The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 21, 1898, Page 24

24 THE SAN FRANCISCO CALL, SUNDA ATGUST 28, 1898 A TREMOR SHE KISSED THE COLD FOREHEAD WITHOUT ght, 1895, by Bret Hart. PART IL As she entered the iron gates at the lower end of the park, and glanced at the interwoven cipher and crest of the Amelyns still above, she was conscious that the wind was blowing more chill, and that a few clouds had gath- ered. As she walked on down the long, winding avenue, the sky became o st—and in one of these strange con- trasts te, the glory of the whole day The woods suddenly pecame nt hills somber, the very En- her feet grew brown; a mile and a half opening of the trees, the west part of the Priory looked # crumblifig, ivy-eaten ruin. A few drops of rain f She hurried on. Suddenly she remem- bered that the avenue made a long circuit before approach- Co, = wrinkled and gr: glish turf beneat} away, through t ing the house, and that its lower end, where she was walking. but a fringe of the park. Consequently thers must be a short cut across some flelds and farm buildings to the back of the p: 1d the Priory. She at once di- verged to the right, presently found a low fence, which she clambered over and ain found a footpath which led to a stile. Crossing that, she could see the footpath now 3 how a grim and austere looking pile in the suddenly dejected landscape—and that it was probably only used by the servants and farmers. A gust of wind brought some swift needles of rain to her cheek; she could see the beyond the Priory already veil- ing their faces; she gathered her skirts and ran. The next fleld was a long one, but beside the further stile was a small clump of trees, the only ones between her and the park. Hurrying on to_the shelter, she saw that the stile was already occupied by a tall but bent figure, holding a long stick in his hand, which gave him the appearance, against the horizon, of the figure of Time leaning on his scythe. As she came nearer she saw it was, indeed, an old man, half resting on his rake. He was very rugged , and, although near the shelfer of the :nmindful of the rain that was falling on . and the limp holding useless He wa ring at her, yet apparently un- A sudden instinct came upon led directly to the Pri sad h *“Debs went directly up to him, and with that frank com- sense which ordinarily distinguished her, took his cap his hand and put it on his head, grasped his arm shelter of the trees. Then she is face with her handkerchief, and wet parasol, and, propping y a tree, sald: ““There, Mr. s! I've heard of people who didn’t know enough to come in when it rained, but I never met one before.” The old man started, lifted his halry, sinewyarm, bared to the elbow, and wiped his bare throat with the dry side of it. Then a look of intelligence—albeit half aggressive— came to his face. “Wheer beest tha going?” he sald. Something in his voice struck Sadie like a vague echo. Perhaps it was only the queer dialect—or some resem- blance to his granddaughter's voice. She looked at him a little_more closely, as she said: *“To the Priory Whaat?"’ » pointed with her parasol to the ble that this demented pe: shook gray pile in the sant didn’t Suddenly his brows knit omin- ously as he faced her. “An’ wassist tha dein’ dresst 0op y? Wheer gettest thee that goawn? Thissen, er? Nowt even a n'apron, fit for thy wark ettin ‘tha place at hall! tha? Thou'lt not walk or thy mae as maid at servi So thou’lt be high and moity wil wi' maids, but traipse by this sen like a slut in the toon— dang tha!" Although it wis plain to Sadie that the 01d man, in his an’ parson a had mistaken her his grand- the Priory, th s still enough r to have resented It. But, kind of authority in it that siness and repulsion that’ was ger than any other feeling. “I think you have mis- taken me for some one else,” she sald, hurriedly, yet won- dering why she d admitted it, and even irritated at the admission; “I am a stranger here, a visitor at the Priory. lled with Miss Amelyn at vour cottage, and saw your granddaughter; that's how I knew your name.” The old man’s face changed. A sad, senile smile of hopeless bewilderment crept into his hard mouth; he plucked his limp cap from his head and let it hang sub- missively in_his fingers, as if it were his sole apology. Then he trald to stralghten himself and sald: ‘*“Naw of- ins, miss, naw offins! If tha knaws mea tha'll knaw I'm grandfeyther to two galls as moight be tha owern age: tha'll tell ee that old Debbs at haaty years 'as warked and nivver lost a day as man or boy: has niver coome oopen ‘em for ha-porth. An’ 'e'll keap out o' warkus till he doy. An’ ’e’s put by enow to loy wi' his own feythers in I&n ksheer, an' not liggin aloane in Parson’s choorch- yard. It was part of her uneasiness that, scarcely under- standing, nor, indeed, feeling any Interest in these maun- dering detalls, {11l seemed to have an odd compre- hension of his character and some reminiscent knowledge of him, as If she were going lhrnuih the repetitionof some unpleasant dream. Even his wrinkled face was becoming familiar to her. Some weird attraction was holding her; she wanted to get away from it as much as she wanted to analyze it. She glanced ostentatiously m¢ the sky, pre- pared to open her para and began to edge cautiously aw: wandering percep daughter in s eness in h ay. dep Then tha' beant from these pearts?” he sald, sud- enly No, no an American. The old man started and moved toward her, eagerly, his keen eyes hrrukmfi through the film that at times ob- scured them. “Merrikan! tha baist Merrikan? Then tha knaws ma son John: ‘e war nowt but a bairn when brether Dick took un .to Merriky! Naw! Now! That war fifty years sen!—nivver wroatée to his old feyther—alvver coomed_back. 'E_wor tall-loike, an’ thea said ‘e ravored mea.”” He stopped. threw up his head, and with his skinny fingers drew back his long, straggling locks from his sunk- en cheeks. and stared in her face. The quick transition of fascination, repulsion, shock and indefinable apprehension made her laugh hysterically. To her terror he joined in it, she said, quickiy and emphatteally—"no, I'm and eagerly clasped her wrists: “Eh, lass! tha knaws hn—tha' coomes from un to old grandfeyther., Who-rr-u! JPa lhut tha tho't to fool mea, g&d tha’ 1ass? Whoy, 1 knoawed tha voice, for a’ tha folne peacock feathers. So tha be John's gell coom from Ameriky. Dear, a dear! Coom neaur lass! Let's see what tha’'s lolke. Eh—but thou'lt kiss tha' grandfevther sewerly?” A wild terror and undefined consternation had com= pletely overpowered her! But she made a desperate effort to free her wrists, and burst out madly: “Let me go!.How dare yvou! I don't know you or yours! I'm nothing to you o:é'our kin! My name is Des- borough—do_you understand—do you hear me, Mr. Debs? —Desboroughi!” “So thou'lt call thissen—Des-borough!—wilt tha? Let me tell tha, then, that ‘Debs’ ‘Debban.’ ‘Debbrook’ and ‘Desborough’ are all the seame! Ay! Thy feyther and thy feyther's feyther! Thouwlt be a Des-borough, will tha? Her flughed face and disordered appearance were easily ac- counted for by her exposure to the sudden storm. She went to her bedroom, sent her maid to another room to prepare a change of dress, and sinking down before her traveling desk, groped for a document. Ah, there it was— the expensive toy that she had played with! She hastil ran over its leaves to the page she already remembered. And there, among the dashes and perpendicular lines she had jested over last night, on which she had thought was a collateral branch of the line, stood her father's name and that of Richard, his uncle, with the bracketed notes in red ink, “see Debbrook, Daybrook, Debbers and Debs. Yes, this gaunt, half-crazy, over-worked peasant, content to rake the dead leaves before the rolling chariots of the Beverdales, was her grandfather; that poorly clad girl in the cottage—and even the menial in the sculle of this very house that ht be hers—were her cousins! She burst into.a laugh, and then refolded the document and had gone up to her bedroom and had r\m‘gltwl‘c“ex or thrice impatiently for her maid. When the girl made nher ap- pearance, )apologetlc. voluble, excited, Miss Desborough Bolcey listened to her excuses, antl Zsin gle word sud- enly arrested her attention. W E ““‘What are you talking about?” said Sadle, pausing in the adjustment of her hat on her brown,halr. “0Old Debs, miss; that's what they call him; an old park keeper, just found dead in a pool of water in at‘r‘:s dogecart. Miss Derbnroui to put on a wi er cloal fields; the grandfather of one of the servants here; there’s such an excitement in the Servants' hall. The ernon say gentlemen all knew it, too, for I heard &ord that he was looking very queer lately and mign{ have had & fit; and Lord Beverdale has sent word to the Coroner. And ‘only think, the people here are such fools that they daren’t touch or move the r man, and him Iyin’ there in the rain all the time, untl the Coroner comes! Miss Desborough had been 'steadily regarding herself in the glass to see if she had turned pale. She had. She set her teeth together until the color partly returned. But “‘That’ll do,” she she kept her face away from the mald. sald quietly. “You can tell me all later. I have some im- portant news myself, and I may not go out after all. I want you to take a note for me.” She went to her table wrote a line in pencil, folded it, scribbled an address upon it, handed it to the girl and gently pushed her from the room. Cf B A . . The Consul wae lingering on the terrace beslde one of the carriages; at a little distance a groom was holding the nervous thoroughbred of Lord Algernon's dogcart. BSud- denly he felt a touch on his shoulder, ‘and Miss Desbor- ough's mald put & note in his hand. It contained only a line: Please come dnd see me In the library, but with- out making any fuss about it—at once. 8. D. The Consul glanced around him; no one had apparentlx noticed the Incident. He slipped back into the house an made his way to the library. It was a lon; gn.llae!(?; at the further end Miss Desborough stood cloaked, vetled and co- quettishly hatted. She was Iookhg very beautiful and animated. I want you to please do me a great favor,” she said, with an adorable smile, “as your own country- woman, you know, for the sake of Fourth of July, and pumpkin pie, and the old flag! I don’t want to go to this circus to-day. I am going to leave here to-night! I am! Dang tha! And logk doon on tha kin, and dress thissen in sflks o’ shame! Tell 'ee thou'rt an ass, gell! Don’t tha hear? An ass! for all tha bean John's bairn! An ass! That's what tha beast!” With flashing eyes and burning cheeks she made one more supreme effort, lifting her arms, freelng her wrists, gnd throwing the old man staggering from her. Then she leaped the stile, turned and fled through tne rain. before she reached the end of the field she stopped! had freed herself—she was stronger than he—what had she to fear? He was crazy! Yes, he must be crazy, and e had insulted her, but he was an old man—and God nows what! Her heart was beating rapidly—her breath was hurried—but she ran back to the stile. He was not there. The field sloped away on either side of it. But she could distinguish nothing in the pouring rain above the windswept meadow. He must have gone home. Relieved for a moment, she turned and hurried on toward the Priory. But at every step she was followed, not by the old man’s presence, but by what he had said to her, which she could not shake off as she had shaken off his detaining fingers. Was it the ravings of Insanity, or had she stum- bled unwittingly upon some awful secrét—was it after all a secret? Perhaps it was something they all knew, or would know later. And she had come down here for this, For, back of her indignation, back, even, of her disbelfef in his ‘insanity, there was an’awful sense of truth. The names he had flung out of “Debs,” ““Debbans” and *‘Deb- brook” now flashed upon her as something she had seen before, but had not understood. Until she satisfled herself of this she felt she could not live nor breathe! She louthed the Priory, with its austere exclusiveness as it rose before her; she wished she had never entered it, but it contained that which she must know, and know at once. She en- tered the nearest door, and ran up the grand stalrcase. SHE MADE ONE MORE SUPREME EFFORT. put it away. Yet under this surface sparkle and nervous exaltation Sadie never lost consciousness of the gravity of the situa- tion. If her - of humor enabled her to see one side of its grim irony—if she experienced a wicked satisfaction in accepting the admiration and easy confidence of the high- born guests, knowing that her cousin had assisted in pre- paring the dinner they were eating, she had never lost sight of the practical effect of the discovery she had made. And she had come to a final resolution. She should leave the Priory at once and abandon all idea of a matrimonial alllance with its heir! Inconsistent as this might seem to her selfish, worldly nature, it was nevertheless in keeping with a certain pride and Independence that was in her blood. She did not love Lord Algernon, neither did she love her grandfather; she was equally willing to sacrifice either knew that neither Lord Algernon nor his father would make her connections an objection, however they might wish to keep the fact a Secret—or otherwise dispose of them by Eens ons or emigration, but she could not bear to know it herself! She never could be happy as the Mistress of Scrooby Priory with that kxnowledge; she did not idealize it as a principle! Carefully weighin, by her own practical common sense, she sald to herself that “it wouldn't pay.” The highest independence I8 often akin to the lowest selfishness; she did not dream that the same pride which kept her grandfather rrom the work- house and support by his daughters, had kept him from communicating with his own son, and now kept her from acknowledging them even, for the gift of a title and do- main. There was only one question before her: Should she stoy long enough to receive the proposal of Lord Al- gernon and then decline it? Why should she not snatch that single feminine joy out of the ashes of her burnt-u {llusion? She knew that an opportunity would be offeres that afternoon, The party were to take tea at Broxby Hall, and Lord Algernon was to drive her there in his I want you to manage it. I want you to say that as Consul you've received important news for meé—the death of some relative, if you like—or. better, sr-mr‘xhln? affecting my property, you know''—with a little satirical laugh—"1 guéss that would fetch "em! So go at Honest Injin! “But really, M Desborough, do let us talk this over before you decide implored the bewildered Consul. “Think what a disappointment to your host and these ladies. Lord Algernon expects to drive you there—he is already waiting! The party was gotten up for you.” Miss Desborough made a slight grimace. “I mean you ought to sacrifice something—but I trust there is really nothing se- rious—to them!" “If you do not speak to them I will!" sald Miss Des- borough, firmly. “If you say what I tell you it will come the more plausibly from you. Come! My mind is made u#). gne of us must break the news! Shall it be you or I1?" She drew her cloak over her shoulders and made a step forward. -/ “Not a word more,” sald Miss Désborough, ‘“‘except’’— she added, checking her smile with.a weary gesture—‘'ex- cept that I want to leave this dreadful place at oncel There! Don't ask me any more!” There could be no doubt of the girl's sincerity, nor was it the extravagant caprice of a petted idol. What had hap- ened? He might have believed in a lover's quarrel, but e knew that she and Lord Algernon could have had no private interview that evening. He must, perforce, ac- cept her silence, yet he could not help saying: “You seemed to like the place 8o much 1!3( night. I say, ‘;ou haven't seen the Priory ghost, haye you?"" wIhe Priory ghost,” she said quickly; "wflm'; that?” 'The old monk who passes through the cloisters with the sacred ofl, the bell and the smell of incense, whenevér any one is to die here. By Jove! It would have been a good story to tell instead of this cock-and-bull one about v roperty. And there was a death here to-day. You'd 31:‘\1': %d ed t);xe Sybil's gifts to your other charms. Sroll e about that old man,” she said, looking past him out of the window. “] was at his cottage this morn- ing. But, no! First jet us go out. You can take me for I8 alle it you like. You see I am all ready, and I'm just~ mfl;‘%geyh?lx:s‘cended to thg terrace together. “Where would 7' 'he asked. ke yo““l}l;et;l% %"l?llage. T may want to telegraph, you know. They turned into the avenue, but Miss Desborough stopped ere not a shorter cut across the fields?” ked: “over, there?’ AKX There is,” sald the Consul. They both turned into the farm and stile. After a pause, talk with that poor old man? 1't know if he really she footpath which led to the she said: *“Did you ever was crazy as they e “l:l;h.en you ! think?" 3 “No; {1+ may have thought an old man’'s forget- rulnggb})%ep t (hif)bgs and his habit of communing with the past was i1~ inity. For all that he was a plucky, inde- pendent feilow h'a grim purpose that was certainly ra- "ml‘al"suppose in his independence he wouldn’t have taken s from m‘csekpeople—or anybody 1d think nat.” "figgfluyou think It was just horrid—thelr leaving him alone In the rain, when he might have been only m a fit?” “The doctor says he died suddenly of heart disease, said the Consul. “It might have happened at any moment and without warning.” = A;Il Ohat was (he Coroner’s verdict, tnen,” sald Miss Desborough, quickly, 3 ho Eoroner dld not think it necessary to have any inquest after Lord Beverdale’s statement. It wouldn’t have been very joyous for the Priory party. I say he thought it might pot be very cheerful for you. “How very kind,” said the young girl with a quick know that it's about the only thing laugh. “But do you huthan or(fiinal and striking that has happened in this lace since I've been herel And 8¢’ unexpected, consider- rng how comfortable everything is ordered here before- hand.” “Yet you seemed to like that.kind of ng very well last evening,” eald the Consul, mischievously. > “That was last night,” retorted Miss Desbofough, “and you know the line, ‘Colors seen by candle-light do not look the same by day.’” But I'm going to be very consistent to- day, for 1 intend to go over to that poor man's cottage aga"ln, and see if I can be of any service. Will you go with me? “Certainly,” said the Consul, mystified by his compan- jon’s extraordinary conduct, yet apparent coolness of pur- pose, and hoping for some further explanation. Was she only an inexperienced flirt, who had found herself on the oint of a serious entanglement she had not contemplated? Yet even then he knew she was clever enouxgh to extricate herself in some other way than by this abrupt and brutal tearing through the meshes. Or was it possible she really had any Intelligence affecting her property? He reflected that he knew very little of the Desboroughs, but, on the other hand, he knew that Beverdale Knew them much better, and was a prudent man. He had no right to de- mand her confidence as a reward for his secrecy—he must wait her pleasure. Perhaps she would still explain; women seldom could resist the triumph of telling the secret that hers. DUz Oy reached the village she halted before the Wh they e lDW’:‘ :{’of %ebfl' cottage. ‘I had better go in first,” she id; can come in later, and in the meantime you ;?n'gr’n 20 %o the station and find out the exact time that the express train leaves for the north.” “Fut,” sald the astonished Consul, “T though you were to’ London?” B 5% Said Miss Desborough, quietly. join ‘some friends at Harrogate.’ “But that train goes much eariier than the train south, and—I'm afrald Lord Beverdale will not have returned so 800! “I am going to “How sad!” said Miss Deshorough, with a faint smile, “but we must bear up under it, and—I'll write him. T wil be here until you return.” She tutned away and entered the cottage. The grand- daughter she had already seen and her sister, the servant St'the Priory, were both chatting comfortably, but ceased as she entered, and both rose with awkward respect. There was little to suggest that the body of their grand- father, already in a rough oak shell, was lying upon tres- tles beside them. “You have carried out my orders, I see,” said Miss Desborough, laying down her parasol. “Ave, miss, but it was main harrd gettin® it dooan so soon, and et cooast—" “Never mind the cost. I've given you money enough, I think—and if I haven't I guess I can give you more.” 'Ave, miss. Abbut the pason 'ead gl' un a funeral for But I understood you to say,” said Miss Desborough, with an impatient flash of eye, “that your grandfather wished to be buried with his kindred in the north?” “Aye, miss,” said the girl, apologetically, “an’ naw *ees savit th’ munny. Abbut ’e’d bean tickled 'ad 'e knowed it. Dear! Dear! 'E nivver thowt et 'ud be gi'en by stran- ger an’ not 'e's ownt fammaly.” “For all that you nsedn’t tell anybody 1t was given by aid Miss Desborough. ‘‘And you'll be sure to be to take the train this afternoon—without delay.” remptoriness in her voice very un- apparently muen more effective me,’ ready Amelyn's, i granddaughter. “Aye, miss. Then, If tha'll excoose mea, I'll go streight to ’oory oop sexton.” She bustled away. “Now Desborough, turning to the other girl, “I shall take the same train, and will probably see you on the platform at York to give my final directions. That's all. Go and see if the gentleman who came with me has returned {rom the station.” ottt In_spite of the bright and characteristic letter which Miss Desborough left for her host—a letter which mingled her peculiar shrewd sense with her humorous extrava- gance of expression—the Consul spent a somewhat uneasy evening under the fire of questiaps that assailed him in eference to the fair deserter. But he kept loyal faith with er—adhering even to the letter of her instructions—and gnly once was goaded into more active mendacity. The conver- sation had turned upon ‘‘Debs,” and the Consul had re- marked upon the similarity of the name. A guest fréom the North observed, however, that the name was undoubt- edly a contraction. “Possibly it might have been ‘Deb- borough,” or even the same name as our fair friend.” “But didn’t Miss Desborough tell you last night that she had been hunting up her people—with a family tree, or something like that?’ sald Lord Algernon, eagerly. “I ljum caught a word here and there,” for you were both aughing.” The Consul smiled blandly. *“You may well say so—for it was a]l the most delightful Elece of pure invention and utter extravagance. It would have amused her still more if she had thought you were listening and took it seri- 'Of course—I see!" said the young fellow with a laugh and a slight rise of color. “I knew she was taking some kénl% of a rise out of you—and that remark reminded me of it."” Nevertheless, within a year, Lord Algernon was h - Iy _married to the daughter of a South African iiontze whose bridal offérings alone touched the sum of half a million. It was also said that the mother was “impagsi- ble,” and the father “unspeakable,” and the relations “in- extinguishable,” but the wedding was an ‘“occaston,” and in the succeeding year of festivity it is presumed that the names of “Debs” and “‘Desborough” were alike forgotten. But they existed stiil in a little hamlet near the edge of a bleak northern moor, Where they were singularly exalt- ed on a soaring shaft of pure marble above the submereed and_moss-grown tombstones of a_simple country church- yard. So great was the contrast between the modern and pretentious monument and the graves of the humbler fore- fathers of the village that even the Americans who chanced to.visit were shocked at what they believed was the ostentatious_and vulgar pride of one of their own countrywomen. For on its pedestal was inscribed: Bacred to the Memory of JOHN DEBS DESBOROUGH Formerly of this Parish ‘Who departed lh]l;g;"e October 20th, At Scrooby Priory, At the Age of Eighty-two Years. This monument was erected as vi testimony_ by His Grund‘{ i daughter, Badie Desborough, of New Y orousty ork, “And Evening Brings Us Home.” Ooseerams (THE END) 000000000000000000000000000000’\000000000OOOOO00000OO000000000000OOOOOO0OO0000000000000OOOOOOOO00OOOQOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO0000 —= A YARD OF CATS WITHOUT A CATERWAUL OR BOOTJACK. =—- TOM WINKED AT ME, HE DID. YOU DON'T THINK | TOOK YOUR CREAM? HEAVENLY TWINS HIS FIRST TRIP TO TOWN. DIBN\T J GET FIRST PRIZE AT THIS CAT SHOW? AIN'T | BEAUTIFUL? | ) ,Lfil LA 3y > THERE ARE OTHERS,