Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, April 15, 1899, Page 6

THR BLACK THRROR A Romance of Russia. By JOHN EK. LEYS. e PTECECTIVITECISSES TET) CUAPTER XXVI-—(Continued,) % at the castle!” cried my ion. ‘“Dhey must have been ‘or a-year who told you that! thing has been done to the new new ‘work—nothing has e. The Prince went.away.to his province, and in the ing the English architect left alse work is to be had there now.” “Nevertheless, having come so fa and being so near, I wili goon, It ma be that there are some small jobs tha Ican do. But, tell me,.is the Prince at home?" “He them s: row a Pri ? “fe has been away, then?” Did you not know that he was You must be bu suk been cone. for.a year or mor y at present. Did you not hear y that it was either joy or Sor- his return “hat killed the # rnor of a province igcciant of many thing: «is true, my friend, \ o enlighten me. And see! i y supper. ng and drinking a glass of vod iis interested hospitality promptly accepted; but 1 did not p much by it. I ascertained, howe that the Prince had held his .tor about his abduction and his detentio in the prison of the Committee of Pub- ic safety. Everybody in the neighbor ood supposed that he had been at Vo- lotka all the time. He had come home suddenly, and either the shoc f $ But I look to Here w of his rrival without warning, when she h believed him to be dead, or a reac from ibe anxiety she had been s ing, had been too ¢ a strain for the we heart which beat in the gentle bos) cf the Princess Kropenski. She div » the third day after her h bi; s return, and had been buried time to vi s not an opportune it the Prince, but I had no for there were no repairs, ; | Will you not join me in| | quence, choice. 1 could net remain where I | was; the danger was too great. And if 1 returned to the town I had been liv- ing at, ten to one the Prince would not be at the castle whem I came the sec- ond time. So I resolved to go on, and the fol- lowing day, about dusk, I once more stood before the great stone portal of the castle. I was prepared for being indignantly turned away by the porter, but ! thought it was better to run the risk of one man recognizing me than, half a dozen, which would have been the case if I had gone to the entrance that led to the servants’ quarters. The fat old porter did not know me in my work- man’s clothes, and for a small consi¢- sration he allowed me to go into the hall, where I must take my chance of seving the Prince. An hour later it happened that the Prince passed through the great hall. 1 could not help remembe when | first caught sight of him, t: tore he had given audience to Mitschka, nearly a year before, when he had come to warn the Prince agninst going to Volotzka. I went straight up to His Highness, and stood fore him without speaking. 1e lamp that burned near the porch, ard the candles that v » scattered around here and there feebly lit up that great space; but the Prince knew me in a moment. “Ah!” He drew a long breath stood regarding me with a fixed “I congratulate you, Prince, on y return,” said I. Prince Kropenski made no answer, but the smile left his features and a frown took its place. The frown was the honester of the two. “So you have come back, brigand, to claim the reward of your villainy?” All along I had had a suspicion that my receptiion might be something of this nature; but I had refused to listen to the suggestion, thinking that even the basest of mankind must feel some gratitude for the man who had set him free from what was practically penal servitude. So the Prince’s words were not quite such a surprise to me as one aright have supposed. “You spoke to me in a different tone when last I had the honor of seeing your Highness,” was my retort. “Yes,” he said, grimly, not a whit abashed. “It was your turn then. It is mine now.’’ “J do not quite understand you,” said I, still speaking with composure; but my heart sank within me, for I knew I had put myself into this man’s power. “You came, expecting to be a wel- come guest, I suppose?” he asked, with asneer. “You thought the best apart- ments in the castle would be placed at your disposal, and that your betrothal to my daughter, the Princess Irene, would be immediately announced? By Heaven, when I think of your pre- sumption, it is a wonder that I do not strike you to the earth!” “I do not see how you can reproach me. I will not add that some might think I had some slight claim to your gratitude.” 44 nil “Gratitude! Good heavens, what for? For kidnapping me at the ball?” “Prince!” I exclaimed, indiguantly, “you know well that I had nothing to do with yotr abduction.” “I know that your friends kidnapped me, and kept me a close prisoner, with every ignominy they could think of, forcing me to toil like a slave, for some months. I saw you with my gaolers, on friendly terms with them. How am I to believe that you did not instigate them to the outrage, om purpose that you might have a hold aver me. The second act of the comedy was your pretended sympathy, and some ridicu- jous nonsense about a great service you ~were to undertake, im order that you might persuade your friends to release me. ‘Then there was a promise ex- tracted—which, under the circumstan- ces is, of course, not binding—that I woukd fall in with your insolent de- smunds as regards my daughter.” “Yiu will at least do m@ the justice ' was sealed. De to. admit that I had nothing to do with extracting that pledge fro you?” “Not personally. You had too fine a sense of ‘honor’ sneered the Prince. “You mercly stood by and allowed the principal villain to wring it out of me. But it is worthless! No man would be astilied in giving his daughter to such scoundrel. No; I must'do my duty.” “Your duty?” “Certainly. Asa loyal subject of the zav, and one whom His Majesty has ed with an important command, ttle doubt that the magistrates able to make more out of you will be sent to St. Petersbur; For one instant a ray of hope had ind. It was evident that the Prince knew nothing of the work I had been engaged in. He had never heard, probably, of the abduction of ar; at all events, he did not t me with that offense. But the news that I was to be sent to the capi- tal made this of very little couse- Once in the hands of the au- thorities at St. Petersburg, my doom oilleff had only to in order to insure my condemna- ien, “So you mean to have me ar id, slow You have come to the poi said the Prince, with malicious glee. “Don’t be too sure,” haid I, and as I spoke, I drew the which I always carried about me, “If y maim touches me, it will be at the t of his life! nd I saw his face blanch that, for the moment, he was my merc But when he per- ceived that I was making my way steadily to the door, he recovered his nerve, and, drawing a whistle from his he blew a shrill bl: sound was still vibr ous Prin ting among the were thrown open, and several ser- t yants, most of whom I knew by sight, in. that man!” shouted the Prince, “Seize him and put him in irons!’ As the men advanced, a compact crowd, I pointed the revolver at them, calling out to them to keep back; but, vith the traditional courage of the ssian when they are obeying the voice of a master, they did not flinch. I could easily have killed one or two, perhaps more, but my hand refused to act. L could not do it. These poor fel- lows were only obeying the man whom they had been brought up to reverence as a demi-god. Why should I make their wives widows and their children fatherless, even if I could, by so doing, gain chance of escape? Would not their dying cries haunt my ears for evermore? There stood the Prince. Surely, if anyene ought to die, it was he—he who had br on faith and was rewarding the service I had rendered him w the blackest ingratitude. Yes; it was he who eught to die. I turned my weapon full on him. The men had not yet reached me. There was time to shoot him down. But—he was Irene’s father! It was impossible nould perish by my hand. My olver swerved; and that moment of hesitation ended all. I was seized by four or five at the same instant, and L threw my revolver upon the floor, where it exploded without doing any damage. “Lock him up in one of the chambers of the west tower,” said the Prince, turning away, as if he could not bear to look at me. “And to-morrow, early. have a carriage and horses in 1 ness to go to St. Petersburg.’ CHAPTER XVII. Love’s Reward, The chamber to which they led me was one of those in the great tower. ‘The walls were of rough stone, and im- mensely thick. It stood four-square to all the winds of heaven, being two sto- ries higher than any of the rooms usually inhabited. Of course, there was no fire, but I was furnished with can- dles. There was no furniture in the place when I entered it, but presently a truckle bed was brought in, with one or two wooden chairs and a small ta- ble. I was offered food, but could take nothing beyond a glass of water. My thoughts were gloomy enough as I threw myself down, dressed as I was, on the hard pallet, hoping that sleep would come and offer me a short re- spite from my misery. But it was a vain hope. The fate that had overtak- en me was too awful, the blow had fallen too recently, for me to forget it in sleep. For some hours I lay tossing from side to side; then I rose and went and stood by one of the parrow win- dows. The young moon was near her setting. She threw a pure, cold light over the wide expanse of snow that met my eye. The first snow had fallen some days before, but it was not yet deep, and the frost had not been hard enough to make the roads fit for the sledges. Indeed, the roads were in such a state that it had been only with great difficulty that I had reached the castle, and it occurred to me that it was not improbable that the Prince might de- tain me at the castle for some days, till the frost should have made the snow hard enough for sledges. It soothed me a little to stand there and gaze on the untrodden snow, look- ing as if it belonged to a world for re- moved from the sins and passions of mankind. .Soon the crescent moon would sink below the horizon, and all would be in darkness, save the ghostly shimmer from the snow. Suddenly a sound, an indescribable noise, far below, fell on my ear. Then stealthy footsteps were heard on the t to your associates than | | revolyer I had | ‘brought with me from. London, and ! nted the weapon at the treacher- | 's of the hali, when the doors | in the lock, and the door was opeend an inch wide. And then a voice that. made every nerve in my frame tingle with delight came whispering: “Are you awake?—Mr. Heath, are you awake?” I took a step forward without speak- ing, for wonder and a triumphant joy surging in my heart held me dumb. I took another step, then rushed to the ! door and tore it open. She was there, my beauty, my darling, my queen! standing.so whife and ghost that I could almost have thought it bodied spirit that had come to visit me, “Trene The next instant Mother nature had her way. We were locked fast in each other's arms! Oh, the sweetness of | that embrace! The power of speech, of hearing, was gone from me. My senses i were dulled with ex: of feeling. 1 was in ecstasy! Still without speaking, I softly closed | the door of the cell, and drew my love | j to the window, into the glimmer of the | moonlight. For a long time, I believe, though it seemed short enough, we | stood there in silence, still clinging to each other, still looking fondly into each other's eyes; and sometimes I would put up my hand and stroke that silky hair, or k the dear, sweet face, So hear ny own. At last she spoke, and her voice sounded to me quite differently from what it had ever done before, so low and full and sweet. s forced to come to you in the night time, dearest, for I could not let you go without a word, and—how cen TI tell you? my father says that Siberia for life is the best you can hope for! And I believe it was for me, that you went into danger. If it had not been for me you would have been safe in England now, no shadow on your life, no perpetual prison to fear! But tell me, Raymond, wa: you did that my father was able to make his escape?” My silence assured her. “And this his gratitude! He says his duty to the Czar compels him to denounce you. O, I am ashamed! It is not like my father. He I known him to do a thing like th How could he? O, how could he? Something must have | changed him greatly within the past twelve months. I am certain he would not have been guilty of such ingrati- tude a year ago. And when you had come here, too, of your own accord, with a claim that no one—’ She stopped, and leaning on my breast, wept bitter tears of shame. What could I say to comfort her? It | was true that the Prince’s conduct had been about as bad as a man’s could be; and, knowing what was before me, L could not find it in my heart to forgive him. “I try to forget that he is your fath- er, my sweetest,” I said, softly stroking ! her hair, “Let us both try to forget it, and speak of something else. How did you manage to get in here?’ “Oh! easily though. When I came to the foot of the stairs, I saw just what I had expected to see—poor Serge, who had been put there as a sentry, sound asleep on the floor, and the keys hanz- ing by a thong from his finger. I con trived to draw the thong off his finger’ without awakening him. He did not even stir at the creaking of the door at the foot of the stairs. But, Raymond, if I could come up without his hearing me, why should you not go down and escape from the castle? You can! You can! There is nothing to prevent it!” “There is certainly a chance that T might get out of the castle, dearest,” I said, thinking hard as I spoke ‘but I don’t see how I could get away from ithe neighborhood. I should be fol- lowed and captured, to a certainty. (Still, it is surely worth trying. 1 don’t see how an unsuccessful at- tempt to escape could make matte any worse—except for Serge, poor fel- low.” “Serge must take care of himself,” never could hide him somewh: ther’s anger had died away. But sup: pose you do escape, how am I to h from you again? Is this to be our meeting? I could not bear that, Ray mond. I could not live without the hope of seeing you again!” My answer was to clasp her once more to: my breast. Then I stood for a moment, thinkin “T will tell you w said. “We must have patience for a year or more, till the affair is partly forgotten and no one imagines that I again. Then I will send a friend, who will bring you a letter from me, and, if you are willing, ‘he will be your es- cort.to London.” “Yes, that will be the best way.” said Irene, with a sigh. “But it will be a long time to wait without a word from you.” So we planned, like two children, to whom the realities of the world—rank and wealth and the unwritten laws that govern society—are as naught. heart beating fast with the hope that a few minutes might set me free. “Yes, darling, you had better go,” said Irene. But her dear arms were about me, and I was more than con- were standing close together, murmur- ing ‘broken words of love, when sud- Gely we started asunder. We had and the heavy steps of my heard ascending the stairs. “Oh, what shall I do?” Trene. | But for we you would have been at “No, no! leave you!” “To-morrow—there may be a chance to-morrow. The roads are so bad— they may wait a day or two. I will try to bribe—Good-bye!” In an instant she was gone from me. Quick as thought she had darted out- side and locked the door behind her. “A pretty watch you keep, Serge!” I heard ther light, nervous laugh on the other side of the door. “I wonder what my father would say if I were to tell him I had found you asleep at your post in the middle of the night” The Russian growled out something in reply, put I could not catch what he said. nother minute, and I heard the grating of the lock as the key turned in the door at the foot of the stairs. Not till that moment did I reas ize how near I had been to freedom; } and it was a bitter thing to think that stone steps outside, a key was placed it through what | ashamed, | has often been violent and hard, but | d Irene. “I dare say his friends | re till my fa- | tent to remain a little longer. We | my own miserable weakness had con- demned me to a fate I shuddered to think of. But it was useless to think of what might have been. I threw my- self once more on my hard, bed, and before I knew it I was fast asleep. The snow came with the morning, and it soon became evident that Irene’s expectation was to be fultilled. There was nothing to be lost by @ short delay, and ihe Princée decided that I might remain where I was until the weather moderated and the roads were more fit for traveling. Three—four days went by, and the weather had become bright and clear. The night’s frost had made the roads hard, and there was nothing to delay our departure. All this time I had heard nothing from Irene. I was sure that she would strain every nerve to do something for my release, but I quite understood that she might not be able to effect anything, and I was re- signed to the thought that I must be taken to St. Petersburg; and there, [ resolved, I would make the best fight I could to persuade my judges that L had nothing to do with the Committee of Public Safety. There had been a rumor in the vil- lage, Serge told me, that one or two suspicious trangers had been seen in the neighborhood; und I thought it pos- sible that the Prince was waiting to find out who they were before leaving home. But if so, he resolved to wait no longer. On the morning of the fourth day of-my imprisonment 1 had a fresh gaoler to attend to me; and he told me that the Prince was going to St. Petersburg along with me, though, of course, not in the same sledge, and | that he would have started that morn- ing, if he had-not been detained by some unexpected business. As I was eating my mid-day meal that day, the small loaf that had bern | sent up to me broke in two somewhi i and, to my surprise and 1 bit of paper, folded se in a cavity in the middle of the Irene had taken this weil bread, known plan of sending me a note with- out the knowledge of the gaoler. With trembling fingers 1 unfolded it, and this is what I read: “My ther is going owt this necn, and I am going to make an ef to bribe your new guardian to ! the door of your room and the doo: the foot of the stairs open for a few moments after 5 o'clock. It will ther be dark, or nearly so. If I succeed in persuading him to do th I will leave ‘seme sheepskin clothes, such as the ; peasants wear, at the foot of the sta Thi 1 1 can do for you. I would do more—I would shed the last drop of my blood to save you. You know that, do you not, dearest? I have tried to speak for you to my fa- ther, but he flies into a dreaful p2 sion if your name is mentioned. I do nothing with him. But this new | tempt may succeed. If it does, I 1 forgive myself for having detained you that other time. Farewell, my loye, and have courage! —Lrene.” Little need to tell me to have cour age! The blood coursed through my veins like a flood of fire. I felt as if, once outside these walls, I could de- fend myself against an army. Slowly, as if the minutes were hours, the time went by, and at last darkness fell upon the snow-covered landscape. | My ears were on the alert, and just as | the twilight was changing into night, | I heard the*key softly turn in the lock | of my door. | Fora minute I sat perfectly still, to | et me free Then I give the man who had jus time to get out of the ran lightly down the sta into the corridor. No one was visible, and there were no clothes lying about, Hither Irene had been unable to pro- cure what she wanted, or had been prevented from placing them where | could find them. However, I did not feel at all sure that I could personate a Ru an peasant so as to escape de- tection, and did rot much regret the less. “ I made wy way quickly throvgh the corridors, with which, of course, I was perfectly familiar, and succeeded in gaining the open air without being seen by anyone. I could not help | thinking that the man whom Irene had | bribed had smoothed my way in this | matter, also. § | How sweet the keen wind was, | blowing on my cheek. As “yas L was beyond the immediate neighbor- hood of the Castle I broke into a rnn. at we must do,” I | My intention was to gain the road to Vinorosk and lose myself in the im- mense country that lay beyond; for T knew that to make straight for the will ever be heard of in this country | frontier would be madness. I was still in the park, but not far from the main avenue that led to the Castle from the high road, when [ heard the jingle of sledge bells. Think- ing it must be the sledge of the Prince returning to the Castle, I Stood stock- still, till I could hear them no more. Then I stepped out cautiously and gained the avenue. 'The great, solemn pines made the way so dark, that had it not been for the snow I could not have seen a step “Shall I go now?’ I whispered, my | of the way. As it was, I could see but |; a very little way in front of me. I went on cautiously, till I could bear the delay no longer, and, thinking there might be safety in speed, I broke | into a run. There was no lodge at the gate I was |making for, I knew very well. L 'yeached the gates. They were stand- ing wide open, and I dashed through heard a noise below! Another moment | between them, into the highway, and aoler were | ran into a man whose footsteps on the snow I had not heard, nearly knock- moaned | ing him down. “I shall never forgive myself! | Instinctively, I began an apology, but the words died away—or, rather, they liberty this moment!” ‘ | were choked back. Prince Kropenski It was I who could not | had me by the throat! (To be continued.) Mast Be a False Report. “It is hinted that Miss Tenspot is in debted to the druggist for her com- plexion,” said Miss Gazzam. “O, I can’t credit that, for I know her well,” replied Miss Ricketts. ‘In fact, I am her dearest friend.” “Then she doesn’t use cosmetics at all?” “OQ, yes; but she pays cash.” Wit Against Wit. “So he is a bachelor of arts, is he?” “Yes; andI should say he needed to be to cope with so man yartful maids.” —Philadelphia Bulletin. ‘There is nothing more unsatisfactory than compulsory love. Hy teca and beauty are the glories of ‘Women who suffer constantly with weakness peculiar to their sex cannot retain their beauty. Preservation of pretty features and rounded form is ks a duty women owe to themselves. The mark of excessive monthly suf- ering isa familiar one in the faces of young American wemen. Don't wait, young women, until ING your good looks are gone past recall. Consult Mrs. Pinkham at the out- SUFFER start. Write to her at Lynn, Mass. Miss Epna E..is, Higginsport, Ohio, writes: ‘*DEaR Mrs. PinkHamM—lI am aschool teacher and had suffered untold agony during my menstrual periods for ten years. My nervous sys- tem was almost a wreck. I suffered with pain in my side and had almost every ill human flesh is heirto. I had taken treatment froma number of physicians who gave me no relief. In fact one eminent specialist said no medicine could help me, I must submit to an operation. At my mother’s request, I wrote to Mrs. Pink- ham stating my case in every par- ticular and re- ceived a prompt reply. I followed ‘ the advice given me and now I suffer no more during menses. 3 If anyone cares f to know more / about my case,I / will cheerfully answer ali letters.” } Miss Kate Cook, 16 Ad~ dison St., Mt. Jackson, Ind,, writes: ‘*DEAR Mrs. PiInkHAM— I am by occupation a school teacher, and for a long while suf- fered with painful menstruation and nervousness. I have re- MARKS OF 7 ceived more benefit from Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com- pound than from all remedies that I have ever tried.” Depression, “I suppose. Washington will rather dull after we are gone marked the statesmzn. “Oh, I don’t know,” sai dthe amiable lady with. whont he boards... “Of —— course, it will take some time to forget When a person is down in the world, | all these debates, and yeas and nays, an ounce of help better than « |2nd such, .But it won’t be more than ponnd of preaching.—Bulwer. a week or two before we begin to liven pat, up a bit.’—Washington Star. Comment. “Congressman Talkington say: question of expansion demands serious consideration.” “Oh, well, he fence.”’—Puck. always is on the Are You Using Allen's Foot-Ease? It is the only cure for Swollen, Smarting, Burning, Sweating Feet, Corns and Bunions. Ask for Allen’s Foot-Ease, a powder to be shaken into the shoes. At all Druggists and Shoe Stores, 25c. Samples sent FREE. Ad- dress, Allen S. Olmsted, LeRoy, N. Y. ITS Permanently Cured. Nofits ornervousnossafter inst day's use of Dr. Kline's Great Nerve Restorer. Send tor FREE, $2.00 trial bottic and treatise. 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