Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, March 22, 1902, Page 2

Impar?had Pago Q00-00-0000000-0 0000000000000 © Rickerby’s Folly By TOM GALLON ; : gaagsarorrrgerve2y 9 O0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0 0-0-0-0-0-00-000000 CUAPTER XXI—(Continued.) She opened her eyes and looked wild- fy about, saw something lying, huddled up, xt her feet, and slapped her hands ever her mouth to save herself from e«creaming. The something at her feet was Cornelius--and an instinct, truer than anything she had ever had, told her that Cornelius was dead. Ewen while she knelt there in a sort ef stupor, she heard outside the noise of running feet, and the voice of a man crying, “Cornelius! Cornelius! Where are you?” Mrs. Reeks was on her feet in a mo- ment—hac stumbled to the table and elown out the light. Feeling a hand touch hers in the darkness, she raised the hand and felt about until she touched the face of the girl, put her own hand over the girl's mouth, and crouched against the wall with he, scarcely able to breathe. The footsteps came on; the door was opened; the voice of Leathvood spoke in the room “Cornelius!” Then, after a moment's pause: “Where the dickens has the mam gone? And where is the girl? K've called all over the house; he must have gone high2r up, I suppose.” ‘The footsteps retreated from the dcor end began to ascend the stairs, Leath- wood crying the name of the dead man ali the way. . Mrs. Reeks, still with her band on the mouth of the girl, and with the girl clinging to her, crept out o& the room—making a wide circuit of the body—and got out on the stairs. The voice of Leathwood had grown falter as he went up; Mrs, Reeks wont down in the darkness—stumbled, by gved Iuck, upon the way she had en- t#oeed, and found herself in the open wir. There, while she wag still hurry- {mg en towards where she thought the gate must be, Olive Mallory stopped, drew back, and refused to go any far- ther. “€ cam’t leave Gilbert—I won't!” she whispered, thrusting Mrs. Reeks away from her. “You don’t know what hap- py hours we have had in our World of he waits for me there now. ; I dare not leave him toneiy any longer.” Before Irs. Reeks could say a word or ceutd do anything to stop her, the girl bad turned and fled away into the darimess of the garden. Mrs. Reeks took a few hesitating steps after her; she was afraid to call out or make any sound. She blundered in the darkness against the trunk of a tree; the girl was nowhere within reach cr sight of her. Mrs. Reeks stood shaking, with 4 eadly fear. She knew that—accident- ely or not—she had killed a man; that ste had left nis body lying in the room of,a London house. . Her one thought naturally enough—was self-preserv- ation; she wanted to get away from «his dreadful place; she longed, pas- sionztely, to mect her husband, even wwihite she was wondering what he woutd say or how he would receive her, ‘when he knew what she had done. The girl rad disappeared; Mrs. Reeks was cisking her own safety in staying there @ moment longer. Utterly bewildered nd terrified, she ran forward, reckless- . stumbilng against trees, until she touched the outer wall, ran around it— forturately in the right direction—until she touched the gate; pulled the gate epen, and dashed out, breathlessly, in- to the street. It is probable that she aid not stop running until she got home. ‘There, as she put he> key into the fleck, the door was pulled open, gnd George Reeks stood before her, radi- ant. “My love,” he cried, “where have you been? I got home a long time ago— came home by cab. Special occasion, my pet; I’ve got the £500!" Mirs. Reeks stumbled forward blindly, fell Inte his arms (almost crushing the peer little man as she did so) and went fnte violent hysterics. But never during the whole of the re- mainder of their married life did she tell Me. Reeks what had happened that night. CHAPTER XXII. “By Fire I Come to You. Half-stunned and dizzy, with a hor- tible pain in his head and his brain singing fike a great humming top, Gil- tert Rickerby slowly came to his sens- es. For a few minutes he did not know where he was, nor did he recollect clearly what had happened. He siovd 4m a room which seemed to be familiar, tet the walls swayed vo gidiily about iim that he failed to recognize it com- pietely for some time. Making a quite natural movement to step forward, he discovered that something held him; then that something was cutting into fiis wrists—something he could not move. The momentary struggle did him gocd—stirred the sluggish blood in his veins and brought back a pieasant tin- gling life to him. Another movement of (is arms, or an attempted movement, end he knew why it was that he coula mot stir from the spot where he stood. Hiis arms were lashed firmly behind him and were tied to something im- wrevable; some other fastening was eround his ankles, and they were held fm the sare way. It took time to realize all this—to grasp the fact that he was a prisoner end fm the power of the man who etruck bim down. At first everything was dull and hazy before him; he had merefy a dim idea that he was in some greet peril, and that there was some- thing he had to do—something He had been fim the act of doing when he was struck down. Then that exasperating. grip on his wrists reminded him of his helplesstess; he tugged frantically at the things which held him, and failed to move them in the least, twisted ebout in an endeavor to discover what ft was he was fastened to and how he was fastened. Hie was in that room wherein he had g@iept when # boy—the room in which the body of James Holden had been @iidden; and he was fastened securely with ropes, to one of the stout bed posts of the old four-poster bedstead. Gradually the whole business stole over him—the remembrance of his stooping to pick up the packet; of the horrible blow upon the head—of all the room twisting and bending and gyrating about him as he fell. But how did he get here, and who had fastened him up in this fashion? Gradually, too, as full consciousness came upon him, he became aware that there was a light in the room; twisting his head around painfully, he saw the light standing upon his dressing table— saw a man’s shadow in front of it and a hand stretch out and lift it up. Turning his aching eyes slowly in the direction of the shadow, he saw a fig- ure advancing towards him, holding the light high, so that it might shine upon him. The figure stopped before him, and out of the swimming room and the moving shadows looked the face of Nugent Leathwood, with a grin upon it. “Ah, so you are not dead, after all?” said Leathwood, flaring the candle at him. “I’m glad of that; it yould have been too good a death for you, to die in a second, like that. You shall have your death spread out a bit—a lingering affair. You can only die once, you; know, so we'll make the most of it for you.”” “Why have you brought me here asked Gilbert, faintly. “You coward. | you know you dare not face me, even in this weak state, if my arms were free!” | “I prefer not to take risks,” retorted | Nugent, with a grin. “You see, you're | such a slippery customer, one never knows what might happen. But I don't think you will give me the slip this! time. Now, if you are sufficiently sens- ible to understand what I’m saying, I want to talk to you. With your per- mission, I'll sit down. and I hope you're as comfortable as I am.” He pulled forward a chair and sat down within a foot or two of his helpless prisoner. “You have already one dastardly} murder to account for,” said Gilbert. “Are you going to add another to it “¥ am,” replied Nugent, coolly. He set down the candle on the floor at his feet, folded his arms, leaned back in his chair, and, finally, shook his head, | laughingly, at Gilbert. “Let him laugh who wins, Cousin MRickerby,” said Leathwood. ‘“You/} managed your business very well to-| night, with your witnesses and your) dramatie appearance at the psycholog- ical moment; but 1 managed mine bet- ter. Oh, you were going to be so cle er: the girl was in your hands—every- | thing was in your hands. You'd got the money—or one of your friends had— and you'd nearly got the papers. I} should think that addled head of yours must ache a little, eh?” Gilbert made no reply; he was de- termined, if possible, not to answer any- thing that was said. He wondered | how long this man intended to torture him, and what manner of death he was prevaring for him. “You had all your arrangements made—the rope was dangling from the gallows for me—wasn’t it? And now I have made my arrangements. Shail I tell you what they are?” Still Gilbert did not speak; life was growing more strongly in him with ev- ery moment, and the instinct of sheer} self-preservation prompted him to struggle again and tug at the ropes which held him. ‘That's it—kick and struggle as haré as you like,” said Leathwood. “This is| the best game I've played yet. You) dog—de you know what sort of purga- tory you’ve made me live in for the past day or two? Do you know that you've made me die fifty-times over; have made me start up in bed at night, with that horrible strangling feeline at} my throat, and with solid thines slip- ping away from under my feet? What agcny is there that I can make you suf- fe that will compensate me for all that? I will give you the worst death T know of; but even that won't be enouch.” \ “What are you going to do?” The words were forced from Gilbert's lips, strive as he would to be silent. “T'll tell you. Cornelius and I carried you from the other house, just as we esrried the body of that servat of yours. We brought you here and tied you ur securely. When I've done talk- ing to you, I'm going into the lower rooms of this house and I’m going to set fire to them. Every shutter in the place has been carefully closed, so that the flames won't break out, or be seen from outside, until the place is a rag- ing, roaring furnace within. How do you like the prospect? You'll hear the wood crackling; you'll find it growing hotter and hotter: gradually the flames will creep up about you and catch the bed hangings and the wood of the bed- stead—and you'll roast alive. Yes, Gil- bert Rickerby—it was the worst day's work you ever.did when you came back from abroad.” “You fiend—I did it, as I supposed, to rel you—to give the girl to you, be- cause I thought she loved you.” “Yes—that was where you blundered; you should have explained your mean- ing more clearly. You've been thé di- rect cause of my staining my hands with blood twice over. You've made a muddle of the whole business—and you must pay the penalty. Cornelius has gone into the other house to get Miss Olive Mallory ready for a journey; we start’ to-night, ani Rickerby’s Folly will know us no more. You’re yery much attached to the place—or you should be, seeing that you were born in it—and I don't like to separate you from it. This place will blaze splendidly—and { don’t fancy that’ they'll recognize Gilbert Rickerby when they find what's left of him. T don’t think I need detain you cr myself any longer. I have business to attend to—and, more than that, one mustn’t keep a lady waiting. Gooi- bye!” . He reached the door, carrying the candle with him; came back again and set it on the dressing table. “I might as well leave you the lght,” he said. with a smile; “although you'll have light enough presently—probably more, than you want. If you knew how des- perately I hate you, even now, when I’ve won, you'd be quite surprised, I assure you. Any message to the young lady?” “No message that you can take!” re- plied Gilbert, fiercely. “If you think that you can ever win her love or draw her to you, you are greatly mistaken. Tell her, if youdare, what you are—tell her that, with my last breath, I called you coward and murderer, and that if I begged for life at all at your hands, it would be in the hope of saving her from a fate worse than death itself. Go—tell her that!” Mr. Leathwood laughed, shrugged his shoulders, and went out of the room, carefully closing the door behind him. Gilbert heard his steps descending: fteard the opening of another door below; then heard the final thud of the door which led into the other house. After that a great and awful silence. He thought of a thousand different ways of escape—thought above all of shouting, in the faint hope that some one outside might hear and come to his rescue. But he knew, when he came to think about it with what calm- ness was possible, i}. at in the first place the house lay too far back from the streets for any sound to carry; and in the second, that the heavily shuttered windows would efiectually deaden the cries, And then, as happens to a man when his end 1s close upon him, he thought of all the past—of all his un- happy childhood, spent in that very house an@ in that very hoom. The hor- ror of the thought that he must perish there drove him to a species of frenzy. He struggled fiercely and beat himself against the heavy old bedstead to which he was fastened until exhaus- tion came upor him and he swooned away. When he came to himseif it seemed as though he had awakened in another world. Some strange feeling of resig- nation had come upon him; he could hear the faint, sharp crackle of the burning room below him, but any fear the, sound might have wakened in him was gone. He had a feeling almost that this was a fitting ending to all his struggles and failures; if he thought about any pangs which might come | with death it was only with a dim won- | der as to how swift it might be and how soon before he lost consciousness. Like a dream, too, for, certainly, it was nothing earthly, came the sound of a voice softly calling his name. That the voice sould be that of the girl he loved and lost seemed quite appropri- ate, too, at that moment. It came upon him as a sort of dream-fancy, to an- swer the vbice. He was very near death, he told himself, and this might be a voice from the other world. But he woke from whatever dream clouded his mind with a start when the door was flung open and Olive Mallory stood on the threshold. For he knew that this panting, eager girl, with her beautiful face turned towards him, came out of no land of dreams, but out of the actual, vivid, waking world, to which he thought he had bidden fare- well. Yet not quite out of the waking world, either, as he had yet to learn. She came forward slowly into the room, with her hands stretched out be- fore her and her eyes: smiling at him, and in her eyes was that strange ight he had never seen there before. Des- perate though the need was, he knew that he dare not startle her—dared not do anything which should wake her suddenly to the world of danger in which they both were, and drive her from him. For, though his brain was reeling, and his bound arms ached, and he trembled in every limb, he con- strained himself to speak calmly and te smile at her in return. The crackle of the fire beneath went on, end he could feel a perceptible increa:e in the heat of the room. God grant that he might bring her to see her danger—might persuade her to set him free! he turned quickly and closed the door, “Gilbert.” she whispered, “I have found you at last. frighten myself needlessly—that I fear they are taking you from me, when you are, really, close at hand, Why—how still you are! Why do you look at me like that? Why don’t you come to me and take me in your arms, as you have done so often?” The heat was growing greateF: in ene corner of the room a little, faint vapor of smoke had begun to curl up- through a worn place in the carpet, and to float towards him. With @ deadly sweat beginning to stand out on his forehead, he yet contrived to speak calmly to the girl—managed even to smile at her. “T stand still, Olive, because I want you to come to me; I want to feel your arms around my neck; I want to hear you say that you love me, and will do asI bid you. Come!” She went swiftly to him and put her arms about his neck, looked up into his face with those poor, pathetic, mad eyes of hers. “See, I come tc you; but I will not go away, as you have asked me to do before. We are in of World of Dreams again—never to leave it. All the world in which we once were has passed away from us; we do not need to trouble avout it any more, We are together, dear Gilbert, and alone; we will not leave this place again.” The little wreath of smoke changed horribly to a tongue of flame; the heat of the floor beneath his feat was be- soming unbearable. He knew that he must make an effort to induce her to release him, so that he might after- wards, even by force, carry her out of the burning house. He could not un- derstand how it was that she had es- eaped from Leathwood; but she was there, and she must be saved. “My sweetheart,” he said, in a low, steady voice, “listen to what I say. We are in great danger. Our World of Dreams will soon be no more—will be swallowed up with us in it. S2e,I am tied here—and helpless; I want you to wfasten the ropes that bind me, 80 that we may go away together—do you hesr—together?” She looked at him in perplexity for a few mements, and then smiled and shook her head, “What a wilful fellow you are,” she said, “always wanting to go away from me—never content with the world I build about you. But now’? —she put her arms about his neck and pressed her face to his—‘tnow I have you safe—now you cannot run from me any more, And see”’—she pointed to those horrible, leaping flames, which were licking along the floor and leap- ing up the hangiags on the walls and windows—‘“sce the brave light that has come to brighten our world—to shine upon our love! No more do we creep about in the darkness to meet each oth- er—fiying at a sound, starting at shad- I sometimes think that I| about us, white you stand in the midst of it—my love—my love!—and smile at me. Oh, Gilbert, what a beautiful World of Dreams it is, after all!” room, with her hands clasped and her eyes smiling with the glee of a little chilé, and knew that death was steal- ing upon them—d-ath in the most hor- rible shape. Once mere he called to her —yet softly—that he might not frighten her. “Olive, come to me. That's it—put your arms around my neck, your face close to mine—let me whisper to you. (Dear God, call her back to life and / show her what to do!) I want you to understand what is happening and where we are. I went you to look straight at the light—the beautiful golden light—and sre what it is doing. Look, it is destroying all the lovely world in which we live, breaking up and changing ail that was ours, and that soon will be ours no longer. Olive, look into my eyes; remember, for the love of Heaven, for one brief moment, who you are and wher eyou are!” Semething in his voice, that old, loved voice that had never failed to move her yet—must have touched her at that moment. Scarcely daring to breahe, he saw he face so near his own chang- ing slowly; saw a light of doubt and fear flickering in te eyes, answering the fear in his. God be praised! the poor, crushed spirit within her was waking to life and reason at last! “Destroying our world!” she repeat- ed. “Your voice is changed, dear Gil- bert; it brings back to me the memory of something I thought—thought I had forgotten. Speak to me in that voice again.” . He sow her stand in the midéle of th> | (To Be Continued) _ THAT RED NOSE. It Is Often Due to Imperfect Circula- tion, and Can Be Remedicd—The Method. Redness of the nose is often due to imperfect circulation, A nose which reddens quickly when exposed to cold air denotes weak circulation. When the nose reddens after a hearty meal it in- dicates that the digestive organs rebel at the labor imposed upon them. Exer- cise, body massage and footbaths fre- quently cure rednss of the nose. A red and shiny nose may be re- stored to its normal condition by ob- serving the above hints, and applying every night a lotion composed of one quart of camphor water, one ounce of pure glycerine and one-half ounce of powdered borax. Offensive perspiration may be over- come by bathing the parts in Soap and hot water. Then keep the surface con- stantly dusted with a powder composed of pulverized oleate of zinc, one-half ounce, and pulverized boraic acid, three drams.—Ledger Monthly. Perfume a Batcentee Against Infec- me Dearest Amy: Use rlenty of perfume now that so much infectious sickness is about. The late M. Eugene Rimmel once proved scientificaliy that per- fumes have a distinct sanitary value as antiseptics and disinfectants, He as- serted that scent is a deadly poison to animaleulae, and in proof of this “he in stanced the immunity enjoyed by the workmen in the perfumers’ shops and factories, both in Paris and London, when cholera was raging. The essences he chiefly recommended as disinfect- ants were eucalyptus, lavender, rose- mary, thyme, peppermint and penny- royal. I should not choose peppermint, should you? But lavender is always nice. Do use plenty of it. This is no time to think of the rather bad taste of being over-perfumed. It would be very bad manners to catch smallpox and put } one’s family to the trouble of nursing one or or having one nursed through the attack.—Girls’ Gossip, in London Truth. Towel Used at Surrender of Vicks- burs. Recently the committee headed by Gen. Rigby of Iowa, to erect a monu- ment on the Vicksburg battlefield com- memorating the siege of Vicksburg, ad- dressed Gen. McGinress and other sur- viving members of the Eleventh Ina ana infantry, which bore a conspicuous part in that siege, for data about the “Square Fort,” which was the object- ive point for the division with which the Eleventh was associated. The fort was known to the assailants as Fort Lee, and was sometimes designated as the “Green” fort. because of its well- sodded condition. The inquiry disclosed that the damask towel which was ex- hibited on the morning of the surrender in lieu of the traditional white flag, was cut down after the! surrender by one of the Eleventh, and, while a por- tion of it was divided with his com- rades as a souverir, the greater part of it is still in possession of Will C, Phipps of this city, and is inscribed: “Piece of the Flag That Surrendered Fort Lee, Vicksburg, July 4, 1863."+ Cincinati Enquirer. Mme. Titien’s Money. The fortune of the famous singer, Mme. Titiens, remained in chancery for years. She, it will be remembered, died in 1877, and left all her vast fortune to a relative, Peter Titiens. In 1873 Peter Titiens was living at Cardiff, and about that time announc2d his intention of emigr: ting to South America. Wheth- er he did so or not has never been 2s- certained; but for three years prior to Mme, Titiens’ death nothing was seen or heard of him, and for twenty years after her death other relatives tried to obtain the estate on the. presumption that Peter was dead and had left no heirs. The courts, however, are very slow to act in such cases; and it was only in 1895 that an order was granted giving leave to ussume the legatee’s death if, after proper advertising, nei- ther Peter nor his heirs put in a claim, —Chambers’ Journal. His Way of Putting It. “Tt is true,” said the person of high ideals, “that you have attained pros- perity by your writings. But you have produced nothing that will live.” _ “Well,” answered the comfortable lit- terateur, “when it comes to a question of which shall live, myself or my writ- ings, I don’t hesitate to sacrifice my writings.”—Washington Star, . At the Club Window. Staylate—Perhaps your father objects to me on account of my. Policemen Praise Pe-ru-na. - As a Reliable Specific for the IIIs Incident to the Vicissitudes of Their Occupation. SSUPER IN Tat John E. Ptacek, Assistant Superintendent of Police of Chicago, TL, writes : «I ased Peruna for a very severe case of nasal catarrh, and am glad to inform you that it has accomplished a complete cure. I have no hesitancy in recommending it to others.” Officer A. C. Swanson writes from | 607 Harrison street, Ia., as follows: Council Bluffs, “As my duties compelled me to be out in all kinds of weather! contracted severe cold from time to time, which settled in the kid- meys, causing > severe pains and trouble in the pelvic organs. Z “1am now likea "new man, am in splendid health and give all praise to Peruna.”” A. C. SWANSON. Michael O’Halleran, Lieutenant Ser- ant of the Summerdale Station lice Department, writes from 1993 W. Monroe street, Chicago, Il.: «* Several of the officers of our sta- tion have good reason to praise Peruna. Several times when they spent hours in the rain and came in $50 to California and Return. The Minneapolis & St. Louis R. R. will sell tickets April 20-27, May 27- Jun2 8, good for sixty days, at $50. The only line with morning sleeper from Minnearolis making direct connections with through trains at Omaha and Kansas City. For full information call on W. L -Hathaway. C. T. A., No. 1 Wash. Ave. So., Minneapolis, or F. P. Rutherford, C. T. A., 398 Robert St., St. Peul. What He Was Told. “Say,” said the funny man, as he paused in front of the depositors’ window in a down-town bank, “are you the paying teller?” “Yes,” was the reply. “What can I do for you, sir?” “Oh,” sand the funny man, “I mere- ly wished to ask what you tell.” “TI tell people who have no, business here to trot along to the furthest ex- tremity anf be seated,” rejoined the weary clerk.—Chicago News. $100 Reward 8100. ‘The readers of this r will be pleased to Jearn that there is at Teast one dreaded disease that science has been able to cure in all its Stages, and that is Catarrh. Hall's Catarrh Cure is the only positive cure now known to the medical fraternity. Catarrh being a constitu- tional disease, requires a constitutional treat- |}ment. Hall's Catarrh Cure is taken internally acting directly upon the blood and mucous sure faces of the system, thereby Gestroying the foundation of the disease, and giving the patiens ®trength by building up the constitution an& assisting nature in doing its work. The pro- prietors have so much faith in its curative Leta d becetesi4 staph: One agar oe Dollars for fails tocure. Send foi Testimoni: aoe als. Address F. J. CHENEY ledo, Sold by draggista 750. hres ay Hall's ly Pills are the best. Locating the Trouble. Tomdix—I proposed to Miss Gotrox last night by telephone, and she re- fused me. : Hojax—Serves you right. You might have known that you couldn’t ring a girl up properly in that manner, NO UNSIGHTLY SCARS juick cure guar- anteed or money refunded. 25c and Buc, at good druggists. rf > Her Idea of It. Clara—So Ethel is married at last? Did she marry a man of family? Maude—Yes; she married a widower with six children. When in St. Paul Don't fail to visit the Star Theater— the home of refined burlesque, Brave hearts break out their own Op- | | JOHN E. PTACEK. drenched, a severe cold has followed which it seemed impossible to throw off until one of them tried Peruna, and found the fi est remedy for a cold that a man would want. ««Since then we colds, catarrh, in- fluenza and other complaints follow- iag in the wake of inclement weather, — and we all feel well pleased with Perunz.”” MICHAEL O’HALLERAN. 1f you do not derive prompt and satisfactory results from the use of Peruna write at once to Dr. Hartman, giving a full statement of your case, and he will be pleased to give you his valuable advice gratis. Address Dr. Hartman, President of cee Hartman Sanitarium, Columbus, jhio. Never Hit Him. Judge—What did you hit this man with, anyway” Prisoner—I didn’t hit him wit’ any- thing, yer honor. Judge—But look at him. He’s in & hegrible condition. Surely, you didn’t do that with your fists? Prisoner—No, yer honor. I ketched ’im by the heels an’ bumped ’im against a brick wall a few times. But I didn’t hit ’im wit’ anything wanst.—Chicago Record-Herald. How He Explains It. Stephen—So it is all over with Miss Bolter? How did it happen that she threw you over? James—I don't know for certain, but I suspect it was because she wasn’t hopelessly in love with me.—Boston Transcript. Largest Clover, Timothy an Grasses. Our northern grown Clover, for vigor, frost and drouth resisting properties, hasjustly become famous. 7 SUPERIOR CLOVER, bu. $5.90; 1C0 Ibs. $9.80 LaCrosse Prime Clover, bu. $5.60; 106 ibs. $9.20 ‘Samples Clover, Timothy and Grasses and great Catalog mailed you fer 6c a WESTERN CANADA’S - ‘Wonderful wheat ant for 1901 now the talk of the Commercial World is by no means phenom- " ‘The Province of Manitoba and distrivts jot Assiniboia, Saskat- chewan and Alberta are* the most wonderfal in have used it for’ | ( ' | ’ = ' ‘ } { rT ) '