Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, December 12, 1903, Page 6

k ; = Curse « Carrington By K. TEMPLE MOORE. CHAPTER XX. “He Will Never Come Back Again.” “Come into my room, I want to speak to you.” “Yes or no?” impatiently. “Yes!” The girl, standing at the mantel, put up both hands and covered her face. And for awhile there was no sound harp reprimand, and went back to her own room. There she found my lady still standing in the center of the floor, just as she had left her. And the bril- lant gaslight fell upon her thin, sharp- drawn old face, and showed it corpse- like in its pallor, rigid and frozen in its terrified dismay. She held out her hands as the girl approached her, with a helpless, piti- ful gesture, painfully foreign to the | proud lady of Blackcastle. She did not sob or cry out, but when she spoke it was in a queer, hard, heart-broken voice, “Oh, Cynthia! my boy, my boy!” “Come,” she answered, and led her gently away. To the dulled brain slowly struggling to consciousness in the room beyond, those desolate words penetrated. Where was she? What had happen- Something in Cynthia's tone made | save the beating of the storm without, ed? What did it all mean? my lady turn and look at Ker as they reached the landing above. “Why, what is it, dear?” All around them was the sound of friendly voices in happy jest and laughing good-night. _ She laid her hand on Lady Carring- ton’s arm with a light, impatient touch. ~ “Come into my room!” she reiterat- ed, almost fiercely. “I cannot tell you here!” She flung wide the door leading to her own apartments and together they assed in, shutting it behind them. A subdued, rosy light reigned in the gorgeously-colcred room, and showed 4t an ideal nest of beauty, with its ‘deep, rich rugs and luxurious chairs, end dainty pictures and pallid statu- ettes, and bed like a fleecy snowdrift. “Cynthia, child, what made you wear such a sad-hued dress to-night?” my lady asked, cheerily, walking over to the many-lustered chandelier and turn- ‘ing up the light till it flooded the room with radiance. But the girl standing by the great ‘carved mantel only looked at her with a face from whichrevery particle of color had faded. and answered never a word. “And now, dear,” went on Lady Car- tington, oblivious of her friend’s si- dence, and coming slowly back across ‘the floor, her rich satin de Lyon sweep- ing behind her, “what is the object of ‘the mysterious conference for which ‘you enticed me in here to-night?” She ensconced herself in the warm depths of a puffy chair, and looked up at her vis-a-vis—iooked up for the first time, and started erect from her seat ‘with an exclamation of alarm. “Cynthia, my dear, you are ill—you ere faint! Sit down! Why, my child, you are as white as paper!” “No!” with an emphatic shake of the | head. “I am only a little—a little faint. You sit down!” She obeyed meeliy, as she, with all proud resolution and exactitude, al- ways obeyed Cynthia Lennox when she spoke in that tone. “Well?” she said. “Wait a moment. I am not quite my- self yet.” She turned away and walked rapid- fly.up and down the room once, twice. ‘Then she went hastily over to a long ‘Wrench window which opened on a veranda, and, pushing it wide, stepped out. She came in in a few moments, bringing with her a waft of moist air. nce again she went over and stood *by the mantel and leaned her elbow on ‘tts edge, her head on her hand. Some raindrops had fallen on her ‘pair, and now in the soft light they -sparkied like diamonds. She looked «up suddenly. “IT want you,” she said, deliberately, cand looking full at my lady—‘“I want you to tell me all that passed between you and Clive that evening in the li- brary.” That took of startled pain which al- ‘ways leaped into Lady Carrington’s ‘face at the mention of her son’s name crossed it now. “Cynthia—” she began. But the girl stopped her with a mo- ion of her hand. “Wait! You have told me a little eoncerning that interview. You have mot told me enough. You have told me be loved beneath him. I want to know how he came to tell you that?” “You have no right to ask me. You have no right to know, Cynthia!” she ‘burst out, im mervous indignation. “Though I am convinced that in mak- “dmg the resolution he made he became unworthy of all trust, of all affection— | ‘and though I am equally convinced that in acting as I acted I was simply fust, still you must remember that I ‘was his mother, and that the very sound of his name still has power to fhurt—to hurt! You are cruel, Cyn- fhia—cruel!” She was plucking restlessly at the ‘fringe of her dress as she spoke. “Oh,” the gir] cried, with a gesture of weariness, “don’t try to pacify a threatening conscience with phrases of >self-commendation—don't!”” Something in the words, or in the ypeculiar hardness of the tone in which they were spoken, made my lady half wise from her chair in dismay that eaused her to forget her anger. “What do you mean, Cynthia? What has come to you? How strangely you talk! I never heard you speak so be- ” “You shall never hear me speak so again; but for to-night you must par- -don me! Will you answer my ques- -don? How did Clive come to tell you .of’—a little lower—“his love?” “why, who—who should he tell but ‘his mother?” she answered, evasively. “So! You will not tell me. Well, 4 will ask you the same question more imply and directly.” ‘There was an ominous glitter in the girl's eyes, but when she spoke her @peech was measured and calm. “Had you, or bad you not told your eon of your wish that he should marry the crackling of the fire within. Then all at once she broke down in a passion of sobs. “Don’t!” she breathed, hoarsely, as Lady Carrington would have approach- ed her. “I suspected this—I feared it —the insult and the shame of it. Oh, it was you who were cruel, my lady— it was you—it was you!” “Let me speak, Cynthia!” in half- terrified pleading. “Let me speak first!” the girl cried, and dropped her hands and stood erect before her, a lofty, black-clad figure. “You did this!” and now her words panted forth, rapid and hoarse with excitement. “You offered me to a man who did not want me! And be- cause I was flung back on your hands like an unsuitable trinket—because he would not sacrifice every principle which makes a gentleman—because he refused to dishonor a most honorable manhood—you did—what? You drove him forth from his home, from his in- heritance, from his birthright—his by every law of God and man. You did this!” The ringing, scornful tones ceased. My lady rose from her seat, her stern, old face quite gray in its ashy pallor, her gemmed hands shaking as though palsied, against the shining satin of her dress. “No,” she said—and now her voice was full of positive resolution—“that was not the reason!” “Bah!” with an air of fine disgust. “He loved beneath him. It means the same thing.” “It does not mean the same thing. Listen to me, Cynthia! I did not dis- | own him because he would not marry the child I loved so dearly; I did not disown him because his love walked in an humbler path than that in which he trod; but I did disown him,” and now her words rose shrill and tremulous, “for the reason that she whom he vowed to make his wife was a social outcast—the daughter of a thief, of a convict, of a branded galley-slave—” “Stop there!” Cynthia Lenox came one step for- ward, mher face white as death, her eyes glittering like black jewels. “Whoever she was, whatever she was, we must reverence her memory for his sake!” “Her memory? Then she-—” “Yes, she is dead!” “Oh, thank God—thank God!” in an ecstasy of relief and vague hope. “Then perhaps he—perhaps Clive—will come back—” And as she paused, panting in her blissful excitement, throughout Black- castle tinkled, clanged and jingled the midnight hour. “No,” Cynthia cried, “he will not come back! He will never come back again!” The old, stately figure beyond was shaking from head to feet. Her eyes were imploring, her hands outstretch- ed; but her lips were speechless as the lips of the dumb. “He will never come back-—never again; for he is—dead!” “Dead!” The word wailed through the room in a bitter cry—an agonized, shudder- ing, awful ery of despair. Hark! Before its echo had died | away, a faint, wild sobbing fell upon their ears. They, startled—turned. Before them, standing on the threshold of an adjoin- ing room, was a little, trembling figure, clad in a snowy, flowing nightgown. A cloud of bronze-gold hair drifted over her shoulders. She was leaning heavily against the door for support. } “Oh, I forgot!” Cynthia cried, in an | agony of remorse—“the doctor said she would be conscious by midnight—I ' forgot!” | But even as she spoke the girl in the ; dcorway came one step forward into the room. “Dead,” she whispered—“dead—aye, | dead!” and at my lady’s hurrying feet she staggered and fell! | | CHAPTER XXI. “Youth longs, and manhood strives, but age remembers, Sits by the raked-up ashes of the past, Spreads its thin hands above the whit- ening embers That warm its creeping life-blood to the last.” -—O. W. Holmes. But it was Cynthia who bent above the white, motionless little heap on the crimson carpet—Cynthia who lifted it in her strong young arms and carried it into the next room, and laid it down on the dainty bed. “It was my fault,’ she repeated— “my fault! I should have been more cautious. How did she manage to creep so far—poor little thing?” But it was not so wholly her fault as she imagined, for early in the even- ing she had installed a nurse in the sick chamber to watch the night through. But that faithful disciple of Sairy Gamp had comfortably deposited Ah, yes! she remembered—remem- bered: She had heard voices talking —talking of Clive—and she had lain and listened! And the strange words had blended with the stranger fanta- sies in her mind—the fantasies evoked by fever! And at last they said—what was that they had said?—that she— she, Laurie Lisle, was dead! How could that be when she could hear them say so? And she had risen and had crept—oh, so slowly!—across the floor; and then they said that Clive —that Clive— Oh, yes, yes, yes; she remembered! And agitated by the effort of memory, she once more shiv- ered. back among her pillows, white as a lily in a snowdrift. The night ebbed on. A soft, pink light reigned in the pretty, azure room. Thé fire on the bright hearth frolicked and whispered. And whenever the clock on the mantel called the hours, it laughed out in a silver waltz. Without, the wind died down in low snarling; the rain grew lighter, and finally ceased altogether; a faint gray- ness came into the air. And so the day broke over Black- eastle. And when the first pale streaks of light stole between the silken cur- tains, the gleams of returning reason crept through the darkened casement of a soul. She was beginning to think. Six— seven—eight—nine! And the house was astir. The breakfast bell rang, and one by one the guests sauntered down to the cosy morning room, whose cheery atmosphere bade defiance to the dreary day without. ? They were almost all assembled, when the door opened to admit Miss Lennox. She wore the same tight- fitting black dress she had worn the previous night, but now there was no speck of color, no single jewel about her to relieve its sombreness. Her beautiful, haughty face was resolutely composed. They looked up as she entered and greeted her with a welcoming volley of words. But Cyril Carrington start- ed as he saw her. Was that the radi- ant, sparkling, bright-lipped girl he had talked with a few hours before— that quiet, colorless, weary woman? “Why, Miss Lennox!” some one called out, “you are ill?” “Oh, no!” she said, and shook her head, “I am not ill; but—hear that child!” They all knew how completely the little madcap without had crept into Cynthia’s heart. So a smile went round at sound of a fiying foot on the stairs and the ring of a fresh, round voice: “Gin a body meet a body Comin’ thro’ the rye, Gin a body kiss a body, Need a body cry? lik a lassie hae her laddie, Nane they say hae I—” “And if they do, I tet! you what, It’s a confounded lie!” chimed in Will Warren, as he clattered down the hall. ’ The door was flung wider; they came into the breakfast room; and Baby grew as red as a bramble-rose before the glances of merrily-mocking eyes, the pitiless smiling of quizzical lips, the final hearty chorus of irre- pressible laughter. “Don't, please!” Will pleaded, with boyish brevity; and sat down, half- abashed, half-defiant, wholly confused. It was not till breakfast was over and they were about to separate that Miss Lennox said what she had come down to say. “I know you will all be sorry to hear,” she said simply, “that which 1 am obliged to tell you. A sorrow, a very great sorrow, has ‘fallen upon Lady Carrington—a dark and heavy shadow upon Blackeastle! Only last night did we reeeive tidings of the death of her son, Sir Clive Carrington, who perished on board the ship Dol- phin.” _A murmur of startled dismay ran round the room. Those present looked at each other with blank, horrified faces. “But,” she went on, in her calm, firm voice, “Lady Carrington holds rather peculiar views in regard to mourning for the dead. She affirms that when there is grief in the heart, the method of life or attire matters little. So she begs me to say to you that those of you who can find it in your hearts to stay will honor her and honor Blackcastle.” She turned away, and went wearily up the grand staircase. And the oth- ers clustered around’ the fire and talked over the news: they had just heard in voices hushed with awe. All except ‘Cyril Carrin; He rose abruptly and went up his own apartments. He wanted to be alone, to think about it all, connectedly an dis- passionately. His aunt had written him to come to her, as she was about to disinherit Clive in his favor, and jo! death had disinherited him. And now he was legal heir of Blackcastle herself in an easy chair and had gone placidly to sleep. Miss Lennox awakened her, with a —he! sf But the thought brought him no feel- ing of elation, however brief. There was within the man an instinctive no- | weary woman, whose reliant rength bility which imbued him with a vague | and rebellious pride were shattered by prejudice against that fate which had | one fierce shock; of the girl who suf- lifted him into social and financial | fered and gave no sign; the child who prominence only at the cost of a life. | shivered back from the confines of the He sat there for hours, busy with his grave with no love for life quickening thoughts—thoughts which conjured up, | in her pulses, and no faith in the star- like sorcerers, every word, and look, and action of the wild young cousin he less future to light her on? They were gathered round a cheery had loved, And ever through his] gre in the drawin g room one sharp strange, disjointed musings, one face | pecember evening, Della and Baby, came and went, feverish and brilliant, | .q will Warren and Cynthia, when pale and grieved—the face of Cynthia | the door opened and Cyril Carrington Lennox. The day dragged wearily on. The came in. Though he was still staying at luncheon bell rang but neither Cyril Blackcastle they seldom saw him, so nor Lady Carrington appeared. Cyn- reserved he was, so evidently anxious thia came down stairs and sat at the to in no way assert his position. head of the table, stately and gracious. From the first, Cynthia had dis- What lay behind that serene outward | }i;eq him—had disliked him before bearing they knew not, for “Gave she never, By weeping or by wailing, outward sign she had ever seen him, with a head- strong and unreasonable dislike. He was standing in Clive’s place, she told herself bitterly and unjustly. Of the great inward agony that she | But frequently of late she had found bore!” “Lady Carrington is quite prostrat- ed, she said. in answer to inquiries for her. It is a fearful blow! She does not speak to any one—not even to me. Only lies there like a woman turned to stone, whispering sometimes to her- self.” Aye, a fearful blow! In the dark- herself reluctantly referring matters to his grave judgment, and in some indefinite way leaning on his quiet and unobtrusive helpfulness. “Ho wis Aunt Inez?” he asked. “Much better. She is coming down to-morrow. If she would only cease that fearful, incessant brooding— ‘Ah, here is Margaret!” "There was a stir in the little group, ened chamber above she lay stunned, and they made room for her in friend- but not blessed with the oblivion or unconsciousness. ly fashion, as she came slowly in. In these few days they had come Once again her son was a child in to love her dearly. Even Baby pet- her arms, anon a sturdy boy racing over the house, and making it resound with laughter, and then a wild, young student home from Eton and later, a handsome, black-eyed soldier, stiil proud of his glittering sword and scar- let coat, and—later—that iast scene! God help her! * CHAPTER XxXIil. “His Name Is Cuthbert Bracken.” Several of the guests spent the after- noon in packing their trunks. Blackcastle would no longer be the jolly place it had been with the shad- ow of death brooding over it. It would not be pleasant to remain here longer. And it would not be proper to intrude here longer, after the sad _ bereave- ment which had afflicted their hostess. So, with many voluable and affee- tionate adieux to Cynthia, and many consolatory and sympathetic messages for Lady Carrington, they departed for other country houses where gaiety would not be interrupted by ill-timed | deaths—Sir Jasper and Lady Jetland, Miss Cassard, the Hon. Mr. Sedley, and in the wake of Vera, constant as the tail to the comet, Freddie Lynn. In the pretty blue-and-silver cham- ber above Laurie lay, conscious and thinking, or striving to think. | From early morning she had lain so, ij feigning sleep, but in reality putting together, bit by bit, with painful delib- eration and uncertainty, all that she could remember or understand about her whereabouts, and the accident | which had brought her there. | The yellow daylight was fading he- | hind the distant poplars before she | fully understood and realized all. She was at Blackcastle, and they knew her not. To them she was dead! Well, she would reveal her identity; she would say to them: “fam the girl Clive Carrington loved—I am Laurie Lisle. Aye, more. I am the daughter of a galley slave, made such by the master of Blackcas- tle—by his treachery and his guilt, and his irreparable infamy!” Oh, no, no, no! She must not say that. They would turn her out, and | where could she go? Merciful heayen—where? ‘The remembrance of the days when she had stood alone in London, all the | terror, all the misery, all the despair of that most wretched time, reverted to her mind. Ah, no; ah, no! She was a coward, perhaps, but she dare not—she dare not risk that again! Not just yet; lat- er, when she was stronger, she would speak, but not yet. And so Cynthia Lennox found her | when she came softly in with the creeping dusk. “How is your patient, nurse?” “Better, I think, miss.” “You have not allowed her to ex- cite herself?” | “She has been a-talkin’ to herself, low-like, off and on.” She bent over the little, snowy bed, and started to find a pair of eyes fixed full on her face—glorious blue eyes, that glittered feverishly. How pitifully small and childish and helpless she looked. The thought struck Cynthia with the odd sense of pain, Then she did some- thing very strange for haughty Miss ; Lennox to do. and kissed the pure forehead of the | girl before her. “You are better?” she asked gently. | “Yes,” meekly. “I'am better. 1 will soon’—with faint energy, and enunciating with difficulty — “go away:” “Indeed, you will do no such thing’ in kindly decision. “You must not dream of such a thing. You must only lie quiet and still, and get strong as fast as you can. Would it tire you too much to tell me your name?” Her name! Ob, not yet—not yet! Ah, her mother’s would be hers for awhile—her mother’s! “Margaret—Atherton! Ni “phere—don’t try to speak any more, dear. Drink. this and go to sleep.” The night passed, the day passed; and many days and nights went by be- fore Laurie Lisle discarded bed and lounge and crept down into the great drawing room of Blackcastle, a wan, white little wraith, frail and lovely asa snowdrop in the springtime. And of those days and nights gone by who shall speak—of the desolate, 9 ted and protected her as though she were a delicate child. They drew over the softest chair and made her sit down. The firelight showed her as she leaned against the rich cushions. Her face was of a pure, waxen transparency; her eyes looked like purple diamonds shining from under their dark brows and long, black lashes; her little, slender hands lay listlessly against her somber dress. She lay quite still, while the ripple of conversation flowed around her— quite still and motionless, with her gaze fixed on the fire, and her thoughts—where? As from aiar she heard them talk- ing—talking! Hark! what was that Cynthia was saying? There is a visitor coming to Black- castle who may arrive any day. I be lieve his mother was an old friend of Lady Carrington’s. He has become immensely wealthy of late, owing to the fortune left him by his step-father. His name is Cuthbert Bracken.” “Cuthbert Bracken!” They started at the sound of the | weak, terrified voice. Margaret Atherton had staggered to her feet. One hand was leaning on the back of her chair for support. Her face was full of absolute fear. “Why, what is it?” they cried. “You know him—” “Oh, no; it is nothing!” she mur- mured, and sat down suddenly, shak- ing like a leaf. Her head drooped heavily against | the cushions of her chair. © “Margaret!” Cynthia called in | alarm. But she had fainted quietly away. (To Be Continued.) A TOUGH LEGAL PROBLEM. The Sad Fale of a Chink, a Shirt and a Negro. An old negro called at the Jefferson Market police station the other day and asked that his complaint be adju- dicated. He wanted to know if a cul- lud pusson” who left a white shirt with a Chinese laundry is forced to receive back a cullud shirt, jes’ because dat patronage is ah cullud-genle-man.” “It’s mighty discommodin’, boss, when I'se left a white shirt to be made to take back a cullud one. What I’se hankerin’ to detain is, can dat Chink make me take ah cullud shirt jes’ be- cause it matches mah epidermy? Ain’t I got ah drag of one white shirt out of dat joint? Or has I got to take any- ting dat may may t’ink goes best wif my complexion? Good Lawd} Ain’t I got no rights under de consumption of dis United States? Oh, I oughter got wise when F see’d dat yarrah monk siz up my ebond skin, I oughter got wise} But I’se trustful and I left mah white shirt, an’ now I wants an officer man to make dat Chink ante up a white shirt ’stead of dis yere cullud one!”—New York Times. View of the New York Woman. A close student of human nature is Mrs. Wilbour. “What a fine, independ- ent creature the New York woman is,” she said recently. “Really, I admire her nerve. 5 don’t mean nerve in the slang sense. I am glad women are be- coming so strong mentally. This great American world has problems to cope with and women are needed to help, She leant, suddenly, | "The day of the silly woma mis at an end. No lenger is the intellectual woman the object of her brother’s jests. She commanés greater respect than ever before. A man now looks to a woman’s inteilect when choosing a wife, whereas formerly he gauged her by her accomplishments in the kitch- en.”—New York Press. Not on Her Side. In a small debt action for the value of a pony, which it was alleged had been overridden and died in conse- quence, an elderly woman was the first witness. After being examined for the plaint- iff, she was about to leave the vox, when the defendant’s lawyer stated that he had a question or two to ask. On hearing this the old woman said abruptly— “Pm for nane o’ yer questions; ye’re no’on our side.” Laughter long and loud followed, in which the court joined,—Cassell’s Lon- don Journal. It’s a cold day for the candidate when he gets snowed under. __ Cheney & Co., Toledo, O., contains no is taken internally, is yakon tnvermaly, seting, direc sa oaying Halle jarrh sure t the genuine. It is fa ely and taal ‘uf Toledo, Ohio, by F. Je Seiggists, ‘Price Tse per bottle. ‘Pills are the best. Kept Busy. “Why don’t you go to work?” “Mister,” answered Meandering Mike, “de work I’ve done thinking up answers to dat question is somethin’ terrible.”—Washington Star. PATENTS. List of Patents Issued Last Week to Northwestern Inventors. James Broughton, Walkerville, Mont., boiler compound; Lawrence Driscoll, Minneapolis, Minn., tempo- rary shoe lacing; Frank Howey, Valley City, N. D., advertising envelope; Mil- ton C. McDaniel, St. Paul, Minn., bolt holding tool; Joseph Schutz, Minneap- ‘olis, Minn., dust collector; Henry Stussy, Beresford, S. D.,cream sepa- rator; Hartson Woodard, Minneapolis, Minn., lock for windows. Lothrop & Johnson, patent la) it. ers. 911 and 912 Pioneer Press Bldg., ul. So Very Superior. Jaggers—Why does that De Style family always refuse custard pie? Waggers—Because it has no upper crust.—Philadelphia Telegraph. Pise's Cure is the best medicine we ever used for all affections of the throat and lungs-—Wa O. ENDSLEY, Vanburen, Ind., Feb. 10, 1900, A man who will not listen to reason soon becomes a crank that cannot be turned. If you want creamery prices do a9 the creameries do, use JUNE TINT BUTTTR COLOR. If a girl says “No” three consecu- tive times it’s a hopeless case. A stiff upper lip is a good thing in connection with a rigid under jaw. ‘The main muscular supports of weaken and let go under Backache or Lumbago. To restore, strengthen and straighten up, use St.Jacobs Oil Price 25¢, and 50c. Cs fadaticad “shicbeliachctadeiabtes itera: Gle’s @rbolisalve Instantly stops the pain of Burns and Scalds. Always heals without scars, 25 and 600 by druggists, or mailed on receipt of price by J.\. Cole & Co., Black River Falls, Wis KEEP A BOX. HANDY St. Louis, 1904 Make The Trip By River. A handsome small cabin launeh, 28 feet long, with 8 horse power engine. A cabin fitted with sleeping berths, a com- plete cooking outfit, toilet room and all the comforts of home—to. accommodate a party of four. Will carry you there and back and give you @ boarding place while visiting the exposition. The saving made will almost pay fer the boat. Launch For Sale. IE have just the'beat meeded. It fs as good as new and will be sold for exactly one-half what it cost me, if taken at ence. D. J. J., Room 1008 Pioneer Press building. St. Paul, Minn. Looking for a Home Then why not keep ii fact that the farming, eae Canada are sufficient to support.a population. of 50,000,000 or over? The immigrati hy ‘ ¢ immigration for the past siz years FREE Womestead Lands easily accessible, while oth may scat peomttte while odes Unde mag be pase grain and grazing lands of Western Canada are the. best on the continent, producing the best grain, and cattle (fed on grass alone) ready for market. Markets, Schools, Rallways and all other conditions make Western Canada an envi- able spot for the settler. Write to the Superi wats Sane ines lala or to the authorized Canadian Government, E. T. Holmes, 315 Jackson Street, St. Paul, N. W. N. U.—NO. 50— 1903. BEGGS’ CHERRY COUG! SYRUP cures coughs and cal