Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, June 30, 1906, Page 2

a A A > >> > > > rte tp te So tr o> o> 3 4 $ CHAPTER XVI. “My Poor Brother.” For there was a constant stream of messages from the lady in the flower- laden carriage to the general’s A. D.C. “Could Capt. Winstanley possibly come just for one moment? She had some- thing most important to ask him.” It proved to be an appeal for a tip to direct a bet for gloves, or a ques; tion that any one else could have an- swered, but he was too courteous to tell her that. He went backward and forward a dozen times, and eventually he stayed. Ursula, casting long glances from the grand stand in the far distance, thought he stayed a very long time indeed. She did not know Countess Ilka ex- cept by sight. Mrs. Shuttelwaite had not shown any desire to call upon the beautiful stranger. She was not a member of a missionary society, and she took no interest in drawing room meetings; that fact was ascertained as soon as she came to the neighborhood. If Countess Ilka had had the least sus- picion that it would have served her purpose better to do both she would have had no hesitation in the matter at all. As it was, she was quite inno- cent of any need to start a collecting card, or to offer her house for ad- dresses, and consequently she remain- ed off the visiting list at Nutwood. Ur- sula met her constantly at balls and in the hunting field, but she had never spoken to her yet. Somehow she had no very ardent desire to know. her. She looked upon her as a very pretty woman, without much other claim to interest. But now she was beginning to take a dawning interest in her eyes as a woman who had enjoyed for most of the day of the hunt races society which she would have given anything to have had for her own. There was a ball that night at Poris- mouth, and Ursula was going to it. Mrs. Shuttelwaite was solicitous about her for fear she should be fired before- hand, and ordered the victoria to be ready at an urduly early hour to take them home. Ursula begged in vain to wait a little longer. She was hoping that if they delayed Capt. Winstanley would be free to come and spend the last of the day by her side. But Mrs. Shuttelwaite was inexorable. She as- sured Ursula that young people never knew what was best for them. “We'll slip away before any one else goes,” she comfortably, “and the road will be clear. If we wait longer there is such a crush, and you ought to rest before you dress and have that long drive.” “I don’t want to rest, indeed, dear Mrs. Shuttelwaite!” ‘My dear, I know what is best for And the tea in the mess tents is cold and weak, or else smoky. I think we've had enough of this, any- how. I don’t mueh approve of race meetings, but the admiral likes to| come.” | And so poor Ursula had to submit to being inserted into the victoria and driven off the field while there were several races still unrun. Winstanl on the course, busy at the farthes ater jump, saw the car- riage jolting over the uneven grass, to reach the gate, and half started to run after it. It seemed to him, too, that they had seen but little of each other all that crowded day. He had counted on seeing her at tea presently—beg- ging a cup from Mrs. Shuttelwaite if they were brewing their own in the earriage—escorting them to tent, if they were going with the rest of the crowd. Now he saw the victoria bear- ing her away from him with some dis- may. He started to pursue, then checked himself. A stern chase is a long chase; she was well on head of him; they would meet at thé ball to- night in any case, and he would make up for it by a monopoly of her dances, with no kindly, blundering Mrs. Shut- telwaite to carry her away. So he went back to his tape and his measuring. and it was not till the last race had been cheered, and the car- riages, their horses restored to them, were turning to make their way out from among the rabble that streamed loose over the field, that he found him- self close to a well-known hat with spring flowers and a musical voice said at his elbow, “Capt. Winstanley, do allow me to offer you a seat back to the town.” Countess Ilka’s landau had checked itself close to him. She was leaning out, with her most bewliching smile. Heaven knows what she had done with the others who had been clinging round her all the afternoon in hopes of guch a favor. She and her elderly chaperon were alone. He smiled back a grateful answer. “Thanks, awfully, but IT have my horse.” He glanced down at his rid- ing things, but she shook her, head in playful mutiny. “What does that mat- ter when I want you?” she said, half under her breath. “If there’s anything I can be of serv- ice in, of course that’s another mat- “That’s just what it is. You van Captain’s Double By LILLIAS CAMPBELL DAVIDSON ; ; «i 4 4 4 4 4 4 4) 4 4 4) @ 4 «! ¢ ‘ 564444 5db5bb5bb555O00b04 help me and I need your help. Do let me drive you back to Portsmouth. I have not. had a chance to speak to you all this day long without other people overhearing. I must get a chance be- fore it is too late.” | A little surprised, but nothing loth, after all, to drive back instead of rid- ing, with the prospect of a hard ball to eng the day, he gave in. He mo- tioned to his groom, “who was bringing up the horse, and said a few words to him; then he opened the door of the carriage and stepped in. They drove on rapidly to try and get out of the ‘row gate before the crush blocked it; but, after all, they had to wait. A mob of wheels filled with gay and hi- lairous people, a crowd of cyclists, a horde of people on foot, strove. to gether for the exit, and it required careful driving to steer among the hubbub. Down the road, where the hedges were showing green and the buds were bursting, cottage children had taken their stand with bunches of wild flow- ers. They were to fling into the car- riage and the pence would be flung by the carriage people in exchange for for them; a little farther on the home- ward way the nosegays would be flung from one carriage to another, and a battle of flowers would begin. Countess Ilka had made her own dainty prepara- tion fay the combat by bringing choice flowers with her in paper horns. She was not content to fling blue-bells and primroses, dusty and drooping and bat- tered by their repeated excursions from carriage to carriage; hers were violets and white lilac, and forced daf- fodils, and the like. Everything about Countess Ilka was dainty and fresh and luxurious. Winstanley thought so now, as he bent forward to listen to her low, clear voice, and caught the faint, sweet breath of that violet per- fume which she always carried with her as a mere suggestion. They were out on the high road now, making their way through the stream of traffic, and people were trying to pass, and greeting the obstruction of their carriage with shouts of merri- ment. All the garrison greeted Capt. Winstanley as it overtook and tried to slip past the landau. Half the male part of it bowed and smiled to Count- ess Ilka. “You want me to do something for you?” It was Winstanley who said it, bending forward to let his words reach. her without becoming a shout. In this whirl of dust and noisé and hilarity there seemed an incongruity in a confi- dence, yet she had said she had some- thing to say that he alone was to hear. “Yes—if I can be sure you will do it!” The appeal, the pathetic question in Countess Ilka’s soft eyes, claimed an answer of reassurance from his. “I don’t know, now that T have made you come, whether I have not been mistaken. I wonder if you will do it for me?” “Surely I needn’t tell you how glad I shall be to do anything in my power? You have only to give me the chance. What is this weighty matter? Do you want tickets for the launch on Mon- day, or has your-house agent been troubling you again?” A flush crossed Countess Ilka’s love- ly face. It was half assumed vexation, half the excitement of her task. She looked down as if disconcerted, and played with the tassel of her silk para- sol. “It is nothing like that,” she said. You make me ashamed to tell you when you think of such silly, trivial things.” “No, tell me; I will do all I possibly ean.” *“You promise? Ah, perhaps I ought not to ask you.” Her voice had sunk till he could barely catch it above the rattle of wheels or the jocular chorus of the subalterns on the coach of the regiment that was stationed at the Victoria barracks. He had to bend his head still nearer to her own. “Ask me what you choose. it if I am able.” “You will? You really will? Ah, then I am secure, for you will never go back from your word. You are an Eng- lishman and a_ gentleman—I know that means the same as if any other man swore it!” The triumph, the ex- I will do ultation in her manner made him look} at her surprised. “T hope a man’s word anywhere is enough,” he said, a little gravely. He was too English ,at any rate, to like effusion unnecessarily. It was a great fuss to make about the merest trifle, but Countess Ilka seemed to find amusement in it. He listened patient- ly to hear what he was expected to do for her. “Well, na haven’t given me my or- ders yet.” She glanced round over her shoulder ith a swift, sharp glance. “No; I did not think we should be driving home with the whole of the town and neighborhood. I can’t tell you here; it is too private; give me a chance to speak to you to-night at the ball.” “The gift will be yours,” said Win- stanley, with easy good nature, if it carries with it a waltz or two. I shall feel I must do any deed of knight er- ranty to deserve such a favor, for I know how much in mee your dances always are.” She murmured something with a draggled | bunch of cowslips against | his cheek, thrown by the unerring hand .of a girl amongst the Idughing group on the R. A. drag, and his hat was driven tskew over one eye. He righted it and returned the missile with cordiality. It was hardly the mo- ment or the place for sentiment. Even Countess Ilka felt ‘that. She drew out one of her nosegays from the back of the carriage and handed it to him with her most charming smile. “Let me arm my knight for the tournament, ix) she said, gracefully. “It is ‘all that a poor lady can do.” All the way along the road to Wa- terlooville, all down the way to Pur- brook ,all over the crest of the Ports- down hills, and on to the red-roofed town below, the flower battle raged. The bouquets grew more and - more dusty and unsavory, more and more battered and disheveled. It was only Countess Ilka’s bouquets that were hailed with admiration and voted too lovely to be thrown again, If she saw Winstanley’s long look down the branch road that led to Nutwood she did not remark it as they whirled past. She was hugging herself in a self-con- | gratulation that believed its way open before it. He had given his word to do flor her what she chose to ask. It was true that he could hay eno con- ception, no dream, what that request was to form itself into. But he had promised. Would an Englishman who prided himself on his honor break his word? “The mist was rising from the half- empty harbor below them, and the dis- tant lights of ‘Portsmouth town were ‘beginning to steal out through the falling of the April evening’s dusk. A sudden peace and calm came settling her, and the other seat at the risposal | down upon them as they left the major part of the‘riotous crowd behind them at the Waterlooville hotel, and spun on over the dust-piled road almost alone. Countess Ilka looked at the profile of the man before her, marked sharply against the pale light in the sky. His eyes were still on those trees above the Nutwood chimneys, and his face was thoughtful and tender. His strong right hand rested on the door close to her knee. Should she slip her own delicate fingers into it, under cover of the carriage rug with its embroidered coronet, or would he be startled—was it too soon? Another glance at his ab- sent look decided her. That must wait for the warmer atmosphere of the bali tonight. Then he would be ready for any silken net she could fling about him; he must lose himself and be en- snared in it, or she had never put to the test her own resistless power. (To Be Continued.) ge CE Sib ee NEVER TOUCHED HIM, Burbank, the Potato Wizard, Escaped the Earthquake, Santa Rosa was in the earthquake region, and Santa Rosa is the place where Luther Buroank has been play- ing the wizard of science with fruits and flowers. It is there that he has been giving the world wonderful ob- ject lessons on the possibilities of melding nature iv the service of man. Therefore it is good news tbat the Burbank home and the Burbank farm escaped the ruin which fell upon many buildings in Santa Rosa. The mar- vels which have been gging on under the eye and touch of this magician will not be interrupted by the con- vulsion of nature which wrecked many fortunes and massive edifices and mocked the hopes and expecta- tions of strong and successful men. Burbank’s experiments have been so brilliantly instructive and the re- sults of his labors have been so won- derful that it is impossible to esti- mate the -value of-the work he has done for his country and the world. It may prove that he has added more to the productiveness of California and the United States than all the en- terprises which were wrecked or erip- pled by the earthquake and the fires which it kindled. a Se, An Excellent Juror. The judge had his patience sorely tried by lawyers who wished to talk and by men who tried to evade jury service . “Shudge!” cried the German: “what is it?” demanded the judge. “T tink I like to go home to my wife,” said the German. “You can’t,” retorted the judge. “Sit down.” . “But, shudge,” persisted the Ger- man, “I don’t tink I make a good shuror.” “You’re the best in the box,” said the judge. “‘Sit down.” “What box?” said the German. “Jury box,” said the judge. “But, shudge,” persisted the little German, “I don’t speak good English.” “You don’t have to speak any at all,” said the judge. “Sit down.” The little German pointed at the lawyers to make his last desperate plea. “Shuige,” he sald, “J don’t make noddings of what these fellers say.” It was the judge’s chance to get even for many annoyances. “Neither can any one else,” he said. “Sit down.” Not for Him. . Druggist—Here is a painkiller that, I put up myself If you use it once you will use no other. Stranger—I'll be glad to recommend it, but none of it for me, thank you. Druggist—Beg pardon, but I ont quite understand what— Stranger (interrupting)—Oh, ald all right. I’m an cea 3 ‘is it? O, I am strong. The One Who Loved a Soldier By EDWIN BALMER (Copyright, by Joseph B. Bowles.) They bundled him into the hospital tent, a mile to the rear of the advance line, where he fell. The field surgeon, who was very busy that day, hastily bandaged the young officer’s face and forenead before turning his patient over to the native attendant. ‘Watch him carefuliy, Noto,” he said, as the Tagal took his master in his arms, “he is de- lirious—er—he is out of his mind. Watch him carefully.” + The doctor turned to attend another case, and the Filipino held his mas- ter gently but firmly down upon ‘the cot. The soldier murmured to himself as he slept, and seemed troubled and uneasy in his mind, so that the serv- ant listened curiously to learn his master’s need. “Aa, he talks of a woman,” the na- tive said, wonderingly to himself, ‘“‘and of one woman, as is the manner of these men. Can a woman of yours come to this place, my master? Lie still; she cannot.” But the wounded man smiled slightly and seemed quite content as he reassured himself again: “She will come. She has promised, and J need her now. She will come.” He knew that she had come as soon as «hey laid him down in the new place which neither jolted nor rolled abour. He could not recognize her voice as she spoke to him, but she caugh: him in her arms and cried with him, as ne had known all along that she would do. “Victor, dear,” she said. ‘‘Vietor,you know me? O, you must know me?” He tried very hard to comprehend, but he could not. Yet he smiled con- tentedly and pressed her hand. “She has come to me. She is here,” he re- peated; and then, as his mind wan- dered: “Victor? She talks of Victor. Who is he?” The surgeon, who, accompanied by the girl, had come from the east to perform the operation in that San Francisco hospital, bent over his pa- tient; but as the sick man murmured on incoherently, the specialist turned to the girl beside him. “Tae organic trouble is relieved, I think,’ he said, and his tone was pro- fessionally even. “That is, I have done LOOKED INTO HER FACK. all that I can. successful—mechanically,” slowiy. “You mean?” . For days and weeks she seldom teft the sick man’s side. “He does not know even me,” she said to the attendant doctor in the hos- pital. Listen. What does hé mean?” “She has come to me,” the sick man repeated over and over again. ‘She had promised: to come, and she \is here. But why does she say She is the other? Why does She say she is Grace? For what is Grace to me, since She is here?” “Again the girl bent over him. “Yes, Victor, dear,” she said. “This is Grace who has come to you. O, don’t you know me?” But again the sick man cried out, impatiently: “She is here. Why does She talk of the other?” They would not allow her to be pres- ent during the second operation. The months of constant watching and nurs- ing had worn upon her, and they thought it better that she should not see the almost inevitable failure of the second. time. . After it was over the surgeot went to the girl’s room. “Ts he—what is it?” she cried. “What I can bear it.” She threw her hands forward be- seecaingly as she spoke, and the sur- geon, realizing that his manner was misunderstood, came forward and took her hands in his own. “Hie will see,” the old doctor said, “and his mind is already cleat. The operation, my dear, has been’ entirely successful—more so than we could possibly have hoped for.” He hesitated awnxwardly, as if in doubt how to proceed, and his ‘tone was not the bearer of good tidings. He looked strangely at the girl before him; ii seemed to surprise him that ‘she had borne the weeks of anxiety with a courage that had only added a sweet ‘earnestness to the beauty of The operation is quite he added, {her face. He drew her toward him, but she, realizing that he was con- cealing: something, held back. “What is it?” she asked. “You must not try to deceive me. now. Aer,” she went on, steadily, “that I Vay, “there is a complication; but not | a8 yor understand it. They will say that I have made the blind to see | again, and that I have resto’ed the mind of the insane—and because I was the machine which did the work, I will have to let them say it. But it will not be true. And so,” he contin- ued, “I have come to say that you are the one who accomplished it all. 1 had given him up; but you did not. With any other surgeon you might still Lave succeeded; but I, without you, would have been helpless.” Again he stopped abruptly, ‘but Miss Sherman made him proceed. “What is it?” she persisted. was not what you came to say.” “No, it was not. That was merely the pleasanter part. The rest—the rest,’ he repeated doubtfully, ‘is “‘hard- er, und I do not know how to say it. But you remember that in his delirium he seemed to think you two women— or at least another woman. He did not connect your name with that other woman; but, nevertheless, he seemed to identify your presence with her. So we thought that perhaps his mem- ory of “you was confused and that you really were the one he kept asking for. But, my dear,” the surgeon went on, hurriedly, and as a man who would finisn an unpleasant task, “he did not know that you were the one who had come, and he was not asking for you. There is another who has taken your place in his thoughts. He thinks only of vat girl, and he supposes that she has been with him all the time. That, I think, is the complication.” “And when you told him it was 1?” “We have not told him yet. He is very weak, and it is better that he should think that the girl he loves and upon whom he depends is the one who has been with him and will econ- tinue to be at his side.” As he finished an attendant hurried nse “If Miss Sherman is ready,” “had you not better bring her Your vatient, sir, is very restle Without waiting for a reply the other hastened away; so the surgeon turned to the girl beside him. “I Lave sent for the other woman,” he continued, as if he had not been 1n- terrupred. “She is Hleanor Clayton, of New York. I believe you know the family. She ‘cannot be here for four days. During that time his eyes will remain bandaged. His recollection will not’ be acute; and as he will not see, he ne2d not know that she is not or has not been here. He depends upon her so much that it would harm him to know the truth. There are only four lays more before Miss Clayton may arrive—and he must not know yet.” He half put his arm about her to support and comfort her in case she should need it; but she shook him off. It was she, not himself, who led the way into the room where the sick man lay. And then, “That he said, in? on the fourth morning, when they unbandaged his eyes and|saLZE Eleanor Clayton arrived from » New York, Miss Sherman broke down com- pletely. For the last few days, only the force of her will had kept up the strength impaired by the weeks of con- stant anxiety. And now, as she real- ized that she was to see him no more, and that he, who owed his mind and sight to her, would not see her, it was more than she could bear. Accord- ingly, she went to her little apartment near the ward where she had watched, and waited for new strength for her solitary journey home. ,Yet, as she approached the hallway, a strange cry stopped her, so that she- stood still and heard all. There had been a confusion of sounds, and voices when the other woman entered, but al- most at once a bewildered cry came from the officer’s lips: “What is it?” he cried, wonderingly. “What is ihe matter? My eyes! My eyes! Yes—Yes. They are all right. I see. I see again. And I see that you are here. You are here, ” he re- peated, and yet there was a strange incredulity in his tone. “But when I did not see you it was so different. I can see you now and know that you are here; but—but when I close my eyes, why, is it that I cannot feel that you are here as before?” He passed nis hand confusedly over his eyes. ‘“‘Yes, I see. I-see. I have regained my sight; but what—what is it that I have lost?” The woman beside him bent nearer. “What is it, my dear? Can 1 do nothing?” Again he passed his nand wearily over his brow. “Why bas my sight changed every- thing?” he demanded, almost fiercely. “Oh, no, no! I didn’t mean that. I am sick, and perhaps | do not know what I say. I see you at last, and know that you are here, ang have been with me through it all. Some day whea IT am stronger, I will know how to thank you. I suppose I am very weak ©and tired, and—and I think—I think —I want to be alone.” He closed his eyes, and sinking back exhausted, he seemed to fall asleep Eleanor Clayton, at a sign from the doctor, quietly withdrew, and for a moment left the slumbering man alone. It was then that Miss Sherman en- tered the room and knelt at the side of the man she loyed. She bent for- ward and kissed the hand which lay beside him; and something more than mere contact must have disturbed his slumbers, for suddenly he awoke. “It’s all right again,” he murmured, “I can feel that you are here again. It is all right.” Then, acs she knelt beside him, he opened his eyes again and looked into her face. He did not seem to under- stand at once; but’ nevertheless he smiled quite happily and contentedly as he put all his strength to draw her to him. “You are She,” he said; une one Baking Powder Is Most Healthful, Wholesome and Ecenomical $1,000.00 given for anything injurious to health found Calumet Baking Powder. Do not be induced to pay 45 or 50 cents @ pound for the Trust baking powders; they leave large quantities of Rochelle Salts in the food. The constant dosing of Rochelle Salts will derange the digestive organs. Your physician will tell you this. Cheap. Wiggs—Do you believe that every man has his price? Waggs — No. Lots of men give themselves away. 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Gras Bulbs, Trees, ete. for fali planting? 1 SEED CO., Box W.K.La Crosse, Wis. Just Like Them All. “Oh, forgive me, Katherine! I for- got all about this being the night your beau is due.” “Don’t speak of him, Mayme. Here it is 8:15. If he doesn’t think enough of me to call on time, he may stay away altogether.” “Gracious; I—” “Oh, I mean it. You shall stay with me: all the evening, and if he comes, remember, I’m not at home.” “Really!” “Eight thirty! The idea! I shall elose the storm door and lower the blinds. I wouldn’t so much as look out if he rings all night, and—” “Oh, there’s the bell—” “The bell! Oh, it’s him. Mayme, you slip out by the back way and call some afternoon. Oh, how grand! To think it is really Jack. Poor fellow! Maybe he was delayed and ran all the way. 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