Below is the OCR text representation for this newspapers page.

INTO MARVELOUS LIQHT CHAPTER XXX. The relations of the two men were so strained, in a few moments John Marsden arose to go. As they were parting at the door, Julian Deveaux clung to the hand extended to him, saying: “John, in some way, I am not quite myself. I am unable to sleep. I—l—well, I know I do not deserve your consideration for a moment. But, for the sake of the old days, John, when you had some hope of saving me, try to bear with me once more. Should I arouse you at some hour of the night, or send a carriage for you to come to me, would you —maybe for Annie’s sake—would you be patient with me?” “For your own sake, Julian, ask of me what you will.” With the approach of darkness, Deveaux had his own suite of rooms brilliantly lighted. He insisted that Maybelle’s little bed be moved into his sleep ing room and placed beside his bed, where he had it screened from the light. He dared not be alone, lest that voice should pursue him again. Within every shadow he saw imaginary ghosts, at which he would start, and his heart would bound with fear. Feeling that he must have some human touch to shield him from the spirits that were haunting him, he gently took his sleeping baby into his arms in his own bed, and tried to close his eyes in sleep. It was the first time he had ever held his own child so close to his heart or so deep within his affections. But the slightest sound opened his eyes and banished sleep. He dared not close them again. Thus he began to study the little being beside him. New thoughts, new sensations, new emotions throbbed within him. He began to tangle the web of his brain with that “why”, the unanswerableness of which is like feeding upon stones when we ask for bread, or like dreaming of rivers of water to awaken and find ourselves in a barren desert. Why is all this world, this seething mass of suffering humani ty, this individual man—yet not one unto himself, for each seemingly separate existence is but a link bound to some other link, in the great chain of hu manity? Life touches life— behold a new life; Soul touches soul— behold, a redeemed soul; the di vine touches the human— behold the Christman; divine love unites with human love— behold hea ven! CHAPTER XXXI. Throughout the long night not for one moment did Julian Deveaux close his eyes in sound sleep. Did he doze for a few seconds, he would start up with a stifled cry of fear. A dozen times he de cided to slip out and get some drug that would stup ify his sensibilities; and yet some unseen power held him within his room, and continued to lay bare to him his own soul. The next morning when Dr. Gordon made his usual visit to Christiana, Deveaux did not meet him as he had been accustomed; but sent him a mess age to call at his bed room before leaving. Dr. Gor don was really startled at his appearance, which was more that of some convicted criminal behind prison bars, upon whom the sentence of death had been passed, than any other words can describe. He was but halt* dressed, his face was white, drawn and scarred with deep lines, his eyes were blood shot, his curls were matted and uncombed, his lips twitched and his hands trembled as he motioned Dr. Gordon to be seated. “No, Gordon, I am not suffering from a night’s debauch, nor from any physical illness. Here is the trouble,” tapping his forehead. “That which, above all things, I have most dreaded from the time I first began to think seriously of this existence, has at last seized me—madness. But one more night like the last two, and you will have to cage me. I want to tell you all that is necessary now, while I have a glimmer of reason and calmness left. Don’t wait too long, Gordon, after you see that it is neces gary, to put me in irons, lest I should try to WUP The Golden Age for July 12, 1906. By LLEWELYN STEPHENS. der or harm in some way my two little ones.” He choked for a moment from the dry sob which arose in his throat. Then grinding his teeth to en force calmness, he continued. “And, Gordon, you are the man I wish to be a father to my baby and her mother, and”—with a tightening of the lips—“and-to-him-yes, to John, too. I shall make another will to-day, and you shall be well provided for for all the trouble you may be occasioned.” Dr. Gordon still made no reply, as he was trying to diagnose the cause. Deveaux continued, now of ten moistening his fevered lips with his burning tongue, which so needed the water of life to quench its inward thirst. “And, Gordon, you’ll see that I’m decently taken care of—and see particularly—that no curiosity seekers are allowed to visit my cell and stare at me and jeer at me. The devils possessing me within and the ghosts haunting me without will be suffi ciently excruciating torture, without the added taunts of friends—friends! Ila! Ha!—who will gloat over my being so cursed in this earthly state. What a celebration the public will have for nine days. Then I shall, be shoved behind the scenes, and a later sensation will be the amusement and plaything of the hour.” Dr. Gordon thought best not to contradict him in his imaginings just then. “So far as lies in my power, Deveaux, your wishes shall be carried out to the letter. What shall I do for you first?” “My will must be attended to the first thing. I should like it done at once. So I’ll appreciate it if you’ll ’phone my lawyer, Naverty, to come with you at once. I want you present to testify of my men tal state before the madness seizes me—Gordon—• Gordon—it has not gotten its relentless fangs through and through my brain quite yet, has it? Assure me that it has not,” he almost shouted, as he sprang toward Dr. Gordon and seized him by the arm with such a vicelike grasp, as to make him start, and fear for the moment that Deveaux was on the verge of insanity. But he instantly recovered him self and replied. “ You are just as sane as you ever were, but you must let me brace you up for the strain of dictating your will. You must have some sleep.” “Sleep! Sleep! I shall never sleep again. Be cause some spirit is after my heart, and the moment I give way to sleep, this pursuer may tear my heart from my bosom, and plant it in some form of exist ence more of a hell than this even, were that pos sible. This spirit keeps demanding of me, ‘my son give me thine heart.’ ” “I promise not to give you an opiate, but simply something to relax and relieve the tension of your nerves. I have just the right thing here with me now.” “Swear that you will not give me a deadly dope. ’ ’ “Certainly, if that increases your confidence in me. Here, take this right down. When I return, I will give you an electric bath, and—by the way, when have you eaten anything?” “When have I eaten? Food for my body? I have had no need of that kind of food since Annie died—at least since I knew I was dead to her. Bread and meat do not satisfy a hungry heart, a hungry soul. These are the starving things within me. You have nothing among all your concoctions, Gordon, which will nourish a starving soul. Starv ing—starving—starving. ’ ’ The last word died away in a whisper, as his head fell against the back of the cushioned chair, and his eyes closed in sleep. Dr. Gordon summoned his valet, and they placed him in bed. CHAPTER XXXTT. A week had passed. Julian Deveaux had not left his room, and Dr. Gordon was with him from one to three times each day. The minister called every day, The new will had been made, Such a CQfPbi- nation of unusual happenings was pronounced by the servants of the Deveaux household to be a sure sign of their master’s approaching death. As to the nature of his disease, there were conflicting re ports. No one knew this except Dr. Gordon and John Marsden. It was not thought possible that a man of his type and one possessing his past life could have been awakened by any power in heaven or hell to realize that he was soul-sick unto eternal death, and to cry out, “What shall I do to be sav ed?” For it was commonly accepted by those who knew him, that he was one man certainly who had sinned beyond any redemption. It is hard for finite men to realize God’s infinite love, infinite mercy and infinite desire to redeem fallen men; and at the same time realize His infinite justice, judgment and recompense. To every man God is no greater than the soul of each man is great enough to measure. If each man could see his God, he would see a startling reflection of him self. As soon as Dr. Gordon would permit, Julian De veaux asked to have John Marsden alone with him for an afternoon. “You see, John, Gordon has been trying to protect me from any undue excitement t'hes few days in his effort to ward off as long as possible the fatal hour when he must shut me up for all time. He thinks he is deceiving me into the belief that as soon as my system adapts itself to doing without stimulants and drugs, I shall be in a more normal state than I have been for twenty years. That shows how little the best of doctors knows about that conglomerated mass of body, mind and spirit called man. Instead of improving, I am growing worse rapidly. Instead of one ghost now haunting me, their name is legion. And what do you think their latest prank is, John? Holding up before me in all sorts of settings, line upon line from your Bi ble. Ha! Ha! Ha! Just picture to yourself the future Parson Deveaux. When you come over to my prison house after I have been incarcerated, you may be thrilled by my eloquent sermons. For if the texts continue to be riveted upon my memory as they are now nailed here and there upon every spot in this room, I’ll become a walking Bible. Just as soon as I can bear to be bothered with selecting another pattern, I shall have this paper torn from the walls; for every figure now holds a text, and the moment I attempt to shut my eyes to them, they are thrown against the drums of my ears with the force of a cannon ball.” (To be continued.) f The Measure of all t tin 1 I Commercial Brains o WT™ I measure every typewriter I ■—quality for quality—attri-IT C 1 | bute for attribute—by the VI yj 1 I Underwood | ■ How approach it in respen- H I siveness—in mechanical per- pl II ■ lection. How resemble it in c I 'll I appearance, design and fin- Pl V****! 1 I ish. Its increasing fame r I I ■ makes permanent the stand- M CO i ■ hrd—» El 571 I . THE ORIGINAL OF US KIND Lt 1 ■ I Imitations are Never so Good ( UNDERWOOD TYPEWRITER COl. 241 Broadway, New York, 11