Georgia Historic Newspapers

    f 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.