The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on June 21, 1893 · Page 3
Get access to this page with a Free Trial

The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, June 21, 1893
Page 3
Start Free Trial

TffiB |trCT«jt DES MQPtBS ALGONA»aoWA § WEDNESDAY, JUNE 21,1893. fOLDINO-BED fitJBGLAR TRAJP. By H. C. Dodge. Our family lived in a handsome house In New York and I was. the grown up daughter of the establishment. For a monjth th'. re had been numerous robberies in our wealthy neighborhood and although several victims had obtained hasty and unwished-for glimpses of the thief during his mid- nlgh;t visilts, the chap was so smart and slick that he easily escaped without a trace of his identity left for the police to work on. All they knew was tha^ he was a good-looking young fellow wiith a mustache and travelled alone. His business jobs were performed in one and the same stfe'le. He entered the hotises through rear yard windows and after helping himself to small articles of real value, and letouroly enjoying a lunch from the larder topped off with wine and cigars from the cellar and buffet, he walked out of the front doors as boldly asi If lie owned the house. In spilto of a dozen detectives laying for his capture ho seldom faiiled to make a nightly raid somewhere and get away with his plunder safely. One night, or rather early morning, the lady next door to us was partly awakened Uv the intruder fumbling at her dressing case. Half conscious she asked 'Is that you, George?" thinking It was her husband. "Yes, but go to sleep, dear," answered a strange voice which made her scream at once. Tliat aroused tho husband, and springing from bed he went foi the rascal. Through the rooms and hall he chased the robber, AVUO seemed to have lost his bearings and didn't know which way to escape. At last he struck the stairs and down he leaped and out ol the front door before the courageous pursuer could grab hinHif he really wanted to. Whcln. I listened to the story on the next day instead of feeling frightened I thought I should like such a chance and show what a girl could do with a burglar who needed capturing more than anlythiiig else. A week afterwards the chance came and I'm proud to tell what happened. I had in my room one of thosjo very htlgh and heavy modem folding beds. That it was a dangerous trap to bo "caughlt in if the massive top should fall by an accident I well knew, for, already two persons had lost, their lives through carelessness hi handling furniture like it.. A woman sijitlng on tho foot of one of these beds had somehow disturbed an insecure hind leg. Down came the groat headboard and tiie poor creature, without time to shriek even, was nrniHy squeezed and held under it until she suffocate..! in the umttrass and coverings. Another case—that of a baby—was more terrible. But though my bed was able to do murder, i Olidn't tear it, owing 'to Us being more complete- in its machinery and thereby not at all likely to "go off" without proper warning. Perhaps m|y sleeping on such au af- fiur strjeugthe-ned my •'•'ueiivetf' aaid made me comparatively fearless of danger—or oi' burglars. Now 1 mus,t go back to the burglar I wanted to catch. His way of entering a house was, as I have said, through a rear window, generally a kitchen one. He would with some instrument break a small hole in itho glass by the sash fastening. Then he would raise the sasih and proceed to make himself perfectly at home. To detect li('w presence hi case he saw lit to honor us with a call, I made a little electric battery and charged a small wire running from the window he would bo likely to cutter, up hi my room, There a liny bell, laid nightly b& r me on my pillow, was to give the welcome news of the gentleman's arrival, When I displayed my mechaiuical genius on the bed and fixed it so that by suddenly pulling a hind' leg from under, the whole tiling would double up and come together like the jaws of an alligator. On the iusjide of /the door of my closet I put a strong bolt as I calculated to use that place of refuge when I pulled the string to spring the trap, H tho robber shouldn't be caught properly I, hi m|y locked closet, would be safe until assistance came. "When I think now of that strange scheme I laugh and wonder how 1 could have been so crazy as to plan it and so foolishly fearless as to carry it out. All'the sleeping rooms ui our house had been secured with inside bolts and they wore, of course, kept locked at night. Mine being the only one open (left so purposely by me) I was quite sure that if the robber came he would walk right into it. In plain sight on the empty bed by my pillow he would see my gold watch audi chain, When he reached to get them I, from the •loscit looking through the keyhole or door ajar, would pull the string and catch him. For two long weeks after the robbery next door I slept on .that deadly folding bed with a strong chair on each side laid on top the coverings. This was to prevent my being squashed in case the spring went off while I was dreaming such awful dreams of burglars that I often woke with a scream, and all a- treinbld with the nightmare's realistic terror. But I didn't weaken a bit in my wild and dangerous undertaking, which 1 artfulliy managed ,to keep! secret from everyone in the house. One night I waa dreaming as usual of murders when I was awakened by the electric bell. The burglar had come! In spite of my preparations I was terribly frightened. My first impulse was to lock my hall door and shriek.for hjelp and (pound the floor to ahjrm my parenta wko slept in the room below. ' i i j '/! L t i But 1 calmed myself with an effort and hastily slipping out of bed, I smoothed the blankets and pillow and saw that the 1 watch bait was in place. Then I jumped into the closet and peeked through the crack of Ms door, holding itlie trap string in my nervous fingers. The gas faintly burning lighted ni t v room dimly, but with eyes used to darkness I could see quite distinctly. Not a sound, though, could 1 hear as I wa.itedi almost Impatiently to be attacked by the expected burglar. All nt once the sensation of a strange ISlfr Folding-Bed Burglar Trap, person's nearness came to me. Without seeing or hearing a thing I felt that the robber was in my room. Of all "the horrible fright no tiling ever I know can. approach the fear I tlien had. A cold perspiration broke over nic and my heart beat louder than the ticking watch lift- my pillow. I hadn't strength enough during those awful moments to bolt my closet door, let alone pull .the string of my trap. In the nick of time I wast saved from discovering myself by seeing a shadow flit across the room. Then the hunter's nerve when the game is to be killed made me cool and brave. Through tht cracks of the door I watched the shadow as a cat does a mouse. It noiselessly stood still and listened. Thqu it crawled on the floor to my empty bed. Thou it struck a match and by the light I plainly saw the good- looking inustaehed face of the burglar peering into my bed. I saw his eyes sparkle when the watch came in view. He rose to his feet, reached across the bed, grabbed the watch. Then like a flash I jerked .the' string. Out came the boil'si hind leg. Up went the maWrass. Down with a thud came the ponderous head board. Bang! went a pistol. AVithout knowing 1C the robber was cnught or not—for I dared not rush out to look—I bolted myself in the closet and yelled for help, and pounded the flOM-. Quickly the house was in commotion. Soon I hoar father's and my brother's voices in my room crying "fire," and calljhig for me. Out from the closet I burst, and there thely were trying to lift the head of tine bed from off the flattened burglar, which in the excitement and darkness they took to be me. The room was full of smoke. Telling them I was safe, and that I had caught a burglar. T turned on the gas. Then I saw the bed was afire, and the pistol shot was explained. The burglar's revolver had been struck by the falling head-pi OOP. and' the burglar still kicking with his imprisoned feet was, no doubt, suffocating and burning alive. Two policemen now were in the room and, first tying the struggling feet they priod the bed apart, and dragged out the smoking and nearly dead wiletch. (Palls of watci/r thrown on the bed and its victim quenched both fires and then the?- found the greatly mortified tlvief had been hit by the bullet in the leg, the pistol having been discharged in his hip pocket, as I learned afterwards. Well, I needn't say that. I am proud of my patent folding-bed burglar trap and the remarkable success I had with it. Nejithor need I mention I novel slept upon the murderous contrivance again wiWi chairs at my sides and burglar bell by my ear. No! It stands in our attic fastened so no one can use it with its bullet mark and fire blisters to be ever warning fov burglars and a memorj to mo which! sometimes I wish might be forgotten. The. burglar got twenty years in a cell where, lucky for him, folding bed* are not in fashion. • UNUSED DOORS. An English decorator notes that doors which are not required for anj reason for their usual purpose may be locked, and utilized in decoration. "Iv old! houses where the walls are thick they form deep recesses, and by placini four or live shelves in these they nrc transformed Into excellent bookshelves over, or raither across, which a hand some curtain may be drawn. Whei: the recess iis not deep enough to nc comniodaite books narrow |0namolle<" shelves will serve'to fill with old chinfi bric-a-brao and photos, and the effed produced by these arrangements is, ii general, uncommonly good." A SUMiEBR GIRL'S TROUBLE. Only One Tiling Needed to Complete Her Ejrniipmoii't. Detroit Free Press: The summer glr had finished her schedule for the campaign and sat down to think. She was looking a little like Marius among tin ruins when her dearest friend came In "What's the matter?" was the quid inquiry. "I've just completed my want, llsi for the summer," she replied, handing it to her. "Gracious, me," exclaimed the otliei girl, looking it over, "<tliis ought not to make you sad. Here's gowns and gowns, and bonnets and hate, and jackets and waists, and shoes and slippers, and parasols and fan, and gloves and hundreds of things that are too lovely for any use." The fair possessor of it all sighed profoundly. "Yes," she said, "it is all just like the play of Hamlet—--with Hamlet left out." "How do you mean?" and the big eyes opened wouderingly. "Where's the man?" sighed the first girl again, and there was no answer. New York Tribune: When the battleship Massachusetts is launched Miss Iieila Herbert, daughter of the secretary of the navy, will break a bottle of champagne over the bows and give the vessel its name. Heretofore the naming of the warships launched has been done by some daughter of the state or city whose name Js used. Has Massachusetts no fair daughter worthy of the honor in this case? BT HTOB COTTfTAT, AvOwr of "Called Back" Et& Si* For by that time he had found out much about his pupil—not all he wanted to know, but a good deal. He had learned that she was a baronet's daughter, and an heiress. He could not ascertain how much money she Would come in to'or from whom it came. But, so far as it went, he believed his Information to be trustworthy, and acted accordingly. He began by awakening tho girl's sympathy for his unworthy self. He told her, or, it might be said, conveyed to her prodigious lies about his own hard lot; he dilated oh the drudgery of lesson-giving to a man who believed he had genius. So cleverly did he talk that Beatrice was persuaded that she was under an obligation to him for the very act of teaching. His lies were master-pieces, because he did not, like many self-styled neglected geniuses, believe in his own talents. The man knew that such skill as ho possessed could make him, at the outside, a fifth- rate artist, or it might possibly be, a flrsfr- rate drawing-master. But all the same he made Beatrice believe he was one day destined to storm the Royal Academy, and when once she believed this all differences In station between them vanished. Our age, as every one knows, Is the triumph of art. Poor artists and struggling literary men do not now fawn upon lords- lords ask them to dinner and make much of them, or sucli is the common belief. So, now that Miss Clausou was convinced that Maurice Horvey was a genius, no cold spectre of social distinction rose between the man and his dqslre. The drawing lessons grew longer and more and more conversational. Herveywas an educated man, or at least know how to turn such education as was his to the best account The first sign of what was about to happen was Beatrice's beginning to wonder how she should be able to offer this man money for his services. Then followed other symptoms which are invariably distinctly pronounced when the sufferer is a self-willed girl of eighteen. Hervey, as soon as he found himself on the same platform as his pupil, hurried matters on. He had pressing reasons, known only to himself, for bringing things to a conclusion. Perhaps, his audacity helped him. At any rate, when one day he dashed the drawing materials aside and vowed he loved her, and unless she loved him he must fly and see her no more, the girl's answer was all he could have hoped for. To Beatrice, the fairy prince of her childish dreams had come. She wished to write to her father at once. Strange to aay this did not suit her lover. With great modesty he represented that until he had made his name famous In art Sir Maingay might naturally, object to the alliance. He was not, however, selfish enough to suggest a term of probation whilst the making-famous process was going on. On the contrary, lie assured Beatrice that he could not live another month unless she were his wife. He redoubled these assurances when Beatrice told him indirectly that when of age she came into a largo income. No, let them be married at once. Her father's consent could be won so much better after the ceremony. His, Maurice's darling must be guided by him. Beatrice hesitated, Hervey pressed, and at last, like other darlings of eighteen, she consented to be guided by the man she loved. He guided her to her first act of deceit. She Informed Mrs, Erskiue that she was going to Bournemouth for a fortnight to see an old school-friend. She comforted herself by thinking it was but au equivocation. She was going to Bournemouth and a friend of hers lived or did live there—no doubt she would see her. Every one knows that equivocation is the inclined plane down which people slide to the pit. With respect to her father she comforted herself by thinking that, as he married to please himself, she had a right to do the same. A kind of reasoning by analogy not uncommon to young people. Besides, he would know Maurice very soon, and, of course, learn to love him. So to Bournemouth she went; but before going was quietly married to Maurice Hervey, and the fortnight spent at Bournemouth was their honeymoon. The' rays of the honeymoon go sometimes far towards dispersing the glamor with which a bride surrounds her bridegroom. Some curious tilings happened to Beatrice. In the first place her husband oven now objected to Sir Maingay's being told of his daughter's happiness, and Beatrice, not wishing to cross him In these early days, consented as before for a limited period to be guided by his superior knowledge of the world. In the second place the postman one morning brought a large letter for Hervey. Beatrice watch ad him rather curiously as he opened it, and she saw it contained a document, the endorsement of which informed all who could read that it was a copy of the last will and testament of William Talbert, Esq. Hervey explained that lie merely took an interest in ills darling's affairs, and think Ing he ought to know something about them had written for the copy. This explanation sufficed, and Beatrice laughingly suggested that she should sit beside him and read the will with him. This was agreed to. Hervey with a smile of satisfaction read how one third of the residuary estate was bequeathed to Beatrice, or rather to Horace and Herbert in trust for Beatrice. This was followed later on by another clause which In the event of Beatrice's making, before she was of the age of twenty-one, an unsuitable match, or even what appeared to her trustees an unsuitable match, Horace and Herbert were given what amounted to an unlimited power of dealing with her share, a power which fell little short of appropriation. Old Talbert had determined that until his granddaughter arrived at years of discretion, her uncles should be able to defy fortune-hunters. This clause, which was so clearly worded that even she could understand it, made Beatrice glance at her husband. His fac« was pale, his hands were shaking, and all of a sudden a string of fierce oaths dropped from his lips. A sharp pain ran through the girl's heart. Without a word, she rose and left him. He soon followed her, apologized and believed he had pacified her, but his conduct had planted In her heart the doubt—the most painful doubt which a young wife can feel- that her husband had married her for her money, not for herself. The next day Hervey went to town, on to portant business, he said. Beatrice naturally resented the desertion, but not having been long enough married to know what a fraud that plea of business often is, made no com plaint. Nevertheless, something told her that her husband's business was In someway connected with the will. So the doubt became all but certainty. Curiously enough, or naturally enough, Beatrice had no longer the wish to apprise her father of what had happened. Dimly she began to see the meaning of the step she had taken. settlpd *h« (ih.n.ild rahirnV* Eraklne's, and, as aslightmisunderstendlng Is not sufficient to terminate the relationship between ft husband and wife of a fortnight's standing, It was also arranged that Hervey should take lodgings In the neighborhood, to which lodgings his wife could come as a pupil to a drawing-master. The fellow had by now resumed his mask, and seemed te bo trying to efface the recollection of the will scene. But the mnsk had been dropped once, and Beatrice, except In her conduct, was no fool. She went bickto her home with a pain in her heart, and feeling years older than when she had left a fortnight ago. Mrs. Erskino manifested no interest In the visit to Bournemouth. Slio merely hoped that Beatrice had spent a pleasant time. The girl felt very miserable; n kind of dread which she vainly strove to thrust away, hung over her. She needed sympathy, needed a confidant. Such a secret as hers was too great for one breast So she told her maid Snrah what had happened. The woman's slave-like worship nnd dog-like fidelity assured her silence. Mrs. Miller, w ho, in spite of her religious peculiarities, knew the world, and know also what such a marriage as this meant, suppressed the grief she felt. But to endeavor to ease her mind she made such inquiries ns she could respecting Mr. Maurice Hervey. She even watched him, waited for him, tracked himin his goings out nnd comings in. She told Beatrice nothing of this self-instituted inquiry. To do the. woman iustio.n. had she tound Hervey up to the standard ot nor requirements for Beatrice, she would have, offered up thanks to 11 envcn more fervently than she had ever done in her life. One day when Beatrice was paying a visit to her husband, lie. turned to her suddenly. "I must have money," ho said, "there's no good beating about the bush." "Have you no money?" asked Beatrice. "I have twenty pounds, the remnant of a large sum I borrowed." Beatrice had expected an appeal of this sort Although Hervey had again and again told her that by the drudgery of teaching lie could make a good income, so that, i'n iiinr- rying, money was a secondary consideration, this had been part of tho dread hanging over her. An appeal of this sort would give her fears a stronger foundation. She said nothing, but talcing out her purse, shook its contents on the table. Tho man laughed scornfully. "It is no driblet like that I want, I must have a thousand pounds by this day fortnight." "Why tell me so? I cannot get it." She could not help the growing coldness of her voice. "Yes you can, if yon will. Will you do so?" She looked at him steadily. "You are my husband," she said. "If I can, 1 will." "I know it," ho said, with u nervous laugh. "All you will have to do is to sign an undertaking promising to repay the money and interest out of your income within a certain number ofyears. You will do this?" "Yes, I will do this. You are my husband." "It is also necessary," he went on, with a covert glance nt her, "to make a declaration —a more matter of form. You must declare yourself to be twenty-one years of age." The truth is that Mr. Hervey had been to the money-lenders, and without mentioning names, had endeavored to negotiate a loan upon such security as Beatrice's fortune offered. Sonic of the usurers laughed in his face, but lie soon found one whose business it was never to refuse to lend money on a forged bill or a false declaration provided the friends of the forger or tho perjurer were of the stamp who would pay money to avoid criminal proceedings. "I do not quite understand," said Beatrice. She would not understand. "It's a mere matter of form, my dear girl, It can do no one harm. It is only to swear you are twenty-one. I'm sure no one would doubt it" Beatrice covered her face with her hands, and tho tears trickled through her fingers. Hervey attempted to caress her. Sadly but firmly she pushed his arm away. "I cannot do it," she said. His brow grew black. "Damn itl you must," he said roughly. She rose. "I will not," she said in accents which told him she meant what she said. "I will do this much, I have some jewelry; it shall be placed In your hands. Tho only favor I ask is that money may bo raised on it in such a way that some day I can get it back. Part of it was my mother's. Hervey knew that all her jewelry would not help him. So he pressed her to make the false declaration. First lie coniiiiandc> secondly he reasoned, thirdly he besought In an abject way. And with his grovelling entreaties for money, every atom of lovo for him went out of the girl's heart, Lovo may survive ill-usage, faithlessness, nnd wickedness—meanness kills it. She turned and left him before he could stop her. She did as she had promised, That evening Mrs. Miller brought him the packet of jewelry. There were some valuable articles in it, as Sir Maingay, who had great faith in his daughter's discretion, and who perhaps had feared that if not given at once, they would never be given, had intrusted her witii some diamonds which had belonged to her lato mother. So it was that Hervey was able to raise some two hundred pounds on the ticket. To his credit be it said that ho sent certain mysterious tickets to Beatrice which, upon inquiry, she found would enable her to redeem the things of which she had deprived herself. ' Three days after this Sarah made a discovery, or rather completed her inquiry into Hervcy's real nature. By pertinacity iu tracking and watching; by questions asked in certain houses in a neighborhood to which she had followed him, she found the man had been for some space of time, and was even now, pursuing a low intrigue with a girl. With flashing eyes Mrs. Miller went to Beatrice and told her this. Beatrice heard her in silence. Then she spoke coldly and gravely. Events were fasl making a woman of her. "Sarah," she said, "I will see Mr, Hervey, and if needful you will see him. Bear in mind that if your charges against him are also, you leave mo at once. 1 ' She took Sarah with her, told her to wait in the street and then entered her husband's room. She told him coldly and without apparent emotion what she had learned. She gave the name of a street, and the number of a house. Hervey of course denied it Beatrice then said she would fetch his libeller; who should be properly dealt with. Hervey wavered, stammered, and then at once for all dropped the mask. He brutally told his youug wife to let him manage his own affairs of thai sort In his own way. So Beatrice knew thai Sarah had spoken the truth. And with this knowledge the love for this man which had already been driven out was replaced by a feeling of absolute hate and contempt. Ouce more and only once she saw him. A few days later he wrote, bade her come to him, and threatened In case of refusal to come to her. She weut. She scorned him too much to fear him. He renewed his request that she would sign the false declaration of age. "I will not," she said. "W.UI you telegraph to you| a<tjr >ou must, nave <t tnuuamiu puuims—ICH him it means life or death." 'I will not; nor would he send It If I did." Hervey, who by now was getting to know something of his wife's character, felt that nothing would make her bend to his will. With an oath he raised his hand and struck her. His true brutal nature leapt, forth. He covered her with reproaches; he reviled her, he told her he had never eared for her, told her he had but married her to staVte off ruin, thinking the small sum he needed would be easily raised upon her prospects. He vowed to be revenged for her obstinacy. He would make her life a hell. Ho would drag her name through the dirt She should rue until her death the day on which she refused to do his bidding. When Beatrice got away from this storm of words, she walked back home with a buzzing In her head. Once inside the door she fainted. Three days afterwards she rend that Maurice Hervey had been brought before the Magistrates on a charge of forgery, nud committed for trinl. She found means to scud him a message, asking if lie had money to pay for his defense. Ho sent back word that ho should plead guilty. He really did so, and as tho forgery was a crafty, premeditated, cruel affair, the judge very properly sent him to penal servitude for live years. His wife ns she road tho sentence gnvo a groan of relief. Now the weakest part of her nature, apart no doubt Inherited fiom Sir Malngny, showed itself. She lot things drift. To a girl just past eighteen five years scorns as Inexhaustible as live hundred sovereigns would seem to a schoolboy. Tho remembrance of her secret marriage haunted hor like the remnants of a ghastly dream. Five years. Five long years 1 Surely something must happen before they were spout Something did happen 1 What wore her focllims when the truth first canio homo to her? When she knew she could cheat herself no longer? When no imaginary ailment would account for her condition? When in plain words the fact that sho was to bear tho burden common to womanhood was forced upon hor? Then Beatrice prayed that she might die! Even then she would not go to her friends and tell them all. Still those long uncertain years stretched out cforo hor. If she could only conceal this now trouble ns she had concealed her marriage, there was peaco—peace for years. Sarah was told what she nlrcndy guessed, and upon hearing her mistress's wishes simply set about executing them. The child was born, and none save tho mother, nnd her maid knew the truth. Hard as was the task, it was no harder to Beatrice than to others who, without the aid and faithful service at her command, have concealed what if revealed meant ruin. The older woman arranged all. She loft her mistress as a servant leaves; sho prepared a place, and when the timo came Beatrice found her grief lightened by all a loving woman can do for another in such plight, Of course there was deceit—deceit seemed to have forced itself Into tho cirl's life I Thew was a long visit to pay somewhere, a visit from which Beatrice returned a shadow oi' her former sell'. But none knew, none even guessed tho cause. Until tho child was born Beatrice's prayer was that both she and it might die. Can a sadder, more pitiful prayer bo framed by a woman? The truth could then be told to all. The early death would bo the full expiation of her folly. The few who loved her would forgive and pity her. But her prayer was unanswered—death never even threatened mother or babe. Tho child was born, the tiny head nestled on the mother's breast, and a strange new feeling awoke within her—the overpowering Instinct of maternal love. Her thoughts which had once been, in case the child lived to hate it for tho father's sake, turned to pure, sweet affection for the Innocent, helpless little being. So far from wishing it dead, she would not now have wished it unborn. When sho returned to her home she left it with many tears in Sarah's charge. For years sho saw it by stealth, saw it grow more and more tho picture of perfect childhood; loved it and worshipped it more each timo sho saw it, and at last, when sho returned to her father's house, and felt that her visits to her treasure would now perforce be less and less frequent, a wild craving to have it with her always, to see it every day, every hour, awoke In her passionate heart Then came the second quarrel,and tho new home. And even as she settled to go down to her uncles' tho nucleus of the daring scheme for regaining her boy framed itself hi her brain, and was eventually shaped into form and acted upon with perfect success. But the five years were passing, passing. At the end of them stood what Beatrice shrank from picturing, a convict who would come and claim ills wife. Beatrice had, indeed, expected that when first arrested lie would find some way of proclaiming his marriage, If only in fulfilment of his threat of dragging her name into tho dirt. Yet lie made no sign. Ho was crafty and calculating. Tho term of the sentence was not to him an eternity. When it ended ho knew that by keeping the secret he should bo in a more advantageous position to tun: matters to his own benefit. Beatrice would bo well past twenty-one, and in command of a largo Income. He meant to bo thoroughly revenged for the obstinacy she had displayed in refusing to perjure herself, and so find him moans to buy up the forged bills, but he meant to have money also. This is the story of tho life of tho last five years upon which Beatrice looked back that afternoon. These are the pictures of the man and the woman—the husband and wife who wore to meet on the morrow like foes In a deadly duel. And over and above all this, there was an other matter over present In the girl's mine —another name which camo to her lips, nol In accents of hate, but love. She had attempt ed to deceive him, but not herself. In fact is seemed part of her punishment—the hard estpartof all—that she loved Frank Oar ruthers. She had sobbed out the secret on the faithful Sarah's breast She had wep through the weary hours of many a night as she thought of the utter hopelessness of lovi between them. His coming to Oakbury hac doubled her grief. She had not only to la inent "what has been," but to regret "wha might have been," Blame her If you must I Forgive her If you can I At least pity her I so that by his leaving the door of communl* cation between the two rooms open, a vlsltot might have the privilege of gazing on a dis- hevelled sleeping apartment. Given the mft« terlals at his disposal, he made a very fair effect with them. He kept his own appearance in sympathy with the surroundings. He wore slipper* which he trod down at the heel. His clothes were too new to look shabby, but by putting on a soiled shirt, discarding his waistcoat and cravat he managed to get within reasonable distance of his requirements. All these preparations were inspired by att :xquisite refinement of malice. Metaphorically he meant to bring Beatrice down on net knees, and his cruelty told him that to one of her type, the process would be doubly dl*> agreeable when It took place in such a scene. "Gad 1" lie said, ns lie gazed round and approved of his handiwork. "I wish I had my prison suit here. I'd don It once more fof your benefit, my lady." Ho gave orders that If a lady called sha was to be shown up nt onco, then he lit » cigar and lounged In the ensy chair. At five minutes to twelve, just ns the man was wondering whether she would come or not, and if, in tho event of her not coming, It would be well for his own Interests to seek her at Hnzlowood House, tho door opened and Beatrice stood before him. Ho laughed a low mocking Inugh nnd without changing his lounging attitude, looked up nt, her. She took It all in, the disreputable look Of tho place nnd of its tenant; he could see that by the quiver of her nostril, and the look of deepening scorn on her firm mouth. Hta eyes gleamed with triumph. And sho, as she looked nt him, tho thought ran through her, how could she ever In her most foolish girlhood's days have loved this man—have loved him even for an hour? His features wore the features sho had once thought so perfect—now no human creature on tho earth could have inspired her with such loathing. She did not fear him, simply bccnitso sho know the worst ho could do— tho heaviest penalty sho could bo called upon to pay. Or sho thought she know. "Well, my affectionate wife," he said, knocking the asli off his cigar, and looking her up and down; "you've grown into quite a fine piece of goods, quite a tip-topper, no end of a swell. You haven't pined much for me, I guess." She shivered as she heard his voice and coarse, mocking compliments, but she kept her proud eyes upon him. "You have something to say to me—say It" She spoke sternly. "Say I I should think it was for you to say something. You who sent mo to herd with felons for five years. You who would not stretch out a hand to save me. What have you to say?" Ho spoke with a vicious, bitter intonation. Sho said nothing. She might have told him of misery which she had undergone— misery which sho had to undergo to which his well-merited punishment was ns nothing. "Nearly five years," lie went on, "think of that—dull, dead drudgery. Week afterweek, month after month, year after year the same. All through you—through you I And now, my sweet wife, which do you expect me to do, to strike you or to kiss you?" He changed his tone to that of raillery, a tone more loathsome to Beatrice than that which showed his real nature. Ho took a step towards her as ho said tho last words. "You have done both to me," she said, slowly and bitterly. "The memory of the kiss is to-day more degrading to me than. that of the blow." Ho scowled as her scorn stung him—scowled and took another step towards her. There was a sharp-pointed knlfo lying on tho table, Beatrice's fingers mechanically rested themselves on tho handle. "If you touch mo," sho said quietly, "I think I shall kill you.' The man know she meant it He threw himself Into a chair, and laughed scornfully. "Come," ho said, "let us go to business." "yes. Business Is'the only question bo- twcen us now." "Sit down. I can't talk to you while you stand up there. And I've lots to say." To show how little she feared him she obeyed. "Now," he said, "to come to the point; what proposal havn you to make? I'm your husband, and with all your put-on pride and carelessness, you know I liavo the whip- hand at lasi," Beatrice loolfd at him and again wonder- od how sho could have ever loved this ruffian. . .' CHAPTER XXI. MAKING PBOUD KNEES BEND. Provided he Is not a French journaiis Whose drooping honor Is cured by a scratch a man about to fight a duel has generally preparations to make, Maurice Hervey's approaching duel being of a peculiar nature the preparations he made were also peculiar They consisted of inducing the room he occupied, which, in an unmolested state, wa a nice tidy appartinent, to look as disreputa Die and dissipated as with the resources a his command, It was possible. He gave n orders for his breakfast things to be cleared away, but added to the relics of the meal a, bottle of whisky and a glass, He also lal< a short pipe and a tobacco-pouch on the table With great; satisfaction he found iu a dra,we AN OLD-FASHIONED CTRL. She can peel md boil potatoes, make a salad of tomatoes, but sihe doesn't know a Lut'in noun from Greek, And so well she cooks a chicken that your appetite, would quicken, but she cannot; toll what's modern from antique. She knows how to set a table and mtiko oirter out of babel, bu,t she doesn't know En ripples from Kant. Onco at making ,ple I cauglit her— Jove! au expert must have taught her— but she doesn't know true eloquence from rant. She has a firm conviction, oue ought only to road! fiction, and she doesn't care for science, not a bit. And the way sho makes her bonnets sure is worth a thousand, sonnets, but she doesn't yearn for "culture'' not a whit. She can make liter wraps and dresses till a fellow fast confesses that there's not another maiden half so sweet. She's immersed in home completely, where she keeps all) tilings so neatly, but from Browning not a line can she repeat. Well, in fact, she's just a woman, gentle, lovable and human, and her faults she is quite willing to admit. 'Twere foolish to have tarried, so we went off and got married, and I tell you I am mighty glad of it. MONSTER DINING- TABLE, The largest dining table in Now York is the one that fills the main private dinjing-room on the upper floor of the Union League Club. It is so large that thirtjy-nve men have been seated at it without discomfort, and thirty men find plemty of elbow room, around its edge. The custom is to heap the middle of it with flowers and tlien to trail sprigs of smilax out from the floral mounds towards the various seats. TMs enormous table has a top surface of about 280 square feet and Is nearly 20 feet long by 15 1-2 feet broad, It is in reality too large. No conversation can be carried on from one side to ttie other, and when a party seated aroun<$ Dt tjie men break up loto a number of local groups and '

What members have found on this page

Get access to

  • The largest online newspaper archive
  • 8,900+ newspapers from the 1700s–2000s
  • Millions of additional pages added every month

Try it free