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FOR/ LOVE OR CROWN *
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CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TA« OmI and After
MAN needs to be very gard
ened 'or very reckless, v ho
can set his life deliberate
ly in peril, and yet feel no
qualm of anxiety or alarm.
I was reckless enough, in
the fire of rage which von
Kronhelm had kindled, by
his mad and foul words:
but I am not ashamed to
say that, as I fingered my
revolver In the cold mo
ments of pause before the
Irrevocable act, I had many
qualms. /
1 had never had to face death before,
and though X do not think X had any pos
itive fear, and certainly not the least
thought of drawing back, I must confess
to vague feelings of disquiet and concern.
I think I was even more nervous about
the consequences to my adversary than
to myself. The thought of killing him
was absolutely abhorrent, when it came to
ths actual fact, although I knew that he
meant to kill me. and felt that he had
forced the fight upon me. In every point
view from which such an encounter
as to be regarded, I think I should have
Seen held Justified by the verdict of any
ry of honor. /T could not have drawn
*k without incurring the stigma of
notwithstanding this, I
having his death on my
urdice. B
all again
Jiavtrs.
I was a piry to one fear, moreover—
fear of the sequences to Celia, should
I fall. Keebfv as X had guarded her, yet
even that help was better than none;
and if I were out of the w'ay, I shudder
ed to think” what might be the result for
her. She would be entirely at the mercy
of her me/ciless mother and this unscru
pulous villain, who was plotting to sac
rifice her/ to his ambition.
There Rw® 8 - fortunately, perhaps, but
little tllie for the indulgence of such
though* as these, and my whole atten
tion h/d to be concentrated upon the
grim business in hand.
arts had been chosen to give the
>r us to fire. He was to stand with
his back to us. and when; we were ready
he was to count three quickly. Then we
were to level our pistols and fire.
"Are you ready, Sir Stanley?" asked
von Kronhelm.
"Quite,” I said,'my finger pressing on
the trigger of the revolver, as my arm
hung down at my side; and I waited for
S hwarts's signal, stilling the first quick
ening beat o' my pulse: while I kept my
eyes fixed on those of my opponent.
It seemed an age before I heard
Schwartz’s voice; but then it came rapid-
lyi&nd regularly.
"Or.e—two—three 1 ”
Our revolvers spat out their fire simul-
uoously. tho.same instant I felt a
the chest,
By Arthur W Marchmont
write to her,” and she hurried away. I | I must keep yoilr mind easy, or your
did not even then suspect she was mis
leading me, although her manner puz
zled me considerably.
When the doctor came I questioned him
about von Kronhelm's wound, and he
told me that it was likely to be very
serious.
"He is not like you. Sir Stanley, and
will make a very bad patient. He has not
your physique and constitution, and his
blood is in a bad state—the result of a
full life. As for the wound, it Is a curious
one. So far as I can judge, he had his
arm bent when he fired at you. and your
ball struck him just at the elbow joint.
recovery would take ever so much lon-
| ger. I thought it would be useless to
attempt to do anything until you had at
least some of your strength back again;
and worse than madness to do anything
which would, perhaps, have endangered
your very life."
I was still weak enough for the blow
to hit me heavily, and I Call back in my
chair prostrated by a sense of hopeless
pain at the thought that Celia was
still in the hands of those so bitterly
intent upon sacrificing her to their own
purposes. 1 could not blama Blossom,
for I could not see what else she could
'1 dretv myself into a sitting posture, and looking intently at her, I asked in a loud
•voice as I could speak: 4 Why did vou ta’n~ that letter? 4 44
causing a fearful fracture and splinter
ing of all the bones. I never saw such a
mess. I did the best I could with it; but
I advised him either to wire for a special
ist or hurry up to London and get to the
best man th*:e for gunshot wounds. In
my opinion, he will either have to lose
the arm, or at best have a stiff jqint for
the rest of his life. But I should think
the elbow saved his life, as otherwise.
Judging the probable direction of the ball.
hearing' the rush of those presenHtoward
me a/id von Kronhelm's voice. \
"you are ail witnesses that this l was a
fair fight,” and then there was blazing of
'lights, vivid In hue and dazzling in. bril
liance, a rush of confusing, deafening
sounds, a final despairing thought of Ce
lia, and. lastly, unconsciousness.
I lay in a condition of semi-conscious
ness for nearly thirty-six hours, during
which time X had a tough fight for my
life; and my first clear thought was that
of surprise at seeing my sister's face as
she bent t>ver the bed on which I lay
and kissed me.
"Good morning, Stanley,” she said, with
a smile.
"Blossom?” I whispered.
“Yes, Blossom, dear,” and then the
tears filled her eyes—tears of gladness, as
she told me afterwards, at finding I was
conscious. “We're just getting you your
breakfast.” All as if nothing unusual
were Che matter.
“Where am 1? Where’s Celia?”
“Shey all right and safe; don't worry.
You mustn't talk till the doctor comes,”
and she turned away._
I waa too weak to question her further,
and the assurance about Celia—which, as
It turned out. Was only one of the con
ventional deceits of the sick-bed—soothed
and quieted me, and I fell asleep.
When the doctor came he was surprised
at the change in me; told me what a won
derful constitution I had, that I was rap
idly on the up-grade, and that in a day
or two I should be all right and as well
as ever. Another conventional statement
designed to keep me easy in mind; and it
had the desired effect.
The next day I began to feel m.v strength
returning; and* in the intervals of sleep
my mind was busy piecing together and
straightening out the broken and tangled
threads of my thoughts.
I tried to question Blossom, but she
pleaded the doctor's orders, and refused
to speak on any matters likely to excite
me; and when I asked for definite news
of Celia, she wouTd not go beyond the
same general assurance that she was well
and SSfe.
"Cant I see her?”
"If you keep perfectly quiet, and go on
gaining strength for two more days, I
may be allowed to write and ask her to
come here,” slie answered, as she might
have spoken to a child; and, believing, I
obeyed her implicitly. The ease of mind
add the hope of seeing Celia worked
wonders. In three days more I was a
man again; and then gradually my sis
ter'told me what had happened.
I was still at Belpas Manor, because
my wound from von Kronheim's bullet
had been too dangerous to admit of my
being removed. Von Kronhelm had
written to- my aunt telling her that I
was wounded, and where I lay, and then
she and Blossom - had hurried down to
nurse me. They found the house empty,
except for two women—one an old, trust
ed servant cf the Baroness Borgen,' the
other a girl hired In the neighborhood.
In the utiel von Kronheim had been also
wounded, but not dangerously. My bul
let had shattered his. right elbow.
'Tut where is Celia?” I asked. "Why
Is she not with us?”
“It would not have done for her to be
here in this lonely place, Stanley, with
no one to protect her, except us women;
but now that you are getting better. I
will write to her. I thought it would be
safer for her to be moving about with
Mrs. ColUngwood," and Blossom seemed
to speak with some hesitancy. "I hope I
have not done wrong."
"Write to her to come here. She will
be safe now,” I said. “What is the ad-
Rress? Where are they?"
t—at—at Cheltenham, Mrs. Colling-
last letter was; but I’ll go and
bered^.ft would have entered the body some
where ’ on the right side; and with an
unhealthy body like his, I wouldn’t put
his chance of life at one in a hundred.”
“Thank heaven, if the elbow stopped it
then!” I exclaimed. "Where is he?"
"I don't in the least know. He left here
the next morning, looking very ill and
bad; and I have heard nothing since. But
you are doing magnificently,” he said,
cheerfully. "You may get up tomorrow
for an hour or two. I wouldn’t have be
lieved it possible anyone could pick up
strength as yAi have."
When he left the room I noticed that
Blossom followed him closely, and I heard
them speak together outside the door, and
caught the closing words of the doctor:
“Oh, yes, safely, tomorrow.”
“What was that?” I asked her, for I
saw her face looked grave and a little
troubled. She smiled directly—what cheats
women are where those they love are
concerned!—and her face brightened.
"Doctor says you may get up tomorrow,
Stanley,” she said, as brightly as if she
had no other feeling in her heart but
deep joy and thankfulness.
"Yes, he said that here by the bed.
You heard him.”
"He said it again outside the door,” she
replied, smiling again and looking at m8
frankly. “Good news like that will bear
telling twice? And now for your medi
cine.”
"You’re a queer girl, Blossom,” I said,
perplexed.
"I'm your nurse, if you please, and to
be obeyed implicitly,” and as she kissed
me I heard her sigh.
The incident disquieted me a good deal:
and during the rest of thi? day I was
mainly in a mood of speculative anxiety
and doubt. I observed, too, that Blossom
kept away from me; and when I ques
tioned my aunt, who sat with me in her
place, she told me that Blossom was out.
Or busy, or offered some such excuse.
I was convinced they were keeping
something from me, but I said nothing
until the following morning, when I was
up and dressed. I was still very weak,
of course, but not so weak as the doc
tor had expected, and he expressed him
self hugely pleased with my rapid
progress towards recovery.
"You are strong enough now to hear
what there may. be to tell you,” he said,
looking at me closely.
“You mean bad news?”
”1 don't know what It Is. but your sis
ter wished me to prepare you for some
important news. You are quite fit to
hear It, whatever it may be. and I’ll
tell her she may speak without any'
fear.”
■ "I wish you'd send to me at
once," I answered, impatiently.
“You understand, of course, that ev
erything has been kept back from you
by my instructions. I am responsible—
solely responsible. My first duty was to
get you well."
"You'll have me in a fever If I’m kept
in suspense much longer," I cried, my
impatience growing fast; and he went
away then and sent my sister to me.
"What have you got to tell me. Blos
som? The doctor says that a great deal
has been kept from me during my ill
ness. What Is it? Where Is Celia? Is
she coming today?”
'‘It's aboht her, Stanley,” said Blos
som, kissing me. “I hope you won't be
angry with me. but the doctor—"
"Yes, yes; he has told me,”I broke In.
"What is it?”
“We <To not know where she is. dear.
When aunt and I arrived hers, the house
was empty, except for the two ser
vants, and I have no Idea where Celia
has been taken.”
"You told nr a she was safe.”
"The doctor/ Hid that, ax any cost.
have done. The real blame rested with
me, for the fatuous , tupidity with which
I had bungled my chance of saving
Celia. I ought never to have come to
the place alone, and bitterly I reproach
ed myself for my folly.
'Ts there anything else?” I asked,
after a long pause. ‘‘Have you no news
at all of her?” \
“There are your letters which have
been forvlarded from Crorowell-rorll,"
“Give them me,” I said, eagerly, think
ing there might possibly be some com
munication from Katrine, and, taking
the packet, I ran my eye hastily over
them. There was nothing from her,
but there were two which had ths seal
of the German embassy.
The first, was dated the day I left
London, and was an urgent request for
me to call at once at the embassy. The
second was dated two days later, and
contained news. After regretting that
I had not called, as the Ambassador had
asked, he continued:
‘‘I have now news from Crudenstadt
which makes it certain that the young
Duchess Celia will be accepted by his
Serene Highness Duke Constans, as his
heiress to the throne, should the young
Duke not recover his health. It Is press
ing that the young Duchess go at once to
Crudenstadt; and if, therefore, you have
any news of her I trust you will use your
best endeavors, in her Interest, to see
that this is done. The urgency is very
great; and you will now appreciate the
absolute impossibility of carrying out
your original plan.”
At first I could not understand the let
ter. He knew, because I myself had told
him, that Celia had been taken away
from me. Why, then, write in this tone,
as if she were still with me? Then I re
called his suspicions that I had hidden
her; and I put it all down to those. v
But It was all of no Importance what
ever compared with the one great ab
sorbing question: How could I find Ce
lia?
There seemed to be but one possible
chance—that Katrine might know and
find means to communicate with me; and
I could do nothing bub wait, with a dull,
leaden weight of fear at my heart.
Ten days had passed since the duel,
and in that time while I was lying help
less on my bed, those with Celia would
have ample opportunity to carry out
their plans. One obstacle there might
have been. Von Kronhelm's wound
might have laid him % by the heels as mine
had laid me; and as I thought of this. It
seemed to me that it might be the cause
of Katrine's long silence.
In all her desperate anger, she had In
sisted upon no harm coming to him; and
when she found him badly hurt, she
might have turned her resentment against
me tor having wounded him. But this
brought me no nearer to a solution of the
puzzle.
“What can we do. Stanley?" asked my
sister, after sitting and washing my face
as I sat thinking.
“I think you had better go to London
to the German Ambassador, and tell him
plainly all that has happened."
“I will go willingly. Shall I go today?”
"Yes, as soon as possible.”
She ran off to see about a train; and
the knowledge that we were at least do
ing something served to ease the strain
of my anxiety.
“I shall go home tomorrow. If possi
ble.” I told her. “I cannot stay here.”
“I shall come back tonight, in any case.
Stanley, and let you know what I do
with the Ambassador, and what he says.
Bes.ides, I could not let you travel up
without me.” and, with a smile and a
kiss, she left me.
1 passed the rest of the da}-, sick and
weary at heart, and a prey to the deepest
melancholy and depression, as I brooded
over the whole situation. If I found Celia
now, it would be but to lose her again,
for. In the face of the news from Cru
denstadt, it was useless to hope that 'we
should become man and wife—even if she
were not already the wife of von Kron
heim.
It was no wonder that in the evening
the- doctor found me feverish and ex
cited. and not nearly so well as in the
morning, and, he ordered me to bed.
‘‘If you agitate yourself like this, you
,'v
will have a relapse, and be til'for many
days, perhaps weeks. Sir Stanley," he
warned ane. "You must concentrate your
mind on the one task of getting well. ’
I took the warning to heart, and tried
to shut out all tRoughts of the trouble;
and succeeded so well that I slept for
some hours.
When I awokd Blossom was in the room,
and I saw a letter in her hand, which
she tried to put out of my sight.
"I am back safe, dear," she said- "I
will tell you all the news tomorrow. Try
to sleep again.”
“You have something Important.” 1
said, reading it in her voice and manner.
"What is it? You had a letter there.”
“We can do nothing tonight. Let it
wait till tomorrow,” she said, trying to
appear unmoved.
"Blossom. I must know now. I can’t
rest. What is it?" I cried, sitting up.
"I believe it is a letter from Katrine
Von Borgen,” she said, putting it into
my hand. “I found it waiting here when
I arrived."
I tore it from the envelope, and my
fingers trembled so with eager excitement
that I could scarcely hold it steady-
enough to- read the first few words.
“All is lost, or nearly so. Tomorrow,
or at latest, the following day-, will see
the worst realized—”
At that point a faintness seized upon
me, the writing faded from my sight, my
hands dropped, and I fell back upon my
pillow unaible to read another word be
yond this terrible message.
*
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Jtn Extraordinary Dooolopmont
My sudden faintness alarmed my sister
greatly-, but it passed off quickly under
the infleunce of the restoratives which she
applied, and then she herself took the
letter and read it to me.
"All is lost, or nearly so. Tomorrow,
or at latest, the following day, will see
the worst realized, unless you can even
now prevent it I know you are ill, and
have been near death, but I hear now
that you are getting better; and perhaps
you will have strength enough to come or
send to prevent this crime—for crime it
is. If you do not, something terrible will
happen, for I have grown quite desperate.
I have nursed Karl now only to be once
more laughed at, despised and flung aside.
My brain is on fire. I cannot, will not,
endure this. You had better come. You
will see by the address we are close to
London; but I Ifnow that the intention
is to go to Saxe-Lippe, to Karl's home
there—a wild, inaccessible place, where
your chances of doing anything will be
hopeless. CStne at once, for heaven’s
sake, or I will not answer for the conse
quences.”
It was a strained, haif-incoherent ;%>-
peal; but, knowing Katrine’s wild and
vehement nature, I could understand the
stress of emotion that inspired it
But how was I to respond to it? A
glance at the postmark showed me that
it had been posted early that tnoming,
and thus it gave us a respite until the
next day, or, perhaps, the following. To
morrow should see me once more face to
face with von Kronheim, and this time
\backed with sufficient strength to gain
my own way: and when I saw this I be
gan to gnTWTitfmofu-Jjmist husbahd ipy
strength for Celia’s sake, for there would
be need of every ounce of it on the mor
row.
The one question I had to debate now
was, whether to give a warning to the
German Ambassador that he might send
some one with me to represent him; and
that question was to be answered for me
that night by a singular experience.
Blossom was so worn out by her jour
ney, , following upon the long .strain of
nursing me, that I insisted upon her go
ing to bed. My aunt was IJI- and the
nurse who was to have come for the
night had not arrived, so that my sister
wished to sit wiffii mi?. But I would not
let her, protesting that I no longer need
ed any one. Eventually, as a compromise,
and to please her, I agreed to let the old
woman, who had been one of the Baron
ess's servants, sit lip with me. Blossom
telling me that she had found her shrewd,
intelligent and very helpful during my ill
ness.
I lay courting sleep assiduously, bilt it
would not come, and my mind flew back
to the strange letter from Katrine and the
probable consequences of it on the mor
row. Then a phrase in it recurred to me:
"I hear you are better.” How could
Katrine have heard that, I asked myself,
and instantly the thought flashed upon me
that the woman Who was now watching
by my bedside had been left behind as a
spy. The train of my suspicions once
fired, it did not take me long to jump to
the conclusion that I was not safe in hid
ing left alone in her cnarge. \
I lay with my eyes fixed on her. She
was sitting by the head of the bed in the
shadow, and I thought I could catch her
eyes watching me now and then furtively.
The thought began to have a fascination
for me and to .generate fear; and my
imagination took it up and began to ply
me with strange promptings of the many
things she could do in the course of the
long night watch.
I closed my eyes and feigned sleep to
test her, but all the while my nerves and
hearing were at the fullest strain. For
a long time she sat quite still, and then I
heard her move, softly and stealthily, and
presently felt her leaning over me as If
to make sure I was asleep.
Having apparently satisfied herself that
I was sound- asleep, she moved away,
and I opened my eyes sufficiently to watch
her. She walked across the room, gliding
with a stealthly, catlike softness, and ob
viously commenced to search for some
thing; I could not tell what. Ever and
again she would pause and look back to
the bed to make sure I was still sleeping
and each time she did this I seemed to
read some evil, sinister purpose In her
face. Such fbols can our fears make of
ue^7
/
ltdSUNNY SOUTH
Once when she moved to the ‘opposite
side of the room I had to turn, and, feign
ing the heavy sigh of a sleeper, I rolled
partly over, taking such a position that
wherever she was In the room I could
watch her out of the corners of my
^Sjies; and as I settled myself I breathed
deeply and regularly in Imitation of sound
sleep.
Not findh.g what she sought, she came
to the bedside, the side opposite to that
on which she had been sitting, and I felt
her hands moving about as she peered
hither and thither in her search.
It was only with great difficulty that I
refrained from opening my eyes or call
ing out. But there wa? no danger yet,
and I stilfed my beating pulse and com
pelled myself to watch without giving a
sign.
Presently I heard her catch her breath,
and the next instant came the rustle of
paper In her hands. For the moment I
could not see what it was she had dis
covered; blit I remembered that Katrine’s
letter had been thrust "hurriedly under
my pillow, and I jumped to the conclu
sion that she had. in some way, over
heard some reference to it when Blossom
and I had been together, and that she
had resolved to learn the contents.
My first inclination was to raise an
alarm immediately, and prevent her read
ing it; but a second's reflection showed
me she could do no harm, even if she read
it, while it might be of the greatest ad
vantage to me to ascertain more of her
intentions. It would be the easiest thing
in the world on the following morning to
prevent her making any use of the knowl
edge she would gain. I should be with
Celia before she could give any warning,
and after that anything she could do
would be absolutely useless.
She stood a moment by the bedside try
ing to read the.letter. But the light from
the guarded candle was too dim and too
far off for her old eyes; and she stole
back to where the candle stood and bent
over it. holding the letter up close to her
face, on which I could see an eager, ex
cited look.
Suddenly she started so violently as to
shake the little table on which, round the
light, were my medicines and glasses,
and at the noise and clatter thus made
she glanced round fearsomely and nerv
ously toward me. I made no sign, but
continued to breath as heavily and regu
larly as before. I was deeply Interested
in her every action and did not lose a
movement.
Reassured that I was sleeping, she went
on with her reading, and at the close I
heard her start, catch her breath and
almost cry out. And then she gave me
a genuine surprise. She pressed the let
ter to her wizened old lips and kissed it
over and o.ver again, till, with a scarcely
articulate moan, she fell on her knees by
a chair, and, burying her face in her
hands, gave way to what seemed an un
controllable burst of grief.
Hvhat could it mean? In a moment my
apprehensions of any harm from her were
allayed while ma^y of my suspicions
faded away. This was not the conduct
of a spy. Yet why had she searched so
diligently for the letter. I resolved to sur
prise and then question her.
Making as little noise as possible, I
drew myself into a sitting posture, and,
looking intently at her, I asked in as louii
a voice as I could speak:
"Why did you take that letter?”
She scrambled hastily to her feet and
looked toward the bed. her eyes round
and staring with fear as though I were
a ghost, and her body trembling from
excess of fright.
"Why did you take that letter? I saw
you. I have watched you the whole time.
How dare you?” I called again,, my voice
sounding loud and stern in the deep still
ness of the night.
“God forgive me. I am a miserable old
woman,” she cried in German, her voice
quivering and shaking with emotion.
“What do you mean by that?” I re
peated. “How dare you stay here as
spy upon us all, and crawl a-bput in the
dead of the night stealing letters and pry
ing into secrets? Tomorrow I’ll give you
to the police.”
"No police can put right what’s wrong.
I am not a spy, Sir Stanley. I did not
stay to spy. I stayed—I don’t know why
I stayed,” she broke off, wringing her
hands helplessly.
"If you are not a spy why did you creep
around the room just now till you found
the letter and then read It?”
“I am no spy—I am no spy," she re
peated, in a wailing voice, throwing her
arms about distractedly; and she came
back to her chair at the head of the bed,
and threw herself into it with a groan.
I sayt that her face was drawn with the
strain of her emotion.
I didn't understand her, and watched
her as s-he sat, staring out in front of
her, her hands on her lap holding the let
ter, a very picture of dejection and de
spair. Presently she laid the letter on
the bed.
"That is all my fault—all my fault,” she
said, clasping her hands before her face
and rocking Jierself to and fro in agita
tion.
“What do you mean? Tell me. How
can it be your fault? What have you to
do with it? Who are you?”
I poured my questions upon her in my
surprise. For a long time she made no
reply, but continued to rock herself to
and from in this wild agitation.
“Come, why don't you tell me?” I
asked, after a while. “What Is it you are
concealing? If you tell me now it may
yet be in time to prevent any evil conse
quences. What is it?”
“I cannot tell you. I cannot—I dare not.
I thought it would be all for the best,”
she moaned, scarcely coherent in her dis
traction.
"Thought what would be for the best?
What have you done? Come, my good
woman, let me know what it Is and what
it has to do with the writer of this letter?
Is It about her—about Miss Katrine?”
"Yes, yes,” she efied, nodding her head,
“and Miss Celia.”
“Miss Celia?" I exclaimed, my astonish
ment greater than ever.
“She is not the Duchess’ daughter at
all; it's Miss Katrine.”
I caught my breath in amazement, and,
turning, stared at the woman Speechless
for a moment. Then with a rush the full
significance of what she said came upon
me.
“Speak out, woman, for heaven’s sake!
Speak out plainly what you mean! Do
you want to drive me mad?”
“I wanted to tell you. Sir Stanley, but
I was afraid,” she replied, and then out
came her stqry, told in halting phrases,
interspersed with many gaps and pauses
and incoherences, and with all the signs
of extreme agitation, excitement and man-
lfest_fear. And truly a strange story it
was, as I got it at/last by dint of stren
uous and scarehing/questions.
She had been in the service of the
Duchess Marie at the time Celia was
born, and the child was entrusted to her
care. Her Sister had been in the Baroness'
Borgen’s service; and, when all the Cru
denstadt Court was ringing with the scan
dal about the Duchess and my uncle, this
woman had conceived the wild
idea of saving the Duchess'
child froln the fate which, in
the common belief await'd her, by
changing the two children. An oppor
tunity had been found without much dif
ficulty. The two babies were sufficiently
alike in coloring to make the exchange
possible, and when the woman changed
their clothes, her sister had not discover
ed the difference, but had taken the ducal
child back to the. Baroness Borgen's house
without any suspicion of what had been
done.
Soon after that this woman had found
means to get taken into the Baroness'
service, so that she might have charge of
the dhild and watch over her. She had
remained with her ever since, keeping
her extraordinary secret, and believing
that she had saved the child's life, for,
when my uncle had brought away the
other child so mysteriously, all Cruden
stadt believed that in his Jealous madness
the Duke had caused her to be put to
death.
That belief had permanently sealed the
woman's lips, partly from fear that she
herself would be desperately punished if
the fraud were found out, and partly be
cause of her conviction that, if the Duke
found his child to be still living, he would
kill her as she believed he had killed the
other.
Thus the news that the supposed Celia
was alive had plunged the old nurse into
a condition of the wildest perplexity and
embarrassment until she had been driven
to make the confession to me. Her ob
ject was no friendliness toward me, re
gard for the girl I loved, or even remorse
for what she had done. It was her in
tense devotion to Katrine, and the fear
that if she kept silence any longer Katrine
would be deprived of her rightful position
and her place be taken by another.
When once she had got over the first
outburst, she made her tale plain enough,
and gave such circumstantial detail that
I was anxious to believe it—wild, sensa
tional and improbable though it appeared;
and when I .had asked every question I
could think of and cross-examined her
in the. strictest and most exhaustive man
ner, I lay back on my pillow thinking of
all it meant to me and to the great Issues
hanging upon it.
I had little sleep that night, but the
tonic of the news I had heard did me more
good than any sleep. In a moment all
the barriers between Celia—for I could
not think of her as otheT than Celia—and
myself were swept away, and every in
ducement for others to keep us apart
went with them. And many things that
had puzzled me were made plain. It was
clear now where Katrine had derived her
wild eccentricity; it was her inheritance
from he; mother—the grim birthright of
mental disease which nothing could check.
Her frenzied passion for von Kronheim
was but a further symptom, the compan
ion picture of the fatal love which had
broken her mother's life and destroyed
her reason.
And with what grim irony had Fata
worked out the tangle of their lives! If
the girl’s wild story to me were true, the
very man whose ambitious brain would
have led him to seek out from all the
world as his wife had ruined her, and
now threatened to cast her off with all
the slights of contemptuous contumely.
The mother, too. in the blind, egotistic,
selfish craving to restore her own repute
and honor. wa3 conniving with this heart
less rascal to plunge her' own daughter
deeper down into the mire of hlshonored
neglect and disgrace. j
It was indeed a tangled skein which |
this wretched old crone had woven for
the undoing of the child whom she had ;
meant to save.
But I had no time to speculate upon the j-
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A STEADY WOBKEB.
Coffee Works Slow but Sure.
Many people use coffee day after day
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the poison affects the nerve centers a little
today and a little tomorrow, and so on,
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It is a safe proposition that if a man or
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or anv such ailments come on at intervals,
something is wrong with the , food or
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best capital anyone can possess and will
fully breaking it down Is a piece of child
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on the contrary, the result of using Pos
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Postum Is a pure food beverage made
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Postum must be boiled at least 15 min
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eccentric muddle produced by this attempt
to trick destiny away from Its appointed
track. I had to decide what I must do
to stay the consummation of the tragedy.
I must, act at once and swiftly, if I were
to prevent the fulfillment of a tragedy
which would be none the less dire be
cause futile. Let the Saxe-Lippe throne
be filled as it might, my one object and
task was to save my love from the dangers
still encompassing her and Katrine’s
warning, whioh rushed back to my
thoughts, appeared a thousand times more
urgent and Imperative than before.
As soon as it was light I roused the
old crone wlto had fallen asleep and sent
her to call my sister.
A dread had seized upon me that, af
ter all, I might yet be too late, and that
before I could get to these people their
infamous purposes might be executed.
This fear excited and fevered me, and
my eagerness to be up and doing was
fierce and almost desperate.
When Blossom came I told her the
strange story I had heard in the night,
and explained hastily the plan I had
formed. This was to telegraph to the
German Ambassador, hinting at the
extraordinary development of matters, and
urging him to send a responsible repre
sentative to meet me at a point I men
tioned near to where I knew the Duchess
was to be found, and to make arrange
ments Tor detaining her.
Then I wired to Wilson to meet me there
also with a number of men, in case of
emergency. I would not again venture
single-handed into this hornets' nest. It
remained only to settle the details of our
own departure by the earliest possible
means, and this was soon done.
(To Be Continued.)
“Mammy Ghany,”
Loyal To Masted
Continued front fifth pago
she got in exchange for her-apples, pur
chased from the sutler the first' sugar
and sure enough coffee we had seen in
many a long day. This was very humili
ating. to be sure, but my mother asked
no questions, and I promised not to tell.
Mammy stayed with us until my broth
er. broken in health and disabled from a
terrible wound received at the battle of
Winchester, went to live on the planta
tion to take control of affairs there, the
negroes refusing to work under the over
seer, but would stay if “Mars' Jim” would
manage the place.
’ Mammy went down to take care of him.
As long as she lived she was our dear old
mammy, and was looked after and pro
vided for by her “white children,” as she
called us. Almost my mother's last words
were: “Take good care of Mammy
Chany,” and we did.
Not long before she died she came to
see me at my brother’s house In Salis
bury. She was living then with her son
In the town, and when she
bade me goodby she threw
her arms around me,
weeping bitterly, and said:
"I’m afraid I’ll never see
you no mo’, chile, but
promise me you won't let
them put me away too rough,” and so it
Affecting
Farewell
To
Old
Mammr
The Sonny South's
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THE SUNNY 50UV*
Atlanta. Oa. ■ v
happened I was in Salisbury wto - good
died, and every detail of tfce funeAjy the
just as she would have had it, per flow
stood by her open grave ITteltyhe effect
best, most unselfish friend I baf—OO dew*
was indeed gone. ( stomach,
I do believ£ there was nothiif)
would, have counted a hardship sc. Never
m'e, and never were flowers nior-iy” a jj^^
banked on a new-made grave tly Y(
her “white children” placed.