The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, November 22, 1903, Page 3

rounds 1 r d on the heels of it the sing me for a A likely story, that!” he scoffed. “Next say she knew not what this mes- sage was I sald it once. Ehe knew not what the message was, . nor whby I sent me as I spoke and om't you see? I looked, and Ireton, and does trapped you and you may as well make a clean some forge mire o to tip an arrow uld mot stop aside at her or any drew the bow tered oath from Fal of rage from where her fat 1 ht lady’'s ey a glance, and _though ever tried befora®o read re overcautious, 1 not make It m: " he room, cub an- orders, Captain Iret he had done before, But he put it off ligh So saying, he dragged the big wick ch into the bay window, planted him- self deep within it with his back to ail the room, and so left me to my own de- vices. Beilng spent enough to sleep beneath ehadow of a gibbet, I threw myself pon the ebb tide of exhaustion orgetfulness when once again the shifting of den door bar roused me. I rose ly, but Tybee was before me ere was some low voiced conference at the door; then Tybes came to me. *Tis Mr. he said. “He has permission colonel and in- sists that he t see you solus. I'll ake your word and leave you,.f you ke.” At first T hung reluctant, wanting little of the bost who came so late to see his guest. Then, as if a sudden flash of lightning bad 1evesled it, I realizéd, as I had not before, how I had set the feet of my dear lady in a most hideous laby- rinth of deception: how this lle that I had told to bridge a momentary gap must jeave her peither maid nor widow in the morning. “Yes, ves: for God’s sake, let him in, Mr. Tybee,” I burst out. *“I am falr crazed with weariness, and had forgot “Tis most important, I do assure you.” Gilbert tro Stalr, fore T knew it I was alone with the old man who, though he was my supplanter, was also Margery’s father. He entered cautiously, shielding his bedroom candle with his band and peering over it to make me out, as If venturing in were not unperilous. And I marked that when he put the candle down upon the table he edged away and felt behind him for the door as if to make sure of his re- treat case of need. “Sit down, Captain Ireton: sit down, I beg of you,” he sald in his thin, rasping e. And when I had obeyed: “I think must know what I've come for, Cap- ain Ireton?” 1 said I could guess; and he began again, volubly now, as if to have it over in the shortest space. * "Twas not & gentlemanly thing for you to do, Captain Ireton—this marrying of a foolish girl out of hand while you wers here.a guest: and as for the priest that did it I—I'll have him hanged before the I promise you. But now 'tis ye're prepared to make the best of it? I saw at once that his daughter had vet confided 1n him; that he was still rgled in my le. So I thought it well be him deeper while I might. hat would you call ‘the best,’ If I ask?” sald I, growing the cooler with some better seeing of the way ahead. “The marriage settlements!” he cried shr coming to the point at once, as once, as any miser would. It's the merest matter of form. as ye ‘nay say. for your title to Appleby Hundred Is well burnt out, I promise you. But for the decent look of it might make S0 ¥ sir; that you y* miserable, spying runag”—he and coughed behind his hand and again without the epithets. ; least ye can do for her have the rope fair around hem—your—your rebel ¢ for the form's sake, to be ye understand, for she'd inherit you in any case.” I saw his drift at last, and, not caring o spare him, sped the shaft of truth and let it ind the joint in his harness. Tis.a : say, Mr. Stair. But as it s, Mistress Margery is not my if I had flung the candle at him where fumbling behind him for the twould not have made him dodge the more. what's that ye say?’ he piped cadence. “Not married? you—" “I lied to save her honor—that was all. A wife might do the thing she did g0 scot free of any scandal; but not aid, as you could see and hear.” For ne brief time it smote him speechless, and In the depth of his 0 fear of me he fell to pacing up though always with the table And as he shuffled h the thin lips muttgred nothings, with here and there a ous oath. When all was done he into a chair and stared across with leaden eyes; and truly he the 100k of one struck with a mortal are Margery’'s father, I ows g a dying man can_pay,” ¥y words,” he fumed. o do, now- name the thing and I e £ it he shot a ques- me, driving it home with certain hrustings of the shifty eyes. s your next of kin, Captain Ire- of the same name, master James River, and a ginta I I answered, y cousin once removed the present coil. But xt question dispelled 1testate, this Sep- I should suppose he nothing to devise.” e yet”"—he paused agaln as the wording of it were not easy. free to speak your mind, Mr. " said I lis this,” he cried, gathering him- as with an effort. “You've claimed daughter as your wife before them E and when you dle to-morrow morn- ing vou'll leave her her neither wife nor I think—I think you'd best make lie of yours the truth.” If one of his thin hands that clutched the chair arms had pressed a secret 3prini and closed a trap to send me gaspiug down an oubliette I should have been the less astounded. Indeed, for some short space I thought him mad: yet, on sec- ond thought 1 saw the method in his mad Could Margery be brought to view it calmly this was a sword to cut the knot of all entanglements. As matters stood the worid would call her widow at my death: and since a woman = first of all the keeper of her own good name she would never dare er the truth. o in common justice e should own the name the world would her by. Again, as matters stood, no wrong could come of it to her, or Rich- ard Jennifer, or any. Dick would love her none the less because & dying man had given her his name for some few bours. And if. at any future time, the Ireton title should revive and this poor double deal! miser should be forced to quit his hold on Appleby Hundred my father’s acres would be hers in her own right. One breach in all this sudden buflded wall I saw, but could not mend it. With the Ireton acres hers by double right, the Baronet would press his suit with greater vigor than before. But as to this no further act of mine could help or shinder; and if I dled her husband she would in decency delay a while. So. summing up in far less time than it cost to write it out for you I gave my bost his answer. “I told you you might name the deed and T would do it, Mr. Stair. If you can._make vour daughter understand”— “The jade will do she is bid,” he cut in wrathfully. “If she will drag my good name In the mire, I'm damned if she sha'n’t pay the scot. And now about the settlements. Captain Ireton: you'll be making her legatee residuary?”’ At this I saw his drift again, most clearly; that he would never stickle for his daughter's honor, but for the quiet- ing of his title to my father's lands—a title that my cousin Septimus might dis- pute. It was enough to met me obstinate against him: but I constrained myse!f to think of Margery and Richard Jennifer, and not at all of this poor petty miser. “T'll sign a quitclaim In her favor, if that is what vou mean.” I said. ‘But *tis @ mere pen ~cratch for the lawyers to haggle over. As you =a'd a while ago, the wife will be the husband's heir at law_in any event™ “True: but we'd best be at It in due and proper form.” He rose and hobbled” THE SUNDAY. ‘to the door and was so set upon haste that his shaking hand played a rattling tattoo on the latch. “I—I'll go and have the papers drawn, and you will sign them, Captain Ireton: I have your word that you will sign them.” “Aye; they shall be signed.” He went away at that, and Tybee en- tered. Much to my comfort, the lleuten- ant asked no questions: so far from it, he crossed the room wiwout a word, flung himself into the great chair and left me to my own communings. These were not altogether of assurance. Though I had promised readily enough to make my lle a truth, I saw that all was yet contingent upon my lady’s view- ing of the proposal. That I could win her over I had some hope, if only they would leave the task for me. But there was room to fear that this poor miser father would make it all a thing of prop- erty and so provoke her to resistance. And, notwithstanding what he satd—that she wou'd do as she was bid—I thought I knew her temper well enough to proph- esy a hitch. For I made sure of on2 thing, that i she put her will against the world the world would never move her. ‘Twas past midnight with Tybee dozing in his chair, when next I heard some stir- rings in the corridor. /As before, it was the lifting of the wooden bar that roused my friendly guard, and when he went to parley at the door I stood apart and turned my back. When I looked again my company was come. At the table, busied with a parch- ment that might have been a ducal title deed for Wize, stood Gilbert Stalr and the factor lawyer, Owen Pengarvin. A little back of them the good old Father Matthieu had Margery on his arm. and in the corner Tybee stood to keep the door. 1 grouped them all in one swift eye- sweep, and, having listed them strove to read some lessoning of my part in my dear lady's face. She gave me nothing of encouragement, nor yet a cue of any kind to lead to what it was that she would have me say or do. As I had seen it last, under the light of the flaring torches in the room below, her face was cold and still; and she was standing mo- tionless beside the priest, looking straight at me, It seemed, with eyes that saw nothing. It was the factor lawyer who broke the stlence, saying, with his predetermined smirk, that the parchment was ready for my signature. Thinking it well beneath me to measure words with this knavish pettifogger, I looked beyond him and spoke to his master. “I would have a word or two in pri- vate with your daughter before this mat- ter ripens further, Mr. Stair,” I sald. My lady dropped the priest’s arm and came to stand beside me in the window bay. I offered her a chair, but she re- fused to sit. There was so little time to spare that I must needs begin without preliminary. “What has your father told you, Mar- gery?” I asked. “He tells me nothing that I care to know.” ° “But he has told you what you must She locked with eyes that saw me not. “And you are here to do it of your own free will?” Yet it must be done.” “So he says, and so you say. had rather die.” “'Tis not a pleasing thing, I grant you, Margery; notwithstanding, of our two evils it is by far the less. Bethink youa moment: ‘tis but the saying of a few words by the priest, and the bearing of my name for some short while till you can change it for a better.” Her deep-welled eyes met mine, and in them was a flash of anger. “Is that what marriage means to you, Captain Ireton?” “No, truly. But we have no cholice. 'Tis this, or I must leave you in the morning to worse things than the bear- ing of my name. I would it had not thus been thrust upon us, but I could see no other way.” “See what comes of tampering with the truth,” she sald, and I could see her short lip curl with scorn. “Why should you lie and lfe again, when any one could see that it must come to this—or worse?” “l saw 1t not” I sald. “But had I stopped to look beyond the momemt’'s need and seen the end from the begin- ning. I fear I should have lied yet other times. Your honor was at stake, dear lady.” “My honor!”—this in bitterest irony. “What is a woman's honor, sir, when you or apy man has patched and sewed and sought to make it whole again? I will not say the word you'd have me say!” “But you must say it, Margery. 'Tis but the merest form; you forget that you will be a wife only {n name. I shall not live to make you rue it.” “You make me rue it now, beforehand. Mon Dieu! is a woman but a thing, to stand before the priest and plight her troth for ‘merest form'? You'll make me hate you while I live—and after!” “You'd hate me worse, Margery dear, if T should leave you drowning in this ditch. And I can bear your hatred for some few hours, knowing that if I sin- ned and robbed you, I did make restitu- tion as I could.” She heard me through with eyelids down and some flerce storm of passion shaking her. And when she answered her voice was low and soft; yet it cut me like a knife. “You drive me to it—Ifsten, sir, you drive me to it! And I have said that I shall hate you for it. Come; 'tis but a mockery, as you say; and they are walt- ing.” I sought to take her hand and lead her forth, but this she would not suffer. She walked beside me, proud and cold and scornful; stood beside me while I sat and read the parchment over. It was no marriage settlement; it was a will, drawn out in legal form. And in it I bequeathed to Margery Ireton as her true jointure, not any claim of mine to Appleby Hundred, but the estate it- self. I read it through as I have sald, and, looking across to these two plotters, the miser-master and his henchman, smiled 1 had never thought to smile again. ‘So,” sald I, “the truth is out at last. I wondered if the conflscatlon act had left you wholly scatheless, Mr. Stair. Well, I am content. I shall die the easier for knowing that I have lain a guest in my own house. Give me the pen.” 'Twas given quickly, and I signed the will. with Tybee and the lawyer for the witnesses; Margery standing by the while and looking en: though not. I made sure, with any realizing of the business matter. When all was done the priest found his book. and we stood before him; the woman who had sworn to hate, and the man who, loving her to full forgetful- But I CALL. . ness of death ftself, must yet be cold and formal, masking his love for her dear sake, and for the sake of loyalty to his friend. And here again 'twas Tybee and the 1dwyer who were the witnesses; the one well hated. and the other loved if\but for this; that when the time came for the giving of the ring. he drew a gold band from his little finger and made me take and use it. - And so that deed was done In some such sorry fashion as the time and place constrained; and had you stood within the four walls of that upper room you would have thBught the chill of death had touched us, and that the low-voiced priest was shriving us the while we knelt to take the benediction. All through this farce—which was in truth the grimmest of all tragedies—my lady played her part as one who walks In sleep; and at the end she let her father lead her out with not a word or look or sign to me. You'd guess that T wouid take it hard —her leaving me thus, as I made sure, for all eternity: and I did take it hard. For when the strain was off, and there Was no one by to see or hear save my good-hearted death-watch, I must needs 80 down upon my knees beside the bed in childish weakness and sob and choks and let the hot tears come as I had not since at this same bedside I had knelt a little lad to take my mother's dying love. CHATER XIL HOW THE NEWS CAME TO UNWEL- COME EARS. Though all the western quarter of the sky was night-black and spangled yet with stars, the dawn was graying slow- 1y In the east when Tybee roused me. “They have not come for you as yet.” he sald, “so I took time by tha forelock and passed the word for breakfast. It heartens a man to eat a bite and drink a cup of wine just on the battle's edgs, Will you sit and let me serve you, Cap- tain Ireton?” “That I will not,” sald I. adding that I would blithely share the breakfast with him. Whereat he laughed and clipt my hand and swore I was a true soldier and a brave gentleman to boot. o So we sat and hobnobbed at the table, and Tybee lighted all the remnant candle ends and broached the wine and pledged me in a bumper before we fell to upon the cold haunch of venison. My summons came when we had shared the heel-tap of the bottle. It was my toast to this kind-Wearted young- ster, and we drained it standing what time the stalr gave back the tread of marching men. Tybee crashed his glass upon the floor and wrung my hand across the table. ’ “Good-by, my captain; they have come. God damn me, sir, I'll swear they might do worse than let you go. for all your spying. You've carried off this matter with the lady as a gentleman should, and whilst I live she shall not lack a friend. If you have any word to leave for her— I shook my head. “No,” said I: then on second thought: “And yet there is a word. You saw how I must see the matter through to shield the lady?" “Surely; 'twas plain enough for any one to see. . “Then 1 shall dle the easier if you will undertake to make it plain to Rich- ard Jennifer. He must be mmde to know that I supplanted him only in a formal way. and that to save the lady’'s honor.” The lleutenant promised heartily, and 2s he spoke the oaken bar was lifted and my reprieve was at an end. Having the thing to dispatch before they broke their fast, my soldier hang- men marched me off without ado. house and all within it seemed yet asleep. but out of doors the legion van- guard was astir, and newly kindled campfires smoked and blazed among the trees. In shortest space we left these signs of life behind, and I began to think toward the end. *Tis curfous how sweet this troubled life of ours becomes when that day wakes wherein it must be shuffled off! As a soldler must, I thought I had held life lightly enough; nay.this I know, I had often worn it upon my sleeve In battle. But now, when I was marching forth to this cold-blanded end witnout the battie chance to make it welcome, all nature cried aloud to me. A mile beyond the outflelds of Appleby Hundred we passed the legion picket line, and I began to wonder why we went so far; wondered and made bold to ask the ensign in command, turning it Into grim jest and saving I misllkeu to come too weary to my end. The ensign, & curst young popinjay, as little officer cubs are like to be, answered fiippantly that the colonel had commuted my sentence; that I was to be shot like a sold’er, and that far enough afleld so the volleying would not wake the house. So we fared on, and a hundred yards beyond this point of question and reply came out into an oven grove of oak: then I knew where they had brought me —and why. ‘Twas the glade where I had fought my losing battle with the Baronet. On its farther confines two horses nib- bled rein's length at the grass, with Fal- connet's trooper serving man to hold them: and, standing on the very spot where he had thrust me out, my enemy was walting. 'Twas all prearranged: for when the ens'gn had saluted he marched his men a little way apart and drew them up In line with muskets ported. But at a sign from Faleonnet two of the men broke ranks and came to strap me helpless with their belts. I smiled at that, and would not miss the chance to jeer. “You are a sorry coward, Captain Fal- connet, as bullles ever are, I sald. “Would hot your sword suffice against a man with empty hands?” He passed the taunt In silence and, when the men had left me, sald: “I have come to speed vour parting, Captain Ire- ton. You are a thick headed, witless fool, as vou have alwavs been; yet since you've blundered into serving me I would not grudge the t'me to come and thank you.” “I serve you?' T cried. “God knows T'd serve you up in collops at the table of your master, stard before you with a ca; g tool! He laughed softly. “Always vengeful and vindictive, and always because you must ever mess and meddle with other men's concerrs,” he retorted. “And yet 1 say vou've served me.” “Tell me how. in God's name, that I may not die with that sin unrepented ot.” “Oh, in many small ways, but chiefly in this affair with the little lady of Ap- pleby.” “Never!” T denfed. “So far as decent speech could compass it. I have ever sought to tell her what a conscienceless villain you are.” He laughed again at that. “You know women but indifferently, my captain, If you think to breach a love affair by a cannonade of hard words. But 1 am in no humor to dispute with you. You have lost. and I have won; and. * that T might read. The" the devil, could T but_ were I not here to come between. you'd look your last upon the things of earth in shortest order, I do assure you.” “You?—you come between?’ I scoffed “You are all kinds of a knave, Sir Fran- cis, but your worst enemy never accused you of being a fool!” There was a look in his eyes that I could never fathom. “You are bitter hard. John Ireton—bit- ter and savage and unforgiving. You knew the wild blade of a half-score years ago, and now you'd make the grown man pay scot and lot for that same youngster's misdeeds. Have you never touch of human kindliness in you? To know how .this affected me you must turn back to that place where L have tried to picture out this man for you. I saild he had a gift to turn a wo- man’s head or touch her heart. I should have said that he could use this gift at will on any one. For the mo: t I for- got his cool disposal of me in the talk with Captain Stuart; forgot how he had lied to make me out a spy and so had brought me to this pass. So I could only say: “You killed my friend, Frauk Falconnet, and—" “Tusl said he. “That quarrel died nine years ago. Your reviving of it now is but a mask.” “For what?” I asked. “For your just resentment in sweet Margery’s behalf. Believe it or not, as you like, but I could love you for that blow you gave me, John Ireton. I had been losing cursedly at cards that day, and mine host's wine had a dash of usequebaugh in it. I dare swear. At any rate, I knew not what 1t was I said till Tybee sald it over for me.” “But the next morning you took & cur's advantage of me on this very spot and ran me through.” I countered. “Name it what you will and let it go at that. There was murder In your eye, and you are the better swordsman. You put me upon it for thy life, and when you gave me leave, I did not kill you, as I might.” “No; you reserved me for this.” He took a step nearer and seemed strangely agitated. “You forced my hand, John ton,” he sald, speaking low that the others might not hear. “You had her ear from day to day and used your privilege against me. As an enemy who merely sought my life for wi geance’s sake I could spare you; but as a rival—" I laughed, and sanity began to come again. “Make an end of it,” I said. “T'd rather hear the muskets speak than you™. For reply he took a folded paper from his pocket and spread and held it so It was a letter from my Lord Cornwallis, directing Captain Falconnet to send his prisoner, Captain John Ireton, sometime liéutenant in the Royal Scot Blues, under guard to his Lordship’s headquarters in South Garo- lina. “Can you read it?” he asked. I nodded. “Well, this supersed the colonel's sentence. If I say the word to Ensign Farquharson you will be remanded.” “To be shot or hanged a little later, I suppose?” “No. Have you any notion why my Lord Charles is sending for you?" “No,” sald I, in my turn; and, indeed, 1 bad not. “He knows your record as an officer and would give you a chance to 'list in your old service.” “I would not take it—at your hands or his.” “¥You'd best take it. But in any event. you'll have your life and nonorable safe- conduct beyond the line: “Make an end,” I said. “T understand you will obey his Lordship's order or disregard it. as your own interest directs. What would you have me do?" “A very little thing to weigh against a life. Mr. Gilbert Stair is my very good friend.” 1 let that go uncontradicted. “His title to the estate is secure you know, but you can make he went on. This saying of his told me what I had only guessed; that as yet he had not ed into Gilbert Stair's full ; also, that he had no hint of what had taken place in my chamber some hour or two past midnight. At that a joy flerce like pain came to thrill me. “Go on,” sald L Tre- “Your route to Camden lles through Charlotte. Your guard will give you time and opportunity to execute a quit- claim in Mr. Stair's favor.” “Is that all?™ I asked “No; after that our ways must lie apart—or yours and Margery's, at all events. Give me your word of honor that you will relinguish any claim you have, or think you have, upon her, and 1 pass this letter on to the ensign.” “And If I refuse?™ He came 80 near that I could see the lurking devil in his eyes. “If you refuse?” Harken, John Ire- ton; if you had a hundred lives to thrust between me and the thing 1 crave, I'd take them all” So much he said calmly; then a sud- gust of passion seized him, I think, he spoke the sim- '‘God! I'd sink my soul In s hell to have her!™ I could not wholly mask the smile of triumph that his words evoked. This fox of maiden vineyards was entrapped at last. I saw the fire of such a passion as such a man may know burning in his eyes; and then I knew why he was come upon his errand. “So?” said I. ““Then Mistress Margery sent you here to save me?’ 'Twas but @ guess, but I made sure it hit the truth. He swore a sneering oath “So the pri carried tales, did he? Well, makeg the most of it; she would not have her father’s guest taken from his bed and hanged like a dog.” I smiled again. “'Twas more than that; she would even go so far as to beg her husband’s life a boon from that same h ‘s mortal enemy.” he scoffed. “That lie of yours imposed upon the colonel, but I had bet- ter information.” “A le, you say? True, "twas a lle when it was uttered. But afterward, some hour or so past midnight, by the good help of Father Matthieu, a with your Lieu- tenant Tybee for one witness and the lawyer for another, we made a sober truth of {t.” I hope, for your own peace of mind, my dears, that you may never see a fel- low human turn devil in a breath as 1 n. His man's face fell away from Ilke a vanishing mask, and in the place of it a hideous demon, malignant and mu . glared upon me. Tw his ha t the swordhilt, and blade was half heathed. Then he thrust his devil-face in mine and hissed his parting wo at me so like a snake it made me shudder with abhorrence. “You've signed your own death war- you witless fool! You'd play the port here as you did once before, would you? Curse you! I wish you had a hundred lives that I might take them one by one!”™ Then he wheeled sharp upon his heel and gave the order to the ensign. “Belt him to the kept you waiting over-long.” They strapped me to a tree with other belts, and when all was read. sign stepped aside to give the word. Just here there came a little pause prolonged beyond the moment of completed prep- aration. I knew not why they walted, having other things to think of. I saw the firing line drawn up with muskets le d. I marked the row of weather- beaten faces pillowed on the gunstocks with eyes asquint to sight the pleces. 1 remember counting up the pointing muz- zles; remember wondering which would be the first to belch its fire at me, and if, at that short range, a man might ltve to see the flash and hear the roar before the bullets killed the senses. But while I screwed my courage to the sticking place and sought to hoid it there, the pause became a keen-edged agony. A glance aside—a glance that cost a mightier effort than it takes to break a nightmare—showed me the ensign stand- ing ear a-cock, as one who listens. What he heard I w not, for all the earth seemed hushed to silence walting on his word. But on the instant the early morning stillness of the forest crashed alive, and pandemonium was come. A savage yell to set the very leaves a-tremble; a crackling volley from the underwood that left a heap of writhing, dying men where but now the firing squad had stood: then a headlong charge of rough-clad horsemen—all this befell in less than any time the written words can measure. (Continued Next Sunday.) JOE ROSENBERG'S. TROR0R0E TUXEDO— For protecting and beautify- ing; made of extra fine twisted thread; in dotted and plain. Our price ........25 CENTS Jhe Rome of zeauii}iers. Wrinkled Faces Made to Look Young by Our Complexion Beautiflers Received Daily From Our Parisizn House. 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