Cheraw chronicle. (Cheraw, S.C.) 1896-2005, September 16, 1921, Image 3
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"GO ON?TELL ALL!"
Synopsis.?Dyck Calhoun, gifted
young Irish gentleman of the time J
of the French and American revo
Jutlons. meets Sheila L,iyn, seven- .
teen-year-old girl visiting In the |
neighborhood. They are mutually
attracted. Sheila never knew her
dissipated father, Erris Boyne, her
mother having divorced him. In
Dublin Leonard Mallow and Dyck
fight with swords and Dyck Is victor.
Errls Boyne, secretly in French
employ, gets Dyck drunk and tries
to persuade him to Join In revolt
against England. They quarrel.
While Dyck is overcome with
< drugged wine, Boyne's second wife
enters the room and stabs her
faithless husband to the heart
Dyck is arrested on a charge of
* murder. He does not know If he
killed Boyne or not. Sheila begs
her mother to go to Dublin with ,
her to help Dyck. Mrs. Llyn opI
poses the Idea. A letter from Mrs.
Llyn's wealthy brother In America
decides them to go and live with
him. Dyck refuses y> enter any
* plea except "No Defense." He
might have escaped by revealing
Boyne's treachery but refuses on
Sheila's account. He Is sent to
prison for eight years. Sheila
writes Dyck, assuring him of her j
belief In his Innoocence. Released
after serving four years, Dyck finds
himself destitute, his father dead.
In London Dyck receives a letter
from Sheila Inviting him to come
to America and sending money for
the voyage. He feels he cannot In
honor go to her. Dyck Joins the
* British navy as an enlisted man.
Bad conditions in the fleet result In
mutiny. Dyck, Joining the mutineers,
Is chosen by them to command
the ship, ths Ariadne. Dissatisfied
with the conduct of the
other ships' crews, Dyck breaks
with them and sails the Ariadne to
the West Indies. He arrives in time
to turn the tide of victory In a
battle between the French and
English fleets. Calhoun Is arrested
for his part In the mutiny but
thanked by the admiral for his
work In the battle. The British
government gives Dyck the freedom
of the Island of Jamaica, of
which his old enemy, Lord Mallow, |
is governor. With a companion. .
Dyck secures treasure worth ?40.000
from a sunken Spanish ship, and
becomes a wealthy and respected
j planter. Sheila comes to Jamaica.
Dyck ana Sheila s momer uwuo i
tha' the girl must be told all the
truth about her father's death.
' & C
(CHAPTER XV?Continued.)
?9?
Ever since the day when she had
seen Dyck Calhoun at Spanish Town
she had been disturbed in mind. Dyck
had shown a reserve which she felt
was not wholly due to his having been
imprisoned for manslaughter. In one
way he looked little older. His physique
wus us good or'better than when
* she first saw him on the hills of Playmore.
It was athletic, strenuous, elastic.
Yet there was about It the abandonment
of despair?at least of reckless- ;
* ness. That much was to be said for
him, that he had not sought to influence
her to his own advantage. She
was so surrounded In America by men
who knew her wealth and prized her
beauty, she was so much a figure In
* Virginia, that any reserve with regard
to herself was noticeable. She was
enough feminine to have pleasure in
I, lilt* mil HIUl MIC v>U9 mvugut uvo..? ?
by men; yet it played an Insignificant
part in her life. It did not give her
conceit. It was only like a frill on
the skirts of life. It did not play any
part in her character. Certainly Dyck :
Calhoun had not fluttered her.
That one to whom she had written,
as she had done, should remove him- ,
self from the place of the deserving
friend, one whom she had not deserted i
while he was in Jail as a criminal? !
that he should treat her so, gave every j
nerve a thrill of protest. At the lodg- '
Ings in Spanish Town, after Dyck Cal- j
houn had left, her mother had briefly !
said that she had told Dyck he could
* not expect the conditions of the Playmore
friendship should be renewed;
that, in effect, she had warned hint ,
off. To this Sheila had said that the |
* killing of a man whose life was bad ;
might be punishable. In any case,
thut thing was In another laud, under
abnormal conditions; and, with utter
lack of logic, she saw no reason why
he should be socially punished in Jamaica
for what he had been legally
punished for in Ireland. As for the
mutiny, he had done what any honest
man of spirit would do; also, he had
by greut bravery and skill brought
victory to the king's fleet in West In
diun waters.
Then It wus she told her mother
how she hud always disobeyed her
eommauds where I)yck was concerned;
That she hud written to him while he
was In Jail; that she had come to
Jamaica more to see him than to reform
Salem; that she hud the old Celtic
spirit of brotherhood, and she
would not be driven from It. In a sudden
burst of anger her mother had !
charged her with deceit; but the girl i
said she had followed her conscience,
and she dismissed It ull with u ges- j
tare as emphatic us her mother's an- ;
ger.
That night they had dined with Lord
Mallow, and she saw that his attentions
had behind them the deep purpose
of marriage. Lord Mallow had
ability and knew how to use it; and
he was never so brilliant as on this
afternoon, for they dined while It was
still daylight and hardly evening.
"I saw a man's her..* 011 a pole on
my way hack to King's house. You
have to use firm methods here," Sheila
said. "It Is not all a rose garden. You
have to apply force?"
? Lord Mallow smiled grimly. "C'est \
la force morale toujours."
"Ah. I should not have thought ft
was moral force always," was the
# Ironical reply.
'We have criminals here," declared
'he governor with aplomb, "and they
teed some bundling, I assure you. We
have in this Island one of the worst
criminals lu the British empire."
*
DEF1
V .
ILBERT P
"Ah, I thoupht tie was In the Uui- I
ted States!" answered the girl, sedute- I
ly. I
"Vou mean General Georpc Washlnp- 1
ton," remarked the povernor. "No, it I
Is one who was a friend and fellow- s
countryman of yours before he took
to killinp unarmed men." i
"You refer to Mr. Dyck Calhoun, 1
I doubt not, sir? Well, he Is still a 1
friend of mine, and -f saw him today 1
?this afternoon, before I came here. I
I understood that the crown had par- 1
doned his mutiny." <
The povernor was annoyed. '
"The crime Is there Just the same," !
he replied. "He nfutinled, and he stole '
a kirip's ship, and took command of 1
It, and broupht It out here." i
" A ? ?-l ?--1 Icl?n,l i
ca?c\i kwu uuu ^uui loiunui *
understand." I
"Ah, he snld that, did he?" <
"He snld nothing at all to me about ]
It. I have been reading the Jamaleu i
Cornwall Chronicle the last three 1
years." 1
"He Is ever a source of anxiety to <
me," declared the governor. 1
"I knew he was once In Phoenix 1
park years ago," was the demure yet
sharp reply, "but I thought he was a 1
good citizen here?a good anfl well-to- 1
do citizen." '
Lord Mallow flushed slightly. "Phoe- '
nix park?ah, he was a capable fellow
with the sword! I said so always, 1
and I'd back him now against a champion;
but many a bad man hns been 1
a good swords|?an."
"So, that's what good swordsmanship
does, Is it? *1 wondered what It '
was that did It. I hear you fight him
still?but with a bludgeon, and he 1
dodges It."
"I do not understand," declared Lord 1
Mallow tartly. . 1
"Ah, wasn't there some difference
over his going for the treasure to
Haiti? Some one told me. I think,
that you were not In favor of his getting
his tlcket-of-leave, or whatever '
It Is called, and that the provost mar- '
shal gave it to hlra, as he had the !
right to do."
"You have wide sources of Information
In this case. I wonder " '
"No, your honor need not wonder.
I was told that by a gentleman on the '
steamer coming here. He was a native
of this Island, I think?or per- '
haps it was the captain, or the mate,
or the boatswain, I can't recall. Or
maybe It came to me from my man- ^
ager, uarius coianu, wno nears Tilings
wherever he Is, one doesn't know how;
hut he hears them. He Is to me what i
your aide-de-camp Is to you," she nodded
towurd a young man nearby at (
the table. "You shall see my Dnrlus
Boland?Indeed you have seen him. j
He was there today when you pave
me the distinction of your presence."
"That dry. lean, cartridge of a fel-1!
low, that pair of pincers with a face 1"
"And a tongue, your honor. If you
did not hear It, yet you will hear It.
He Is to be ray manager here. So
he will be under your control?If I
permit him."
"If you permit him, mistress?"
"If I permit him, yes. You are a
power, but you are not stronger than
the laws and rules you make. For Instance,
there was the case of Mr. Dyck
Calhoun. When he came, you were
for tying him up In one little corner ,
of the Island?the hottest part, I know,
near to Kingston, where it averages
ninety degrees In the shade at any
time of the year. But the king you
represent had not restricted his liberties
so, and you being the king,
that Is, yourself, were forced to abide
by your own regulations. So it may
be the same with Darius Boland. lie J
may want something, and you, high
up, looking down, will say, 'What dev- |1
iltry Is here." and decline. He will then j
IIIMI i! i
m m iin
^ I
"You Refer to Mr. Dyck Calhoun, I
Doubt Not, Sir."
turn to your chief justice or provost
marshal general, or a deputy of the
provost marshal, and they will say that !
Darius Behind shall have what he
wants. bectiuse it is the will of the
, will you represent."
Almost the Inst words the governor
used to her were these: "Thofce only
live at peace here who are at peace
with me;" and her reply had been:
"But Mr. Dyck Calhoun lives at peace,
does he not, your honor?"
To that he had replied: "No man
is at peace while he has yet desires
to satisfy." lie paused a minute and
then added:' "That Krrls Boyne killed
hy Dyck CirUmun?did you ever see
him that you remember?"
"Not that I remember." she replied
quickly. "I never lived in Dublin."
"That may be. But did you ever
know his history?" She shook her
j head in negation. His eyes searched
ENS!
ARKER
%
tier face carefully, and lie was aston
Ished when he saw no sign of con
'usion there. "Good God, she doesn'
Snow. She's never been told!" he salt
to himself. "This Is too startling. I'l
speak to the mother."
A little later he turned from th
liother with astonishment. "It's mad
less," he remarked to himself. "Sh
tvlll tind It out. Some one will tel
ler. ... By heaven. I'll tell he
Irst." he hastily said. "When slv
cnows the truth, Calhoun will have m
chance on earth. Yes, I'll tell her my
self. But I'll tell 110 one else," h
added; for he felt that Sfiella, one
?he knew the truth, would resent hi
flavins told abroad the true story 0
the Erris Boyne affair.
So Sheila and her mother had gon
to their lodgings with depression, bu
?ach with a clear purpose in her mind
Mrs. Llyn was determined to tell he
laughter what she ought to hav
known long before; and Sheila wa
firm to make the od? man who hai
?ver Interested her understand tha
lie was losing much that was wort!
while keeping.
Then had followed the journey t
Salem. Yet all the while for Shelh
pne dark thought kept hovering ove
efterything. Why should life be a
complicated? Why should this on
man who seemed capable and ha<
the temperament of the Irish hills am
vales be the victim of punishment am
shame?why should he shame her?
Suddenly, without her mother'
knowledge, she sent Darius Bolam
through the hills in the early morn
Ing to Ennlskillen, Dyck Calhoun'
place, with a letter which said onl,
this: "Is it not time that you cam
to wish us well in our new home? W
shall expect you tomorrow."
When Dyck read this note he though
t was written by Sheila, but inspire'
py the mother; and he lost no tim
in making his way down across th
country to Salem, which he reaches
1 foiv hours after sunrise. At th
loorway of the house he met Mrs
Llyn.
"Have you told her?" he asked li
inxlety.
Astonished at his presence, sh
?ould make no reply for a moment
'I have told her nothing," she an
iwered. "I meant to do so this mom
ng. 1 meant to do it?I must."
"She sent me a letter asking If 1
tvas not time I came to wish you wel
In your house, and you and she woul
i-xj^ct me today."
"1 knew naught of her writing you,
;vas the reply?"naught at all. Bu
now that you are here, will you no
tell her all?"
Dyck smiled grimly. "Where Is she?
he asked. "I will tell her."
The mother pointed down the gai
den. "Yonder by the clump of palm
I saw her u moment ago. If you g
thut wuy you will find her."
In another moment Dyck Calhou
was on his way to the clump of palms
and before he reached It the girl cam
out into the path. When she saw bin
she gave a slight sturt, then stood stll
und he came to her.
"I have your letter," he said, "an
I came to say what I ought to sa
about your living here; you will brln
blessings to the place."
She looked at him steadfastly
"Shall we talk here," she said, "or li
side the house? There is a little she
tor here In the trees"?pointing to th
right?"a shelter built by the lat
manager. It has the covering of
hut, but It Is open at two sides. WI1
you come?"
As she went on ahead he could no
fail to notice how slim and trim sh
was, how perfectly her figure seerae
:o fit her gown?as though she had bee
poured into it; and yet the folds c
her skirt waved and floated like silk
flouds around her! Under cover c
the shelter she turned and smiled a
him.
"You have seen my mother?"
"I have just come from her," he at
swered. "She bade me tell you wha
ought to have been told long ago, an
you were no!) for there seemed n
reason that you should. The sorrow
that had come to your mother b<
longed to days when you were scare
out of the cradle. But you did no
know. You were not aware that you
mother hud divorced your father fo
crime against marital lidelity an
great cruelty. You did not know eve
who that father was. Well, I mus
tell you. Your father was a ham
some man. a friend of mine until
knew the truth about him, and the
he died?I killed him, so the cour
said."
Her face became ghastly pale. Afte
a moment of anguished bewilderment
she said: "You mean that Krris Boyn
was my miner;
"Yes. I mean that. They say
killed him. They say he was foun
with no sword drawn, but that m
open sword lay on the table beside rn
while I was asleep, and that it ha<
let out his life-blood."
"Why was lie killed?" she asket
horror-stricken and with pale lips.
"I do not know, but if I killed bin
U was because I revolted from th
proposals hy made to me. I?"
He paused, for the look on her far
was painful to see, and her body wa
as that of one who had been strue
by lightning. His heart smote bin
and he pulled himself together to tei
her all.
"Go on," she said. "I want to heal
I want?to know all. I ought to huv
known?long ago; but that can't b
helped now. Coutlnuc?please."
Her words had come slowly, in gasp
almost, and her voice was so fraye
he could scarcely recognize it. All th
pride of her nature seemed shatterei
"If 1 killed him," he said present!'
"it was because he tried to tempt m
from my allegiance to the crown, t
become u servant of France, to?"
?
Authi
f "The Seats ol
^ "The Righ
i- He stopped short, for a cry came
i- from her lips which appalled him.
t "My God?my God!" she said with
1 bloodless lips, her eyes fastened on
I his face, her every look and motion
the Inflection of despair. "Go on?tell
f-' all," she added presently with more
I- composure.
e Swiftly he described what hapI
pened In the little room at the tralr
tor's tavern, of the momentary recone
dilation and the wine that he drank,
u drupped wine poured out but not I
" drunk by Krrls Boyne, and of his later
0 unconsciousness. At last he paused.
B "Why did these things not eorae out
8 nt the trial?" she asked In hushed <
' tones.
He made a helpless gesture. "I did
e not spqak of them because I thought
1 of you. I hid it?I did not want you
' to know what your father was."
r Something like a smile gathered nt 1
e her pale lips. "You saved me for the
* moment, and condemned yourself for1
ever," she snld In a voice of torture.
I "If you had told what he was?If you
' had told that, the Jury would not have
condemned you, they would not have
0 sent you to prison."
II "I believe I did the right thing," he
r said. "If I killed your father, prison
was my proper punishment. But I can't
j remember. There was no other clue,
^ no other guide to Judgment. So the
j law said I killed him, and?he hnd
evidently not drawn his sword. It
s was clear he was killed defenseless."
"You killed a defenseless man!"
Her voice was sharp with agony.
s "That was mentioned at the trial?
y but I did not believe It then?In that
p long ago." She trembled to her feet
n 'They Say I Killed Him."
j,
e from the bench where she was sitting,
i, "And I do not believe it now?no, on
I, my soul. I do not."
"But it makes no difference, you
d see. I was condemned for killing
y your fnther, and the world knows that
g Erris Boyne was your father, and
here Lord Mallow, the governor, knows
f. it; and there Is no chance of friend>
ship between you and me. You dare
I- not lie friends with me?"
? Her face suddenly suffused and she
e held herself upright with an effort
a She was nbout to say, "I dare, Dyck?
11 I do dare!" but he stopped her with a
reproving gesture.
>t "No, no, you dare not, and I would
e not let you if you would. I am an exd
convict They say I killed your fnn
ther, and the wny to understanding
between us is closed."
y She made a protesting gesture.
"Closed! Closed!?But is it closed?
No, no, some one else killed him, not
you. You couldn't have done It You
would have fought him?fought him
l* as you did Lord Mallow, nnd in fightlt
lag you might have killed him, but
d your sword never let out his life
0 when he was defenseless?never."
s A look of Intense relief, almost of
happiness, cunie to Dyck's face. "That
e Is like you, Sheila, but It does not
* cure the trouble. You and I are as
r far apart as noon and midnight. The
r law has said the only thing that can
d be said upon It."
n She sank down again upon the j
!t wooden bench. "Oh, how mad you
I* were, not to tell the whole truth long
1 ago! You would not have been con- j
n detuned, and then?"
t She paused, overcome, and his selfcontrol
almost deserted him. With
r strong feeling he burst out: "And
b then we might have come together?
e No, your mother?your friends, myself
could not have let that be. See, Sheila,
1 I will tell you the whole truth now?
^ aye, the whole absolute truth. I have j
y loved you since the first day I saw
e you on the ldlls. Not a day has !
d i passed since then, when you were not
! more to me than any other woman in
' all the world."
A new light came Into her face, the
' shadows left her eyes and the pallor
e , n,.(1 from her llns. "You loved me?" I
i she sold in ti voice grown soft?husky j
e still, hut soft as the light In n sum- '
8 nier heaven. "You loved me?and
have always loved me since we first i
' met?"
II "I have always loved you, Sheila, j
j and shall do so while I have breath I
r, and life. I have always given you the |
e j best that Is In me, tried to do what i
e was good for us both,, since my misfortune?crime,
I.ord Mallow calls It,
>s as does the world. Never a sunrise
d .that does not find you in the forefront
e of all the lighted world; never a flower
I. have I seen that does not seem sweeter
f, ! ?It brings thoughts of you; never a
e crime that does not deepen its shame
o , because you are In the world. In pris|
on, when I used to mop my floor aud
13
a
,|
Dr of ;;
f the Mighty" ;;
it of Way"
tl
Copyright by Sir Gilbert Parker
=-l 0
t(
clean down the walls; when I swept
the dust from the corners; when I t(
folded tip nty convict-clothes; when c
I ate the prison food and sang the S(
prison-hymns; when I placed myself
beside the hench In the workshop to j,
make things that would bring cash to h
my fellvw-prlsoners in their need; e
when I saw a minister of religion or w
heard the Litany; when I counted up g
the days, first that I had spent In Jail a
and then the days I had still to spend
In Jail; when I read the books from n
the prison library of the land where fi
you had gone, and of the# struggle
there; when I saw you, In my mlud's
eye, In the cotton fields or on the ve- s
randa of your house In Virginia; I
had but one thought, and that was the I
look In your face at Playmore and d
Limerick, the sound of your voice as
you came singing up ine nut jusi utrftire
I first met you, the Joyous beauty
of your body."
"And at sea?" she whispered with a
gesture at once beautiful and pathetic,
for It had the motion of helplessness
and hopelessness.
"At sea," he answered, with his eyes
full of intense feeling?"at sea, I was j
free at last, doomed as I thought, an- A
gulshed In spirit, and yet with a wild ,
hope that out of It would come deliverance.
I expected to lose my life, I
and I lived each day as though It j
would be my last. I was chief rogue
In a shlpful of rogues, chief sinner |
In a hell of sinners, and yet I had no
remorse and no regret. I had done
all with an honest purpose, with the F
good of the sailors In my mind; and
so I lived In dally touch with death,
honor and dishonor? Vet I never saw
a sailor In the shrouds, or heard the
night wntch call 'All's well!' In the
midst of the night and mutiny, that I
did not long for a word from you that
would take away the sting of death.
Those days at sea for ten long weeks
were never free from anxiety, not
anxiety for myself, only for the men
who had put me where I was, had "
given me captain's rank, hud?"
Suddenly he stopped, and took from
his pocket the letter he was writing on 1
the .very day she landed In Jamaica. ^
He opened It and studied It for a momerit
with a dark look In his face.
"This I wrote even as you were landIng
In Jamaica, and I knew naught of
your coming. It was an outbreak of t
my soul. It was the truth written to I
you and for you, and yet with the b
feeling that you would never see It. I f
was still writing It when Michael ?
Clones came up the drive to tell me v
you and your mother were here. Here s
it is with all the truth and terror In c
It-i-aye, theretwas terror, for It gave a
the soul of my life to one I never r
thought to see again; and, If seeing, 5
should be compelled to do what I have s
done?tell her the whole truth at once a
and so have it over. t
"But do not think that In telling It 1
now 1 repent of my secrecy. I repent '
of nothing; 1 would not alter anything. F
Whut was to be Is, and what Is has Its r
place in the book of destiny. No, 1 8
repent nothing, yet here now I give I
you this to read while still ray story of b
tne days of which you know is In your
Q..ro Hpro it is. it will tell the whole
story; for when you have' read It and y
do understand, then we part to meet no n
more as friends. You will go back to S
Virginia, and I will stay here. You t
will not regret coming here; but you a
will desire our friendship to cease; und
what has been to be no more, while v
the tincture of life Is In your veins, f.
Sheila, read this thing, for It is the rest
of the story until now." n
hie handed her the papers, and she
look them with an inclination of the s
heud which said: "Give it to me. 1 M
will reud it now while my eyes can v
still bear to read it. I have laid on ray
heart the nettle of shame, and while t
It Is still burning there I will read all h
that you have to teach me."
"1 will go out in the garden while t
you read it," he said. "In a half-houi
1 will come back, and then we can say
good-by," he added, with puln in his
voice, but lirmly.
"No, do not go," she urged. "Sit here
on the bench?at the end of It here,"
she said, motioning with her hand.
He shook his head In negation. "No, "
1 will go and say to your mother that 1
1 have told you, and ease her mind, u
t L-nnw ?hi> herself meant to tell
you." n
As lie went he looked nt her face
closely. It was so young, so paretic,
so pule, yet so strangely beautiful, and
her forehead was serene. That was one
of her characteristics. In all her life,
her forehead remained untroubled and
unllned. Only at her mouth and In her
eyes did misery or sorrow show. He
looked Into her eyes now, and he was |
pleased with what he saw; for they
had In them the glow of understanding
and the note of will which said: "You
and I are parted, but 1 believe In you, r
and I will not show I am a weak wont- il
an by futile horror. We shall meet no c
more, but I shall remember you." ti
As he turned away, it was with the b
sharp conviction that he had dealt a e
blow front which the girl would re- 1
cover, but wouftl never be the same I
again. She was rich "beyond the '
dreams of avarice," but that would not V
console her. She had resources within n
herself, had what would keep her "
steady. Her lips opened as though she n
would say something, but nothing came l<
from them. She only shook her head I f'
sadly, as If to say: "You understand. ! "
Go, and when you come again. It will P
be f<?r us to part In peace?at least In a
peace." ?
Out In the garden he found her
mother. After the first agitated greet- h
Ing?agitated on her part?he said: r
"The story has been told, and she Is h
now reading?"
He told her the story of the manuscript,
and added that Sheila had carried
herself with courage.
Presently the woman said to him: >
She never believed you killed Errls
oyne. Well, It may not help the sltutlon,
hut I say, too, that I do not beeve
you ''Id/ I cannot understand
hy you did not deny having killed
I m."
"I could not deny. In any case, the
iw punished me for It, and the book
i closed forever."
"Have you never thought that some
ne?"
"Yes, I have thought, but who Is
acre? The crowd at the Dublin ho?1
where the thing was done were
ecret, and they would lie the apron
ff n bishop. No, there Is no light, and,
d tell the truth, I care not now."
"But If you are not guilty?It Is not
oo late; there Is my girl! If the real
rlminal should appear?can you not
ee?"
The poor woman, dlstressedly pale,
er hair still abundant, her eyes still
right, her pulses nglow, as they had
ver heen, made a gesture of appeal
Ith hands that were worn and thin,
he hud charm still, In a way as great
s her daughter's.
"I can see; but, Mrs. Llyn, I have
o hope. I am a man whom some men
ear?"
"Lord Mallow!" she Interjected.
"He does not fear me. Why do you
ay that?"
"I speak with a woman's Intuition,
don't know what he feprs, but he
oes fear you. You are a son of his
Have You Never Thought That Sorr.e
One?"
ory; you had a duel with him, and
eat him; you have always beaten
ilm, even here where he has been
upreme as governor?from first to
ast, you have beaten him."
"I hope I shall be even with him at
he last?at the very last," was Dyck
Jalhoun's reply. "We were made to
e foes. We were from the first. I
elt It when I saw him at Playmore.
nothing has changed since then. He
vill try to destroy me here, but I will
ee It through. The man Is a fool. I
ould help him here, but he will have
ione of It, and be is running great
isks. He hns been warned that the
laroons are restive, that the black
laves will rise If the Maroons have
ny Initial success, and he will listen
o no advice. And up there"?he
urned and pointed?"up there In Treawney
the Maroons are plotting and
ilannlng, and any day an explosion
nay occur. If It occurs no one will be
afe, especially If the blacks rise too?
mean the black slaves. There will
e no safety then for any one."
"For us as well, you mean 7"
"For you as well as all others, and
ou are nearer to Trelawney than
aost others. You are In their path,
lo be wise, Mrs. Llyn, and get back
o Virginia as soon as may be. It Is
better place than this."
"My daughter Is mistress here,"
ras the sorrowful reply. "She will
ave her own way."
"I will teLl her what I fear, and she
nay change her mind."
"But the governor may want her to
tay," answered Mrs. Llyn none too
agely, but with that in her mind
k-hlch seemed to Justify her.
"Lord Mallow?oh, If you think
here Is an Influence In him to keep
er, that Is another question," said
)yck with a grim smile. "But, neverheless,
I think you should leave here
nd go back to Virginia. It Is no safe
lace for two ladles, In all sense^.
Vhatever Lord Mallow thinks or does,
his Is no place for you. This place Is
our daughter's, for her to do what
he chooses with It, and I think she
ught to sell It. There would be no
rouble In getting a purchaser. It Is
nut?
"Hut the governor might not think
s you do; he might not wish It sold."
"Good-by?God protect
you!" he added, looking into
Sheila'a eyea.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Pens Prized by Collectors.
Pens occupy their place us historic
plies and there are collectors of such
hings as there are collectors of old
hairs, old hooks, cdd canes and posage
stamps. A quill pen said to hove
een used by Dickens wns sold sevral
years ago In London for $17.
'he pen with which the treaty of
arls was signed was one of the rel?s
left hy the late Empress Eugenie.
'? *-1 a.lnr?o L?nmt? tlio dutnnnrl
\ llMllllKlwiiiano nuvff vr?.
inde upon the President for the pens
rith which he signed Important bills,
nd they have also rend that a Prealent
has sometimes used three or
our pen* In writing his signature,
rrltlng his first name with one
en, dotting an "1" with another,
nd so on. It Is nlso said that
,'hen a state paper which It Is beeved
will be considered historic Is to
e signed by the President there Is
Ivalry among pen manufacturers to
nve a specimen of their product used.
His ^hereabouts.
First Flea?Been on a vacation?
Second Flea?Nope on u tramp.?
tew York World.
IMPROVED UNIFORM INTERNATIONAL
SundaySchool
' Lessonf
(By REV. p. B. FITZWATER, D. D..
Teacher of English Bible In the Moody
Bible Institute of Chicago.) . .
(?, 1921, Western Newspaper Union.)
Lesson for September is
ABSTINENCE FOR SAKE OF OTHERS
(TEMPERANCE LESSON).
LESSON TEXT?I Cor. 10:23-33 ; 3:16, 17..
GOLDEN TEXT?Whether therefore ye
eat, or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all
to the glory of God.?I Cor, 10:31.
REFERENCE MATERIAL?Rom. 12:1;
14:13-21; 16:1, 2; I Cor. 6:9-20; 9:19-27.
PRIMARY TOPIC?A Clean. Strong
Body.
JUNIOR TOPIC?How to Win the Race.
INTERMEDIATE AND SENIOR TOPIC
?Presenting One's Body a Living Sacrifice
YOUNG PEOPLE AND ADULT TOPIC
?The True Meaning of Temperance.
The occasion of this teaching was
the uncertainty as to the right attitude
towurd "things sucrlflced unto
Idols." This problem was most vital
while the Christians were In the midst
of the heathen, and with some modifications
no less vital still. In mingling
with society many perplexing
questions arise, such as amusements,
way or spending sunuay, enjoyment
of luxuries, owning stock In certain
corporations, etc. Our lesson contains
principles adequate for our guidance
In all these problems.
It was customary to divide the animal
offered In sacrifice Into three
purts. One part was consumed on
the altar, another part was given V
the priest, and the third part was
kept by the party bringing the offering.
The priest's part was frequently
sold In the markets. The part which
the offerer kept was sometimes eaten
at home and sometimes In the court
of the temple. The Christian who
bought meat In the market was liable
to get meat which had been dedicated
to the idol god. Then, too, one would
be invited to eat socially at the table
of someone who had kept his portion
of his offering and now set It before
his guests. Some with adequate
knowledge had no scruples about it;
others with less knowledge thought it
sinful. The one who has knowledge
should bear with the weak one, and at
the same time should seek to teach his
brother the truth so as to set him free
from bondage of superstition. The
glory of God should control in all
things.
I. "All Things Are Lawful for Me"
(v. 23). , 0
This declaration is limited, of
course, by things which are right in
themselves. It is not true that a
Christian Is free to do those things
which are wrong. The Christian can
only indulge in "lawful things" as
they are expedient and unto edification.
As Individual Christians we
have liberty to do many things which
because of their Influence on our fellow
Christians we should abstain
from. Certain amusements may be
lawful to indulge in, but such Indul
- AL.
gence may lnnuence otners in wi*>
wrong way and result In their ruin.
Even with one's self that which Is not
edifying should be ruled out.
II. "Let No Man Seek Hla Own"
(v. 24).
The Christian is under the control
of love. The controlling principle of
love is unselfishness. The one dominated
by love considers the other's interests
rather than his own. One has
a perfect right to arise at midnight
and play the piano, but if he lives
In an apartment, or even In a house
in town. It Is wrong to do so, for he
would disturb his neighbor.
. III. "Eat the Food Set Before You"
(vv. 25-30).
It is not Incumbent upon us to be
on the hunt for occasions of the conscience
either of ourselves or others.
Exercise your freedom in the enjoyment
of all right things which the
Lord places before you, but as soon
as it Is brought to your attention that
certain things are to the disadvantage
of others, you should desist; that
Is. exercise self-control.
IV. "Do All to the Glory of God"
(v. 31).
This is the grand and supreme rule
of life for the Christian. The Christian
is not at liberty to do that upon
which he could not ask the blessing of
God. In all our concerns nere ueiuw
we should have God's glory before us
constantly. In our eating, employments
and pleasures, we should have
as our transcendent aim God's glory.
How could one ask God's blessing upon
the Intoxicating cup, dancing, gambling,
theatergoing, Sunday* desecration.
luxurious extravagance, etc?
V. "Give No Occasion for Anyone to
Stumble" (v. 32).
We should so live that no one can
ever say that we have been the occasion
of their downfall.
VI. Follow the Example of Jesus
Christ (11:1).
Christ through love gave up all for
the sake of others. He did not please
himself. Everyone, therefore, who Is.
a Christian should Imitate Him.
VII. The Christian's Body Is the
Temnle of the Holy Ghost (3:16, 17).
This great truth Is true of the
Church as a body, but that which is
true of the body is true of the individual
composing the body; so the
point in this Scripture Is the serious
consequence of defiling the body.
The Lesson of the Lily.
To the thoughtful mind, the lilyblossom
is a wicket In the great unseen
portal of death, through which
we may obtain bright glimpses of
what is beyond. It opens in all its
snowy purity and exquisite grace
from the dry, withered sheaf, as the
transfigured immortal life bursts
from the temporary imprisonment of
death. And if the death of the plant
should thus mossmii imu uuuicuuii Ui
beauty, what Infinite possibilities better
than our brightest hopes are held
by that darkness which hounds our
vision here! He who raises up the
lilies every summer, each from Its
own root In the mould, will not leave
our life in the dust.?Hugh Macmlllan.