Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, November 7, 1903, Page 6

MS RMT ET NI I EE BRIT ~~ & The : CHAPTER IX. “What Was Your Father?” On, and on, and on, till her step grew weary through her lack of strength—on and on. The world surged by her, the gay, restless, fan- tastic world. Have you ever reflected what it must be to emerge from one’s own narrow, familiar sphere into the cal- cium glare of a great city? The strange faces—oh, the strange faces! Sbme grave, some glad, some masks inscrutable—masks which tell you nothing of the heart below—whether it pulsates to the jubilant music of a ‘Te Deum, or throbs to the funeral wail of a de profundis. ‘The hours crept by, and in a blind, dull sort of way, Laurie Lisle noticed the things around her. Four, five, and the day shivered and grew chilly, aad drew closer around her draperies of dusk. And tkat slender, black-clad figure walked slowly—more slowly—through the deepening twilight. And at last it paused allogether—paused and leaned heavily against an iron railing, and Jooked up and down the quiet street with bewildered, childish eyes. Oh, she was tired—so tired! Tn a house directly opposite her the curtains weve still undrawn, and she could see into the room beyond. Such a pleasant room it was— bright, and cosy, and homelike—with its cheerful, blazing fire, and its sweet, indefinable suggestion of security and rest. A girl was flitting lightly around the room. She arranged a little table and placed thereon a shaded lamp and some magazines. Then she drew up beside it a big Turkish arm chair. The door opened and an old gentleman came slowly in. She sprang forward to meet and welcome him. To the lone watcher on the pave- ment without came a strange, sick- ening faintness. To her it was a mem- ory and a mockery—a beautiful, taunt- ing, miserable mockery! t She put up her hand and in faint protest brushed the hot, slow tears away. And then the girl beyond came over to the window—still chattering and laughing, and looking backward as she came—and drew the crimson curtains close. So—Laurie Lisle drew a long, shud- dering breath—that was shut out—that glimpse of home and heaven! The dawn of night broke over the city, and “the lights flashed out in the silent street.” In the gleam of the lamp at the corner men and women hurried by to happy firesides. Ah, no wonder eyes light and hearts throb and feet hasten at this evening hour, at the thought of a gentle, wait- ing face, of children’s boisterous, lov- fng welcome, of all that sweet and simple sanctity which forms the crown of home. She roused herself with a low moan. ' Where would she go? Where could she go? God guide her—where? Again she resumed her weary walk. ‘And now the pavements were almost deserted, but within lighted rooms she caught sight of snowy, sparkling tables and cheerful family groups. Hark! What was that? A child’s ery—shrill, terrified, half-defiant. She ran as fleetiy as her tired limbs would bear her in the direction | whence the sound came. Under the light of a street lamp at the next corner stood a little boy, ; clasping tightly in his arms a shaggy | @og. And surrounding him complete- ly, howling and belligerent as so many smali Indians, were half a dozen lads of the genus gamin. “Give him to us!” one was saying, ferociously—“give him to us! He’s mot your dorg, anyway, he ain’t! Give him to us!” “That's a big, big story!” the vali- ant little master of the dog cried, in- dignantly, though his eyes were filled with tears. You stolded him and 1 followed you. And you won’t get Fun- my, you won't!” “Won't we?” shouted one of the diminutive demons beside him, rasing his grimy fist for a blow. “Stop!” Laurie Lisle cried, severe- ly. “You boys ought to be ashamed j of yourselves to strike a little chap Mke that. You are older and bigger than he. Who owns the dog?” * “For the moment she quite forgot her own sad isolation. For all her girlish- mess, a very warm, womanly heart peat under her quiet gown. The small culprits fell back and Jooked from each other to the lady be- fore them in shamefaced dismay. “He's my dog!” the boy who still held it asserted, with positive pro- prietorship. He’s my dog—Funny is. Oh, here’s papa! here’s papa!” He raced to meet a gentleman who was coming rapidly up the street. “Oh, papa! they stolded Funny, an’ I went after him, an’ got him; an’ they was goin’ to hit me an’ this lady wouldn’t let them, an’—” He paused, out of breath. His = Curse o Carrington By K. TEMPLE MOORE. father lifted him to his arms, dog and all, and turning to Laurie, rased his hat. ie was a siort, rather stout man, Hi scrypulously neat in appearance, wit! nounced features, cold blue eyes, and hair of iron gray. “Let me thank you for so kindly protecting my little truant. His moth- er and I were becoming quite anxious about him.” The other children had beaten an ignominious retreat. A wild hope flashed through the girl’s brain. His wife—might she not be a kind wom- an? And for one night—for a few hours— Even as the thought came to her a woman came running swiftly | up the pavement. She stopped at the little group before her with a cry of joy. “Ah, you have found him, John— you have found him, my precious dar- ling!” She had caught the child’s chubby face between her hands and was kiss- ing it joyfully. A little, round, rosy, kindly faced woman, clad in a gray gown, and a snowy, ruffied apron, and bright woolen shawl. “She wouldn’t let dem hit me,” the child she was caressing reasserted, pointing to Laurie. Something in the loneliness of that slender, drooping figure, touched her strangely. “Thank you, my dear,” she said in prompt, motherly fashion, and went up to the girl with one plump hand extended. “I got so nervous about | Max that my husband had scarcely left home when I followed him. “I wish,” noting with womanly instinct the pleading in the eyes uplifted to hers, “that I could thank you better.” Laurie swallowed a great lump in her throat. It was so hard—it was like begging—and yet night was here. There was kindest encouragement in the kindly face above her. She came one step forward, and stood in the yellow glare of the gas- light—timid, shrinking, pathetically mournful looking in her somber drap- eries. “I have done nothing—nothing at all!” she said, her voice very low—so low as to be almost inaudible; “but if you will you can help me. I am a stranger in London. I am penniless, friendless and homeless; and oh!” with a quick, hysterical catching of her breath and sudden, startled, light- ing of weary, brilliant eyes. “I am afraid, afraid, afraid!” | “My poor child, you shall come home with me till we see what can be done. John, carry Max. Now tell me your story as we go along.” “But when they had arrived at the house, at the square, comfortable, homelike house, the girl, on the very | threshold, fainted quietly away. “We must keep her, John,” the little | woman insisted to her less generous- | hearted husband; “at least till she gets stronger. She is so young, and pretty, and friendless. Poor thing!” And when she did get stronger, they decided they should keep her for good. They had a girl of twelve, whom they desired should learn music and the foreign languages, and these Miss Lisle could teach. They were well-off people, fair and just, too ,and they offered to pay her liberally for her services. And she? Ah, she was glad to hide | from the merciless world in that ha- | ven of rest! Glad to have one little room which she called her own, wherein to sit down when “the day was done”—glad to be free to think— though how sad the thoughts, God knows! She went around the house, and about her duties—a quiet, slender girl, white as a snowdrop in the springtime, with a rare, sweet smile, and a face like the face of a Madonna. And so three weeks slipped away, | happy because uneventful, and No-| vember was drawing to a close—No- vember, with its sapphire skies and sparkling frosts, and breezes invigor- ating as rich old wine. And one night a friend—and, to be expiicit, a poor and one-time disgraced relation —came to call on John Morier. Miss Lisle had occasion to pass through the room. The visitor scanned her sharply. “So,” he said, “you have a addition to your family. Who is she?” Corrine’s governess. Her name is Laurence Lisle.” “Laurence Lisle?” rose slowly to his feet. that is her name?” “Yes. Why?” “Now I know where I have seen the resemblance before!” he cried. “It puzzled me at first. She is like—re- markably like,” his voice sinking to a whisper—“the man beside whom I worked in the galleys, many years ago. And his name was Laurence Lisle.” “It cannot be possible that she— and yet— We will investigate!” He was a man of impulse. He rang the bell sharply. “Tell Miss Lisle I request her pres- ence here,” he said to the servant. And then to his cousin: “I must sat- isfy myself immediately whether or not your suspicions are correct. If so, she must leave my house. My child must not risk association with the daughter of a convict. Ah, here she is now!” She came into the room, a small, girlish, dark-clad figure. Her face was a subject for a painter, seen in that soft, luminous light—so young it Pierre le Blane “You are sure @ clean-siaven, florid face, pro- was, so daintily lovely, so full of most | through my wife’s well ungirlish sadness. Her hair hung praided down her back in childish fashion. 5 “Miss Lisle,” Mr. Morier said, with cold courtesy ,will you be so good as to answer me a few questions?” __ She bowed assent, declining, with a gesture, the chair offered her. “First, what was your father’s name?” She started. “T am called after him. His name was Laurence Lisle.” “Thank you. What was he?” “A gentleman!” she answered, proudly. “And what else?” A hot color surged over the delicate face. “May I ask the reason of this ap- parently uncalled for explanation?” she questioned haughtily. Pierre Le Blane stepped forward. Who so rigidly pitiless to error as the reformed criminal—the man who has erred, and stood in need of pity him- self? “It is not uncalled for. It is neces- sary and imperative. Was your father ever’—the words seemed to stick in his throat, but at last -he brought them out with a sudden jerk —‘“a galley slave?” She started as if shot. She stag- gered back, her eyes dilated and black with horror, her very lips grown ashen. “Oh, God! had it followed her here? Again must the red iron of Toulon tear its hissing way through blood and tears! They stood and waited for her an- swer—these two good men. She glanced in their faces. Ah, there was no mercy there! She shrank before them like a wild thing of the forest, hunted to its death! Her bosom rose and fell spasmodically. Her hands clenched and twisted each other in cruel, straining terror. Her eyes were ; blazing like purple fire. But all at once she flung up _ her head and faced them—faced them with a sort of vanquished, helpless, desper- ate defiance, “Yes!” she said; “he was.” CHAPTER X. Alone in London. A queer picture! The bright, cheery, home-like room, with its comfortable chairs, its book-clad walls, its genial blending of lamplight and firelight. And in the full, crimson glow of the fire, those two stern, strong men, erect in righteous rigidity. And standing before them, in almost painful con- trast, a slender, black-robed, shrinking child. For a brief space there was silence. Then John Morier spoke, with cold de- tc. mination: “In that case you leave my house | to-morrow!” She sprang forward with a sharp ery. “Oh, no, no, no!” rapidly, tremu- lously-—“you don’t mean it. Oh, ne; you are a good man—you don’t mean it! I have no home but this, and I was growing to be almost happy here! You will not turn me into the street! I have not a friend in London—I don’t | know one soul in the whole city. Oh, be merciful, be merciful!” Her rushing words almost choked her. She was sobbing bitterly as she finished— great, choking, gasping | sobs. The two men looked at each other; they were startled by that passionate | outburst. “You must understand, Miss Lisle, how absolutely useless are all such | appeals. You entered my house meant but blundering charity. For the sake of my innocent daughter, I must request that you leave it as soon as possble.” Ah, was there no corner in the great world where she could hide—none? “What have I done?” she ques- tioned, wildly. ‘What evil could I do | your little one? The pages of my life | are as free from blot as hers!” “You are the daughter of a convict!” he said, slowly; and she shivered and whitened at the cruel words. _ “Can I allow association between such and my child? In after years, would not people point to her and say, “Yes, that is Corrine Morier. Do you know who was the friend, companion, teacher of her youth? No? The daughter of a galley slave!’ Could L endure this? I am a just man, Miss Lisle, and strive to do my duty. In this case it lies clearly before me. Your father—” “Was innocent! Oh, believe me, believe me—he was guiltless of the crime of which he was accused! He Le Blanc laughed out sardonically. “Bah! Intelligent juries do not condemn innocent men in France. There they have abler jurisdiction. And—he was convicted. That fact remains!”. | The pretty, burnished head dropped | on her breast, slowly, slowly—the | white hands relaxed their nervous tension. She felt a great faintness creeping over her. As from a distance she heard John Morier’s voice saying: “To-morrow, then, Miss Lisle—to- morrow.” She must get away from the heat of the fire; she was stifling! She must keep consciousness, she told her- self—she must! As one struck suddenly blind, she gropingly found the door, passed up the stairs to her own room, and then came—oblivion. How the night passed she could not remember. The sluggard dawn was breaking coldly in the east when she rose, stumblngly, to her feet: She had not undressed; she still wore the clothes she had donned tlie day before. Her limbs felt cramped and stiffened; her head was throbbing feverishly. 1 ’ ' For a few moments she stood erect and looked round and round the room in dull, dazed fashion. What a cozy little spot it was! It had a warm, bright carpet under- foot; a few easy, chintz-covered chairs; some cheap but tasteful pic- tures on the walls. She walked over to the window and looked out. The pallid Novem- ber dawn was creeping to a bluster- ing November day. Black clouds went scudding down the quiet street, and tore the last leaves from the trees. Oh, how dreary it all looked! how unutterably desolute! She was shud- dering sharply as she turned away. Mechanically she put on her soft, dark hat and tied it down with a sombre veil. Still, as one in a dream, she took up her shawl and wrapped it round her; one thought, one sen- tence, cruel as the fiat of doom, ab- sorbing all her consciousness. As she went toward the door she passed the swinging mirror on the toilet table. She stopped suddenly. She fell back and stared at the image it presented with wide, half-terrified eyes. That she?—that Laurie Lisle? That the girl who had looked at life through her sunlit eyes, as though it were. one long, sweet holiday?—that the girl who had danced down through the summer sunshine to meet her lover, with a song on her lips and a song in her heart? That, the child whom Laurence Lisle had cherished and Clive jCar- rington had loved—that sad-robed, hollow-eyed, white-cheeked woman? “I must go away,” she whispered— “I must go away—I must go away!” The words kept ringing in her ears like a knell. At the door of Corrine’s room she paused, that one thought “beating in upon her weary brain as though it were the burden of a song.” In the cozy chamber the curtains were still drawn. “Miss Lisle!” the child cried, start- ing up in bed. “Are you going out? You are dressed. Is it morning?” In the dull semi-dusk Laurie stoop- ed over the soft couch, a slim, dark figure. “Yes, it is morring, and—kiss me, Corrine, I am going away!” “Going away! Not for good?” She was thoroughly awake now. She had sprung erect in her little white nest like a startled bird. “Yes, for good. How strangely the word sounds! It is ill for me. Say good-bye to mamma for me—good-bye, and my most loving thanks! And now, my pet—” She held out her arms to the child, who still sat, a little, dejected, be- wildered sprite, all snowy, broidered muslin and loose brown hair. Even in this short time a strong, close affection had arisen between the pupil and teacher.. She caught her closely in her gentle hold and kissed her again and again. Her hot tears fell on the tangled curls like rain. “Good-bye! My pet will never know all she has been to me—all she has comforted me. How sorry I am to leave her for her own dear sake!” And then she had thrust the tender, clinging arms away, and had passed | from the room—from the house. In the bleak street she paused and looked timidly up and down, in blank dismay. She must go somewhere! She walked slowly up the street. Work! she told herself resolutely. She could not starve—she must work. Poor child! for her the very word held a foreign sound. Once more she was homeless, and alone in London! (To Be Continued.) IT IS NO WONDER That He Remonstrated Emphatical!, Under the Circumstances. Andrew Stumper, a watchman, was charged in police court with disorder- ly conduct in using boisterous and im- proper language to his wife, Elizabeth Stumper. The watchman in extenuation said that he worked hard for his living, and that when he came home tired and hungry at night, instead of find- ing his wife and his supper, there was neither. His wife was out visiting and there was nothing to eat. In the morning he was obliged to get up at 5 o’clock in order to attend to his daily duties. He had to make the fire and get his breakfast without any aid from the companion of his joys and woes. The defendant seemed to think that under the circumstances a few words spoken with remonstrative emphasis might not be only excusable, but justi- fiable. The magistrate paroled Stumper.— Brooklyn Eagle. HAWK SHOT IN PARK. Had Been Killing Squirrels—Nurses Thought it an Eagle. The park authorities have been at a loss to account for the number of dead squirrels in Central Park recent- ly. Yesterday afternoon Keeper Billy Snyder was near the sheepfold when a number of nurses came up to him and said that a “big eagle” had been flying around and alighting near the children as though it meant to carry them off. Snyder got a shotgun: and pretty soon discovered the “big eagle.” It proved to be a hawk of enormous size. When Snyder found him he was perched on the top of a tree eating a gray squirrel. , Snyder filled his gun with buckshot and at the first shot brought down Mr. Hawk. The bird, Snyder says, weighed fifty pounds, and was of the kind known as the squirrel hawk. It is believed that he had flown over from the woods in New Jersey. Sny- der said that he would have him stuffed as a trophy.—New York Sun, Jidbits of News ~Yfra Scandinavians BROKE UP THE CHURCH. | | Menominee Minister Was Too Free in Calling People Thieves. Rev. Martin O. Dybvik of the United Norwegian Lutheran congregation at. Menominee, Mich., has been requested by the congregation to resign. This is the culmination of a controversy which, among other things, resulted in the withdrawal of twenty members from the congregation. The differences began four months ago, when the min- ister is said to have stated that all public men in Menominee were thieves. Rev. Dybvik claims that the action of the congregation is due to the fact that he called some of the members to terms. Only a few mem- bers now remain in the congregation. SNOW STORM KILLS CROPS. Famine ts Feared in the Northern Part of Sweden. Northern Sweden has been visited by a severe snowstorm, which has buried the grain which had been cut and spread out for drying. Sharp frost has totally destroyed the potato crop. In many sections of Vestnorrland, Jemtland, Vesterbotten and Norrnot- ten provinces, the snow is three feet deep. In the localities nearest the great peat marshes, both grain and po- tatoes have been entirely destroyed, and agricultural authorities predict that if a famine does not result from the crop failures, there will at least be great scarcity of provisions during the coming winter. LONG-LIVED RACE. Insurance Reports Show That Scandi- navians Rank First in Vitality. Insurance Inspector “bragmen of Sweden has lately returned to Stock- holm from the United States, where he attended the fourth international con- gress of actuaries. He states that one of the principal printed works distrib- ated to the members of the congress was a book which gave explanation and statistics of the vitality of all the various nationalities Iocated in this sountry. It was shown in this book that Swedes and Norwegians consti- tute a group which of all have the greatest vitality. They were desig- nated as “excellent,’ ‘and ranked first. SWEDEN GETS OUR MONEY. Postoffice Reports Show That Migra- ’ tory, Sons Care for Old Folks. } The reports of the Swedish postal department show that since 1885, when the system of postal currency orders was first introduced, 62,979,000 crowns have been transmitted to Sweden from America, over and above the amount sent from Sweden to this country. During 1902 the amonnt sent from America to Sweden was _ 8,018,000 crowns, or 6,551,000 crowns more than was sent the other way. CUT HIS FAMILY OUT. Merchant Will Give His Estate to Heirs of Other People. The will of Ole H. Ihlseng, a Norwe- gian merchant of Fergus Falls, provid- ed that his property was, at his death, to go to the relations of deceased Nor- wegian sailors. However, the docu- ment was not witnessed, and conse quently the property will go to his two daughters. The estate amounts to $8,000. THERE WILL BE A RUSH To Mr. Petterson’s Home for Indigent Business Men. In commemoration of his twenty-five years’ jubilee as a business man, A. J. Petterson of Landskrona, Sweden, has donated 10,000 crowns as a basis for a fund with which to erect a home for aged and indigent business men and their widows. Ibsen’s Face on Mountain Side. In Fosnaes parish, Norway, there is a mountain which presents an interest- ing phenomenon, only recently discov- ered, and now attracting the attention of travelers. On the side of the moun- tain nature has depicted the face of a man, which, on close examinatton, bears a striking likeness to the coun- tenance of one of Norway’s most prom- inent men, Henrik Ibsen. Swedish Colony. P. J. Christopher, E. Haglund. Vie- ter Kron and Lars Thureen of Douglas and Ole Hedstrom of South Dakota have gone to Grand Rapids, Itasca county, to establish a Swedish colony. About fifteen other Swedish families have already located there, and every- thing indicates that the colony will prove a success. Denmark’s Dairy Trade. Denmark’s exports of butter, pork and eggs to England during the first eight months of this year amounted to 188,000,000 crowns, or over 13,000,000 crowns more than for the same period last year. Karlshamn Ready for a Boom. Karlshamn City has applied to the government for permission to contract a loan of 1,500,000 crowns with which to build a new court house, repair vari- ous buildings and improve the wharf. NEW HIGH SPEED BRAKE MAKE! QUICK WORK OF IT. ATrain Running Eighty Miles an Hour Was Stopped in 2,240 Feet—Air Brake Men Give Some Interesting Figures. At a recent convention of air-brake men an interesting report was pre- sented, showing how the distance re- quired for the stopping of a train had been reduced by the new high speed brake. A train running eighty miles an hour was stopped in 2,240 feet by the high speed brake at 110 pounds, where ordinary pressure of 70 pounds took exactly half a mile to bring it to a stand. Other train speeds and reduc- _ tions in stopping distances were these: Fifty miles an hour, from 840 to 700 feet; fifty-five miles an hour, 1,095 to $30 feet; sixty miles, 1,330 to 1,000 feet; sixty-five miles, 1,635 to 1,530 feet; seventy-five miles, 2,295 to 1,840 feet.—Hlmira Gazette. The Teacher Won. Hinton, Ky., Nov. 2.—For over two years two of the best physicians in this part of the State have been treat- ing Mr. E. J. Thompson, a popular local school teacher, for Diabetes. They told him that but little could ve done to help him. He made up his mind to try a new remedy called Dodd’s Kidney Pills, and says: “They saved me when the doctors held out no hope. I took in all about ten boxes. I will always praise Dodd’s Kidney Pills for the great good they have done for me.” Many people, and some physicians, still persist in the belief that Diabetes is an incurable disease. Our teacher. Mr. Thompson, says it is curable, for Dodd’s Kidney Pills cured him after two good physicians had treated him for two years without success. A remedy that will cure Diabetes will surely cure any case of Kidney ‘Trouble. Repair Shop Persiflage. “I lead a hard life,” said the emery wheel. “So do I,” said the file. “I am up against it all the time.” “Poverty oppresses me,” said the tire pump. “I never can blow my- self.” “Quit your growling,” said the in- jured sprocket. “You put my teeth on edge.” “What a bore,” said the drill. And the seance closed with a spirit level. It was on the square.—Automo- bile Magazine. FIDDLES AND HORSE HAIR. Materiat for Bows Comes Mostly From Germany and Russia. “There is a vast amount of horse hair annually used in the United States for making and repairing vio lin, violincella and bass vial bows,” said @ dealer in such materials to the writer recently. “All of the hair comes from Germany and Russia, in which countries the tails of horses are generally allowed to grow much long- er than here. The foreign hair is also coarser in texture and tougher than that which grows on the Amer: ica nhorse, and these qualities make the imported article more valuabla than the domestie product is for the purpose. “There are only two kinds of herse hair suitable for making bows, and they are of the white and black varie- ties. The former is used for making violin bows, and the latter, which is heavier and stronger, is the best mate- rial for making bows for ’eello and bass viols, because it bites the larger strings better. The imported hair is put up in hanks, thirty-six inches long, which is five or six inches longer than the standard violin bow. A hank is sufficient for a violin bow, while two hanks are required to hair a ’cello or bass vial bow. There are about one and one-half ounces of hair in a hank, which is worth from 20 to 30 cents, —Ne wYork Mail and Express. ‘LIKED HIS “NIP.” Not a Whiskey, but a Coffee Toper. Give coffee half a chance and with some people it sets its grip hard and fast. “Up to a couple of years ago,” says a business man of Brooklyn, N. Y., “I was as constant a coffee drink. er as it was possible to be, indeed, my craving for coffee was equal to that of a drunkard for his regular ‘nip’ and the effect of the coffee drug upon my system was indeed deplorable. “My skin lacked its natural color, my features were pinched and my nerves were shattered to such an ex- tent as to render me very irritable. 1 also suffered from palpitation of the heart. “It was while in this condition I read an article about Postum Food Coffee and concluded to try it. It was not longe before Postu mhad entirely de- stroyed my raging passion for coffee and in a short time I had entirely given up coffee for delicious Postum. “The change that ‘followed was so extraordinary I am unable.to describe it: Suffice it to say, however, that all my troubles have disappeared. 1 am my original happy self again and on the whole the soothing and pleas- ant effects produced by my cup of Postum make me feel as though 1 have been ‘landed at another station.” “Not long ago I converted one of my friends to Postum and he is now as loud in its praise as I am.” Name fur- misbed by Postum Co., Battle Creek, Look in each package for the famous: little geet Wellville.” book, “The Road to STOPPING TRAINS ic