Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, June 22, 1902, Page 16

EES 220 22 0 e o W I T arbara of Oflerton. By MAX PEMBERTON. SO Oy (Copyright, 1991, by Max Pemberton.) (There is nothing so quick to raise the hopes and fears of men—ay, and of women too—as a city's lights secn a little while | after the hour of sunset upon a winter's ::;‘ o ‘more. dlsturd his serenity.—Old | Chronicle.) In the beginning of the year 1564, toward the close of A winter's day, a little com- pany of travelers rode into London by the great highway from York, and belag come to the common at Finchley, such of the| wayfarers as knew the place looked joy- ously for the eity’s lights and for that warm welcome which the inns at Charing ‘would vouch them. There were forty | of the company, says thé record, both men and women, of the poorer sort and quality, | and while you might have seen archers | from the forest by Sherwood, priests from | the Abbey, which the great Henry's relgn | Bad closed, and even merchants from the | porthern towns, joined for security to the bowman's troop, nevertheless the gossips by the wayside pointed first to the figure of Lady Barbara of Ollerton, and of Roy, her husband, and asked by what means such folks had happened upon such a ven- ture. Which curfosity had reason both in the appearance of the travelers and in the friendships which the road found for them. Dressed beyond the ordinary in a tunie of Lincoln green, and fine boots of leather, his cape heavily embroidered with fur, his ‘spurs of gold, he whom they named the “outlaw” rode with that good assurance which spoke of mastership and of author- ity, and while all obeyed him readily, and even the priests did not dispute his ruling, & word, it may be, of his story dropped bere and there at an inn door won some sympathy for his emprise, and not a little doubt of its accomplishment. Long a fugi- tive, this man who rode so bravely had won the allegiance of Sherwood as none sipce Robin and his followers. His mar- a story from the 0 London to crave ' the gossips added; to whom the knowing ones made answer: “Let him keep a good horse to bring him out again, for, uredly, he shall have nbed of him, and of one for my lady, who s mot of the faith.” This was thelr word as the cavaleads passed on M the twilight, and one by one . the strange figures disappeared from their view; a word of admiration for the woman's face and of pity for the man who would befriend her. In London, they foretold, there would be many to question Barbara of Ollerton; many to ask the strange tory of him who now rode so antly Deside her. For those were the beginningy of the terrible days when the shadow of the Spaniard loomed already above the city: #nd men remembered in whispers that the priests were in and the devil was out, and that it would be a sorry hour for England when Phillp came from Spain and won the kingdom™ for his dowry. In all of which they but echoed the gossip of.London city ~—as good neighbors oftentimes regaled by & passing tra r who drew rein to feed their wonder. Now, Roy of Calverton had been for many & year In Bherwood Forest, and knew little of the queen's will, of those swift events ‘which befell upon her accession. t upon & purpose, and sure of his contention, he carried a great hope to the city, and spoke my lady at his side as one k of her good cour and that abiding faith which first had won her love. Many times as they approached the outskirts he would bid her be of good cheor, and reminded her of the pleasant hours which London could not fall to give them. Nor would he hear ‘a protest of doubt, or consent at any time to abate t expectancy which had led him from his stronghold in the north, ‘'We shall lle the night at Cbaring, but tomorrow to the house of my Lord of Teunton,” he sald, when Finchley was passed, and the silent countryside encour- #ged them to confidence. I would not go in tonight, dear heart, for that would be to knock thrice upon their gate, and he who knocks thrice may lack the welcome he looks for. Nevertheless, my lord has promised us shelter, and I that It will be no lttle wecurity to enjoy the protection of such a house. Let us not forget that We are as those who go to cast all upon a single throw, and if it befall that God 18 not with us in the venture, then have we naught but our own courage and great lovp for consolation. Yet, of that I will mot think, for my hand is set to the plow, and, God willing, 1 will pever look back. Nay, let us carry a brave resolution, for llx:lano will befriend us in London city." answered him as bhe would have ‘wished, for the record that there was no braver heart in England that night than Barbare of Ollerton, the outlaw's wife. “Your road is my road, dear husband, to the darkness or the sunshine; I care not If you be with me. Yet I would not hide it that we have meed of our courage and of ‘.'u friendship we can find in London city. 1 1 g0 think kindly of my home it is because ta & house of strangers who knew not my father's name and who may hear mine With no pleasure of the history. Do not fec- Nay, I go to London as ome who #ays ‘tomorrow It will be homeward Ww- A little wistfully, as one weary, hance, and lacking something of the of it, now that it drew near to mc- oemplishment. But & month ago she had | justice and will lend a ready ear to those | pame may well be written there. But I go | been the mistress of a fair estate, winalog y the obedience of a loving peop! with & gentle hand that fair domain, which Bernard, her father, had left to her. pow she was a wife and had lald her at the feet of this man whom world called “outlaw"” and “‘exile.” The dominion she had clalmed threatened ven the life of him her affections was her sway; she had glv , men sald. In London alone was to be wou, the kingdom to be found l None knew the hasard them all or give them nothing. That Bad been his determination from the out- sot. 3 “Homeward: agaln, God grant it!" he re- torted, as be pressed his horse close to hers and covered her outstretched band with his Jeather gauntlet. “Homeward agaln, when the work is done and the clouds are lifted. were the that which I shall demand of them, never- theless they will pay it when my story Is told. Ay, fear nothing. A house for a us owned no king but Roy of Calverton, nor any right but the good service they' to him. In Loodon eity it shall not e different. The friendship of the foresc us, dear wife. Acoount it mo Mt- #ince it bas given me my right o encourage her yet more, the WOy says, e began 1o reaew the jest of »e T e iarmin WM P b it, winning laughter of the group and a pew promise of their fdelity, and, there- from, he passed to a new avowal of his intention. Tomorrow, very early In the | morning, they would ride to the house of | my lord of Taunton and there claim of the janitor that hospitality which had been offered to them. And, being established in the house, it would remain to seek audi- ence of the queen and to plead their cause before her. “They say that she hath a right sense of thet come obediently. The jails are already open to such as treason did not charge, and | It there be a pardon, as I am told, my to ber with other claims, dear wife, and they shall make good what is lacking in the law. She hath need of such service &s | 1 and mine can give this day. Nay, if the truth of it be as I think, her own case is no less perflous than ours. Let us press on, then, with guod hearts. Yonder are ths lights and beyond them lles London town." They had passed the hills about Finchley by this time and traversing the dangerous bad been seen at Queen Mary's court, the sews of it was carried quickly to my lord of Norfolk and afterward to Gardiner, the chancellor. A messenger from the north upon Affair of urgency; one that has been thirty hours In the saddle that her majesty may bave his tidings.” Now, many messengers had ridden in from the northern eountles during the first year of Mary's reign, and rare was the day when some news of the doubtful country @id not come to the chancellor's ears to play upon his appreheneions or to awake his fears, but of late report had lulled him to some security and he had begun to think of an affair more pressing than that of the spiremen and thelr complaints. For which reason one messenger the more gave him but little concern and, being umaware of any business which rightly might be named “urgent,” he sent a page to the door to bid the Northman wait until such time as curiosity might conveniently be grateful 8o behold Roy of Calverton in an ants room of the palace, looking patiently for the good hour when he must seek his pardon and declare the price of it. Many yea | had passed since last be set foot in London ecity. The glamour of pageantry amd all the splendor of dress about him seemed as & picture of the past which he thought to have forgotten. In the old days, when, as Count of Brives, his father bad presented him at the French king's court, he had known, perchance, a scene more splendid, a life as full of joyance and display as any which London could show him, but long THE OMAHA DAILY BEE: SUNDAY, JUNE o9, |1 mccount it an honor that my name is | known to you. Yet, my lord, it,ls of others and not of myself that I come here to | speak.’ | The bishop, still leaning back in his chair |and pressing his finger tips together, took | up the point adroitly | “Wisdom, Master Roy—Indeed, 1 percelve you to be wise; for, let a little of your story be known, and her majesty's judges | may wish to hear both preface and con- | elusion.” | He observed the outlaw closely, meaning |to hint at a threat, yet not to press it | unless the need arose. But Roy took up | the words and bluntly, as his fashion was, be grappled with the challenge. “Let them hear it when and where they | please, my lord. Am I not come to London | for that? Let them say that I am Roy of | Calverton, outlaw since Henry's reign, the servant of the forest, the master of the archers; ten years called ‘King of Calver- ton' by them that love me. Let them say that I am he who played the jest, riding to save Barbara of Ollerton from my lord of Stowe, who would have compelled her to the altar. Let them say that I killed my lord In falr fight and am ready now to answer to those who have his honor in their keeping. Let them say that I have | & matter where no other may help her. | Ha! my lord, will your judges listen to | that? The wolf is at the cloister gate, as you say, but those within would be wise to open. 1 speak an enigma; be it yours to read the riddle aright. | ridden now to London to serve my queen, in | answer for her majesty. Let me hear of your tidings and I will answer you upon the Instant at what price they are to be valued. Are we not as two that barter, while one has not eeen the merchandise | which the other would sell?" Now Roy perceived the intent of it and nimbly turning the words he yet replied in all honesty “Ye have not seen the merchandise, truly —nor I the money. As you are plain, so will 1 be plain, my lord. Set your name to the bond I seek and I will change with you the promise of Roy of Calverton that never yet was broken. Nay, more, I will tell you of men in arms across the border, of a company of brawlers that shall ride up from the south presently to cry a name | which is not of the queen we serve: and of a standard lifted in the midlands agalnst this Spanish marriage you wot of. I will speak, my lord, of men and tidings which, and you hearken not, may bring an- other chancellor within the month, who will not ask the faith of Barbara of Oller- ton, nor say that she is wise to quit the efty. 1s It a bond, my lerd? Doth thie matter concern you? AR, surely, the mer- chandlise s well if, for lack of it, you find | yourselt a beggar!” | He spoke with much exultation, says the record, wearing that air of kingship he had won of the forest. No judge or prison | in all the kingdom had affrighted Roy of Calverton that day. Even the chancellor began to see with how strange a suppliant | he must deal. Nevertheless he remained | the master of soft speech, the pleasant, | smiling ecclectastic. ay, | [you. | the wine: d the table well | kept. But 1 care for none of these things, | nor would 1 concern myselt with earthly | subtleties. Assuredly, my child, we are as | the sparks which fiy upward—a little while ‘In brightness and then but ashes! Now, my Lady Barbara's laughter an- ewered this very doleful fellow with a | philosophy very strange to him. | “These things may be nothing to you, | abbot,” she said, “but I am no spark which | fileth upward, nor will I seek the heavens | when those dear to me are still the children of the earth. Is it aught to me that the | wines are of France and the table well kept when he that 1 love will imperil his lite for | the sake of that affection he bears to me? Nay, all my heaven is at the palace this {hour. What philosophy can speak for & | young girl's heart? Indeed, you show me a | withered parchment while I would cry for | roses, to wear them on my heart until | love shall pluck them thence again. She spoke with a courage which surprised him, for he, dolorous always, could but [ shake bis head upon this madness of her Tovi “Nay,” he said, ““where shall one pluck roses in the winter of the year? You speak of things but little known to me, daughter. | 1t your hueband, Indeed, be gone to the paiace to seek a favor, I wonder mot at your impatience. I will not counsel hope, for what right have I? So the gods jest with us. We live in dangerous times, when he who prayed yesterday shall himself be prayed for tomorrow.” . He went on, in ghostly word, to tell her common In all security (they being forty in company and armed, moreover, as few that rode abroad in those days) they came now to that stretch of heathland which borders upon the northward heights of the city, and thence, looking down through a break in the woods, they beheld many lanterns clustered together and above th a loom of erimson in the sky, as & red star shining above the city of their desire. And it was here, while still speaking of their intention, that they overtook others upon the road, and so en- countered as sorrowful a spectacle as any | which the journey had given them. For hereby an old man, seated upon & gray horse, was being carried by the sheriff's men to judgment; and asking of what cir- cumstance he was, the men answered that it was M r Latimer, the bishop of Wor- cester, being taken to his trial upon a charge of heresy. Now, those in the morth had heard but little at that time of any being accused for the faith's sake, nor was it known to them that Parliament d made new the | forgotten statutes of heresy which were of Henry's reign. The new queen, men said, would practice her own faith, and leave all men to theirs; in which bellef Roy of | Calverton, caring as little for pope as for devil, set out with confidence to m ck the fears of those who roed him. ut now, when he rode at t good bishop's side, he remembered the friendly words, and began to ask the old man, very cur- fously, as to that which wi charged agalnst him. Upon which Master Latimer, professing that he knew not, if so be that the faith of Christ were not a felony, went London when he might ride out of it. “We g0 to & place of danger, sirs, and God knows what of his justice shall be our portion hereafter. It may be that this England of ours must sorely need those who know best how to befriend her. I speak as it s given to me. The time Is passed when any servant of the Lord and M may hold his place or cloak that which Is entrusted to hi He went on to tell them how that Parlia- ment had recalled the statutes, and how a prying spirit was abroad, each man asking of his nelghbor, not of his love or charity, but of his massing, and of what he sald and did company of the priests, Yet 80 gentle was his word and so readily they found a fathership of his counsels, that even his guards gave a willing ear and bade him not to be silent “Be of good faith, for in that shall your Justification be, masters. Let mo man compel your ‘aye’ when the book writ- i ‘nay.’ And for me grieve not at all, for I hear my Master's voice, d how sball I turn back when He Is calling me They answered him, “God guard thee, Master Latimer, and bring thee to thy home again;” and be, In turn, gave them blessing; while for Roy of Calverton and Lady Barbara, his wife, he added a word of prophecy, saying that he would sooner hear of any other road than the one which c: ried them to Lendon city. “A place of peril, sir—I would even one should say to you, ‘turn back, seek your home agaln,’ evi warned in the stons. speak in ignorance, which ye may pot ac- count goed friendship.” He looked at my lady. the record says, and, observing her youth and prettin and the fear which possessed her, he bade her be of good cheer, and the city's lights, now shining very clearly in the vale below them, all erled, “London, London.” and the horses pressed on with lighter step as though yonder was the goa! of their desire. CHAPTER I1. These canlle, Flatter and swear, deprave, inform, Sintle and betray. ~Ben Jonsoa. At 9 o'clock on the following morning Roy of Calverten, bearing a letter from my Jord of Taunton, came to the palace at St. years in Bherwood Forest, the dominion of wood and thicket, the silence of the groves had blotted the picture out, so that now, when it came again, it was as a thing un- real, a puppet show into whose spirit he could not enter. ' A sturdy northman, the friend of liberty, blunt of speech, self-ap- pointed guardian of the forest's justice, he beheld this group of priests and esquires, of jesting women and self-seeking men, with that contempt of es! and authority which the forest fastn had so truly taught him. And he, in turn, was observed by them as closely, pointed out as a rare fig- ure for their gossip, remembered as Roy, the outlaw, estemed not a little for the cour- age which carried him to that place. A king of men in stature, his long hair fa ing upon a cloak of Lincoln green, his vel- vet cap tossed negligently to the seat be- hind him, his high boots of leather—a jest upon fashion—his spurs of gold (for these such a man had not escaped remark wherever circumstances bad placed bim. And of his story, not a little was known even at the palace of St. James. He had ruled Sherwood as an outlaw, yet had ruled it with a roval justice, men sald. Never had the poor and needy sought him in vall Do abbey gate there was which did not open at his knock; mo priest who did met welcome him with blessings. And now he had come to London to crave that he might win pardon in those days of amnesty. Men wondered at such temerity; the women, in their hearts, wished him “Godspeed.” He had been promised audience, but a full hour passed before aoy word was sent to him or the chancellor so much as remem- ered his request. Once, indeed, he heard & great stir In the courtyard of the palace, and, looking from the window, he perceived a company of gentlemen upon horseback, and in the midst of them the queen her- self, dressed very somberly In black and wearing that grave countenance of which report had spoken with no kindness. But the cavalcade passed out with little ob- servation and no welcome of the people at the gate and thereafter another hour passed before Roy was summoned. When at last ed with & word of ralllery which cloaked bis fu- patience: “Let not my lord so much as miss & Patérnoster when the safety of this kingdom hangs upon that which I shall say to him. Nay, sirs, I bad rather wait some days yet It my lord's devotions be hindered by my coming!" They heard with astonishment, were bold enough to mock the chi publicly, but iioy of Calverton wi bold in jest, and, knowing not what to say to him, they led him to the audience and promised him & gibbet for his recompense. My lord of Winchester, but recently made lord high chancellor of England, has been shrewdly judged by many that came after him, but those of his own time bad ye! hear his name with other feelings tHan those of some admiration for a szealous wervant of the faith and for one who had paid for his fidelity by long years of dour imprisonment during Edward's reign. As Roy of Caiverton found him upen that morning of January, in a little library ad- queen’s apartment, he was & man of thoughtful m well filling the capacious chair in which he sat; one, more- o who had mo little subtlety of grace and conversation for those he fa- vored. Schooled since his youth to be & judge of men, he sat for some while cast- ing & close glance at the suppliant who now clalmed right of audlience, when he bad eatisfied himself that it was an honest face he put down the pen with which he had been toying and leaned back in his chair, that he might listen patiently. “You come upon a matter of urgemcy,” James, where the court was then kept, and, disdalving py parley with the ushers, he demanded audlence of majesty. To such as challenged Bhim at the gate and afterward in the ante-rooms be let it be known that the matter was of grave urgency, apd bis manner belng Dot a little sutboritative and bis dress such as rarely B T ——— be said slowly, “and you are Roy, the out- law of Calverton. A strange purpose, sir, that brings the wolf to the clolster gate. Roy eeated himself at the table, so close to the chancellor that he could have put & band upon him, apd asswered with such readiness. “Roy of Calverton, as your lordship says. 1 S S SN B 0w g Now, Gardiner, the chancellor, was ac- customed to desl with divers orders of men —with sycophants and dissemblers, and those that spoke the homeyed word or sought, in the garb of candor, to cloak thelr disloyalties. But such a man as Roy of Calverton he had never met before. “Hath the wolf, then, lost his teeth, that ‘the brethren shall fondle him?" he asked, a smile upon his puckered face. ‘‘Nay, if I am to read the riddle aright, be it yours to help me, Master Roy. And first of the queen's busine 1 were no true servant of her majesty to be deaf to that. Speak and you shall find a ready listener, I promise you." Roy drew his chair close to my lord's |were my lady's gifts to him), assuredly |table, and, taking In his hand a sheet of paper that lay thereon, he, to the chan- cellor's great surprise, set down as though walting for the other to write. “My lord," he sald, “you bid me be frank with you, and I make haste to comply. Pledge me there security for my wite's es- tate and for myself a pardon and I will speak with all my heart. s It was a bold offer of a compact and in that sense my lord was quick to be sus- of it. he exclaimed, “this king of Cal- verton dictates, then, to his unwilling sub- Jects!™ 'Not so, my lord, but & faithful sub- ject he offers them yeoman service. “Upon a matter wherein they are ig- norant— “But wherein they may be enlightened betore the hour has passed—' “Having security of an outlaw’'s word?" “‘Of the word of a man who never yet lled, my lord.” “Yet who is afrald to speak the truth. Come, what security have 17" ““The bomor of a man who will answer for that honor to any in England. Write me the pardon and I will save Queen Mary's throne this day. Write it not, my lord, the month shall find you old in re- & I speak an enlgma; God grant tl others may not answer the riddle for me He spoke with an unwonted earnestness, putting off for the nonce that air of se- curity and command so habitual te him. {And my lord, who was quick to judge men, said In his heart, “This fellow comes with great tidings. Nevertheless, the manner of it was so strange, the threads were so many, that he must cloak his impatien: And 50 he fell to the subtler mood again. ““They say that Barbara of Ollerton is not of e faith,” he hasarded, looking the other full in the face. ‘‘Does she ride into London, then, at such & time “My lord, & woman is of her husband's faith; if not, then hath she no faith at all! ellor sighed. “And belng of her husband's faith is not peril?" woman in this kingdom to- or chancel- The chancellor laughed at the taunt. The oddness of it pleased him, they say. “By the word of Christ,” he ¢xclaimed, “I do belleve you truly!" “Aud belleving will write as I wish." He asked it very earnestly, but my lord, fencing with him still, took up his pem and very deliberately began to make a new polnt upon it “Master Roy,” eaid he at last, “I will be very plaln with you. The death of the lord of Stowe and that which you did in made known to us by m terday. Imagine, then, what little hope I had of seeing in London this day the man against whom such things are charged. Still less was it in my thoughts that he might come with promises d threats, as one who is the master of I should be no true friend of 1 hide it from you that you are in some danger here or if I forbear to say that the mistress of Ollerton had been wiser to avold the city. But you are here, and you seok & compact, and I must . “HATH THE QUEEN THEN NO WAY OF MAKING THE UNWILLING SPEAK?" od's word, an odd st he exclaimed. “Aye, 50 odd that the queen must hear it this very morning. Surely you will speak of this matter to the queen, friend Roy touched the paper with his hand. “The pledge, my lord—when the pledge be written—" * But the chancellor thrust the paper from him. “Not 80, he cried, “bond or mo bond, this story shall be told!" And then, leaning across the table and speaking with finger outstretched, he said: ‘‘Hath the queen, then, no way of making the unwilling speak He had meant to say “the torture shall compel,” but the outlaw's merry humor was a blow upon his conceit. “The very words, my lord, once spoken by the sheriff of Nottingham. ‘By my beard,’ was his oath, ‘this king of Calverton shall hang at Robin's Oak!" The sun had not set ere he lacked a beard to swear by!" He laughed at the remembrance, and my lord, belng won by the jest, must laugh, 100, deepite his dignity. ‘‘Nay, God be thanked, I have no beard that you shall treat me so, friend Roy. These plainly be tidings which must come to her majesty's ears without de! I go to her upon the instant. Perchance I may find her willing to write the pardon of | him that was to hang at Robin's Oak." He called to one of his pages and thus would intimate that thelr talk was done. | But Roy had yet a word to add. | _*“The pardon of Roy of Calverton and for | Barbara of Ollerton security In ber estate.” “‘She being of her husband's faith?" “Aye, of the faith which teaches her to belleve in the God of justice, my lord.” The chancellor shook his head and when Roy was gone and others came in to tell him that the queen had then returned trom riding he gaid to them: *‘Assuredly, 1 have seen & man this day!" CHAPTER 111 There's no want of meat, sir.—Massinger. Barbara of Ollerton awaited her lover with all a woman's expectancy on that morning when he set out to win his pardon of the chancellor and to seek, if it might be, the security of her estate. From her window in my lord of Taunton's bouse, which lleth but a stone's throw from the village of Charing, she watched the busy people passing, the gallants upon horse- back, the brawling apprentices, the sober merchante, the multitude of priests, the women upon their pillions—all that merry scene which spoke of London's wealth and London's gayeties. A winniug figure in her gown of violet, with sable furs about her pretty neck, and a jewel which found a coronal of gold in ber abundant hair, none the less her prettiness could mot cloak anxiety nor banish from her wistful eyes the story of that hour. As the day waxed older and Roy did not come to her, and still ghe found new excuses for him, the shadow which had loomed over her since of the times; how that a spirit of unrest ‘was abroad in the city, men beginning to question each other for the faith’'s sake and no man speaking freely of that which was in his beart, ““You, that are of the herefics—what seek you in London, my child? For myself, I care for none of these things. I am not of the world, If the heav glve me many gods, what are those of the priests to me! But you are young, your story is known, you will .not pass without the question. For that, perchance, your husband lingers still at the palace. I speak of what may befall. You were wiser to leave the city, my lady, now, when the gate is open!" My who stood at the window while he spoke, joyfully clapped r hands for answer and ran swiftly from the room. ““The gate, indeed, 1s open,” crie “but it is my dear husband who rides in! It was a true word, for Roy of Calverton, as she said, had then returned from the palace. Accompanied by many of those who had followed him from Sherwood forest— Meagre, the dwarf, and Reme, the pag John, the hermit, and one they called The Knight of the Silver Bow, monks become chers and archers who never would be monks—with these about him and their own warm words of welcome in his ear the outlaw crossed the threshold and there heard the better greeting. “Roy, dearest, it is thou! Nay, hadst thou delayed, I had died for very crueity of waiting! Tell me 'tis well with thee, dear husban She lifted a child's face to his and while he took her in his arms he made baste to tisfy her curiosity. “Thrice well, beloved! My tidings are of the best! Here Is a chaocellor so curlous that he must run to the queen like a ! Could aught betall with Queen Mary honored the Dame; she may yet recelve the son. ext hour bring the summons; It 0 for what Let the shall not surprise t in life now that thou art he gave her comfort, and other talk of her content, questions upon the palace, and the dresses of the serving women and the bearing of the gallants, with a bundred promises for tomorrow and mention of Ollerton and of that which they would do when they were come home agaln, Roy led her into the house, and began, both for her pleasure and the abbot's, to more particularly of his welcome at St. James. “A shrewd man, my Lord Gardiner, yet little acquainted with homesty. Plain speech affrights bim. He is ever at war with the word, asking ‘How far does this with that deceit shall 1 answer I played a merry staff and down he went as my bumpkin! ‘Twas all a fence of speech, dear heart, so that when she quitted Ollerton became a cloud of deep foreboding, an omen which mo cour- g* might tun Now, there was none iu my lord’s house- Bold save the servants and a sleek steward they called the Abbot Parkenbam, and be was a man who had been turned from the monasteries in Heory's day and now bad become philosopher, ® & himeelf to eat and drink right well at his master's ex- pense, “because,” he sald, “the Lord so willed it.” A monstrous lean man, who tep and had eyes deepset went star-gazing often— be was & doleful pessimist indeed, and no word of comfort could he speak for my lady's comsolation. “The house is open Lo you, mistress, a my lord commands. Here you shall do well ia the fiesh, If that be of any momeat to e —— 1 engaged he covered more clos:ly. But I won him In the end, for I have left him curious, and when he has gotten the better of bis surprise to find one that speaks the truth, he will come to us' “God grant it!" ghe sald earnestly, “God grant it, dear Roy! There is no music for my ears like this report you beas Oh, charge me not that I have wal faint- beartedly! Is it mot all to me, this hope of yours, that tomorrow may send us to Ollerton again, to the home whereln our love was born? 1 am no child of the cities nor would I be. Gladly would I go from Londou, Roy—now, this very bour, If that What One Young Man i, Twenty years ago a young man, who was then 23 years of age, took out an Endowment Policy in the Equitable for $1,000, and paid the first year's premium, $47.65. Every vear since then he has paid a similar amount, until altogether he has paid, and, by s\ dolng, has latd away $653.6 A small amount to eave in twenty years, you will say, but it ls made up of small sums that probably would bave been frittered away if he had not been compelled to save them on ac- count of his policy. This year, after enjoylng the pro- tection of §1,000 for twenty years, his policy matures, and he may himselt draw the $1,000 in cash But this ie not all the face of the polic holder may now receive his share of the surplus profite. The total result to him Is a return of all his premie ums, together with a fair rate of in- terest. If he prefers lite assurance to cash he may (subject to the usual conditions) take a fully paid-up policy for more than three times the amount he has paid in premiume. In addition to the policy~ You can do as well or better. Nine Young Men out of ten never save anything un- lesg forced to do so. LET US SHOW YOU HOW AND WHY. The Equitable Life 'H. D. NEELY M.rc:n:h:::“I“B:l::r:l::l-;ing. OMAHA. a mighty prison to her; in the woods of Ollerton liberty must be won. 'Today or tomorrow, we will not count the hours, dear wife,” he sald very earnestly; ‘““wouldst thou go from London ere we have so much as heard the appren- tices bawl in Cheap or peeped into the shops of the goldsmiths? Nay, what says our good friend, the abbot? Wert thou in my case, most reverend sir, would ye ride from town without a wench's fardel in your wallet? God's truth, thy eack would burst with trinkets for every pretty mald that danced at Sherwood!" Now, the Abbot Parkenham, who ecared for none of these things, was right angered at the charge, but, passing by the ralllery, which he knew not how to answer, he pre- ferred to speak of the chancellor. “I count it no good omen,” he sald, “that you had not an answer from the bishop. It may even befall that such tid- ings as you would bring to him were made known by others, in which case I would not hold it from you that you may find a changing welcome when next you go to St. James. There is a tide of circumstance which we do well to take ship upon. The gratitude of statesmen s but a poor staff, my friend! Trust not to it when next you seek the chancellor's ear.” He wi glad to provoke a doubt and reservation, but Roy, who had no kinship with prudence, turned a deaf ear to all that endeavor “Nay, I will bear a stouter staff, my father, and it shall crack many a good poll it the need arise! Speak rather of dinner, for your chancellor hath given me a doughty appetite. Right readily, says the record, did the worthy abbot bestir the servants upon such a pleasant errand. He, who cared for none of the things, sat, when the half of an hour had passed, cup in hand, above a board 80 generous that even his heaven of stars bad twinkled merrily beholding ft. For there were rounds of beef and c s of mutton, salt flsnes and sturgeon, swans and capons, peacocks and mallards, widgeons and teal. And there were great flagons of wine and vast loaves and cups of frothing ale, and dishes of sllver and chalices of gold, and such a splendor of serving men and pages that the queen's palace itself had not been disgraced by that display. For the first time now, perchance, the Lady Barbara began to temper her dread of this great city, and of all the murmur of lite which came up to her from its streets Great friends ebe had; so much was not to be disputed. In the friendship of great pames, fn the kinship of nobles of the north, but chief above these fn the love and fidelity of the courageous heart so near to her own, In the love of & man whose laugh- ter wrestled with every peril, whose jest capped every threat, in these a new truth of confidence was born. Feasted there, in that great hall, with Roy of Calverton to anticipate every unspoken wish, with & glitter of riches about her, the pomp and circumstance of a noble's house at her com- mand, she might well have belleved her- self beyond the reach even of those ene- mies who had driven her from her home and followed her to this eity. In the old time at Ollerton, Master Eleazer, the min. ister, had preached a goodly discourse upon the text, “Who Is he who can harm ye & we be followers of that which s good.” My lady, nestling close to Roy of Cex verton, asked, indeed, who ehould Rarm that stout heart or war upon the freedom of the forest’s king! (To Be Continued.) The Stern P Chicago Tribume: “Johnny,”. sald his tather, “you have disobeyed your mother again. Come out with me to the barn.” Johnny complied There was a woodshed on the premises, but the stern parent preferred the barn. He bent his disobedient boy across his knee and proceeded to punish him in the ordinary method “Ob. that burts!" screamed Johuny. “I know It, my son," replied the father. “It burts you (whack!) a great deal worse (whack!) that it burts me (whack! whack), and I'm glad it does!” (whack! whack! whack!)