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About The Montgomery monitor. (Mt. Vernon, Montgomery County, Ga.) 1886-current | View Entire Issue (Aug. 9, 1906)
up yonder track, steep and rough as it Is. 1 think that ye might gain the valley be yond. Then on to the prince, and tell him how we fare.” 'But, my fair lord, how can we hope to reach the horses?” asked Norbury. "Ye cannot go round to them, for they would !>e upon ye ere ye could could come to them. Think ye that ye have heart enough to clamber down this cliff?" "Had we but a rope.” "There is one here. It is but one hun dred feet long, and for the rest ye must trust to God and to your fingers. Can you try it, Alleyne?" "With all my heart, my dear lord, but how can 1 leave you in such a strait?” "Kay. it is to serve me that ye go. And you, Norbury?” The silent squire said nothing, but he took up the rope, and, having examined it. he tied one end firmly round a project ing rock. eThen he cast .iff his breast plate, thigh pieces, and greaves, while Al leyne followed his example. "Tell Chandos, or Calverley, or Knolles, should the prince have gone forward,” cried Sir Nigel. “Now may God speed ye, for ye are brave and worthy men.” It was. indeed, a task which might make the heart of the bravest sink within him. Tin' thin cord dangling down the face of the brown cliff seemed from above to reach little more than half-way down it. Beyond stretched the rugged rock, wet and shining, with a green tuft here and there thrusting out front it. but little sign of ridge or foothold. Far below the jagged points of the boulders bristled up, dark and menacing. Norbury tugged thrice with all his strength upon the cord, and then lowered himself over the edge, while a hundred anxious faces peered over at him as he slowly clambered downwards to the end of the rope. Twice he stretched out his foot, and twice he failed to reach the point at which he aimed, but even as he swung himself for a third effort a stone from a sling buzzed like a wasp from amid the rocks and struck him full upon the side of his head. His grasp relaxed, his feet slipped, and in an instant be was a crushed and mangled corpse -'poll the sharp ridges beneath him. "If 1 have no better fortune.” said Al leyne, leading Sir Nigel aside. ”1 pray you, my dear lord, that you will give my humble service to the I.ady Maude, and say to her that i was ever her true servant and most unworthy cavalier.” The old knight said no word, but he put a hand on either shoulder, and kissed his squire, with the tears shining in his eyes. Alleyne sprang to the rope, and sliding swiftly down, soon found himself at its extremity. From above it seemed as though rope and cliff were well-nigh touch ing, but now. when swinging a hundred feet down, the squire found that he could scarce reach the face of the rock with his foot, and that it was as smooth as glass, with no resting-place where a mouse could stand. Some three feet lower, however, his eye lit upon a long jagged crack which slanted downwards, and this he must reach if he would save not only his own poor life, but that of the eight-score men above him. Yet it were madness to spring for that narrow slit with nought but the wet, smooth rock to cling to. He swung for a moment, full of thought, and even as he hung there another of the hellish stones sang through his curls, and struck a clip from the face of the cliff. Up he clambered a few feet, drew up the loose end after him, ensiling his belt, held on with knee and with elbow while he spliced the long tough leathern belt to the end of the cord: then lowering himself as far as he could go, b 4 swung backwards and forwards un til his hand reached the crack, then he left the rope and clung to the face of the cliff. Another stone struck him on the side, and he heard'a sound like a breaking stick, with a keen stabbing pain which shot through his chest. Yet it was no time now to think of pain or ache. There was his lord and his eight-score comrades, and they must lie plucked from the jaws of death. On he clambered, with his hand shuffling down the long sloping crack, sometimes bearing all his weight upon his arms, at others finding some small shelf or tuft on which to rest his foot. Would he never pass over that fifty feet? He dared not look down, and could hut*grope slowly onwards, his face to the cliff, his lingers clutching, his feet scraping and feeling for a support. Every vein and crack and mottling of that face of rock remained forever stamped upon his memory. At last, however, his foot came upon a broad resting-place and | he ventured to cast a glance downwards. Thank God! he had reached the highest of those fatal pinnacles upon which his comrade had fallen. Quickly now he sprank from rock to rock until his feet were on the ground, and he had his hand stretched out for the horse's rein, when a sling-stone struck him on the head, and he dropped senseless upon the ground. An evil blow it was for Alleyne, but a worse one still for him who struck it. The Spanish slinger, seeing the youth lie slain, and judging from his dress that he was no common man, rushed forward to plunder him, knowing well that the bow men above him had expended their last A Shaft. He was still three paces, however, from his victim's side w l IC II John upon the cliff above plucked up a huge boulder, and, poising it for an instant, dropped ii with fatal aim upon the slinger beneath him. It stuck upon his shoulder, and hurled him, crushing and. screaming, to the ground, while Alleyne. recalled to his senses by these shrill cries in his very ear, staggered on to his feet, and gazed wildly about him. His eyes fell upon the horses, grnung upon the scanty pasture, and In an instant all had come back to him his mission, his comrades, the need for haste. He was dizzy, sick, faint, but he must not die, and he must not tarry, for his life meant many lives that day. In an instant he was in his saddle and sprung down the valley. I-oud rang the swift charger’s hoofs over rock and reef, while the fire flew from the stroke of iron, and the loose stones showered up behind him. But his head was whirling round, the blood was gushing from bis brow, his temple, his mouth. Ever keener and sharper was the deadly pain which shot like red-hot arrow through his side. He felt that his eye was glazing, his senses slipping from him, his grasp upon the reins relaxing. Then with one mighty effort, he .ailed up all his strength for a single minute. Stooping down, he loosened the stirrup-straps, bound his knees tightly to liis saddle flaps, twisted his hands in the bridle, and then, putting the gallant horse's head for the mountain path, he dashed the spurs i" and fell forward faint ing with his face buried in the course, black mane. Little could be ever remember of that wild ride. Half conscious, but ever with the one thought beating in his mind, he goaded the horse onwards, rushing swift ly down steep ravines, over huge boulders, along tile edges of biaek abysses. Him memories he had of beetling cliffs, of a group of huts with wondering faces at the disirs. of foaming, elaltering water, and of a bristle of mountain beeches. Once, .re he had ridden far. he heard behind him three deep, sullen shouts, which told him that his comrades had set their faces to the ft»e onee more. Then all was blank, until he woke to find kindly blue English eves peering down upon him and to hear the blessed sound of bis country's speech. They were but a foraging party—a hun dred archers and as many men at-arms— but their leader was Sir Hugh Calverley, and he was not a man to bide idle when good blows were to be had not three leagues from him. A seout was sent fly- Jng with a message to the camp, and .Sir Hugh, with his two hundred men. thun dered off to the rescue. With them went Alleyne. still tmund to his saddle, still dripping with blood, and swooning and recovering, and swooning once again. On thev rode, and on, until, at last, topping a ridge, they looked down upon the fate- j ful valley. Alas! and alas' for the sight j that met their eyes, There, beneath them, was the blood- : bathed hill. «md from the highest pinnacle there flaunted the yellow and white ban- j ner with the lions and the towers of the (A 501 1 royal house of Castile. Up the long slope 1 rushed ranks and ranks of men—exultant, j shouting, with waving pennons and bran- i dished arms. Over the whole summit 1 were dense throngs of knights, with no j i enemy that could be seen to face them, j save only that at one corner of the plateau j an eddy and swirl amid the crowded mass . ! seemed to show that all resistance was j i not yet at an end. At the sight a deep , groan of rage and of despair went up from the baffled rescuers, and. spurring on their', horses, they clattered down the long and i winding path which led to the valley he- i neath. But they were too late to avenge, as they had been too late to save. Long ere i they could gain the level ground, the i Spaniards, seeing them riding swiftly amid the rocks, and being Ignorant of their numbers, drew off from the captured hill, and, having secured their few pris oners, rode slowly in a long column, with 1 drum-beating and cymlml-clashiug, out of the valley. Their rear ranks were al- i ready passing out of sight ere the new- : comers were urging their panting, foam ing horses up the slope which had been , tlic scene of that long-drawn and bloody , tight. And a fearsome sight it was that met their eyes! Across the lower end lay the dense heap of men and horses where the , first arrow-storm had hurst. Above, the bodies of the dead and the dying - French, Spanish, and Aragonese—lay thick and thicker, until they covered the cold ground two and three deep in one dreadful j tangle of slaughter. Above them lay the Englishmen in their lines, even ns they had stood, and higher yet upon the plateau : a wild medley of the (lead of all nations, Where the last deadly grapple had left them. In the further corner, under the shadow of a great rock, there crouched seven bowmen, with great John In the ecu- ; tre of them —all wounded, weary, and in sorry case, hut still unconquered, with their blood-stained weapons waving and , their voices ringing a welcome to their countrymen. Alleyne rode across to John, while Sir Hugh Calverley followed close behind him. i "By Saint George!” cried Sir Hugh, "I have never seen signs of so stern a fight, and 1 am right glad that we have , been In time to save you.” i “You have saved more than us,” said , John, pointing to the banner which leaned against the rock behind him. “You have done nobly,” cried the old free companion, gazing with a soldier's i admiration at the huge frame and hold I i face of the archer. "But why Is it, my | , good fellow, that you sit upon this man.” j ■■ By the rood! 1 had forgot him," John , answered, rising and dragging from under him no less a person than the Spanish Caballero, Don Diego Alvarez. "This j mao, my fair lord, means to me a new | house, ten cows, one bull if it be but u j little one--a grindstone, and 1 know not what besides, so that J thought it well to sit upon him, lest he should take a fancy to leave me.” "Tell me, John,” cried Alleyne faintly, “where is my dear lord. Sir Nigel Lor-| lug?” "He is dead, 1 fear. 1 saw them throw | his body across a horse and ride away with it,' but 1 fear the life had gone from him.” BELOW LAY THE CHEAT SPANISH AItMY. “Now woo worth mo! And where Is Ayiwa rd?” “Ho sprang upon a rlderloss horse and rode after Sir Nigel to save him. I saw them throng around him, .and he Is either taken or slain.” “Blow' the bugles!” cried Sir Hugh, with a scowling hrow. “Wo must hack to camp, and ore three days I trust that we may see these Span iards again. I would fain have ye all in my company.” “We are of the White Company, my fair lord,” said John. “Nay, the White Company Is here dis banded,” answered Sir Hugh solemnly, looking round him at the lines of silent figures. “Look to the brave squire, for I fear he will never see the sun rise again. “ CHAPTER XVIII. Tt was a bright morning four months after that fatal fight in the Spanish bar ranca. The sun was yet low in the heav en, and the red cows stood in the long shadow of the elms, chewing the end and gazing with great vacant eyes at two horsemen who were spurring It down the long white road which dipped arid curved avra.v hack to where the towers and pin nacles beneath tie* fiat-topped hill marked the old town of Winchester. Os the riders, one was young, graceful and fair, clad in plain doublet and hosen of hi up Brussel* doth, which served to show his active and well-knit figure. He rode with lips compressed and anxious face, as one who has much care upon his mind. Young as he was, and peaceful as was his dress, the dainty golden spurs which twinkled upon bis heels proclaimed his knighthood, while a long seam upon his hrow arid a scar upon his temple gave a manly grace to his refined and delicate countenance. His comrade wus a large, red-headed man upon a great Mack hors**, with a huge canvas bag slung from his saddle-bow. His broad, brown face was lighted by » continual smile, and he looked slowly from side to side with eyes which twinkled and shone with delight. Well might John rejoice, for was lie not hack in his native Hampshire, had he not Don Diego's five thousand crowns rasping against his knee, and atave aI) was he not himself squire now to Sir AlJevne Edrlekson, the young Socman of M in stead, lately knighted by the sword of the Black Prince himself, and esteemed by the whole army as one of the most ris ing of the~ soldiers of England. For the last stand of the Company had been told throughout Christendom when ever a brave deed of arms was loved, and honors had flowed tri upon the few who had survived It. For two months AlJevne had wavered betwixt death and life, wlti^ t a broken rib and a shattered head; yet youth and strength and a cleanly life were all upon his side, and lie awoke from long delirium to find that the war was over, that the Spaniards and their allies had been crushed at N'avaretta, and that the prince had himself heard the talc of his ride for succor and had cornc in person to his bedside to touch his shoul der with his sword and to insure that so brave and true a man should die. If lie eould not live, within the order of chival ry. The instant that he could set foot to ground Alleyne had started In search of his lord, but no word could he hear of him. dead or alive, and he had eome home now sad-hearted, in the hope of raising money upon his estates and so starting upon Ills quest onee more. Landing at London, he had hurried on with a mind full of cure, for he had heard no word from Hampshire since the short note which had announced his brother's death. "By the rood!” cried John, looking around him exultantly, "where have we seen since we left such noble eows. such fieeey sheep, grass so green, or a man so drunk as yonder rogue who lies in the gap of tile hedge?" "Alt, John,” Alleyne answered wearily, "it is well for you, hut l never thought that my bonie-eoming would lie so sad a one. My heart is heavy for my dear lord and for Aylward. and I know not how 1 may break the news to the Lady Mary and to the Lady Maude, If they have not yet had tidings of it." John gave a groan which made the horses shy. "it is indeed a black busi ness.'' said lie. "But lie not sad. for 1 shall give half these crowns to my old mother, and half will I add to Hie money which you may have, and so we shall buy tiiat yellow cog w herein we sailed to Bordeaux, and in it we shall go forth and seek Sir Nigel.” Alleyne smiled, but shook his head. “Were he alive we should have had word of him ere non," said he. "Bill what is this town before us?" “Why, It is Hornsey!” cried John. “See the tower of the old gray church, and the long stretch of the nunnery." Ere Alleyne could answer there swung round the curve of the road a lady’s car riage drawn by three horses abreast with a postilion upon the outer one. Within there sat a stout and elderly lady in a pink cotehardie, leaning hack among a pile of cushions. None could seem more safe and secure anil at her case than this lady, and yet here also was a sym bol of human life, for In an Instant, even ns Alleyne reined aside to let the carriage pass, a wheel flew out from among its fellows, and over it toppled with the horses plunging, the postilion shouting, and the lady screaming from within. In an instant Alleyne and John were on foot, and had lifted her forth all sdf ; in a shake with fear, but little the worse* for her mischance*. I “I trust that you have taken no hurt, • my fair lady,” said Alleyne. “Nay, l have had no scath, but I am much beholden to you, gentle sirs. Sol diers ye are, as one may readily see. I am myself a soldier’s daughter,” she nd • ded, “and my heart ever goes out to a - brave man.” i “We are indeed fresh from Spain,” quoth Alleyne. “From Spain, say you? Ah! it was an ill and sorry thing that so many should Hi row' away the lives that Heaven gave them. In sooth. It is had for those who fail, hut worse for those who hide be • hind. I have but now hid farewell to one • who hath lost ail in this cruel war.” “Ami how that, lady?” “She is a young damsel of these parts, and she goes now into a nunnery. Alack! , it is not a year since she was the fairest maid from Avon to Itehen, and now I* was more than I could abide to wait at Hornsey Nunnery to see her put the white j veil upon her face, for she w'sis made for a , wife and not for the cloister. DM you , ever, gentle sir, hear of a body of men called “The White Company’ over yon der?” “Surely no,“cried both the comrades. “Her father was the leader of it, and j her lover served under him as squire, i News hath come that not one of the Corn , pany was left alive, and so. poor lamb, she , hath —“ “Lady!” cried Alleyne. with catch ing breath, “is it the Lady Maude Icor ing of whom you speak?” “It Js, in sooth.” “Maude! And In a nunnery! Did then, the thought of her father’s death • so move her?” “Her father!” cried the lady, smiling. “Nay; Maude Is a good daughter, but I think it was this young golden-haired squire of whom I have beard who has made her turn her t*ack upon the world.” “And J stand talking here!” cried Al leyne wildly. “Come, John, come!” Rushing to his horse, he swung him self into the saddle, and was off down the road In a rolling cloud of dust as fast las his good steed could tear him. j Great had been the rejoicing amid the Hornsey nuns when the Lady Maude I»r* log had craved admission into their order i for w'as she not sole child arid heiress of the old knight, with farms and fiefs w hich she could bring to the great nun- ! nery? lying and earnest had been the talks of the gaunt lady abbess, In which | she had conjured the young novice to , j torn forever from the world, and to rest her bruised heart under the broad and peaceful shelter of the church And now, j , when all was settled, and %'h*n abbess I f j nn*l la«1v superior had had th*Mr will, M • , was hut fitting; that some pomp ami show ' should mark the glad occasion. r But alas! for plots ami plans when love r ami youth ami nature, ami above all, for , | tune are arrayed against them. Who is • this travel-stained youth who dares u »| ride so madly through the lines of staring - ! burghersV Why does he tling himself »i from his horse and stare so strangely • about himV See how he has rushed - through the Ineense-hearers, thrust aside > lay-sister Agatha, seattered the two-aml f twenty damosels who sang ho sweetly I and he stands before the uoviee#wlth his ' hands outstreftdied, and his faee shtu ; ing, and the light of love in his gray eyes. ; Her foot is on the very lintel of the i church, and yet he bars the way and she, ! sho thinks no more of tin* wise words and 1 holy retie of the lady abbess, but sin* 1 hath given a sobbing cry ami hath fallen forward with his arms around her droop : ing body and her wet cheek upon his ‘ breast. A sorry sight tills for tin* gaunt \ abbess, an 111 lesson too for the stainless » two-and-twenty who have ever been taught > that the way of nature is the way of slu. But Maude and Alleyne eared little for this. A dank, cold air oolites toil from the black j arch before them. Without, the sun i shines bright and the birds arc singing r amid the ivy on the drooping beeches, t Their choice is made, and they turn away ,• haml-in-hnmt, with their backs to the • darkness and their faces to the light. • • * * Very quiet was the wedding In the old I priory church nl Christchurch, where I Father Christopher mid the service, and then* were few to see save Lady Boring , and John, and a dozen bowmen from the » castle. The Lady of Twynhiun had droop i ed and pined for weary months, so that her face was harsher and less comely than before, yet sin* still hoped on, for her lord I had come • through so many dangers that 4 sin* could scarce believe that In* might be stricken down at last. It had been her wish to start for Spain and to search for him, hut Alleyne persuaded her to let him go In her place. There was r much to look after, now that tin* lands of Mlnstead wen* Joined to those of Twyn i ham. and Alleyne had promised her that if i slu* would but bide with bis wife In* i would never conn* back to Hampshire t again until In* had gained some news, good . or 111 of her lord and lover. i The yellow cog had been engaged, with Goodwin Ila winy nc In command, and a month after the wedding Alleyne rode • down to Bucklorshard to see If slu* had i come round yet from Southampton. On I tin* way In* passed the fishing village of i Pitt’s Deep, and » .tirked that a little i ereyer or brig was tackling off tin* land, i as though about to anchor there. Oil I his way back, as lie rode towards the vil lage, In* saw that slu* had Indeed anchored, and that many boats were round her, bearing cargo to tin* shore. A bow-shot from Pitt’s Deep there was an inn a little back from the road, very large and widespread, with a great green bush hung upon a pole from one of tin* upper windows. At tills window, he marked, as he rode up, that a man was seated who appeared to lu* craning his neck In his direction. Alleyne was still looking up to him, when a woman came rushing from the open door of tin* Inti, and made ns though slu* would climb a tree, looking back the while with a laughing face. Wondering what these doings might mean, Alleyne lied Ills horse and was walking amid tin* trees toward the inn, when there shot from the entrance a sec ond woman who made also for tin* trees. Close at her heels came a burly, brown faced man, who leaned against the door post and laughed loudly with his hand ito his side. “Ah. ma belles!” lie cried, and Is It thus you treat me? Ah, inn petltes! I swear by these lingerboties that 1 would not hurt a hair of your pret ty heads; but I have been among tin black pnyrilin. and. by my hilt! it does me good to look at your lOiigllsh cheeks. Come, drink a stoup of muscadine with me, men enges, for my heart is warm to be among ye again.” At the sight of the man, Alleyne had stood staring, but at the sound of his voice such n thrill of Joy bubbled up in Ids heart that In* had to bite his lips to | keep himself from shouting outright. But a deeper pleasure yet was in store. Fvon as lie looked, the window above was pushed outwards, and tin* voice of the man whom In* and seen there enrne out from It. “Aylwnrd,” cried tin* voice, “I have seen Just now a very worthy person come j down the road, though my eyes could \ , scarce discern whether he carried coat armor. I pray you to wait upon him and I tell him that a very humble knight of Frig land abides here, so that if In* he In need of advancement, or have any small vow upon his solil, or desire to exalt his lady, I may help him to accomplish It.’’ Aylward at this order came forward , amid the trees, and In an Instant the two men were clinging In each other’s arms, laughing and shouting and patting each j other In tlndr delight; while Sir Nigel came running with his sword, under the Impression that some blekerlng had brok en out, only to embrace and be embraced himself, until all three were hoarse with their questions and outcries and congratu lations. • On their Journey home through the woods Alleyne learnt their wondrous story: how. when Sir Nigel came to his senses, he with his fellow-raptlve had been hur ried to the roast, ami conveyed by sea j to their raptor’s castle; how upon the way they had been taken by a Barbar.v rover, and how they exchanged their light cap tivity for a seat on a galley bench and hard labor at the pirate’s oars; how. In the port at Bnrbary, Sir Nigel had slain the Moorish captain, and had swum with Ayl ward to a small coaster which they liiml taken, nod so made their way to Fngland with a rich cargo to reward them for their tolls. All tlds Alleyne listened to. until the dark keep of Twynham towered above them lu the gloaming, and they saw the , red sun lying athwart the rippling Avon No need to speak of the glad hearts at Twynham Gastle that night, nor of tin* rich offerings from out that Moorish cargo which found their way to the chapel of Father Ghrlstopher. Hlr Nigel Boring lived for many years, full of honor and laden with every bless ing. lie rode no more to the wars, tint lie found his way to every Jousting within thirty miles; and tin* Hampshire youth treasured it as the highest honor when a word of praise fell from him as to their management of their horses, or their breaking of their lances. Bo he lived and so he died, the most revered and the hap piest man in all his native shire. For Sir Alleyne Fdrleson and for his , beautiful bride the future had also nought but what s good. Twice lie fought lu France, and came back each time laden with honors. A high place at court was given to him, and he spent many years at [ Windsor under the second ftlehard and the I fourth Henry where he received the honor of the Garter, and won the name of I being a brave soldier, a true-hearted gen tleman. and a great lover and patron of every art and science Which ret 5 *s or en j rioldes life. As to John, he took himself a vil ! lage maid and settle-; Srs Byndhurst, ! where Ids five tho»naec frowns made him I the richest franklin fo»* many miles around, i For many ye-r he drank his ale every I night at the "fled Merlin,“ which was i now kept bv f,.end Aylward, who bad wedded the go •*' widow to whom he had committed r:V plunder. The strong men . and the Imwmen of the country round j used to drop In there of an evening to i wrestle * fad with John or to shoot a ! round w Jf i Aylward. but, though a silver vi i to be the prize of the victory, j it has fi-** er been reported that any man earned ueh money In that fashion. So they !!•-' 1, these men. In their own, lusty, cheery ash lon rude and rough, but hon est. kl dlv and true \je\ us thank God If j we have outgrown their vices. Bet ns J pray to God that we may ever hold their j virtues. CHE END. cool KARMtisrs for coufoki. I lie Shirtwaist the Leader—White the Coolest Color. Fort lui Browning. The month of August means a good many warm days and those who stay at home as well as the more fortunate individuals who enjoy the coolness of some resort need cool apparel. It. lias always been true everywhere that white proved much less warm beneath a scorching sun than a darker tone and the American woman has adopted it as her summer wardrobe this year. Everything which can be of white will be found much cooler .and pleasanter to look upon than other colors and this means every article of dress. It Is a scientific fact that white is the coolest, as black is the warmest color. The fashion makers have supplied womankind with real summer dress this year. No more hot collars and fitted waists for summer wear hut in stead, neck wear of sheerest lace or material and loose comfortable-looking blouses suitable for all ages. The shirt waist is the real monarch of the field for general wear and ibis takes a very wide variety of forms, from the drossy and fussy waist elaborately embroidered and inset *v|th lace to the real negligee shirt wHh its low collar and half sleeves. The latter is a new comer this season and is favored by the girl who enjoys any sort of out-of door sport. It is made of madras, lin en. lawn and silk and prettily trimmed with fiat collar, cuffs and tie of the same or a contrasting color. PA LIS APE PATTERNS. mmmMmmm—mmmmmmwmmr -- iva •—— ■ "■*■■ - m————— CORSET COVER AND b PETTICOAT !N ONE. l 11/ Designed bv Berth a Browning. jStSSL j ■ In tills dav of perfectly fitted garments, the ru\ 'yC' particular w< mun appreciates economy in slim \\m bands and belts. Hi re is shown a petticoat 11/III! \lV\ >A v. and corset mver joined *n one, both attractive HI u \\\\ ft >*4 in design and perfectly fitted. The corset cover II IB \\ ' p yjLs i H cut with square u» ck and n very narrow 11 I I {/{/ hand over the shoulder. Groups of tucks in i' * 5 Wl gßtj \ tercepted bv hands of insertion provide an //M, • \ case fullness over the bust, while the tucks l <Jf iITJUU //UL \ continue the entire length in back. The girdle V,’ Mt I/?.
