The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, April 28, 1895, Page 18

THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, U NDAY, APRIL 28, 1895. R BY (APT. CHAS.KING. CHAPTER VIL That night Ellis Farrar was as wakeful as the sentries on their snowbound posts. It w ter midnight when she returned from progressive whist at the doctor’s, and though luck had befriended her and kept y from her side, she had been able at times to watch him when chance brought him near Helen Daunton. She noted with jealous misery the appealing look in Helen's eyes when once they were for an instant left to themselves, She could have sworn she saw a little scrap of paper handed Ormsby at that moment and quickly stowed in his waistcoat pocket. But the rest of the evening it was Leale who devoted him- self to Helen, and Leale who escorted her home, and this fa some- thing that seemed to give Ormsby no con- Had she not been blinded suspicions, she would have seen t poor Jack had only one real source of le that night, and that was her own determined avoidance of him. ‘Wheels within wheels were whirring in garrison, and Ellis Farrar was per- and worried more than she could en placid, garrulous aunt Lucreti lved in the recent complications, for, wi 1 the past three days Major Wayne had been on no less than three oc- casions in close and confidential talk with Mrs. Farrar—a talk that on one occasion had left the gentle invalid in tears, and from which she had gone to her room, and was found there, on her knees, by Elli half an hour later. Explanation was de- nied her at the, time Not now, E! ar,” was thel pleading answ not talk to-night. Later—after Christ- mas—I will tell you all about it,”” and with is the girl had perforce been ccntent. in she mourned, v to tell her own dav reason of her tea; nd agitation, welcomed Helen t« room ¥ was invc because 1d comfort in her soc lovely, piacid, moor came away from D slair n to her room d how long her mother amy major at the gate, while Leale and Helen Daunton conversed in the little parlor. There had been a 1 t the Armorys’ that same eve- t ner party, as Mrs. Armory ed it, “in honor of those who are and those who ought to be,’’ and .1l Willetts, a captain’s daughter, and young Alton of K Troop, were the first named, and bewitching Kittie and Willie expre: engaged Farrar, one couple, at least, ncluded in the second Mrs. Armory was a charming was of an old Kentucky wealth and beauty to add to 1d had been wooed and won husband long years before, boy li ing Ku- her dashi when he was Klux duty declared W what h and that K 1 as never veet, s she so fondly loved. £ 1gh r's side just rankly explaining to Mrs. Amory the apprehensions they all felt on that mo s account, es y at this trying time, so near the anniversary of the | colonel’'s death. With all the worldly goods with which she had endowed her b ears gone by, pretty M y n't add to the Government allowance of quarters, and her dining- room would only hold ten, so, as Ellis wasn’t especially interested in any man at the post, despite the attentions paid her by Martin, Jessup, and other available fel- | 1o { wisely decided her to be deeply interested in somebody far away, and knew the man the moment Ormsby came. So Ormsby and Ellis, as has been aid, went to whist and came away dis- tisfied and unhappy, and Will and Kitty vent to dinner and a dance at Amory’s, and had a thrilling tiff, as_a result of which she refused to ask him in when he took her homie, even though Aunt Lucretia, hop- ing it was Wayne, beamed upon them, though it was after midnight, from the doorway, and the colonel and Brother Jack looming up through a cioud of cigar smoke, shouted to the r\xficrin;; subaltern to come in. Wrathful and stung to the quick by t oquetry Farrar turned indignantly away and sought his own quarters. The lights were still burning in the parlor, and he felt sure Leale and Mrs. Daunton were there, and he was too miffed to care to see them. A dim light was burning in his mother’s room, and he believed her to have retired earlier, and so made it an ex- cuse not to go for her good-might kiss and ble: g. The door opened just as he was hurrying by and Wayne came forth into the clear moonlight, and the boy wondered that he should be there, instead of at Fen- | ton’s, as usual, but he didn’t want to see or speak with him. He slammed the door of his chum’s bachelor den as he bolted in, never noting the bright light in Ellis’ win- dow, or dreaming that his sister sat there alone in his trouble, while he, with a lover’s selfishness, saw nothing beyond his | own. She heard hisquick, impetuous step, however, and peeping through the cur- tains saw the light pop up in the window opposite her own. There were four bachelor subs crowded under that adjoin- ing roof, and readily she divined that Kit _had been tormenting him again. Verily, the Ormsbys seemed to exer- cise a baleful influence ;over the Farrars, and, with all her admiration for Kitty’s better all Jack’s goodness in the past, her heart was hardening against them, as it was, in jealous disquiet, against Helen Daunton. At that moment she seemed to long for the championship of her brother and wished he had come in. She heard her mother’s gentle words mingling with Leale’s deep barytone and Helen Daun- ton’s low, soft Voice, and again the feeling gained ground within her that she, to whom the mother clung with such love and dependence in the past, was herself in need of advice and syminthfl. while that mother was finding other helpers now. ‘Wayne had gone, the servants had all re- tired and still the pleasant, friendly chat went on. It was all well enough so far as Malcolm Leale was concerned, but why should her mother so utterly confide in one of whom she knew so little and of whom she knew so little and of whom Ellis was beginning_to suspect 0 much? Why should Helen Daunton be allowed to accept those unmistakable attentions from Captain Leale even when her actions plainly showed that there had been some mysterious tie between her and Jack Orms- by in the past? Then, again, came recollection of the note she had seen her slip in Ormsby’s hand that night, and, longing for some- ter the | he had | found | it dialect of the | ualities and her remembrance of | body, for something, to distract her thoughts from her own angry self, she tore aside the curtain and peered out on the night. There, not fifty Teet away, was Will’s window. There, to her right, the snow-covered expanse of the parade, ter- minated at the far southern side by the black bulk of the one-story barracks and the glistening lights of the guardhouse tower, where, on_the lower floor, the ser- geant of the guard and his corporals held their sway. Off to the left lay the rolling slopes, all white and peaceful in their fleecy mantles and glistening in the moon- light, save where seamed by pathways leading to the river and disfigured by the wooden fences of the back yards. Far across the Platte the red lights burned at ‘| Bunko Jim’s and some unhallowed revelry was going on, for even at the distance the black shapes of horses could be seen teth- | ered about the premises, and one or two | more- dim dots of pe&estrinns seemed | slowly creeping across the stream. The | post of the sentry on No. 5, at the north {end of the garrison began back of | the colonel’s quarters on the point of the bluff, and continued on to the rear of the officers’ quarters at the eastern | side, where it joined that of No.6, and even as Ellis gazed from her window she | could see that the two sentries approach- | ing each other were apparently having | some conference about the situation. There was a low fence separating their yard from that next door and the snow | was almost untrodden. There was no | pathway around the bachelor den next | door, as there was around No. 5. Post | servants and orderlies thought nothing of | utilizing the hallways of quarters occupied | solely by subalterns. The back gate stood | open, as she could see, and the board walk | leading from it to the rear door was visible | for half its length. That had been cleanly swept during the day, and, leading from the gate diagonally across the yard through the snowdrifts was the track of a man, and right at the rear corner of the | bachelors’ guarters, half concealed from | the front and peering eagerly around, evi- dently studying the windows of the ground floor of the house occupied by the ladies of | the Farrar family, was the man himseli—a | big, burly, heavily bearded fellow, fin | the {nr cap and rough great coat of the valry. Even as half alarmed, half annoyed, yet inly fascinated, Ellis hung at the window, she heard the party breaking up | downstairs, heard Leale wishing them a | cordial good-night and closing the door. | The silent watcher heard that, too, for at the sound of the slam, without which few ’irnmir*r-n\adu doors were ever known to shut, the dark figure ]v(vp{\ed back and re- | mained out of sight until Leale’s soldierly | form had gone striding away dewn the | row. Then once more, slowly, cautiously, it came partially into view, steadily scru- ing those lower windows. Ellis was a soldier's danghter and no | coward. She was conscious of an impulse to throw open the window and challenge the skulker, but even then her mother's slow step was heard ascending the stairs, | and Helen's sweet voice, as the latter came , you need not, Helen,” Ellis heard her say. “I have grown better and stronger with every hour, every hour. en the sadness has been sweet. Even 1€ old scenes e brought new comforts, the new sorrow has brought relief and peac You have not yet told me of that, nor e you told Ellis.” She shall know, and so shall you, desr iriend, to-morrow. To-night I want to kneel—I want to be alone.” Then Ellis heard her hand seeking the knob of the door. Hastily she turned to meet her mother at the threshold. ““‘You are_ better, Queen Mother, God be | thanked. You have looked better every | day. Will you—not come in, Mrs. Daun- | ton?” | ““Thank you. no; not just now. I willgo and put out the lights and leave you two | together a while.” I know Mrs. Farrar is | pining for a peep at her soldier boy’s win- dow.”” Already Mrs. Farrar was moving thither, and Ellis darted eagerly forward. “One moment, mother, dear,” she cried. “Let me araw the curtain; it doesn’t work well.” And with the words she boldly threw | aside the heavy curtain and noisily, osten- | tatiously raised the sash. Justas she be- lieved would be the case the skulker, alarmed, sprang back behind the corner of the adjoining house and deep within its shadow. Will's light was still burning brightly, and in her clear, silvery voice his sister called his name. “He'll answer in 2 minute, mother. Don’t come to the win- dow yet,” she added. Then again, “Willy, Willy.” And, as though answering her call, as though watchful, ready, eager to serve, even though unsummoned, another form came suddenly into sight on_ the moonlit in_front, and a voice she well knew iled from over the low picket fence: “Will has just gome up our way, Miss Farrar. 1 brought him a message & mo- ment ago. Can I be of any service?”’ And there, of course, was Jack Ormsby. “Thank you, no,” was the answer, in cold constraint. “I had no idea he had | gone or that you were there. Mother | merely wished to speak with him a mo- ment,” and with that she meant to dismiss him, but her mother, Pained by her tone of constraint and coldness toward one | whom she herself so greatly liked, came to he window herself. “Ellis, you are not even courteous to that | honest gentleman,” she said, in_tones of gentle reproach. *Mr. Ormsby,” she added, in cordial tone, “are you going anywhere? Are you busy?”’ “Entirely at vour seryice, Mrs. Farrar. | I found myself de trop at the house after the colonel took his nightcap and his lerve, so I came out for a stroll. The major | and Aunt- Lou are trying to remember where they left off last night, and Kitty, I | fancy, is bullying the lieutenant.’” “Then, would you mind coming in one | minute? I have a little packet that I want | Willy to find on his dressing table when he comes in.”” | 3 “Jl\dothlerll” p,leaded Ellis, almost breath- lesaly, “I—I—" “Hush, dear. Mr. Ormsby will be glad, I know.” And Mr. Ormsby was only too glad. Promptly he came to the door. Promptly he was admitted by Mrs. Daunton, who stood with palpitating heart at the foot of the stairs. “Thank you so much,”” was Mrs. Far- rar’s hail, from the landing above. It is in my room and will be ready in one minute, if you will kindly step into the parlor.” And then, as Mrs. Farrar passed on into her room and with no audible word, Mrs. Daunton and Jack passed into the parlor. Ellis standing a moment_ confused, con- | founded, irresolute—turned back into her | own room, and, only by a miracle, recov- ered herself in time to prevent the loud | slam of the door. Then, with heayily | beating heart, stie stood there in the middle | of the floor listening for, yet not listering | to, the sound of voices from below, the cold night air blowing in from the open casement unnoticed, even the mysterious prowler at the back of the house for the moment, utterly forgotten. And, meantime, turning quickly um Ormsby, the moment she had led within the parlor below, Helen Daunton, in low, trembling, yet determined accents, spoke hurriedly: I had not hoped for this. It is best I thought to see you no sooner than to-morrow night. You have read my note?”’ Ormsby bowed coldly. *“Yes, but no words can tell you my surprise at seeing you here in this household, and as the trusted companion of whom I have h 50 much. Do théy know you are—'"" “They know nothing. They have made me welcome, and made life sweet to me again after it was wrecked and ruined b their own flesh and blood. I meam—GoK forgive me—when first I came to them, lonelly, destitute, that some time they should know, but from the first I grew to love her; from the day of my reception un- der her roof my heart went out to her as it blessed mother died, lung years ago; and then, then I learned of her precarious health and I temporized, and now I love her as I love no other be- ing on earth, and, knowing that she never heard of her son’s marriage—for she has talked of him occasionally to me—I determined never to tell her that or of the litile one murdered by his brutality. I have hid it all—all. I hid from you, for ou alone knew me under the name she {ears and loves and honors. Oh, Mr. Ormsby, you were kindness, helpfulness itself to me in those bitter days. Can you not see how impossible it is for me to tell hernow? Can you not help me keep the hatefnl truth? ‘See, she has been gaining here day after day. Don’t let her know— don’t make me tell her—perhaps kill her wi}h the telling—that I am Royal Farrar's wife.' “Hush!” he whispered, for in her ex- citement her voice was rising, and he, listening nervously for a _footfall that he knew and loved and thrilled at the sound of, heard Ellis pass rapidly along the nar- row hall above as though in answer to her mother’s call. “Hush!” he repeated. ‘I must think of this. Tell me—has Miss Farrar at any time—in any way—seen that you have known me before?”’ % “She has, Mr. Ormsby, and I, with all the deep deep gratitude jeel toward you, T have ‘been unable to tell her the truth and explain what I cannot but know has made her suspicious of me, has hurt you in her estimation. Oh, what shall I do? what shall I do?” she cried, wringing her white hands in grief unutterable. eep my secret I implore you just twenty-four hours, until !Eis sacred anniwersary so fatal to, so dreaded by her, has passed away. Let no shock come to her at Christ- mas. Then, if need be—"" 5 *‘Hush!” he again warned, for Ellis was almost at the doorway. “I must see you to-morrow. Until then—" And then, though the sweat was standing on his forehead, he turned with such composure as he could assume, with yearning and tenderness beaming in his frank handsome has done to no other woman since my own | earth does he want to be playin’ Peeping | Tom about the officers’ quarters?” “No good, of course; but we can prove nothing, as you say, except that he was out of quarters and wasn’t at Bunko Jim’s after 11 o'clock, He was hereand in bed when I inspected.” : _ Very little was known about this epi- sode. " Mrs. Daunton had quickly revived under the ministration of Ellis and Mr. Ormsby, and, half laughing, half crying, had declared that just as she reached the window the blind swung slowly back and the moonlight fell full on the head and shoulders of a man with a fur cap, black beard, and soldier's overcoat. She could describe no other features. He saw her at the same instant. Each recoiled, but in her excited, neryous state it was too much of a shock. Ellis, who at first had been prone to attribute Helen’s prostration to the interview with Ormsby, recalled the gmwler she herself had seen, and could not ut corroborate Mrs. Daunton’s story. Jack had rushed out only to find boot- tracks in the snow and an unfastened blind, but no other sign of a man. Mrs. Farrar was kept_in total i&norance of the affair, and only Leale and Will at first were taken into the secret, though the captain at once went to consult his trusty non- commissioned officers. Ail the same, though Helen laughed at her weakness, when the morning came, she and Ellis parting for the night with but few words, and each feeling conscious of the gulf be- tween them, passed a restless and disquiet- ing night. i ust what mischief that fellow Graice | was meditating puzzled not a little the honest pate of Terry Rorke. For a time | the man worked busily, silently, Ineging bundles of greens into the hall and bare, | stripped branches out. Once or twice in answer to chaffing remarks of the other men, he had retaliated. Once again, col- liding with Orow Knife at the door, he had muttered an angry curse and bade the red- skin keep out of his way unless he coveted trouble. The Indian’s eyes flashed venge- fully, but he spoke not a word. It was just after guard mounting that Graice had offered his services when as supernumerary he really did not have to work at all, and “DROP THAT KNIFE!” . face to meet the proud girl whom he loved and in whose averted eyes he seemed to read his sentence. Never entering the room, but halting short at the doorway, she gave one quick glance at the woman, who, turning her back upon them, first seemingly busied herself at the curtains and then'moved on into the dining-room, which opened; army fashion, from the little parlor and then was lost to sight. “Mother desired me to hand you this, Mr. Ormsby,” was all that Ellis said, and then coldly turned away. “EllisI"" he cried, in low, eager, sorrow- ing tone, as he sprang after her. “Ellis— Ellis!” But instantly, with uplifted hand, she turned, first as though to confront and warn him back, then as though command- ing silence. ‘‘Silence—listen!" she said. “What is that?”’ Something like an- articulate, stifled moaning cry came from the direction of the dining-room, and rushinF thither, swiftly, noiselessly as he could, Ormsby was just in time to see Helen Daunton reeling back from the window and stagger- ing toward the sofa. But for being caught in his strong arms she would have gone crashing to the floor. CHAPTER VIIL i '"Twas the day before Christmas, and Frayne was merry with the music of Christ- mas preparation. Ever since reveille, the men had been busily at work, and while most of them were engaged in the decora- tion of their barracks, messrooms and the little chapel, Terry Rorke, with a good- sized squad, was still putting the finishin, touches on the assembly bhall. An oa thing had happened that morning. No one had ever known that fellow Graice to offer to do a stroke of work of any kind, espe- pecially where Rorke had anything to do with the matter, yet here he came, right after reveille, to tell that very man that if it was all the same to him, he’d take the place of Higgins, who had been put on | guard, and would help at the assembly- room. “There’s no whisky to be had there, Graice, if that's what ye want—and ye look more’n like it. Answer me this now. Where'd ye been whin ye came running in at wan o’clock this morning?” “On a still hunt,” corporal, answered Graice, with a leer. “It’s to keep awa from whisky this day I'm ready to worl withd ou. I'm supernumerary of the guard.” “You were drinkin’ last night, and you've had your eye-opener an brain- clouder this’ morning—bad scran to ye! There’s an internal revenue tax on the breath of you that would make an exciseman jealous, but God be good to us! Av it's to kape mischief away from the gnmsoq this day I'll go you. G'wan now, ut whist—you've no liquor about you, ‘Graice?” < “Dle,w;il a drop outside of my skin, cor- Tal. “Then kape out of reach of it and out of the way of the ladies, lest the sight of yer ugly mug would throw them into G'wan!” and Graice went. ‘‘Was it you, you black-throated devil, that gave that sweet lady her fright last night?” he con- tinued, reflectively. ‘‘There’s no provin’ it beyond the boot tracks, and they’d fit worse-looking feet than yours—it’s the wan mark of the gentleman™ that’s left to ye. Yes, sergeant, I'll kape me eye on him,” he continued, in response to a suggestion from the senior non-commissioned officer of the troop, who came forth from the office at the moment. ‘‘The captain’s hot about that business of last night, an’ like as not there’s the blackg [, kow, what on was not properly detailable for any such fatigue duty. By 10 o’clock, however, it was apparent to more than one present that he was drinking more liquor, and had it concealed, probably, somewhere about the premises or in bis overcoat. Rorke warned him and got a sullen reply. Not a minute after, although strict orders had been given against smoking, because of the flimsy nature of the structure and the large quantity of inflammable material scattered about, he precipitated an excite- ment. Right in the entrance of the hall a big square box had just been placed by two of the men, and Crow Knife was carefully removing the lid when Graice, lurching in from the dressing-room with a bundie of greens, stumbled against the edge of the case, and dropping his burden with a savage curse he drew back his heavily gooted foot as though to let drive a furious ck. Instantly the Indian interposed. ‘‘Don’t kick !’ he said. *‘Hold your hoof there!” shouted Rorke, and others of the men joined in their cry of warning. Wonder- ingly he looked about him on the quickly gathered group, swaying a bit unsteadily even now. “Why not?” he scowlingly, sullenly, thickly asked. *““What harm’s there kick- ing a rattlebox that’s almost broken my shin? What’s the matter with you fellows, anyhow ?” “It isn’t the box, you goneril, it’s what’s inside of it! That’s Colonel Farrar’s picture —God’s praise to him for_the finest soldier that iver rode at the head of the Twelfth.” ““That Colonel Farrar’s picture ?” muttered the man, in strange, half-awed, hali-de- fiant manner. *‘Well, I swear, that’s— that’s queer.”” And then, in some odd, nervous abstraction,” he whipped out a cigar, and the next thing they knew, had lighted it at the stove and tossed the flam- ing paper among the sweepings on the floor. Instantly there was a rush, a tram ling of feet, and just as Rorke wrathfully had collared the stupefied man, Lieutenant Farrar burst in upon the scene, stamping out the few remnninge sparks and then turning angrily upon the group. *Who dropped that fire? Who, I say?” he repeated, for, in soldier silence, the men had stood to attention, but, true to soldier eltlhic‘?x' would tell no tnlleg.y h"Don’: let that happen again, corporal,” he went on, stcrnly.pp“Yo\gx knew rg;;ll enough what a fire would mean hereabouts with the can- non powder stored in the tower yonder. Remember the orders—the guardhouse for the first man fooling with fire. Go on with your work.” And 51en, as the men turned silently away and Terry stood there look- ing abashed and troubled at the implied rebuke, Will sought to soiten the effect. “Why, you're doing great work here, cor- ral; the old place is wearing Christmas ress and no mistake.” & “It is, Masther Will,” said Rorke, de- lightedly. : “Masther Willl” repeated Farrar, indig- nantly. “On my soul, Rorke, you—" “I ‘beg the lieutenant’s pardon,” said Terry, all contrition and soldierly respect. “But 1've known him such a few weeks as lieutenant and so many and many a long year as Masther Will—" E “That'll do, corporal. Have the picture in its place as soon asyoucan. Mother will be over here to look at it.” ‘“Yes, mas—yes, sor.” And again as Will turned angrily toTe- buke the poor fellow there was a gathering of the men at the window lgoking out u&m the parade and something was said about a_lady slipping on the ice, which carried Will away like a shot. Two strides took him to the door, one glance sent him rushin% to the rescue. It was Miss Ormsby. And then, while some of the men went on with their work, others seemed to hang about Graice, who was oddly fascinated by the box and cast furtive glances at it, while Crow Knife, under Rorke’s direction, was quietly unpacking it. Again bad Graice wandeéred unsteadily over by the stove and stood there sullenly kicking at it until one of the men bade him quit or he'd start a fire in spite of them. ou’ll have us all in blazes before our time,’’ were the soldier’s words. “Not L Fire’s my friend,” answered Graice in a surly tone. “An’ likely to give you a long and warm welcome if you carry to purgatory the spirit you so sweetly manifest here. How yer frind ?” retorted Rorke. T “I mean it saved my life a year ago in Mexico. I saw a_girl once too often for her lover's good—hot-headed cur. He would have it and gotit—in the heart—and I got in quod and our Consul couldn’t help me. I am not the kind of citizen the United States hinders a foreign Govern- ment from sending to kingdom come and I was mighty nigh gettiug there.” X “And ye didn’t,” said Terry, highly in- terested. “The disi,xpensatlons of hiven are past findin’ out.” “Igue’s stood my friend, I say. 1 had my pipe—greasers ain’t the damned martinets you have here—and a spark went into the Straw. It blazed inan instant. There was | hell to pay, with the guard and greasers and prisoners running every which way. The prison had a little tower like that yon- der,” said he, pointing to the wooden struct- ure above the old log guardhouse. “I saw my chance in the confusion and ran for it. 1t was stone and never took fire, and I got safely away at night and vamoosed the country, and read afterward how the flames” had devoured the ruffianly mur- derer Roy—"" and here he caught himself, with sudden gulp, seeing Rorke’s sus- picious eyes upon him. £ “Eh, Graice, Roy, you were saying.” “Murderer, roisterer, and rascal, Tom Graice,” he went on. ‘“‘SoI've nothing to fear from fire.” Rorke eyed him long and distrustfully, grunting audible comment on the story, to which some of the men had listened in absorbed interest, while others were busily removing the picture and setting it in lace upon the wall. When it was fairly fiung, Crow Knife stepped back across the room, his eyes reverently fixed upon the fine, soldierly face. Graice, meantime, after a hurried glance about him, had drawn a flask from his breast pocket, and bad it lifted to his lips when Rorke grabbed it. “I thought so, ye mad-brained gabbler! You’ll be drunk before the day’s half over. Get up and look at the picture, man. It’s looking at you straight and stern.” “Who—who's looking at me? What —— rot are you talking?” shuddered Graice. “The colonel is and as if he didn’t relish the sight—small blame to him.”’ ““It’s asaying of my people,” said Crow in his slow, solemn tone, ‘‘whom the eyes of the dead call must rise and follow."” “You croaking—" hissed Graice, leaping to his feet and rushing at the Indian, but Burke threw himself between them. “Play wid fire when ye may, man, but never wid a tame tiger. Hush, now. Go out this door and cool that crazy head of yours. Here come the ladies.” : Instantly the excited group scattered, the men resuming their work as though at no time thought of crime or quarrel had entered there, but Rorke’s heart was | thumping hard as he went to his station. First to enter were Captain Leale and Mrs. Daunton, though the blithe voices and cheery laughter of the others could be heard without.” Evidently there was fun at Kitty’s expense, and ale had seized the opportunity to draw Helen to one side. They were talking earnestly as they en- | tered. It seems x;rovidenfiul that Will's first station should bring his maqther back to the old home. Here and now at least she | should be safe from all shock, especiaily with your care to guard her, Mrs. Daun- ton. ~ She said to me only yesterday: ‘Helen came to me only a little over a year ago, but I think I have needed her for years. She isas dear to me almost as my own daughter.’” “God bless her for those words,”’ said Helen, deeply moved. *‘Icame to herasa dependent, but she has taught me a new definition of motherhood.” “Motherhood has its sorrowful meaning for Mrs. Farrar,” said Leale, gravely, his handsome dark eyes fixed upon her face. “Has she never spoken to you of Royle, her eldest son ?”’ “She has sometimes mentioned him,” said Helen, with great constraint. ‘“But she can hardly bear to speak of him, and I know the bitter sorrow he brought to—to “every one who loved him; but,” she added, quickly, as though eager to change the subject, ‘“how cozy and warm and Christ- masy it looks and smells! I shall have another new definition—what Christmas means. We learn many definitions, do we not, as life goes on, and sometimes fate is ood to us and lets us learn the happiest ast.” “And you have learned a sad one of Christmas?” “I? A very sad one. My own baby died in my arms on Christmas eve.” Leale bent earnestly toward the sad, sweet face, a aeep emotion in his own, but at the moment Ellis entered, followed closely by Ormsby. 8he bowed in evident constraint at sight of the couple already there, and looked*as though she would ladly have turned about again. After Eer came Will and Kitty, and other young people of the post, all eager and intent on inspecting the preparations being made, all}ull of compliment to Rorke for the success attending his labors, all full of ad- miration of the rirait which they rouped about and admired, while Ellis gung her father’s saber underneath, And then once again the whole party, chatting merrily, went drifting out into the crisp air and glorious sunshine, leaving glower- ing after them from the doorway of the lit- tie room that opened off the main hall the ill-favored, ill-liked soldier Graice. Two minutes later, and no one could ex- lain how it started or what was its excit- ing cause, with hardily a spoken word or premonitory symptom, two men were clinched in furious struggle—one heavy, burly, powerful and gifted with almost demoniac strength, had hurled the other down. That other—lithe, sinewy, panther- like in every motion—writhed from under- neath his huge antagonist ana had sprung to his feet, while tge first, more sFowlv, heaved himself upward, and then, like a maddened bull, dashed at his foe. éprin ing lightly to one side Crow Knife, for it was he, w \pged from his sheath a glitter- ing blade and poised it high in air, and Graice, even in his blind fiu’y, saw and hesitated. There was a rush of the work- men to the spot, but Captain Leale was first of all. Clear and cold and stern his voice was heard, “Drop that knife! Drop that knife, Isay!” And slowly, reluctantly, though his eyes were blazing with hate and rage, the Indian turned toward the man he had learned to trust, to honor and to obey, and the knife fell clattering to the floor. Gracie made a lunge as though to grab it and Rorke’s ready foot tripped and felled him. Then, with both hands, the Irishman grabbed him by the collar and (firatgged him, dazed and ‘scowling, to his eet. ‘“There are ladies coming, sir,” was the low-murmured warning of one of the men. ‘‘Take that man outand cool him off,” said Leale, still ca’mly to_the corporal. “I'll hear the story later. Quiet now, one and all,” he added as the group dispersed. It is Mrs. Farrar.” They met at the very doorway, the fair, radiant woman, closely followed by her daughter, the dazed, hulking soldier, led, or rather driven forth by Corporal Rorke, and instantly a change, swift and fearsome, shot across the sweet, pathetic face. One glance was all, and then, pale as death, she tottered _ieebéy forward. Ellis sprang to her side in sudden alarm. ‘“Mother, dear- est, what is wrong? How you tremble.” or a moment she could not speak. ‘It is ioll{: it is weakness!” she faltered. #But that face—that dreadful face! The look in those_eges—the awtul glitter that only liquor kindles. I have not seen that look since—Oh, whenever I see it I say, God pity, pity his mother.” And then Helen Daunton came hastily in and helped to lead the agitated woman to a seat, and there she knelt beside her and soothed and comforted and cooed to her as women croon over a tired child, and Leale hovered helpfully about, grave, strong and gentle, and it was on hisarm she leaned, with Helen at her side, when finally she stood to look at_her husband’s | portrait. And little by little she grew calm and the flutteringsof her heart ceased to distress her, and Ellis, turning reluc- tantly away at the bidding of her garrison friends, left her mother to the ministra- tions of the woman whom with every hour, more and more, she learned to look upon as a rival; and then, saying that he wouid call for them in a few “minutes with his | sleigh, believing that a short drive in the exhilarating air would be of benefit, Leale, t00, leit them, and Mrs. Farrar and Helen Daunton were practically alone. Mess call sounding cheerily had called the men to their noonday meal. The eyes of the elder woman bhad fol- lowed the tall, soldierly form of Leale as he left the room, and then, tenderly, ques- tiorlningly, almostentreatingly, turned upon Helen. “I love him almost as I do my own son, Helen. My husband died in his arms. Surely you must realize that his great heart has belonged to you ever since he first set,eyes on your bonny face.” Mrs. Daunton almost started to her feet. “Oh, not that! Surely, not that! He is my good, true friend,” she cried. “Not the less your friend because all your lover, Helen.” ¢ “QOh, never my lover! I have no right—I am not free!” “Listen to me, Helen,’ pleaded her friend. ‘“Shall one mistake blighta life- time? I know your short marriage expe- rience was a cruel one.” “It was—heaven knows it was,” assented Helen, shuddering. | $11, T “Then do not make youth’s mistake, dear,” continued Mrs. Farrar, “and think | the story ended because one chapter is | closed. Tthought my story ended when they brought home my dead soldier. I've prayed many a time my story might end | in the years my first-born was an outcast. | Helen, I have hardly spoken to you of my eldest boy, but I can tell you now that, standing here to-night, I realize how out | of sorrow peace has come to me. Death, | which took away my husband, gave me! back my son.” | “Death!” cried Helen. ‘‘RoyleFarraris | not—dead ?” | “‘Helen, how strangely you' speak. He | has been dead a year, though only recently did they give me all the cruel facts. Major | Wayne learned them from the Consul in | Mexico.” In uncontrollable agitation Helen Daun- ton had turned away. ‘‘Royle Farrar| dead!” she gasped. “Then I—oh, God be thanked!” i The tears were blinding Mrs. Farrar, snd for a moment she saw nothing of Helen’s agitation. The bells of Leale’s sleighcame trillinlg merrily up the road without. Hastily she dashed away the pearly drops, | and smiling fondly drew her shrinking friend to herembrace. ‘‘Helen, dear, there is a new look in your face,”’ she whispered. “Tt is because I rejoice in my soul that vour heart is at rest. Itis because it is Christmas—Christmas, the time of burdens dros:ped, of old sorrows healed, of new births and sweet beginnings. Dear, the Christmas chimes are pealing in my heart. It is the first real Chrislmasfi have known in years.”” And so, her arm twining | about her friend, she led her forth into the radiant day, with all its sunshine beaming in her face. One minute only had they gone when, crouching from the dressing-room at one side, his face bloated and distorted, the soldier Graize sped swiitly across the floor and stooped to peak through the eastern window. Suadenly, back he sprang and stood swaying at the door of the anteroom, as Helen Daunton NEW TO-DAY. Curtan Department | Irish Point Curtains in 3 and 4 pair lots, | Former 50and QM M D005k pair Broken lines of Irish Point Curtains, i 50, $6 and @ D CLoRB AT, " $5.00 et Former $6 50, 25 pairs of Derhy Satin Portieres, Deep Fringe top and bottom, QX » TO CLOSE AT 3 50-00535 50 pairs of Heavy Tapestry Portieres, $6.00.%5 In newest Colorings, worth $750, TO CLOSE AT...... JUST RECEIVED. CHOICE LOT OF BAGDAD PORTIERES In Unique Patterns, to be sold at POPULAR PRICES. 50 pieces Hluminated Japanese Crepe, In Rickr Colqring at 2 906 a yard G.VERDIER & GO, came llurryitl? in. Coming from the daz- zlin% glare of the sun without into the dimly lighted room she almost collided | wiulxl the hulking figure without seeing it | at all. | “Mrs. Farrar has left her cloak,” she | faltered; “will you kindly move from the | way 2" | “You thought I had moved from yqur | way,” was the thick, husky answer, “but ! you'’re mistaken, my dear.” | Back she started as though stung, an | awful terror in her staring eyes, her| blanching face. | “You, Royle Farrar, and here!” she gasped. “You, Royle Farrar. Oh, my | gracious God !”” [To be continued.] Copyright, 1895. ‘Wills Were First Oral. ‘Wills were at first oral, as were also gifts of land, and were only morally binding on the survivors. Origen and other fathers of the early church credited Noah with hav- ing made a will, and in the fourth century the Bishop of Brescia declared all those | peretical who denied Noah’s division of the world to his three sons by will. The oldest known wills are those of Egypt. Both oral and written wills not frequently contained imprecations on those who | should neglect them. | The oldest written will in existance is | that of Sennacherib, which was found in the Royal Library of Konyunjik. There is | a great sameness about our own royal wills. They mainly relate to beds, bed- | ding, clothes, personal ornaments, gold | and silver cups and payments for masses, | and are general‘lry as prosaic as one could | contrive.—The Westminster Review, ! Instead of an engagement-ring, the Japanese lover gives his sweetheart a | piece of beautiful silk for sash. TELL-TALE FAGES. ; PINCHED AND CAREWORN, As Worn by Many American Women. ([SPECIAL TO OUR LADY BEFADERS.) The % teli-tale face’ is worn by many American women, and is a syaptom of symptoms, a signal of distress. While women do all in their power to hide their condition, the practised eye soon detects the | trouble. | ‘When pains and 4 aches are felt in H every part of the body, when faint- ness, dizziness, and that bearing-down feeling prevail, when loss of sleep and appetite are re- ducing flesh daily, when the society of friends is irksome, and the hopeless | ‘Dlues” predomi- nate, then the face is pinched, haggard, and careworn, and prompt relief is nec- essary, or a beauti- il ful life will be sacri- ficed. An American wo- man, Lydia E. Pinkham, a student of women and their diseases, twenty years ago succeeded in producing an absolute cure for all dis- eases of women. Lydia E. Pinkhan's Vegetable Compound stands to-day as it did then, pre-eminent. Mts. H. Wampler, of Barabo, Wis., whose letter we were permitted to pub- lish last year, writes that she hopes Mrs. Pinkham will continue to use her name, as the publication in newspa- pers of the account of her own wonderful cure and relief from years of misery has been the means of influencing many suffering women to.try Lydia E. Pink- ~ ham's Vegetable Compound, and become well like herself. Mrs. Wampler feels, and rightly, too, that in this way she is doing a great good. S. E. Cor. Geary St and Grant Ave,, S, P, VILLE“PAR BRANCH HOUSE, 223 SOUTH BROADWAY, LOS ANGELES. NEW INVOICE OF BABY CARRIAGES JUST RECEIVED. Larger Assortment Than Ever and Prices Lower. Reed-Body Carriage, hood top, steel wheels, a8 per cut. . 85 Fancy Reed Body upholstered Reed Body, hood top, steel gearing, uphol- stered in silk remy with plush oll....... 950 An immense assortment, Tanging from $10 to $25 Noiseless rubber-tire wheels put on any of our carringes at $2 50 extra. hood top, steel gear, well Electrical Construction and Repairing of All Kinds. Estimates Given. Special attention given to Sporting Goods and Barber Supplies. Razors, Shears and Knives ground and repaired. 818-820 Market Street Phelan Building. Factory—30 First Street. ISTHEVERY BESTONETO EXAMINEYOUR es and fit them 10 Spectacies or Eyeglasse: with instruments of his own mvenrmg‘ex‘\vh“: ;:.npmdt;r.fltyo):a: :Jw:::nleqll\led. My success has erits of _ Ofiice Hours—12 w0 4 r-nl:.y e NEW WESTERN HOTEL. EARNY AND WA2HINGTON STS.—RI- modeled and renovated. m.\\g WA;zrg’ l:’o European plan. 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