The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 16, 1903, Page 5

stood as they were until they noise of the front door closing i the soft retreating footsteps of the mean—to shame rs came again. t 1 had to; it was a couldn’t have ut it."” his arms, but her it about his neck. time p my mind—1 did e talked.” the couch. He held = o longer resisted, but s with quick little sighe, n & great strain. He cad and hair as she dried n we shall go.” That day at uld I do but 00k of you—to re for me.” we walked in 1 had e, and 1'd money— when and thought e 1 would 1 had asked n when I day in 1 come you seem: d you thought seek me—I n knows things went to tne inte the were go- heard your glad—but 1t istaken again— st sliked me. 1 was so disap- 3 rt and heartsick, and he d soothed me. And after 1 saw through him, and I ve you just as I'd man who would be all that nonsense about d been dinned int. me so om seeing it at first. But ou didn’t care for me when ed so about you, and that—you r care for her, did you—you ve cared for her, could you? t er that’ night, I'd such a tle feeling as if you had come : d seen—"' \ you so much. Why ¢ a moment, In early to-night, morrow and preach reary place heaven this!"™ How awful it is. of Mr. Shepler. g some hard thinking 4 person—"" eays how to wait sll night if I don't him if he moves off that spot his license taken away. Tell who's in the house be- ready to go out, sir.” p her—say Miss Milbrey wishes to & favor of ber; and Jarvis.” 4 e, sir!” “Go put on that neat black street coat yours that fits you so beautifully in the ack, and a purple cravat, and your h hat, and wait for us with Briggs. shall want you in & moment.” ““Yes, Mr. Bines, | Bhe looked at him wonderingly. “We nesd two witnesses, you know. I ; learned that from Oldaker just now. But do give me & moment, everything is all so whirling and hazy.” “Yes, I know—like the solar system in its nebulous state. Well, burry and make those worlds take shape. I can give you sixty seconds to find that I'm the North Star. Achl I have the Doctor von Herz- lich been ge-speaking with—come, come! What's the use of any more delay? I've wasted nearly three hours here now, dil- ly-dallying slong. But then, a woman never does know her own mind. Put a thing before her—all as plain as the tiplication table—and she must use up 3 o much good time telling 2 man that he’s crazy—and shedding tears because he it that two times two are thir- She was silent and motionless for another five minutes, thinking intent- ly, “Come, time's up.” fhe arose. “I'm ready. I shall marry you, if you think I'm the woman to help you in that big, new life of yours. They meant me not to know sbout Fred's marriage until afterward.” He kissed her. “I feel so rested and quiet now, as If I'd taken down & big old gate and let the peace rush In on me. I'm sure it's right. I'm sure I can help you.” She picked up her hat and gloves. “Now I'll go bathe my eyes and fix my ha! “I can't let you out of my sight, yet. I'm Incredulous. Ferbaps in seventy-five or eighty years—" “I thought you were 8o sure.” “While I can reach you, yes.” She gave a low, delicious little laugh. She reached both arms up around him, pulleu down his head and kissed him. “There—boy!" She took up the hat again. 11 be down in & moment.” 11 be up in three, if you're not.” ‘When she had gone Re picked up an en- velope and put a bill e. “Jarvis,” he called. The butler came up from below, dressed for the street. “Jarvis, put this envelope in the inside of that exceuent black coat of your and hand {t—afterward—to the gentleman we're going to do business with.” “Yes, Mr. uines.” “And put your cravat down In the back, Jarvis—it makes you look excited the way it is now.” “Yes, sir: thank you, sir]” “Is Briggs ready?” “She's walting, sir.” “Go out and get in the carriage, both of “Yes, sir!” He stood in the ballway walting for her. It was & quarter past ten. In another moment she rustled softly down to him. while he “I'm trusting so much to you're trusting so much to me. a rash step!” “Must I No, I'm going. take Aunt Cornelia “Aunt Cornelia won’t have a chance to you, and 1t's such Couldn't we stop and worry about this until it's all over. We'll stop there, then, if you like.” “We'll try Dr. Prendle, then. He's al- most sure, to be in.” “It won't make any difference if he isn't. We'll find one. Those horses are rested. They can go all night if they must.” “I have Grandmother Loekermann's wedding ring—of course you didn't fetch one. Trust a man to forget anything of fmportance.” His grasp of her hand during the ride did not relax, CHAPTER XLI | THE NEW ARGONAUTS. Mrs. Van Gelst came fluttering out to the carriage. “You and Briggs may get out here, Jar- There, that's for you, and that's for “hild, child! What does it mean? Mr. Bines is my husband, Mutterchen, we're leaving for the West in the morning. The excitement dld not abate for ten minutes or so. “And do say something cheerful, dear,” pleaded Avice at parting. “You mad child—1 was always afrald you might do something Itke this. But- I will say I'm not altogether sure you've acted foolishly.” “Thank you, you dear old Mutterchen, and you'll come to see us—you shal how happy I can be with this—this boy— this Lochinvar Jr. I'm sure Mrs. Lochin- var always lived happily ever after.” Mrs. Van Gelst kissed them both. “Back to Thirty-seventh str.et, driver,” “I shall want you at seven-thirty sharp to-morrow morning,” he sald, as they alighted. “Will you be here, sure?" “Bure, boss!"” “You'll make another one of those 1f you're on time.” The driver faced the bill toward the nearest street light and scanned it. Then he placed it tenderly in the lining of his hat, and said, fervently: “I'll be here. gent!” “My trunks,” Avice reminded him. “And, driver, send an express wagon at seven sharp. Do you understand, now?"” “Sure, gent; I'll have it here at seven, and be here at seven-thirty,” They went in. “You've sent Briggs off, and I've all that packing and unpacking to do.” “You have a husband who is handy at those things.” They went up to her room where two trunks yawned open. Under her directions and with her help he took out the light summer things and replaced them with heavier gowns, stout shoes, golf capes and.caps. “We'll be up on the Bitter Root ranch this mmer, and you'll need heavy things,” he had told her. Sometimes he packed clumsily, and she was obliged to do his work over. In these Intervals he studied with interest the big 0. room and her quaint old sam- pler worked in colored worsteds that had faded to grays and aull browns: Nuit Porte Consefl.” “Grandma Loekermann 4id it at the convent, ages ago,” she told him. ““What a cautious young thing she must have been!” - Ehe leaned against his shoulder. “But she eloped with her true love, young Annekie Van Schoule; left the home on Hickory street one night, and went far away, away up beyond One Hundred and Twenty-fifth street some- where, and then wrote them about it.” “And left the sampler?” “She had per husband—she didn't need any old sampler after that—Le mariage porte consell, aussi, monsieur, And now, you've married your wife with her wed- ding ring that came from Holland years and years ago.” It was alter midnight when they began to pack. When they finished it was near- 1y four. She had 1ald out a -.rk dress for the journey, but he insisted that she put it in a suit case and wear the one she had on. “I shouldn’t know you in any other— and it's the color of your eyes. I want that color all over the place.” “But we shall be traveling.” “In our own car. That car has b described in the public prints as & ‘suf of palatial apartments with all modern ences.” ** “I forgot.” “We shall be going West like the old '49-ers, seeking adventure and gold.” “Did they go in thelr private cars?”’ “Some of them went in rolling horse Concords and some walked, some of them pushed their baggage across in little handcarts, it—and we shall have to work as hard when we get there.” “Dear me! feel quite done up.” She threw herself on the wide divan, and he fixed pillows under her head. I'm glad it's all over. “You boy! THE SUNDAY CALL. six- and rest a moment.” head on his arm. but they had fun at “I'm_glad, too. Rest.” And I'm so tired already. T on his shoulder. Let's He leaned back by her and drew her It's the hardest day's work T ever did. Are you comfortable? “It's so good,” she murmured, nestling ‘‘Uncle Peter took his honeymoon in a big wagon drawn by a mule team, two hundred miles over the Placerville and SoSay For Bealtifiers This is The Store “Gibson’s Window Drape” Vel made of French kind,” that drapes gracefully, hemstitched, chenille and ribbon border, 18 inches wide, 54 inches long. The money-saving store’s price 756 “Marie de Koko” Drape Veils Made of Silk Chit- 4 - fon, 18 inches wide, 54 inches long. Hemstitched and heavily striped borders; in black, brown and blue. For hat drapes and other millinery purposes. Money-saving 5oc ptoré's piiee, o1 i e lics . Made in horsehair “ " 2 3 £ Mar?femzlau Comp!exltin Yell B v 56 eé 5_-;" d plain. oney-saving stores price.... . c [ ine” Veiling Hides the wrinkles and beautifies l-est‘:]lled V:Ihtn 1\tIIu: face, chenille dotted and twisted read effects. Money-saving store’s price 25(; “Amelia Bing]lam” Tuxedo and crisscross combined. Magnifies your beauty, and harm- less to your eyes. Velvet dotted and plain. 2 Money-saving store’s price ... 50 “ (9% ) : : In spider-web and horsehair effects. Youth- Mabelme ens the face and protects the skin. Money- it i o - 23¢ The New “Googeo-Eye” Veils Thin and _ airy. e = e 'Kj{ors;haird 2and spider-web combined, chenille dotted an plain. Money-saving store’s price.......... 250 Invisible Illusion Easy on the eyes and enhances - your beauty; double width and silk- finish. Money-saving store’s price. IOG Yard Honcr BriGht J o¢ Rosenberg Home cf Beautifigrs 818 Market. 11 O’Farrell. Red Dog Trall—over tne mountains from California to Nevada. But he he never had so happy a time.” “He's an old dear! I'll kiss him—how is it you say—'good and plenty? Did our Uncle Peter elope, too?" He chuckled. “Not exactly. It was more like abduc- tion complicated with assault and battery. Uncle Peter is pretty direct in his meth- ods. The young lady's family thought she could do better with a bloated capl- talist who owned three-eighths of a saw- mill. But Uncle Peter and she thought she couldn’t. So Uncle Peter had to lick her father and two brothers before he could get her away. He would have licked the purse-proud rival, too, but the rival ran into the sawmill he owned three-eighths of and barricaded the whole eight-eighths—the flve-eighths that didn’t belong to him at all, you under- stand—and then he threatened through a chink to shoot somebody if Uncle Peter didn’t go off about his business. So Un- cle Peter went, not wanting any unneces- sary trouble. I've always suspected he was a pretty ready scrapper In those days, but the poor old fellow's getting a bit childish now, with all this trouble about losing the money, and the hard time he had In the snow last winter. By the way, I forgot to ask, and it's almost too late now, but do you like cats?’ dore them—aren't kittens the dear- “Well—you're healthy—and your nose doesn’'t really fall below the speci- fications, though it doesn’t promise that you're any too sensible—but if you can make up for it by your infatuation for c: perhaps it will be all right. Of course I couldn’t keep you, you know, If you weren't very fond of cats, because Uncle Peter'd raise a row—"" She was quite still and he noted from the change in her soft breathing that she slept. With his free hand he carefully shook out a folded steamer rug and drew It over her. For an hour he watched her, feeling the arm on which she lay growing numb. He reviewed the day and the crowded night. He could do something after all. Among other things, now, he would drop a lit- tle note to Higbee and add the news of his marriage s a postscript. She was ac- tually his wife. How quickly it had come. His heart was full of a great love for her, but he could not quite repress the pride in his achievement—and Shepler had not been sure until he was poor! He lost consciousness himself for a lt- tle while. When he awoke the cold light of the morning was stealing in. He was pain- fully cramped and chilled from the open window. From outside came the loud chattering of sparrows and far away he could hear wagons as they rattled across a street of Belgian blocks from asphalt to asphalt. The light had been late in coming and he could see a sullen gray sky, full of darker clouds. Above the chiffonier he could ancient sampler. “La Nuit Porte Conseil.” It was true. In the cold, pitiless light of the morn- ing & sudden sickness of doubting seized him. She would awake and reproach him bitterly for coercing her. She had been right, the night before,—it was madness. They had talked afterward so feverishly, as if to forget their situation. Now she would face it coldly after the sleep. “La Nuit Porte Conseil.” Had he not been a fool? And he loved her so. He would have her anyway—no matter what she sald, now. She stirred and her wide-open eyes were staring up at him—staring with hurt, troubled wonder. The amazement in them grew—she could not understand. He stopped breathing. His embrace of he relaxed. And then he saw remembrance—recogni- tion—welcome—and there blazed Into her eyes such a look of whole love as makes men thrill to all good—such & look as makes them know they are men and dare all great deeds to show it. Like a sun- rise,.it flooded her face with dear, won- drous beauties—and still she looked, lent, motlonless—in an ecstasy of pure realization. Then her arms closed about his neck with a swift little rushing and he—still half-doubting, still curious—felt himself strained to her. Still more close- ly she clung, putting out with her inten- sity all his misgiving. She sought his lips with her own—eager, see the “Kiss me—kiss me—kiss me! all true—all true! My best-loved dream has come all true! I have rested so in your arms. I never knew rest before. I can't remember when I haven't awakened to doubt, and worry, and heart-sickness. And now it's peace—dear, dear, dearest dear, for ever and ever and ever.” ey sat up. ow we shall go—get me away quick- Oh, it's 1y. It was nearly seven. Outside the sky was still all gloom. In the rush of her reassurance he had forgotten his arm. It hung iimp from his shoulder. “It was cramped.” “And you didn’t move {t?” They beat it and kneaded it gayly to- gether, until the fingers were full of the rushing blood and able agaln to close warmly over her own little hand. “Now go, and let me get ready. be long.” He went below to the libraty, and in the dim gray light picked up a book, “The Delights of Delicate Eatin He tried another, 101 Sandwiches.” The next was “Famous Epicures of the Sev- enteenth Century.” On the floor was her diary. He placed It on the table. He heard her call him from the stairs “Bring me up that ring from the table, please!” He went up and handed it to her through the narrowly opened door. I As he went down the stalrs he heard the bell ring somewhere below, and he went to the door. “‘Baggage!” The two trunks were down and out. “They're to go on this car, attached to the Chicago express.” He wrote the di- rections on one of his cards and pald the man. At seven-thirty the bell rang again. The was there. hirty, gent! I won't m coming. And there are two bags I wish you'd get from my room.” He let her pass him and went up for them She went Into the lfbrary and, taking up the diary, tore out a sheet marked heavily upon it with a pencil around the passage she had read the evening before and sealed it in an envelope. She ad- dressed It to her father. and laid it. with a paper-weight on it, upon “The Delights of Delicate Eating,”” where he would be sure to find It. The book itself she placed on the wood lald ready In the grate to light, touched a match to the crumpled paper under- neath and put up the blower. She stood waiting to see that the fire would burn. Over the mantel from its yellow canvas looked above her head the humorously benignant eyes of old Annekje Van Schoule, who had once removed from Maspeth Kill on Long Island to New Harlem on the island of Manhattan, and carried there, against her father's will, the yellow haired girl he had loved. His face mow seemed to be pretending un- consclousness of the rashly acted scenes he had witnessed—lest, if he betrayed his consciousness. he should be forced, in spite of himself. to disclose his approval —a thing not fitting for an eldetly, digni~ fled Dutch burgher to do. “Avice! “Coming!" She took up a little package she had brought with her and went out to meet him. \B “There’s one errand to 4o, she sald, as they entered the carriage, “but it's on our way. Have him go up Madison avenue and deliver this.” She showed him the package addressed: “Mr. Rulon Shepler, personal.” “And this,” she sald, giving hi sealed note. ‘“Read it, please He read: “Dear Rulon Shepler: I am sure you know women too well to have thought I loved you as a wife should love her hus- band. And I know your bigness too well to belleve you will feel harshly toward me for declding that I could not marry you. I could of course consistently attribute my change to consideration for you. I should have been very little comfort to you. If I should tell you just the course I have mapped out for myself—just what latitude I propose to claim—I am certain you would agree with me that I have done to you an inestimable favor. “Yet I have not changed because T do not love you, but because I do love some one else with all my heart; so that I claim no credit except for an entirely consistent selfishness. But do try to bellieve, at the same time, that my own gelfishness has been a kindness to you. I send you a package with this hasty letter, and beg you to believe that I shall remain—and am now for the first time— Sincerely yours, “AVICE MILBREY BINES.” #p. 8. I should have preferred to wait and acquaint you with my change of in- tention befors marrying, but my hus- band’'s plans were made and he would not let me delay.” He sealed the envelope, placed it secure- 1y under the cord that bound the package, and their driver delivered it to the man who opened Shepler's door. As their train emerged from the cut at Spuyten Duyvil and sped to the north slong the Hudson, the sun blazed forth. “There, boy—I knew the sun must shine to-day."” ‘They had finished thelr breakfast. Ome- half of the pink roses were on the table, and one from the other half was in her an un- “I ordered the sun turned on at just this point,” replied her husband, with a large air. “I wanted you to see the last of that town under a cloud, so you might not be homesick so soon.” “You don't know me. You don't know what a good wife I shall be." “But I had to make you. I had to pick you up just as I did that first time, and again down in the mine—and you were frightened because you knew this time I wouldn't let you go.” “Only half afraid you wouldn't—the other half T was afraid you would. They got all mixed up~I don’t know which was ‘worse.” “Well, I admit I foozled my on that copper stock—but I wom you— really my winnings in Wall Street are pretty dazzling after all, for a man who didn’t know tne ropes—there's a mirror directly back of you, Mrs. Bines, if you wish to look at them—with & pink rose over that kissy place just at their tem- ple.” She turned and looked, pretending to be quite unimpressed. “I always was capable of it, I tell you, —boy!" “What hurt me worst that night, it showed you could love some one—you did have a heart—but you couldn’t love me.” She did not seem to hear at first, nor to comprehend when she went back over his words. Then she stared at him In sudden amazement. He saw his blunder and looked foolish. ‘I see—thank you for saying what you did last night—and you didn’t mind—you came to me anyway. in spite of that.” She arose and would have gone around the table to him, but he met her with open arms. d"Oh. you boy! you do love me,~you o “I must buy you one of those nics, shiny black ear-trumpets at the first stop. You can’t have been hearing at all well. See, sweetheart,—out across the river. That's where our big West is, over that way—Isn't it fresh and green and beautiful?—and how fast you'rs going to it—you and your husband. I belleve it's going to be a good game . . . for us both . my lov o