Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, October 7, 1908, Page 3

CHAPTER XVII. Marion’s Decision. Both Clement and Marion felt much happier after the interview than be- fore. It is true the shadow returned again directly he had taken his de- parture, but she no longer had any misgiving respecting is motives, and she was just a little in danger of mak- ing a hero of him. Out in the far West magnanimity was not a con- spicuous virtue. She had seen a good deal of the other thing. The ugly head of revenge was ccnstantly show- ing itself. Men cherished hate as though it were a precious thing, and hunted down an enemy with the dog- eed patience of a sleuth hound. Hence, considering ker upbringing, her fear of Clement was the most natural thing in the world. ‘He must she said to herself again “As he cannot touch my her he will wreak his vengeance on me. Now that he knows who I am his friendship will ve turned into loatl és hate me But after his visit to Chingford Terrace that fear vanished entirely. No one came to disturb them in the drawing room, and time passed un- heeded. Clement was very careful not to scare his timid bird. He had been too ardent the previous day, and took not to fall into th esame error r made him cautious, and | d his eyes. She encouraged him to talk about | himself ,and he was nothing loath. she understood him better after that conversation than ever before, and she found hersel fadmiring him great- ly. He w very frank and honest. Encoura: by her smile, he opened | his heart more fully than he knew. She saw the clear signts of his ambi- tion ng into the cloudless dome; saw hi: character growing and strengthening by virtue of the efforts he was putting forth; saw vaguely | and far off how the loss of the father might prove the gain of the son. ‘One thing he did not tell her:. how love of her had been the turning point of | his life. The time had not come for end yet he was impatient to speak the words that would seal his fate. She looked very sweet and winning as te him listening to his talk. No lovelier face, he imag- {ned, could be found in all London, and he: e was the index of her real self. full hour the shadow nev- er once came between them, and in at hour their hearts came very to each other. To her his mag- y was wonderful. That he ld want to be her friend after all he and his had suffered through father touched her with a sense of awe. It was like a bene- on to find such a soul of ge7d- in the world. Human nature finer thing than she had been ht to believe. The world here d there seemed to come very near to heaven. On the following afternoon, being Saturday, they met accidentally in the y At least, that was Marion’s Clement kne whetter. At , if they had not met he a have felt sadly out in his cal- ons. She had told him uncon-! ly the previous evening how her y afternoons were chiefly nd he had drawn his plans ac- d his heart good to see her eyes light up wey pleasure when he made He was quite sure at she trusted him, and that a long step in the direction he wanted to go. She was a little bit shy and constrained at the first, but he soon put her at ease. A little experience had made him tactful. They talked generalities at first, but gradually and unconsciously their conversation became more personal. Confidence begets confidence. She told him more about her past life than ever she had done before, and he won- dered greatly that so rough a soil could produce so sweet a flower. On the following evening they met again, and he walked home with her from church. Had she been alone she would have taken a ‘bus, for the dis- tance was very considerable. Being Sunday, all the streets, except the main thoroughfares, were quiet and deserted. He kept very close to her, which she did not resent, and she showed no inclination to hurry. He fell to talking about himself again—his plans and hopes for the fu- ture. Then suddenly he let out all the truth. Whether he was wise or fool- ish, who shall say? He told himself afterwards that he could not help it, that his heart was so full that he could no longer contain himself, and that, since the truth was bound to come out sooner or later, nothing was to be gained by delay. Anyhow, he let “The Shadow Between” —— 2 SILAS K. HOCKING. “My love for you,” he went on, quietly, “has changed the whole cur- rent of my life. It has made a new man of me—I hope a_ better man. Whether you reciprocate it or no, I can never go back again to the old life, and I shall go on loving you for ever and ever.” For awhile there was silence be- tween them. Then she said, in a voice that was only just above a whisper, “I am very sorry.” “Sorry that I love you?” “Yes, very sorry.” “Then you cannot love me in re- turn?” he questioned, after a painful pause. “I fear that has little to do with the matter,” she answered, slowly. “Between us there is a barrier that nothing can surmount.” “What barrier?” “My father’s wrong.” “That is a thing of the past,” he said, hotly. “I have put it out of my life. It must not be allowed to come between us.” “We cannot help ourselves,” she said, impatiently. “God has made us free. We shape our own destiny. We are not cowards, to be ruled by cir- cumstances. We turn circumstances to our own account.” “T like to hear you talk grandly,” she said, with a pathetic smile. “It makes me think you will do great things some day. But, strong as you are, you are not strong enough for this.” “Then you do care for me?” he said, impulsively. “You may think what you like about | that,” she said, in her frank, ingenu- ous way. “It can make no differ- ence.” “You are.mistaken in that,” he urged, eagerly. “If you care for me at all love wil grow, and if you and | | complete must be reciprocated, other- | Wise it is an eagle with a broken I love each other there is no power on earth that can keep us apa She smiled wistfully and shook her head. pleaded. “From the day you passed so suddenly out of our sight my one desire has been to find you, to make myself worthy of you and win you as my wife. Now I have found you, and | my desire has increased a hundred- fold. I tell you I cannot live without you.” “Yes, you can, and you will. And the day will come when you will be thankful that I saved you from your- self.” “Save me from myself?” “Yes. You are not yourself to- night.” “Then I shall never be myself again,” he said, with a hollow laugh. “You think so now. And, believe me, I do not doubt your sincerity for @ moment, and I marvel at your good- ness—your generosity. But some day you will look at things with calmer, more critical eyes.” “I do not want to look at things laughs at criticism.” “That is because it is foolish and | blind. Time removes the scales and | restores the sight; then love does not | laugh—it weeps.” “Oh, Marion! Marion! You break my heart,” he pleaded brokenly. “No, no; I save your heart from being broken in time to come, and save my own heart too. If you were | to yield the impulse of to-day, and I were mean enough to take advantage of your generosity, there would be an awful reckoning of sorrow later on.” “No, no; not sorrow. The harvest of love is joy.” “I have not so read the book of life,” | she answered, slowly. “God meant it to be so, I think, but the perversities |ing at army post exchanges has not of men destroy the purposes of God.” “It is the perversity of a woman in the present case,” he said, bitterly. “Think again,” she replied, in the | same even tone. “So brave and gen- erous are you that you would make me your wife.” “I would indeed,’ he answered, promptly; “to-morrow if that were possible, but as soon as ever 1 could provide you a home.” “You would not take me to Maw- gan Chase?” “I do not want to Nive at Mawgan Chase. I rested there. I want to live here and work and win you.” “Pardon me, but that is not an an- swer to my question,” she said, with a pathetic smile. “You would not take me to your mother?” “Not at’ the*first, perhaps,” he stam: | mered. “Mother is proud and, in some things, unforgiving. But what does that matter? A man does not marry to please his mother.” “Your friends and yelatives would not receive me when they knew.” “They needn’t know,” he - urged, lamely. “That would be impossible. ? “And suppose they didn’t receive you? We should have each other: I should want nothing else if I could win you.” “You know better than that,” she | form and lead to soldiers + answered, with a tired smile. “You | their own citizen’s outfits. Axother}ly fatal course, lasting from a few know you do. Life is not all ro- | difficulty in adopting ciyilivr’s cloth} hours to four or five days—usually out his secret in a few straight and earnest words. At first she seemed too astonished to speak. She contin- ued to walk by his side, but she made bo attempt to lock at him. DEFECTIVE PAGE mance.” Rig ty thing.” — a ruptly and held out her | “We will say good-bye here,” she said, quietly. love you.” “You have honored me greatly,” she answered, “and I am grateful, and I ‘shall never cease to be grateful as long as I live.” “{ don’t want your gratitude,” he interrupted; “it is your love I want.” “If I cared for you as you say you care for me, I could give no other answer,” she replied. “Do you think I would place myself in a position to be snubbed. and scorned by your rela- tives and looked down upon by your friends? I may be the child of a gambler, but I have, I trust, some self- respect. I would rather die in a gar- ret than suffer the insults such a po- sition would bring me.” “No one should insult you in my presence,” he faltered. “Please let us say No more,” she re- plied. “I respect you too much—aye, care for you too much to drag you down with the weight of my father’s sin. It is unfortunate we met; now let us go our separate ways and for- get each other.” “You may forget,” he said, bitterly, “for these things touch women light- ly, but men are made of different stuff. We do not love and forget in a day.” She raised her eyes to his face for a moment, but she did not reply. Her own face was very pale, and her lips trembled slightly. “And is this the end?” he questioned at length. “It is the end,” she answered. So they parted, and neither of them gave a backward glance. He journeyed homeward through the quiet streets, lost to everything but the sense of his own bitter pain. The very hopelessness of his love seemed | to increase it a hundredfold. For the moment all the interest was taken out of life. What was the use of toiling and striving and saving? The one thing he desired above all other things and without which everything else was of no account, was denied him. It was sweet to love, no doubt, and there was a sense in which love was | its own reward. He knew he could never be again what he had been be- fore Marion crossed his path. His love for her had changed him, great- ened him, and broadened his whole outlook upon life. But love to be wing that flutters downward when it | longs to soar. “Why should we be kept apart?” he | He sank into his chair when he |reached his lodgings with a long- drawn sigh. He felt weak and tired, | like one who had reached the end of a long journey, and found only sand where he had expected streams of water. There was no bitterness in his heart, as when Edith Tremayne transferred her affections to another man. The two experiences were not to be com- | pard, any more than the two women | were to be compared. Bitter as was ; the pain in his heart, he reverenced | Marion all the more for her decision. | He made an honest effort to put him- | self in her place. Perhaps if she loved | him as he loved her she would have | risked everything, but since her re- | gard for him was only that of a friend, 'he could not "be surprised at her de- | cision. His landlady brought him his usual | Supper of cocoa and bread and butter. | He drank the cocoa, but th with critical eyes,” he urged; “love | Ds uate peend and butter he did not touch. “T shall get over it in time, I sup- pose,” he said to himsef, grimly, and he turned out the light and went off to bed. “I’m glad to-morrow is Monday,” he reflected. “Work is a good antidote for most ills, and to-morrow I shall have plenty to do.” He slept heavily moat morning, but was not very much refreshed. (To Be Continued.} ° “HAND-ME-DOWNS. Uncle Sam May Not Go Into the Clothing Business. The proposition to sell civilan cloth- met with entire success. In the first place there has been some protest on the part of clothing dealers who are in business in towns adjacent to army posts against the sale by the govern- | ment of clothing. It is asserted that | this is going into a line of business which is not at all contemplated by the originators of the post exchange. The military authorities do not see ‘that there is any distinction to be made between clothing and the arti- cles which have all along been sold at post exchanges. The sales are made at little profit, with the idea that such profit will be divided among the | patrons of the post exchange on a co- operative principle. The profit goes to-improve the surroundings of the soldiers and to purchase extras and other forms of comfort end means of | diversion. The diffic \ selling civilian clot: not possible to have much of a yaric:y or to keep’ on hang a large stock of different sizes. The iden was to have the c handy vlen inom were discharged that they might » rchase ing/to wear good. be sides the uniform. it is thougur that this and so have sc when they left the pos it might also serve to protec! .be ani ing as an article for sale ‘A FATAL DISEASE OF HORS Probable Causes of the Malady and Its Symptoms—By H. J. Milks, D. V. M., Louisiana. “And you have no word of hope for me?” he questioned. “Think how I Cerebro-spinal meningitis in horses (s also known as staggers, blind stag- gers, sleepy staggers, bottom sickness, ete., and scarcely any section of the country has escaped the ravages of the disease at some time or other. Numerous theories have been ad- vanced as to the cause of this disease. ft has been attributed to grazing upon low, marshy places, hence the name bottom sickness. The cause also has been laid to moldy corn or fodder, poisonous plants, exposure to sun, im- pure water, etc. Mayo, reporting a very similar disease, concludes it to be due to a fungus, Aspergillus glaucus. The spores enter the circulation, find lodgment in the organs and set up in- flammatory conditions. symptoms were due to an abscess of the brain. He has also recovered the above fungus from the different or- The mortality was 90 per cent. or more. Treatment availed little, unless started im the first few hours of the disease, and even then progneaia was Although ‘the exact cause of menin- gitis in horses and mules has never, satisfactorily demon- country or as yet, been strated, either in abroad, it has been the opinion of Dr. W. H. Dalrymple of the Louisiana sta- tion, who has experienced several pre- vious outbreaks in that state, ing both the months, that the cause was, in some way, associated with the condition of the feeding materials—either grass or cured products, such as corn, ete.— brought about by the attack of molds ; and that when a complete dur- summer The cerebral Chester of the Delaware station has carried on a series of feeding experi- Brain of horse. Note the injection of the blood vessels. Kidney of horse showing degeneration of the tubules. The tubules to the right and in the center show the condition to be especially good. change to food that was absolutely the disease. was either. checked, or disappeared en- ments with negative results. even point out the infectious nature of | sound was made, . In the mild cases we got dullness, stupor, weakness, hanging of the head, paresis or slight loss of control over ‘one or more limbs, a slight rise in temperature, 102 to 103 degrees Fahr- enheit, often difficulty in swallowing. The visible mucosae were congested and brownish yellow. cases the weakness never became so great that the animal could not stand and usually it was able to take some nourishment and water. The more severe cases were mani- fested by the same general symptoms, often, however, the respirations were much increased and labored. severe cases the animals usually re- fused food, but often showed a desire for water, although unable to drink. The digestive tract was almost com- pletely paralyzed. Purgatives seemed to do little good, no matter what the The hypodermic use of eserine or arecolene did not produce purga- tion, but did exhibit other physiolog- ical phenomena. The disease generally runs a rapid- This, also, would seem to have been Consequently, until the exact nature of the agent producing meningitis, as well as a possible remedy, has been discovered, we would urgently recom- mend to stock owners, that, as soon as they observe the first symptoms of “staggers,” they at once make a change from feeding materials that are at all suspicious, to those that are perfectly sound. matter of prevention at all times, that; they do not supply to their animals, or permit them to consume, food of any kind that is not absolutely sound and free from molds or fungi. In these mild y, however, in Feed Light.—Very little should be fed to brood sows, as it makes them too fat. They should be given plenty of thin slop in which there is always valuable nutriment. Cause of Sickness.—Much sickness among hogs is due to uncertain quar.{ thet there is only one admiral and ters, wet pens and exposure. essing the post} not more than three or four “Without romance it is a sorry, | exchange was that it required an od-|The time given by some authorities, : dition to the amount of erdit io bel eight» to twelve days. is entirely too And then “silence fell for several Soasapleng ee imate chase such clothing. i Provide Clean Water.—Keep plenty of clean water within reach of your). eet cases SP TIE: Moga jst all-time. 3s ‘ “OLD COACHES TO GO. _ Motor Cars to Supplant “Herdic” In Washington. A curious public vehicle that rung along the streets of Washington is doomed to extinction. Congress, at the last session, provided that within a@ year the company operating these In those cases that survived, the dis- | Coaches must operate motor cars. ease attacked slowly, the animal usu ally taking some nourishment and showed all the symptoms of a mild at- In Washington, this form of ’bus is called a “herdic,” so called after Peter Herdic, its inventor. In the early ’80s herdic Mnes were put in opera- tion on Pennsylvania avenue and oth- One of the Old Coaches. er important streets in opposition to the horse car lines. They were well patronized, but after several years their service grew poorer and the street car lines changed their power from horse to cable and later to the underground electric system. The her- dic ceased to run on streets served by the ordinary traction lines, but survives on several of the principal residence streets. These coaches run jon a regular (or irregular) schedule, | and the fare, five cents, is deposited | by the passenger in a box at the front of the coach after the manner of the ancient bobtail car. Still Being Built in Washington. An illicit still, one the collector of internal revenue does not know any- | thing about, is being built within the traditional stone’s throw of the bu- |reau of engraving and printing in Washington. That is the place where all the stamps supposed to be put upon alcoholic liquor packages are engraved and printed. This distillery is being built around a very high tele- phone pole. It will shortly be one of the most perfectly appointed distil- leries in the country. Dr. Harvey W. Wiley, chief of the bureau of chemis- try of the department of agriculture, is superintendent of the construction of it, and when the fires are started and the properly prepared mash be- gins bubbling the pure food expert will begin making high class stuff. First, he is going to use watermelon rinds, sweet corncobs, and other things the like of which are thrown into the garbage on the farms of the country. He is going to convert the sugar in these waste products into al- cohol, which in turn will be denatured | so as to make it unfit for use as a | beverage. His primary object is to show how the farmer, by using garbage, can pro- vide fuel for running the farm engine —one of the internal explosion kind. Congress passed the denatured alcohol bill two years ago, but as yet the farm- ers are not taking much interest in their privilege. Dr. Wiley intends to show them a few things. Tots Made Criminal by Law. The enforcement of the new child labor law is credited with responsi- bility for the juvenile crime wave now | sweeping over Washington. Therecords | at the House of Detention, where the boy lawbreakers are sent pending trial, show that juvenile crime in one week imcreased more than 100 per cent. over the preceding week, or 75, as against 36 for the preceding week, and 32 for the week preceding that. It | is asserted that the increase in juve- | nile crime is due to the large number of boys rendered idle by the operation of the new law. It is stated officially that about 500 boys have been denied permits to work, to which must be added a larger number who have been deterred from working by their dread of the red tape ; connected with the enforcement of the law and the trouble necessary to se cure permits. House of Detention officials say it may be that matters will adjust them- selves later, after the law has had ‘ime to get in good working order. Names Don’t Count. Surnames count no longer on the visiting cards of official Washington. The job’s the whole thing. Any one must have the real thing in jobs be- fore he can break into the smart set. Just where the idea sprang from no ‘one seems to know. Its development ‘was mushroomlike. In a day, almost, the fad was on. Uncle Joe Cannon was one of its first devotees. His card would make his constituents rub their eyes in amazement. It reads simply: “The Speaker.” Admiral Dewey does not have his name on his card, either. It reads simply, in large, flowing script: “The Admiral of the Navy.” This means - only one navy. It’s a little hard on the senators; re are sO many of them the plan not work. Instead the senator ‘covers himself with real distinction by leaving off his official station and ‘simply printing it so: “Mr, Foraker." é 3