Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, November 17, 1900, Page 6

-SIREN’S VICTIMS 3 ERESETETUIVITELIVEVELELED, 3) CHAPTER XXXIV. Way Garkened into night, and still Grace Hawthorne kept her watch be- @ide Harry Reynolds’ sick bed. @f his wife he never svoke. He @eemed neither to miss her nor note fer absence. But to Grace, as the hours went slowly by, it seemed atrange. Now and then the sick man opened with a start, but when his to fall into a quiet sleep, with a about his lips. s sleeping when, at 7 o'clock, © away from him, only to find the lower part of the house deserted. “Where is Mrs. Reynolds?” she asked Andrew. “Has she gone out ecain? rs. Reynolds went away some- afternoon, I think, Miss vered the servant. “She large trunks carried to the de- ¢. but she left the house herself on feet. She was writing in the library, Miss Grace.” the man added, as he moted the amazement on her face. “Maybe she left a message for you.” With a sense of some new trouble in store for her, Grace hurried to the li- nd on the mantel shelf found a ed to herself. srv short. it was “— am going awav.” Helen wrote. vee I} e the y open for you win your love, and, since I have won i can afford to let my hate die. nd Harry are suited to each oth- Forget me, and—gand-hy!" z the girl read the hur- She failed utterly to com- meaning beyond the fact had failed in her duty as a oretrend t Hele © was her companion in her it Harvey? Was she free? t cost. since her freedom diserace to the man she nowever Helen might drag his into the dust. it could avail her at nx, for was she not his wife? But how should she break the news How should she tell him that he adored had left him? and over she revolved the ques- ber mind, as, returning to his ©. she tried to fill as best she smight the place Helen had left vacant. Her eyes were very heavv and worn mext morning with her watch when ‘Andrew brought her Harvey Barclay’s card She started as her eves fell on the mame. She had been so sure that he thad been the companion. of Helen’s ight. To whom, then, had Helen’s mote referred? 3 went, almost eagerly, to meet him, hoping, through him, to solve the problem, ‘Where {s Helen?” were the first words of her greeting. “Helen?” he answered. in amaze- enent. “Why do vou ask me for Hel- en? Ys she not here?” “No. She left the house yesterday. She feft this letter for me.” And she held out the paper toward trim. Eis face paled. How far had she be- trayed him? But the cloud lightened @s one hasty glance told him he had amothing to fear. “Where can she have gone?” he asked, as if speaking rather to himself than to her. “Where ean she have @one—and with whom?” uu know nothing of her pur- pose.” answered Grace, ‘she must have @eone alone. Thank God for that! “Warry has enough to bear without the added torture of the knowledge that @he had a companion in her flight.” “He is better?” “Yes-—so much better that every time ‘he turns his eyes toward me I fear he me why Helen does not come; ut, strange as it may seem. her name thas not once escaped his lins. Uncle ar speaks of her constantly, but -y. never. I— What fs it, And- ‘or the old servant, with hor- en face, stood making gest- “Is uncle—” wor-str ures in the doorway. “We. no, Miss Grace!” gasped the wi man. “It’s not him. But we've feeen robbed. I's my day for clean- (fmer and counting the silver, but when % opened the safe I found it nearly and not onlv the silver, Miss but the diamonds—” “You are sure, Andrew. sure?” cried Grace. excitedly. “Ceme and look for yourself, Miss “fs this house doomed to misfor- ane?” she asked, weariedly. “Send to the police at once. and let one of their muest experienced men come here im- mediately.” “Wait, Andrew.” snoke in Harvey. “Before giving the order, Grace, let me @peak with you a few minutes alone.” She locked at him in surprise; but, @eiiux Andrew to await further orders, @ismissed him from the room. “You have not guessed the thief?” @sked Harvey, when they found them- @eives alone. “Not How should I? The servants (@reiehted with suspicion. ‘| Gace started back. horrified. ( “Helen!” she gasped. “Yes, Grace. I have no doubt it was @he who, in her desperation, commit- ‘Ged this theft. If vou send for a de- ‘fective, her flight of yesterdav must be ‘made public. Doubtless the man’s sus- pécions will fall upon her. It seems to ne better to submit to the loss.” “Wait!” cried the girl. “My head is ‘@eelivz. I cannot think.” “But I must think for you. Grace., I ‘will teil Andrew to say nothing for the «present of this discoverv. But I must we authority to act. Grace, you must ‘@edeem vour word to me at once. You @aust, this very day. become my wife!” “Ze-day! It is impossible! No! Harry and Uncle Edgar both need me sorely. I cannot desert them!” “You shall not. You shall stay and nurse them: but I. vour husband, will stay with vou. It is necessary, dear— believe me—if vou would escape fur- ther trouble. The partv who holds the new note you signed insists upon your guardian’s sienature as well, As @ married woman. vour husband is your guardian. and you will have saved Harry Reynolds from the dishonor he so richly deserved.” “And to do this I must marry you?” Fear, repugnance, almost horror, were in her tone. But, though the man winced, he did not falter. * Once his wife. he could defy the world.:and now his all was staked up- on her consent. “T cannot!” she said. “Oh. Mr. Bar- clay, release me from this hated bond.” escarade of an adventuress to drag the Reynolds name irto the dust.” “An adventuress! Thus vou speak of Helen—vou. who were her friend— you, whom she loved?” “She deceived you. Grace. She loved not me. but the man who has shared her flight and her booty. If she told you otherwise. she did it to serve some purpose of her own. But we are wast- ing time. Grac Do vou consent? Will you be my wife to-day. before the sun sets?” “Yes,” she answered, in a voice be- reft of “What matter the how for the sacrifice? At 5 o'clock, Mr. Barclay, we will be married, by Uncle Edgar's bedside. I will go now to pre- pare him.” “But nothing he can you from your purpose this?” “At 5 o'clock I will be ready; but you | will be the husband of a woman whose | heart is dead, Mr. urclay, and who y shall turn | ‘ou promise shrinks even from the touch of your hand.” | “T shall marry the woman I love,” he | replied. He took a step toward her; but she drew back. and motioned to the door. With rage in his heart but a smile on his face, he obeyed the gesture that she made, and left her to her misery. CHAPTER XXXV. In the chill of the morning of the new day, Helen Reynolds stood cn the steamer’s deck. as it moved slowly from its moorings: and was towed into the channel by the tiny tug, which seemed a very toy beside its huge pre- portions. Her face was very pale, but there was a light in her eyes long for- eign there, as though they held a wak- | ing dream of hope and happiness. She had put from her all whispers | of remorse. §°¢ had lulled the sharp pangs of # conscience which sin had not yet wholly killed. For the first time in many years she | had brushed the cobwebs from her heart, and let it glory in the light the dust had hidden from it. A new life was opening to her—a life | whose kev-note was love. She would atone to Harvey for all that she had given up for her sake. She would | make his world, 2s he should make | hers. | The dock they had just left was | | the distance. She was on the growing misty in never doubted that he brave ship which was to bear them both to other shores. She smiled as she looked the waters. in expectation moment he would steal up behind her | | down at | | | and whisper her name, in accents of | | | i | | that any love, in her ear. A hand fell on her shoulder, but the | touch was harsh. not gentle. She turned. Once more she and Tom Windom stood face to face. She neither moved nor cried out. In that moment she knew that she was | betrayed, and betrayed by the man she loved. That one fleeting atom of time was | an eternity. which concentrated into itself the suffering which might atone | for every sin, even in her euity life. Her face hardened and became rigid as stone: her eyes met his, But they were lustreless and expressionless. The | color faded from their golden glory, and left them pale and hollow. She-had purposely chosen a spot on the deck with no one near, For the moment they were secure from inter- ruption, On the man’s face was a vitiless tri- umph, and in his eyes the greed of the tiger about to spring. “So you expected to eseane me?” he said, at last, breaking the awful si- lence. “Well, I am here, my lady. We will.make the trip together. I have long thought a sea vovage would be beneficial to my health.” “How did you know?” Her voice, as she spoke the ques- tion. held the sound of a once clear bell, which had been broken. and now rings out discordant and metallic. He drew a letter from his pocket and held it toward her. It made his triumph greater to show her that some fancied friend had be- trayed her. Her eyes fell on the page. and part of his thirst for vengeance was sated, as he saw the look which crept over her pallid face. Spite of the disguise in the hand- writing, she recognized it instantly. It was the proof of her betrayal. She saw it all now. She had played into Harvey Barclay’s hand. There was nothing now to prevent his mar- rying Grace Hawthorne, The thought sent the blood once more coursing through her veins, and roused her from this dull apathy of horror which had paralyzed every sense. “Well,” she said. wreathing her white lips in a ghastly smile—“well, you have won. Tom Windom, and T | man entered the hall. ; the carriage. | my happiness. have lost. Your gambler’s luck has returned to vou.” you. Never again shall you escape mac’ “Do you know who warned you?”) It was her turn now to strike. “No: but I'll remember him if he ever reminds me of my obligation.” “You're not likely to forget him. You owe him another debt. too. Shall I tell you that debt’s nature? When I left you, six years ago. Tom Windom, you thought it was Henry George who persuaded me to break away from your tyranny and put my beauty to better account. Henry George never interested himself enough in my be- half. I was nothing to him—nothing. Do you wish to know whh the man was? Tom Windom, it was the writ- er of the letter you have iust shown me. He wanted vou and me both out of the way. and he has made us both his tools.” “His name?” The voice was low and husky, but each letter held a lifetime of concen- trated hate, “His name?” She paused and smiled. “Harvey Barclay is his name,” she said. , There was a commotion at the other end of the ship. The pilot was about to return to shore. Before she had divined bis purpose, he grasped her arm in a grin of steel. “Come!” he said, “we go back with him. I have sworn mv debt should never remain unpaid. I will pay it be- fore the sun goes down!” She struggled to free herself, but he bore her to the side of the ship. “We must return!” he called out. A few questions. a few words of ex- planation followed. and the pilot con- sented to receive his unexpected freight. The man was the first to make the descent into the boat. Helen followed, but, as she stepped upon the plank, with a sudden wrench, she wrested her hand from Tom Win- dom’s hold. Those looking on were unable to de- termine whether accident or design caused her foot to slip, but, without a er she fell into the waters and the waves closed over her head. A sailor, standing on the deck above, sprang overbeard to her rescue. He declared efterward that, when he could have saved her, she wrenched herself free, and, to save his own life, he was compelled to swim to the sur- face. When the hody rose again, life wa extinct, and the pilot-boat now sol- emnly received the dead, * As Tom Window looked down at the beautiful dead face, his own features grew like marble; but, further than that, he made no sign of sorrow, or ised no voice of lament. It was 5 o'clock of the same day when a carriage, containing two men, stopped before Edgar Reynolds’ doo: One wore the garb of a clergyman, and one was in ordinary dress. The manner of the latter was nervous, and | his face, as the light fell upon it, was | ra very pale. | Andrew ovened the door, as if exr | pecting them. “Miss Grace is in Mr. Reynolds’ room,” he said. “Will you walk up?” As they ascended the stairs she came forward from the door of the chamber at the farthest end of the hall. She was dressed in black, and her face was deathly white. “Uncle Edgar refuses to see you, Mr. Barclay—tefuses to witness our marriage. It must take place in the library.” “The minister was about to speak, but she checked him. “I am of age,” she said, “and I mar- rv Mr. Barclay of my own free will. Will you let the ceremony take place at once? I must return to my uncle. This excitement has been most hurt- ful to him.” The little group silently descended | the stairs, she preceding them. A sudden loud peal at the bell start- ed them all. The house had been s¢ quiet since all this misfortune had fallen upon it, that any sound seemed a precursor of fresh evils. “Come, come!” called Harvey. “Let us go into the library and haye this over!” But already open the door. The clergyman and Barclay entered, the library. Grace went forward as a She recognized him instartly as the man who had so rudely accosted Helen one afternoon in Helen had explained to her that he was one of Harry's cred- itors. Her heart sank as she saw him. Had he come at such a time as this to assert his claims? And how could she silence him? At this moment she could not command a dollar. Giving him no time to ‘speak, she came quickly forward. “You have come for money?” she said. “Will you not take my word that all you claims shall be paid in full, if you will but wait? Mr. Rey- nolds is very ill! He cannot now be disturbed.” “Mr. Reynolds?” Andrew had thrown echoed the man. | “My errand is not with him nor his; it is with the man who has murdered all Aye! ‘I loved her once, though I didn’t know how to be gen- tle, and though I was sometimes cruel; and one night, while I was sleeping, she stole from my side and ran away with the fiend. who tempted her to leave me. It’s he I'm looking for! What is Mr. Reynolds to me? A name! She never cared for him!” ‘Was the man mad? wondered Grace? “T do not understand you,” she said aloud. “Of whom are you speaking? “Of the dead!” he answered, in a hollow whisper. “Of her who was alive this morning; who yesterday stood, perhaps, where you are stand- ing now!” “Not—not Helen?” gasped the girl. “Yes, Helen!” he replied. “But not Helen Reynolds—Helen Windom. She was my wife! Do you hear?—my wife. Here is the certificate of our marriage! ‘We were married ten years ago!” pull- ing a yellow, faded paper’ from his pocket as he spoke. “She was my wife as tight as the law could bind her to me, and she ran away from me for him. She was to have met him on the steamer this morning, but he deserted and betrayed her. I read it all in her eyes, when she handed his note back to me. She—she was drowned in step- ping into the pilot boat in which we “And T will keep it; for I will keep | were to return. They call it an acci-. dent, but I—I know the truth! I saw the smile on her face when she went down! What do you think I let her die for, aua play out her part, if § didn’t hope through it, to track him’ Well, he’s traced now! I’ve been to his rooms. They told me I should find him here. Where is he? I have no time to lose!” Pouring out his story, the man paid no attention to Grace, as she strove to comprehend the torrent of his words, and stood leaning against the wall for support. Impatient of her delay, a voice called her name, and Harvey stepped from the library into the hall. Tom Windom's glance fell on him. One stride brought him to his side. Heavily his hand fell upon Barclay’s shoulder. “Come with me!” he whispered. “She has sent for you. You will be with her within the hour!” Unsusrecting the truth, and believ- ing only that Helen had returned, not daring to disobey her summons, the two men left the house. The clergyman, who had been bidden to await his return, remained two hours, and then Grace dismissed him. Next morning he knew that his waiting must have extended to eterni- ty, for, stretched on the floor of his ewn rocm, Harvey Barclay’s dead body was found, a ghastly knife wound in his heart; but of his murderer the authorities could discover no clue. CHAPTER XXXVI. A year later, and in the library of the old house, Grace Hawthorne sat alone, as she sat when first we saw her. The city had rung with a terrible tragedy, in which Helen Windom had played so sad a part; but no stain rested thereby on the Reynolds es- eutcheon, for she never had right or title to the Reynolds name. Recovering from that short but se- vere illness, Harry Reynolds had gone abroad. For a year Grace and her guardian had lived in the old house alone. All the truth was known now. The notes were paid, and Grace had learned that Harry’s honor was clear as the crys- tal dew of the early morning. He had been betrayed more cruelly than she. | She could forgive all to others; but to herself she could never forgive her | doubt of him, though proof of his guilt had seemed mountain-high. Sometimes now in the dusk, the form of an exquisitely-beautiful woman would seem to flit through the halla, or thé echo of a ghostly voice to ring through the empty chambers. “He can never return to it! He can never bear it!” sighed the girl, and hid her face from the shadow. Her hands fell. she answered—‘Harry!” even as she had spoken it in that long- ago time. But she believed that only her imag- ination had breathed her name. But out of the shadow strode a tall form, and then she knew that what she had feared would never come to pass already was attained. Harry had returned. Crossing to where she sat, he knelt in front of her, and clasped in his her little, trembling hands. “Grace!” he said. “My child—my love! Because once I plucked the nightshade, will the rose ever elude me? I love you! Oh, my darling! In the first month of my banishment, T learned to know myself. Grace, tell me. Has the knowledge come too late?” A month later, and the dream of Ea- gar Reynolds’ life met its fulfillment. His son was restored to him, and Grace was, indeed, to him a daughter —Harry’s wife—and the ghost was banished from the old halls, and the voice silenced in the chambers no long- er empty. The trail of the serpent had glided through them, and was gone; but its sting had failed to kill happiness, and its poison had been rendered harm- less. The nightshade had faded and died, but on Harry Reynolds’ faithful heart the rose will live and bloom, un- til God’s hand shall stop to pluck and plant it.in a fairer garden. (The End.) KNEW HOW TO MA AGE. She Weeps for $50 When She Want- ed Only $25—And Such a Lovely Bonnet! “Oh, dear!” sighed the pretty caller, as she viewed her friend’s new bonnet, fresh from the store, “I wish my hus- band would allow me to buy such a lovely bonnet.” “He would, my dear, if you knew how to handle him,” answered the lady of the house. “No; it’s a waste of words to try and talk with him,” said the pretty caller, with another sigh. “I saw & dream of a bonnet down town the oth- er day, and the price was just what you say you gave for yours—$25. But when I mentioned the price my hus- band flew into a rage, and delared that $10 was every cent he could advance to me to buy a bonnet with. and if IT couldn’t make that do I would have to do without,” “Exactly.” commented the lady of the house, dryly. “You can’t expect any other treatment when you ap- proach your husband like that. My husband acts just the same way when I ask him for money. But this crea- ture called ‘man’ is verv easily hand- led if you go about it in the right way. Now, when I saw this bonnet down town I made up my mind that I would be the happy possessor of it, so that night, after supper, I began going into raptures over a bonnet that I had seen while shopping, the price of which afterthought, that I had quite made up my mind to buy It. “ What!’ roared my husband, ‘$50 for a bonnet? I guess not! You'll have to put up with $25, and not a cent more do you get!’ “As that was exactly the amount that I wanted, I am afraid that the tears that I shed were somewhat forced. But I gained my point, and that was what I was after.”—Detroit Free Press. Suspected It. Cashier—I can’t honor your check, madam; your husband’s account is overdrawn. ; Woman—Huh! Overdrawn, is it? I suspected that something was the mat- ter when he signed this check without waiting for me to go into hysterics, New York Weekly. Nd. SHE WAS GLAD TO HEAR IT. band Was Comtortably Located fo; the Night. A party of young men were taking dinner, a few nights ago, at a fash- ionable cafe, when one of them, who is somewhat of a jester, called the wait- er and said: “John, go and call Main —. If a woman answers it it will be my wife. Tell her that I instructed you to say that I am in the police station for a few hours, and will not be home to din- ner. Say to her that the possibilities are that I shall not be at home to- night. Understand me, sir?” ae John winked a couple of times in a knowing way, bowed deferentially, and suggested: “Supposin’—” “Supposing nothing, sir. If she asks who is talking, tell her it {s the turn- key at the Central station, and she'll never know who told her the lie.” The waiter shambled away, and was presently seen to be having a good deal of fun with himself. The jester in- ferred that he might have something to do with the case, and called him over. * “What’s amusing you, John?” “Wouldn't like to tell you, sir; at least, right here.” “I guess these fellows understand. Let ’er go.” “Missus says to tell her husband she is glad he is so nicely located for the night. She knows where he is for once.”’—Cleveland Leader. Wife Was Glad to Know Her bigs 5 But His Suite Enjoyed It. An amusing story is told of Li Hung Chang in connection with his visit to Europe in 1896. Out of respect to the memory of Gen. Gordon, the chancellor placed a wreath at the foot of the monument in Trafalgar Square. The Gordon family were desirous of show- ing their appreciation of this act, and at last one of Gordon’s nephews, 4 great lover of dogs, hit upon the idea of sending Li Hung Chang a prize bull- dog of which he was the owner. The bull-dog was sent just as Li Hung Chang was returning to his own coun- try. A few months later a letter was received from the chancellor, in which he thus expressed his thanks: “I was much touched by the splen- did present you were good enough to make me; the beast was magnificent. Unfortunately, my digestion is not equal to such a delicacy, but my suite enjoyed it News. Not Amuscd. Uncle Jabez — Oh, no! Everybody ain’t laughin’ at Reuben for buyin’ the green goods. He wishes everybody was. Uncle Hiram—How’s that? Uncle Jabez—Well, his wife ain’t.— Puck. Office Excitement. “Did the boss have a good vacation trip?” “I guess so. 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