyes from her to the man who was feebly strug- gling to raise himself from the dust. Tom Carlton “Who on earth is he? What does he want here?” the expectant bridegroom asked, in dismayed disgust. “You can not strike a fellow who is in the mud already. What is to be done?” “Hush, Grace!” Vlincent ejaculated, but, though he were set and his ton, will you take Mrs. Erle back to the house?” “No, Vincent—no!” The girl clung about his neck wildly, despairingly, as though interposing herself as a shield between him and some dire peril, and her voice rose to a shrill seream of ag- “Let me stay—let me tell all, dear ‘A swift*and terrible change swept oyer Vincent Erle’s face; his lips be- came tightly compressed, and his eyes shone with a strange, steady glitter. “Tell me—what?’ ,he demanded, sternly; and Grace hardly recognized the chill, deliberate tones. “That this man is something more than an inso- lent intruder—that you know him— that he is—what?” Herbert Santley, having risen to his feet, was clinging desperately to the rail of the iron gate. He was pale, widl-eyed and trembling from head to foot—an object too ghastly to rouse one angry thought in the breast of any but a man maddened by jealous pain. He dragged himself a step or two nearer and echoed the question, accom- panying it with a hollow, dreadful laugh, which made Tom Carlton turn away with a shudder. “What am 1? Who am I? Tell him, Grace!” But she could answer only with a low, wailing ery; and the man contin- ued, slowly: : fs 1 “You will not? Then I must! She thought herself a widow, but she is va IT am her husband—Herbert Sant- ley!” “It is false!” Vincent exclaimed, pas- sionately; but his lips grew ashy-pale, and some strange feeling in his heart seemed to say: “It is true.” “You are mad, or lying, for some base purpose of your own! Herbert Santley was drowned on his wedding day!” “Ask her” Herbert Santley said, still clinging to the gate, breathing in the same hard, labored fashion, but still keeping his bloodshot eyes upon the girl’s crouching form and down-bent head—ask her; she knows whether I lie or not!” “Grace’—and Vincent turned her face towards the faint light; he could not avoid noticing how changed, worn and haggard it was, and he read his answer there before he spoke; he was determined to trust only her reply— “Grace, is this truth or madness on this man’s part?” “Tt is—truth!” Vincent stared at her incredulously. “Vincent!” Grace exclaimed, implor- ingly—for something in his face in- spired her with a new terror—‘dear Vincent, listen to me!” But he drew back with a smothered ery that brought the blood to Grace’s previously-pale cheeks, and Tom Carl- ton came quickly forward. “Vincent, come with me,” said the latter. “Control yourself, for your wife’s sake, old man!” “His wife!” Herbert Santley ejacu lated, mockingly. “Is she his wife? I did not know—I had not thought. I might have been another Enoch Arden had I known in time.” “I don’t know what on earth was the meaning of your masquerading and al- lowing yourself to be regarded as dead, and all that rubbish, Mr. Sant- ley,” Tom Carlton remarked, his gen- erally pleasant face very white and set and his yoice stern; “but I do know that your conduct has been that of a cruel scoundrel!” “Hush, Tom!” Vincent Erle inter- rupted—“it is you who are cruel now! For heaven's sake, fetch a doctor; or —no, first help me to carry him in!” Mr. Carlton turned with a puzzled stare, which changed to a look of min- gled terror and pity as he noticed the alteration that had taken place in the little group. He knew that his tirade had been interrupted once or twice by the hollow, dreadful cough that sound- ed like the very knell of death. But the young map had deliberately steeled himself against pity, and avert- ed his eyes from the ghastly face that se pleaded for it. He had not seen the darkening shadow that fell over Her- bert Santley’s countenance, or noticed the sudden stagger that would have been followed by a crushing fall had Vincent not caught the dying man in his own strong arms. ‘The latter lay there, helpless as a little child, blood oozing from be- tween his lips. -It was evident the man’s life must ebb away. The light dust coat that Mr. Erle wore was al- ready deeply stained. “Help me, Carlton!” Vineent cried, in a low, hurried tone. “This is hor- rible—we shall never get him to the house alive!” In the intense interest of the mo- ment neither man saw anything incon- gruous in such a speech from Vincent Erle. Wtih infinite care and gentle- ness they raised the inert figure and bore it up the long, tree-shaded ave- nue to the now brightly-lighted house. Ruth, who was watching from an upper iwndow for her lover’s coming, saw the little procession, and with a shrill scream of terror that brought all in the house quickly around her, eame flying out to meet them in her bridal dress. “Grace! Grace! What is it?’ she gasped, hysterically, turning her bright, bewildered eyes from one to another of the little group. “You are here—and Tom—and Vincent?” Ruth’s speech was broken by anoth- er and a louder seream. Mrs. Leger had pressed before her, had looked, not at the bearers, but at the stricken man, and there was recognition as well as terror in her cry. “Grace, am I mad? bert Santley?” Mrs. Leger caught her daughter sharply by the arm, and, if any an- swer were needed, read it in her ghast- ly face. With a broken, sobbing mur- mur, Grace shook herself free and hur- ried into the house. CHAPTER VIII. It is not Hez-; Through the hall, past the room inj which the wedding presents were art- istically displayed, up the flower-lined staircase, they carried the man whose presence acts as a blight upon all around.” “I think he is—dead!” Tom Carlton whispered, with a hurried, abashed look, as they laid the still senseless burden down upon the bed. But Vincent shook his head. His countenance had settled into a stony. rigid calm that gave but little clue to his feelings; and Tom Carlton, whose | honest heart ached with a sympathy so intense that he found it hard work to keep the tears out of his eyes, watched him with mingled amazement and alarm. How could he be so thoughtful, so helpful, so quiet in speech and movement, when his heart must be broken? “If it were my case, now—if any oth- er fellow claimed my Ruth, and did so by so cruelly-indisputable a right, I should go raving mad—I should kill him or myself! Anyway, I could not bear it as he does—and Ruth is not my wife yet.” “It is not death,” Vincent’s qu’et voice broke in upon his revery; “he has fainted from loss of blood. But the swoon is dangerously prolonged. I must fetch a doctor at once.” “But—but—a doctor! There will be so much gossip.” Vineent’s contemptuous look ent the stammering interruption short, and made Tom feel guilty of abominable meanness. “All right, old fellow!” the latter said, wretchedly. “I am talking like an ass, I know; but I meant only—” “To be kind. You thought only of— Gracie—I know,” Mr. Erle interrupt- ed, drawing his breath quickly and hesitating for a second over the utter- ance of the dear, familiar name; “but man’s life hangs by a thread, and he must see a doctor at once.” “Let me fetch ove!” Tom Carlton pleaded; but Vincent’s hand came down upon his shoulder with a strong, detaining grip. “Stay here, old friend, and leave the easier task to me!” he said, in the same controlled tone; but for the first time, some of the fierce anguish he felt was apparent in the haggaril eyes. “Out of this room I can breathe and think!” “Yes, yes—I see!” the other cried, his voice full of feeling and sympathy. “Go at once, old man!” “And, if you take my advice,” he added, sotto voce, as the door closed silently behind the stricken man, “you will choose the doctor who lives at the greatest distance and go the most roundabout way to reach him. If this gentleman’ should slip his cable before you return—why, so much the better for us all!” To allay the miserable . excitement that possessed him, Mr. Cailton paced up and down the room, a walk that presently brought him again bes‘de the bed on which Herbert Santley still lay in that deathlike swoon. As his eyes fell upon the wretched man his hard heart contracted with a sharp, remorseful pang. To look on even an enemy's pain and not to pity it, was, to Tom Carlton, an impossibie thing. “And yet it’s hard on the poor beg- gar, too!” he muttered, twisting his big moustache with fingers that were less strong and steady than usual, and trembled a little in the performance of their accustomed duty. “I suppose he had some reason for keeping out of the way and letting things go so fatal- ly wrong. Perhaps he is a downright lunatic; and that is hard on him. Any- how, it cannot be a cheerful thing to spread horror and desolation round one, and be so heartily wished into the grave as this unlucky sinner is to- night!” Suddenly, as though the muttered words had reached his ears, Mr. Sant- ley opened his dark eyes and turned them upon the watcher’s face. “My wife!” he cried, faintly but dis- tinetly. “Grace—where is she? Was— it—all—a dream?” “A dream? Yes—and a jolly bad dream, too!” Tom replied, with inco- herent desperation. “Come—none of that, you know!”—as the sick man tried to struggle up. “You have to lie there peaceably until the doctor comes.” The old, fierce, rebellious spirit showed itself in Herbert Santley’s eyes, and he tried to shake himself free. But he was like a child in Tom Carlton’s clasp; and, realizing this, he vented his wrath and agony in a dreadful scream that set the strong man’s heart beating. Reverberating through the corridors, the cry brought into the room the last person Tom wished to see there. “Not you, Mrs. Erle—not yout’ Carlton cried, in a choking voice, saw what seemed the wan, wild-eyed shadow of the onee bright Grace come hurrying to his side. “Let Ruth come or your mother, not you!” “Ruth is with my mother, who is ill,” she answered, in a dull, spiritiess tone. But her speech was interrupted by that weird, terrible cry; and, forcing herself by a strong effort, to look round, Grace saw that Herbert Sant- ley was stretching his gaunt hands to- wards her with a desperate entreaty that wrung her tortured heart. “Grace—my wife!’—the words were forced from the living lips only by a perternatural effort, and yet there was a terrible ring of triumph in the tone— “I—want—to tell—you!”’ “Oh, hush!” the girl eried, every oth- er feeling forgotten in comparison with this piteous struggle with over- mastering weakness and pain. “Tell me nothing now. Be silent and pa- tient, for your Tife’s sake!” Grace bent over him, her pale, sad face softened with angelic pity, and her arm slipped under the aching head. Tom Carlton thought he had seen something like that Iook in the eyes of some altar-shrined Madonna, but nev- er on any living woman’s face before. He turned aside to brush what he considered the sign of an unmanly weakness angrily away; and when he looked back again, Herbert Santley had relapsed into a death-like swoon, and lay once more, white and motion- less, with his face still pillowed on Grace's shoulder. “Shall I—move him?’ Tem asked, in a subdued tone. But Grace only shook her head. She knew that the man’s life hung by so frail a thread that the slightest thing would sever it, yet she did not wish that he should die, If the vague, formless terrors and agonies that seized her in rapid succession took any definite form, they centered in Vincent Evle; and all her hopes were breathed in the wild prayer: “Oh, let me die, and not look upon his pain!” But the dread and the aspi were alike hushed here. She w: the moment eonscious only of her seemingly lifeless burden, and did not speak or stir-until startled by Tom Carlton’s exclamation and the opening of the door, when she raised her eyes and met Vincent Erle’s miserable glance. It was but for a second that the glance of wife and husband met across the bed, but that second held for both a century of pain. The doctor came forward with his soft step, and relieved the girl of her purden with professional courtesy. Grace rose slowly from her cramped position, feeling giddy and dizzy, and but half-conscious of all that passed around her. Vincent watched her with feverish intensity from across the room; but it was Tom Carlton who came to her side with eager kindness and wished to take her away from what he knew must be a cruelly-trying scene. (Yo Be Continued.) Mediocrity. Meek Husband—You ought to re member, Henrietta, that you married me for better or worse. Aggressive Wife—That’s just it! I got footed. You are neither.—Chicago ‘fribune. Thanksgiving. What time the latest flower hath bloomed, The latest bird hath southward flown; When silence weaves o’er garnered sheaves Sweet idyls of our northern zone; When scattered children rest beside The hearth, and hold the mother’s hand, Then rolls Thanksgiving’s ample tide Of fervent praise across the land. And though the autumn stillness broods Where spring was glad with song and stir, Though summer’s grace leaves little trace On fields that smiled at sight of her, Still glows the sunset’s altar fire With crimson flame and heart of gold, And faith uplifts, with strong desire And deep content, the hymns of old. We bless our God for wondrous wealth, Through the bright benignant year. For shower 4nd rain, for ripened grain; For gift and guerdon, far and near. We bless the ceaseless Providence That watched us through the peace- ful days, That led us home, or brought us hence And kept us in our various ways, And if the hand so much that gave Hath something taken from our store, If caught from sight, to heaven’s pure light, Some precious ones are here neo more, We still adore the Friend above, Who, while earth’s road grows steep and dim, Yet comforts us in tender love, And holds our darlings close to Him. Thanks, then, O God! From sea to sea Let every wind the anthem bear! And hearts be rife through toil and strife, With joyful praise and grateful pray- er, Our father’s God, their children sing The grace they sought through storm and sun; Our harvest tribute here we bring, And end it with, “Thy will be done.” —Margaret E. Sangster. The Old-Style Pumpkin Pie. Some like a fancy custard pie, Or apple, mince or game, » Or some new-fangled article, / I "low, just for the name. I ain’t so p’tic’lar’s some I know, And different from the rest, But the good old-fashioned pumpkin pies Are what I love the best. I’m hankerin’ for a piece, right now, Of the pie that mother made, When I came home from school I'd get A hunk and in I'd wade. And, (p’r’aps my mouth is somewhat large), Though I’d resort to tears, She wouldn’t give me another piece Because it mussed my ears. I’ve lingered here a lifetime since, Put up with what I got, But oft in dreams I’m back again To that old familiar spot. And then, at such times, I cam find, On the buit’ry shelf arrayed, A row of good old pumpkin pies, The kind that mother made. —Philadelphia Times. Two Thanksgiving Shakes. Henry Ciay Snowball—‘Won mah turkey shakin’ dice. Wha’d yo’ git yo’n?” G. Washington Johnson—“Won mine shakin’ roosts.” : The Absent-Minded Farmer. He finds there is little cause for de- light, And he fails to see any fun, When he visits his turkeys at dead of night, And gets shot by his own spring- gun. The Turkey. for weeks and weeks the ripened corn. » He’s gabbled by the peck; Now on some sad November morn He gets it in the neck, ~ Catarrh {n the head, with its ringing noises in the ears, buzzing, snapping sounds, severe head- aches and disagreeable discharges, is per- manently cured by Hood’s Sarsaparilla. Do not dally with local applications. Take Hood’s Sarsaparilla and make a thorough and complete cure by eradicating from the blood the. scrofulous taints that cause catarrh. Remember ’ . Hood’s Sarsaparilla Is America’s Greatest Medicine. $1; six for $5. Oe Hood’s Pills cure all Liver Ills. 25 cents. Pa’s Experience. “Say, pa,” queried Willie, the other day, while preparing his geography lesson, “how many motions has the earth?” “I don’t know, Willie,” replied the fond parent, as he bound a towel wet with ice-cold water about his throbbing brow, “but they’re numerous, quite nu- merous.”—Chicago News. TO CURE A COLD IN ONE DAY Take Laxative Bromo Quinire Tablets. All druggists refund the money it it fails to cure 2c. The genuine has L. 8. Q. on each tablet. Baseball is the one business in which an occasional strike is nees- sary. Some men are traveling afoot as soon as they begin to get ahead. FT PormanentlyCured. No fits or nervousnoss after rst day's us of Dr. Kline’s Great Nerve Restorer. Send for FREE, $2.00 trial bottle and treatise, Da. R. H. King, Ltd..931 Arch St. Philadelphia, Pa Experience is such a costly teacher that it keeps a man hustling to pay _ the tuition fees. The man who says that all men 2re thieves will bear watching. Piso’s Cure for Consumption is the best of all cough ope ee d W.: Lotz, Fabucher, La., August 26, 18% Better kiss the girl before you pro pose—she may refuse you. Dr. Seth Arnold’s Cough Killer Is an excellent remedy for children. Mrs. Wm. M. Frogue, Columbus, Kan. 25c. a bottle. The mule woesn’a admire the short ears of the horse. Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup. For children teething, softens the gums, reduces In- fiammmation, allays pain, cures wind colic. 25c a bottle. It’s a short street that has no sa- loon. CONSULTING A WOMAN. Mrs. Pinkham’s Advice Inspires Confidence and Hope. Examination by a male physician is ahard trial to a delicately organized woman. She puts it off as long as she dare, and is only driven toit by fear of can- cer, polypus, or some dreadful ill. Most frequently such a woman leaves < a physician's office , where she has un- @p dergone a critical examination with animpression,more or less, of discour- agement. This condi- tion of the mind destroys the effect of advice; and ; she grows j worse rather than better. In consulting Mrs. Pink- ham no nesitation need be felt, the story ts told to a woman and is wholly confidential. Mrs. Pinkham’s address is Lynn, Mass., she offers sick women her advice without charge. Her intimate knowledge of women’s troubles makes her letter of advice a welispring of hope, and her wide experi- ence and skill point the way to health. “I suffered with ovarian trouble for seven years, and no.doctor knew what was the matter with me. I had spells which would last for two days or more. I thought I would try Lydia E. Pink- ham’s Vegetable Compound. I have taken seven bottles of it, and am en- tirely cured.”—Mnrs. Jonn Foreman, 26 N. Woodberry Ave... 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