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FOURTH PAGE
THE SUNNY SOUTH
The TurnpiKe House
By FERGUS HUME
Author of "The Mystery of a. Hansom Cab/' "The Crimsom Cryptogram," "The Golden Idol." "The Dwarf's Chamber "etc
(Copyright, 1902.)
t SYNOPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAP
TERS: A poverty-stricken woman and
her sen, a wan boy of lo, inhabit a miser-
aide hovel called Turnpike House. They
recall better days and the woman indi
cates that her husband has brought her
' ow condition. The man arrives and
quatrels with his wife. The bov attempts
H stab him with a table knife, but is
* r.iwn off. Shortly afterwards mother
and son hurriedly leave, and the dead
body of the husband is found lying there,
it lias transpired that the woman was
\. rm ' f*-' gaverness to a rich merchant
named Cass, and the man Jenner was his
clerk, but had been dismissed for neglect,
and after taking another situation went
to prison. Many years have passed, and
tlioio is a Christmas party at Ilolivoaks
1 ark. the residence of Mr. Cass. The
merchant's mother was an Andalusian,
t-f.d 1ms unmarried daughter Ruth in
herits her are beauty. The daughter
welcomes Neil Webster, a brilliant young
violinist, who is the talk of society. The
two declare Ur ir love, but Mr. Cass for
bids the engagement. The violinist by ac
cident revisits the 'Turnpike Ifrusc. and
memories, which illness in childhood had
C mporc «y effaced, are revived. He was
the loy Jenner. and bis mother is in
prison on a commuted sentence for mur
der. Among tlic other persons who come
into the story arc Inez (Mr. Cass' sister)
end her husband. Mr. Marshall, n pros-
1" Tons r.-.an with a shady past. There is
also a young squire, Geoffrey Heron, who
:s in: king suit to Ruth.
CHAPTER. SEVEN
Webster's Childhood
NOWING what he did of
Neil Webster. Mr. Cass
was quite prepared to see
him faint upon hearing the
terrible truth. But to his
uneonec aled astonishment
the young man. beyond
losing his color, remained
unmoved.
"I should like' tc hear
the whole story, please,”
he said, quietly.
Mr. Cass was almost
frightened by his calmness,
"A glass of wine—"
“No. I want nothing. You have told
rue the worst. What remains to be saiel
ei-n affect me hut little. The whole story,
please, from the beginning. When I am
in possession of the faets I may be able
t 1 see some' way eif saving my mother
frerni her unjust fate.”
'‘Her unjust fate!” repeated Mr. Cass,
with a flush. “Why, man alive, she had
all the justice the English law could
give."
"Did she admit her guilt?”
“She neither admitteei nor denied it.
Not a word would she say goad or had,
for or against. Throughout the trial she
maintained an absolute silence, and went
10 prison uncomplainingly.”
“To my mind that icoks like innocence.”
The merchant moved restlessly in his
chair. "Do not force me to say unpleasant
tilings,” he remarked, irritably.
“I want you to say exactly what you
f>el,” retorted Nell. “I am here to hear
the truth, however disagreeable. It is
only by knowing all that I can help
my mother. If you will uot tell me,
then I must see the lawyers who were
concerned in the ease. I don't think
they will mind giving m, pain. But
if you are t'he friend 1 take you to
be. you will speak out.”
His self-possession was so much a't
variance with his usual demeanor that
Air. Cass stared.
“If you will have it. then.” he said,
roughly, "I believe, your mother was
guilty. Had there been the slightest
chance of proving her innocence, she
would have done so for your sake.’
“A‘h! my poor mother!” Neil's face
grew soft and tender, and a look of devp
affection came into his eyes. ”Mv moth
er—how she loved me!”
"Can you remember her love?” asked
Air. Cass, doubtfully.
“Now I can.” He raised his hand to
his forehead. “It all comes back to rat-
all. That dream has given me. the key
to the past, and the memories of my
childhood tush back upon me. I know
how I hated my f<ather”-Jhis face grew
dark—“and I know, also, how badly he
treated my mother. If she killed him.
she did right.”
Mr. Cass shuddered. “I quite believe
all that.” he $aid, drily. “You were
horn hating your father, and your mother
taught j'ou to look upon him as your
worst enemy. That you should deem her
action in killing 'him a right one is ex
actly what you would believe, having
regard to your childish feelings towards
him. Indeed, I believe that had you
grown up while your father was still
in existence you would have killed him
yourself.”
“Very probably,” remarked Neil, just
os drily. ‘‘Indeed, I did try!”
“What? I don't understand!"
“I daresay not, seeing my mother kept
silence from the time of her arrest. But
I remember that on the night my father
■was murdered at the Turnpike House
I flew at him with a knife. I forgot all
that took place alter that, except that
I was in the room and saw his dead
body lying under the open window—the
THE NEW WOMAN.
"And if it %>ere not for Neil—well, I might bring myself to marry you"
open vyindow.” he. repeated, quietly, and
with significance. "Do not forget that,
Mr. Cass.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that someone else might have
killed him. The window was open. Why
should it have been open unless the true
murderer had gained entrance by it, and j plained." Mr. Cass
had fl« d through it when his deed was j ‘•your mother, after
mplishtd? I do not believe that my Her arms and 11
Made Over by Quitting Coffee.
Coffee probably wrecks a greater per
centage of southerners than northern
people, for southerners use it more freely.
Th? work it does is distressing enough
In some instances. As an illustration,
AHss Sue W. Fairall, 517 N. Fourth st..
Richmond, Va„ writes: “I was a coffee
drinker for years and for about six years
my health was completely shattered, f
suffered fearfully with headaches and
nervousness, also palpitation of the heart
and loss of appetite.
“My sight gradually began to fail and
finaTly I lost the sight of one eye alto
gether. The eye was operated upon and
the sight partially restored; then I be
came totally Wind in the other eye.
“My doctor used to urge me to give up
coffee, hut I was willful and continued to
drink it until finally in a last case of se
vere illness the doctor insisted that I
must give up the coffee, so I began using
the Postuni Food Coffee, and in a month
I felt like a new creature.
“I steadily gained in health and
strength. About a month ago I began
using Grape-Nuts Breakfast Food and
the effect has been wonderful. I really
feel like a new woman and have gained
about 25 pounds.
“1 am quite an elderly lady, and lief ore
using Postum and Grape-Nuts I could
not walk a square without exceeding fa
tigue; now I walk ten or twelve without
feeling it. Formerly in reading I could
remember but little, but now my memory
holds fast what I read.
“Several friends who have seen the re
markable effects of Postum and Grape-
Nuts on me have urged that I give the
facts to the public for the sake of suffer-
fng humanity, so, although I dislike pub
licity, you can publish this letter and my
iiorna if you like.”
mother is guilty, in spite of her silence.
She has some reason for holding her
tongue.”
“I can't think what the reason can
lie.” replied Mr. Cass, wearily, leaning
his head on his hands. “For love of
you she would have chosen to remain
free; yet when a word—according to you
—might have saved her, she held her
tongue and risked the gallows.”
"For the first time Xei! Webster shud
dered. “How was it she escaped that?”
he asked, in a low voice.
•‘The ease was so extraordinary that a
petition to the Home Secretary was got
up. and he commutted the sentenee to one
of imprisonment for life. Yet 1 must tell
you the general opinion was that she
was guilty. She was pitied for all that
when the story of her husband's brutality
came out in the evidence.”
“And my father?” said Neil. Impatient
ly, raising his head. "Tell me more.”
Mr. Cass hesitated a moment
“Jenner deserved his fate. lie treated
his wife abominably; she had been left
to starve. After having been put to
many shifts—”
Webster raised his hand with a cry of
pain. "I remember; don’t!” he said. “My
poor mother! I can recall in some de
gree—that is. so far as a child could have
understood—our terrible life in Ixmdon.
Then we came down here.”
“Yes. I did what T could for your moth
er, for I had always respected her very
much. But she was a difficult person
to manage; and she refused my help on
the ground that it was charity.”
“So it was," Neil said between his
teeth. “And 1 have lived on your charity
ever since.”
"My dear lad”—Air. Cass laid his hand
on the young man's arm—"don't be so
thin-skinned. Whatever I have done, you
have more than repaid me hv your suc
cess. And if you feel that you cannot
bring yThrself to accept the money I have
spent upon your education, why, then,
pay me a sum to be agreed upon between
us. Surely that will set your mind at
rest."
Neil shook his head. “The obligation
remains the same,” he said, gloomily. "I
shall ever remain grateful to you, and I
will repay the money. I know that who
soever else may be a ueoundrel—and the
world is full of them—you, at least, are a
good man.”
Mr. Cass winced as Neil held out his
hand. But the feeling passed away in a
moment, and he did not refuse the proffer
of friendship.
“The best of us are had," he said, with
a sigh, “but I do my best to behave as a
man should. However,*' he added, glanc
ing at the clock, "it Is growing late. Will
you hear the rest of this story tomorrow
morning?”
“No.” and Neil settled himself resolute
ly in his chair. "Now that I have heard
so much I want to know all. My mother
lived in the Turnpike House, did she not?”
“Yes; it was a tumble-down old place,
| and belonged to Heron’s father.”
! “To Heron’s father?” Neil made a wry
I face, for he did not like the idea.
• “She paid no rent for it.” continued Mr.
j Cass, taking no notice of the interruption.
: “Heron refused to accept any. Then she
I did sewing for several people in the vil
lage. My sister. Airs. Marshall, who was
then unmarried, gave her work, and some
times food—when she would accept it,
which was not often. In this way, then,
she lived, and found all her joy in you!”
“I have a faint memory of that terrible
life,” said Neil, musingly. “My poor
mother, with her bright hair and blue
eyes, always so kind and tender to me.
Then that night—ah! how it all comes
back to me! The dream—the dream!”
and in his agitation he rose to his feet.
“It was a shadow of the past—that
dream. I was playing witli a toy horse
by the fire; my mother was sewing. Then
he came—my father. I remember running
at him with a knife, and afterwards-
nothing.”
“Is that the very last of your mem
ories?” asked Mr. Cass, watching him
keenly, and with an uneasiness he found
it hard to disguise.
Neil Webster aat down and passed his
hand again across his eyes with a weary
gesture. ”Y< s—no—that is. I remember
tile dead body with the blond—and after
wards the cold—the mist—the—the—” He
made a gesture us though brushing away
the past. “I remember nothing more!”
"The cold and the mist are easily ex-
said after a. pause,
the murder, took you
irius and lied from the scene of
her crime.”
“Don’t say that!” cried tile young man.
‘‘Give her the benefit of the doubt.”
Mr. Cass smiled sadly. "Unfortunately,
there was no doulit, my dear boy. Your
father was killed with a buck-handled
knife which had been used to cut bread,
:uid—"
"The knife—the knife!” muttered Neil,
straining his memory. "Yes, it was with
a buck-handled knife 1 ran at him!”
"The knife was your mother's, and was
found beside the body of the dead man.
Undoubtedly your father came back after
his release from prison, and insulted the
woman he had ruined—”
“1 can't bear it—not q word more of
that. Only the tact.”
“Well, there must have been a quarrel,
and your mother—goaded beyond herself,
no doubt—struck at your father with the
knife which was lying on the table.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because the table was spr|ol for sup
per, and the knife was of the kind that
is used to cut bread.”
“I remember something about eating,”
muttered Neil. "Go on, please.”
“Tlic murder was discovered next morn
ing by a woman who had come to the
Turnpike House to get some work Mrs.
Jenner was doing for her. She gave the
alarm, and suspicion fell at once upon
your mother. The police were informed,
and search was made. Your mother was
found 5 miles away, under a hedge, in
sensible. with you in her arms. She had
succumbed to cold and exhaustion, but
she still lived.”
"Would she had died altogether!” said
Neil, sadly.
“You were in a high fever, raving
mad.”
"What did I rave about?”
“About the dead man and the blood;
and you frequently cried out on your
mother to kill him. Tl*it had something
to do with bringing the crime home to
her.”
“Cruel—cruel, to take'a child's ravings
as evidence!”
“That was not done,” said Air. Cass,
sharply. "The law treated the prisoner”
—Neil winced—''perfectly fairly. But the
suspicion was instilled into the hearts of
those who had heard your delirious
words.”
"She didn’t deny the charge?”
“She denied nothing—hardly opened her
mouth, in fact. 1 got a lawyer to defend
her—I saw her myself and implored her
to speak; but she obstinately refused. All
she asked was that I should take charge
of you, which I promised 1 would do.”
Neil looked up sharply, and asked the
pointed question, "Why?”
“1 don't think you should ask me that,”
Air. Cass s i?<7,apparently somewhat pained
“Have I not proved myself a friend to
you? Was it not natural that I should
feel sympathy for a girl who had been a
member of my household? Your mother,
•remember, had been governess to my eld
est daughter. And your father had Been
in my employment. Why should you sus
pect me of any motive save that of sorrow
for The ruin of a woman—whom I had
■liked as a bright girl—and pity for a help
less <^ild?” —
“Forgive me if I was wrong.” Neil
shook hands with much penitence. “But
1 am suspicious now of all the world.
Heaven help me! Go on.”
“There is very little more to tell. I took
charge of you as I had promised, and I
•placed you with Mrs. Jent, who is an old
servant of mine. You were seriously III,
and were not expected to live. Seeing
that yoyr mother was in gaol and your
father dead by her hand I used to think
sometimes that it would have been better
for you to have died.”
“I am glad I did not.” cried Nell Vfitfs
vehemence. “1 have lived to vindicate my
mother's innocence.”
“You are not likely to succeed where
others have failed,” AT.-. Cass said, sadly.
“However, although I thought it would be
better for yourself and tor all concerned
that you should not recover, I did not feeT
justified in letting you slip iT^fiugh my
fingers. I got the best doctors to see you.
and they managed to pull you round after
months of suspense. But the memory of
your childhood, up to the time of your
illness, was gone from you forever. It
was just as well, seeing how terrible that
childhood had been. 1 made no attempt to
revive your dormant memory, and I warn
ed Airs. Jent not to say anything, cither.
We supplitl't you with a fictitious past.”
“I know,” said Neil with a faint smile.
“The American parents! 1 believed In
■them until I weirt to New York. Then I
made inquiries; but as I could find no
trace of them, and could hear nothing
about them, I began to doubt their exist
ence. If it had not been for my relating
that dream, you would not have informed
me of the truth.”
“No,” Air. Cass said, honestly. “I would
pot, seeing what pain it must have in
flicted upon you. 1 should have simply
requested you to f< rget Ruth, and go
away; the rest I would have spared you."
“I thank you for your forbearance,”
Neil said, politely, but coldiy. “But
Providence knew that 1 had a duty to
perform, and so gave me back the past.
Oh, it was no miracle!" he went on, with
a shrug. "I am not a believer in the
supernatural, as you know. 1 can see how
it all came about. Can't you?”
"No; 1 confess that I am amazed that
the dream should have been so accurate,
or, indeed, that it should have come, to
I jou at all.”
"Dreams, I have heard, are only the im
pressions of our waking hours in more
confused forms,” said Mobster, quietly.
"And as 1 had received no injury to the
brain itself, my memory was only dor-
I mhnt, not destroyed. It was awakened
by tlic sight of the face in that photo-
! graph.”
j "Ah! so it was." Mr. Cass said. "And
'.he sight recalled your instinctive hatred
for the man. That was why you faint-
eo.”
“Exactly; and no doubt, all that night,
my brain was busily running back
through the years. Then 1 found the
Turnpike House.”
“What took you there?”
“Neil shrugged his shoulders. “It might
have been accident; but I dc not think it
was. My own belief is that the awaken
ing ot memory drew me there, and when
I got into that room all came back to me
in my sleep. However. I know the truth
now, so nothing else matters. Henceforth
I devote myself to proving the innocence
of my mother.”
“You will never do that.” Air. Cass
said, decisively.
“You think so because you believe her
guilty.”
“X believe her wrongs drove her mad,
and that it was in a fit of madness she
killed her husband. Yes.”
"Well, I don't agree with you." Neil
said. "The first thing I intend to do is to
see her. Where is she?”
Cass wrote down the information on a
slip of paper, and threw it across the
table to the young man. "But I think you
are starting on a wild goose chase,” he
said. “Take my advice, and leave the
matter alone. You are Neil Webster, the
violinist. You have no connection with
crime!”
"No, I am Gilbert Jenner, the son of a
murdered man and of a woman wrongful
ly accused. J loved your daughter. Air.
Cass—I love her still—hut I give her up. I
will not see U r again. Tomorrow morn
ing 1 lea vd this bom- - forever!”
"No." said his hos>i,j with, decision. “I?
you intend to make an attempt to prove
your mother's innocence. T have a right
to help you. and to know your plans. So
In it. Do your appointed work.” lie
offered his hand. “As to Ruth—”
Neil interrupted him. “She is a dream
of the past. My new life has nothing
to do with love—-but with revenge.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Hercules and Omphales
The next morning Neil Webster was
conspicuous by his absence. His excuse
was that he had been suddenly recalled
to town on business. Airs. Alarshall was
not deceived, and on the first available
opportunity she drew her brother aside.
“You have got rid of him. I see,” she
remarked, with evident satisfaction. "But
Ruth will not submit quietly to all this
In the first place, she will refuse to be
lieve that he has given her up; such a
sacrifice is beyond the conception of a
pretty girl. In the second—”
“Wait a bit, Inez. I.et us dispose of
No. 1 first of all. Ruth will he convinced
that Webster nas given her up, for the
simple reason that he has left a letter
telling her so.”
“Ah! Then that is why she has not
come down to breakfast. I daresay she
is weeping and storming in her room.
I'll go and—”
“No, no. Heave her alone. If you go
and annoy her there is no knowing what
she will do. You know how headstrong—"
“You should have trained her better,”
said his sister.
“All the training in the world will not
tame our mother’s blood in her—or in
you, for the mattei of that!”
"I know I am strong-minded, if that
is what you mean.”
“Well, if you like to call obstinacy
strong-mindedness, there is no need to
argue. No doubt we both mean the same
thing—”
“With a difference," finished Airs. Mar
shall.
Jennie Brawn was loud .'n her lamenta
tions when she came to hear of the Alas-
ter's departure. She went at once to
Ruth, and found that young lady far
from fearful, pacing her bed room in a
towering rage. Jennie paused at the
door; she saw tha. Ruth had a pencil-
scribbled note in her hand.
"What is the matter?" asked Miss
Brawn, amazed at this exhibition of tem
per. Ruth pounced upon her.
“Matter enough!” she cried, flourishing
the letter. “Here is Neil gone to town
in the most unexpected manner—without
even an excuse to me! Read this, Jen
nie.”
“He says he is called away en business,”
said that young lady, when she had
maste-ed the contents of the note. “Weil,
that is, no doubt, the truth!”
“The truth! Pshaw! You don't know
men. my dear. They tell lies in the most
plausible manner. But Neil cannot de
ceive me! All I want to know is who the
woman is!”
Miss Brawn's freckled face grew crim
son. “You have no right to say such a
thing as that! It is not like a lady."
“i "hm a woman before I am a lady,”
cried Ruth. “AriS a jealous woman- at
that. Don’t I know how all the creatures
swarm after him just because he is hand
some and famous! He has told me all
sorts of things about the notes and the
presents they send him, and—•”
"It was not nice for him to do that,
remarked Jennie, for once blaming her
idol.
“Well”—Ruth dropped into a chair fairly
worn out by her rage—“it was not his
fault.. I worried him into telling me
everything. He did not want to—1 must
do him that justice.”
“How did you worry him into betraying
others?”
"You are a woman and ask that? Oh,
I forgot—you are not in love—or rather,
no man is in love with you. Why, you
stupid little creature if a man loves a
woman, he’ll do anything she tells hint.
Besides, he did not mention names; he
only toid me that he got heaps of pres
ents and letters. But I want to know who
tile woman is he has gone up to meet.’’
“I daresay there is 110 woman,”
“Air. Webster is devoted to you.”
“So he says. Humph!”
“Ruth! Why, he shows it in every way.”
“All put on!' cried Aliss Cass determined
not to be pacified. ' But I'll get the truth
out of my father. 1 hear from the ser
vants that Neil was with him in the libra
ry for three hours last night.”
"Then that is tile explanation. Your
father has refused his consent to the mar
riage, and the Master has gone away.”
"Nonsense! Do you think he would give
me up Jike that, and leave me so cold
a letter? No. There is something else
—a woman, I am sure. But I'll get the
truth out of my father. I have as wild
a temper, as Aunt Inez when I am roused.
I can lie nice enough, Jennie, as you know,
but, oh, how nasty I can bo when I make
up my mind!”
“You have evidently made up your mind
now,’’ said Miss Brawn, who had known
all about - Ruth's "Tbmper when they were
at school together. And at this junciure.
judging from previous experience, she
considered it prudent to retire, before she
herself should be brought under the har
row.
Ruth, left alone, did not rage any more.
She put on her pretties: dress, bathed
her eyes, which were reddened with
tears, and went down to try and cajole
her father.
Mr. Cass was in the library; and one
look at her face was enough to tell him
why she had come, ltc argued, moreover,
from her studied amiability, that she was
in a particularly aggravating mood. But
long experience of his mother and sister
had taught him how to deal with this
sinister sweetness. He was immediat“ly
on his guard; for, as he well knew, if the
truth was to be got out of him, his
daughter was the one to get it.
“Dear papa,” she said, sinking into a
chair beside the desk and patting his
hand, "I am in great trouble.”
"I know”—determined that he would
carry the war into the enemy’s camp.
"Mr. Webster was with me last night.”
Ruth started to her feet with a tragic
expression on her face. "And you have
forbidden our marriage!” she cried, and
her air was that of a Siddons.
“What else did you expect?” her father
asked. “Neil is a good fellow, but he is
not Hie son in law I want. And. indeed,
I should be sorry, for his own sake, to
see him marry you. He is too gentle and
kind. What you want, my young lady, is
a master.”
“No man shall ever master me,” his
daughter said, calmly. “And has he
given me up without a word?”
“No; he said a good many words. But
I am adamant, so far as this ridiculous
marriage is concerned. He accepted the
Inevitable after some fighting, and took
his departure this morning before you
were up. i see,” he added, glancing at
the note ir, her hands, "that he lias writ
ten to you.”
"Yes.” Ruth gave it to him. “But it
explains nothing.”
“It explains all there is to explain,”
said Mr. Cass. "Bet the matter drop
now. Neil has gone away on business;
so we will say nothing about his love
for you. You'D soon get over it.”
"Indeed I shan't!” sobbed the girl, now
on the fearful tack. “It is cruel of you
to send him away when I love him so.
I don’t believe he gave me up because
you refused. There is something else."
“There is nothing else.” Air. Cass’s
tone was decisive.
But Ruth's fine ear caught something
of hesitation in his voice, and she dropped
her handkerchief from her eyes with a
triumphant air. ”1 knew there was some
thing else. What is it—something about
his parents?”
Air. Cass started and changed color at
this chance shot. ‘’Good Heavens, child!
Who told you anything -about his par
ents?" he said; and no sooner had he
said it than he repented his rashness.
For thereby she had gained an advantage
which she would not be slow to seize.
“Why.” she said, very slowly, with her
eyes fixed on he,r father's perturbed face,
“it was just this way. Neil told me all
about his parents having died in Ameri
ca, and how you hud brought him up at
Bognor.”
“Did he tell you nothing else?” Air.
Cass was beginning to feel that she was
too much for him.
This was an opportunity which the girl
was too clever to lose. “Well, he did
not tell me everything,” she said. “He
couldn't, you know.”
“I'm glad he had that much sense,”
Air. Cass said, with relief.
“Ah, papa, now I have caught you!”
cried Miss Cass, clapping her haml^s. “i
know nothing, then, except that you
brought him up. But you admit there
is something else which has stopped the
marriage?”
He saw that he had been overreached.
“I can tell you nothing,” he said.
“Very well, papa,” she said, turning to
go. “I’ll write to Neil and ask him to
tell me the truth.”
“He won't tell you.”
“Oh, yes. he will. He loves me. and I
can get anything out of him.”
“Girl! Ruth”—her father seized her arm
—“if you can 5e sensible, do not write
to Webster. He has gone out of your
life of his own free will.”
“I will never—never believe that!” and
she flushed angrily. “Do you think I
don’t know when a man loves me or not?
I will see him and learn the truth.”
“I forbid it,” and Ruth saw that her
father was very angry. With the cun
ning of a woman who is determined to
get her way, she suddenly yielded, feel
ing that she could best gain her ends
under the mask of peace
“Very well, papa,” she said, with a
few tears; “but it is very hard on me.
I love him, and you have sent him away—
for no fault of his own, I’m sure."
“He is not in fault—he is unfortun
ate—”
“In -his parents?” she asked
"Amongst other things,” was the reply.
“My dear child,”—he took her hand—"if
you are wise you will leave things as
they are. I should like you to marry
Heron; but if you do not wish it. I will
not press the matter. As to Neil, put
him out of your head, once and for all.
He can nev^r be your husband! Now
go.” And he pushed her gently outside
the library door.
“What on earth can it be?” thought
the girl, as she took her way to the win
ter garden. “Has Neil committed some
crime, or has—”
She had reached this point in her med
itations when she suddenly came upon
Mr. Marshall. He was pale, and had a
look of alarm on his face. When he saw
her he gave a startled cry. “Why, good
gracious, uncle, what is the matter?’
asked Ruth.
"Oh, it's you!” replied Alarshall. ‘‘I
thought—never mind what I thought. I’m
upset.”
"Oh. Aunt Inez has been giving you a
bad time,” said the girl, with some
amusement. She knew very well what a
tight hand that lady kept over this elder
ly Don Juan; and when her uncle nodded,
she continued: “I am upset myself, uncle.
He has gone away!”
“Are you talking of Neil Webster?” he
asked, with an obvious effort.
“Yes; did you know how much I cared
for him, uncle—and—what’s the matter?”
For Air. Alarshall. with an ejaculation,
had jumped up and was looking at her
with an expression of dismay. “Nothing
is the matter," he gasped, and it was
quite evident that he was not speaking
the truth. “But I must confess I did
not know that you eared for him. Ridic
ulous! AVhy, he can never marry you.”
"So papa says,” replied Ruth, some
what disconsolotely. "He has refused
his consent.”
“Quite right—quite right. Ruth, put
tile ocean between yourself and that man;
but never Jiave anything to do with him.
it is”—he looked round and approached
his lips to her ear—"it is dangerous.
Don’t sav I told you ” And before she
could recover from her astonishment, he
had slipped away with an alacrity sur
prising in so heavy a man.
Ruth remained standing, utterly per
plexed by the manner of her usually
careless and good-natured uncle. "I won
der if he knows why Neil has giftie
away?" she thought. “1 will find out the
reason,” she went on to herself. "1 am
as obstinate as they are. Since they
won't toil me, I will write to Neil.”
This she proceeded to do, demanding to
know the cause of his departure, "if you
love me as you say, you will not give me
up at my father’s bidding. I am ready to
brave his anger for your sake. Can you
not he as brave as I?”
The reply came, as she had expected,
by Teturn, and it was with a violently
In ;. |ag heart that she tore it open. *'X
must give you up,” he wrote. "It is in
vain to fight against the destiny that
parts us. I love you still; but it is my
duty to forget you. Do the same; for
only in that way can you be happy.”
"Oh, he is mad!" cried Ruth, angrily.
"And if he thinks he can put me off in
this way lie will find his mlstlike. I will
know!” She stamped her foot. I will—I
will!”
Notwithstanding Ruth's refusal of him,
Geoffrey Heron had not gone away; he
was too deeply in love with her for that,
and remained like a moth fluttering
round a candle. Sometimes he felt an
noyed with himself; but he was no longer
his own master. Then, much to his sur
prise, tlie girl sought him of her own
free will. He was delighted, though he
wisely strove not to show it. She sug
gested a walk, hi order that they might
not be interrupted.
After some preliminary skirmishing, she
led the conversation up to the departure
of Neil Webster. "1 am sorry,” she said,
with a sigh.
"You need hardly tell me that,” replied
Geoffrey, not very amiably, for he was
annoyed by the speech and the sigh. "I
know he is the lucky man.”
"If he is . lucky, he does not value his
luck.”
"What do you mean? I understood from
Aliss Brawn that you were engaged to
ma rry him.”
“Ah! that's just it. I was engaged,
but now—he has gone away without a
word. I don’t believe he cares one bit
about. nie. v '
“What a fool! Oh, Ruth, if you only
knew!”
“I do know,” she said, - kindly; “you
want me to be your wife. Well, I refused,
because I could not really love you; but
you know that I do like you extreme
ly.”
“Even that is something.”
“And if it were not for Neil—well, I
might bring myself to marry you.”
“No,” lie said, firmly. "I also have my
pride. Much as I want you to be my
wife, I will not consent to that unless
you can tell me that you love me.”
“Won’t liking do?”
“No"—gruffly—"liking will certainly not
do.”
"I might grow to love you in time.”
“I wish you could * 1 —but—what does all
this mean?”
She thought for a moment; then sh^
said: “I hope you won’t think me bold
for speaking openly. But the fact is—
well, I was engaged to Noil, and he—he
has broken our engagement.”
“Ah!” exclaimed the young man. “And
how can I remedy the situation?”
“Go to him and ask why he went
away.”
"I cannot. Do you expect me to bring
ray rival back to you?”
“If you loved me and wished me to be
happy, you would.”
“I don't want to see you happy with
another fellow,” ar.d his manner was
eminently human. "I want you to my
self.”
“Well, you will not get me by behaving
in this way!” cried Ruth, now thoroughly
exasperated. “This is the very first time
I have ever asked you to do anything
for me, and you refuse!”
Geoffrey temporized. "Supposing AVeb-
ster were to persist in his refusal to come
back to you, wculd there be a chance
for me?”
Aliss Cass looked straight before her,
with her nose in the air.
"I really don't know,” she said, coolly.
“I make no bargains.”
“Very well.” said Geoffrey, most un
expectedly, "I'll do it.”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
A Jefferson memorial and interstate
good roads convention has been called to
meet at Charlottesville, Va„ on April a
3 and 4, says The Engineering News This
meeting has for its object the construe
tlon of a 2 1-2 mile road, leading from
Charlottesville to the home and tomb'of
Thomas Jefferson, at Montecello. The
work is in the hands of a memorial road
association, of which General Fitzhugh
I.ee is president, and aside from benefit
ing people desiring to visit Montieello the
road is to serve as an obieet lesson
road construction to the people of "hat
section of Virginia. v
MARCH29, 1902
Ascent of Popocata-
petl Dangerous b\it
Sublime
Continued from third page
srourd me. Slowly 1 raised myself on my
hands and knees and then oat > my feet.
Twenty yards further on I fell again, and
thus continued resting every few seconds
by lying down on the cold sand. Bart ■ 1
the time I walked onward as ir. a dream,
conscious of direction only by the so > p-
ncss of the incline and by the encouraging
remarks of the guide who was a few feet
in advance. I had prepared myself, how
ever, to meet and overcome all obstacles
and was determined to go on. step by
step, taking my time, shedding my las
drop of blood if necessary, but to reach
the summit by ail means. The sand belt
extends from the limit of vegetation to
the snow line and it takes about two
hours and a half to cress owing to the
fact that you fall back at least one step
in every three. It was a great relief to
reach the snow line as the guide said t
wculd be easier traveling from there on.
At this time of the year there is really
nr. snow cn Popocatepetl, but great cakes
of ice cut into a labyrinth of passage^ by
the heat of the sun and the trickling
streams that come from the melted ire.
Through these passages we wended our
way upward, ever upward.
The slope of the mountain was now at
aii angle of 45 degrees and the toil of
climbing that grade was terrific. At half
past 5 we were at an elevation of lb/" >
teet, just above the top of Ixtaccihuatl,
and stopped to see the sun rise.
Never have I seen a more glorious spec
tacle than the one that was presented.
Far below to the right a great red ball
s€*f*moil to rise out of the
A Glorious mists and far behind it
Spectacle could be sen the ou' In-
isolated °f the long mountain
From Civil-range separating tiv
ization great tablelands from tha
gulf of Mexico. Gradually
the iight began to grew stronger, tiv
mists began to disappear ar.d the beauti-
ful valley of Puebla was bathed in a soft
rose light. To the left the valley of Mex
ico lay half veiled in vapor ar.d directly
in front looiped up the glistening peak of
Ixtaccihautl Far above the sun shone
on the sides of Popocatepetl, making it
appear as a sheet of silver. A glorious
vision—one that I cculd have looked on
icr hours had the time permitted, buz
there was much more work in stor*'. >
once more we took up our laborious jour
ney.
Loubens and Searle had gone on ahead,
so AfcBane and mjselt were alone, taking
cut time and slowly surmounting barrier
utter barrier of ice. Our guide encouraged
us at 'every step and alth< ugh we were
completely exhausted we dragged foot af
ter foot, sometimes crawling on hands and
knees, until at half past 8, after five
hours and a half climb, we reached the
edge of the crater. Our companions
reached over and dragged us across the
barrier of ice which separated the crater
from the mountain side. Without waiting
a second to notice what was around me
1 threw myself down on the ground and
fully u half heur passed before I could
arise.
The edge of the crater, at this time of
the year, is a narrow rim of sand lying
between the 6-foot hairier of ice and the
black abyss. It is almost a level path tor
6 feet and then slopes down at an angle
of 45 degrees. A rough estimate would
give the diameter of the crater at 5"':
yards and its depth at 150 yards. At the
bottom is a green lake of sulphur, some
SO yards in length, and from more than
fifty fumaroles or vents columns of smok .
and deadly fumes are constantly issuing
forth. It was bright daylight at the bot
tom and the smallest objects could be
easily distinguished. Up to five ye-irs age
a large force of men were employed by
General Ochoa in mining the sulphur in
the crater, but this work lias now been
entirely abandoned, owing :o the difficul
ties and expense.
It is beyond the powers of mortal pan
to describe the magnificence of the view
from the top of Popocatapetl. it includes
an area of more than lOO.tiOO square miles,
and it is claimed that at times the gulf
of Mexico, 150 miles distant, can be dis
tinguished. It is sufficient to say that in
the opinion of Humboldt ar.d other grea t
travelers who have made the ascent, tha t
there is no more extensive or grander
view in the world.
After an hour's rest we commenced the
descent which, though much less fa
tiguing, was more dangerous than the a
cent. During the summer season when
the snow is soft it is possible to slide
down on petates, or mats of bulrush.
very much like tobogganing in the far
1.01th but now thi dt scent must be mad
very slowly and carefully as a misstep
would have meant sericus injury if not
death. It required an hour to descend to
the snow line and from there we sped,
with long leaps down the cone, across the
volcanic sand until at last wo reached
Ua Cruz, where the horses were awaiting
vs. An hour later were were at Tlamaeus
and after a hasty lunch started for Anie-
cameca. The guide jokingly said that we
could reach the town in three hours, and I
determined, if possible, to do it. so getting
the lead, I was soon galloping down the
mountain side. The read was something
frightful, the dust lose in great clouds
end every bone in my body was aching,
lut I pushed m\ horse for all he .was
ov a mi i:u ji » .was
worth, risking as I did a tumble that
would perhaps h..ve sent me headlong
down the deep gulch at the side of the
read. Luckily, however, our return jour-
ney was unaccompanied by ut.y seriotrs
mishap, and after two hours and three-
quarters hard ride we drew rein at the
hotel Hispano-Americano in the center of
Amecameca dirty tiled, hungry, thirstv,
sleepy and aching in every bone but feel
ing a great exhilaration that \v hid cm -
uttered Popocatapetl, monarch by natural
right of Alexico.
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