Georgia Historic Newspapers

    UART TWO.
11 GUT ILL MEET ffiffli.
33-zr -A-3DEXjI3STE SEBGEAN'T.
Authorcr "Jacobi’s Wife,” “Roy’s Repentance,” “Dkveril's Diamond” “Under
False Pretences,” Etc. ’
IALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]
CHAPTER XXV.
THE EMPTY HOUSE.
Jess went to her home in Buck street with
fainting heart and streaming eyes. Why
was C4eorge so unkind to her? how was it
that ho did not believe her word? And was
It pos.-ible that he would not listen to her
story, that he would not come to meet her
again or take her home? For as soon as she
spoke to him she forgot all her scruples,
and only wanted to be loved and caressed
as she used to be. Stephen and his warnings
went completely out of her mind. She wus
conscious of nothing but her love for
George Eastwood, her lover, her husband,
the father of her child.
She took Meenie into her arms and lay on
her bed, sobbing, far into the night Alice
was away from home, and no one therefore
interrupted her. She wept until the baby
cried too, and then she quieted herself a
little, and finally fell esleep without un
dressing, and with Meenie’s soft cheek
pressed against her own.
Daylight brought her no comfort. She
thought over all that George had said, and
could see no way of letting him know the
truth. For Stepoen, or Alice Drew, or
Dick, alone eoulji justify her; and none of
these would be willing to plead with
George for her. She thought at one time
of throwing herself on Alice’s mercy, and
begging her to tell him how it came abuut
that she had been detained against her will;
but the thought of facing Alice’s In
credulous set ru turned her hot and cold
with shame, and she was obliged, though
very reluctantly, to give up the idea. Be
sides, she said to herself, she bad promised
not to say that she was George Eastwood
wife until ho gave her leave to speak, and
he had not yet given her leave.
In fact, George Eastwood and Jess wore
playing a game of cross-purposes. If
Eastwood had boldly avowed that he was
married to Jess, and had sought for her as
his wife, even Stephen Eyre would have
been obliged to give her up to him. But,
being in the first place, somewhat ashamed
of his “low” marriage, and, in the second,
fully convinced that Jess had left him and
betrayed him, be was unwilling to let the
world know that he had been, as he ex
prissed it, “such a fool,” and therefore held
hjs tongue. While Jess, afraid to stand up
for herself, and not at all comprehending
the binding nature of the short ceremony
in a registrar’s office, kept silence even
when she was out of Stephen’s clutches,
and only wept quietly at finding herself, as
she believed, deserted and betrayed.
But as the day wore on, a little courage
returned to her. Perhaps after all, ho
would return. She had implored him to
come back to the same place at the same
hour, and perhaps his heart would grow
softer to her, and ho would
come. He had said that he
would take her away. She did not
know whither he meant to take her, but
she had a fond, foolish hope that he might
take her hack to the pretty little house in
Maida Vale, or perhaps to his home in the
country, where the flue people lived who
had spoken to her so graciously in the
picture gallery on that last ill-fated day of
her life with George. That George himself
should desDise her, and think body of her,
v.as almost incredible to Jess. She wossure
that if she could talk to him quietly for
five minutes, he would believe her. So, in
the course of the day, she began to make a
few s ealthy preparations for departure.
She put some of the baby’s clothes into a
bundle, round which she tied a shawl of
her owd. She did not think it worth
while to pack up her own things. George
would buy new ones for her, she supposed.
And when Alice was out that evening—for
she was again going to spend the night at
the bedside of an old woman who was ill—
she would steal way to A! ill street, with
Meenie in her arms, and the sordid, pinched
fife would be over, never, never to come
back! And nobody should separate her
from her husband any more.
Alas, poor Je3s!
During the night, snow had falien, and
during the day it again fell pretty steadily.
There w as a scarp north wind, and the frost
.was hard and keen, Jess looked anxiously
at her baby, as night drew on; for the child
was wheezing and coughing as if it had
caught cold. Dared she take it out with
her into the night! She might carry it a
little way, hut she did not like to stand
about exposing its tender frame to the bit
ter wind, for she was more thoughtful for
her child’s welfare than most women of her
class. And yet she w anted George to see
Meenie when he came—if he came. What
could she do?
Suddenly she remembered Black Sal’s
words. There was that empty house close
at band. She would make up" a little bed
for Meenie in one of the lower rooms, she
could leave her there for a little while, so
long as she was watching for George. In
deed, she could seat herself just inside the
door, and would then hear her if she cried.
Meeiiie’s bed could be placed on the passag ■
floor, and then Jess could speak to her, if
necessary, and watch for George at the
same moment of time. Of course she was
liable to be spied by a passing policeman
and ejected without ceremony; but police
men were few- and far between in that re
gion, and they one and all avoided Mdl
street and Baldwin’s court as much as pcs-
sibla.
It was about 9 o’clock, therefore, that
Jess, having made kor small preparations,
took Meenie in her arms and sallied forth.
She left Back street without a sigh. If she
were successful in her quest, it was possible
that she might never ;.ee it again, never
again behold Alice who bad really tried to
be n true friend to her, or Stephen, who had |
loved her from her childhood; but all that
she was conscious of was a distinct joy and
relief at the thought of escape from her
jailers, and a fervent hope that she might
never enter the room again. She crept un
observed into the empty house in Mill
street, and established herself just inside the
door, where, through the crack, she could
watch th 9 passers-by without being herself
perceived.
The wind howled through the passages
and down the stairs of tue old deserted
house. The boards in the rooms creaked as
if people were walking over them, the doors
and the window-frames rattled as if they
were shaken by invisible hands. Shrill
shrieks and whistles came down the chim
neys and through the key-holes; Jess, listen
ing fearfully to the weird sounds, thought
of some old "ghost tales that she had heard,
and shivered more from fear than from
cold as the wind swept by. The suow fell
obliquely with a soft occasional swish,
against the window panes, some of which
were broken and stuffed with straw or
Ifye JStofnino ffeto£.
rags. The noise of the London streets wa*
already becoming deadened by the snow,
and few persons were to be seen passing
along the thickly covered pavements.
Jess watched and waited for half an
hour, with her baby on her lan. It was
about half-past 9 when she saw the figure of
a man whom she recognized coming doivn
the street. Her heart gave a sudden leap,
and then began to throb painfully and
fast. For it was George indeed. George
who had come to meet her, as she had
begged him to do. She placed Meei.ie
gently on the shawl that sho had spread
for her on the floor, and slipped out into
the street.
“George,” she said, “I am here.”
Eastwood turned and looked at her. She
had thrown off her bonnet, and her shawl
was wrapped round Meenie, so that her fair
face and golden locks had no disguise. The
snow that fell against her cold cheeks only
touched them to a livel.er red. The lamp
light shone in her uplifted eyes. George
Eastwood wondered with a dull sense of be
wilderment whether she had ever looked so
beautiful before.
“Yes,” he said, trying to speak coldly, “I
have come, and I have something to say to
you.”
She had held out her hands to him, tbev
now fell to her side. The light died out of
her eyes.
“I cannot say it here,” he went on,
harshly. “Have you no place of your own
that you can take mo to? There is some
thing I must say.”
"We can come inside this house,” 6aid
Jess, timidly. “It is empty, I—have
something to say too—something to show
you.”
“Gome fa, then,” said Eastwooii “Out
of this cold wind.”
She opened the door," and he felt, rather
than saw.-, that she was groping for some
thing in the dark.
“What is it?” he asked, following he-.
“Nothing—at least I’ll show you.” said
Je,s, catching her breath a little. “Shut
the door.”
He hesitated for a moment. The thought
occurred to him that he was perhaps in a
trap—that Joss—poor Jess!—was perhaps
in league with a ga: g of thieves, who meant
to strip him of all the worldly wealth upon
him at tue time. It showed "how littie he
knew of Jess’ real nature that such a no
tion should ever cross his mind.
“There’s nobody in tue house. You
needn’t mind coming in,” said Jess.
She led the way Into the back room; a
room in which sho had found that some
sort of a blind had been left in tatters
across the window. The shade it
gave was scanty, but better than
nothing at all. ” She had a candle
with her —it was one of the things
tnat she had provided, in careful thought of
such a moment as this. And as George
groped bis way after her, she struck a
light, and turned to him with the child in
her arms.
“I called her Georgina—after you,” she
said, simply.
George started back a little; he looked at
her and then at the sleepy child.
“It’s our littie girl,’' Jess went on in her
soft voice. “I thought you didn’t know.
She’s been a very delicate baby, but she’s a
dear little thing. I think you would love
her, George, if you saw her sometimes."
“I never knew—l never thought—”
George began, but he looked too dis
mayed to go on.
So Jess proceeded without waiting for the
end of his sentence.
“She’s more than a year old now—a year
and a half. She was born the summer be
fore last, in June. I think I should have
died before now if it hadn’t been for baby
—what with losing you, and not being
able to get away. But I’m glad I didn’t,
now. ”
“Losing me? What do you mean?” said
George, in a low voice.
“You never came to look for me,” Jess
answered, her lovely eyes falling with tears
as she looked innocently into George’s
darkening face. “I thought you would be
sure to find me and get me out.”
"Do you mean to say that you could not
got out? That you could not get back to
me if you had chosen!”
“Of course I do. Don’t you know,” said
Jess, vehemently, “how I love you,
George?"
He was silent. He looked aghast
“Don’t you know that I would die for
you! That I love you better than all the
world 1”
“Jess, Jess! if I could but believe it, my
dooi- child!”
“But why shouldn’t you believe it,
George?”
“ VVhy did you ever leave ms?”
“I never left you on purpose, George. I
came to see Granny, and Stephen Eyre
took me in a trap, as it were, and kept me
close in Granny’s room with Alice Drew, a
girl that works in the slums. They said I
had been wicked, and must be brought to a
sense ot my evil ways. And not till I said
that I would give you up would they let me
go out even into the streets. And when you
never came—and my Meenie was born—l
gave in. I said l would not try to see you
any more. I said that I would do as tney
did. and pray and lead a good life. And
then—little by little—they left off watching
me, and so I have been able to get out by
myself lately. And that’s how I came to
see ycu last night.”
“And what do vou do for a living!”
“I sew sacks,” said Jess. “And Alice
sews too, but it’s very hard to get a living.
I began to think that you were dead.”
“Joss, Jess, is all this true?”
‘'Yes, indeed it is, George. You can ask
Alice if it isn’t! She’s very good and very
respectable, and everybody believes her.
Indeed, George, I would not have come
away from you; only—only,” said Jess,
piteously, “they made me think that I was
doing wrong.”"
“And were they not doing wrong, then,
to keep a wife from her husband?” ex
claimed George, fiercely.
He could not look at Jess and think that
she was telbug lies.
“Am I indeed your wife, George?” said
the girl, trembling.
“Of course you are. You know you are.
Did vou not tell them that?”
“O, George,” said she, bursting into
tears! “you know you told me not to say.”
He' uttered an imprecation on his own
folly, and then turned ar.d took her into his
BI “My darling,” be said. “My own poor
ill-used dariing! My wife—God may part
U s again, Jess, but men never shall!
Bbe nestled in his arms, happy yet
Uf “ls\t truer she murmured. “They took
away my Hug from me, and they seat you
a message that I never gave, George-”
“And I believed it, fool that I was!
“And they cut off ali my hair, and
locked me into a room with Granny, so
that I could never get out And Granny
SAVANNAH, GA., SUNDAY, APRIL 111, 1890.
told me—but that will take a long time to |
tell, so I won’t begin just now, for we
shall have plenty of time, shall we not? if I
am really—really your wife, George?”
“Mv darling, how could you make any
mistake about it!”
•‘lt wasn’t in a church,” said Jess,
dreamily, “and I was not quite sure 1
whether it was the same think. And I
could not ask—because I had promised not, #
And when you never came—”
“My sweetest, don't reproach me! 1
could not come. I was ill for many weeks.
I thought you had deserted me", and it
nearly killed me to think it. You are sure
you love me, Jess!”
She had tne child upon the floor again,
and her arms were free; she put them
round bis neck and kissed him; and he was
satisfied.
“I must punish this man Stephen Eyre,”
he said, presently. “I must find a way of
making him repent the wicked cruelty he
has shown to you. He shall suffer for it—l
swear he shall.”
“Leave him aloue, George, dear,” she
urged. “It we are happy, w e can afford to
let him alone. He will not hurt us again.”
“If you love me is it possible that you
can make excuses for him, Jess?" said her
husband, with a touch of sternness in his
tone. “No, I e must be punished, and we
must punisu him.”
"I am afraid,” Jess said, almost in a
whisper.
“Afraid, my wife—of what?”
“I am afraid that he wifi try to hurt you.
lam afraid of him. He is very hard and
Tuel in some ways, although he’s such a re
ligious man. He will try to pay you back
if you make him suffer—l know" that,” and
Jess shivered as if she could not bear to re
member wbat had happened in the past.
“I shali always be near you to protect
you now,” said George, in a low voice.
“And we must forget tBo past and try to
live more closely together, to love each
other more—oh,my darling,what injustice I
have been doing you! But now let us
think what we are to do next. You must
come away from this wretched place, I
must get you to a warm, comfortable
house, you and the child—my own little
gil l whom I have not seen properly yet.
Come, darling, shall we go?”
She smiled at him—the sweet, happy
smile that he remembered so well in days
gone by. Then an anxious look came over
her face. For the wind had risen and was
howling in the chimneys aud round the
empty rooms, and when they looked out,
they saw that the snow was coming down
in great 3akes that made the air look thick
and white. It was a terrible storm, and
one long remembered in the metropolis.
Aud certainly it sce.nei mad to veuture out
into such a tempest at 11 o’clock at night.
They were in Whitechapel; i:i all proba
bility no cab could be obtained until they
had tramped a long and weary way.
Jess would not have minded for herself,
but she looked at her child and hesitated to
brave the storm.
“O, Geoi ge, I daren’t take her out,” she
said, piteouuy. "But you must not stay.
I’ll stop here, and you can go home and
come for me in the morninr.”
“And leave you alone? No, that will
never do. If you stay I stay too.”
Jess protested, but in vain. Eastwood
was resolved not to leave her now. No, he
would stay with her all through the long
cold night in the dreary, deserted house,
and even in that abode of desolation be felt
a glow of happiness, such as he had not
known for rnatiy a long day. All his
doubts of Jess were swept away in a full
tide of love and happiness; and the future
unrolled itself before him iu every rainbow
hue.
They made a sort of encampment for
themselves in one of the rooms on the
second floor, and in spite of Jess’ remon
strances, George tore down the rotten wood
of doors aud cupboards to make a fire in
the rusty grate. With his coat aud ulster
ho wrapued up Jess and the child as warmly
ns possible, aud then for some time they sat
by the glowing blaze, murmuring soft
words, and planning the happiness that was
to come. Lulled by her caresses, and
soothed by the warmth, George at last
dro pod off to slepp, aud Jess, after a little
strupgle to keep awake, followed his exam
ple.
She was awakened by strange moans and
incoherent words. Both came from
George, who seemed, however, to be wide
awake. She spoke to him but received no
answer; she called him, byname, but he did
not seem to hear. The insidious ailment
that had undermined his strength so long
had again attacked him with violence; and
George Eastwood lay delirious with fever
in the deserted house in Mill street, while
the terrible snow-storm raged iu the streets
of London town.
CHAPTER XXVI.
FOR LIFE OR DEATH.
Jess was in despair. She did not under
stand what was tne matter with him, and
had no idea of the proper course to pursue.
The fact was that Eastwood had caught a
severe cold and was exceedingly feverish;
and the old predisposition to brain dis
turbance, initiated by Stephen’s blow on
the head, renderi and such an a* tack particu
larly violent and alarming. When morning
dawned he was not much better: the raving
tit passed off, but was succeeded by stupor
and drowsiness; she could uot arouse him,
and did not know in the least what to do.
In ordinary circumstances she would
have gone to Alice or even to Steve for as
sistance; but she dared not reveal to either
of them that she was reconciled to George.
Even the knowledge that they had been
mistaken and that she was George's lawful,
wedded wife, did not reassure her. She
did not think that they would believe her
mere statement; and if George were in no
po.itiou to protect her, she fancied that
they could easily separate her from him
again. Stephen was utterly unscrupulous,
as she knew, where his passions were
aroused, although he bad once more
“joined the army” and taking to preach
ing in the streets. She dared not appeal to
him.
In her extremity, she bethought herself
of Black Sal. and of the lodging bouse next
door. Sal, perhaps would help her. Sal
mi .'tit perhaps go ;o Buck street for her,
and fetch some clothing and some food
for Meeuie was i lready crying for her
breakfast, and Jess had nothing to give
her. She looked round the room in whic.i
they had spent the night, and recognized it
as one which Sal had prevlovsly de
scribed to ber; for there was a door on one
side, which, when opened, discovered a
short flight of steps leading to a trap-door
which gave upon tha roof, and from the
roof a similar door into <he next home
could easily be reached.
Jess left her husband and child, and went
upon this adventurous expedition. She
found it quite simple. Nobody expressed
any surprise or displeasure at her appear
ance, even when she blundered casually
into a large attic tenanted by at least a
dozen people, mo it of whom were asleep
upon the floor; and when she mentioned
timidly that she wanted Sal —Black Sal—
two or three voices made answer that Bsl
bod been there that night, but that she had
risen early and gone downstairs “to have a
row with the mi sis.” So downstairs after
her went Jen, and esteemed herself lucky
to meet Black Sai coming back victorious
from her altercation with the landlady,
and in high good humor accordingly. She
stopped in astonishment when she saw
Jess aud listened to her story with great in
terest.
“Right you are,” she said, oheerfully,
giving Jess a pat on the back which nearly
knocked her down. “Right vou are my
dear. You keep out of Steve Eyre's way if
you’re wise. I’ve seen him already, raging
about like a wild cat, 'cos you hain’t been
home all night. Afire is with him, a-cryin’
her eyes out. They’ll be in here afore long,
to see if you’re with me. Don’t you say
notbink to nobody, but creep out on the
leads agaiu an’ I’ll come arter ye.”
“Ana you'll get Meenie some milk, won’t
you*" said Jess, anxiou-ly.
“O, yes. I’ll get her anythink you like.
You go along an’ I’ll come directly.”
Jess returned therefore to the room in
the empty house, and in a few minutes was
followed by Sal, who had brought her a
loaf, a jug of milk, aud a tattered rug in
which she was glad to lay the child. Tbon
the woman turned to to George Eastwood
and looked at him silently for some min
utes.
“He’s got a fever or summat o’ that
kind,” she said, presently. “You’ll have to
send for the doctor, Jess, or get him moved
to a borspital.”
“Don’t you think! could keep him here
and nurse him myself!" said Jess.
“Why, no, I don’t, you little silly. Why
you can’t have a fire here, or the police
would be down on you directly, and it’s bit
ter cold. It ain’t fit for a sick man to fie
here. Besides, you don’t know but what
it’s catching. I never catch nothing, so I
don’t care; but some folk would be awful
sknared.”
“He may be better in the afternoon,”
urged Jess, faintly.
“ Well, he may. He don’t look like it.
Here, you stay quiet with him for a bit an’
I’ll go for the doctor by and by, if he
ain't better. Aud I’ll bring you up a cup o’
tea.”
Sal bustled away, quite enjoying the ex
citement of the situation. When she
came back Joss tried to put her on her
guard.
“You musn’t tell any one that we’re
here,” she said.
“O, no, I’m safe enough—3o long as I
dou’t take a drop too uiucn,” avowed Black
Sal, gaily. "When’s tho gin’s in my head
the sense is out, aud I say what comes up
permost.”
“Don’t take any gin while we are hore
then 1” cried Jees, in an agony. “We’ll give
you money—plenty of money—if you will
but hold your tongue. Promise me, Sal,
that you won’t speak of this.”
“All right—all right; don’t you flurry
yourself. I’ll take care, you may be sure o’
that. I’ll look iu again by and by; and, if
you’re here to-night, I'll get Mother Birch
in tne next house to look after the baby.
You won’t want her here, you’ll have
enough to do with him. ”
Jess acquiesced with a sigh. She re
mained at George’s side for some hours, her
eyes fixed upon his unconscious face. To
ward noon he seemed better; ha came to
himself, asked why he was there aud what
bad happened, but seemed disinclined to
move. Jes; asked him whether he still oc
cupied the studio where ho used to sit, but
he shook his head. Might she send for any
one? or would he ha\e a cab or be taken
home?
“Send for a cab,” he said, drowsily.
“Now, George?"
He did not answer. He had again sunk
into his unconscious sta e, and began al
most immediately to mutter find to move
his arms restlessly. Jess gaaed at him in
dismay. She could not leave Meenio alone
with tirn—the child would not be safe. She
dared not tako the child out into the street,
for the snow was still failing fast. She
determined to sit down again aud wait for
Sal, who would probably nut object to go
ffa cab—or even to fetch Mr. Helinont.
Jess was not afraid of meeting Mr. Hel
mont now. She could explain to him that
she had all along been George’s wife, and
he would never be unkind.
Hours, however, passed on iu cold and
hunger, and still Sal did not come. Jess
began to feel puzzled by her absence. Sal
usually kept hor word, and was too kind to
feel it a trouble to help a friend. Why did
she not come?
Poor Jess’ hopes for her appearance were
not destined to be fulfilled. Sal had mot a
friend that afternoon, and had been
“treated” several times. Before long she
had entirely lost control over herself, aud
had not only told w hat she knew of Je-a’
st try to her friend, but, on meeting Stephen
Eyre and Dick iu the street, had shouted
out to them the number of the house in
which Jess was now to be found. It was a
disastrous piece of folly, and one of which
poor, kind-hearted, mise able Sal bitterly
repented afterward; but when she had ut
tered the fateful words she burst out
laughing wildly at tho stern so', look which
sudddemy came over Stephen’s face. She
saw him stop short, stand still fra mo
ment, and then go away toward Mill street.
The boy Dick ra i after him, casting a re
proachful word to Black Sal as he went.
“There’ll be murder done now, if we
don’t look out,” he said.
As night came on the snow ceased. It
lay in a smooth and stainless carpet over
all the pavement and the roads. The glare
of its whiteness made a sort of weird illu
mination in the des late room where Jess
was sitting. She looked out sometimes,a and
wondered a little at the whiteness. She
glanced now and then at the gray sky, aud
tae flickering gas lamps in tho street. Sne
went occasionally to the head of the stair
case and listened for the coming of Black
Sal; but Black Sal never came.
Meenie had been disposed of in the lodg
ing house. A woman who lodged in one of
the upper rooms was only too glad to take
charge of her for the night Jess had the
wisd >m to take sima small coins out of her
husband’s pocket, and expend them in ob
taining necessaries from Mrs. Birch, the
woman in whose care she had left Meenie;
but she could not get very much in the way
of comforts for George, and now that
night bad come on and be grew hotter and
his words more incoherent, a secret fear
crept over her that she by her actions was
making him far worse, and that if he died
his death would lie at her door, Hhe was
indeed risking a g'iod deni by making no
determined effort to get George away from
bis present miserable surroundings; but she
was very timid and very ignorant, and she
hardly k ew what to do. Oi oae thing she
was quite certain, she would go to Mr. Hel
mont on the morrow.
George’s ravings bewildered ner exceed
ingly. His words were sometimes so coher
ent, so lucid, that she could not believe him
not to know what he was saying. He re
called a great many facts of their past life
together, and continually asked her if she
remembered this, that or the other. Hhe
replied to him sometimes, and was amazed
and puzzled to find that he did not seem to
listen to h6r replies. She was not at all
well versed in illness, and she tefon became
thoroughly unable to distingui>h between
his saner moods aud bis delirium; the two,
in fact, alternated with some regularity,
but she had no skill to determine which was
which. He frightened her thoroughly; and
all t-iat she could do was to give him water
or milk from time to time,and to soothe him
when his violence seemed likely to become
outrageous.
The night wore on. It was like an
eternity to Jess. She bitterly repented
the trust that she had reposed in Sal, and
wished that she had at all hazards gone to
Mr. Helmout at once. What should she do
if George find through her carelessness and
her neglect?
Sudde ly she beard a sound. The street
was very still, for it was near midnight,
and the scow lay thick upon the earth.
The slightest sound re-echoed far and near
in Jess’ strained and a xious ears.
Tnere was a foolstep on the stairs.
Jess started to her feet Who was it?
Was it Sal who was coming back? Surely
Sil never wa’ked so heavily, so determined
ly. Could it be Stephen Evre? She glanced
wildly round the room. A little rushlight
was burning oil the mantelpiece. She blew
it out end tried to lock the door. But the
kev was rusty ar.d would not turn in the
lock. Perhaps the intruder would not come
int a this room. But Georges voice, hgh
and unmodulated in the fever-fit, would
guide any stranger to the place. He was
talking about Sorrento now, and the
orange groves, aud the cloudless Italian
sklo—
"O, bush, bush 1” Jess cried aloud, in her
extremity. “Darliug, do not talk any more
just now.”
But the sick man never heeded her. He
babbled on, and the steps upon the stairs
came nearer and baited at the door. Then
there was a pause.
Presently the door was slowly opened
from without. When it was only a few
iuches ajar a face appeared at the aperture
—a wild, white face iu which burned two
dark eyes glowing like coals of fire.
Jess uttered a faint cry. She knew the
face too well, and in that moment she hated
it—the face of Stephen Eyre.
Her old lover opeued the door, and came
slowly into the room. Then he stood
looking at George Eastwood. At first he
did not seem to notice Jess at all. A slight,
crafty smile crept over his white face. Jess
■aw that he kept one hand inside his coat,
in what seemed to her a strange, unnatural
way.
“So I have found thee at last, O mine
enemy,” he said in a low, strained voice.
Jess sprang forward, interposing between
the two men.
“He is not your enemy. He has done
you no harm.”
“He has harmed you,” said Stephen Eyre,
quietly; “and he must die for it.”
Madness gleamed in bis eyes. Jess won
dered why she had never seen it there be
fore. Mad! yes, Stephen was mad, as she
now remem :.e rod that his father had been
before him, and other relations before that.
What would the madman do? He had
withdrawn his hand from the breast of his
coat, and sho saw the glitter of a knife.
Sue sprang to the window and suddenly
flung it open, crying out "Murder! Help!
Help!” in a voice that rang down tho street
with the shrill accent of deadly tear. It
seemed to her that someone answered in
the street below; buts e could not look out,
fur ut that very moment Stephen Eyre flung
himself upon Eastwood, an l the two men
were locked iu a fi.rce combat, a combat
for life or death.
Eastwood was roused from his half-un
conscious state by Stephen—struck by the
glitter, perhaps, of the weapon in Stephen’s
hand. Weakness seemed for the moment to
have left him, and he att eked Stephen as
if ho knew him and knew how deadly was
the enmity i e bore to himself. Indeed, his
words carried out the idea, for he spoke to
Stephen Eyre by name.
“I know you! I know you!” he cried.
“You tried to rob me of my wife! But I
wifi punish you yet.”
"And I will punish you," said Stephen.
They reeled about the room together,
locked in that terrible embrace. Stephen
was strong, but George, upborne by the
stress of fever, was stronger yet. He had
pinioned Stephen’s arms so that the man
could not get his hands free, and as they
wre-itled the knife was wrenched from
Stephen’s fingers and fell to the ground.
But at last, as they neared the window, it
seemed as if George’s strength was about to
fail. He staggered violently against the
crazy window-sill. Stephen flung out vig
orously to save himself, and then the whole
window-frame gave way, aud Eyre, losing
his balance, went crashing through the
panes.
He might have recovered himself but for
a wild push given to him by George. Ho
slipped again, but clutched the window-sill
wildly with his hands. He did not speak,
be did not cry for his hands. He did not
speas, he did not cry for help. He looked
up silently aud met Je3s’ eyes. They
looked at each ottjor for a moment, which
seemed to Jess, perhaps to both, an eter
nity.
A little help, a little agility and courage,
and he night have clambered back to
safety. Neither agility nor courage was
wanting, but the helD that was necessary
was not there. George, fighting and strug
gling still—ho knew not with whom nor
witli what—could not render him assistance.
And Jess was perhaps too weak to and > more
than cling to her husband’s arm aud beg
him to come away.
The knife glittered temptingly on the
floor. George Eastwood picked it up and
waved it in triumph round his head. But
it was Jess who cried out, “Give it to me!
O, give it to me!” ar.d snatched it, or tried
to snatch it, from him i.i that terrible mo
ment of agony, when she was pernaps no
more accountable for her actions than was
George Eastwood himself.
A moment later, and the body of Stephen
Eyre lay, yet warm aud quivering, upon
the pavement in the snow-covered, silent
street.
TO BE CONTINUED.
SHE KISSED HIM IN THE PULPIT.
The Erratic Conduct of an Arkansas
Girl Broke Ud a Meeting.
From the Kamat City Timet.
Mary Nelson, the erratic young woman
from Arkansas, whose hysterical actions in
a Main street cable car on Saturday night
caused much excitement at Twelfth street,
figured in another sensational episode last
uigat. Mary, after her break of the night
before, was sent to the City Hospital. On
the way there she insisted on kissing and
bugging the police officers in whose care she
was, and they wete compelled to submit to
her caresses.
The hospital authorities released her yes
terday, and sho immediately beg in a ivpe
tiii m of her antics. She caused quite a
se: sation along i wenty-first street last
night, running up to every man she met
wltb an entreaty to be kissed. Word of her
exploits was t lophoned to the police sta
tion and the ambulauce was sent after her.
When the officers reached Twenty-first
street she hod already disappeared, and the
wagon followed along on tier trail. She
was heard of all uloug the route, and,
finally, after some t iron hours’ hunt, she
was located in a small Baptiit church on
Twentieth street, near Indiana avenue.
She had invaded this edifice after the be
ginning of service, taking u bock seat, and
for a time no one noticed her. The elo
quence of the preacher seemed to have an
exhilarating effect upon her, however, for
she suddenly left her sent and electrified
the congregation by rushing up the aisle to
the oulpit aud thro > iug her arms about the
neck ct the astonished preacher.
The religious services were suspended at
once, an 1 all the efforts of the entire con
gregati n were directed toward quieting
the young woman, who agaiu began her
hysterical performa ice, passing from one
swoon to another. The arrival of the police
ambulance released the preacher and his
fiock from their embarrassing position, ana
she was again returned to the hospital.
■ " -
While the compositors of the Bombay Ga
zette were at work in the composing room one
evening recently a full grown cobra dropped in
upon them through window* In the roof. It
was a* badly scared as they were and attempted
to escape through a window, but was killed with
an iron bar.
>
TO RESIST TORNADOES.
THEY COULD NOT INJURE) DENSE
AND WELL-BUILT CITIES.
Buildings With Solid Foundations and
Honest Walls Are Always Safe—
Many of the Buildings Destroyed In
Louisville Were Poorly Constructed.
Scientific Explanation of the Tornado.
(Copyright.)
New York, April 13.—1 tis well-known
that extended portio is of the United States
are especially liable to tornadoes. Doubt
less the severe storms on the evening of
March 27. which forcibly called the a tea
tion of the country to this class ot destruc
tive and violent phenomena, will be known
as the Louisville tornado. Meteorologists
apply the term “tornado” to oyaionio
storms ot local character, which have the
peculiarity of excessively high wind cur
rents passing spirally Inward and
upward, and especially when the
direction of these violent winds is
more nearly vertical than horizontal. It
seems probable to the writer t lat the tor
nado is only a more violent and intense ex
hibition of thunder and hailstorm condi
tions. In the case of tornadoes, the enor
mous forces generated by the suddsn dis
ruption of ve y unstable atmosphe-ic con
ditions find effect in the development of
violent whirlwinds, Instead of forming hail
or inducing extraordinarv electrical condi
tions.
The most destructive tornado within nar
row limits and recent years was that of
April 18, 1880, through which Mars lfield,
Mo., was almost entirely demolished, over
100 lives lost and several hundred injured.
On Feb. 19, 1884, however, an unparalleled
series of tornadoes occurred in the interior
pasts of North and South Carolina and
Georgia, in Alabama, Kontucky and Illi
nois, being most deitructive iu the four
states first named. The loss of property
was hardly greater than that now ex
perienced by the Louisville tornado, but the
loss of life doubtless exceeded 500, aud the
injured more than 1,000.
Apart fronUL misville, with its death list
of seventy-five, that of Metropolis doubt
fully placed, aud Gloscos thirty victims, at
least twenty-five others were lost in torna
does developed on the evening of March 37.
The data concerning loss of life and
property is at this writing ind .-fi
nite and vague, save 1 i the case of
Louis ille; but at twenty widely sep
arated points in Kentucky, Tenness-o,
Indiana," Illinois and Missouri, the total loss
of life aggregates over two hundred, with
more than one thousand houses distroyed.
The entire valuation of losses is estimated
at three aud a half millions; probably it will
not fall far short of that amount, as the
property loss in Louisville was uhout two
and a half millions, and the exaggerated
estimates from many places will be counter
balanced by losses not yot reported.
It Is significant of the uncertainty which
still prevails as to the distribution of tor
nadoes, that those serious and violent
storms occurred over a section of the coun
try where not a dozen, and in some parts
not half a dozen, of these storms have ever
been known, aid this fact emphasizes the
mi >r importance which should be placed
by the public in general on the imputation
that any country or 3tate is affi.c el with
frequent tornadoes, or the statement that
they are unknown.
Well defined tor ad >es were confined at
thitime to Kentucky, Tennessee, Southern
Indiana, and Southom Illinois. Sovere
storms, however, prevailed during March
96, 27, or 28 In Colorado, Kansas, Missouri,
Nebraska and Wisconsi i, and over the lake
region, resulting in damage to buildings
and shipping. No lives, however, were lost
between the Missouri river and the Rocky
mountains.
It is of interest to note that these torna
does occurred neither during tho months of
greateit frequency (April to July), nor dur
mg the hours of greatest frequency (3:30 to
5:00 p. m.). They conformed, however, in
oi her respects to characteristic tornado con
ditions; that is, they occurred in the south
easterly quad ant of a low area storm, and
instead of being in the immediate vicinity
of a storm center, they were several
hundreds miles to the" s u’heastward.
The usual decided contrasts of tempera
ture and dew-poiutsob:aitiocl: warm south
erly winds and atmosphere nearly or quite
saturated with aqueous vapor in the storm
front; high, cold northerly winds wita low
dew-poiats and quite dry air directly in
rear of the storm-cent9r. The tornado®, at
Louisville aud aijaoant points wore accom
panied by the funnel-shaped cloud, which
Ferret considers to be characteristically
tornadic, and which appears suspended
from the lower surf aca of a stratum of
dense clouds.
The sharp contrasts of temperature may
be Illustrated by hhe conditions at 8 o’clock
p. m. March 27. The air temperature at
Louisville was 06“; at Indianapolis, 100
miles plstant, 45"; at Cincinnati, eighty
five miles distant, 40°; making, in the first
case, 1" change to every five miles, and in
the latter to every four miles. At the same
time cold air, at or near the freez
ing point, was violently biowi g in
toward the storm center from the
northeast at Chicago, at the rate of forty
five miles por hour, and from the northwest
at Springfield, Mo., with a velocity of forty
sir milei. Warm air with a temperature
of 74” was also blowing at
Memphis, from tho southwest, with a veloc
ity of forty miles; at Nashville, with a veloc
ity of twenty mile ; and at Cairo with a
temperature of 6b" and a velocity of thirty
six miles.
The meteorological conditions that morn
ing had been somewhat less violent, but
stilltbe contrasts of temperature and dew
points and the baric gradients were suffi
ciently marked to justify n ,t only tho gen
eral prediction of the signal office of violent
local storms for Illinois, Kentucky, Tennes
see, Indiana, Ohio and Missouri," but also
the sending of special w arning telegrams to
this effect to the signal service observers
stationed in these states.
Under such violent atmospheric condi
tions, disasters must soon come somewnere,
and it is not surprising that along a narro w
paih occurred this violent disruption,
which, traveling with the spued of au ex
press train, almost insta itly turned a fair
scene of life, beauty aud vigor into one
charac eriz-d by scarred visagi, helpless
ness and suffering.
The tornadic theory most generally ac
cepted presuppose) a state of unstable
atmospheric equilibrium either due to or
co-existeat wltn very rapid diminution of
temperature with altitude, thus causing
vertically very sharp temperature gradients
and equally .udden changes in vapor con
ditions. Under these circumstances slight
predisposing causes induce a g oratory mo
tion and consequent violent disruption to
restore the atmosphere to a stable equi
lib ium.
As has been shown, these contrasting aud
violent conditions existed horizontally at 8
o'clock p. m., March 27, over tbe states of
Tennes-ee, Kentucky, Illinois, Indiana a id
Mis four I, and doubtless did so vertically at
Louisville and other p dots where tornadoes
developed a few minutes later.
There has been a growing tendency, pos
sibly fostered by those who have au intere.t
iu tornado insurance, toward the belief that
these destructive storms are Increasing in
frequency and danger. The writer believ. s
PAGES 0 TO 12.
those impressions to he fallacious. Tbs
number apparently incr >ase> —first because
the telegraph aidne * spaper rl vary spre id
daily ihe history of yesterdiy relative
to the remotest hamlet of our country.
SeoornHv, i-i< due to that spirit of exag
geration which magnifies and transforms an
unusual wind, thunder, or hailstorm, into a
destructive tornado. Investigati ns by the
signal office have shown that many reported
tornadoes of violence never existed, save In
the imagination of the reports'.
Tho writer of this article, on learning of
the enormous damage dme in Louisville,
pertinently expressed his interest in know
ing the character of the b nidi igsdsstroved
in that city. The latest information con
firms the susoici m that most of the build
ings wore not of the most substantial char
acter. It is said that the “Fort Nelson”
building, in the very center of the storm,
suffer and comparatively little damage. This
building, ccnstruc'ed of unu-ually thick
walis of brick and stone, appears to dem
onstrate the fact that It Is possible
to e ect structures wh ch will be secure
against tornadoes of moderate, ad possibly
of excessive violence. This appea sto con
firm the theory held bv the pessut writsr,
that no tornado could pass through the
densely and strongly built part of great
cities. Oocisionalty a buildin; of great
strength may bs destroyed, but as a rule,
the writer believes, a number of closely
built brick or stom bl cks, where each
structure is so substantially built as to
withstand ordiunry win Is without support
fro n the adj .cent buildings, may be con
sidered tornado-proof.
As bearing upon the strength of struc
tures necessary to withstand tornadio winds,
it is important to note that' here have been
very few cases recorded of wind velocities
in the United Stites where the preisuro of
the wind, according to the latest investiga
tions and accepted formula, exceeded six
teen pounds to the square foot.
In short, the writer’s opinion is averse to
gloomy views as to the liability of personal
danger or loss from tornadoes, which, like
earthquakes, must be regarded as vis,tui
tions of God, infrequent a id impossible to
definitely guard against. Severe looal
storms can be anticipated from the fact
they will prevail over extended areas of
country, but the path and area of the aver
age tornado is so limited that its relation
to the state of Delaware, for instance,
would be much less than the relation of
the sinal e-t cambric needle to the spaes
covered by tills page. Under such cod li
tlons. who should unduly fear tornadoes!
Let the farmer In the prairie c mntry plant
tree i as wind-breaks, and let the dwellers
in cities conitr ct buildings with solid
fou datlons, honest walls and mortar, and
let the city authorities insist upon a larger
factor of saf-tv for all structures for puDlio
or manufacturing purpos -s.
A. W. Greely.
THE KING OF PI iKPOCKSTB.
And Why He Gees Into Hottrament.
From Iht Courier det E/alt Unit.
A singular individual has just been ar
rested at the race course of Vinoe me*. His
nnmo is Fred Flash, or Frederick W ieeler.
He calls himself Count VValder. He was a
frequenter of all the fashionable re>tau>
rants, ail inveterate sportsman, a id an ac
complished gambler. He moved only in
food s ciety; that is to say, that society of
’aria which lias become somewhat mixed
by the invasion of rich foreigners. Ha
never oompr -miod himself by keeping
questionable company. He talked little,
but w.i.-i a great observer. In stature he
was s nail, and wore short whiskers which
chemistry kept dark, and in his general
make uu he m inaged to conceal five or six
of the years which belonged to him, and
which really amounted to about 40. B>:t
for all that be was quite a polite fellow and
extremely obliging. He al - ays received
with discretion the little discreet salutes ot
the people whom he had obliged.
It was kno vu to everybody that he was
king of piokpooket-!, and by no means a
lazy or idle king. Ho kept under bis orders
quite an active corps of operators, who
humbly bowed to his authority. A past
master in his art, gifted with an incompara
ble power of taking in evoryt iing at a
glance, he watohedthe winning playes.and
noted the careless way in which they put
away their money, generally la accessible
pockets. Then to his subjects he pointed
out his vie rims, and the preoiss pockets to
be operated uoon. By this method the ex
peditions sent out by him rarely failed.
Whenever it happened that doc meats or
compromising letters were taken by bis
men" he always had them returned, for bs
never permitted blackmiil. He regarded
that as something beneath the dignity of his
profession.
One day a party catne to him on the race
course an 1 told him that the valise of the
jockey Storr was stolen.
“Weil, what then?" asked King Fred.
“His ca ii. in it, aud be can’t run.”
"Yes, Storr will run, for in halt an bear
ho will have his valise,” said Fred; and ha
kept his word.
The reason why Fred lived in France was
because England, bis native cmntry, had
beco ne too hot for hm. Penal servitude
awaited him there, but ju t why he was
nut extradited and why th > police were so
indulgent to him remained always a mys
tery.
Of late, however, bis business bocams
dull. He was too closely watched, aad his
operatives were not sufficiently skillf il to
go over their increased difficulties. He de
termined to lend them a hand himself, and,
af.er some b >ld and successful ventures, ho
was at last caught in the act of stealing
bank notes which a i officer had placed ia
the outside pocket of his dolman.
His majesty will now, doubtless, spend a
considerable time in ro ire ne.it
A Man Whom Vanderbilt Mads.
From the Chicago Tribune.
There arrived at the Palmer bouo yester
day a quiet little mail that one would puS
down for ail actor. Young-looking, with
out a silver hair, yet he is 7J years of age.
Many years ago he was struggling for a
living in New York state. Suddenly ha
was ;t millionaire; then almost us suddenly
he had not a [lenny. Again the scenes
shifted and he bad nr re pennies than an
Euglisn syndicate. Aftor four nr five years
on the top wave again he was down. This
is a brief history of John Harker.
When Coramod re Vanderbilt was search
ing t e United States for a mate for his
flyer. Mountain Boy, Mr. Harker, then a
small horse trader, appeared in New York
and pre ented Commodore Vanderbilt with
Lad. Planet.
“I think I’ve matched your horse,” said
Mr. H irker. “If M umtain Boy and Lady
Planet make a swift tea n you are welcome
to my horse. I don’t want a cent for her.”
It was a swift span, as everybody knows.
Tbo commodore boat every team on the
road and held the double team record for
years. John Harker was not forgotten. He
was given stocks, iiornls, etc., which m de
him worth some $500,090 in a little while.
Harker was not satisfied, and tee many
whirls he took in Wall street soon caused
his fortune to disappear. Again Commodore
Vanderbil placed nim on the top shelf.
The erstwhile horse trader then retired from
ac ive speculation and lived like a king for
a few years, until he found his way to Walt
street once more. His ssociation with the
bulls and bears soon caused a eparatio i be
tween him and bis coin, and for the third
time he joined the bread winners. Now he
has a fair competency and enjoys Life.