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YORKVILLE ENQUIRER. ISSUKD SEMI-WEEKLY. . l. * grist's sons, Pnbu.her. } % Jfamilj $ea?japer: 4or promotion ojf the Jotitieal, Jtocial, Agricultural and Commercial Interests of the feopte. |tkb8?n o *1 'joA.tmc*i? .a!lc ESTABLISHED 1855. YORKVILLE, S. CT7TIJESDAY, AUGUST 20,1907. NO. 67. DftiK?H?ER P By ETTA 1 CHAPTER XXXV. How Thsy Moot. In a dejected frame of mind Esther t pursued her long and wearisome Journey westward. Her heart misgave her when she thought of her father. There was no mutual love betwixt the two. How would Gilbert Vye receive her at Happy Valley? Not with pleasure, surely, unless the sealed message which Aunt Deb had Intrusted to her care should have some soothing effect upon his temper. When Esther considered that he had never attempted to find her after her flight from Rookwood. or to hold any communication with her, her spirits leu. one ue60., to distrust Aunt Deb's judgment, and the wisdom of the mysterious errand upon which she had been sent. She had taken the precaution to write to Gilbert Vye in advance, and beg him to meet her at Diamond City, the railway terminus, forty miles from Happy Valley. Would he heed the request? Throughout her journey she was haunted by lively apprehensions on this subject, and when she reached the terminus she found they had not been in vain. No Gilbert Vye was there. It was a dreary autumn day. Esther took refuge in the Diamond hotel, an ugly frame building, with a bar that seemed to be ceaselessly patronized by the male element of this rough mining town. She inquired of the landlord if there was a gentleman named Vye among his guests. "No, miss," answered the man, "never heard of such a party." "He is my father. I had hoped to find him waiting for me here," explained Esther. "He lives on a ranch in the township of Happy Valley." " I ou uuii i . a in Duiiivi*uiie a stranger In these parts myself? come from Vermont. Haven't been at the mines but a few weeks. I'm blessed If I know where Happy Valley Is. Your dad hasn't shown himself yet; but you'd better wait a spell. He'll be sure to turn up." The rain poured In torrents, the mud was deep In the miserable streets of Diamond City. Esther concluded to wait that day at the hotel; and if Gilbert Vye failed to appear to go on alone to Happy Valley by the stage that left Diamond City Just before nightfall. Thus far no one had molested her on her Journey or made her afraid. * She spent the day in fruitless waiting. From the window of the hotel she looked out on a street filled with log huts, canvas tents and board shanties. Every other door seemed to open into a saloon: As the dark drew on, sooty oil lamps began to flare weakly out in the reeking barrooms. There was one across the way in which dice were rattling. She could even hear the call of the dealers. A brawl was going on there too, and shots were flying across the billiard tables. Pack mules and Mexican donkeys, laden with tools and provisions for distant mining camps, passea uiuiig me nt, cvi. ? swart rider. In flannel clothes and battered sombrero, with a bright-barreled Winchester swung across his high-pommeled saddle, rode by through the wet. After him came a miner on a shaggy burro, so small that the man's heels almost touched the ground. Oh, where was Gilbert Vye? Plainly he did not mean to meet her. She summoned the landlord at last, and bade him secure a seat for her in the evening stage for Happy Valley. The sitting room of the hotel had been given over to the exclusive use of the handsome young lady from the east. An hour before starting time, as Esther sat before the fire taking a solitary cup of tea, the landlord tapped at the door. "There's a gent outside who has come to the terminus to meet a lady from the east," he announced. "It ain't your father, miss," with a broad grin; "but maybe it's somebody he's sent." "Will you ask him to come In?" said Esther, with a throb of painful suspense. She arose In haste to receive her visitor. He entered?his handsome figure splashed with the mud of a long, hard ride, his military overcoat dripping with wet. It was Victor Shirlaw. Both stood petrified with amazement; then Shirlaw reeled back a step. , "Esther!" She grew rigid and forbidding. "It is not possible that you have been sent to meet me?" she said, sharply. He grew red, then pale. "Certainly not." he stammered: "this Is some mistake of the landlord. I came to meet my sister, who is to spend the winter with me at my frontier post. She wrote that she would probably arrive in Diamond City today. But you?what brought you to Colorado, Esther?" "Pardon me, if I decline to enter Into explanations," answered Esther, coldly. The light of the oil lamp shone on them both. He looked older, graver, than when she had last seen him at Rookwood. She stood up splendid, repellent, unapproachable. Some sudden panic seemed to seize Shirlaw. "I understand!" he stammered: "you have come out here to join your father ?you expect him to meet you at this place! Yes, it must be so! Lispen ard wrote me that Gilbert Vye had? ah?returned west. Oh, this is frightful. She stared in cold surprise. "You agitate yourself needlessly Captain Shlrlaw. My plans, present or future, cannot concern you in the least." "True?too true!" he answered, bitterly, "and yet I cannot refrain from warning you, when I find you in danger. That day, when I saved you from self-destruction at Rookwood, yoi vowed to hate me always, Esther?how well you have kept your word! If yot $ OF Cflltt W. PIERCE have come west to seek a home with your father, take my advice?the advice of one who has your safety close ' at heart, and turn back without delay ?turn back, before you either see Oil' bert Vye, or hear of him!" i He was laboring- under a great disadvantage, and he knew it. By the flash in her eyes, by the curl of her lip, he saw that she resented his interi ference. "Don't be angry with me, Esther? Miss Vye," he entreated, humbly, "and do believe that I am not prying into your affairs?that it is not curiosity i which urges me to question you. You are alone in a strange place. You may be rushing unconsciously into great i danger?be warned in time." She smiled, ironically. Time had not < softened her heart toward Mignon's false lover. i "You evidently are no friend of my L fnthpr PftrhaDs vour heartless deser- I tion of Mlgnon put enmity betwixt you two." i "It was better to desert Mlgnon i than to marry her without love" replied Shlrlaw, gloomily, evasively. "How can I frame my fears In proper i and effective words, Esther? It Is not i safe for you to put yourself In your i father's care?you cannot trust # your ( father! Don't look at me like that. You see he Is not here to. meet you to- i day?he dare not show himself In Dla- , mond City. Both you and M!gnon are < Ignorant of many, many thing's In Oil- i bert Vye's life. I beg?I entreat you to < be careful what you do, Esther!" i "I cannot trusf my father!" she < echoed, indignantly. "He dare not meet i me at Diamond City! These are | strange charges! Pray what has he j done?" i "It Is quite Impossible for me to tell < you!" groaned Shlrlaw. "You are vague and Incoherent!" she I sneered. "Can I trust you??I think i not! I h^ve not come to seek a i home In the west but simply to accom- j pllsh a mission for another party. When that is done. I shall return to ] Massachusetts?more than this, I de- < cline to say." i He looked relieved, but unsatisfied. I "You repulse my attempts to win i your confidence," he sighed. "You will . not allow me to befriend you. I see ? that you are implacable. You have i been cherishing anger against me since < that unhappy night at Rookwood." "On the contrary," she answered, ] with cold Indifference, "I have not < given you a single thought." s He colored with pain and mortiflca- } tlon. They stood In that bare room, she pale and disdainful, he flushed and | shaken; his cap In his hand, the wet s dripping off his military cloak, and making tiny pools on the bare boards 3 on the floor. On his long ride through 1 silver-blue sage-brush, and swirling 1 vellow streams, and the deep tenacious mud of the wide trail, Victor Shirlaw had little dreamed that he was hastening to meet again this woman, whose fatal beauty still over- 1 powered him like a delirium?this , woman whom he had never thought to see more. And the unexpected inter- { view seemed likely to be a most un- ( )leasant one. ( "You have not given me a thought?" he repeated; "cruel words. Esther, for { your Image, from the hour of our , wretched parting, has never been ab- t sent from my eyes, nor your memory ) from my mind." ( She made an impatient gesture. 1 Then it Is time for you to cease 2 from such folly, Captain Shirlaw?It , offends me deeply: I have neither pity } nor respect for it." "I do not seek your pity, Esther! I know beyond a doubt that you are not t for me; but," defiantly, "you cannot | hinder me from loving you till I die!" She leaned against the table, thrill- ( ing with despair and shame. j "Oh," she cried, "this is an Insult , " 'oo tor* than T na n hpnr'" , h? vaivi ?"?*?? * vw.. ?vw. . , "Is It an insult." he answered, in- j dignantly. "for a man to ask the love of a woman? to offer her all that is , best and noblest In himself? to love j her faithfully, and with all the strength and power of his being?" i "Yes." she answered, "the deadliest of Insults, when the woman is already \ married." , He staggered back, and stared blankly. i "You force me to tell you my se- ' cret." she cried. "I am a wife?I was a wife when I first saw you at Rook- . wood!" I There was a moment of silence. She would not look at him. She felt rath- j er, than saw, that his handsome face i had grown gray and strange. I "And did you love your husband 1 then?" he asked, at last. I "Yes." i ' "Do you love him still?" "More than my own soul. Captain I Shir law!" "I see now why you were so cold." 1 he muttered; "so insensible to all my i passion. I also sf that your marriage i > must have been a most unhappy one." She was silent, but her face told him < that he had guessed well. "Married or single, it is the same, af- : ter all," he continued, sadly. "You are as far from me. in either case, as pole from pole, a iaci wiai uiigm wc o... i insuperable barrier to happy love, cannot affect a passion that has grown i only in the atmosphere of discourage' ment and despair." "Now that you know the truth. Captain Shirlaw," said Esther, "I beg you will leave me, and come near me no more." "Leave you in this place?alone?" he cried. "There is a love that serves for ' selfish reward?there is another that t can serve for love's sake only: believe 1 me, mine is of the latter kind. May I not offer, and can you not accept, my help, my protection, Esther?" i "No," she answered, firmly: "I need neither. I must repeat the request i that I have already made?leave me!" i He retreated toward the door, r "Heaven forbid that I should. In any i place, or under any circumstances, dls regard a known wish of yours! Sine you will have It so?farewell!" He made her a deep bow, and wen out, closing the door after him. In a state of sore perplexity Esthe stood in the meagre sitting-room Shirlaw's words concerning Gilber Vye disturbed her greatly. Shoul< she heed his warning, and return a once to Aunt Deb?return, with he errand undone? No, that could no be. The stage had already appeare< at the door of the hotel?a hundre< protest.ng voices could not hold he back from Happy Valley now. Shi paid her bill and made ready to depart Shirlaw had vanished. The good natured landlord escorted her to th< coach-door, and held It open for hei to enter. "I wish you a safe journey, miss,' he said; "you are going In good corm pany." She looked around and saw that sh< had the whole vehicle to herself. "Am I to be the sole passenger or this nlght-rlde?" she asked. "Oh, no, miss," said the landlord with a grin; "there are others bound the same way, and I reckon they'll b< able to keep you from harm." The driver came stalking out of th? barroom, smacking his lips, significantly. He was covered with oilskir to protect him from the wet. H( climbed to his seat and gathered up the reins, but the horses remalnec motionless. From the barroom a voic< called after him, derisively: "Look out for your dust tonight pard. Black Dave's been heard of along your road, and he shows nc IU UIITCIO. Jehu gave a chuckling laugh. "Black Dave!" he answered, then above Esther's head, "I'm blessed If h? ain't the very chap I'm hoping to set tonight! I'd rather meet him than m> own father." A moment after a man entered tht stage and took a seat beside Esther Another and another followed, and still others silently, unobtrusively, until the coach was entirely filled. They were qulet-looklng fellows, dressed rery much alike In rough coats and well-worn sombreros. As the last ol the number stepped Into the vehicle lis rough coat accldently blew back and under It Esther saw a belt stuck with a bowle-knlfe and a pair of sixshooters. It was for these men that Jehu had seen waiting. He now cracked his whip, and off. started the horses through the mud and wet on the long lourney of forty miles south. A pang of misgiving thrilled through Esther,' as she glanced around ths stage. In this company of strange armed men. with none of her own sex ay, she was to travel to Happy Valley At the corner of the muddy, twilight street, a group of idlers stood In some sort of consultation. As the stage rat:led by. they lifted their voices, and :al!ed after it. "The road-agents are out again, Keep a right smart grip on your buckskin wallets, gentlemen! You'll be shorn like sheep if Dave crosses your way tonight!" The mpn Inside the coach exchanged fiances, and the one nearest Esther ?aid to her, quietly: "Beg pardon, ma'am?It's a pity ,'ou're aboard this stage. But don't you ie afraid?we'll do the best we can :o take care of you!" CHAPTER XXXVI. At the Tower. "I pronounce you man and wife! 5Vhat God hath joined together, let nc nan put asunder." Mignon heard the voice of the clergyman as one hears sounds in a Iream. It was over; she was the wife if Abel Lispenard. All had been done?license procured '.nd clergyman summoned with the utnost dispatch. The French clock on he mantel was now pointing to the lour of one, and the sleepy, wondering livine, who had been called from his jed to tie the matrimonial knot, bestowed his blessing on this new union >f Beauty and the Beast and departed, 1 sadly mystified and perplexed man, Abel Lispenard looked at his bride. "At least, I have saved you from he Vyes," he said. Her hand slipped 'rom his hold. "Yes," she answered. Then some:hing within her seemed suddenly tc five away. The strain on her physical strength had been great. She grop?d .toward the nearest chair and fell nto it, half unconscious. The next that she knew Lispenard ivas holding a glass of wine to her lips. "My poor child!" she heard him <igh: "my poor, poor child!" Then he stepped forward and rang the bell. A middle-aged servant an swered it. "Molly, take care of your new mistress," he said, shortly, "she Is qultt ivorn out." Mignon arose, with the woman's assistance, and went away to a chambei In the tower. "Let me rest?only let me rest," she sobbed, and she cast herself down upin the fuxurlous bed, and, utterly exhausted. fell into a deep sleep. And in the room below, where the log Ore had grown dull under the oak mantel, Abel Llspenard sat, till morning turned the east ruddy, and the hearth became a gray cavern of ashes Haggard, silent and absorbed, the bridegroom sat there, while In the chamber overhead his bride slept or us unconscious as the dead. Had he acted wisely9 Had he taken any undue advantage of the girl's forlorn condition? It was too late tr ask such questions now. She was his wlf, ?won unfairly, perhaps?wor without even the mention of such o word as love; but still his wife, te have and to keep, till death shoulc part them! He went through the form of break last alone, conscious mat nis wrvanu were watching1 him curiously, then h< descended to his frosty garden, anc rowed across the river to Rookwood. The door of the old house was opened to him by Philip Vye himself?Philip Vye, who had arrived on the firs' train from town, and who looket greatly ruffled and alarmed. "I bring you news of your niece,' said Lispenard, as he followed thf lawyer to his library. Vye turned sharply upon him "Ha!" "You will find her at my tower jus across the river. She was married t< me last night, after her flight fron Rookwood." e If a bomb had burst in the room, 1 Philip Vye could not have been more 1 t astounded. It was some minutes be- I fore he regained his speech. I r "I am gratified that my niece has < i. made so brilliant a match." He then ' t stammered: "I congratulate you?I 3 congratulate Mignon! I need not < t speak of the extreme fitness of the i r marriage"?with an ironical smile? < t "everybody must see that at once." < 3 The hot blood flew into Lispenard's i i face and out again. He was aumo. i r "Mlgnon Is only seventeen and 1 b handsome as a picture," continued i Philip Vye; "but never mind. You < - have money, and that Is all-sufficient i i I have nothing more to say?indeed, If r la little that I can say under present 1 circumstances?you are the master of I ' the situation," biting his lips. "I will c see that Mrs. Lispenard's possessions are sent across the river without de- 1 5 lay." "Doubtless you know the outrageous t ? circumstances which forced your 1 niece to leave Rookwood," said Llspen- 4 , ard, sternly. "Your son has probably s 1 told you all that." s i Philip Vye coughed In a confused way. t i "Yes, and I confess that Cyril's un- j lucky passion for his cousin has led i him Into some very gross errors of t i judgment." ! ) "Errors of judgment!" echoed Lis- j 1 penard, with a withering tone; "is i that the term you apply to his con- s duct? One word about yourself, Phil- ? , Ip Vye! You have lent a passive aid ? f to Cyril's Infamous plots against Mlg- f > non; you have withheld the protection t which you should, in common decency, h have given to your brother's daughter, a s and you are, like your son, a cons temptlble scoundrel!" 1 s The lawyer's cold, gray face became a r suddenly suffused, but he choked down g his temper as best he could. i ? "I dare not quarrel with you, Lis- s . penard. Plainly, my niece has found t 1 that which she may have lacked be- c fore?a zealous protector." r ' "She has, indeed!" I I "And," with an apprehensive ring in I his voice, "perhaps an avenger also, a .' You mean mischief?" r "Precisely!" r "Ha! am I to receive no further con- a : slderation at your hands?" r "None. I tell you frankly that I a shall press my claims upon you?and a I you know what they are!?immediate- d i ly, and to the utmost!" i "Woiild you ruin me, Llspenard?me, || ' whose firm friend you have been till g this hour?" d i Llspenard's eyes glowed fiercely. b i "There can be no further talk of b , friendship betwixt you and me, Philip B : Vye." v The lawyer fell into the nearest a : chair. i "Spare me!" r "It Is too late. Did you spare Mlg- t I non?" r "That jade! She has transformed my n chief friend into a determined enemy, y then? I am entirely in your power, but you have always been the most fc ' generous of men?do not let me ask u your pity In vain." "Did you ptty Mlgnon?" * ^ | Philip Vye dashed his hand violently k down on the library table. f "I wish to Heaven the girl had a i drowned while she was crossing the v i river to your tower last night! Ah, a Cyril's wretched blunders have de- li stroyed us both! All my life I have t lived like a rich man, Llspenard; bear c in mind that you are now making me li a beggar." s > "You made yourself a beggar months ago," replied Llspenard, stern as rock. ]| "I give you and your son Just four- I . and-twenty hours In which to leave b i Rookwood." f "Let me see Mlgnon herself?let me t I plead with her!" cried the now mor- g oughly frightened and humiliated man. t i "You shall never see Mignon again, t i with my consent," answered Lispen- s ard; "you shall annoy her with no t i appeals. The same measure of mercy U which you meted out to her, I will now r i mete out to you." b , Then he shook the dust of Rookwood t , from his feet, and went back across c the river. b I In her tower-chamber Mignon slept f on. In dreams she was riding through <1 ' green forest glades with Victor Shirlaw. She was listening to his low ? ' love-words. She was looking Into the t I bonny gray eyes that had once been her t paradise. The sun was high In heaven v I when she awoke to an Imperfect, con- b ' ing waiting-place the servant-woman, v and to the knowledge that she was ? i Abel Llspenard's wife. 1< On her hand she saw a strange band I ' of gold glittering. It was the wed- v ding-ring of Llspenard's mother, and c he had placed It there at the ceremony s of the preceding night. She grew hot, s then cold at the sight. Her first move- d ment brought in from some neighbor- t ing waiting-place the servant-woman n ' Molly. n "Master went away an hour ago," t 1 1J KofnwA Krvv* nAitr mlu. P ' J?aiu me miici, uciuic nci IIV it ??? ' tiess could utter a word. "He left a n message for you, ma'am." And she gave Mignon a slip of pa- d ' per, penciled with these lines: "I have t ' seen your Uncle Philip?he will leave d Rookwood Immediately. Fear nothing ii - more from that quarter. Gustave Laurent, the husband of my sister? s ! for I have learned, thank God! that t > Lilian was a lawful wife!?is lying s ' very ill at St. Margaret's Home. He li has sent for me, and I must go to him 'I without delay. There was a child, k ' Lilian's rightful heir, lost many years b ? ago, and upon me devolves the task of d ' finding It. Should you at any time d 1 wish to see me, a dispatch, addressed t l to the Home, will reach me at once." s 4 That was all the bridegroom had to c I say to his bride. There had been no t wooing previous to the marriage, and a none seemed likely to follow it. It c ' would have been impossible for Mlg non at this time to connect any idea I 1 of love with the curious union she had made. The Frogman had never utter- s - ed such a word to her. He had saved her from her arch-enemies, the Vyes; r t he was forcing them to leave Rook1 wood?as yet these two supreme facts absorbed all her thoughts. She descended to the breakfast-room t J ?to a table sparkling with crystal and china and a coffee-set of silver filigree. spread for herself alone. The room I was full of warmth and hothouse flowt ers and?silence. A fugitive last night, > this morning she found herself a sov- I i creign lady. Lispenard's servants had r been carefully Instructed to anticipate b her wishes and obey her slightest behests. His dogs followed her about, mi Fawning upon her and mutely beseeching her notice. All things In the tower of the Beast had been made subser- yo ylent to Beauty. For the first day or two she was too lazed and bewildered to think much by ibout her marriage. A nervous terror sti >f the Vyes still held possession of her. sh On the third morning a wedding-gift po irrived from Abel Lispenard?nothing teas than the deeds conveying to Mig- tei non herself all right and title to the on nrhole estate of Rookwood. The home yel >f her ancestors belonged unreservedly 1 low to Llspenard's wife. thi "Your uncle and his son have left ' :he place" the Frogman wrote, "and ty; :he house will be closed till you, Its me vwnnr nrrlnr Athnrnrlan " I I He had put her enemies under her kii feet. me Mignon went to a window of the the :ower and looked across the river, pei Ees, silence and loneliness reigned be here. The shutters of the old man- sta lion were closed and the grounds wore 1 i deserted air. ' "In spite of all that has passed, Un- shi ile Philip," sighed Mignon, "I pity wo rou now!" fot Then she wrote a little letteT of hanks, that seemed, somehow, very n0' itiff and formal, and sent it to the nan at St. Margaret's Home. soi A t the end of a week she began to I ' idapt herself to her new conditions, trii Ihe! caressed his fawning dogs; she ' tat down to his piano and struck a em ew notes, but the sound frightened noi rer?Lispenard seemed standing at St. ler very side?so she rose hurriedly brc md closed the Instrument. LH She went to his library and spent Fri ong hours among the priceless brie- qu i-brac there, and the wealth of books ' fathered from every country. As if ' inder a spell she wandered through the " rmndeur of his marvelous rooms, and 1 he bloom and fragrance of his great In !onservatorle8, where a tropic summer eigned, in vivid contrast to the wintry foe few England landscape outside. pr? She would stand before her mirror lev md say to the pale, beautiful image ev< effected in it, "You are Mignon Vye er ? - it n.i1 10 longer, you nave marnea mai ??< trange man, Abel Llspenard; do you um lot know?" But the words always had Qu< in odd ring In her ears, and brought as! ometlmes a smile, sometimes a shud- to ler with them. pin One day she opened a drawer in his wll Ibrary table, and came upon a photo- Pn :raph of Victor Shlrlaw. Handsome, aw lebonnaire, the life-like face of the Ion irown captain looked, as of old, upon I lis Jilted love. Long and wistfully dignon gazed upon it. She did not reep, she did not even sigh. She was hei .mazed at her own lack of emotion. "He is nothing to me now," she Mli nurmured, drearily. "I am but seven- the een, and yet It seems that I have al- wit eady outlived love. He is as acad to ne as though he lay under the grave*rd sod." And then she put the photograph iack In the drawer, and turned the key g0| ipon It. Regularly each day a message arriv- j fe* from Llspenard?brief but always th< ;ind and full of solicitude for her com- rle ort. Was she well? Did she lack wr nymingr nau sne ajiy uugiauiicu wo rishes? As for himself, he was still cei t the home, comforting Laurent in his Jn ist hours, and following through Wj, rusty agents the clew to Lilian's lost cp| hild. So many years had passed since gj, ts disappearance that he found the Qj earch beset with great difficulties. po, At first Mignon read these messages do) Istlessly; then with growing Interest. wp n her enchanted tower the girl-bride an, tegan to feel a lively concern in the ag( ate of Lilian Lispenard's child. Some- acj imes, of windy nights, she fancied the co, host of the dead beauty walked In de< he fast closed chamber at the end of he he corridor. She seemed to hear her at ighs and fleeting footsteps. Perhaps W|( he spectral creature was likewise wr aoking for the baby lost on that sor- ev< owful return from France, long years efore. Lispenard entered Into no de- dj alls. Mignon vaguely wondered what ye) lew he had obtained, and how long mc lis quest would continue; but she had est 16 opportunity to ask these questions, ^le or she did not answer any of his dal- nol y messages?Indeed, he had not re- < luested her to do so. cet AnH am Renntv In the tmver of the least never think of her father? Of- ve) en, and with anxious yearning. In 8p( he queer, enchanted sort of existence jy thlch she now led, the thought of Gil- m iert Vye Intruded constantly. Where me ias he? Why did he not write to her? p) Sometimes she would sit before the so, og fire In the drawing-room, with thi dspenard's dogs around her, and weep Is vildly at the remembrance of her hildhood's idol. Sometimes she would gQ tand for hours in some window and bai train her great brown eyes Into the tht llstance, praying passionately for him o come back to her, or, If that might lot be, for some news of his fate. Mig- Ar ion's heart was still as true as steel o the father who had vanished so ^ riysterlously out of her life?vanished, lever more to return. noi It was a chilly winter day. MIgnon It < lined early, and then went out Into he grounds with the dogs and wan- acj lered about there for a long time, seekng rest and finding none. *?: There was no snow on the earth, po, ave pallid heaps, dwindling here and or(j here In low hollows. The level sun ,ieji anK rea ana iow uemuu me uiu?n wa awns; the winds were all at rest, big That oppressive stillness which is net mown only to a winter landscape, bal irooded over everything. Mignon was fjs| lawdling about Lilian Llspenard's gar- wa len, watching the sparrows picking up uin he scattered seeds, when, of a sudden, rar he heard a footstep, the soft swish wp if a woman's garments. She looked mj. ip and saw advancing down the path, bir ill in sealskin and velvet, that viva- rar ilous brunette, Nina Berkely. Th The two girls surveyed each other wa n silence for a moment. tur "Did you marry him for his money?" ?t3 aid Miss Berkely, dryly. the A streak of color shot Into Mignon's Ca ose-leaf cheek. to "Certainly not," she answered. coi "For his social position?" mi "No," with cold scorn; "a thousand Ch imes no!" art "For what, then?" des "I married him because I could not sto lelp it," said Mignon. "I "A novel reason, truly!" cat "And oh!"?with a real concern In I < ler voice?"I quite forgot, till this mo- yet nent. Miss Berkely, that you loved eat lim!" I 50 "You delightful simpleton! He sent t here today." "Indeed!" "To see how you were getting on?If u had grown lonely and all that!" "It was very kind of him." Nina Berkely laughed, but In a very sterlcal way. Lispenard'a bride, mdlng there, with the setting sun Inlng on her dazzling tints, filled the etess with raging despair. 'It Is the old story!" she said, blt ly; "he flings his grand heart away a pink and white face and some llow hair!" Mlgnon was not the simpleton which ? poetess supposed her to be. 'You err" she answered with dlgnl-1 ; "he married me because he pitied s, and for no other reason?because stood alone and undefended. My ldred across the river had treated ! very badly?I was forced to fly from ;m?forced to appeal to Abel Lisnard for help. Then he asked me to his wife, and, under the clrcummces," naively, "I could not refuse." Vina lifted her eyebrows. 'Is this a true version of the story?" i asked, dryly. "Llspenard himself uld tell me nothing. Do men marry such reasAns?" 'Generous, kind-hearted men?why t?" 'Could he not have defended you In ne other way?" 'He said no, he could not; and he is ith Itself." 'And he left you as soon as the cerony was performed! No, you need t explain. I am aware that he is at Margaret's Home, with his dying )ther-in-law. It seems that poor lan Llspenard was married to her ench adventurer, after all. Are you Ite contented here at the tower?" 'Yes." 'Do vou miss Llspenard ?" 'Certainly not." Wna Berkely laughed again, but not a mirthful way. 'Oh, this Is unique! You blind, llsh girl! You remind me of some ?tty, untutored savage who finds a ^el worth a kingdom, and does not ;n dream of Its value. In some othsphere of being, Llspenard and I II meet again. There, I shall triiph?not you. There, mind will consr?not matter. Well, your husband ced me, as a personal favor, to come you, and, in case I should find you ilng here, to take you back to town th me. My carriage is at the door. ly consent to become my guest for hlle. I am sure you look bored and ely." 'erh.xos the girl of seventeen was ?wlng somewhat tired of Llspenard's at, silent house. Her face betrayed pleasure. I am not bored, I am not lonely, ss Berkely," she protested, "but, all i same, I shall be delighted to go :h you." (To Be Continued). WATER WA8 NOT POPULAR. me Queer Views of Its Use Three Centuries Ago. [t needed a very bold man to resist s medical testimony of three centus ago against water drinking. Few Iters can be found to say a good rd for It. One or two only are con ned to maintain that, "when begun early life, it may be freely drunk th impunity," and they quote the rious Instance given by Sir Thomas yx>t In his "Castle of Health." 1541. the Cornlshmen, "many of the orer sort, which never, or very selm, drink any other drink, be notthstanding strong of body and like d live well until they be of great s." Thomas Cogan, the medical loolmaster of Manchester fame, ifessed In "Haven of Health," 1589, signed for the use of students, that knew some who drink cold water night or fasting in the morning thout hurt, and Dr. James Hart, itlng about fifty years later, could ?n claim among his acquaintances, me honorable and worshipful las who drink little other drink, and t enjoy more perfect health than st of them that drink the strong." The phenomenon was undeniai, but the natural Inference was ne the less to be resisted. Sir Thomas Elyot himself is very tain, in spite of the Cornlshmen, it "there be In water causes of dl-? /iiojooi,a a a nf swell In cr r?f the een and liver." He complains oddalso that "it flitteth and swlmtth," and concludes that "to young in, and them that be of hot comixlons, It doeth less harm, and netlmes It proflteth, but to them it are feeble, old and melancholy It , not convenient." "Water Is not lolesome cool by Itself for an Rngtiman," was the version of Andrew rde?monk, physician, bishop, am- 1 ssador and writer on sanitation?as ! result of a life's experience. And quote the. "Englishman's Doctor": th water and small beer, we make no question, e enemies to health and good dlgestlon. But the most formal indictment aJnst water Is that of Venner, who, 1 itlng in 1622, ponderously pro- ; unces "to dwellers in cold countries ! loth very greatly deject their appe- ' ;s, destroy the naturaJ heat and ;rthrow the strength of the stom- ' i."?London Telegraph. Aleck C'anova brought a three- | and trout to the St. Augustine Rec- , I office, and gave a very interesting icription of the manner In which it s caught. His son Frank observed a fishhawk swoop down on the fish - " -1- ? I?-.? ~ mil. onH a U" nil! iietn, nuuui a nine u If north of town, and noted that the 1 was of very respectable size. He tched the big bird until it hovered i nost overhead, but within close ige, and he picked up a stone, and :h splendid accuracy hurled the sslle at the hawk, striking It. The d dropped the trout, and Frank 1 forward and took charge of It. e head was torn open, but the body s uninjured, except for the punc- ] es made by the talons of the hawk. < >*The Colllnsvllle correspondence of Kansas City Journal says "Jersey , t Farm," is the very latest industry be established in that part of the intry. The "farm" is about eight les west of there, directly on the ( erokee and Osage nation line. There i. nearly 600 cats of all kinds and icrlptions. The owner, John Poln, formerly of Ozark, Ark., says: hope to be able to produce a jet black : that will sell for ladies' neckwear. , sin raise about 2,000 cats every ?.r at a cost of less than 10 cents t ih. and any old hide will bring from to 80 cents." ptecrUanroitf grading. FOUGHT THE 8EPOY8. Recollections of Great Uprising In India. P. J. Quealey, an employee of the postoffice, is probably the only man In the United States who was In the Sepoy mutiny In India fifty years ago. Mr. Quealey was hardly more than a boy at the time, although he was In the queen's service and shouldered a gun in more than one campaign. In tKo mntljiv e\t Via waa fn a trarH. ? tliu lltu WMI j Vk AWW v IIV n Hi u> ? ? son at Monu, In Central India, In this small garrison there were but a handful of soldiers. For months hints of the mutiny among the Sepoys had reached the garrison, but It was scarcely credited that the East Indians would actually rebel. The Sepoys were Indian soldiers and among the most valued of her majesty's soldiers. They were considered loyal and faithful to their queen until the mutiny showed their Inborn hatred for the East India company. When It was known that they were on the brink of a massacre orders were given to all white women and children to gather at the garrison. "We held the garrison for weeks,,r said Mr. Quealey, speaking of the mutiny. "On one occasion he held it against four regiments of the Sepoys and t wenty out of our forty men were kflled. We had many women and children In the garrison and their lives depended upon our ability to hold those cursed Indians at bay. W<) knew too well the horrible tortures and the terrible fate in store for thoso poor women and children. "It would take days to tell of the frightful suspense. You have road of the uprising In China, when men, women and children were herded together, with the yellow devils crazy to get of fVtom Tf nf a a Knf o ronltno r\f fKof at tiiciu. 11 nao uut a vi titat awful Indian mutiny. We knew that It would take many days for help to come from Bombay and we stood at our posts days and nights. We managed to keep them off until even our spirits flagged and we felt that worse than death stared us in the face. "The women were brave and cheered us on while we stood at every loophole ready to send a shot Into the heads of those grim, yelling brown flends. Many of the native servants remained with their mistresses, but they were not to be trusted and we had to guard against foes from within the garrison as well as without. "Twenty of our men were gone. Imagine the situation! A mere handful of worn-out, half-starved soldiers braving four ' regiments of tricky scoundrels. And then one day they vanished when they heard the sound of the men sent to our relief. "The sight of those columns was the prettiest thing I ever saw. The women broke down and wept with thankfulness and I will not deny that some of the men brushed away a tear or two at the thought of the helpless women and the Innocent babes that were saved. "The rest is not a pretty story. Told away from those terrible scenes, it is less a pretty story. But those were grim days of warfare and terror. There were many whispered tales of horror, and we had many a black score to pay back. "So I was one of the men that stood by the guns when the Sepoy prisoners were led to the cannon's mouth and tied there to be blown away. I do not like to think of It now. But then we stood filled with a fierce Joy at the sight, remembering the deeds they had done. "I recall the bravery of an old Sepoy and his son, and somehow I like to think of their attitude In the face of death. They were tied together, and when the boy, a mere stripling, heard the sounds, and saw the men blown Into strings and lumps of flesh frdm the cannon's mouth, his face drew and he whimpered. When it came their turn, the father drew himself up proudly and walked alone to the cannon's mouth. "The son turned away his head and shrank back Into a heap. The father turned and spoke to him with a tone of contempt in his voice that brought the boy up standing. The old Sepoy went on to the cannon's mouth, "taring straight before him, his black eyes blazing with hatred for the white man, and his grim mouth fixed In a sneer of haughty insolence. His last word was an admonition to the son to remain brave and not give way before the white man. "The boy straightened without a quiver and walked to the cannon as unbendingly as did his father, only the boyish terror in his brown eyes betrayed his state of mind. "And that was how we rid ourselves of the Sepoy mutineers. We blew them from the mouth of the cannon. And the Insides of a man are not a nice sight." Mr. Quealey was one of the pioneers of Omaha, coming here over thirty years ago, and engaging in the manufacture of soap and tallow. He has lived In his present home on South Twenty-seventh street, a spacious residence, for eighteen years, and is very popular among hifc fellow-employees In the postofflce.?Omaha World-Herald. ? ? BEGGARS ON VESUVIUS. Rich Harvest Reaped From Tourists as Result of Last Year's Eruption. Since the last eruption of Mount Veum.iiiit ttio unimnn had been extreme ly profitable to the beggars that infest Naples and its vicinity. They are fleecing the visitors to Boscotrecase and Ottajano, the two places laid waste by the lava flow last year. Huddled in groups which might have been posed by a skillful stage manager, the population of Boscotre- ' case awaits the arrival of the strangers. Men, women and children, shrieking and howling, begin to depict the terrors of the catastrophe of 1906. Emotional women are moved and Immediately contribute. Those who do not give freely are so beset by the weeping and complaining natives that they are finally convinced that it would be heartless not to help those who have suffered so deeply. Every day the beggars make a highly profitable haul In spite of the fact that not one of them ever lived or was at Boscotrecase until after the eruption. At Ottajano the same appeal is made to the sympathies of the vlsl tors and often by tne same impostors. Here the beggars have made a sort of gypsy camp where they cook beans in the hot lava and lead sentimental visitors to talk with an old man. Seated on a block of lava with the wind blowing through his long white locks and beard, he stares in front of him. "This old man was very rich," says the chief of the beggars. "His house, his fields, his fortunes are under this lava. Worst of all his sufferings was to see his wife swept alive under the flowing lava." At these words all the beggars begin to wail and weep. Many of the visi tors contribute liberally to the fund that soon accumlates In the old man's open palm. Some return to Naples profoundly touched by the sight. They would be consoled by the fact, did they but know It, says the New York Sun, that not a person was killed at the explosion last year either In Boscotrecase or In Ottajano. The beggars are nevertheless earning a fortune out of sympathetic travelers who Journey there to see the lava fields. GENESIS OF BELL ROPE. Combat That 8attlad Conductor's 8upramacy Over Engineer. Although there does not seem to be anything In common between pugilism and railroad rules, yet the adoption of the familiar bell rope that stretches through every car of the modern train was the result of a fistic encounter. At * the same time and by the Issue of the same combat, says the Philadelphia Public Ledger, the supremacy or tne conductor in railroad travel was ordained. It was Philadelphia which gave both to the world. One of the oldest railroads In the country is the Philadelphia, Wilmington and Baltimore, now known as the Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington, which was opened In 1837. The first schedule contained one passenger train, which went to Baltimore one day and came back the next, which was considered a remarkable feat In rapid travel. When a train a day each way was placed in service the people of the two cities served concluded that the acme of convenience In transportation had been reached. Next to the president of the railroad the most important functionaries were the engineer and conductor. It was a question whether or not the head of the line was considered a subsidiary official In popular estimation to the men who ran the train; but Robert Fogg, who pulled the throttle, and John Wolf, who collected fares, won the deference of the public because of their high and responsible duties. Fogg, an Englishman, had all the tenacity of opinion of his race; Wolf, an American, had the ingenuity of the Yankee, and seeing the need of . some method by which he could communicate with the engineer, devised a scheme of running a cord through the cars to the locomotive. As the engine was a wood burner. Wolf fastened one end of the cord tcra log, which was placed on the engineer's seat and was pulled to the floor when the conductor desired to signal for a stop. Fogg resented what he considered an Interference with his rights on the platform of the locomotive, and on the first run out with the new device paid no heed to the displacement of the log from the seat when the conductor desired to take on a passenger from a farm near Cray's Ferry, but sped on over the bridge and did not deign to bring his engine to a stop until Blue Bell station, on the south side of the Schuylkill, had been reached. Then he demanded to know of Wolf why he had been jerking that log all about the locomotive. Wolf hotly declared that he had signalled to stop, but Fogg retorted that he would stop when and where he pleased, and that, too, without any reference to orders from the conductor, whom he did not regard as his superior in the management of the train. The altercation grew very heated, and Wolf invited the engineer from his cab to settle the matter, and the challenge was quickly accepted. Passengers and a group of men who had gathered at the station to see the train come in formed a ring about the combatants, but the fight did not last long, as Wolf proved by far the superior artist with his fists, and with a few blows made it almost impossible for the engineer to see sufficiently to complete his run; but Fogg admitted that he had been' fairly beaten, and the supremacy of the conductor on a railroad train was settled. ii.. . , ?i ...?? ?nS In AS llie U>H Signal nan viuua una ... effective, Wolf devised the use of a bell on the locomotive, and this method was soon adopted by all of the American railroads. Then a code of signals was adopted, and these remain practically to this day. The only change in the bell cord is that by use of the air from the brake system a whistle has superseded the bell In the locomotive cab. Unconscious of Fame. George Grote, the famous author of the "History of Greece," long the standard on that subject, was a man of great simplicity and was wholly unconscious of his own celebrity. Several anecdotes, Illustrative of this fact are given in "Some Famous Women of Wit and Beauty," one of whom is Mrs. Grote. While Mr. Grote was walking in the park he would perhaps notice that one or two persons looked at him with some attention. He would at once turn to his wife in alarm. "Have I got any dirt on my face, Harriet? Is there anything the matter with my hat?" and he would clutch his headgear with both hands. "Why are those people looking at me?" Mrs. Grote's proud answer was, "Because you are George Grote, that's all." Once when he was on a visit to Cambridge, Grote wished to see the professor of natural history, but was told that the professor was so busy dissecting something that he could not be Interrupted, "strong magnifying power, powerful light, shirt sleeves up, cannot be bothered with anybody." The modest historian would have retired, but his wife persisted that It was Mr. Grote who wished to see the professor. "What?" he cried. "Mr. Grote? Give me my coat. I must wash my hands." In a minute he had transformed himself and would not let them go for two hours.