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SEMI.WEEKL^ l. m. OEIST'S sons,Pnbii.hers. j %4ami'8Htujseapq: 4#r Jh^romotion of fhi|political,goc.ial, g^rieultura! and (Tommtrcial Jnteresla if <M!??'< - | BSTABLISHBD 1855. YORK V ILLE.S. C~ TU ESP A YrOCTC)BKR3l7 1flitlT" . NO. 87. 4* 4 4* 4 4 4 4* 4 4 4* 4 4 t| A DAR 4 ? * 4* By ETTA 4* CHAPTER XXI. At Cat's Tavern. Monsieur Regnault, the incomparable tenor of the Orpheus Concert company, stood surveying: his handsome, dark face in the cracked mirror of the dressing: room, preparatory to mounting the short stair to the stage. "How are the mighty fallen!" he mused, as he fastened a rose in the buttonhole' of his faultless dress coat. "To what base uses have we come, at -> '? -rtr l* sVila last?my voice ana i: was u mi ?uo that I studied with the best* masters In the palmy days of my youth and wealth? Heaven above! I was then the possessor of millions. Now I find myself strolling over the country with a screeching troupe of third-rate singers. Nothing more is needed to complete my humiliation save a hand-organ and a monkey." He sniffed critically at the rose, twisted its green leaves a little more to one side, then smiled. "Well, one must have money. An empty purse is an unanswerable argument. At least, the traveling troupe has been the means of bringing me to Blackport, to breathe the same air with my beautiful, my peerless darling. I shall see her here?I shall make her mine forever." It was the night of the concert. A large audience crowaea me town nan of Blackport. The roof was Just ringing to the final notes of a duet. Down the short stair bounced the pair of singers. It was time for Regnault to ascend to the stage and warble his first song. In orthodox evening dress, gloved, perfumed, the* handsome tenor made his bow before the footlights, and with one lightning glance swept the sea of uplifted faces below. Yes, she was there, with her grandfather and Sir Gervase by her side. The aristocracy of the villa had actually come to listen to a company of traveling singers. For this Ethel was responsible. By dint of much coaxing she had lured Godfrey Greylock to the place. "It is an absurd whim, I know, grandpa," she said, feverishly, "but I want to go?I must go! And, if you love me, you will come with me." "Really, Ethel, I did not suppose you had such wretched taste," her grandfather had answered, severely. "You must go to mix with the rabble of Blackport and listen to a lot of squalling vagabonds wno probably cannot sing a note correctly. I am surprised at you." But all the same he went with her, and Sir Gervase, who, of late, had become as her shadow, followed her. So it chanced that the first faces on which Regnault's eyes rested were the three from the villa. Further on, in the same row, two other persons held his attention: Mrs. Iris Greylock and the brown waiting-woman who seemed to attend her everywhere. The demon of ennui naa ariven iorin ine may 01 Rose Cottage this night. Even the Orpheus Concert company was preferable to the solitude and monotony of her den in the Woods. With her pretty face judiciously i touched with rouge and blanc-deperle, and her evening toilet quite overpowering in style and texture, Mrs. Iris sat swaying her painted satin fan and covertly watching the villa party, just as the duet ended and Regnault started up on the stage, like a handsome jack-in-the-box. Then, what a change was there! At sight of the dark, graceful tenor, Mrs. Iris I stared blankly and clutched Hannah Johnson's arm. Under all its rouge and powder her face put on the hue of abject fear and utter horror. Regnault's eyes met hers. She could not fly?she dared not scream. He saw L her?he recognized her?the look that flushed into his face told her that? she was lost! Was he also disturbed? Yes; the sheet of music trembled in his gloved hand. Only for an instant, however, then he recovered himself, and, standing there like a faultless Apollo, he fixed his eyes on Ethel Greylock, as if her was the only face in that crowded > hall, and out broke his voice, like a silver trumpet. He sang solely to her?sang at her, with fervor unspeakable?yea, with his whole heart in the hackneyed, yet _ ever beautiful lines?the call of the lover to his beloved: " 'Come into the garden. Maud. For the black bat. Night, has flown. Come into the garden. Maud, I am here at the gate alone. And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad. And the musk of the roses blown.' " He flung a world of passionate joy and exultation into the words: " 'Oh. young lord lover, what sighs || are those For one who will never be thine, JUL nunc, uui nunc, tho rose. For ever and ever mine!' " Sir Gervase would have been very dull indeed if he had not discovered 1 something extraordinary about this singer, and the fervor of his song?if he had not seen that his American cousin was trembling with suppressed agitation, and changing color in ar alarming way. " "She is coming, my dove, my dear She is coming, my life, my fate.' ' Oh, the triumph of the cry! He called her?she must go! Ethel shuddered and grew terrified?not at a summons that was expected, but at th< sudden dread which overwhelmed her Was her courage ebbing? Did sh< hesitate to give up wealth, home, kindred, for Love's sake? It could not b< ?surely she had not turned coward! Where real love exists, is there evei room for cowardice? The song ended. There was a burst of applause, and in the midst of it Sii Gervase Greylock uttered an oxclmation and sprang to assist Mrs. Iris who had fallen back in her seat in i dead faint. She was carried out of the hall, anc the party from the villa went with her Fans and smelling salts soon restorec 4s e K DEED J; * W. PIERCE * ' ? a ' ? ? ^ 4f* ? *f* ? % 8 | her to consciousness. Immediately | a her eyes sought the baronet: * "Be so kind as to call my carriage, e Sir Gervase," she gasped; "It is waiting somewhere near." f He rushed to obey. Ethel leaned li anxiously over her mother: "Mamma, mamma, why did you go c off like that? You are ill?let me go ^ home with you." Mrs. Iris looked hard at her daughter, and smiled in a strange, ghastly way. t "There's no room in the carriage? no, I do not need you?I am quite well ?it was only the heat of that dread- v ful hall, my love. One word in your n ear." She drew Ethel forward, an whispered maliciously: "Oh, you sly, artful puss! Is this the way you de- 1 ceive your grandpa? Is this the way ? you trifle with your titled suitor? r Regnault, your teacher at school? your correspondent, seems very much c in love with you. Fie, fie!" u Then she departed. Godfrey Greylock, left behind with the baronet and b Ethel, looked at his granddaughter in b deep disgust. "Shall we return to the hall?" he f< said; "or have you had enough of this, my dear?" To Ethel the question meant: "Shall C I look again on Regnault's face? Shall w I hear his voice once more? Shall I wait for some opportunity of commu- n nication with him?" Yet she deliberately answered: "I am quite ready to follow mamma. It is very warm in' U there." li So the party drove away in the track of Iris Greylock, and when Regnault a came forth again, to his surprise and vexation, only empty seats met his f< gaze, where he had before seen a P group of faces?one coloring richly tl under his ardent eyes, and one faint- ei ing with fear at sight of him. For months he had known that Ethel h was the daughter of Iris Greylock? the young heiress had often talked to v him of her relatives?but tonight, as n lit? rcvaucu ll?c CIUVI n viuau o o *T W>. ing, colorless face, the fact startled h him as it had never done before. is His feet pressed dangerous ground. t< Fortunate would he be if he could win v Ethel Greylock in spite of the perils Ji that were gathering around his suit, h One thing was certain?he had no 1 time to * lose. Prompt action alone e would secure the prize. To delay now n was to suffer hopeless defeat. h At the close of the entertainment he went over to Cat's Tavern, to rest F on his laurels and partake of a smok- c ing supper which Mercy Poole had prepared for the troupe. s In the low-celled entry Regnault chanced to encounter the sewing-girl Polly, as she was hurrying by on some errand for her mistress. He was in a reckless mood, and, catching her by s the arm, he bent and looked into her 1< startled face. "Halloo! a pair of eyes like a deer's. By my soul, you had a narrow escape n from being pretty. Bring me a glass a of brandy, my child." o She struggled to free herself from G him. t! "There's no liquor kept at this inn, g sir," she answered. n "Ah! Then, if you will permit me g to alter Ben Johnson's song a little: p " 'Leave a kiss in the cup, my dear, And I'll not look for wine.'" Somebody had just entered the inn 0 from the street. Immediately a strong hand tore Polly free, and sent the j, handsome tenor reeling against the a wall. p "Look out, fellow!" cried Dr. Van- c dine, angrily; "this young person is a g friend of mine." Polly flashed one grateful look on her champion, and t vanished in the direction of the kitch- s en. Regnault gatnerea nimseu up t from the wall. f "That little femme de chambre your r friend?" he sneered; "what taste you n have, to be sure! Rrav. who are you?" t "One who knows how to defend a woman, and punish the insolence of a scoundrel!" answered Vandine, with e > a reddening face. "By my faith," drawled Regnault, ( "you are free with your compliments! t If you do not stand out of my way, 1 shall take the liberty of throwing yoa ^ into the street." I Mercy Poole heard the voices, and a came promptly out of the keeping- ^ room. \ "No wrangling here, gentlemen," she y said, and stepped betwixt the twain, r whereupon Vandine shrugged his shoulders and went off up the stairs, f and Regnault joined the other mem- 8 bers of the company at table. At a late hour the troupe separated ^ for the night. Regnault alone lingered. "Whistling a line of "Maud," he stepped into the living: room wikr j Mercy Poole and her maid Polly still i waited. Pontius Pilate leaped up from the i hearth-rug, spit viciously at the in- j truder, and vanished in a distant cor- r ner. Robespierre cocked his one ear, 1 switched his stump of a tail, and took refuge under his mistress's chair, fol- s 1 lowed by all the Borgias. Regnault ' drew back in mock alarm. I 1 "Heaven above!" he cried; "what ^ have we here? A legion of cats, and j . all gone mad." s "You see my family." answered r Mercy Poole, dryly. "Who says that t felines have no intelligence? Now, I find them wonderful readers of chari acter. These distrust you at sight. > . They say plainly?there's something j ; wrong about this man." I Regnault threw himself into a chair ; ; and laughed. ! "Amazing creatures! Something is p wrong with most of us, I fancy. Igind- t lady, do you chance to know a family i t named Greylock?natives and nabobs ( ? flf Blackport?" Polly had just started for the kitch- t , en. At the words she stopped, turni ed back unobserved, and began to ar- j range the room for the night. j 1 "Yes," assented Mercy Poole, with a 5 . keen look at the questioner, "I know f 1 the Grey locks?do you?" , He drew a cigar-case from his pockt. "Permit me to light a weed? Thanks. once had a slight acquaintance with me or two members of the family." "Not the young heiress?" said Mercy 5oole, sharp as a knife. "Oh, dear, no!" "The old man. then?" "Heaven forbid!" "There's no other save the pretty vldow?Robert Greylock's relict." H?e blew out a cloud of ciear smoke. ind watched it curl In delicate rings ibove his head. "I knew her?a mere trifle?years igo. She was then at swordpoints i rlth her father-in-law. Now, howver, they seem to be harmonious." "The child reconciled them. Godrey Greylock gives her a handsome ncome." ' "Ah! It was somewhere in this vi- < inity, was It not, that her husband l :llled himself?" Mercy Poole's face changed. "He was found dead," she answered. ' He puffed silently for a moment, hen broke into a laugh. "I have good cause to remember that ellow! When I heard of his demise 1 1 ^as, as Mr. Samuel Pepys would say? lightily pleased." I "What!" cried Mercy Poole. < "Oh, I owed him a grudge, you see! I 'he very day before his suicide he ave me the soundest thrashing I ever : eceived in my life." i A blank silence followed the frank onfession. Then Mercy Poole started I p, outrageously tall, from her chair. "He gave you a thrashing the day ! efore he died?" she repeated, slowly, I ending her black looks on Regnault; < and you held a grudge against him ] ar It?" "Yes." ! "That sounds sinister, for Robert Ireylock did not commit suicide?he ] - as murdered!" i "Is that so?" he answered, In an unloved tone. "Who murdered him?" < "No one knows." < "And probably no one cares at this ite day," drawled Regnault, knock- f ig the ashes from his cigar. < "Yes, there's one who cares; even I fter seventeen years." < "Then, by Jove! Greylock was more i jrtunate than his fellows. A shorter 1 eriod suffices to blot most of us from 1 he memory of our nearest and dear- < st." 1 She clinched her strong, brown i ands. < "The hour will come when that deed *111 be sifted by God's justice, and the lurderer brought to the light of day." i "Great is thy faith, oh, landlady!" I lughed Regnault. " 'Murder will out' , ) an exploded proverb. In these lat- 1 er days men have consigned it to I fell-merited oblivion. The ways of t Listice are now so crooked that It Is ard to pursue the guilty among them, 'he murderer who has been able to lude detection for seventeen years lust be a consummate Idot to allow , imself to be caught now!" j With masculine violence Mercy ] oole brought down her hands on the ] hair from which she had arisen. "See here! you told me your name, ( ir, but I have forgotten it."' s "Regnault." "It's a strange one to me." "Without doubt, madam." I "Where were you," she demanded, ] teadily, "on the night of Robert Greyick's death?" , He stared, then laughed. 1 "Are you trying to fix the fellow's , lurder on me, woman? I was many . mile from this place at the time it , ccurred, and faith! though I detested ( Ireylock with my whole heart, his un- j imely taking off proved to be the , xeatest misfortune of my life. No, , o!" with a shrug of the shoulders, "I ive you my word that I was not the , erson who killed him." I "You evade my question!" she cried; where were you, I say, on the night ( f his death?" "That's no concern of yours, land- , idy?you force me to be discourteous j gainst my will. Now," rising, with a rodigious yawn, and tossing away his ( igar, "the hour grows late, and I'll :et to bed." < "Stay!" said Mercy Poole; "just one j hing more. If the public hadn't been ( o quick to believe the suicide story, j here was a person who would have alien at once under black suspicion? ( lothing could have saved him, you nay be sure." He did not want to ask the quesion, but her eyes compelled him. "Who was that?" "The man who ran away with Rob- . rt Greylock's wife." I He kicked Ravaillac and Charlotte ?orday out of the way, and walked o the door. "Poor devil! I'll warrant he was veil punished for that folly!" said tegnault, airily. "He must have been in enterprising fellow to kill the hus>and in Blackport, and elope with the vife from Boston, at one and the same lour. Madam, it is plain that you are 10 detective." He beckoned suddenly to Polly. She ollowed him quickly into the passive. "Do you know the road to Greylock ,Voods, girl?" "Yes, sir." "I wish to send a message to the oung lady there." "I'll taae 11, sir. "Bless you, my dear! For your sake '11 forgive that fellow with the fists? rour lover, I suppose?who assailed ne In this place tonight." She shivered back a step. "Oh. no?no! Not my lover?don't iay that!" "He is a precious idiot, then," said ^egnault, gayly. "In the morning I vill put into your hands a letter which ou must deliver to Miss Gre.vlock herlelf?no other person, mind! It will lot be safe for you to play any tricks ipon me." "I would scorn to do that sir." "Miss Greylock will doubtless give ;ou an answer to bring back to me? shall remain at the inn tomorrow. 3e sure and say nothing of this to your tmazon of a mistress." "No, sir." That was all. Regnault went off up he stairs. Polly turned back into the iving room, but it was empty now of 'verything save the cats. Mercy Poole had vanished?whithT? Out on the road leading to the saltjits, she was flying by the light of a >ale moon. Her tall, black figure leemed winged as it sped over the ground. She had crushed her low;rowned man's hat upon her iron gray hair, and she beat the air with X her sinewy hands as she scurried n along. H Verily the soul of the woman was v grievously vexed within her. Had she found the murderer of her old lover at v last? Would she denounce him? She had at all times a bold tongue. tl Clouds of mist swathed the salt f, meadows, but the stars shone in the f, clear blue overhead. She turned into f, the worn path leading to the cairn, cast herself down at the base of the p rnol/a onri loir tharo mnt Innl with her face in the dust. |a And there Polly stumbled upon her n an hour or two after?bent over her, a tried to lift her up. e "Thank heaven! I've found you at ^ last, Miss Poole!" she cried; "oh, I've looked everywhere! The kitchen-maid tl Bald you might be here, but she was js afraid to come with me because of ghosts." Mercy Poole staggered to her feet, q, with a face as spectral as the mist on n the marshes. f( "Who calls me?" she said wildly. jr "I?Polly." ,c "And wasn't you afraid of ghosts, too?" sneered Mercy Poole. rj "No," answered the little servant, T gently. "I read my Bible?I'm afraid t{ [>f nothing, and I couldn't go to sleep |,( till I knew you were safe." yi Mercy Poole looked at the anxious ^ k-oung face uplifted to her own in the ^ moonlight. "Thank you, child!" she said heart- w lly. "It was the man's talk that upset pi rou, was it not?" queried Polly; "I g knew he was bad?wicked, when he a, s-ntered the Inn tonight. Oh, come, n. Miss Poole, come home with me now, *" What can you be doing in this lonesome place?" ft "Talking with the dead," answered Mercy Poole; "and when you spoke to me I thought it was his voice." "Oh, don't!" shivered Polly. "We 8 ?an't talk with dead people while we ire in the flesh." "Can't we? I do it often. Do you see this monument?" pointing to the p' :airn; "I raised it with my two hands, 1 in the dead hour of night, in mem>ry of one who was killed on the very r spot where you are standing. You 8t may be sure I had long conversations n' ivlth him while the work was going p in. But I will not frighten you nor V" keep you longer out of your bed. Give me your hand, child?my head Is gid- * 3y?and lead me home." And she went without another word ?back over the silent road, into the ~ sleeping town, her hard, strong hand a in the small, weak one of her servant. ? ? ... . "i And all the way Polly, troubled, yet " fearless and full of pity, Aas pondering this question?Was Mercy Poole, ' the landlady of Cat's Tavern, mad? p< ni CHAPTER XXII. A Bargain. tc At an early hour the next morning, ^ i woman, dressed from head to foot In black, and muffled in a thick veil, knocked at the door of Cat's Tavern. ^ Polly answered the summons. "I wish to see Monsieur Regnault, ^ jf the Orpheus Concert company," mid the visitor from behind her mask. ^ "Come in, madam," answered Polly. As the person In black stepped Into the passage, Polly saw that she was ame. ,.j She ushered her into the keepingroom, and went to call Regnault. He ^ teas already up and dressed. Languid ind handsome, he descended the bare, ^ painted stair, and appeared before his e> visitor, whom he found standing irresilutely in the keeping-room, with one nand grasping a chair for support, and jQ the other grasping her skirts away j from contact with the cats. "Madam," said Regnault, dryly, "to tJ, whom am I indebted for this unsolic- b< Ited favor?" She threw back her veil. It was Iris j Sreylock. "Ah!" said Regnault dryly, "when I ^ saw you at the concert last night I n( knew this meeting was inevitable." They faced each other with a threatening air. "I could not rest," flashed Mrs. Iris, , 'until I had talked with you. What ^ brings you to this town?and under ^ an assumed name, too? I thought?I ai hoped you were dead." pi He twisted the ends of his mus- ^ tache. "Many thanks, Mrs. Greylock. I sup- t pose you have resumed that name? So far as I know, it is the only one to which you have any claim. Your can- ^ [Jor is delightful. I was very ill of yel- ' low fever at New Orleans, but I recovered, as you see. To tell the truth, 1 am hard to kill. I came to this town to sing for hire, and pardon me?Regnault is my own name?I have simply b| U V.iii liaofl *n bnnttr mP as Arthur Regnault Kenyon, I am now Arthur Kenyon Regnault." ^ Because of her infirmity she was compelled to drop into a seat. She ^ looked pale and indignant. "The years have dealt very kindly ^ with you," she sneered, as her eyes _ ran over his handsome person. . j "I can return the compliment with ^ interest," replied Regnault, bowing gallantly. "You positively do not look five years older than you did on that day h "When we two parted, In sorrow and tears, Half broken-hearted'? The newspapers told me of the sad ac- "t cident which cut short the career of ir Sylphide, the ballet girl; but Mrs. Iris Greylock seems to have done well for a herself among the relatives of her de- s| ceased husband." p .She made an impatient gesture. ol "Are we secure from eavesdroppers w in this room?" a "Without doubt," answered Reg- it nault. The landlady of the inn is a character, but I do not think she con- e< descends to listen at keyholes." cl "Then," flashed Mrs. Iris, determin- o ed to know the worst at once, "let us s understand each other. When we p parted in a certain western courtroom F you promised never to see me again? v never to torment me in any way. And e; yet you are here. Now, what do you y want? Do not trouble yourself to tell ti me that you came to Blackport for no w other purpose than to sing with a con- k cert company?I am not so easily deceived. Be frank. Am I the unlucky lc person who has drawn you to this place?" F "You!" He gave a low, amused "i laugh. "No, Sylphide, that power is lc no longer yours. I might easily be in- v duced to fly from you, hut toward you h ?never! You are the last being in li Blackport that I wished to encounter, n Vhen I saw you in the audience last lght I was never so dismayed In my fe; you might have knocked me down rtth a feather." She colored with rage and wounded anlty. "How flattering! You are poor, Artiur Kenyon, and you know that my ither-ln-law allows me a handsome icome. You have not come to ask me >r money?to tl/eaten or bully me?" He lifted his fine eyebrows in surrise and protest. "How can you imagine such dlsgreeable things? Am I not a gentlelan by birth and breeding, and does nybody but the sensational ruffian ver stop to rob or bully a woman? .h, no?you wrong me." "Then," she cried, "there is someilng even worse in the background? l it not so?" "I decline to reply." "Very well; I will answer my own uestion," said Iris Greylock. "You lade ducks and drakes of your own >irtune years ago, now you are seekig for another. You retain your good >oks, your youthful appearance, your ne voice. You are still a dangerous val, even for an English baronet, he attraction which has drawn you ? Blackport is Miss Greylock, the elress of the Woods. Did I not hear on sing last night? Did I not know iat all your fervor and passion were leant for her, and her only?" He leaned back against the painted all and shrugged his shoulders. "The heiress of the Woods," he related, slowly. "My dear Madame ylphide, now give me a chance to ik one question. Who is that young erson?" She looked him steadily In the face, ad answered: "My daughter!" "That is a little mistake of yours? au have no daughter. She died In lnmcy." She was a bold woman, but her eyes (11 before his. "I discovered the truth after we irted," she stammered. "I?I found er again." "Did you, indeed?" he cried, mockigly. "How fortunate, how like a nsational romance? Your genius did at all lay in your pretty feet, Syltilde. You had a head to plan and i execute also. You found your lughter, and by means of her the ay to old Grey lock's coffers! He ates on the young lady, I understand, ut where and how did you find her? -the child that was dying when you aandoned her for?for"? "Do not hesitate," she said, bitterly; ipeak out the truth: When I abananed her for a man who afterward acame my evil genius, and recomn.uk n/atw. in ? k.?+ icaiikia :?ncu me wan 11U1111115 uui nuuuic, jglect, misery." "No' reproaches, I beg of you," anvered Regnault, airily. "Let us keep 1 the Important subject of your lughter. It would gratify me exje'dlngly to hear the story of her resrrectlon. I can swear, from actual lowledge, that there were years when ju believed her dead?when you new no more about her than I do of le lost plelad. How do you fill up lis gap of time?" Angry and disconcerted she hung ?r head and was dumb. "I see," he said, with a low laugh; t was necessary to have a daughter 1 obtain a foothold at Greylock roods! Those two fossils, your fath -in-law and his sister, were not dif:ult to hoodwink, eh? Well, wherrer you found her, she does credit to >ur taste." "It is false?false!" gasped Iris Grey ck; "all that you insinute Is false! deny it to your face!" "That does not signify, Sylphide, for lose who have known you longest are ?st acquainted with your extraordiiry powers of lying. Pardon me, but would not believe you under oath, he charming girl whom Godfrey reylock calls his granddaughter, has at a drop of Greylock blood in her ?ins." She wrung her hands. "I came here this morning to learn hat I was to expect from you, Arthur enyon, and here it is! I am to have iy daughter's identity questioned?I m to be accused of a foul deceit?my eaceable relations with Godfrey reylock are to be threatened?broken p, if possible?is it not so? You wish > proclaim war between us? Very ell, I, too, have my weapons. You ere Ethel's teacher at school?you ave corresponded with her since her turn home?there is an affaire d'alour between you." It was his turn to lie disconcerted. "Who told you this?" he demanded. "Nobody," she replied; "I am capale of discovering many tilings for lyself. If you and I are to be foes, rthur Kenyon, I will go to Godfrey reylock this very hour, and lay the hole matter before him?I will tell im that his heiress, whom he intends >r the English baronet, is engaged to [onsieur Regnault, a traveling singer, fhat, think you, will your chances len be of obtaining the girl and her irtune?" It was Greek meeting Greek?a Roind for an Oliver. They looked mis ustfully at each other?the dark, andsome man, the delicate, pretty oman. "Remember!" she cried, defiantly, that you cannot destroy me without lvolving Ethel in my ruin!" So far as he was capable of loving nything, Regnault really loved this plendid, high-bred girl who had romised to be his wife; the thought f losing her stung him to the heart? oke in him a passionate fear?swept way all such considerations as rhal:e, hate, revenge. "Verily, we are both armed and quipped," he said, with a sudden hange of tone. "But what has either f us to gain by denouncing the otner, ylphide? There are chapters in your ast life which you have hidden from lobert Greylock's relatives, and to reeal them would be to bring your presnt good fortune in a wreck about our ears. I have plans and ambiions which you can destroy, If you rill; but come, let us compromise? it us make terms with each other." She did not reply? only kept her >ok of dark mistrust. "One thing is certain," continued iegnault, with a disagreeable smile, the hand that I offer to Miss Grey>ck is a free hand. I am no modern illain of romance, with a wife lurkig in the background. No woman ving has any claim upon me?is it ot so?" She colored angrily. "So far aa I know, It Is so," she an swered. "Then leave me to my affairs, Syl phlde, and I will leave you to youn Forbear to meddle with me, and I wll forget that I ever knew you. In short If you can pardon such Inelegance o speech, hold your tongue; I will hol< mine." She was without principle, or pity or love, and yet, the thought of aban doning Ethel to this man made he shrink. By a word she could put at end to the secret love affair, which shi Ifnotr av iotoH hot troon tho nolr Wmtli she dare act nobly for once In her life and speak the word, and save thi young girl to whom she owed s< much? There was a brief struggle li Iris Oreylock's heart?the first tha she had experienced In years?thei self, as usual, triumphed. Sacrifice her ease and twenty thousand pel year?go back to poverty, all for thi sake of rescuing Ethel from the clutch es of a bold, bad man? Never! "It is a bargain!" she said, and helt out her hand to Regnault. He took It promptly. "Have you anything more.to say t< me, Sylphlde?" "No." "Then leave this place as soon aJ possible. You are known here, an< you will be compromised by such J visit to a stranger?a strolling sing er, at that. If the matter comes t< Godfrey Greylock's ears, he will cal you to account." She arose angrily. "Do you turn me out of the house' Once you would scarcely have doni that?once, If I remember rightly, yoi pretended to love me, Arthur Kern yon." "Yes," he replied, dryly; "a wearj while ago." You are utterly false and heartless! The woman who listens to you hat better take her final leave of happiness. It were better for her that t millstone were hanged about her neck and she was drowned in the depths o: the sea." "It Is highly edifying to hear Sylphlde quote Scripture," he scoffed "Then you are going?" as she movet toward the door. "Surely, with v.ha defective limb, you did not walk t< Cat's Tavern this morning?" "My carriage waits at the corner 01 the street," she . answered haughtily "No, do not offer your arm to me? ! would not touch It If I were perishing I have made a bad?a wicked bargair with you, Arthur Kenyon! Of all mj sins, this is the one, I fear, which wll cry out loudest against me at th< Judgment. Farewell!" "FarewellJ" he replied, mockingly; "if I leave you to your good fortune you must also leave me to mine?thai is but fair." He opened the door for her to limi through. A servant was sweeping tin passage. "Here, girl," said Mrs. Iris, from be neath the veil which she had closelj drawn, "give me your arm to the cor ner of the street." Polly dropped her broom and obey ed. As they descended the two 01 three rough stone steps at the door o: the inn, Mrs. Iris cried out, sharply: "What a thin, miserable little arm! ?It bends like a reed! Go slowly, foi I am lame!" Polly went slowly, her heart th< while thumping against her side s< fiercely that she feared her compam ion migh^ hear it. "What brought this woman to th< inn?" was the query that flashet through her brain; "and what is hei business with Monsieur Regnault, th< singer?" The corner of the street was but i few yards distant. A close carriagi waited there, with the black page, Sii Launcelot, on the driver's seat. As sh< was stepping into the carriage, Mrs Iris fumbled In her pocket and brough up a silver quarter. "Here girl," she said, and thrust thi piece into Polly's hand. She thought of the time when, wltl little Nan, she had first stood in th< presence of this woman, and spume* 41 *r\ hor hv Hflnnnh ine rriunej unu uui >? ..... - the servant. And she drew back i step, and In a sort of sudden fur: flung the silver straight at the black veiled figure. "Don't dare to offer your money ti me!" cried Polly, in a strange, hoarsi voice, and then she turned and fle< back to the inn. (To Be Continued.) Man Against Beact. The conflict between man and wil< beasts in India continues to be wage* 011 an Increasingly tremendous scale Year by the year the number of sav age or noxious animals slaughtere* by men increases, and year by yea the number of human beings whi fall prey to such ^creatures also in creases. Ey far the largest items ii both accounts pertain, of course, t snakes, but the doings of many othe creatures also figure largely. Th grand total of all in 1908 was 21,90' persons killed by the beasts and 88, 662 beasts killed by men. In 190! the deaths were 23,860 human be Ings and 105,859 animals, and in 1911 they were, respectively, 24,878 an< 110.386. It is of interest to note that las year only 23 wild elephants wer killed, while 55 persons were kille< by them; the figures in both case being about the average for som years past. Hyenas killed 25 per sons, presumably chiefly children 414 of the beasts were slain. Th "gray brothers" of Mowgli are stil numerous and destructive, for 31! persons were killed Dy tnem, wnn 3.114 wolves were killed. Bear killed 109, and themselves were kill ed to the number of 2,292. Leopard were charged with the deaths of 35 persons, and 5,029 of them wen slain. The balance between the num ber of human and animal victims wa closest in the case of tigers, for whil only 1,421 of those dreaded inarau ders were killed, they killed no fewe than 853 human beings. As fo snakes, 1 10,386 of them were killed and the appalling number of 22.47 persons fell victims to their venom These are the statistics of a coun try which is still only partly civilized and of which a large proportion I still overgrown with savage Jungl and forest. It would be instructiv to compare them with the statistic of disease and death In this countr; which are due to wild creatures o very different kinds, the flies and mos qultoes, which are purveyors o agues, fevers, typhoid, cholera am other of our deadliest plagues, ant which continue to exist and to pi: their destructive trades largely througl the carelessness, the slovenliness ant the willful Ignorance of those wht tolerate them.?New York Tribune. ittisccllanmtt grading. HUDSON 18 KING OF HEROES. i. 11 Englishman Has Won All Kinds of Medals for His Deeds of Bravery on ' the Sea. ^ Richmond Pearson Hobson is regarded by many as the real thing in ' the naval line here, while Admiral George Dewey has some admirers, but It seems that neither of them amount to a row of beans when compared with ? William Hudson. Saver of 105 lives, liberator of 16,' 000 slaves, slayer of countless whirling ^ *1 n m' lo V\ An nr I nn At* flt'ft V* ** * *. m **^i*la uti > IOIICO, Tviiiuci uvc IICIU iiicuaiOf 5 terrpr of the sultan of Zanzibar himJ self?that's what William Hudson says he Is, and certainly ought to know. 1 In addition, he was for four long B years champion boxer, champion crlckr eter and champion football player of B Her Majesty's Pacific fleet. He was the real hero of the terrible collision j between the Camperdown and the Victoria, when 354 men went to a watery grave with the latter ship, and he played a conspicuous and valiant part 1 In the operations thai rendered possible the building of the great Assouan dam. j All of which proves, of course, that Charleston should have felt highly hon1 ored at having William Hudson for a little while "in her midst," and that she | was woefully remiss when she neglected to make elaborate preparations for the entertainment of so notable a , man. Mr. Hudson came to Charleston on the Clyde Liner Algonquin, or as he 1 termed the ship, the Algonconda. He Intended to sail with the Algonquin that night, but he took a little stroll to ' the navy yard, being a champion , walker as well as a champion everyj thing else, and consequently he got left. He was obliged to remain here a day and continued on his way to Florida on 1 Friday. ' "It was like this," said Mr. Hudson, when his thoughts had been led gently back to the Camperdown-Vlctorla disaster. "I was a petty officer on the j Camperdown an' nad charge of the litt tie hengine that hoperated the ship's launch?not the hengrne that ran the launch, but the dinky hengine that j 'oiBted and lowered hit from the battleship's deck to the water and back | hagain. When the two ships struck I was on the mess deck. Now I have ' halways been as cool as a cucumber in r haction or hin danger. When the col! lislon 'appened I never 'esitated a a minute. I ran to the launch hengine and turned on the power so strong that it broke the securing chains an' the launch swung free. Then I lowered | away and in an Instant she struck the water. The whole thing was done ln} side of a minute. My coolness and presence of mind hin that time hof peril \$as the cause of more than a 'undred lives bein' saved. "I then ran up on deck again. The Victoria was a turnln* turtle. Some of her men tried to climb aboard the Camperdown, but our discipline was p i?Ol Bli'ici uitti nuui mat iiic wn c vi f dered to load with ball and shoot hany man that tried to come aboard. This , order was the cause of a great many p lives bein' lost. Habout 20 of the Victoria's men had rushed to the stem i when the crash came. As she turned j turtle they tried to Jump overboard hlnto the sea. . Hamong them was Leftenant Munroe, who only a few > days before had been transferred to the j Victoria from our ship as flag leftenr ant. We saw him leap over the stern B an' the next Instant his body was cut clean In 'alf by the Victoria propeller, t which was still a turnln'. Hevery man ? that Jumped over the stern *met the r same 'orrlble fate. s "Well she sunk an' the water was ful! of 'er men. Pretty soon I seen a ^ 'ead a bobbin' up and down, an' without 'esltation I ups an' Jumps ovemoard. 1 a saved him?he was a able seamanthen I went back hafter another one. j I saved him, too, but I was that exB hausted that by the time I 'ad brought j him to the side of the ship I was about slnkln' myself. 'Elpin' hands Just j reached us In time. I got a medal for f me bravery on this occasion an' when I returned to me' ome in Bolton, Lancashire, I couldn't get hany peace. I J was feted and feasted so much that p hat last I had to make me hesape from ] the bloomln' town hln the middle of the night in a klvvered carriage." That ought to have been enough heroism to last Mr. Hudson for a while, any how, but it wasn't. He was transferred to the Pacific fleet, and, as has j been related, he became the champion of the fleet in every sort of athletic sport on the calendar and incidentally saved the life of a young lady who had fallen overboard In a high sea. It was r it..j , arter tnis aeea mat Mr. nuuaun iramed to beware of newspaper men. It Is needless to point out that he is a modest man and there is nothing that he dislikes more than notoriety of print. His rescue of the young lady, who j six months afterwards became his wife, occurred on the Allan Liner ^ Parisian. Quite "unbeknownst" to Mr. Hudson, an enterprising reporter for a Liverpool paper took a picture of him and the young lady just after the ship had reached her dock; and the first thing that the hero saw when he got to Bolton was his likeness in the pa? per and that of the lovely maiden whom he had saved from an untimely 3 end. e "Dash it all." said Mr. Hudson, for he saw trouble ahead. And he was not g mistaken: for again the good town of 1 Bolton feted and feasted her hero, so 9 that the latter, who expected to have a e quiet little visit to his family, hardly f had any time to spend with them at s all. 1 In Egypt still g* eater glory came to e Mr. Hudson. He was with a party of 3 seamen who were engaged in fighting e the Dervishes, whi were trying to pre o??lno<n.|nor urnrU at the Veni cerium me ...? ? ? ' cataracts of the Nile preliminary to the I building of the great Assouan dam. 8 There had been many skirmishes in ' which, as Mr. Hudson modestly admits, he had shown great gallantry. Hearks en to his vivid description of one of the e fiercest of the fights and the Incident e that won him another medal. P "We charged them and they gave f back. When the British soldier - charges he isn't afraid of anything. J After a while they were re-enforced j and turned to face us. We 'ad a sharp y fight an' they were too many of us. J We 'ad to retreat to the camp. Hln } the runnin' fight two of heur men were shot. I stopped an went back an' brought both of 'em in hunder & terrible Are. When I was bringin' in the last one I was wounded twice myself, although I didn't know hit till hafterward. " 'What's the matter with you, Udson,' says the surgeon, says he. " 'I dunno, doctor,' says I. 'I Just feel a little tired.' says I. an' then I looked down an' my legs was kivvered with blood. . " 'You're wounded,' says he. 'Get the chloroform,' says he. " ' 'Ang the chloroform,' said L 'Get the bullets out, doctor,' says I. 'I'm a man,' says I, 'an' I can stan' It.'" And for one hour and ten minutes, says Mr. Hudson, the surgeon probed for the two bullets. Two more medals rewarded his gallantry In Egypt, followed by more feting upon his return to Bolton, which by this time was fairly bursting with nrlde. But the most remarkable of Mr. Hudson's exploits Is yet to be related? the story of how he fought with King Priem, the wicked sultan of Zanzibar, and was instrumental in freeing 15,000 slaves whom that Iniquitous monarch held captive. "I * was In the Eggygammon (the reader, it might be well to remark, will remember that Agamemnon is a favorite name for His Majesty's warships) and we were a-blockadln' an' a-bombard in' an' trying to put down the slave trade. The worst time I had was in a fight with a slave dhow. The naygurs in the dhow fought like demons, because they knew that If they were captured they would be either 'anged at the yard-arm or helse hlmprisoned for life. When I boarded the dhow the captain made at me with his scimitar. I met him with my cutlass an' we fought I don't know how long. He cut my foot nearly In 'alf, and at last I brought my cutlass down right on top of his 'ead. I cut his 'ead clean open and the cutlass went right on down through his neck and stuck in his breastbone." Mr. Hudson left Charleston for Jacksonville on the Clyde liner Huron on Friday night. He is a most Aitertainlng conversationalist, and his story of Via Avnlnlfo o KAVO WOfl tfiM In Itiv ?A]/lVilO uwiavvu u MV? v *< ?*w %v.? ... so simple and straightforward a fashion and with such minuteness of detail that one who heard him could not help believing.?Charleston News and Courier. QUEER TRIBE OF INDIAN8. Whits Skinned Man of Unknown Origin. One of the most remarkable of the Indian tribes of America is about to Anally pass out of existence. With their passing; will doubtless go the solution to the mystery of the so-called "White Indians" of the northwest. There are but few of the Ma'.dans, once a powerful tribe of the Dakotas, now living, and the medical observations made by Hadllcka and others of the government investigators show that the time of their passing is not far off. The Mandans have been slowly dying out for years. Almost a century ago an attack of srrallpox swept the nation that then numbered 3,000. There'were but 31 left alive when the spotted scourge passed on and left their lodges. In nearly three-quarters of a century their increase has been remarkably small. These "White Indians" seem robbed of their vitality and are placidly waiting the end of thalr tribal history with the usual stoicism of the American aborriglne. From the time when the Arst of the Hudson Bay Fur company's trappers stumbled into the Mandan houses up in the northwest these Indians have been something of an enigma to the white man. There was an air about them such as none other of the Indians had. They were regal-lookln* men, straight, deep chested, heavy shouldered and they walked with the characteristic stride of the white man. Many of them were blue-eyed and their skins were dark like the skin of a white man who has lived for a generation or so in the open. There are scarcely 100 of the pureblood Mandans now living on a western reservation. They are generally credited with being a Siouan race, but the strangeness of their now almost obliterated traditions has always captivated the mind of the student. Their pale skins and occasional blue eyes have lent much weight to their story that their ancestors came across the great water from the east in a winged canoe. Like other savages of North America they have kept no written annals of their tribe, but the tradition of their coming has been handed down from one generation to another by the wise men of the tribe. A part of the tradition of the coming of the Mandans has been verified by the patient Indian scholars who have studied the tribes of the north and the northwest. They have been traced back into the Great Lakes country and traces of their occupation of the neighborhood around the height of land up in Canada have been found. Certain tradition among the ancient forest tribe tell of a nation that lived In log houses partly under ground. "The ground house people" they were called, and this tradition seems to refer to the Mandan custom of throwing up a bank of earth around their strong lodges in order to make them stronger, warmer and lesa liable to take Are. The patient work of many investigators shows that.they came originally from the desolate lands that lie Just to the south of Labrador. There the tale ends, but such as it is it bears out the Mandan myth that their forbears were white men who came across the waves in a great canoe with wings. The transient manner of life among savages has j revented any certain evidence of their earlier history from preservation. It takes but a few years for the forest to obliterate all traces of a savage nation save a few potsherds and an occasional skull that marks their burying places. The Welsh have a tradition that seems to connect the "White Indians" of the north with one of the savage episodes of half-mythical Welsh history. There runs a tale among the early chroniclers of the Welshmen of a certain Prince Madoc, who rebelled against authority and waged a long and bloody civil war. In the end he and his followers were defeated and scattered among the hills and broken country along the seacoast. Rather (han submit to the certain death that awaited tnem at the hands of the victors, they built for themselves a ship and embarked upon it with their wives and children. They then set sail and vanished into the west. For generations their vindictive kinsmen cherished a tradition that they had sailed arour.d Ireland and struck out Into the unknown Atlantic in search of a new land wherein they might found a kingdom of their own.?St. Louis Republic.