Omaha Daily Bee Newspaper, December 27, 1902, Page 9

THE OMAHA DAILY BEE: SA'TURDAY. DECEMBER 27 1902 e —————————————————————————————— HIS LUCK By Mrs. Alexander. (Author of “The Admiral's Ward, Foe, “A Cro (Copyright, 192, by T, C CHAPTER 1. “You have not been very diligent this morning; you have not touched that beau- titul oak there to the left, and you began 1t yesterday,” she sald. / - he replied, touching the picture MeClure.) with a fine brush, his head to one side, | with a critical air, “but the light went very soon when you left me." ® that meant for a pretty speech?” she Asked, with a frank, playful smile, showing a row of pearly teeth . 1 never make any. The light that falled me was daylight—not the light of your eyes. 1 never Insult you with fine speache: The speaker was a man of perhaps 30; not tall, but above middle height, broad- shouldered and strongly bullt, with a plain, resolute face and light, gray, penetrating eyes. The scene of thelr conversation was & glade in Thoresby woods, opening upon the slope of a hill, from which the speak- ers could see a stretch of moorland and & wide expanse of indistinct, misty blue country beyord. The trees were already showing the rich tints of autumn ‘I wonder how you manage to make your lctures tell something?’ sald the ““They are merely trees and grass and flow- ers; they are sad, or bright, or solemn— Just as real bits of landscape make one feel.” “Come, Mis speech, indeed #0 good a critic. She laughed gally. deserves another, Norton, that is a fine “One sweet she was speech from among the trees and jumped up at the speaker. She stooped to stroke the dog—the color rising in her cheeks, and an indescribable joyous look radiatipg from her lips. The artist gazed at her as she caressed the animal slon of. pain contracting his brow. “There, there! Down, Bran,” she cried, trying to repress the dog's too ardent dem- onstration of affection. De Burgh's dog, isn't t?" asked the painter. “I suppose his master is not far off. ““It {8 impossible to say. ereature ™ “Who? De Burg “You know I mean the turned, laughing. mals, Mr. Ashton 'Yes, two-legged ones, sometimes. ““What a eynical speech! But I have lingered too long talking to. you—dlnner will be ready before 1 reach home, and Grannle hates to be kept walting." And I wonder how soon you will reach home?" “In about twenty minutes. I am not going to run mywelf out of breath on such & glowing morning.” Bbe drew up her head with a displeased alr, put on her hat and turned away, walk- ing for a few paces along the leafy ave- nue, till she reached a narrow path leading into the recesses of the wood on the left Bhe had not proceeded far when from among the trees a young man in shooting garb, with a gun on his shoulder, sprang forward to where she stood. A tall, slight, distinguished figure, well set up, with a soldierly afr. His hair and mustache were dark, his eyes deep blue, and at the mo- ment angry-looking. He handsome, lrd looked an aristocrat from head to heel. ‘At last, Grace—at last!" he exclaimed, leaning his gun agafhst the stem ot an old thorn tree, and then catching both her hands in his own. ““Why, in heaven's name, did you stay on talking for such an age with that grim chap Ashton? DId you not foel I was waiting and watching between the trees until you started?” Grace listened with a tremulous smile on her lips, her color coming and golng and finally leaving her cheeks pale. “No, Captain de Burgh—not, at till Bran jueaped up at me." Bhe strove to draw away her hands as 1sn't he a lovely Aog,” she re Do you ever paint ani- least, minute or two, Grace. 1 don't know when 1 eball touch them agaln,” and he stooped to kiss them. “I have bad news—bad for me, at least. 1 am recalled to London— must start this evening—so many of our fellows are on leave—they want my valua- ble services. 'Going tonight?"’ she exclaimed, in a sur. prised tone. ‘Even so. Shall you miss m Will you ever admit that I am anything to you? You are so coy und cold. Grace, it ie death to leave you—I cannot live without you. ‘What spell have you cast upon me?" “Oh, do mot say such wild things. You must rn to do without me, and you will when you are away—when you think of what ls due to your station, your fam- fly. I am not a fit wife for you, and men have more to live for than love and private lite." ‘'You don't know what I feel—what I suffer. You are never absent from my mind, my heart, waking or sleeping. You know, my darling, but for my cousin and godmother, whom I must not offend, I should make you my wife before the world.” “It 1 consented,” she added. *“And would you refuze?® Could I love you #0 intensely if I did not instinctively feel there was some answering chord In your Beart " He had a sweet, soft voice, and an im- passioned flow of words, which he well knew astruck deep Into the hesrt of his hearer. | Grace Norton was the granddaughter of | ABSOLUTE SECURITY, Carter’s Little Liver Pills. Must Bear Signature of CURE 8I10K HEARAGHE. Broken Links,” Etc.) girl. | 1 did not know you were | beginning, | when a fine, red-browr: Irish setter ran out | lovingly, an expres- | was undeniably | oked Path,” “Blind Fate,” “Her Dearest & former huntsman in the employment of Squire de Burgh of Thoresby Chase, Mid- landshire. His was one of those old Nor- | man families, wherein failing a direct male heir the estate passed to the daughters. The late squire married twice. His first- born was a daughter; and some 20 years after her birth his second wife died in | Eiving him & son and heir. This boy grew | up the idol of his father, and a favorite | with all who served him. Now, Jim Norton, the huntsman, saved the life of this highly valued young man ‘hy extricating him from under a viclous horse, which bad fallen with his rider after taking a dangerous fence out hunting. In thus saving his young master's life, the huntsman lost his own—as a flerce kick from the struggling animal broke his skull. Mrs. Norton was, therefore, pen- sloned off and given a comfortable and | plcturesque cottage to live in. To draw the links even closer, one of the widow's sons enlisted in the same regiment | to which young Harry de Burgh was gaz- { etted, and when, some years after, Charles Norton, who had attained a sergeant's stripes, and his young wife were carried | Off by typhur fever, in the fll-drained, ill- ventilated barracks where they were quar- | tered in Dublin, Captain de Burgh arranged | for the transter of a poor little dellca | baby girl to the care of her bereaved | grandmother, and even left a sum of money | with his lawyer when he went to the Cri- mea gome years after, to provide for the | little creature’s cducaticn, that she might be enabled to earn her own bread. From this campaign the heir of Thoresby never returned. His sister succeeded him, and | married a man of birth and fortune, shortly | before her father's death. Later she, too, | was widowed and childless, so that Grace | Norton's lover was heir to her broad lands and as much of her considerable savings she chose to bequeath him. Mrs. Norton was a clever, sensible woman and had gone through a checkered | life with courage and constancy, and these latter days bad been Infinitely brightened | by the soclety of her young granddaughter, who was indeed a charming companion. The humming of bees and insects, the keat, the soft sllence of the afternoon lulled her Into a prolonged nap, and Grace, an open book on her knee, sat by her side in a low wicker chalr dreaming deliclous dreams, her whole frame thrilling at the memory of de Burgh's passlonate car and fervent declaration From these conditions she was roused by the closing of the gate which led into the little green with its border of flowers, | which separated the cottage from the road. | Looking up, she saw Ashton coming up tho | path, laden with a painter's paraphernalia. | “Ab," he exclaimed, “are you both en- Joying a nap “And Grace is tired, I fancy,” sald gran- | nfe, rousing herself. “She must have wan- { dered far; she was so late for dinner.” | Grace felt the telltale color mount even | to her brow as she met Ashton's grave, | kind, pitying eyes. “I thought she would be late' he said | carelessly; “she stayed on discussing my | faulty work till nearly 1 o'elock. “And very bold of her to find fault with a gentleman like you, sir,” said Mrs. Nor- | ton. “Have you had a bit of lunch, Mr. Ashton?" “Yes, I wandered on till T found myself | near Woodbridge, and had a crust of bread | and cheese at the Three Fiddlers. | «"Then you'Il like & cup of tea with me !ana arace, sir?” | " “I should indeed, Mrs. Norton.” “Tell Nancy to set the tea things under { the big walnut tree, Grace, my dear Grace felt grateful and annoyed at the | want and a more serfous quarrel than they had ever had ensued. Next, day de Burgh left to return to his regiment without a recon- cillation, and Grace began to doubt if life were worth living. It was about a fortnight after, toward the end of which de Burgh wrote to the object of his rather flery passion a penitent letter, which revived her sinking spirits, when one crisp, bright December day Dick Ashton presented himselt most unexpect- edly—a staff in his hand and a knapsack on his back. He had walked up from the nearest station, some seven or eight miles, and asked hospitality for the night. He looked bright and well, and Grace was consclous of a sudden sense of help and protection in his presence During the evening he addressed most of his conversation to Grannie—the old lady seemed to be much cheered and in- torested. Next morning was wet and blustry—for a change of wind came In the night. Still Grace and Ashton did not find the time hang heavy, as they employed themselves In repairing and painting various articles of furniture and shabby woodwork—tor Ashton was a syperior carpenter. Besides this Ashton had a brief interview with Grannie, who seemed in remarkably good spirits, but, to Grace's surprise, after din- ner declared she had caught cold, so would Tetire to her room and take her nap there. do not think I ever knew Grannie do such a thing before,” sald Grace. “I hope she Is not 111" Whereupon Ashton spoke. First he told of a bit of good fortune which had befallen him—a crusty old acquaintan-e, to whom he had shown some kindness, believing him to be very poor, proved after death to have been not poor, but miserly, and be- Queathed all his savings to his artist friend “It is not a fortun concluded Ashton, “but two people of moderate tastes and habits can escape starvation on it. Then, as it never rains but it pours, I have sold a few pictures and have a couple of com- missions for next year. Being thus puffed up with concelt, especially with the con- sclousness of pockets not absolutely empty, I have resolved to ask what I do not tor moment think I deserve.” ‘“And that is?" asked Grace, with a kindly glance from the soft, sad eyes she uplifted to his. “By heaven, I can hardly venture to put my wishes into words, Miss Norton—Grace —the dream of my life for the last two years has been to win you for better, for worse, till death us do part. I want to make a quiet, unpretending little home for you, where we both can take care of Grannle, and, oh, above all, I want the infinite joy of your companionship. Do not speak at once, dear. I see, I feel you are going to say mo. Think how much I have at stake—and take time."" It 18 useless to put off my answer, sald in a low, reluctant volce. “I am quite sure you would be fnfinitely good to any girl who was so fortunate as to call you husband, but I must say no—it is im- possible that I could ever be your wife." “What is the insuperable dificulty? Tell me—have you promised yourself to de Burgh?'" “Why do you ask?' exclaimed Grace, with wide-open, startling eyes. “To answer your question would involve a long explanation, but the instinct of true love warns me what to fear. Then— 1 implore you—to try to put him out of your head. He will bring you only sor- row." Suddenly Ashton stopped and pressed his hand to his brow. “Fool, fool that I am to dream of turning you against the man you love! I must renounce all hope—yet do not take everything from me. Forget that 1 ever forced my foolish dreams and desires upon you and treat me as if [ was a friend—a brother. All I ask is to be of some use to you, and—Grace—you may e yet. I will never offend you again “But you have not offended me. Dick, you are not going?" Yes, for the present. I am stronger You— | same time. Ashton had shielded her, but that he felt it necessary to do so proved that he knew too much. Her cheeks glowed | at the idea of her tender secret being | known to another, andl that other a man. | Ashton was a London artist, full of abil- | ity and immensely Industrious, tofling paintully up the first thorny steps of an | artist’s career, with little or no money and | no Interest. For the last three autumns | he had taken rooms at Mrs. Norton's cot- | tage, for Thoresby woods and the country | round offered abundant subjects for brush and pencil. Grace felt that he disliked | and distrusted de Burgh, and baving cast | away her own first faint doubts and a | lowed a delicious flood of absolute trusc in | her lover's honor and integrity to inun- | date her heart and submerge her reason, | she began (o consider Ashton in the light of an unfriendly spy, and was consequently rather cold and distant toward him. Ash- | ton was perfectly unmoved, however, and | seemed quite taken up with the fragrant tea and crisp cakes daintily served under the spreading walnut tree. | “Mr. de Burgh Is off to town—enroute for some place abroad, no doubt—for no one ays In London In August. I met the whole procession just now on their road to the station—madam fn the barouche, coachman in his powdered wig, brake and | pair loaded with luggage, and young Hope- | ful de Burgh beside madam, who looked | poorly enough.” | “Ab, yes," sald Grannie, “the dear lady | has but poor health since Mr. Herbert died. {She was round here in her pony chaise | yesterday and told me she was golng to | some place with a queer name In foreign parts. It's little pleasure she has, In spite of her great possessions. 1 hope Mr. | de Burgh will be & comfort to her, but, law, sir, ycung gentlemen are so extra gant and thoughtless—they do say Captain de Burgh has cost her a lot.” “Oh, he is rather fast and made a good deal of In London. You see, he 1s no end of a catch, and few mon can keep their heads under those conditions.” Have another cup of.tea, Mr. Ashton?" asked Grace, to whom even these good- humored comments on her idol were irri- tating. “And. try anotber cake; I made them this morning myself.” “They are the ne plus ultra of goody," he cried. I shall devour the platetul if you give me my head. Now for another kind of greed. I want you to give me two more sittings, Miss Norton, and then your portrait will be finished.” CHAPTER IL “I belleve my respected godmother fs going to live forever,” sald de BurgL ona wild wintry morning in late November, when he was walking beside Grace in the sholtered alley of the old pleasaunce neer the mansion, yet out of sight. “She is going to winter on the Riviera and is really much better and begins to see people. I cannot stand much more of this, Grace. 1 shall blow my brains out iIf you do mot come to the rescue. “But, Hugh, you do not wish Mrs. de tion " away every. thing and everyone that stands between us. Are you startled, my darling, because I am so wicked? You look white; I wi you had more pluck, and trusted me more. Then we might put an end to this slow torture and link ourselves indissolubly— it secretly. “No, Hugh, you have hinted at a secret marriage before; but that I will n hear of, on your account as much as my own. We are young; we enjoy seeing each other frequeatly: we can afford to wait." De Burgh replied by some very bad lan- suage ludoed. Grace replied with spirit, than my neighbors. I want to be alone— but will come again soon. God be with you, Grace.” He kissed her hand and was gone Grannie's surprise and regret knew no bounds to find her guest had flown while she slept. CHAPTER IIL “My darling, how pale you are—your | sweet eyes look so large and sad!” ex- | clalmed de Burgh when Grace and he met, | some three or four weeks after Ashton's visit. He had ventured to visit her in ler pretty, comfortable sitting room—for Grannle had a cold and kept her own bed- | room. Do you think me a negligent lover to stay away so long? You see, Mrs. Fitz- herbert de Burgh sent for me—all the way to San Remo, and I dared not refuse. How- ever, 1 did not go for nothing—my god- | mother promises to clear off my debts and | they are no trifle. 80 I must not offend | her—at any rate till I get my debts paid. | | self, T am a devilish good docter.” the best It is pure. It is gentle, It is pleasant. 1t is efficacious, It is used by mill It stands highest, If you use it you produces, Wh Y Syrup of Fiés family laxative It is not expensive. It is good for children. It is excellent for ladies. It is convenient for business men. 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FOR SALE BY ALL LEADING DRUGGISTS. a gentleman wished to see him, at the same time handing him a card on which was fuscribed, “Dr. Cornelius Macdermot, H.IC 8" Show him up,” cried Ashton eagerly, ““and bring in some tea,” he added, as he roused the fire to a bright blaze. My dear doctor,” he exclaimed as a short, stout, red-haired man, with twink- ling keen gray cyes, a short, broad face and a turned-up nose, entered the room, “you are most.welcome. 1 had no ldea you were In England.” The doctor's visit was & welcome Inter- ruption to Ashton's sad, solitary musings. The military Esculpius had served his full term and retired on a comfortable pen- #lon; he was consequently in a joyous mood | and not too careful of his money—as be- came a bachelor of rather luxurious ten- dencies. So Ashton found himself carried off to theaters and suppers and other re- sorts, which he found helped, as the doctor asserted, to rouse his soul. One very foggy afternoon, too dark to work, too unpleasant to go out, Ashton s over the fire trying to decipher a letter he had just received. It was written in a very 1llegible hand by the steward's wife at Thoresby at the roquest of Mrs. Norton, to explain why she had not answered a letter of his making inquiries for her and Grace. From it he gathered that the latter had been seriously i1l and was now slowly recovering. He had rieen, iptpnding to re- ply at once, when the doctar came In. “I've just come to bestow my tedlousness on you, my boy. What cutthroat weather —no comfort indoors or oup,; What's the matter, ch? Heard of the.ideath of your sweetheart or the loss of yeur fortune?" “Well, nefther, exactly. {’have heard of the iliness of a charming: girl whom I sorely wanted for a:sweetheart, or, rather, for a wife, only she wouldn't have me,” sald Ashton, who had no small vanities. “Begad, she must be hard to please and a fool in the bargain. Sure you are a nat- urally domesticated animal. You'd just be & model husband. ‘Is she bad still? 1f so, introduce me to the darling, and I'll soon put her to rights, for, though T say it my- ““Well, the young lady \in question is on the mend, still, 1 wish you could see her; it the weather improves next week would you mind coming down to the country for & day or two?" Not I. I'm game for anything. Where does your jewel hang out?" “Oh, in Midlandshire—a Thoresby." ““Thoresby—I seem to know that name. I say, Ashton, light up the gas, man. and let me see those works of art; these with their faces to the wall, en penitence. Are they your failures “Yes, In & sense; things I have falled to —but some of my best work.” urn them round, my boy. Sure, I'm place called Were you wretched without me, ch? L very weak, Hugh, but when you | are away I am awfully miserable.” | “We must put an end to that,” exclaimed de Burgh with cheertul decision. “I can- | not live without you. Still, my godmother must not be offended. 1 am sure, Grace, you are too eensible and high-minded and highly educated to care what people say, | 80 long as you can have your own true love with you, and you know nothing can alter | my devotion to you. Why should we not | snap our fingers at empty ceremonles and | be all fn all to each other? You under- | stand, my darling, it will be 80 secret a e that we will let no clergyman or registrar into our counsels. We will be busband and wife before God until a safe time comes to avow the tle between us. | Why, what is the matter?” | For Grace had started and struggled vehemently to escape his grasp, while her cheek had grown suddenly white. “Tho | matter! I don’t know. I am mot sure—do | you ask me to live with you in & union un- blessed by the church, unsanctioned by the law “Well, if you choose to put it in that old tashioned aspect.” Do you—or do you mot?" “My own darling, you know what I| should choose If circumstances were not | too strong." “At last I understand you. Mr. de| Burgh, there is the door; never darken it again. Goodby—and goodby forever. You can never excuse or wash out this fosult.” “But, Grace, you are 5o hasty—so unre sonable. If you a grain of patience all would be right.” “If you do not accept my dismis leave you." “How infernally selfish women are mused de Burgh, walking hastily away. She would not sacrifice one lota. She must know the impossibility of marriage for me with & girl in her grade. She is a fool, too —1 could have provided for her and given her an easy, luxurious life. She never cared a rap about me; she only wanted to be Mrs. de Burgh of Thoresby Chase. By heaven, she looked equal to it. She Is lovely. I'll see her tomorrow. I'll win her back; I will not lose her." But Hugh de Burgh resolved in valn. Day after day he sought to see Grace, Sbe bad caught a chill, which turned to fev and for long no one save the doctor, th nurse and the poor, bewildered grannie had a glimdse of the fascinating Grace. The blustering winter's day on which this important interview took place Dick Ashton was beginning to put away bis easel and brushes preparatory to taking a brisk walk to Hampstead, when the old woman who ruled bis very modest establishment 11 can as cook and housekeeper Informed bim that going to start an elegant little bachelor box myself, and may be I'll want a few pictures to brighten it.” The friends accordingly lit up and be- gan to criticise and discuss the neglected canvases—woodland scenes, sketches of purple moorland—a great variety of sub- jects. At last the pastel portrait of a girl more charming than handsome came up for exhibition. ““Ashton, who is that?" cried the doctor, when Ashton placed it on the easel. And he rose to inspect it—then stepped back and drew nearer again—evincing a great mount of interest. fancy I have seen that face before.” “I do not think you have,” returned Ash- ton, “for I do not think the young lady was born when you were last in England.” “Is it the derling herself? Yes—then, man alive, don't you let her go easy. Try, try, try again. Nothing succeeds like per- had business—very serious business—in London, be sald; and so, after an effusive tarewell, he departed. Mrs, de Burgh lingered in Italy, but, to the satisfaction of her beir, made a will which incorporated her private savings with the entailed property. Dick Ashton worked and faintly hoped. Moreover, he s0ld his work. He was all the more dili- gent because Macdermot was very busy about some mysterious law business ‘ot great importance, faith,” as he sald him- self. He always runniog to and fro between Dublin, Manchester and Edinburgh. Whatever his quest, he seemed highly pleased with his success, apd from time to time pronounced this unconnected eulo- gism on his own shrewdness and penetra- tion. In the midst of this tranquility came a bolt from the blue sky. Mrs. de Burgh had died suddenly at Rome. There was mourning and lamentation at Thoresby Chase, and a huge funeral, when the poor lady's remains were brought back to lle among those of her forefathers. | Hugh de Burgh was solemn and imposing as chlef mourner, but exultant at heart at having come Into his kingdom, and, though still bitter at Grace's steady rejection of his advances, and by no means recovered from his passion for her, on the whole thankful that he was not hampered by a low-born wite. The day after the funeral a strange rumor began to be whispered among the domestics and personal attendants in the great house —that eome desperate adventurer had put in a claim to the property—the child, it was supposed, of the late lady's soldier brother, who had fallen in the Crimea. It was non- sense, of course, but might give trouble. This strange report gave everyone a great deal to talk about, and it was remarked that, instead of remaining to transact busi- ness and go into matters with the agent and the late lady's secretary, the new lord | of Thoresby went off back to London. Two evenings after, while everyone was oppressed with a sense of coming trouble, Grace and her grandmother were almost frightened by the unexpected arrival of Dr. Macdermot, In a state of mixed gravity and excitement, “My dear ladies," he sald, “you'll excuse this intrusion when I tell you my errand. | First of all, let me congratulate you, Miss de Burgh—for that's what you are, no less— on coming into your property. Now, just sit down and keep quiet,” for both had ex- claimed with amazement and incredulity. “The day Ashton showed me your por- trait, my dear young lady, I thought I knew your face, 80 I went home and thought and thought tiil I was able to place it, The face yours reminded me of was o1 & sweet, elegant creature, the wile of Harry de Burgh, a great friend of mine. Well, 1 knew the palr of them, an’ ‘twas they were the happy pair. By and by came the in- evitable bab; 1 was at the christening— just before salling for India. Next I heard of the death of the sweet mother, then my poor de Burgh went off on someone's staft to the Crimea, and was among the first shot by those muraering Russians. Well, when 1 came down here and saw yo waving his hand to Grace, “I saw the like- ness stronger than ever. ‘Begad,’ sald I to myself, ‘I'll look into this matter,’ and this s what I did.” “Mark me,” he continued, checking off the heads of his discourse with a fat fore- finger on each digit of the left hand. “First 1 went hot-foot off to Dublin to the bar- racks, and looked up the registers of that bad year when the typhus fever raged. There I found that Sergeant and Mrs. Nor- ton and their little girl all died, and were buried in a churchyard near by. I saw the stone put up by poor de Burgh. Then I went off to Leeds and copled the register of the marriage. Then I came back to the severance. th, it's the face of a nice, kindly, human angel. What's her name, it I may make 80 bold?” “0, Norton. There is nothing to conceal bout Grace Norton." “Grace—0, yes—but I do not know Nor- ton." “Her father was in the army, but her grandfather was huntsman to de Burgh of horesby Chase.” “De Burgh? You do not say so?" The doctor stopped abruptly and kept unwonted silence for a while. “Look here, Ashton,” he exclalmed, “rain or shine, let's go down next week. Where do you put up down there, wherever | it 18" “Oh, 1 always take my rooms Norton's house—a delighttul, tage.” “Could she put me up, too 1 have no doubt she coul: Ashton was shocked to see so great a change in Grace when he and his friend took up their abode at Woodland cott Though the local doctor had been dismi she was still pale, weak and given to ai most unbroken silence, but she confessed to sleepless nights, and seemed scarcely to care about getting well “Will you let a poor old sawbomes like myself do what be can to bring back the life to your heart and the light to your eyes, my dear young lady? I'm unknown to the faculty here, but you see I've lived among the maglc-mongers of the east, and 1 know & thing or two.” During Ashton’s short stay he kept a strict guard over himself; nothing could be more brotherly and unloverlike than his manner and conversation. Grace aguin came thoroughly at home and at ease with in Mrs. roomy cot- | time, provision for the education and malnten- | church at Bayswater, where the baby was christened, and found the entry of the bap- tism of the child, and copled that. Next— and this was the stiffest job of all—I called on the family lawyers In Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and told my tale to a tremendous Snuff-the-Moon of a chap, who spoke to me as if 1 was not fit to dust his shoes. Faith, I made him change that tune. “I showed him my coples of the registers, and asked him to go apd look for himself. Then he remembered that in his father's Major Harry de Burgh made some ance of & child called Grace Norton, but did not give any explanation, s¢ they all con- cluded it was an illegitimate daughter. But the cash was now all expended—that was all he knew. Then ad old gray headed clerk came in with a telegram, and Mr. Freshfield—the head of the concern—asked him it he knew of any communication from the late Major de Burgh subsequent to his sailing for the Crimea. 1 don't know of anmy, sir, but every paper concerning his affairs is in the deed box bearing his initials,’ replied the clerk. * ‘A, Just so!’ says Snuff-the-Moon. ‘You see, sir, I can really give you no informa- tion.’ “With that the old clerk says: ‘If 1 might suggest, Mr. Nicholls, who bas since set up for himself, was on rather friendly terms with the late Major de Burgh, and he ‘might bave bad some private communi- cation.’ Snuff-the-Moon said it was bighly improbable. However, I got Nicholls' ad- dress—and sure enough, NichoHs had a packet confided to his care and labelled, *Not to be given to anyone save myself or one authorized by me. Nicholls did not him. Macdermot was the first to depart. He know that de Burgh was married at the time, 8o he kept ihe parcel, “Auybow. we talked It over and the up- ) shot was we opened the parcel and there we found a full confession of everything, 50 we are just on a road of velvet. 1 have taken the liberty of appointing Nicholls your solicitor. In eighteen months you'll be of age and entitled to paddle your own canoe; till then—may I ask for a glass of water? My throat is as dry as a rhip with talking.” § “I'm sure my Gracle would never be s ungrateful to the family we have served 80 long as to rob Captain de Burgh of his birthright,” sald Grannle, solemnly and tremulously. “'Why, bless your soul, ma'am,” cried the doctor, ure she is the family hersel, and remember, she owes a duty to her dead mother. “lI am too dazed to speak,” sald Grace. “l cannot belleve that these lande and woods, the great house, the horses and carriages—everything—can be mine. It makes me tremble. But whoever and what- ever 1 am, you will always be my own dear Grannie,” embracing the old woman. Seldom had a case been dwelt on with more excitement and interest in soclety than the de Burgh succession. It was soon declded—as the object was only to prove publicly and satistactorily that Grace de Burgh was “the helress of Thoresby.” After matters had become public Grace and Mrs. Norton came to London to avold ip and wonder of thelr surround- t Thoresby, Dr. Macdermot acting guide, philosophér and friend. ‘You are not going to foreign parts with- saying good-bye to the Lady of by,”- he exclaimed one morning out Thot | when he had called on Ashton and found Bim packing. “Faith, you are the queerest tellow ever I knew. She'll be hurt—bit- terly hurt—if you do not go to see her. Do you know, I am not at all pleased with her state of health. She is pale and thin— nervous and in a depressed condition. Come along and tell me what you think of Ber. O, she doesn’t want to see me.” “How do you know? You come with me What do you think she has beem and gone and done?" How can T tell 7" “Thrown twenty thousand to the dogs, no less—to the dogs—or rather to one puppy. She pays all de Burgh's debts and glves him a trifle to begin on. He has ex- changed from the Guards to a regiment go- ing to Ind, . “Has he!” exclaimed Ashton, in great surprise. “I anticipated his succeeding to Thoresby by right matrimonial. I am cer- tain he was in love with Grace—I mean Miss '‘And small blame to him. your hat, maj Ashton opened his lips to say “no,” but thet disagreeable monosyllable refused to come. He thereupon obeyed In silence. The sitting room was unoccupled when they weregshown up to Miss de Burgh's apartments in a well known hotel and Ashton, looking round, noticed that this— only a temporary abode in a hotel—there ‘was a homelike look about the room. In a few minutes Grace entered. She wi very simply dressed, but her frock fitted and suited the wearer admirably. “Am 1 a snob,” Ashton asked himself, “to think her more distinguished than she used to be? No, she is really. It's careful dressing and complete certainty of her po- sition. But how white and nervo she Ah—and sweeter than ever. nd you are going to desert us?’ she saying. ‘“Where are you golng, Mr. Ashton?" “I do not exactly know—somewhere along the borderland of Russia and Circassla—al- most every country is hackneyed now. “I wish you would not go, Mr. Ashton,” exclaimed Grace, playing nervously with the tassel of the sefa cushion, against which she leant. “I canmot flatter myself that my going or staylng can make much difference to you. “I hate to part with friends—true friends like you." “Why do you rank me so high? have I proved myself?" “By offering to share the smiles that fortune bestowed upon you with me—your Come, get How Boys; Suits Overcoats $5.00 now Satlors, Norfolks two and three plece sults, excellent values up to $6—now . Values up to §5.00— while they la Friezes and cheviots—$5.00 values—now i S8 $5.00 now buys overcoats, worth §7.50. Gil’ls' Coa‘s TaaRg WoLb W 1o H.00-- buys coats worth up to $10.00. inferior In social rank and in many other things also.” ecause 1 was greedy to secure the greatest prize life could give me." “Oh, do you think so still? Oh, Dick, do you not—will you not understand me?" “My God, Grace! What do you mean? You are above coquetry and vanity—what am I to understand?” “When I seemed a poor, humbly born girl you offered me the best you had. Now the wheel has turned—though you can never be anything but a gentleman. And I am rich in all things save onc. Will you, Dick, will you supply the deficlency? I—I want your— “My love—my jewel—Iit {s—Iit has always been yours since first we mef MOSBY'S GUERRILLA DAYS. How He Once Sent a Lock of His Halr to President Lincoln. John 8. Mosby, well known as the com- mander of a guerrilla band in the service of the confederacy during the war of the states, and who is now a special employe of the Department of the Interior, showed a willingnees to talk about his wartime ex- periences to a reporter of the Washington Star a day or two ago. The latter inquired into the truth of a story that he had en- tered Alexandria in disgulse. “Oh, that story is all nonsense,” sald Colonel Mosby. I never went to a place in disguise in my life. These stories aross because of the rapld movements of my com- mand. Why, there s an officlal telegram on file In the War department stating that I was in Washington in conference with Wilkes Booth the night of the killing of President Lincoln. It is needless to say that the statement was known to be false by most of the federal generals *u 1 trequently got close to Washing- ton during the war. Many a time I would ride up to the hill up yonder across the Potomac and look down upon the city. I might have one or two men with me, and we would econ disappear. Just over on the Virginia side carly one morning I met a Mrs. Barlow on her way into Washington with a wagon full of vegetables. Her hus. band a federal soldier, and she was a northern woman. She had a pass to go In and out of Washington, and drove into the eity often from he: farm. I nsed to go to her house often and get a cup of good coffee. Of course, she gave it to us, knowlng that we rather had charge of things all along on that side of the river. Well, on this particular morning Mrs. Barlow had a pair of sclssors hanging from her apron. After I had talked with her awhile I said: * ‘Mre. Barlow, lend me your scissors.’ “8he handed them to me, and I reached up to my head, got hold of a bunch of hair, cut it off, and said: ‘Mrs. Barlow, please take this lock of my halr right in to Lin- coln and say to him that I am coming in to see him n and will expect & lock of his hair in return.’ She looked much puzzled, but she sald she would do it. “I found out afterward that she rode straight to the White House and gave the bair to the president personally, refusing to give it to anyone clse. The president was amused and laughed heartily. No, I was not afrald to do this, because I knew that by the time the president could at- tempt to catch me I would be thirty miles away. President Lincoln never made an attempt to catch me, because he knew that I would be somewhere else when his men arrived. Many people took Information of me into Washington for the purpose of trylng to bring about my capture. “I covered the entire south side of the Potomac for many miles each way, and the largest number of men I had in 1864, when Sheridan was In the Shenandoah valley, was five troops of cavalry, a toal of 250 men With that command we captured all the arms we needed, all the ammunition, food and clothing, and had a wagon train running to Lee's army trequently with supplies we had captyred. No, 1 was never a general, I was a private in the First Virginia cavalry for the first two ycars after the war, and began raising my command after that time, beginning with one troop of cavalry. Each man was armed with two pistols and a saber. We had no carbines.” Dazaar ...$3.00 at .. Novelties worth up to $22.00, now $10.00. A few swell numbers in misses’ sizes, will fit medium sized woman, now $12.50, BENSON & THORNE, 1515 Douglas St.