Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, July 8, 1899, Page 2

ACA 4 Frozen Heart, A THRILLIN 5 BY FRANCES CHAPTER XXII—(Continued.) “1112” he eried, seizing her hand, and ere she could withdraw it, covering it i ill, for my sake, Beat- rice? use you feared for me?” The words burst from him impetu- ously, as the confession of her illness brought before him the thought of her pleading, and the sweet, delirious be- that she must, indeed, still love but he forgot that its acknowl- edgment would tear, indeed, the mask with which she veiled her heart. Snatching her hand from his, she sprang to her feet, grasping the back of her chair for support. “IIL because I feared for you?” she echoed. “How dare you think me so weak, so pitiful, so lost to my own pride? No, Carlo Dameroff! I have loved but one man. It was yourself. L despise but one man. It is yourself. A woman's love, turned to her contempt, releases her from its bondage and its pains. May I ask you, now, to leave me?” He, standing now. Truly, ed him—she who once < to be moulded in his too, w she had not had been as hands. ame Florence’s words had been, a mockery. Doubtless the sto- ry she had told him all was false—the last pitiful act of her revenge. At the decor he paused and looked He w'shed once more to see the » face which pain had lent new back. Deauty, that he might carry its mem- ory ever with him, Her words had erected between them er he might never again make € to pass. The gulf between them, henceforth and forever, might not be bri ; yet, even as he turned , the barrier fell, the white, voiceless and had sunk back for that li gulf vanished, fo: unconscious, Beatrice in her chair, a her helplessness told him what her lips had denied him. In her weakness lay her strength. CHAPTER XXIII. in her sumptuous and palatial home, alone in the great, silent house, save for the 1] she whom ter- the little world of St. Petersburg known Madame Florence— one, but neither in darkness, in deso- lation, nor in mourning. In the center of the great drawing room, she stood, still wearing her wed- though hours had passed the name she had chosen to bear en stripped from her more piti- y than the bandage from Louis face, and her own old name ck at her as a direct insult. » had dined in her old state, Flow- had bloomed upon her table; course { “r course had been served; and of ri t her one aw eys, day rest vintage poured into the True, the dishes the sIbow. Imost untasted, but the fe Then she had swept into her drawing rooms to find them, she had com- ad, in a blaze of 1 do honor to m le murmured ‘e the mern- had sought no solitude of gritf: The pallor which‘! her had fled. One bright spo son | ed on either cheek. Her e burned irto bla : her jew not hold more brilliance, more fire. She was beautiful in this hour, wit beauty which exceeded belief. Here ore her heart had been numbe to slumber. Had net its death fo lowed this second blow? “Admit none,” she had told her ser- vants, no one. I entertain ht,” she added to ‘ he ghost of my past—Flor- ‘ane dines with me.” she stood alone in the center of the rooms, which were a long vista of radiant light and color. Slowly she paced their length, smiling as in innu- therable mirrors she caught a glimpse | 1, graceful figure, clad in a bridal nite, ; hold good here? \ too, G LOWE STORY. WARNER WALKER. wrought the deadlier ruin of her soul. He was the first to speak, { “I came to offer my condolences,” he said, “but the scene before me is so brilliant, shall I change them into my congratulations?” The old, sneering tone struck on her nerves like ice. “Leave me!” she answered, and out- stretched one hand toward the door, across whose threshold he had not yet passed. “Leave you!” he echoed, with his calmness all unmoved, “Ah, no, ma belle! You and I have an account to | settle; and besides, whose right is greater here than mine? Who, in fur- nishing you with all this splendor,” his glance sweeping the long vista of the roooms, “has assumed my place? Had the prince already arrogated the right on which this morning’s ceremony was to have set the seal? An unfortunate interruption, that, was it not? I could hardly hope for so warm a welcome as you otherwise might have accorded nie.” The inflection of his words was 4& grosser insult than their purport; his assumed levity more terrifying than fiercest. anger; his smile, which seemed on his face such mockery, more terri- ble than any frown, Yet Florence’s glance fell not from him; only her heel crushed into the fragments of glass on which it rested, and beneath it, cut and marred beyond recognition, was the white cross with the broken lily at its base. She thought that, in all probability, the man had come to murder her. She knew that the gold by which he had bribed her servants to admit him, would deafen them to any appeal that she might make; yet, haughty and de- fiant, she gave no outward sign of fear. Suddenly, with a spring. like a pan-} ther, drew near her; his hands the lovely bareness of her hite arms; his face, terrible, menac- ing, hideous, was close to hers, ked me to give you to the law,” he said, “I spared you for this Then, dragging her with a force she could not resist, he stopped before one of the great mirrors which fully re- flected both, “Look at yourself and me!” he said. “Woman! fiend! This morning’s work paid not even the interest on the debt I owe to you!” For the first time she spoke. “You think so, Louis Gervase?”’ she said. “You think the bullet’s impress: has left you a debt greater than mine? What is its outward impress to the in- ner ruin you have wrought? Hideous as your face, so hideous have you made my heart—a heart which once held greater beauty than that you made your boast. You murdered my soul, my faith, my love. I loved you— loved you as now I hate you. I meant to kill you, I think; but I’ was mad with grief and pain, and knew not what I did. Is it life for beauty you would claim? If so, be quick! My life is not of such worth that I should ead its ransom. A great deal of admiration stole in his eyes. The low, musical voice held not a tremor, not an eyelash quivered; and yet he held her in his power, as the vulture the bird, Once her heart had been to him a transparent page. He had but need to look to read. She had been a very a very child, knowing no will save his. 3ut this superb, defiant woman had risen from the es of the fire in ¥ » he had crucified her childhood, she held for him a fascination the id might never hay ‘ssed—a ination which made his hate dead- his vengeance more implacable. S “It is life for life, an eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth! Why should not the old law Beauty for beauty! 1, would haye you live—to know what it is to shrink from the sunlight and glory in the darkness, to shun crowds and have solitude unbearable, to realize a blessing converted into a deadly curse. From such a fate, Flor- ence Vane, who shall save you?” “Do your worst!” she answered him, he F ie a Modan re ae wy, Te ! and brav stood awaiting whatsoev- . ‘ is er fate, throug murmured, “not Florence Vane. vam |e 2 rough “him, ‘should; deal’ to d of that. For her, new and more ing honors wait; and I spared Dam- eroff to her. Fool, fool that I was! Why did they not fight? But what girl said about a sis- Vane has no sister— was it that thi: ter? Florence wishes none!” She paused as she spoke; then, with impulse, hurried on, until she ied the ante-room where Ark- ht first had seen her. And then she moved toward the picture of the white and gleaming ¢ Lifting her beautiful arms, she disengaged ft from the wire by which it was suspended, gently laid it on the floor, and then set her heel upon it, and crushed the gla nto a thousand fragments. Did she fear its future softening influence upon he Had she not rather used it as the whetstone to her revenge? Standing there, another sound than the breaking glass disturbed the si- lence, It was a low, demoniac laugh. she turned. There in the shadow of the doorway, stood a witness to her act—Louis Ger Her lackeys had betrayed her for his gold, ,.As in the morning, he had made no attempt to shield from ‘curious gaze his terrible disfigurement. The full glare of light revealed its livid horror. The marred ebeek rendered the contrast more fear- new ful, and lent the man a scareely human ! air. 1t were as though devil and man were mingled into one; nor would the simile fallen far short of the reality. She turned and saw him, but the col- faded not from her cheek; she nei- er blanched nor trembled. Thus they met—they who once had murmurea softest nothings in each other’s ears, who each had found a heaven in the other’s eyes, and who had held the sa- cred relation, blessed by God, of hus- band and wife. He, in his hideous de- formity, confronting her who had sought his body’s ruin; she, in her ex- quisite beauty, facing ghim who had With a low curse, he threw her from him with such force that she staggered a few steps, and caught the arm of a chair for support. “Woman! devil!” he sneered. “Had you been like this a year ago, I should not have been wearied, nor been tempt- ed from you. But listen! To-night I spare you, only that I may make ven- geance more complete. I give you mer- cy, only that one day I may’hear you | plead for it to deny your prayer. I leave you your beauty, only that it may prove your curse! But remember, as the shadow, follows the sunlight, so I follow you; as the bloodhound is | swift upon the track of its prey, so am 1 swift on yours; as the snake glides unseen among the herbage toward its victim, so yet shall you feel my sting. You cannot escape nor elude me. When the cup of happiness is at your lips, then will I dash it down. When your sky is the brightest, then will I forge the thunderbolt. When you say ‘at last I have escaped him,’ then will the thread part that holds above your head the sword of Damocles, My pursuit will know no weariness; my hand no merey. The curse wherewith you have cursed me shall yet recoil upon your- self. Au revoir, Florence Vane, until we meet again!” Again she was alone; but, for the first time a deadly, terrible fear had stolen into her heart, and almost stilled forever its frozen beat. CHAPTER XXIv. “A lady is waiting to see you, sir, in the inner office.” | So spoke one of the clerks of the Hon. Jasper Strong, as that gentleman, re- turning from his mid-day lunch, re- entered the office of Strong, Turnbull | & Strong, a legal firm, of which he was \ the head, and whcse power and influ- ence were known and recognized throughout Great Britain, The announcement just made was by no means unusual or extraordinary; yet a little of the florid hue left the Hon. Jasper’s ruddy cheek, and a nery- ousness not customary to him worked his frame. His hand, too, trembled, and he per- ceptibly hesitated ere he turned the handle of the door leading into the room indicated. Standing there, he looked the type of a true Englishman, whom the world had treated well during the neariy six- ty years which had passed over his head. Time had dropped some powder on the once dark locks, but the brow be- neath was unlined, and the smile about his mouth had not lost its almost boy- ish winsomeness. Yet he was one of England’s ablest barristers, and@ his office had been the consultation room of nearly all of Enz- land’s greatest advocates. In that of- fice a lady, a stranger, now awaited him. He surely was trying her pa- tience and ours. He opened the dcor and entered. At the sound, a woman dressed in deep mourning, her face entirely concealed by the heavy crape of her veil, but h certain elegance and grace of figure perceptible beneath its folds as it fell to the hem of her gown, rose from her chair, and stood, with one hand touch. ing the edge of the table, almost as if for support. She bowed her head slightly, he fancied almost haughtily. “Is this the Hon. Mr. Strong?’ she osked. And the low, sweet voice instinctive- ly attracted him. “It is, madam,” he responded, with an answering bow, “Pray be seatea, and let me know in what way I can be of service to you.” Without obeying the courteous in- vitation, she raised her arm, and, with | a ck movement, threw back her veil. The lawyer started. quisite beauty, elegance and grace stood revealed to his gaze. She could yet scarce have numbered two-and. twenty years. Her dress was simple and inexpensive, but its somber shade rendered more dazzling the flawless purity of her skin, and her low, white brow was shaded by rippling waves of ruddy gold. Again the low, sweet voice broke the silence: “I saw an advertisement some days ago in a London journal. It was this.” And she held toward him a paper Sle had in her hand. His own trembled as he took it from A premonition as to his visitor's 4 had dawned upon him at his simple announcement; yet the advertisement to which she alluded had been inserted for six months in the daily prints, and heretofore had been without resporse. » hasty glance convinced him that picign was correct. The printed words at which he glanced were of his own composing, and this their purport: “Any one able to give information concerniug Herbert Dalrymple (now Lord Montfort), who left England three years ago, or of his wife, or possible heirs, will receive a reward of £500, by applying at the office of Strong, Turn- pull & Strong, 17 Charing Cress, Lon- don.” One hasty glance the lawyer took, and then his gaze, shrewd but kindly, rested on the stranger's face. “IT am to believe you bring us news of this young man?” he asked. “It will be most grateful to his mother, She has received no line from him since Lis rash and unfortunate marriage.” Again that strange smile parted the exquisite lips. “Mr. Dalrymple’s marriage, then, v deemed unfortunate by his friends?” she questioned. No longer madam, s him Lord Montfort.” A woman of ex- | Mr. Dalrymple. If he} his brother's death “So I inferred from the wording of | the message, she replied. makes “Is it the ti- this new anxiety among h concerning his fate?” The lawyer frowned. “His mother is dying of a broken! heart,” he said, “pining for the one boy : left her, the pride which banished. him | from his house the worm of remorse 2 her heart. Him or his s come with open arms. The wife she} once despised she would now give @ mother’s love. If there were children, she would make them as her own, Jf you have news, madam, I pray you Withhold it no longer. I know not whether the reward might be of ser- vice to you, but, for authentic informa- tion we would gladly double it.” “Information concerning Herbert Dalrymple is, alas, not in my power to give you! But of his wife—” She paused, “Well, what of her? Poor girl! If she has suffered, her future shall know no want, no care.” “She has suffered, Mr. Strong—aye; cruelly!” was the low, quick answer, with sudden fire and meaning in her} words. “Suffered as neither you nor this proud, haughty woman can con- ceive—suffered as only I can tell you, for I am she!” ‘The lawyer staggered back. How was it, with all his legal acumen, his legal penetration, he had not suspected this before? What, indeed, should be so natural? And how readily, in the sight of this glorious beauty, could he understand the infatuation that had made the boy} he had known from infancy give up{ home, fortune and friends for its pos- session? j Yet, through it all there came a sud- den sense of pain, of disappointmeni. We remembered, on his last visit to Montfort Castle, the sad, despairing; words of the stricken mother, whose | desolate heart yearned for its children. | Would this woman—young, lovely, | peautiful—be to her a daughter? Would she heal the wounds, with gen- | tle, womanly touch? She was worthy bearer of the Montfort name; but in| filling the Montfort pride would she not still leave, chilled and empty, that) desolate, sorrowing and repentant | mother's heart? | These thoughts flashed like lightning | through the old man’s active brain. “You—you were Herbert's wife?” he ; stammered. “Ah, my dear, I do not; wonder that you turned the boy’s head! ; But you know nothing of him—your | husband? How happens it? She resumed the seat from which she had risen at his entrance ere she spoke. | “Tt is a sad stcry,” she said, “a some- what lengthy one. We were married, you know, in London, Not in St. George's,” she added, with a smile, “as would have better have befitted Her- pert’s rank; but in a quiet little church tle which : replied the barrister, kindly. whose pastor had tutored Herbert in his college days. Within a week we sailed for America. After some little travel we found ourselves in New Or- leans. There Herbert became interest- ed in some mining schemes, which promised wonderful and immediate for- tune. It was necessary that he should go to the far West. He thought the journey too long and arduous for me to undertake. He left me behind, promis- ing to return in four menths’ time. ‘wo had not gone by when the fever broke out in New Orleans. I was stricken down by it and carried to the hospital. Through a mistake I was reported dead. The news of my fate was sent to Herbert, When, long weeks aftet- wards, I recovered consciousness and health, I found he had been in New Orleans and placed there a monument to my memory; then had yanished, none knew where. I wrote him again and again, to the old address, but re- ceived no reply. I could gain no trace of him. At last I thought that perhaps he had returned to England. Perhaps, unembarrassed by me, his family had again received him. Should I again make him forswear them all for me? But my hunger grew too great thus to silence it. Doubt must give, place to certainty. Besides, my means were al- most exhausted. I returned to Eng- land; I saw your advertisement. It strengthened my belief, my terrible fear, that my husband was dead; but my necessities directed my steps to you.” “Say, rather,’ Providence, my child,” “To-day —this very afternoon, you shall go with me to Montfert Castle. But first I must ask what papers you have in proof of what you say? Pardon me, my dear, but it is the lawyer's ques- tion.” “I had thought of that,” she replied, and again that strange smile played about her lips, as she thrust her within the bosom of her dress have but these two,” laying two thin papers on the table. “My marriage certificate and the record in St. Su- plice’s hospital, New Orleans, of my death. They are strange companions, are they not? But is shows on what strange threads hang human life. When I was first taken ill the nurses at the hospital found the first-named within my dress. They laid it careful- ly away. My room afterward was changed. The patient in the old room died. Through a mistake the record cf I her death bore my name. Ah, have another proof—my welding ring!” « .She slipped her glove from her hana, and drew from her wedding finger a plain gold circlet, Inside was inscribed, Herbert to Dorothy,” with the date cor- responding to that on the certificate. “It is enough,” said the lawyer. “In- deed, your story needs little corrobora- tion, and for the sake of your husband, dear, the boy who yet, I trust may re- turn to find the mother whom he thought alienated, the heritage he be- lieved forfeited, the wife he mourned as dead, you will love and comfort the mother, will you not? Aye, and for give her all that she has made you suf- fer? Pardcn me, my dear; ore ques‘ion m Have you children?” “None,” she answered. The barrister sadly shook his head. “T am sorry,” he said, musingly. “Children’s fingers can best heal old wounds, such as are still fresh in Lady Montfort’s heart. But we are losing time. To-day, my dear, Montfort Castle sball welcome its young mistress, and never, let me add, has there be fairer wearer of the proud old patr’ title. Allow me to be the first to greet you as my Lady Montfort!” CHAPTER XXV. In her own chamber sat the young Lady Mentfort, her white hands list- lessly folded in her lap, her eyes wan- dering through the open window over the noble park, stretched as far as her vision could reach. Her lips smiled; a flush was on her cheeks; but the held a proud, disdainful bitterness, the flush was like the reflection of hid- den sunight upon ice, There had been no disputing her title to her place. The childless mother had epened wide her arms and heart, but the young wife or widow, according as Fate shoud decree her, had accepted her caresses rather than returned them, and it had been the older woman who had felt the chill! Yet there was triumph in that grow- ing smile—triumph and content, min- gled with its bitterness, “The Lady Montfort!’ she murmured, low. “It is a regal title. Ah, what dees it net mean to me! Safety and rest! Who would dare assail me here?” A gentle tap interrupted the words. The door softly opened. A tall, elegant woman advanced into the room—a wo- man who had been in her youth alike arrogant and handsome. But time had softened and sorrow chastened her, un- til now a new ard lovelier light was in her eyes, and the gray hairs suite: well the beauty she still might boast. “Dorothy, daughter,” she murmured, still dreaming? Is it of Herbert’s re- turr, dear? Do you dream of it and hope for it as does his mother? Ah, but no remorse, no longing to atone, mingled with your yearning! My child, you have been with me over a month— a month since we dispatched our let- ters to America, and no reply has yet reached us.” “No reply may reach us, I fear, mad- ame. You forget my long and anxious inquiries, which were all in vain.” “I forget nothing, my child. I spare myself nothing. But Dorothy, have you not yet learned to call me the name 1 so long to hear from your lips? Is it, d, a difficult task to call me moth- er’ The girl shivered. “Pardon me, madame; but it is 4 name so sacred, and long, long ago, I buried it in the grave. Will you for- give me if I cannot as yet teach my lips to utter it? Perhaps—perhaps, if I should hear from Herbert—” A sob interrupted her. It burst from the proud old heart, which was so nigh to breaking with its burden of remorse- ful grief. “4h, God will yet send me back my son,” she murmured. “You yet shall hear its utterance from him. What is this, Peter?” For, glancing up, she saw the old but- ler standing silent in the hallway. “A dispatch from London, my lady. I did not know but that you wished it immediate,” i (To be continued.) WONDERFUL EXHIBITION Some of the Great Features of the First Greater America Exposition, THE SUPERB ELECTRICAL DISPLAY £rom July 1 to November 1 the City of Omaha Will Welcome Visitors to a Magnificent Exhibitiou. Since the institution of the first primitive fair for the exchange of wares among ancient tradesmen, it has been grander and mure interesting than its immediate predecessors. The Greater America Exposition will be nu exception to this rule. In the variety and novelty of its educational and amusement features it will without question surpass the exposition of*1898. Its exhibits are not only more numer- ous, but more novel and instructive than were those of a year ago. The amusement concessions, also more nu- merous, present many novelties and all are grander in design and propor- tions than those of any former exposi- tion. The illuminations and pyrotech- nical displays will be upon a scale of magnificence heretofore not atempted, and a line of special features and days is contemplated of almost sensational interest. One of the crowning features of the exposition is the electrical illumi- nation. The display of last year was conceded to be the most effective ever mile race track which has been built on the north tract and where races will . be run at night. This is to be one of the novel features of the exposition. Enough to say that the experience of last year has been utilized to the full, that the dark places have been touched as with the wand of a wiz ard, and that Blectrical Superin' ent Rustin has prepared a fairy 4 brilliant and gorgeous beyond compat- ison. In the mater of exhibits the First Greater America Colonial Exposition has been most fortunate. When the exposition was first talked of some doubt was expressed as to the possibil- ity of securing a sufficient number of attractive exhibits to fill the immense buildings, but that doubt has been ob- scured by the necessity of economizing space in order that all who applied might be accommodated. The United States government building contains a special exhibit. The untire contents of the famous Libby Prison War Mu- seum are displayed. It is composed of the relics of the wars of this nation, and is of great historical importance and value. In one part of the building will be shown an immense collection of the relics and trophies of the late war with Spain; the campaign in Cu- ba and Porto Rico. Fro1a the Philip- pine islands will come four car loads of curious and interesting exhibits, relics of Dewey’s famous victory, tro- phies of the war in and «bout Manila, and interesting objects collected from various parts of the islands. In addi- tion to all this will be the regular gov: ernment exhibit of life-saving appar@- tus, etc., and in a corner of the buid- ing the fisheries exhibit will be sh¢ The display in all the principal buildings gives promise of far s} <2 ENTRANCE TO FINE ARTS BUILDING. Pe) ) i i arranged, and that has veen vastly im- proved upon. The exposition is grand and beautiful by day, but when derk- ness spreads its sable wings then a fairy city springs into existence, each outline defined, each tower and min- aret clear cut and brilliant with my- riad flashing stars of changing chim- mering lights. Last year 30,000 elec- tric lights were used in the illumina- tion of the court of honor; this sum- mer 5,400 lights flash and gleam from zornice and from arch, from balus- trade to lofty spire, from pillared col- onnade to guilded dome reared high in air. The splendid electrical fountain at the western end of the lagoon is a ver- itable rainbow of changing lights, now clearest green, and then from sprays and showers of crimson to all the col- ors of the rainbow mingied, shifting, changing, a dream of fleeting meauty. Around the court, gardens of tropical plants bloom by day and blossom yet ‘more brilliant hues by night. Over 3,000 lights clustered and colored to represent the full-bloom flowers, lights the foliage and gives the erfect of fairy gardens the like of which has never been equaled or approached. Conceal- ing that of the Trans-Mississippi Ex- position. Manufactures. building is filled with a bewildering display, and there is demand for more space than can be found. In the way of live ex- hibits—that is, machinery in operation —it is probable that this exposition will surpass, in extent and variety, all previous efforts. Machinery Hall will be filled with this exhibit. Silk weay- ing from the beginning with the raw silk to the completion of the cloth; the manufacture of hats, from the raw material to the finished article; in short, a hundred different articles of commerce being made at the same time, and under one roof. In the elec- tricity building will be seen all that is latest and most interesting in eiec- trical apparatus and appliances; dyna- mos, telephone exchanges. exhibitions of lighting, heating and cooking. In brief, scores of interesting and curious things such as can only Le found ina display of this kind, and which must be seen to be appreciated The colonial exhibit will consist of many interesting articles of commerce, industry, and manufacture, from our foreign possessions. Implements of ag- culture, arms, vehicles, native dress DPT —— SECTION OF ed lights throw into bold relief each group and figure of statuary upon the buildings. The bluff tract has 3,000 more lights than last year and the horticultural building stands out in a blaze of ra- diant beauty. One hundred and eigi- ty-seven additional arc lights have been placed about the grounds, some eighty of these around the new half- PRESS BUILDING. The Indian band from Tucson, Ariz., _| will be in attendance at the Expvsi- tion. ‘ COLONADE. and ornaments, products, plants and fruits, are a few of the many interest- ing things now on the way from Cu- ba, Porto Rico, Hawaiian islands, and the far off Philippines. A large num- ber of the natives of these several is- lands of the seas will be at the exposi- tion, and will doubtless make one of the most interesting features of the great exhibition. To those who are interested in the national question of imperialism the villages of the native islanders will be at once a revelation and a source of varied information. Whether the Fili- pino is capable of self-government or whether it is safe to offer his country a place in the sisterhood of states are _ questions best answered after a care- ~ ful study of the man himself. In the native village he will live as in his island home. His dress, manners, cus- toms, ceremonies and religious ob- servances will not be added to nor de- tracted from, and the daily ogeupation by which he lives when at home will be faithfully adhered’ to. , ne 2