Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, April 8, 1905, Page 11

CHAPTER VIII. Lord Genlis “Makes Sure” of Sosia. Lord Genlis and his son were much disturbed, by the actions and the fall of Neil Bashfort. As long as Lord Genlis had known him, and they had grown up as foster- their childhood—the having nursed | from mother of Bashfort them as infants at the same time, be- cause of the death of thé lord’s mother just after his birth—he had never de- tected much that could be called su- perstitious in Neil Bashfort’s rough and unscrupulous character. The vile necromancer,” said Lord _ with an anxious glance around, | doubtless confronted him sud- | denly with some trick of deceptive | I know that Bashfort, twenty and years ago, was employed by So- | in some affair of which Bashfort | 1as never fully informed me; but that is neither here nor there, for the man lias actually swooned from terror, and we must have him on his feet again. There, rekindle his torch, and thrust it into that hole in the floor. I would we could have arrived in time to cor- in this room.” fort pointed into the corridor as if he saw some one there,” said Capt. Osred. A mere fancy of his. He said some- thing about the ghost of the man he killed in York. I never heard before that he killed a man in York. Here, uncork this flask.” “He has doubtless killed many a in his time,” said Capt. Osred, | i a shrug of his shoulders, expres- sive of disgust, “if we may judge from his quick work with the sailors.” “Aye; but perhaps the man he fan- cied he saw just now was the first he ever sle replied Lord Genlis. At this moment Bashfort opened his brothers art. “Up, man. It was some trick of the cried Capt. Osred. ‘He nnot be far off. We must hasten to i him. Be a man, Neil Bashfort! A trick has been played upon you. There ich things as ghosts at Dun sorcerer!” are no ye, Capt. Osred, I never believed ore were anywhere, except in our dreams ,till just now,” replied Bash- after a long and copious drink | from the brandy flask, ' “So here is at e sorcerer, be he man or devil. Sflames! I used to fancy he was the devil himself when I served him. Yes, must have been one of his wonder- icks.” 3ut which way went he “Whatever that was at which I shot, as squarely as ever I shot at a target, and which tossed me aside as I’ might toss a cripple, was rushing into the corridor when I fell,” replied Bash- fort. And as he spoke he snatched up his iorch from the floor, and all three hur- ried into the corridor. They were walking rapidly along the corridor, when a dismal wail, as if some one called for instant aid, reach- ed their ears from that quarter of the house toward which they were going. “Hark!” whispered Lord Genlis, huskily. And all three halted to listen, “Came the ery from below?” asked Capt. Osred—“from where we left Hielen Beauclair?” z ym below somewhere, apparent: | ly, but not from that room—not from that direction,” said Bashfort. “The iceursed place is haunted! They told I lway it was haunted.” | ! help!—in the name of God, help!” again rose the dismal wail, and evidently from some spot in advance of tne three, and yet as from some ; great depth. “By my life, the voice of Zeno So- sia!” exclaimed Bashfort, amazed. I heard him scream thus, and the very same words, when once he fell into the Thames and nearly drowned, I was over and through all this part of the ho yesterday—Martha and I, my} lord. In a room near the end of the old eastern wing there is a deep shaft | that ends in an ancient well, and the mouth of the shaft was but slightly covered with rotten flooring, deceptive to the eye and very frail. Perhaps he meant to escape from the building by the window of that room—an old out- side stairway hangs frofn that window to the court yard below—perhaps, in} trying to reach that window, he trod upon the rotten flooring that concealed the mouth of the shaft, up which a windlass used to draw water from the well.” Bashfort uttered all this rapidly, and while the Osreds were following him closely as he hurried on toward that quarter of which he was speaking. The three, with their torches held high and flaring brightly, hurried on, looking neither to the right nor to the left, for the cries for help continued io be heard, sounding as dismal as such cries would when uttered from a great depth and rising from a pit or well. Had they entered one room adjoin- ing that which contained the well- shaft, of which Bashfort had spoken, and looked up among the sunken o” The Sorcerer | of St. By PROF. WILLIAM H. PECK. Giles vafters, which had pressed down and crushed inward the ruined ceiling, they scarcely would have -seen the face of Clarence Darrell, as he crouch- ed amid the shadows and intricacies of the ruins, in which he had sought tem- porary concealment immediately after his flight into the corridor from that room in which he had encountered Bashfort. Clarence, on darting into the dark corridor. had heard the approaching footsteps of the Osreds, ag¥ the latter were hurrying to answer Bashfort’s ery for help, and darted blindly on in a direction opposite to that whence they were coming, and had soon crouched down in a room not far from the one he had just quitted, unable to determine what route to take, and be- lieving that those who were coming would rush at once to the aid of their comrade. “tT am near enough to hear what they say,”. thought Clarence, “and so may chance to discover where I am. Certainly that savage in Scotch plaid said something about Zeno Sosia. ° In- deed, he seemed to believe Zeno Sosia was in the closet.” Thus Clarence was able to hear al- most all that was said by the Osreds and Bashfort before they resumed their search for the sorcerer, and so discovered that he was at Dun Aen- gus—a fact he had not suspected until he heard Capt. Osred say: “There are no such things as spirits at Dun Aengus.” “So,” thought Claretice, as he glided from the room in which he had first sought refuge, and hastened to find a more secure place of concealment, and not waiting until the searchers came forth again into the corridor—“so [ am at Dun Aengus! The very place I de- sired to reach last night. I feared the storm had cast me ashore on the Irish coast below Hag’s Head. Lord Genlis! Who is he? Capt. Osred! So the name of the man whom I struck in the face in London when he tried to pull off Helen’s hood in the street. But why their desire to capture Sosia? I must hide, and learn more.” He succeeded in hiding himself among the broken rafters and timbers of the ruined roof, in a room next to that which contained the dangerous well shaft, and much of the wall be- tween the two rooms was broken down or had fallen from age and dampness. Clarence had scarcely gained his last place of concealment when he heard rapid footsteps upon the floor of the very room above which he was concealed. He could see nothing dis- tinetly, though a little of the outer light penetrated the broken roof, the rising moon beaming upon it from an unclouded sky. He was able to dis- tinguish only a dark form moving rapidly about for a brief time, as if the soul that animated it was undecided what to do, and then a loud whisper, as if one were speaking guardedly in a soliloquy: —~ “Ha! I can escape from the place by means of the old stairway that hangs from the window. Dogs! Zeno Sosia will baffle your pursui| The the indistinct form vanished from Clarence’s view, going, he had no doubt, into the adjoining room. “So,” thought Clarence “that was Zeno Sosia—Ha! what noise was that? A crashing of rotten timbers! In the next room? Let me think; in what part of the old Dun Aengus mansion am I? Ah, a cry for help!” And it was at this moment that the dismal sereech for help, as from a great depth, was heard by Bashfort and the Osreds. Clarence, lying close in his conceal- ment, heard the rush of the quickly approaching footsteps, and soon saw the nearing light shed by the three torches. His blood grew chilly with horror as he heard the shrill and continuous screams for help from the well. “The sorcerer must perish!” he thought,, “unless speedy aid reach him. I remember the well now. Three years ago the flooring was dangerous. It is well for me that I did not seek concealment in that room.” ‘ The Osreds and’ Bashfort passed the doorless doorway of that room in which Clarence was hidden, and en- tered the one which adjoined it, and which could scarcely be truly said to be separated from it, so much destroy- ed was the wall whose relics alone now divided them. The room of the well-shaft was larg- et than the one in which Clarence crouched, and the light of the torches of Bashfort and the two Osreds ena- bled Clarence to see clearly the faces and forms of the three, and ‘much of the interior of the room. He saw that there was a great hole in the center of the floorjng, black and yawning, with the ragged edges of rot- ten planks, which appeared to have been just crushed in, as great splin- ters, dark and moldy, hung down into the gaping darkness below, swinging two and fro as from a recent shock. “Help! in the n&me of God, help!” rose the cries from the depth below, now much fainter than before, and with these cries a sound as if some one were splashing in the water. “Ha! it is as I thought! He is there!” exclaimed Bashfort, as.he and his companions entered this room, and halted not far from the great®ragged for the window there; he ran upon the weak spot over the old shaft; it crushed under his weight and down he went!” “I wonder we did not hear the sound of the boards as they crashed,” re- marked Capt. Osred, upon whose face was some pallor of horror. “Because they are so rotten with damp as to be as spoongy as mush- rooms,” replied Bashfort. “Shall we try to rescue him, my lord?” “Try to rescue him?” repeated Lord Genlis, in fierce scorn, and not at first perceiving the irony of his henchman’s inquiry: “Let me make sure of his death. Since he has strength enough to scream, he may have strength enough to climb out. How deep is the well?” “That I know not, my lord. The dampness and rottenness of the cen- ter of the floor here led me yesterday to suspect that there was a pit of some kind beneath it, for, as you may see, there is no sign of a leak in the ceil- ing just over it. I raised a plank and detected that there was a well shaft below, and here you see the remains of what was a stand for a_ bucket windlass. Sosia must have tripped over this plank and dived, as it Were, headlong through the rotten floor.” “Help! In the name of God and pity, help! A thousand pounds for.a rope!a rope!—anything to cling to! I am drowning!” cried the voice of So- sia far below. “ “T used to say he was born to be hanged or burned,” said Bashfort, grimly. “T would like to look him,” said Lord Genlis. be contrived?” “Very easily, if the foul air below will permit my toreh to burn,’ replied down * upon “How may it Bashfort, as he produced a_ ball of twine from one of his pockets. “And as Sosia can yell so lustily down there, there must be some good air near him.” Bashfort then tied his torch to the twine, and lying prostrate, crawled cautiously to the edge of the broken boards, and then slowly lowered the blazing torch into the shaft. Lord Genlis and his son imitated Bashfort’s posture, and the three were soon gazing downward. The descending torch sank lower and lower, somewhat obscuring the visions of those above it by its vol- umes of resinous smoke, which rolled upward. Still they were able to see some- thing of the interior of the shaft, which for some distance down had been walled around with upright planks, now slimy and decaying with damp and mold. Far down the walls of the shaft were of stone, jaggedly built in a circular shaft. “There he is! I see his eyes!” sud- denly: exclaimed Bashfort, and ceas- ing to lower his torch. “Where!” cried the Osreds, with one voice. “There! torehlight!” The eyes of Sosia were glaring up- ward at *he faces far above him, for he was nearly a hundred feet below them. “Why, the fall shoujd have killed him,” said Lord Genlis. “Doubtless he has as many lives as a cat,” said Capt. Osred. “Aid me speedily, my lord!” cried Sosia, from below, in piercing shrili- ness and in piteous accents. “I am in water up to my neck.” “Ha! is it not deeper than up to your neck, Sosia?” cried Lord Genlis, in a voice of savage malice. “Much deeper, good gentlemen; but I am standing upon a stone which for- tunately juts from the wall a few feet from the surface of the water,” called back Sosia, in shuddering tones. “I am chilled to the marrow! I cannot much longer keep my hold. Help in- stantly or I must drown!” (To Be Continued.) See how they glare in the HAD TO SHOW HIS WHISKERS. Cleveland Man’s Wife Locked Him Out After They Were Shorn. When Herman Flick, a prosperous | grocer at Wilson and Payne avenues, parted with his thirty-five-year-old whiskers the other evening he almost lost his home. Flick lives at 135 Hoadley street, and his family is grown up, for he has seen sixty years. For thirty-five years of his time Flick and his whiskers have never parted. They were proud, breezy, luxuriant whiskers, too, of the Jerry Simpson alfalfa—not the com- mon garden variety. For years the customers of the big grocery knew t¥e proprietor by his whiskers. A few neighbors dared Flick to di- vorce those whiskers. : “You wouldn't dare,” said one. “What do you bet I won't?” said Flick. ; “Well, $10.” “Where's the money?” The cash was made up and the party went over to a barber shop. There were a few snip-snips of the shears, the scraping of a razor, and Ftick’s face was whiskerles®. That night a smooth-faced, young: looking man turned into the ‘yard at 168 Hoadley street and rang the bell. The door opened cautiously and @ woman looked out. “What do you want?” she asked. “7 want to come in.” “Who are you?” “T am Herman me?” Bang went the door, click went the key in the lock. : Flick tried to argue. It was no use. So he ambled back to the barber, gath- ered up the late crop of alfalfa and took it home. Passing it in at the door his wife was convinced and admitted him.—Cleveland Dispatch to Ghicage Inter Ocean. Don’t you know oe dha | HORROR FOR HOSTESS WOMEN, DISTINGUISHED. GUEST DEPART- ED IN A HUFF. Combination of Little Joke and Stupidity of Maid Resulted in Visit Being Cut Very Short—‘Posters” Evidently Displeased Him. “Bishop Maxwell, is it not?” in- quired Mrs. Spaulding, cordially, as her guest came down to breakfast, suit case in hand, says the Youth’s Companion. “I feel that I know you through my son, and I was so glad, when he arranged to have you stay with us on your way through the city. But what does this luggage mean? You're going to stay a day or so?” “No, thank you, Mrs. Spaulding,” returned the bishop. “I must go right on to-day.” “Oh, that makes it doubly unfor- tunate that I had to be away last evening. I hope you found my mes- sage of explanation? The friend I was called to was very ill and I felt sure that you would understand, but the fact that Mr. Spaulding was out of town, too, made me regret going especially. I do hope my maid took eare of you comfortably and that you rested well. I thought you must have been weary when I came in at 10 and found you had retired.” The bishop replied politely, but there was an odd constraint in his manner which lasted until he had bowed himself out of the house after breakfast. “What can be the matter?” puzzled Mrs. Spaulding, as she watched the distinguished gentleman stalking down the street. “Dick was so anx- icus he should like us.” Then a sickening thought struck her and she darted upstairs. It had been Mrs. Spaulding’s cus- tom during the boyhood of her only sop to correct his failings by posting about the house little placards which gently pleaded with him on the error of his ways. A week or two earlier, when Dick was coming home for a college vacation, she had unearthed some of these old signs and, just for a joke, had pinned them up in his room, like old times. They had been taken down later, but she remembered now that after being summoned to the sick friend the morning before she had led her new—and not brilliant— maid to Dick’s door and had said: “I want this room swept and arranged for Bishop Maxwell exactly as we did it for Mr. Dick last week. Do you understand?” : With wings on her feet Mrs. Spaul- ding flew to the room the bishop had occupied, but at the threshold she paused—and gasped. On one of the pillows was a star- ing notice to this effect: ‘Please put your bed airing in the morning!” Over the mirror: “Please don’t spat- ter the glass!” On the window cur- tain: “Please don’t leave your coat on a chair! Hang it up.” ‘Please don’t leave your toothbrush in the bathroom!” “Please turn off the hot- water faucet!” There were at least fifteen of these placards and “Please” underlined three or four times in each, but—hor- ror or horrors!—the largest of all was this, on the inside of the door: “If you take a bath, please wash out the tub; it’s disgraceful not to!” A Meeting. Ah, if I had my will I would arise, Go lift a rusty latch, tap at a pane Wreathed, bowery, starred with glow- worms, this June night, Lean in the Silence, stifled by my sighs, Stretch out my arms and have you fast again, Where’er vou stole from, at the sum- mons light. When, life suspended, sleep upon you lies, Do aa glide, star-like, to that garden old, Its twisted trees and stately terraces! Walk you there, when the moon is in | the skies, In paths where lilies deck the dewy mold, Grown green with May and showered with rose leaves? Hark! sings a bird, darkling in blossomeé y the old wail, dews and beams, From the melodious dusk a slender ‘neath night’s tune. Give to what world you will your waking our, But walk where we loved in your placid dreams, Pass where we kissed, a sweet ghost ‘gainst the moon! —Ethel Louise Cox. Bought a “Whistler” Cheap. A London newspaper says in regard to buying a Whistler for the nation, which will cost a pretty stiff price, there is one Whistler at any rate which cost the owner a mere trifle. This is the portrait of Sir Henry Irv- ing as Philip II. The sitter asked one day, “How much’ would you want for this, Whistler?” and the artist an- swered, “700 guineas.” And the sitter said no more. But two or three months later he strolled into a pic: ture dealer’s and saw protruding from} a heap of things on the floor a pair of legs that seemed familiar. He made the reluctant dealer dig them out, and, sure enough, they were the legs that belonged to him and to Philip Il. And: he bought them’ for £20! But this was nearly thirty years ago.” His Names. “Names are great things among some of my constituents,” said Repre- sentative Mudd of Maryland. “There is an Episcopal preacher who was called on to baptize a child. “what is his name?’ asked the minister of the child’s father. “‘John James George Washington Fitzhugh Lee Blaine Harrison Smith,’ answered the father. The old minis- ter jotted down the names, and then, walking to the baptismal font, a crockery wash basin, said to the jani- tor: ‘Mose, get some more water. ‘There ain’t half enough to baptize this child if we have to take in all AND CONSIDER THE That in addressing Mrs. Pinkham yeu are confiding your private ills to a woman —a woman whose experience with wo- man’s diseases covers a great many years. You can talk freely toa woman when it is revolting to relate your private troubles to a man—besides a man does not under- stand—simply because he is a man. Many women suffer in silence and drift slong’ i from bad to worse, knowing full well that they ought to have immediate assistance, buta natural modesty impels them toshrink from exposing them- selves to the questions and probably examinations of It is unnecessary. Without money or price you can consult a woman whose knowledge from actual experience is great. Mrs. Pinkham’s Standieg Invitation: Women suffering from any form of female weak- ness are invited to promptly communicate with Mrs. Pinkham at Lynn, Mass. All letters are received, opened, read and answered by women only. A woman can freely talk of her private illness to a woman; thus has been established the eternal even their family physician. ALL-IMPORTANT ogee bed Ta confidence between Mrs. Pinkham and the women of America which has never been broken. of the vast volume of experience which she has to draw from, it is more than possible Out that she has gained the very knowledge that will help your case. She asks noth- ingin return except your good-will,and her advice has relieved thousands. Surely any woman, rich or poor, is very foolish if she Offer of assistance. — Lydia KE. Medicine Co., Lynn, Mass. Following we publish two let- ters from a woman who accep- ted this invitation. Note the result. First letter. “ Dear Mrs. Pinkbam:— ‘For eight years I have suffered something terrible every month with my periods. pains are excruciating and I can hardly stand them, My doctor says I have ovarian and wounb trouble, and I must go through an op- eration if I want to get well. Ido not want to submit toit if I can possibly help it. Please tell me what to do. [hope you can relieve me.”-Mrs. Mary Dimmick, 59th and E, Capitol Sts., Benning P.O., Washington,D.C. Second letter. * Dear Mrs. Pinkham:— “ After following carefully your advice, and taking Lydia F. Pinkham’s Vegetable does not take advantage of this generous inkham “ As you know, I wrote you that my doctor said I must have an operation or I could not live. I then wrote you, telling you my ail- ments. I followed your advice and am en- tirely well. I can walk miles without an ache or a pain, and I owe my life to you and to Lydia B. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound. I wisk every suffering woman would read this testimoniat and realize the value of writ- ing to you and your remedy.”—Mrs. Mary Dimmick, 59th and E. Capitol Streets, Ben ning P. O., Washington, D. C. When a medicine has been successful in restoring to health so many women whose testimony is s> unquestionable, you cannot well say, without trying it, “*T do not believe it will help me.” If you are ill, don’t hesitate to get a bot- tle of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound, i am very anxious to send you | Compound atonce, and write Mrs. Pink- my testimonial, that others may know their valueand what you have done for me. ham, Lynn. Mass., for special advice it is free and always helpful, Truths that Strike Home Your grocer is honest and—if he cares to do so—can tell you that he knows very little about the bulk coffee he sells you. How can he know, where it originally came from, how it was blended—or with what —or when roasted? If you buy your coffee loose by the pound, how can you expect purity and uniform quality? LION COFFEE, me teaver oF ALL PACKAGE COFFEES, is of necessity uniform in quality, strength and flavor. For OVER A QUARTER OF A CENTURY, LION COFFEE has been the standard coffee in millions of homes. LION COFFEE 1s caretutly packed at our factories, and until opened in | your home, has no chance of being adul- terated, or of coming in contact with dust, jhis names.’ "—New York World. dirt, germs, or unclean hands. 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