Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, September 1, 1900, Page 7

E A SIREN'S VICTIMS By Frances Warner Walker. AXKKORKKO KLE KOVLRVVARQ) CHAPTER V. Whatever had been Grace’s vigil dur- ing the Jong hours of that slow-passing day, it had left but little trace, as, with unfaltering steps she descended the stairs as “Andrew, the butler, ‘crossed the hall to make the announce- ment that dinner was served. “Will you take my arm, Uncle, Ed- gar, or shall I take yours?” she called, almost gaily, from the threshold of the room. “It is I, my child, who must hence- forth lean on you,” he said, and laid his trembling hand upon her arm, while he dimly wondered if, indeed, his fear had been misplaced for the blight upon her life. At that moment a loud peal of the bell started them both. It sesmed to sound some new disaster. Yest y she would have let him. in any trouble, be her shield. To-day, in- | stinctively, she gently pushed him back into his easy chair, and went out into the hall as Andrew opened the/ front door. In a few moments she returned, and, ‘crossing the room knelt down by his side. “Uncle,” she said, “there has been a | railroad accident, and Harry is in- jured, but not, 1 think, seriously. His —his wife is unhurt. She sent a m:s- senger here from the depot to esk what she should do, and I have given orders that they should come here at once. I} Only last night, at this hour, she had fanciei all was lost, and lo! to-night, the very goal was reached—the goal beyone her wildest dreams or hopes. In the beautiful old house, surround- ed by its spacious park, which was pointed out to strangers, not only as one of the city’s most elegant homes, but as belonging to one of its oldest and most aristocratic names, she now stood, mistress alike of house and name. To such title she had already decreed Grace Hawthorne must, sooner or lat>r, hold only secondary claim. She doubt- ed not her own diplomacy to effect this end. And if diplomacy failed—why, there were other means, But that the pale child, whose small, éold, trembling hand had been extend- ed to her in welcome, could prove, in any way, an obstacle between her and the plans of her ambition, was not, for a moment, to be considered. Suddenly, the yellow eyes darkened, the pupils contracted, the smile died, and a tiny frown puckered the low brow. A cloud had swept across the sun upon the horizon of her thought. She sighed. A strange look of softness rested on her face. “Harvey!” she murmured; “Harvey! why did you help me do this thing?” Then, as if impatient of her own weakness, she recrossed the flocr, and, hesitating but an instant before the closed door, softly opened it and en- tered the adjoining room. Fifteen minutes later, and on the felt it would be your wish, Uncle Ed- gar—at least I knew that you would | forgive me that I so soon claimed for Harry the pardon you have promised | him. Where else should he come but to his father’s house?” | “That woman here—to-day! My boy | hurt, dying, perhaps! Oh, what m’‘s-|{ fortune has not this entailed upon us?” “Hush, Uncle Edgar! Think how gad an ending this is to Harry’s wea ding day. We must think now, not of ourselves, but of him and of—his wife. Uncle, you will receive her, not forget- ting that she is Harry’s wife and your daughter?” He looked don at the loving, pleas- ' ‘ing face upturned to his. “Child,” he said, “are you an angel of forgiving, pitying love? For your sake, and because you ask it, I will try and look upon this woman only as my boy’s wife; but let her beware—let her but sully the atmosphere vou breathe—let her be one whit less pure, less true than the proud station che has attained will warrant, and—” He did not finish the sentence. Five little fingers were pressed tightly over his mouth. “Let us not cloud the future with a foreboding, Uncle Edgar,” spoke a sweet, low voice in his ear. ‘We are to welcome Harry and Harry’s wife to- day. But they cannot be here for half an hour yet. I will give orders that dinner be kept waiting, and see that their rooms are in readiness.” Her voice was strong, but her face was colorless as marble—even while she hastened into the garden and robbed the rose bushes of their choic- ; est blooms. | “Yesterday I thought he loved me,” | she thought, as she arranged them in_ bowls and vases. “Yesterday? No, only last night; and to-day, to-night, I am scattering flowers through the rooms for Harry’s bride. Ah!"”—as the sound of wheels on the drive be‘ow the windows reached her ear—‘‘ah! they are come.” A moment later the front door was thrown wide open, and she herse’f stood on the threshold to meet the ‘woman, the shadow of whose influence already had fallen athwart her young life. Could the veil which hid the fu- ture from her sight have been torn aside what revelation would have froz- en on her lips the welcoming smile! | And was it wrong that no premonition warned her? A few hours later, and white and suffering Harry Reynolds lay back with closed eyes among the pillows cf, his bed. His broken arm had been set, his bruises dressed, and the thought that he was once more in his old home made even his sufferings wel- come. Across the pain which racked | him, like sunbeams threading their | ‘way through the darkness, came the memory of his father’s welcome, the pressure of his hand, the sweet, low! music of Grace’s voice. They had all left him at last with-his wife, and he had sent her into the next | room to lie down and rest—was con- | tent to be alone and dream. But could he have looked beyond the closed door which separated the bed rooms, the would have seen that already was her voav of cbedience disregarded. The bed and lounge were alike un- touched. With quick, nervous motion, the young wife paced up and down the full length of the floor. On the thick carpet her footfall was unheard. She had exchanged her trav- eling dress for a loose-fitting robe of ‘white, which fell in Watteau folds from her shoulders to the ground. A flush of triumph was on her cheek and had kindled its fires in the great, yellow eyes until they fairly blazed. She made no sound as she moved. Bhe seemed to belong to and form a art of the silence of the room. But it was a silence such as might exist in the heart of Vesuvius, when it ‘breeds the horrors it later must belch forth. Once she paused and held paused and fheld up her left hand to the light. It ‘Was small, and white and beautifully- @haped; but it was not her vanity had moved her to its inspection. Neither 4id it bear a single jewel. Only a tiny circlet of gold inclosed its third finger; but this it was which held her gaze—this, to her, of greater walue than any glittering gem. A smile parted her lips. She crossed to the window which overlooked the ganden, and stood long, silent and mo- tionless, looking out into the night. Through the branches of the trees, whose leaves rustled in the soft night wind, she saw gleam beyond the myri- pd lights of the city. lounge drawn near his bed, she lav, wrapped in a dreamless slumber, while her young husband, forgetful of his | pain, and welcoming wakefulness, lay and watched her with eyes of (Worship- ful fondness. Only last night he had fen cursed her, and to-night—it seemed to him an eternity must be vouchsafed to him for atonement. So he reasoned while she slept—the only one of the little household, except- | ing those who made up its domestic service, from whose eyes sleep had not ; been banished—she who to others had decreed the banishment of Morpheus, herself accepted his embrace. Alone in his library Edgar Reynolds sat until the new dawn broke. Strange rumors had reached him of the early life of the woman whom fate had thrown across his son’s path—whom fate to-night had brought beneath his roof, and had made a sharer of the proud old name—a name sometimes shadowed by the reckless living of its men, but never hitherto tarnished by the lack of purity and honor of any of its women. Yet, she was his son’s wife. Well, he would not bezin the new life by suspi- cion. He would judge her by the fu- ture, not her past. After all, nothing | definite had been sajd or proven / against her; and what pvoman, young, beautiful and unprotected, can escape the breath of scandal? But it was broad daylight when he forced himself to accept this latter reasoning, and his soul sickened with | instinctive dread. He knew not that in the room above him another vigil was being kert, as | Grace, sitting beside her open window, as she had sat motionless through the j long hours of the night, watched the | first faint herald in the east of the ris- ing sun. She had nee*e1 the darkness, the si- lence, the right’s s:ymvathy, while she shivered. all unconsciously to herself, | in the throes which marked the birth of her woman's soul. How strange the law in human life! that birth and suffering are synonv- mous terms, from the birth of life it- self to that of all the noble or ignobdle qualities which are to dominate that life! She knew not all that these pangs portended. She only knew that every nerve was strained to bear the burden of her anguish. Abvut her heart was a sense of suffocating pain. She held both hands tight pressed upon it, with a sort of mute contem>t that they were s> small. and soft, and white, and failed so utterly to crush | down the nameless agony which grew into absolute physical hurt. “No wonder that he loved her!” thought the child, in loyal acknowledg- ment of the marvelous beauty of the face whese smiling eyes had held her spell-bound beneath their gaze. ‘She is sé beautiful, and her voice! I never heard a voice which held such music! But—but will her hand be ever ready to-night, for Harry's needs? Will she make the Jong hours less wearisome to him? Ah, yes, yes! I cannot be su mean ané pitiless thet already I should ' question her. Oh, God,” her heart cried out, as she fell upon her knees in the faint morning light, ‘teach me to ke true to myself, worthy the love to which I must henceforth give no name! CHAPTER VI. Two weeks had slipped away, when the Reynolds carriage, with all its ele- gant appointments, drove slowly up the broad avenue which led to the open country in the direction of the Soldiers’ Home. 3 Among its luxurious cushions re- clined its one occupant—a woman, whose glance wandered restlessly from beneath her lace-fringed parasol. Suddenly her face flushed, as, com- ing toward her, she descried the figure of a young man in undress uniform. Leaning forward, she ordered the cat- riage to draw up to the sidewalk. “Will you take the seat beside me?” she asked, in sweetest tones. ‘Mrs. Reynolds honors me too great- ly,” he replied. And, accepting the place offered him, the carriage pursued its way. For a few moments there was silence; then he turned and looked long and steadily in her eyes. “At last!” she said, breaking the si- lence. ‘Well, Helen, it has worked bet- ter even than we hoped. Did you man- age that the train should be wreckeé? You know I think you capable of any- thing—in a complimentary sense of course!” he added, in laughing apology, “Even of the imprudence of inviting you, this afternoon, to be the compan- ion of my drive?” she interrupted, in low, mocking tones. “No, I did not wreck the train, Harvey Barclay. It was quite sufficient to wreck a life. Do you know, for a moment I was almost sorry my name was not numbered in the short list of killed? It would have made no real difference to anyone, un- less that poor boy; and to him it might have proved a mercy in disguise, Why did you do it, Harvey,” she cried, passionately. Why after getting me to throw him over, did you afterward urge our marriage, playing upon my ambition, when you knew that all the heart I had belonged to you?” “There was nothing else to do, Hel- en.. I had but my pay; we would both have quarreled within a month over that. A rich marriage was necessary to both of us.” “To both of us?” she echoed, with pallid lips. ‘You mean, Harvey, that you intend to follow my example?” “Perhaps, ma _ chere, when I grow weary of bachelorhood. It depends on what favor you accord me, Helen,” speaking with sudden earnestness, “You must win me a footing in your new name. You must overcome your husband’s prejudice to me. You must make us friends. You can do what you will with him now, and it is the only way in which we can see each other without fear of scandal or reproach.” “You set me a hard task, Harvey— one which I fear is impossible.” “Impossible!” he repeated, with something like a sneer on his hand- some face. “I did not suppcse your lexicon contained that word; nor do I imagines anything impossible to the woman who to-day is the acknowl- edged wife of Edgar Reynolds’ son, who, a month ago—” “Hush”. she interrupted, fiercely. “What have either of us to do with the past? Let it rest in its merited obliv- ion, Harvey Barclay, but for you, and the love I have given you—the love which has made me a tool in your hands to work your will. If you hed married me, Harvey—if we might have renounced this ambition, which may yet wreck both our lives—I believe we would both have been happier and bet- ter.” “Is all this sentiment the effect of married life?” he answered. ‘Ah, for- give me, Helen, but you did not always talk like this!—and you forget that while you are luxuriating in the inside warmth, I am shut out in the cold. My debts are pressing me hard. I have had bad luck at all I have touched. Sometimes I am ready to put a pistol to my head and blow out my brains. Why not? It requires far more cour- age to live than to die, and I miss your sympathy. My girl, you were always generous enough with that, and I thin's I’ve stood more in need of it since 1 lost it.” Tears—genuine tears—were in the golden-gleaming eyes, and hung wet and heavy on the dark lashes. “Poor boy” she murmured, softly, and with one small, gloved hand she made a half-involuntary gesture, as if she would lay it upon his arm, but she checked the impulse with a sad smile. “I almost forgot my present grand- eur,” she said. “I almost touched you, as though my touch, like that of King Midas, could convert for you all things into gold. So money still troubles you, Harvey? How strange it seems to me to take no further heed of it. Only yes- terday Harry took my purs2 and filled it with notes. I don’t know how much there is, but take it, Harvey, if it will help you any. I will tell him that 1 lost it all.” “No,” answered the man, with a hot flush on his face. “I’ve not sunk to that yet—though God knows what I may come to. I might not have been better, but I'd have been no worse than other men, but for this cursed lack of money. When I reach my worst ex- tremity, Helen, I'll come to you, my girl. You needn’t fear; and you may help me better than by the preffsr of your purse. I’d rather have contro! over your father-in-law’s bank ac- count. By the way, we're not drifting on pleasant topics. Let’s change the discussion. Tell me something about your new relations. There’s a irl somewhere, isn’t there? What of rer?” He strove to speak, indifferently, but the woman at his side started and looked with keen intentness into his impassive face. “Yes,” she replied, “there is a girl. What do you want to know of her?” “Ts she rich?” “Pretty?” “She is going to be beautiful.” “You are frank in doing her justice, at all events—too frank, Helen! I fear there’s something behind. It does not sound like you.” : “No?” she answered. “Why should I not be frank concerning her? It rests with me whether you shall ever know her.” He laughed. “True,” he said. “But she might serve as a pretext for my visiting the house. I might make her the blind be- tween us. I might so deaden your hus- band’s jealousy, and be enabled to see you when I would.” Again she turned upon him that eager, questioning gaze. “Take care, Harvey!” she said. “It wouldn’t do for you to play me false!” Again he laughed. “You're not jealous of a myth, Helen, surely? And I thought you knew your power too well to be jealous of any liv- ing woman, if she had the beauty of Venus and the wisdom of Minerva. My dear, men don’t swerve lightly from your standard. Again her face flushed, and a warm, tender light shone in her eyes. “You love me still, Harvey, whispered. “Ah, I did not know how well until I gave you up to another!” he answered, passionately. “It could not be my blessing, Helen, and so it proves my curse!” But, later, when the seat beside her was vacant, and she was being driven homeward, she forgot to be mindful even of the curious glances of those passing; forgot the triumph of her roy- al progress; forgot the seal which stamped the realization of her ambi- tion. The light had died from her eyes; the smile had faded from her lips, Over and over in her brain she was turning a problem, and studying its solution. But when the carriage drew up in front of the superb old mansion which was her home, and the footman, spring- ing from the box, obsequiously held she |}deepened Harry Reynolds’ open the door, it was Helen Windom, not Helen Raymond, who stepped from it as if still in a dream—a dream whos? atmosphere was suspicion—the suspi- -cion that at last she had gained the motive which had made Harvey Bar- evlay wish to make her Harry Rey- nolds’ wife. Just within the door stood Grace. “Harry fell asleep while I was read- ing to him, Helen,” she said, coming forward with a smile. ‘I hope you en- “Thanks, yes!” sheanswered. But the two words cost her an almost superhuman effort. In that moment she hated the young, beautiful girl, as in all her life she had hated no living thing. For had not Harvey Barclay questioned her that day concerning her? CHAPTER VII. The summer came and went, but it love into passionate worship for his beautiful wife, As soon as he had grown strong encugh they all made their summer flitting to the mountains. Her manner during these months would have dis- armed the most critical. Study her as closely as he would, Edgar Reynolds could discover in his son’s wife no flaw. Society evidently did not share Harry Reynolds’ prejudice concerning hand- some young Barclay, who so recently had been ordered to the capital. It | found him most charming, most fascin- ating, with a peculiar frankness of | manner which, while detracting noth- ing from his manhood, lent him the at- traction of a bright, winning boy. At a garden party, early in October, he and Grace Hawthorne met. She was standing leaning against the trunk of an immense tree when he crossed the lawn toward her, the hand of his hostess resting lightly on his arm, She was dressed, as usual, in simple white, even to the broad sash encir- cling the slender waist. She looked a beautiful child, but already in the deep, azure eyes had dawned the wo- man’s soul. She smiled as she recognized Mrs. Geoffrey, and wondered a little who might be this singularly handsome man who was her escort. An instant later she bowed her head in recognition of the introduction. Ah, could she have known, could she have looked into the future, she would have shuddered, even as Marguerite might have shuddered had the true character of Mephisto been disclosed to her. “I am so happy to meet you, Miss Hawthorne,” he said, a little later, when he had gained a few moments with her alone. ‘Will you not let me tell you something of my old friend— Mrs. Reynolds?” “Helen? You know her? One would imagine by your serious tone, she in- habited another sphere. It is mere ac- cident that she is not with me this af- ternoon. She is to chaperone me this winter. Why have you not called upon her Mr. Barclay, and made your in- quiries in person? I need not teli you that any of Mrs. Reynolds’ friends are very welcome to my uncle's hous2.”” “You compel my frankness, Miss Hawthorne. I have not been sure my visit would be acceptable. I was so unhappy once as to excite her hus- band’s jealousy—previous to their mar- riage, of course. It was a picce of ar- rant folly on my pert, and she will ac- quit me and herscif of any sentiment in the matter. But it has made me hesitate to present myself.” The sirl laughed gaily. “I scarcely think you could mak> Harry jealous now ” she said. ‘He fs so deeply in love that I am very sui2 he would not give you th opportunity. I think I may venture to promise yeu will not find yourself confronted with 1. very formidable ogre if you should present yourself at my uncle's door.” “May I accept your words as a per- mission te so present myself?” he asked. “Otherwise I shall feel myself excluded from Eden.” “Referring, I presum¢, to our spa- cious garden,” she retorted, lightly, ig- noring the earnest glance of his dark eyes, thhough a slight flush rose to her cheek. “‘Yes—you may come, Mr. Bar- clay.” In long years after Grace wondered if those simple words of hers had real- ly opened the doors to all the after- horrors which entered in, or whether her feeble negative could have served as a bar against them. Doubtless fate would have discov- ered other ways and means, but per- haps she would have suffered less keenly had she not been so direct an instrument. Harvey Barclay had reasoned well— that, once obtaining foothold in the house, he might leave to Helen the rest. Before the winter was half gone, even, Harry began to feel his dislike had all been jealous prejudice. At first mention of Barclay’s name he had openly rebelled against his coming; but Helen had argued well and wisely, with her arms entwined about his neck, that to confess present jealousy was to confess distrust. “Tt did in the old days, Harry, before I was your wife; but it will not do now. Will you tell your father and Grace that you are still jealous of a man who was my friend when I sorely needed friends? But I have not thought of him in all these months. He comes now at Grace's invitation, not at mine. let him ceme, Harry. Let me feel my husband trusts me so perfectly that he fears no man.” And so, at first coldly, and then more and more warmly, Harry Reynolds held out the hand of welcome to the man destined to become his bitterest foe. Doubtless he thought he had judged him wrongly in his jealous view, and so, generously and almost unconscious of his own motive, he felt desirous now of making him amends for that injust- ice. Never had Helen been more loving, more tender, than during these months. More and more he felt how cruelly he once had misjudged her. Society, too, had forgotten those strange, unfound- ed rumors concerning her early life, and opened its arms wide to receive her. The shadow had passed from his father’s brow, Grace’s laugh rang through the old halls, and his ear was not keen enough to detect that its old merriment was lacking, and that it sometimes held the sound of unshed | tears. He thought the calm of perfect peace had followed the storm. He little dreamed hat it was but the prelude tc the tempest. “I will call to-morrow at five. Let me see you a’one.” These were the words written on a slip of paper which Harvey Barclay dextrously pressed into Helen Rey- nolds’ hand as he bade her good-night, their memory the first to recur to her as she opened her eyes to the new day. Fortune and her own wit favored her. She was alone in the library when the visitor was ushered in. “T am the sole representative of the family on duty,” she said to him, in presence of the servant, by way of greeting. Then, as the portiere fell behind Andrew, she motioned him to the seat beside her. “You wish to see me?” she ques- tioned, ir a low tone, laying her white hand on his sleeve. “Why?” He turned to her a face from which the smiling mask had fallen, and which looked gray and haggard in the dim light. “Do I not always wish to see you?” he responded, covering her hand with his. “Oh, Helen! such moments as these are rare moments, when I can come to you for counsel and sympathy; but this afternoon I have come for more. Do you remember once I told you that if I ever sank so low as to appeal to a woman for aid, that wo- man should be yourself? Well, Helen, that moment of my degradation has arrived. I must have $5,000 before Thurscay, or I shall be a ruined and disgraced man!” “Five thousand dollars, Harvey? Stop! Let me think how and where 1 can command such a sum. Poor boy! Why is this money so needful to you?” “T lost it at play, Helen. You see, 1 disguise from you nothing; but I was sorely pressed for ready means, and so tempted fortune. Well, I lost it. “I gave my note for the amount. If I | cannot meet it, I am disgraced.” “Oh, Harvey! If it were less I might manage it; but now—” “Now you cannot?” he cried, spring- ing to his feet. “I might have known. I was 2 fool to suppose that you would jeopardize any of your present peace and security to save a sinking ship, be- cause once you had sailed with it over pleasant waters. You are right—quite right. Well, my errand is finished, and I will leave you.” (To Be Continued.) FAMILY OF LORD ROBERTS. Engiand’s Great Military Hero's Devotion to His Wife and Pride for His Son. Here is a new story, fresh from the other side, which shows to a remarka- ble degree the picture of England's greatest military hero in the light of husband and father. It seems that the most perfect sympathy has existed be- tween Lord and Lady Roberts since they were married, forty-one years ago, and Lady Roberts, herself the daughter of a soldier, has always been able to as- sociate herself with the chief interest in life of her husband. Her work in India, in the cause of the soldiers’ wives, will long be remembered by the English, and among her own sex she is 2s much beloved as Lord Roberts is by his men. The death of their son at Colenso came all the more severely to Lord and Lady Roberts, as they were a singular- ly affectionate and united family. The greatest affection existd between the distinguished father and his promising son. Lord Roberts was most anxious that his son should achieve distinction in some profession, and his valuable experience and sympathy were always at his son’s service. ‘‘Bobs’” was very proud of his son’s prowess in the sad- dle. At a race meeting, some tim> ago. in Ireland, Lieut. Roberts rode clean away from the field and won by a doz- en lengths. ‘“‘My son must not be en- couraged to ride; a soldier has to keep all his abilities for the service,” sa‘d Lord Roberts; and then, with a burst of paternal pride, ‘‘but in all my life I never saw anyone ride a better race.”"— Philadelphia Record. The Statesman and the Late Miss Kingsley. There is an interesting incident which Ralph B. Benson describes in a recent number of the London Spectat- or, in connection with the late Miss Mary Kingsley. In February last Miss Kingsley gave a lecture at the Imperial institute. Among the audience was a great statesman and administrator, still happily with us, though long since rude donatus. Not knowing that he was present, Miss Kingsley has occa- sion to refer in terms of glowing eulo- gy to his noble work in a great prov- ince of the far East. At the conclusion of the lecture this gentleman sent up his, card, and advanced to speak to Miss Kingsley. “Hullo!” she said, were dead.” “No,” he replied, was forgotten, “I thought you “but I thought I Snfe Enough, Dick Whittington—If I go on a yacht cruise, you and Aunt Abagail will be worrying about me all the time. His Sister Ruth—Not at all. Noth- ing ever happens to a drunken man.— Life. Reassuring. Nervous Lady—Have you killed many snakes around here this summer? Farmer Hayseed—No; I allers leaves ‘em for summer boarders to kill. You’ll find plenty of sport, mum.—New York Weekly. Caution. “If you want him to stop smoking,” said ‘the girl in blue, “who don’t you tell him-that you won't marry him un- less he does?” “I’m afraid he might not stop,” an- swered the girl in pink.—Chicago Post. Stage Properties. “TI can’t get a cow to use in our new play, ‘Clovertop Farm.’” “That’s too bad. Can’t you run it with condensed milk?”—Chicago Rec- ord. Still Unsettled. “Briggs is an old settler, isn’t he?” “T think so. He has owed me $7 for elght years.”—Cleveland Plain Dealer, CZAR TO MEDIATE MOVE TO BRING AUOUT PEACE IN SOUTH AFRICA. No Move to Embarrass England Is Looked For—Experts Think That Botha Is Now Making His Last Stand — Heavy Reinforcements Haye Been Ordered to Embark for South Africa in the Next Few Days—Active Operations on Both Sides—Boers Saffer Defeat. Berlin, Aug. 29. — Considerable sur- prise has been caused here by the news that Dr. Leyds, European agent of the South African Republic, was accorded an interview by the czar, and the ex- planation offered is that Nicholas IL. means to try to bring about peace be- tween South Africa and England. In view of the well-known proclivities of the czar, and Russia’s political co-ope- ration with the allies in China, it is not thought that the Russian ruler desires to cause any embarrassment to Great Britain, and therefore his pos- sible mediation is not looked upon as other than unselfish and sincere, BOTHA’S LAST STAND. Experts Think Reberts Is in the Last Campaign, London, Aug. 29.—Lord Roberts’ dis- patches announce what many people here take to be the beginning of the final stage in the South African cam~- paign. The commander-in-chief held a council of war with his lieutenants, Buller, French and Pole-Carew on Sat- urday, and on Sunday began a general attack on Gen. Botha’s intrenched po- sition, on which not much impression had been made. In the preliminary ope- rations of the previous few days the Boers had chosen a line of defense of great natural strength, stronger, in fact, than any they have held since they fell back from the Tugela. The British advance began on the west to thte north of Belfast, from which place the Boers fell back toward the Lyden- burg road. Lord Roberts reports that the Boers are making a most deter- mined resistance in a locality well adapted for their defensive tactics and badly suited for cavalry movements. Some experts think this is really Gen. Botha’s last stand, and if defeated here he will be completely crushed. Meanwhile the Boers are themselves busy in endeavoring to raid Lord Rob- erts’ line of communication, both in the Orange River Colony and in Natal. To judge by the fact that heavy rein- forcements have been ordered to pre- pare to embark for South Africa in the next few days the British war office does not. yet believe that warlike ope- rations are drawing to a close. A special dispatch from Pretoria, dated Aug. 27, says: “It is stated that fighting with Botha’s commandos was resumed this morning. The Boers’ line was broken and the enemy is fall- ing back. The British casualties are reported to be considerable.” Boers Suffer Defeat. Lourenzo Marques, Aug. 29.—Heavy fighting is reported to have occurred at Machadodorp. The Boers are said to have been defeated, with great loss, leaving their guns and ammunition in the hands of the British. woob. ATTACK N GOV. Cuban Paper Makes Very Intemper- ate Charges, Santiago, Cuba, Aug. 29.—The Cu- bano Libre, negro organ and anti- American, outdid itself yesterday in commenting on the remarks of Gov. Gen. Wood on his recent visit to Santi- ago. “This Canton doctor who pre- sumes to advise us,” says the Cubano Libre, “is a master of hypocrisy. He advises us to put aside all political considerations on the ground that the United States is about to give inde- pendence to Cuba. We charge him with being in collusion with the Repub- lican party to ignore our protests against the illegal registration of elec- tors and to incite us to a bloody con- flict, thus enabling the United States to take despotic measures and to con- tinue the American occupation indefi- nitely. We shall maintain silence to- ward the renegades while the American bayonets are on Cuban soil to protect them. There will be plenty of time to punish them hereafter.” SWEPT BY FIRE. Ten Square Miles of the San Gabriel Forest Reserve. Los Angeles, Cal., Aug. 29. — Ten savare miles of forest reserve in the San Gabriel reservation have already been swept by fire, and still the flames are devouring the timber. It was re- ported from Sturtevant’s camp that the fire had spread on the north side of the west fork of the San Gabriel river and the south side of the Te- junga river between Devil's Canyon and Short Cut. NO COAL SHIPPED. Despite the Repo) of Millions of Tons Being Sent to Europe. New York, Aug. 29.—Notwithstanding the reports of millions of tons of Amer- ican coal going to Europe on account of the waning mines there, the ship- ‘ping lists show that no cargoes have actually been sent. TO KILL THE NEW KING. Italian Anarchist Is Arrested on Suspicion, Paris, Aug. 29.—A dispatch to the Petit Bleu from Rome says an anar- chist has been arrested at Carrara on suspicion ,of having conspired to as- sassinate King Victor Emmanuel III. CONTROL PULLMAN COMPANY. Vanderbilt Allied Interests Increase Their Holdings to That Extent. New York, Aug. 29.—It is stated Wall street that the Vanderbilt interests have recently increased their stock in the Pullman company to such an extent that they have gained cone trol of the cOmpany’s affairs. Peru's New Cabinet. Lima, Peru, Aug. 29.—The new ruvian cabinet was Officially yesterday. ! 4