The morning news. (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, October 26, 1890, Image 9

The morning news., October 26, 1890, Image 9

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Newspaper Page Textf ART TWO. A HIDDEN FOE. A STORY OP LOVE AND MYSTERY. By G. A. HENTY, Author of “THE CURSE OK CARNE'S HOLD,” “GABRIEL ALLEN, M. P.” ETC., ETC. [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED .] CHAPTER XVI. Not until daylight broke did Constance Corbyn close an eye. She bad been Ironing forward to her triumph, to the discomfiture of her ene;ny, to overwhelming him with and contempt. Everything succeeded according to her expectations; she had taken him completely by surprise, one by one she had formulated her charges, and had told him that she regarded him as the meanest villain on earth. What had been the result! He had told her that her charges were false, false from first to last. He had denied that ha was aware of her identity, or that he even knew she was on board. He had declared, too, that Constance Corbyn was the last woman in the world he would marry. Could all this bo true, or was it but a piece of acting iu keeping with all she she previously thought of him? She tried to persuade herself tuat it was so, but failed altogetner. As he had spoken, an absolute conviction had seized her that ne was speak ing the truth, and that there had been some terrible mistake. “The happiness of my life has been at stake, and I b ive lost.” Surely he could not have been lying, for, taken by surprise as he mutt have been, accused of treachery, of a crime, of deceit and baseness —and this at a moment when he must have expected a favorable reply to the words o£ love he had spoken—was it possible he could have rallied so soon, and, waile congratulating her upon her victory, have crusned her b ueath a feeling that sne had committed a terribie error, an error which involved her happiness as well as his. then her thoughts turned to the words, had ne known that Constance Corbyn was on board the ship, he would have shunned her as the pests; she was the last of all /omen iu the world he would marry. / “What does he mean?" she repeated to herself scores of times. “What have i done that he should speak so of me! Does he think me so u imaidenly for thu3 coming forward to struggle for my rights, for thus striving to clear the memory of my dead mother?” And thus the long hours of the night passed, until exhaustion at last closed her eyes. She did not wake until nearly noon. An nette was siting beside her, working, with alok of grave concern in her face. The events of the past evening came in a rush upon the girl. “What is it, rna petite? what has hap pened? tell your old nurse.” Constar.ee heid out her arms. Annette threw herself on her knees beside the berth ana took her in her arms, and as the girl burst into a passion of tears, soothed and caressed her, a9 she had done in the trou bles of her childhood. “Tell me all about it, dear,” she said at last, as the sobs gradually ceased. “It is about Mr. Browu, that goes without saving. Tell me all, Constance; you know I am never hard with you. Have you made a mistake, have you found out that you de ceived yourself when you said that you did not care for him?” “I will tell you, Annette. You must know that 1 found out the first hour after we came on board that this Mr. Brown was Philip Clitheroe.” “Are you losing your senses, ma petite?' Annette exclaimed, in more auxiety than surprise. “I did not tell you,” Constance went on, without heeding the interruption, “because I knew that you would not approve of my plan, that you would keep him at a distance, and that he would soon see that we knew him.” Then she went on to tell all particulars, how she knew him by sight, how she had Jlayed her part throughout, and how, when “hilip Clitheroe had told her of his love she had poured out her indignation and scorn upon him. “And you did rightly,” Annette said, earnestly. “1 see not that you have anvthing to reproaoh yourself with. This ooquia deserved all that you said to him. I would have said as much and more had I known who he was.’* ‘ hes, Annette, but I was wrong all the time. He did not know, he had no idea that Miss Corbyn was on board ” Bah!' Annette said, with disdain, “you beii ‘ v,' that story? I thought you wiser, cm.d. Of course a knave will lie when he is round out." I will tell you what he said, nurse, and you snail judge for yourself,” and she re rwated without, the change of a word what rnuip Clitheroe had said, fer every word Seemed burat into her brain. „■ ” al1 * , w e shall see, child,” Annette said, juc we do not fret over it. The matter in com; right in tune, these things always Kr^fV 11 time, and you see ha ac that it was natural you should avstuo'ig!it as you did. He will see that re ,10t to blame in the matter, and n ' u ' 6 no harsh feelings toward you. If ■vna; he says is true he may be a worthy honorable geu lemau.” M s^ her head. B,: ‘, 1 have wronged him 1 have wronged P beyoiul forgiveness,” she said. “I have ■l"”' 1 “ lm a| nl led him on and then spurned V, 1 haVO called him a traitor, a thief, Kto n ? eaa .rillain. Ijet us say no more , ut lt± < lC done, and it is irremediable.” ■ Annette was too wise to attempt t > argue, Kr, sae bad her own opinions. She had in ■,„ c -’ urß °f her life seen many quarrels ! <n - VOUU K men and you g women, and Hr-1 \ hat if ‘h°y cared for each other the K ,r# J!! were generally made up in the , ‘ Philip Clitheroe did caro for ■L ,’ t !. a . oe slie had been convinced after ■ lr ' f Week of their voyage. As to the ■ • !••<•.i .gs she had been altogether at ■m-’.., . 81e th °ught it probable that ■u-\,‘!- r . er j “U’taoce night have previously (■„' hie. 11 "b her strong conviction that ■ ol , I ', ) ‘■.coated him with cruel injustice ■ a ~ V. ‘"uueasely in his favor. IMLhin- * had baea to ° w.sea woman ever ■ “‘ M Constance that she thought the ■qV, " of Corbyn estates could be Hr„ en n f So ttled by nn arrangement be- W en the claimants than in a law court; ■now ofte:i occurr9d to her, and Bu wooh“k 'Vk’ her more thau ever that B' srTair th 6 “tufactory conclusion of Be even,"n 06 £ id . not loavo her cabin until BL un n S ’e bUt . Sl . le uwiste<l U P°“ Auuette Kw d9 ° k f ° r a time to enjoy the Mi PhiMS n^ter *ha had take i her t up ’ arid afti^ ■;; lay t and!i y a wo , rd to you. madam r and ■' y a ; u * the chair beside her. ■ee n “ " l J‘ hoard what happened be- K nn i C orbyn last night,” he ■'* * not wi*a to discuss it, aad I |Rofnino ffctog. speak at present merely for her saka You know how people gossip on board as* earner. It has doub.less been noticed and c>m me ited upou coat i have been a good deal in company with you aid her. If it is ob served that we no longer speak, it will be coupled with her sudden illness yesterday evening, and will be make the subject of talk and conjecture. Had it not been for her illness I should have naturally ab stained from addressing you or her. People would have said that I had proposed and had been rejected and that I had taken it to heart and was sulking. That would not have mattered at all, but her illness might give rise to other conjectures, and blame might fall upon her. Therefore, I propose, with your permission and ber’s, that for the short time we shall remain on board to gether, our intercourse should not bo en tirely broken off, and that at least I should render to you the ordinary civilities of a gentleman to two ladies of his acquaint ance. Have I your permission to and , this?” “Certainly, monsisur, and I thank you,” Madam Duport said. “Constance looks very 111, and it will seem natural that she ■should not wish te talk as before. What you propose will save her trom painful com ment, and I thank you.” Philip sat talking for a few minutes in a oild aid constrained voice upon different subjects, and then left her, and a few min utes later Annette got up and again went down to the cabiu, Constance shivered when she heard the arrangement that had been made. “Ido not like it, Annet e. Ido not care what people might think and say. Any thing would be better than having to speak to him.” “It is for the best, my dear,” Annette said, decidedly. “You must not be talked about; anything is better than that. It is not for long, aid you will have but little to say to him. You look so ill, it will be easily understood that you need quiet and rest, and are unfit for conversation. Is it in all respects the best, and whatever be the truth as to this strange affair, Mr. Clitheroe is be having like a thoughtful gentleman in his proposal.” When Constance came up in the evening with Annette, Philip Clitheroe met them as usual at the top of the connanion, took the shawls Annette had brought up, walked be side them to their chairs and seated them there, and as other passengers came up to inquire how Constance felt, gravely ex expressed his hope that she was better. Annette answered for her. “My niece is better, but, as you may see, she is Still weak and unfit to talk. I fear she will be some time before she is herself again.” The wan face of the Kiri ipoke for itself. Even in the twilight the pallor of her face and the dark rings round her eyes were un mistakable signs of the truth of what An nette had said. She was evidently absolutely unfit for conversation, and the change that the twenty-four hours had made in her appearance was so startling that the voices were hushed, and all drew off silently, leaving Annette and Constanoe to themselves. In half an hour Philip re turned. “I think. Madam Renan, that we are go ing to have a change of weather,” he said, quiet'y. "There is a dullness about the sky, see there are no stars visible, and the moon Is rising red and dull. We have been Very fortunate so far, but I think that we are likely to have a storm before long. There is an oily look on the water, and I heard the firat mate tell the chief en gineer just now that the glass was falling rapidly.” “Ob, I hope we shall not have a storm,” Annette saC. “I hate storms. I think we will go below now; will you please give my niece your arm.” Constance uttered a little exclamation of objection, but Philip paid no attention to it. He gravely held out his hand to help her to her feet. Constance felt so weak that she was forced to avail herself of his arm. An nette collected the shawls hastily, and moved after them. "Thank you,” she sail, when she reached the top of the companion. “I will help my niece down. Will you kindly bring the shawls!” He left them at the door of the cabin. "I will not go up any more,” Constance said, as she threw herself down on her berth. “I will not leave the cabin again until we reach Melbourne. ” The weather had changed still further before morning; the wind had got up, al though it could not as yet ba said to be blowing hard, and the sea had beguu to rise and the air was thick and hazy. "What do you think of it!” Philin Clitheroe asked the second officer who had come off duty at eight bells. “Don’t quite know what to think of it,” he replied. "The glass has been going down down since yesterday, but slowly, not like the sudden drop that generally is before bad weather in these seas. No doubt we are going to have some wind, how much I can not say, but I don’t think it will be any thing of a gale. It is a queer looking sky, too, for these parts. One expects thick weather in the Atlantic, but one doesn’t often get it here, and it is getting thicker, too.” During the day the wind increased steadily and was blowing halt' a gale by nigat fall. The weather was still thick, but was patchy, at times clearing up so that the sky could be seen overhead, while five minutes afterward clouds of vapor seemed to sweep down and they could scarce see a ship’s length around them. To the passen gers the change was not an unpleasant one after the long spell of flue weather and cloudless skies they had been having. The motion of the vessel was not too great to prevent walking on deck, and the question whether the wind would increase to a gale afforded a topic of conversation and argu ment very welcome in the monotony of a sea voyage. Constance Corbyn had not left her cabin all day. Madame Deport came out at meal times and reported that her ueice did not seem to be able to shake off the effects of her fainting fit. She hid a headache, and the ship’s doctor, who had seen her that morning, bad said that she had best keen quiet for a day or two. No doubt she felt the heat and was low and nervous. In a few days they would get c oler weather, shcii would set her up again. There was nothing to be at all uneasy about. If not uneasy, Philip Clitheroe had been worried and uncomfortable during the forty-eight hours that had elapsed since he had spoken to Constance. The first night . e had gone below, as sleep was out of the question, and patting on an ulster to keep out tae heavy night dews, he passed the hours alternately pacing up and down the deck and leaning against the bulwark gaz ing cat over the sea. SAVANNAH. HA.. SUNDAY, OCTOBER 2<>, 1890. He had had a terrible blow, a blow at once to his love and to uia self-respect; and , his indignation was at first almost greater than his disappointment. Hs was conscious ■ taut he had don© all that an houorabie man ( could do. It was fiomble to have been sus pected of such things as those of which Constance ha t accused him, and which were all the harder to Lear inasmuch as the words had not been spoken in au outburst ot an ger, but with a bittr sarcasm that had cut like a knife. But that he should have been so accused gave him but comparatively little concern. The wound that at first smarted the most was the thought that while he had hoped and thought that his love for the girl was returned, she had all the time been playing with him, that she h,d led him on to speak simply that she might avenge the wrong she thought he had done her by thus unmasking him. He felt the pain of this more keenly at first than that of the disappointment of his hopes, and for a time was more angry thau grieved; but during the lo lg hours of the night watch his anger died out. Thinking it all over as he had heard the story from James Ferris, he saw it was perfectly natural that when she saw him come on board under an assumed name, she should have suspected that he it was who had been striving to prevent her from ob taining tie proofs she sought. He was alone interested iu doing so; he had been present with Ferris when her letters to her father were found; and she might well think that he had come upon soma other docu ment which had convinced him that her claim was a just one, and had at the same time given him such particulars as to the marriage and its wit ,esscs as enabled him at once to take steps to thwart her. Whom else could she suspect? James Ferris, who knew all the circumstances,ad mitted that he was altogether puzzled, and this girl, who did oot know him, could only suspect that it was his work. When, there fore, she sa v him on board, she could not but conclude that his object was either to forestall her in her search in Australia, as she believed he had done in that at home, or to protect himself by securing ner band. In that case the course she hud taken was a natural one, and she had led him oa to dis cover his object only to hutnilateand shame him by telling him he had been acting a part all along and how base a thing he was. She was not to be blamed. Here was she, without a friend in the world, save this good old nurse of hers, coming alone and unaided to England to prove what she be lieved to be her rights, and finding herself mot with the foulest maneuvers, her foot steps dogged, the precious register, which would have cleared her mother’s name and proved her rights, foully abstracted; what thought could she entertaia of him whom she had good reason to believe her secret enemy but hated and contempt? It must have been hard for her to play her part so well, when at heart she must have loathed him. Her sudden breakdown when it was over showed how great the strain had been. Well, she would know in time that she had been mistaken. When she got the letter from Ferris, who would he supposed send it through his friend Harbut, she would see that he could not have beeu acting as she had accused him of doing. Not that it would make any difference to him; he should never see her again, for if the crime of which she had charged him was not his, it was his mother’s dona for his saka, and would stand like a wall betweeu them—a barrier that nothing could overcome. What a fatality tuat he should have em barked in the same ship! How did it come about? Then he thought over his conversation with Ferris, and remember id that when he had said that he bad not made up his mind whether to go to the colonies or the United States, Ferris had at once suggested Aus tralia, and said that a steamer would sail in a couple of days, and that he himseif had adopted the idea because the search for Morson would give him an object on first landing. Yes, it was entirely Jim’s doing, and now he tnought of it, it was likely— nay, it was almost certain—that he must at t.ie time have known that his cousin would be on board that ship, and that they would oome together. Ferris could not have known that Constance knew him by sight, and could but have had oue object iu thus throwing them together. He had told him what a charming girl this cousin of his was, and might well have thought that he would fall in love with her, and that a pleasant solution of the diffi culty might well have thought that he would fall in love with her. and that a pleasant solution of the difficulty might be arrived at. Jim knew nothing of this other terrible business, and such an ending to the affair would have seemed to him the mo3t desirable that could be arrived at. “As far as I was concerned, his idea—for I have no doubt it was his idea—turned out a correct oue; but instead of bringing mo, as he expected, safe into port, it has been tne finishing blow to me. I should have forgot the other business in time; in fact, I seemed to have done so already. Thinking I had set matters right before I sailed, and that Constauce would bs at once placed in possession of the court, aud that tne injury could thus be atoned for, I nad put it aside and thought of nothing else but this girl. I suppose I shall get over this too iu tims, but it is hard to think that she will always de spise me. She will know wnen she gets Jim’s letter that I had no thought of keep ing her out of her rights, but she will al ways think I came on board this ship with the intention of making love to her before she knew that her claim to Corbyn Court was acknowledged. I denied it to her yes terday, but she will never believe my de nial, and my statement that Constance Cor byu was the last woman in the world I would marry will seem to hor a pitiable lie, coined to meet the occasion, for she will never know that my mother's crime stands between us.” Philip was not surprised when next day Constance did not leave her cabin. “She doesn’tt mean to see r3b a-ain,” he said. "I could feel how she shrank from me last night, how her hand trembled with indignation when she put it ou my arm. I dare say she is really unwell; it has been enough to make her, poor child. It must be an awful time for her. thinking that I was playing a part all the time, aud smiling and being pleasant, and hiding her knowledge and fooling me to the top of my bent,while she loathed m ? like poison. lam a mosi unfortuuate beggar, there is no doubt. Well, I will have one more pipe and turn In,” he said, as he paced the deck restlessly late that evening. “It is of no use thinking and worrying any more. I did not sleep many hours last night, and none at all the night before, so I hope I shall go off to night as soon as I turn in. It is no use cry ing ove.- spilt milk, and I have got health and strength and means to give ma a start aud a reserve to fall back upon if I fail. I have made a mull of it so far, and I have got to set my teeth hard and begin afresh. There is no going back to Clitheroe now with her at Corbvu Castle, so I have got to make up my mind to build up anew home in Australia and stick to it. I shall be bet ter off than men who can never get over their hankerings to be in the old country again. Hello 1 What’s that?'' Tnere was a shout frem the lookout on the bow of “Ship a-head,” followel instan taneously by tne order from the officer on the bridge. “Hard a-port, hard a-port for your life,” and the sharp ring of the engine bell. In a moment Philip sprang np on to the f irecastle and looked ahead. Looming curougu the mist, about a cable length a wav, was a ship in the act of crossing the steamer’s bows, and he saw at once that, a collision was iuevitab.e. It was too late for the rudder to affect the steamer’s course, and sh s must strike the vessel somewhere amidships. Another teu second, and the crash would come, and to avoid the wreck of falling spare Philip sprang dowu from the fo’castle again, as aid the man on the look >ut. He ran a few yards and then grasped the rail to steady himself for tne shock. He had scarcely done so when there was a terrible crash. The great steamer shook from stem to stern, there was a sound of cradling timber and falling spars, ad then a mo mentary silence, for the screw had ceased to revolve the moment the blow was given; shouts r.ud screams then rose uuder her bow, white a oonfusion of noises broke out ou board the steamer. The sailors poured out from the fo’castle just as they had sprung fr nn their berths, tne watch came running forward, and screams were heard from beow. Then came a stern shout from the officer oa the bridge: “Silenoe below there. All hands to your stations at the boat q see that they are ready to be cleared awav and lowered at on, . Wo shall have to save those on board the ship we have run iuto. Quartermaster, go to the bow and see, if you can, whether we have sustained any damage.” There was a moment’s pause, and then came the order: “Dower and jwn the two lifeboats. Steady, my lads, but as quick as you can; she is going. Ah, good heavens, she is gone!” it was but half a minute since the col lision had taken place, but the captain and other officers had already appeared on deck, having only stopped, as they leaped from their berths, to pull on their trousers. “Mr. Thompson, do you take command of the port lifeboat; do you take command of the starboa. and boat, Mr. Green,” the cap tain ordered. “Do you say that she has gone down, Mr. Hawkins?” ’ “Yes, sir; she had just cleared us when she went down; we must have cut her nearly in half. We did not ca ch sight of her through the mist until wo were our own length off. I stopped the engines at onoe and ordered ‘Hard astern,’ but our way could scaroely have been checked when wo struck her.” “What wasshel” “She was a bark, sir, of seven or eight hundred tons, I should say.” “Are we much damaged?” “1 cannot say, sir; I have sent the quar termaster forward to examine her.” “I will go and have a look for myself,” the captain said. Just at this moment the quartermaster hailed the officer on watch: “Hor stem is badly bent, sir, and some of the plates have started.” “I will take the oommand, Mr. Hawkins; do you get a gang at once, aud open the fore hatchway and see if the collision bulk head is all right. Take the carpenter down with you an 1 get some spars and see that it is wedged up and strengthened as much as you cnu. Quartermaster, send aud get some blue liguts and light up so that the boats can keep us iu sight. Any of the stewards there?” “Yes, sir,” several voices exclaimed. “Well, just go below aud tell the passen gers that there is no immediate danger. I hope no danger at all. i all them to dress themselves, and if possible to stop that screaming and hubbub.” Taking a blue light from the quartermas ter’s hand as soon af he came up, tho cap tain Ut it and went to the bow. and holding it over his head leant over the rail to ex amine the injury. "Bo’swain,” he shouted as he handed the blue light to the quartermaster, “get a sail up at once. We must stretch it over the b ms. There is no stopping the leak, but it may ease the pressure on the bulk head.” “Now, gentlomon,” he said as ho went aft and met several of the male passengers who had hurried up half dressed, “I must trouble you all either to go below or to keepwell aft. You will only be in tho way forward and can be of no assistance. Tell every one to dress quietly in warm clothes and to gather any valuables they may have in a small bundle. There is no immediate dan ger, but there is nothing like every one be - prepared." The passengers retired aft and Philip de scended to the second class oabln. The other male pass mgere had run up on deck, the two ladies’ maids had goue aft to the main saloon. Philip went to Madams Du port’s cabin and knooked. “Are you dressed, madam?” he asked. The door opened and Annette came out wrapped up in shawls. “What is the matter, Mr. Clitheroe?” An nette asked. “We felt a terrible shock, but have heard nothing sinoo, but from the run ning about on deck we are sure something has happened. The steward came and said something, but there was such a noise of shouting and screaming from some of the passengers that we could not hear what it wa;.” "We have been in collision with a large ship, and have, I am sorry to say, sunk her. Two of the boats are away trying to pick up some of her crew. We have stove in our bows, but it is hoped that the bulkhead will hold. But it is well to take all precau tions. There is no ocasiou for haste, but I should advise you to dress comfortably in the clothes which would be most suita ble for a long voyage iu a boat. Each take a small bundle or bag with such things as are most absolutely requisite, and should we be obliged to take to the boats, which I sincerely trust will not bs the case, put on as many shawls and cloaks as you can* you will find them very useful You can do all this quietly and without haste. I will como down from time to time to let you know how things are going On.” “Thank you,” Annette said, quietly; “we will take your advise. Mr. Clitheroe.” The young man hesitated for a moment as if he wanted to sav more, then turned aud went to his own cabin. He opened his portmanteau, put on a fi innel shirt instead of that he was wearing, placed a pocket book with some letters and papers in his pocket, put on a pea-jacket over his vel veteen coat, and strapped up a bundle of rugs. “Let me see, is there anything else that I may want? Ah, yes; this may be most use ful of all," and he took out a revolver from the portmanteau, dropped it into one pocket and box of cartridges into another. He chose a long clasp knife from the articles he had been persuaded to buy at the outfitters, and a large flask which he had had filled with brandy. He took off his coats and slung this by its strap over his shoulder, and then put on his coats again. “That may be a last resource,” he muttered, “aud I had best keep it bidden. That is about all, I think. Oh, I will add those two waterproof cloaks to the bundle; ah the rest must go.” Having thus made his preparations, he want up on deck just as he heard the engines again iu rotation. The boat* had returned, and the crews were hoisting them up to the davits. '’Have you found any one?” he asked one of tne men. “Not a sign of one. We found some piecss of wreckage, but not a soul." Philip was not surprised. The catastro phe bad been so sudden that no one below would have time to get up on deck, and those ou the watch had doubtless been car ried down witu the sinking ship. ■ The steamer was roiling heavily in the trough of the waves. Looking over the side be saw by the white foam that the engines were reversed and the vessel goiug astern. A great spout of water was pouring from her side. “They are using the circulating pimps to keep down the water,” Le said to himself. “I am afraid there is no doubt that the bulkhead has given away to soua; extent. “It t* a bad look-out, especially in such weather as lam afraid we are going to have.” Presently one of the engineers, with whom he had often Chatted, came on deck. “Bo you have Bet the main engine to pump, 1 see.” •‘Yes, she is taking iu water fast through that bulkhead, or else, as is more likely, after such a smash some of the plates have opened aft of it. lam afraid it is all up with the Aden. Fortuuately we are not a very full ship, and the boats will carry us well enough. See, they are making prepara tions already.” As he spoke some ot the stewards catne along carrying cases and barrels, winch they placed in the boat abreast of where they were staudiug. The second officer came hurrying along. “Can I be of any use?” Philip asked. “Yes, the captain has just called for volunteers to help to get up stores." Puilip rau down below aud again knocked at Madame Duport’s cabin. "I don’t wisu to alarm you," he said, as Madame Dupont and Constance botu came to the door, “there is no immediate danger whatever, but the water is coming in, and I fear that we shall certainly have to take to the boats, though 1 hope uot for some hours. lam now going to help to get up provisions, so may not be able to come again for some little time. There is sure to be ample warning before we take to the boats. Would you not rather go aft to ttie saloon, you will find all the other ladies there. “I think wo would rather stay where we are,’ Madauie Duport said. “Vv hat do you say, Constance?” “Yes. I think we may as well remain here,” Constauce agreed. “We are as safe in oue place as in auother. Mr. Clitheroe,” she said, moving past Annette, “I may not get an opportunity of speaking to you again, we may not be tn the same boat; we may neither of us ever reach laud. I wish to tell you that I believe all that you said to me the other evening, that I am sure you have acted as an honorable gentleman, and I regret—oh Iso deeply— that I should have thought you otherwise. Can vou forgive what I said to you? Re member,” she went on pleadingly, as he was silent for a moment, “that 1 am but a girl, thit 1 may be soou going to facedeath, and that it will be so bard to die knowing that I liave so cruelly wronged you.” “I forgive you heartily and wholly, cousin Constance," he said, tak ing both her hands, “if there be anything to forgive. You have been cruelly wronged, and though—as God hoars m i —it was not I who wronged you, it was natural you should have thought so, and that thinking so you should have spoken as you did. I have not blamed you for a mo ment, for iu your place I should have acted precisely as you (lid. God bless you, little cousin. 1 trust that there are happy days in store for you yet;” and stooping down he kissed the girl’s forehead, and then, drop ping her hands, hurried off, and was soon engaged with a number of other passengers in carryiug up stores and in placing them iu boats, under the directions of the second officer, the other officers being at work for ward with the crew, endeavoring by means of piled up be lding and blaukets to stop the ln-rush of the water. It took some hours of bard work to get all the oasks and boxes required sorted out from ttie mass below, taken up on deck and stowed away in the boats; and the morning was breaking before the work was com pleted. Hot coffee, grog and biscuits, were handed round wtien the work was done, and Philip took two mugs of tho coffee and some biscuits, and carried them forward. "I think that we snail not be long before we take our places iu the boats,” he said, when the ladies came ont, in his usual cheerful voice, “and you must make as good a meal as you can before you are called up. Theu, I think you had hotter go aft to the saloon so as to embark with the other ladies.” Constance looked at Mine. Duport, who said, “Do all tho ladies go in one boat together?” “Asa rule in case of hurry,” he said,“the women always embark first; but I should think here they will be told off between the larger boats, so that their husband and sons can be in the same boats with them." “We hope that you will be in the boat with us, Mr. Clitheroe. It would be a great comfort to us to be with some ono we know. Besides, as you are bVms anco’s cousin, you are her natural protector.” "I shall certainly try to go in tee same boat with you. 1 will go aft and see what arrangements have been made that way.” “We will wait here until you come back anyhow,” Annette said. He returned iu a few minutes saying that the lists had been made up. an 1 that the four female second cabin passengers were told off to the boat hanging on the starboard side opposite the door leading down to their cabiu. “I was in tho boat on the other side,” he said, “but I have just spoken to Davis, one of our fellow passengers who, was In your boat, and have got turn to change places. Of course it made no difference to him, so he will answer to my name when it is called and I shall answer to his. These two boats are nothing live so large as many of tho others, but 1 think you will be quite as comfortable iu them, as there being s > fe w women we can manage to make m re room for you than would be possible in the larger ones'. The second engineer is in charge of of the boat. He is a very g >od fellow, and will, lain sure, do everything to make you comfortable." A short time afterward the bell rang sharply, as a signal for the passengers t * come up aud ta .e their places. The ship was very low in the water, the fires in the engine room had long before been ex tinguished, and the pumps had ceased to work. Everything was conducted in per fect order. The officer in charge of each boat called out the names of thoe who were to take their places in her, and one by one the boats were lowered without misad venture. That in which Philip Clitheroe and two other cabin passengers, with the four women, took their seats was manned by six Lascar sailors and eight stokers, the latter being Africans from the Cos omaadel coast, known on board the steamers as Seedy boys. The boat rowed eight oars, the six men not required taking their seats on the floor of the boat. Tue second engineer took the helm. Annette and Constance sat on one side of him and the other two women on the other, the male passengers on the bench next to them, Philip being next to Annette. Tue work of lowering was safely accomplished. The vessel was now so deep in the water that her action of rolling was dull and heavy, and the boat was lowered without difficulty and the falls safely cast off. The waves, now that those in the boat were so near tbe surface of the water, looked alarmingly high. “There is not tbe least fear unless we get it a great deal worse than this,” the engi neer said. “They are first rate boats, and whl live in almost any sea. This-Is one of the smallest of them, but 1 don’t know that I wouldn’t as lief be in her as one of tbe big ones, especially as, being wider, they aro more closely packed with and have a store of provtiion# aud water in proportion. Ttiere you see how easy she rides; not a cup full has come into her. Yon will soon feel quite at home in her, and think nothing of the waves. Can either of you gentlemen steer?” “I can,” Phillip said. “I have been knock ing ab ut in yacnts, aud can inanuge a sail ing boat fairly.” The other two passengers shook their heads. “Then we must do watch and watch, Mr. Brown, while the wind last-. Af.er that anyone eon steer who has got eyes in his bead. What is our course? I liave got it all down on paper in my pocket, hot I h ive not hail time to look at it yet. My orders are to keep as close togo her as wa can. The captain is on hoard the jolly-boat and will hoist a laueern at night for us to steer by. The Keeling Islands lie about JOd miles southeast by south. The captain is going to make for them If we are blown out of our course and cannot make them, then wo shall steer for Java, but keeping as much iu the ship travel as possible. We are sure to lie picked up be fore long. There, the last boat has 1 ft the sh p. Thank God, they have all got away safely. It is always a risky business get ting boats away from a sinking o.aft, an 1 it is well indeed that wo had plenty of time to get everything done quietly and regu larly.” While they were talking, Constance and Annette sat perfectly quiet. Coustanoe saw at once, bv the way the lAscars took their seats in tho bottom of the boat to windward and male themselves as comfor table as they could, that they had no thought of immediate danger, and though the sea looked to her terrible, she supposed that this was only her inexperience, and began to look round nt the other boats. One of Annette’s hands grasped her arm, and each time a wave rolled up the grasp tightened. “You must have seen worse seas than this, Annette, by a long way, among the islands.” “Yes, I can remember some terrible storms there; but then you see 1 was not out iu a boat in them.” “1 suppose you would not call this a storm at all?" Constance said to Mr. Bolden, the engineer. "No, I should c-UI this a fresh breeze. I fancy we shall get it a bit strongsr yet, but I assure you there is no safer cruft in the world than a good open boat, well handled, and though 1 have not had very much to do with boats since I entered the service. I was always sailing when I was a boy. I was born at Portsmouth. My father was an eugineer in tbe dockyard, and that is how 1 Jcitne to take to it; but I had two uncles who owned wherrioi, aud until 1 was appren:loed to my trade I was always knocking about with them, aid could handle my boat as well as they could. The first officer would have sent a quarter master with us, but lie is an old acquaint ance of mine and knows that as tar as handling a boat goes 1 am as good as any se man.” In an hour or two the sense of danger passed off, and even the other two female passetigers, who had wept copiously on first leaving tho ship, but more trom the thought of their dresses and valuables lust to thorn forever, cheered up. "Now, Mr. Brown, I appoint you second in command, and your duties will be to take your trick at the helm. You two gentlemen I appoint joint pursers; you will have the issuing of rations. There is no means of cookiug food, but under my seat there is a kettle and spirit lamp stowed away, and a quart of spirit and a c mister of tea. I like a cup of tea before I turn in after my watch below, aud always keep tho means of making oue In my cabin. Know ing there would be ladies on board, and ttiat it might be a comfort to them, I slipped them in under here when the stores were being put on board." “That was good of you, Mr. Bolden,” Coustanoe said, gratefully. "Haw far do you say it ia to these islands?” “About thres hundred miles.” “How long shall we be doing it?” “Ah, that depends upon the wind. If it keeps as it is now, and weean lay our course, we shall bo there in two days and a half or thereabouts. I take it we aro going about five knots through the water now.” to be continued. EMERSON ON NBWBPAPBR3. Views of tbe Philosopher on the Blvery Day Educator. From the Km; York World. In his book ot conversations with Emer son Mi*. Woodbury reports the seer as saying that “newspapers have done much to ab breviate expression, and so to improve style.” “This is “a hard saying” for the accept ance of those small essayists and other superior persons who decry the newspapers; for one of their most frequent complaints is that the newspaper writer, in the haste in cidsnt to his work, discards the graces of rhetorlo and misleads the popular taste with crude thought and unpolished utter ance. But Emerson was right and the superior persons are wrong. The inlluences of newspapers upon style has been good, not bad. It has dona much, os Emerson says, “to abbreviate utteiauce," but that is not the whole of the service. It has taught the value of simplicity in expression, of direct ness in style and of clear thiuklug as the condition of clear writing. It has made men understand tbe advantage of saying what is to be said and then stopping. It has banished the exordium aud the perora tion from literature. The assumption that the higher kind of newspaper writing is hasty and slipshod is uuf nnioed. The newspaper writer writes ranidly, but his miud has been trained to tin ik rapidly uud to give quick formulation to thought. His art is akm to that ot the extemporaneous orator. In minor reporting, done by novices, the style is often faulty aud the diction some times bad; especially whore there is uot time Car editorial revision; but the editori ;1 writing aud the in ire carefully done news and special articles of any great modern newspaper will oompare very favorably in deed with the book aud magazine literature of our time, In point of vigor and correct ness of form. It is fortunate that this is to, became the newspapers are now tho chief teachers of the people in this as in other matters. They are much more widely read than any other form of literature, and are in fact the only literature read at all by tbe majority of the people. In this particular the tendency of tbe newspapers is to grow steadily better. They more aud more insist upon the best educa tional qualifications ou the part of their writers. They more and more seek to en list scholarship and culture in their service, and meu of the highest literary qualifica tions are more aud more inclined to seok newspaper utterance as that which gives largest power aud influence to th# messages they bear. If Emerson bad come to manhood in our day he would have found bis true vocation in a newspaper office. It is a pity that be did not have that opportunity to reach hundreds of thoosands with a wisdom which was uttered onlyto a chosen few. A drckmsr of lowa, for the Waltham Watch Company, bought a one-third Interest ia an about-to-be-absndoned zioc mine at Joplin, Mo., for sls*>. He wont down Into the mine, dag an hour, struck It richly, and coming out, sold his interest for J 15,000 cash. PAGES 9 TO 12. FASHION AND COMFOBT. Good Tasts Now of More Account Than Parisian Platen. Brook i.tx, N. Y„ Oct. 25.— The com plaint regarding the radical change in tho s yle of fur garments is a general one, ladies who bought expensive jackets, cloaks and capes last winter are naturally disturbed to find that the moat fashio able fur wraps are now made with elb >w sleeves, and fit the figure quite cioiely, with pointed backs and fronts. The difference between this and last winter’s style is certainly very marked. To my way of thinking last winter had the belt of it, and I ihab wear mv fur cape with the aa’i e satisfaction and delight thit 1 d.d a year a,-o. Nothing could be more hidmus thin the elbow sleeve , and surely thee 5 sleevei are almost as bad as no sleeves, for the fore-arm is left eutirly exposed, ns muffs are of no gervica except to the hands. To those wh > have asked my advice about having their furs mr.de ovur, I say witii all my heart don’t and it. Next winter elbow sleeves and fur bodies will be no m re, ad your garment may then lie worn enough to make into something sensible aud pretty, [jet us all congratulate ourselves on the signs of the times. G>k>l taste Is now of more account than fashion plates, and a woman may go into any society in aim st any costume which suits her style and eo nplexion with out regard to 80-eal:ed prevailing modes. This advance in civiiizali >n is duo entirely to the efforts of aensiole women who have commenced at the \ erv foundation of things. They found that a dress skirt of light weight could lie 111 re artisr ioally ar ranged and worn than a heavy arms skirt. Then it was plaiu that a skirt with a waist attached to it brought the weight of the costume upon the shoulder*. whre it be longed. In this way we had the drew form* or tho priucess. BOWING TO MRS. MILLER Even the great Worth and the solf-suffiJ oient Felix have been compelled to take off their hats to Mrs. Annie Jermcs- Miller, an American woman, who found a way t> make healthful costumes thoroughly ar. istics and beautiful. Both of the foreigners above* mentioned have been to the dress form and to light weight droisos. “The In coimiarable FVhix” is said to have remarked to E nina Abbott, who was directing thi\ make and fit of her operatic costumes—a pro* ooss which the designer as not accustomed to: “But mademoiselle, that is notcor.ect. Indeed, it Is vulgar." The criticism was in reference to the waist, which the actress in sisted should be loose. “Poss.ble," the cool response, “but it would bo so much more vulgar to die from a too tight corsage* that I really think you will bo compelled to* oblige me." Now it is tho fashion to have buttons on| all the corset waists, and button holes In the? petticoat bands, thus removing all weight? and pressure from the hlos and the delicito Internal organs. Many women aro wearing l the combination underwear suits, so as to get rid of the girt or band) and the aggra vation of strings and buttons. It can ba truly said that the most fashionable costume now is that iu which u woman can put on; her dress before s c does her hat, which aaa not been possible for some years, a id la which sbo can go through a sot of gmvnastid exercises without inconvenience. KILLED BY LACING. It was a strange thing for a prominent government official to do, who had adver tised fora stenographer and typewriter, and would be considered unpardonably coarse by many of my readers, but he did it all the same. Avery intelligent aud self-possessed young woman with an Indisputable refer ence was amoug the first to arrive upon thd scone. “You look healthy,” said tho official. “1 am heaitliv,” was the quiet reply. 1 “Well, mis-i, I have but one question tot oak, as your reference loaves nothing to bsj desired, ami to this question 1 beg an bonestt answer—do you lac!” The woman was equal to the occasion. “You cause me, sir. to demise my sex,” she ■aid, “since they have made such an insult possible. ” “Didn’t mean it fof an insult,” said thd employer, "but It was only last week that) I attended the funeral of one of the love liest girls that ever lived, who, up to tba time of her last collapse, worked in thia[ office. She diea of corsets, and one case 06 that kind is eno :gh for me. I longed ta( talk to her and tell her what the was doingJ but modesty forbade. I’ve got through with that kind of modesty forever more, I am prepared to pay a good salary for ms work, and I think I have a right to demand that the person who and it shall be in gootf health and not got out of breath. If yoig can fill that bill 1 want you.” •’I can, sir," said the stenographer proudly; and the bargain was oousiiuimated. That man was right, he was a man heart and brains, and a genuine reformer.* I wish there were more of th-ni, prudes’ td the c mtrary notwithstanding. I have received several communication* from mothers whose infante are suffering, some of them with convulsions caused by) constipation. They have consulted doctor* and administered imvorful medicines with out effect. liabtihood, tee able magaziaei which treats 011 all these subjects, gives tbal palm, 1 see, to the unmedicated glycerins suppositories for the relief and cure of suciv trouble. This magazine should be iu every" family where there are infants. Eleanor Kirk. KUDYaKD KIPLING. He Loves a Good and -hur.a the Ladles. Rudyard Kipling bae, undoubtedly, taken literary London by storm, writes E. W. Bold in the Ladiet Home Journal , and where* ever I went bis name was brought up. Lon* doners regard him as the coming man, and the attention he is attracting will, unless he has a well balanced head, spoil him Derson* ally and in a literary way. Kipling is 2J years old, easy going in bis ways, and is made the center of every grouD wherever he goes. He bas popular manners, and while English women concede that he is nob handsome, they allow, as one woman con fided to me, that "be is striking-looking and attractive.” His eyesight is agai ist him. He is ibortsight and at times has great ocu-* lar trouble. He bubbles over with tells an exceedingly good story, either in parlor or at tbe club, and has a quickness about him that is very attractive to tbs listener. He does net seek especially for the approval of women, and prefers tbe society of men. If bs were to work steadily for tn next three months, every hour in the day and night it would bo impossible fo| him to fill bis orders. I know one editos who offered Kipling £IOO (*500) for a short Christmas story, and tbe offer was declined. He writes every day, but does not allow himself to work more than five or ait hours. Then he goes to the dub, enjoys a good dinner, and would rather take in tha theater than the swellest literary reception in Loudon. Everybody in England con cedes that he is clever. The question isj Will he last! Can he, at 34, stand his suof ce*if Ir A MA.N get* a seven-year sentence for rols bing another of $1 IS, two years for stealing SIOO,OOO, then ex-President Celraan. who robbed tbe Argentine republic of $42,000,000, should bs given a bonus. Yet tney have arrested him. They don't uuderstand equity down there. •* buffalo Exprut.