Newspaper Page Text
10
A FATAL PAST,
By DORA RUSSELL.
Author of “Footprints in the Snow,” “The Broken Seal,” The “Track of the
Storm,” “A Bitter Birthright,” Etc., Etc.
[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.)
CHAPTER XXIX.
BAD NEWS.
The next morning Francis Roche, who
had stayed all night at his uncle's hotel,
rushed up to the colonel's bedroom, who was
in the act of shaving himself, and was some
what grimly regarding tha color of his
mustache.
"Uncle Walter! Uncle Walter!” called
Francis from without, “may I come ini
I’ve got something to tell you.”
“Confound the boy,” muttered the colonel,
within, and he cut his chin as he spoke.
"Whatever can he want at this time of the
morning! Something about that girl, I sup
pose. What on earth is the matter, Frank ?”
he calfcd out nloud. “ What are you mak
ing such a row about f*
“May I come in?” said Francis, opening
the door without further leave and enter
ing the room newspaper in hand. “There
is such a terrible thing happened, Uncle
Walter—it’s in the paper here—lxird Ennis
mere was shot yesterday in the woods at
Brackenford.”
“Not dead?’ asked the colonel, hastily,
turning round razor in hand.
“No, not dead, but he is badly wounded.
Shot in the cuest, and Sir William Thomp
son has started for Brae enford. The re
port is that he has been accidentally shot by
poachers.”
“Not unlikely. It's a bad business. Con
foundedly awkward, too, just now.”
“That’s what I wanted so much to see
you for, Uncle Walter,” said Francis
Roche, earnestly. “It’s impossible, utterly
impossible, at such a time to add to Lady
Ennismore’s anxieties. I shall certainly be
no party in doingso, and if 1 have any influ
ence on—my father,” and Francis hesitated
a moment; “or if be has any good feeling
left, iie will surely never attempt it.”
“You are quite right, Frank. You had
best see this fellow mid explain how for the
present this affair m ft b kept absolutely
quiet. Good heavens! Foor Lady Ennis
rnore, what a shock it must be to her.”
“A dreadful shoes. Yes, I will go at Ihe
time he lixed and tell him what you think
and what I think. Beside , surely ”
“But what if Ennismore dies?” inter
rupted Col. Roche, slowlv. “In that case,
perhaps, it will only be natural that be
should assert his claims, and besides it
rcigi t make a considerable difference to
you.”
“Ihope Lord Ennlsmore will not die; he’s
a fine old fellow; a warm-hearted, manly old
fellow, and he was very kind to me.”
“I should scarcely call Ennismore old,”
said the colonel, resuming his shaving;
“however, you young people think every
one old who is past Uu, though it’s very ab
surd to do so.”
“I did m t mean old in one sense,” ex
plained Frano.s; “but he is a good deal older
than Lady Ennismore, isu’t he?”
“Handsome women never get old, my boy.
But go and order breakfast. I’ll be down in
ten minutes; and leave the newspaper, I
want to read the particulars about poor En
nism ra”
Bo Francis left the newspaper containing
the first account of Lord Ennis r,ore’s inju
ries. and went to order breakfast, and then
stood by the fire full of thought. It would
make a great change to every one concerned
if anyth ng happened to L rd Enuismore,
be knew. It would place Lady Eunismore
in a different position also, and make his
own father's claims easier to he ir. Butthat
she should not be disturbed at present he
was de'ermined.
“He” —somehow Francis Roche could not )
yet reconcile himself even to think of
George Roche as his father —“he must
listen to what I've got to say, and—my
poor mother, I should like to be of some
help and comfort to her now—but I suppose
that cannot be.”
Then bis thoughts went to Helen Drum
mond, and tr.eir strange and unexpected
meeting of the night before.
“She looks very sad sometimes, and yet
what a dear face it is, 1 ' he reflected. “I
tcink she cares for me —yes, 1 am sure she
was giad to see me, and I love her—ever,
ever so well.”
His thoughts were interrupted by his
uncle, who entered the room erect, clean
shaven, and stalwart looking as usual. Col.
Roche had read the account of Lord Ennis
more’s wounds, and to his mind they seemed
very serious.
“I know Sir \Villiam Thompson well,”
be said to Francis Roche, “and he will
trobably return to town to-morrow, and
111 try to get a hint of what he really
thinks of poor Erinism re. Sir William
extracted a ecu pie of bullets from this orin
onoe, you remember?’ and the colonel
touched his left arm.
“Yes, I remember, sir. He’s a very skill
ful surgeon, isn't be?”
“A clever fellow, und a pleasant fellow,
too. Yes, poor Ennism re will have every
chance, but I don’t like chest wounds; it’s
too near the lungs, and if they are touched
it plays the very devil.”
“We must hope for the best; and after
breakfast—he grid 10 o’clock, didn’t he?—l
must go and look up—well, Mr. George
Roche!”
“It’s not easy for you, my boy, either to
think of him or speak of him as yonr father.
But all the same, there is no doubt lie is.
Cor found ly disagreeable for us both to have
Ruch a fellow come to light again; but there
it is. I’ve been thinking how to mane the best
of is; but then that business at Lynwood
long ago was unfortunately known. Poor
Daubeny hushed it up as best he could after
George was supposed to be lost at sea; but
still there are men in the service who well
remember it, if he were to come into any
prominent position—confoundedly unpleas
ant !”
“It certainly is, more than unpleasant;
but even he, I think, will show some feeling
for—her—now."
' “Can't say whatsuch fellows will do; but
use all your influence to make him hold Dis
tongue, at all events at present—and now,
my dear lad, let us have our breakfasts.”
After this meal had been discussed by tbe
uncle and nephew it was tune for Francis
Roche to start on his visit to George
Roche. He went with the feelings we have
when anything unpleasant is directly before
us. It must be got over, so there is no use
shirking the inevitable. Francis Roohe's
inevitable consisted in going into a soom
smelling strongly of stale smoke, and
lumes and stains of strong drinks. George
Roche had indulged himself the niight be
fore in the company of one or two choice
spirits, and tbeir hilarity bad been carried
oa to? the small hours of tbe morning. He
was not downstairs when tbe well-dressed
good-looking young soldier whom he
claimed as bis son arrifed to visit him. Nor
had the sitting-room apparently where the
ogre was held oeen sweyt or arranged after
it, until Francis appeared. Then an untidy
mistress and an untidy maid rushed in and
amid apologies from the landlady half
empty glasses and empty bottles were car
ried away and breakfast hnrriedly oarried
in.
“Mr. Johnson had a tew friends last night,
sir. that’s the truth,” explained the laud
lady, "and they kept it up rather late, and
Mp. Johnson was considerate enough to say
tbit Margare’ and 1 might go to tied, which
we just did. Bit things will be all to rights
in a minute or two, an 1 I’ll fetch you up Mr.
Johnson's paper, and let him know you are
here, and ne’U be down direcly, if vou’il
please to be seated.”
All this was terribly trying to Frauds
R*ebe. U, however, sal'down, and read
again in another newspaper a different ac
count of Lord Ennistnore’s accident. Read,
and then sat thinking—vondering how all
his would end—when the door was flung
open and an utshaved man with bloud-shot
eyes and sallow cheeks hurried in with out
stretched band.
“My dear boy, so sorry to have kept you
waiting! But a fello v came in last night
and stayed late, and I’ve got such a splitting
headache this morning that I forgot all
| about you coming until the old woman
downstairs told me you were here. So sorry,
but I see they’ve got breakfast ready, so sit
down and have some. Well, how is the
gallant colonel this morning?”
"I’ve bad breakfast, thank you,” said
Franots, with some unconscious pride in his
manner and bearing, “and—l have some
news for you, sir.”
“News? What sort of news? Good, I
hope,” answered George Roche, pouring
himself out a cup of tea.
"Very sad news, sir. Lord Eunismore
was found yesterday shot in the woods at
Bracken ford."
The tea-pot nearly fell out of George
Roche’s bands.
“Shot In the woods of Brackenford yes
terday!” he repeated. “Thank goodness I
wasn’t there, then.”
“Did you intend to be there?’
t‘You and your uncle are witnesses at all
events that I was n’t. By Jove! it’s a near
shave, though. But is Lord Ennlsmore done
for?”
“No, but he’s badly wounded, and it’s
about this l have come to talk t > you. Un
der such circumstances it will, of course, be
impossible for you at present to proceed
further in the matter you talked of yester
day.”
George Roche was silent ; he kept looking
at Frauds, as if he were thinking very seri
ously.
“You will, I am sure, considor Lady En
nism re’s feelings," went on Francis
earnestly. “This must have been a terrible
shock to her. We must now all think of
her.”
“By Jove I" muttered Gaorge Roche.
“You ill promise me not to do any
thing!” said Francis.
Still George Roche made no answer; he
began drumming with his fingers on the
table, still with his bloodshot eyes fixed on
Francis.
"Here is an account of the accident,”
continued Francis, presently, handing the
newspaper lying on the table to George
Roche, who took it and read it slowly
through.
“By Jove!" he cried after he had finished
the paragraph, “it was at the very spot, and
at the very time, as far as I can make out,
where she asked me to meet her. If I’d
gone they would have said I had murdered
him.”
“Where sho asked you to meet her?” re
peated Francis.
“Yes; I told her, you know, that for your
sake I was about determined to ostablisn my
just cluims, and when I was talkiug to her
Lord Ennismore appeared, mid she asked
mo to go, which I did; telling her to write
and make an appointment where she could
see me; and 1 got this letter from her;” and
he plunged his hand into his coat pockot
and handed a letter to Francis, who, how
ever, did not open it.
“Yes, von may read it, my lad,” went on
George Roche, “and you’ll see in it sue
names a certain bridge in the woods, where
she and I used to meet when she was a girl,
ay, aDi many a time after we were married
too!”
Upon this Francis laid the letter unopened
on the table.
“I would rather not read it, sir,” he said,
gravely. ,
“Well, just as you like; hand it aoross
then again. Yes, Francis, my boy, in
those days, your mother did not disdain me
as she does now. I was not the scum of the
earth to her then; but, by Jove, if this fel
low dies it may make a difference.”
“At all events you will do nothing at pres
ent. You will promise me that?”
“Well, she’ll nave about enough to worry
her just now, that’s certain. Perhaps we
had better wait until we seo how things
turn.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Francis Roche,
stretching his hand across the table to his
father, who took it not without emotion;
“then I shall depend upon you.”
George Roche grasped the hand held out
to him, and then rose hastily, and went to
one of the windows of the room, and stood
looking out in silence for some moments;
theu he turned abruptly round again.
“I know, my lad,” he began, “I’m not
like you. I've been a black sheep enough;
but still if you could loaru to like tne a bit;
not to treat me with the scorn my brother
did, and she did, who had once been so much
to me, it would wake things different. It’s
not pleasant, however battered one may be,
to think that every one belonging you
wishes you dead, and grudges you the few
years left, to you. What made me so bard
to Katherine was the hatred I rea 1 in her
face. She treated me as if I were ihe dirt
of the earth —but if you ”
“It seems all sostrange to me, you know,
sir,” answered Francis, who also was mot
unmoved at this strauge outburst of human
feeling from this lonely man; "I can
scarcely realize even yet what you really
are to me; but Uncle Walter says you are
his brother George,and therefore you are—”
“Your father! Out with it, my boy.
Yes, I a:n your father, and no mistake
about it, and the husband of the proud lady
who would faiut, I dare say, if I were now
to venture to touch her hand. All the same,
I think no worse of you for your considera
tion for your mother. Well, let it rest a
bit, then, until we see whether my lord pulls
through ; and in tie meantime, Francis, if
you will look me up sometimes——”
4 ‘l shall be very pleased,” answered
Francis with a smile. “You know I have
only a few more days in town just now, but
I will come and see you again before 1
g°-” -t.
"Do, mjfboy; and, Francis, my lad, if
you want money or anytniug, I’ve fifty, or
even a hundred pounds always at your ser
vice. Don’t be ashamed to take it—it’s
vour own; your mother’s in fact, and I
know young men in the army have lots of
expenses, and an old fellow like me doesn't
really want much.”
“Thank you very much,” said Francis;
“I don’t want any money just now, but if
I do”—and he thought of Helen Drummond
—“I shall tell you.”
•‘That’s right. Now if you won’t have
any breakfast have a brandy and soda, and
by Jove when I think of it I should like one
too, I feel so confoundedly thirsty.”
Francis accepted the brandy and soda,
partly lest he should wound his father's
feelings, and then after about half an hour’s
longer conversation took bis leave, and re
turned to his uncle’s hotel.
“Well,” said the colonel, looking up from
hi* paper as his nephew entered the room;
“and how did you get on with the savage!”
“I think he improves on acquaintance,”
answered Francis with a laugh; and then
he told how George Roche had promised
for tbe present not to take auv steps re
garding his former marriage with Lady
Ennisrnore.
CHAPTER XXX.
AT MAS. SOUTH WELfi’ri.
During the next two davs the accounts in
the : wspacers, concerning Lml I’nnlu-
Oiore's condition were fairly satisfactory.
Kir William Thompson * i pinion had,
however, not been r ally so favorable as th
country doctor’s, hut then this was not made
public, and when Col. Roche and Francis
went to fuUfil tbeir engagement at Mrs.
THE MORNING NEWS: SUNDAY. MAY 3,1800.--TWEI.VE PAGES.
Southwell’s they both believed that in all
' probability Lord Ennlsmore would re
cover.
Francis Roche's heart was beating very
fast as be as -ended Mrs. Southwell’s etair
case, and his face became very blank wi.es
he entered ber drawing room and found
Helen Drummond was not there. H.s uncle
noticed this, and presently inquired of cirs.
Southwell wherener handsome young friend
was.
"She will be down directly,” answered
Mrs. Southweil, glancing at Francis, “aad
so will the general. ”
In the meanwhile Helen was standing be
fore the glass in her wardrobe, tanking not
withou pleasure at the slender, stately form
robed in black slk reflected there. A hand
some girl this, with her round, white arms,
and fair neck and throat, aud fine features,
though the expression of her face was
greatly changed.’ Bhe looked a woman now
—a woman who had known sorrow, aid
borne it in silence. She was thinking of
Franc.s Roche; thinking that she was about
to see him, and tuinkmg, too, of the nark
shadow thac had parted their lives.
“It is hard, hard,” she murmured half
aloud, “it was no fault of ours—none of
mine nor his—and yet I had no choice. And
we could have been so happy—it was so
cruel of Lady Kanismore, sne might have
left us in peace.”
But the gong sounded, and Helen was
forced to descend to the drawing-room,
where she blushingly gave her hand to
Francis, who was eagerly watching for her.
There were two other guests beside the col
onel and Francis, military people also, and
the gray-haired general gave hit arm to
Mrs. Maitland, who was the wife of the old
companion in arms, while Col. Roche
escorted Mrs. Southwell to dinner, and to
his great delight Francis was told 8 Singly
by the hostess to take down Miss Doiton.
“ I have been looking forward all day to
seeing you to-night,” he said,” as he pressed
her band a little closer to his side; ’‘eTer
since I was here before indeed.”
“What a terrible thing it is about Lord
Ennismore,” answered Helen.
“Yes, terrible; but I hope he’ll pull
through.”
“Have you written to Lady Ennlsmore
since it happened?”
“No, Helen.”
Then, when they were all seated at table.
Helen began to talk of Lord Ennismore
again.
“I know the place so well where it must
have happened,” she said in a low tone;
“Judy aud I used to go into those words to
gather hyacinths. It seems so strange,
Frank, oh, so strange now to remember
tbese things.”
“Life is often very strange, Helen, but
you will never forget Brackenford, will
you?”
“No, never.”
“Do you remember the first time we met
at the station, and your ride over the hills?’
“Yes, indeed.”
“I suppose,” said Francis, sinking his
voice almost into a whisper, and paying no
regard to his soup, “that we must not talk
of those times here, Helen; but we must not
talk of those times here, Helen; but we must
talk of them some day!”
H deu shooK her head.”
“No, we must forget them,” she said.
“That is nonsense —impossible. Oh,
Helen, I’ve got so much to tell you.”
The two young heads were very close to
gether when this stupid conversation was
going on, and with a grim smile Col. Roche
glanced across the diuner table.
“When people are making love they cer
tainly look very foolish,” he said to Mrs.
Southwell.
“Aud yet they are very happy,”answered
the fair white-haired lady, thinking of her
own youth, and also remembering the days
when Walter Roche would fain have whis
pered folly in her ears.
“I suppose so,” he answered, more grimly
still, and. his thoughts also traveled back
to the time when he had admired his com
manding officer’s wife a great deal more
than was good for his peace of inind.
“Frank is terribly hard bit,” he said, a
moment or two later; “he admitted so the
other evening when we were here, but he
said the young lady had refused him twice;
doesn’t look as if she would a third time,
does the. eh?”
“You must not uotioe them. I shall be
so pleased if that dear girl marries hap
pily; after all a married life is the happiest,
you kuow, end yet you have never mar
ried.”
“If you marry a woman you really care
for, and to continue to care for, no doubt it
is the happiest; but I was not so fortunate.”
“How was that?”
A sigh issued from the colonel’s substan
tial breast, aud he pulled his gristled mus
tache.
“I was unlucky enough to care for a
woman I could not win, nor even attempt
to wiu. I suppose that was the reason,” he
said.
Mrs. Bouthwell also gave a tremulous little
sigh.
“Life is so difficult,” she said, “and its
undercurrents are so strong that it every
day becomes plainer to me that we have no
right to sit in judgment on our fellow-crea
tures. We cannot regulate our own feel
ings by clockwork, yet we condemn those
whose feelings may be stronger than our
own; but you will wonder why 1 am talking
thus,” she added, with a smile.
“If every one were like you,” began the
colonel, and then he paused somewhat
abruptly.
“I assure you I am not at all out of the
common,” said Mrs. South well, still smiling;
“perhaps it is the knowledge of my own
weaknesses which make me pitiful to the
weaknesses of others. 1 have led a sheltered
life; what if I had been exposed to a life of
temptation ?”
“You would have passed through it stain
less, of that l am certaiu,” answered the
colonel, with energy.
Mrs. Southwell gave a pretty little bow.
“I can only pray so,,’ she said more seri
ou-ly a moment Inter. "I believe none of
us can tell what we should do until wo are
tried; it amazes me wheu I hear some
women speak so bitterly of their fallen sis
ters—women, too —but I shall be getting
scandalous. ”
‘'For the first time then; I never heard a
hard word cross your lips.”
"You pay me nothing but compliments,
Col. Roche.”
“I am speaking the truth; but about this
young woman Frank seems to be going in
for—Li; she really a nice girl d’ye think?”
“I think she is more than nice. I recog
nize something noble in her character;
something above the common level of nice
girls. But 1 think some great sorrow has
fallen on her young life.”
‘‘That’s odd. I wonder if Frank knows?”
“We cannot tell. She looks very hand
some to-night, does she not?”
“She’s undoubtedly a fine-looking girl—
wonder wbat made her refuse Frank?”
"Perhaps this very sorrow.”
"Humph,” said the colonel dubiously.
He was not so Urge minded as his friend,
Mrs. Southwell, and ha did not like hidden
s rrows or mysteries to be connected with
women; women, at least, that be should
approve of to marry his nephew. The
daughter of a woman like Mrs. Southwell,
brought up uuder her mother’s gentle,
watchful eye, would have been much more
to his taste. He was not a deep thinker,
this middle-aged stalwart soldier, and Ids
views of life were consequently narrow.
But he acted according to his lights, and
was undoubtedly very much interested in
Francis Roche’s future welfare.
Therefore, when the four gentlemen re
turned to Mrs. Southwell’s drawing-room
after dinner, he went up to the couch on
which Helen Drummond was sitting and
drew a chair near her.
“ I hoar my nephew is an old friend of
yours,” he said.
“We have known each other some time,”
answered Helen, with as In blush and
, casting down her eyes.
"You met in a country house, he told
tne?” went on Col. Roche.
•• V-s."
And there was such uurnistakable reserve
In that brief monosyllable that Col. Roche
was convi .vd that Mrs. Southwell was
right, and tout tuare was something in this
young lady’* life that she was keeping bark,
and he di i not like It.
But k“ had u" opportunity of asking any
further ques.ious, for Francis Roche, U /tio
irg the look of embarrassment on Helen's
face, crossed from the fire-olace where be
was standing and toox a seat on the ouch
by her side, while Mrs. Southwell Called to
the colonel to make the fourth at a game of
whist
This was so-in arranged. The four elderly
people sat down to p.ay their game, and the
two young outs were practically alone.
“I have got something to say to you,
Helen,” began Franc:-.
“Yes. Frank,” she answered gravely.
“ You hroße off our engagement; I want
you to tell ms why.”
“I did toll you why, Frank.”
“You wrote some very aud things, Helen,
but you wrote things 1 cannot understand.
Do you not think I have a right for a fuller
explanation ?”
"it would do no good,” said Holen sor
rowfully, “and it might do harm; best leave
it alone, Frank.”
“But 1 can't leave it alone. Helen, an
swer me one question, at least, Had it any
thing to do with Lady Ennismore?’
Helen thought for a moment, and then
answered slowly:—
“It had something to do with someone
connected with he .
“Connected with her!” repeated Francis
quickly.
“Y'es—and—and I have no right to tell
more—perhaps I should not have told so
much.”
“ Then, you won’t trust me—yet I feel
very much inclined to trust you with a
great secret connected with my life.”
“With your life, Frank?’ asked Helen in
serprlse.
“Yes. Helen, your aunt, Miss Drum
mond, was a groat friend of Lady Eunis
more’s, was she not?’
“They were old friends; they had known
eacn other from girlhood.”
“Yes, 1 know: ad Miss Drummond never
told you, I suppose, any of the secrets of
Lady Ennismore s girlhood!”
“The secrets of her girlhood! No, never;
but how could she nave any secrets? She
married Lord Ennismore when she was 18.”
“Yes, Helen, you wo i’t trust me. but I
am going to tiust you—but you must keep
the secret.”
“I can keep secrets, Frank.”
”1 know you can. so I am going to trust
you. Lady Ennismore married Lord Ennis
more when she was IS you say; but she had
been married before.”
“Married before?” repeated Helen, in the
Utmost amazement.
“Yes, when she was almost a child. At
lfi, I believe, she was married to my
father.”
Helen started violently, aud looked with
wide open eyes at Francis’ face.
“Ana your aunt knew of this,” went on
Francis; “was with Lady Ennismore when
I was born.”
Helen clasped her hands together in great
emotion; she remembered at this moment
Miss Drummond’s agitation when she first
heard the name of Roche; she understood
better now why Lady Enuismore had in
sisted upon parting her from Francis
Roche.
“Oh! Frank, is this true?” she cried. “Oh!
I understand better no w why she did it—why
she nearly broke my heart. ”
“Tell me why she did it, Helen?”
Helen put her band over her face; she
forgot she was in a liguted drawing room;
she forgot tnat two of the whist players at
least could see her very distinctly; sbo only
remembered what she w-as to Francis; only
remembered the terrible secret that parted
them still farther now.
“Do not agitate yourself, dear,” said
Francis tenderly, “but what I have told
you is true, and I naturally wish to know
“Oh! hush, hush, Frank,” said Helen,
deeply moved; “Lady Ennismore was right
—you do not know the dreadful truth.”
“And you wiil not tell me?”
“I must think it over—perhaps you had
better know—but not to-night; I cannot
talk of it to-night!”
“But you will promise to tell me!”
Helen made no a: swer; she was looking
at Francis with anew expression on her
face. She was pale, sho was deeply moved,
and the whist players very plainly perceived
that thero was a tragic element in the con
versation of the two wbo sat apart; who
were looking in each other's faces, but not
smiling; looking with eyes full of some
great passion and pain.
“Will you meet me to-morrow!” asked
Francis, after a little silence had been be
tween them. “Meet me anywhere you like
to fix, or shall 1 come here, and will you tell
me then?”
Again Helen hesitated; and again she
looked in his face, and when she spoke it
was with a great effort.
“I will if you wish—but it will do no
good.”
“Still I most earnestly wish it; nay, I have
a right to hear it. I think. Helen, I have
not cold you all my story yet—but that will
keep. Where shall I see you then?”
“Let us go to some quiet place—Mrs.
Southwell is very good—if 1 tell her I w.aut
to go out she wiil not object.”
“Well, fix where you like.”
‘‘Shall we go to the National Gallery,
then? I was there the other day, and it was
very quiet.”
“I will be there at any hour you name.”
“The morning will be best, it is so soon
dark. Will la o’clock to-morrow suit you?”
“Y'es, of course. It is a bargain, then, I
shall see you to-morrow at twelve?”
“Yes,” said Helen in a low tone, aud thus
the conversation ended.
And by-and-by the whist players rose, and
Mrs. Southwell asked Helen to sing.
“But not if It is too much for you, my
dear,” whispered this kind woman.
“I will try," answered Helen, and she
went to the piano, and a moment or two
later her beautiful voice rang through the
room, with such pathetic power and sweet
ness, that as she finished her song every one
in the room crowded around the piaiio to
thank her but Francis Roche.
He stood a little apart, and when the
evening was over ha silentlv pressed her
hand as he bade her good night. H 6 was
very silent also as he drove with bis uncle to
their hotel, and CoL Roche also forbore
to mention Helen’s name.
Then followed an almost sleepless night
for Francis. He was to know at last what
had parted him from Helen, and naturally
his mind was full of doubts and fears. She
had admitted tnat this “terrible secret,” as
she called it, concerned someone connected
with Lady Ennisrnore —with his mother—
and very painful thoughts began to beset
his mind.
He was glad when the morning cime, and
eagerly scanned the papers for news of Lord
Ennisrnore. The bulletin was not so favor
able as that, of tbe previous day. Lord En
nlsmore had passed a resiles* night it said,
and his temperature was higher.
“Does not look very well for him, poor
follow,” was Col. Roche’s comment on
this news at breakfast, and with these
ominous words still ringing iu his ears Fran
cis Roche started to keep his appeintment
with Helen Drummond.
And amid the quiet galleries, amid the
great works of the great dead, he was that
day fated to listen to a tale of such tragic
passion and grief—of sin and sorrow—that
no wonder Helen had said it had well nigh
broken her heart!
ITO BE CONTINUED. ]
The Sunday Morning News
Will be found regularly on sale at tbe fol
lowing places;
Estill’s News Depot
Conner’s News Stand.
E. J. KiefTer’s Drug Store, corner West
Broad and Stewart streets.
T. A. Mullryue & Oo.’s Drug Store, West
Broad and Waldburg streets.
St. J. H. Yonge’s Drug Store, corner
Whitaker and Duffy streets.
McCauley & Co.’s Drug Store, corner
New Houston and Drayton streets.
W. A. Bishop’s Drug Store, corner Hall
and Price streets. -Adv.
K lyton's Gil of Life, the greatest lini
ment in the world for all aches and pains.
—Ad.
A fact worth knowing is thet blood diseases
[ which all other medicio-s fail to cure yield
slow iy but surely to the blood cleansing proper
ties ■•{ P l> I* iPrickiy Ash, F ke hoot and
I Potassium, j—Ad.
ItILED IHs DIViF. E t ARAH.
She Attacks the Scene Shifters for
He-vine Beaten i.e r fervant.
From the Philadelphia Presi.
San Francisco, April 2fi.—Sarah Bern
hardt did a star piece of acting last night,
but it was behind the scenes and onlv pro
fessionals witnessed it. She bad just come
off t?e stage after the great third act
when her Turkish servant, Angelo,
rushed up to her with one eye
blacker than natural and blood streaming
from a cut over his forehead. He had been
roughly handled by several Grand opera
house scene shifters, because he persisted in
coming upon the stage against orders of
Manager Bouvier. The scene shifters
promptly knocked him out when he became
insolent.
Bernhardt was in ber dressing-room w en
she beard hsr favorite servant call for aid.
She descended upjn Uur scene shifters like
living fury, and poured forth a storm oi
French expletives that would have with
ered them, had they understood the Gallic
tongue. As it was the only thing they
caught was her demand for a revolver, aud,
as she looked as she looks when fingering
the dagger before killing E carpia, they a;l
fell back.
The members of the company rushed to
her assistance and ranged themselves beside
her on tha stage. The scene shifters also
assembled in all their strength, and for
three-quarters of an hour there was just as
pretty a row at the opera house as has ever
occurred at Donnybrook fair. More
French was hurled and more “tar Hat”
patoi3 was heard than the flies ever listened
to before.
Meanwhile, the audience was waiting ar and
wondering why the performance did not go
on. Sarah refused to continue, unless
every man back of the scone-s lifters was
relegated to the deepest pit of oblivion, and
and tied there. The scene shif ers threat
ened to drop half a ton load of scenery,
which was hung up in the flies, upon tee
great French woman, unless she Rubsided,
and she dared them to do their worst.
Finally, after several minor engagements
in the rear of the stage, during which the
only casualties were a number of black eyes
and a loss of French blood, the diva was
calmed sufficiently to continue the perform
ance. She insisted, however, that the men
who had beaten Angelo should be removed,
and they were taken away by a special
police man.
After the performance Sarah demanded
police protection, and, accompanied by two
officers, she an and Angelo and one of the com
pany retired to their hotel in a carriage.
She passed out through a big crowd, but
there was no demonstration.
MEDICAL
NOTHING SUCCEEDS
LIKE SUCCESS.
®L RADAM’S
IGRQBE
iILLER
MOST TRULY AND CORRECTLY CALLED
The Greatest Medicine in the World.
A WONDERFUL TONIC
SAD BLOOD PURIFIER
ALMOST MIRACULOUS CUBES
Of hopples and apparently incurable diseases
are constantly being made. It is expected to
perform the impossible, by curing cases given
up by physicians, and it
DOES NOT DISAPPOINT EXPECTATIONS.
More people are being cured by Microbe
Killer than by all other medicines combined.
We request a thorough investigation.
History of the Microbe Killer free I *
BUTLER'S PHARMACY, Sole Agent, vans
uah, Ga.
mmmm
jjgßfcg
|^ffei6oiL^lirEiSiSM>
11 PPM AN BROS.SavannaH. G^.
*-- Sole /agents in the U. JS. ss
crystal lenses.
G- >1 IIKID CO. Drug"ists,
Have exclusive sale of these celebrated glasses
1q Savannah, (la FAULKNER, KELLAM &
MOORE, the only Manufacturing Opticians in
the South, Atlanta, (ia. Peddlers are not sup
plied with these famous classes.
n.oiu.
YOU USE
Buckwheat.
IT PLEASES YOU.
TRY
Heelers’ Self - Raising
FLOUR.
FRUITS. VEGETABLE",. ETC\
The Finest Fruit of the Season Now Being
Received Daily by
A.H.CHAMPION’S SON
IS* L'ungress and 153 (it. Jul.au otreew.
MEDICAL.
Is Your Disease Chronic?
There are numberless old chronic cases, that the medi
cal profession acknowledge they cannot master.
The record that S. S. S. has made in
curing this class of diseases is with
out a parallel. It matters not what is
he origin of the complaint or of how
ong standing, S. S. S. is almost in
fallible as a curative agent.
In cases of general debility, shattered constitu
tion, or worn out system, it is without an equal.
It cures old sores, ulcers and gun-shot wounds
that refuse to heal up under any other treatment.
BOOKS ON BLOOD AND SKIN DISEASES NAILED FREE.
THE SWiFT SPECIFIC CO,. - - Atlanta’ Ca
CHICHESTER'S ENGLISH. RED CROSS DIAMOND BRAND
tHHN RON Mi '*Y UAiS A
-w ijv, V'-v't r THE cm l OINM. AND GENUINE. The only Safe, Sore,and rtUablt Pin for sal*
—I - I.R'llce. ut Druggist for CMchrMer Engluh Diamond Brand in Red ui Held metallie
L ffl boie. sealed withblneribhon. Take no other kind. Rtflue Hubsiitunont and
7". PE All puis ™ pasteboard boie., pink nrapfwn, are danr'-roa. roantrrfrlt*. UDr W ;si!T,..,„
, XP- ft y 4e.io stamps for particulars, testimonial,, and "Keller for l.adles," >„ idler, hereto™ Mi.
ni.oqo torn, /*,„■ CH,CHESTER CMEMIciL CO .
N ——' l-fla hr nil I.oenl l>ru*Klsta. I’Hl LA DKLI’IH A, PV* 1
UP,P, p. Pimples
PRICKLY ASH, POKE ROOT Blotches
pill AND POTASSIUM 'J*
I“ ' Old Sores m
m Marvelous Cures— a -^r„ a „,r. F .. H
HfcP-.f'J 1 Prickly Ash, Poke Root and Potassium,
■wM the proa teat blood purifier on earth.
IP in Blood Poison m
BIS UiuUU I VltfUll goison, and all other impuriUes of the W
ITOSaa Randall Pope, the retired druggist of iMI
Sg£fi3 g*B • TTndison, Fla., says : P. P.P. is the best Ugfjej
ffisres KnQltniOtlOm •' •eratire and blood medicine on the ■fej?
Gwggffll mGH and 51 irket. He being adruggist and hav- §|BK
p-JWv miMMHIRHW.ui sold all kinds of medicine, his un- lSk&
111 1 iicited testimonial isof great impor
rpp|/| nnf | .. capt. J. D. Johnston.
WSHW Hill] oNnrflT>li(t ’ "> ,M whom it may concern:— \ take S^Wi
*.-.Scira UIIU "v?* UIUI>/ a 1 pleasure in testifying to the effl
. >r eruptions of known as
_ P. P. P. (Prickly Ash, Poke Root and rShm]
WhMI P. P. P. purifies the blood, builds up Potassium.) I suffered for several raS*§3
VcKfiJjjl the weak and debilitated, givesstrength years with an nnsightlv and disagre- BSSSj
SWad! to weakened nerves, expels diseases, eable eruption on my face, ami tried iff.'afflj
jfcglta giving the patient health and happiness various remedies to remove it, none of
S%gsl Where sickness, gloomy feelings and which accomplished the object, until
lassitude first prevailed. this valuable preparation was resorted te'!.
1 11 blood poison, mercurial poison, 1°- After taking three bottles, in ac- k ■ 1
SS'Lcw malaria, dyspepsia and in all blood and cordance with directions, lam now en- Bffi
3AM..3 skin diseases, like blotches, pimples, tirely cured. J. D. JOHNSTON,
old chrouic ulcers, tetter, scaldhead. Of the Arm of Johnston * Douglas
jußßjl we may say without fear of contra- Savannah Ga
diction that P. P. P. is the best blood tvi-*.. a— •' Kjfe
OSg mirifier inthe world „ Henry At inter. Superintendent of the *;• j*ta|
WZM punneynthe world. Savannah Brewery, says : he has had
L'-'jgKl Ladies whose systems are poisoned rheumatism of the heart for several flhfV
' -ifyga ami whose blood is in an impure con- years, often unable to walk his pain was Kbito
' dition, due to menstrual irregularities, so intense; he had professors in Phiia- p-VM*
IgffiSS 3XO peculiarly benefited by the won- delphiabut receivedno relief until he ' GS
SHhSa dorful tonic and blood cleansing pro- came to Savannah and tried P. P. P. WsS t
forties < f P, P. P„ Prickly Ash, Poke Two bottles made him a well man and
SHOES.
SHEET
ANCHOR
IDEAS
are 'carce; so are,hen’s teeth, but there is
NO SCARCITY
in the enormous stock of new spring goods we
now have on haud.
WE CAN
please the most fastidious minds.
SATISFY THE WANTS
of the rich and poor alike, an l
THE PRICES
■"■"""■mu iin wn-wp-- -w
well, just come and see, and we*
ASTONISH YOU
in more ways than one. We lead, as usual.
BUTLER & MORRISSEY,
120 Broughton Street.
FLOUR.
Y AEG KR’S
“ROYAL LILY" FLOUR,
Made by the new Cornelius system, all
the moisture contained ia the grain is kept
in the flour. No matter where it has been
tried housekeepers have uniformly pro
nounced its superiority. Per sale by
Engel & Rothschild
Corner Congress and Whitaker streets
MEDICAL
XSKX JAPANESE
fclrtPILE
n®FCORE
V guaranteed Pure for Tiles n/ whatever
kind or degree External, Internal, Blind or
I ’ -edlng. lulling, Chronic, Recent or Heredi
tary. 81.00 a tmx; 6 boxes, 85.00. bent by
mail, prepaid, on reeetpt of price. We guar
antee to cure any case of Hies. Guaranteed
and sold only by
THE HUDX DUUU CO., bavauoah, Qa.
COTTON COMFKESs.
MORSE COTTON COMPRESS.
The most powerful and effective in the world,
exerts a pressure on the bale of 5.000,000
pounds. Eighty four of them now in use, which
ire compressing two-thirds the American crop.
> veral of these fir9t erected have pressed one
i nil a quarter million bales without defect or
iporeciable wear. Their immense weight and
strength have rendered them the only durable
compress in use. It is surpassed by none in
quality of work—lnman & Cos.
Have had no repairs to make since its erection
ten years ago—Rome Compress Cos.
We pressed 487 bales in 3 hours and 3 min
utes—Vicksburg Compress Cos.
Sole owners and patentees.
S. B. STEERS & CO.,
Cotton Exchange. NewOrleans, La,
PLUMBER AND GAS FITTER.
ESTABLISHED 1553.
JOHN NICOLSOH,
30 AND 38 DRAYTON STREET.
Practical Plumber, Steam
and Gasfitter.
All sizes of
IRON AND LEAD AND OTHER PIPES AND
COCKS.
A full line of Valves and ratings, from '< to
6 inches. Everything neenssary to fit up Steam,
Hydraulic and Wind-mill power.
Civil and Steam Engineers will find it to trisjr
advantage to call.
BATH TUBS,
WATER CL 1 'SET' and
WASH BASINS.
CHANDELIERS. GLASS GLOBES.
And other articles appertaining to a first -class
honest establishment always instock.
MEDICAL
ICUREFITSf
When I nay cure I duCut mean merely to *t P
for a time and then have them return again.
a radi-al cure. I have made the difeaae n‘ ’
EPILEPSY or FALLING BIOKNESb a life-low
t tudy. I r-arrant my remedy to cure the worst _*
Itacauae other* have failed ir no reason for n* &
reee.vjnir a core. Send ut one* for atreatia' #
free bottle of my infallible remedy. Give t*l
and Poet Office addreaa. _ , v V.
11. . ROOT. M.C.. IMPwri
[MI In4Bhonr*C u orrh ora an and din-
StVyJl 'Tjfirvesfrnui tun unpatT c/v:i3a/ HffW ]
NndU aruajTretod ry toaotil-Midy Cjkp4 )
atiUn, walk m t lmxaveii*unce. \
