f
INTERNATIONAL PRESS ASSOCIATION. 1
r CHAPTER XXXIV.—fCoNTiNUKDA
He knew that at that hour Marjorie
would be from home, wandering in the
fields, perhaps, with her little boy, or
visiting some of her old village friends.
Feeling strong in this hope, he hurried
on toward the Castle.
He found Miss Hetherington alone.
She was glad to see him, but rated him
soundly on what she termed his neg
lect.
"It. is not for me to control ye if ye
dinna wish to come. Johnnie Suther
land,” she said. “You’re your own
maister, and ye can gang your own
.gait, but it's scarcely fair to Marjorie.
She's lonesome, poor lassie, and she
takes it ill that ye come so seldom.”
“Miss Hetherington,” returned Suth
erland, “I stayed away not because I
wished, but because I took too much
pleasure in coming. I love Marjorie.
I’ve loved her ever since I was a lad.
and I shall love her till I die. I
couldn’t come before, knowing she had
a husband; but it’s for you to say now
whether I may come in or not.”
"For me? What do you mean, John
nie Sutherland?”
For answer he put both the letter
and paper in her hand, and bade her
read. She did read; eagerly at first,
but as sfie proceeded her hand trem
bled, the tears streamed from her eyes
and the paper fell from her grasp.
“God forgive me!” she cried; “it's
an evil thing to rejoice at the death
-of a fellow-creature, yet 1 canna but
rejoice. He broke the heart of my poor
bairn, and he tried to crush down me,
but Heaven be praised! we are both
-free now. Johnnie Sutherland, you say
that you love her? Weel, I'm glad.
You’re a good lad. Comfort her If you
•can, and may God bless ye both.”
That very night Marjorie learned the
news from Miss Hetherington. The old
lady told it with a ring of joy in her
voice, but Marjorie listened with a
shudder. After all, the man was her
husband. Despite his cruelty, she had
once almost loved him; and, though she
could not mourn him as a widow
should, she tried to respect the dead.
But it was only for a while; then the
cloud lifted, and she almost thanked
■God that she was flee.
Sutherland now became a constant
visitor at the Castle, anti sometimes it
seemed to him and to Marjorie also
- that, their early days had returned; the
same, yet not the same, for the old
•CasMe looked bright and genial now,
and it was, moreover, presided over by
a bright, genial mistress.
Things could not last thus forever.
Marjorie knew it; and one evening she
was awakened from her strange dream.
She had been out during the afternoon
with her little boy, and as they were
walking back toward the Castle they
were joined by Sutherland. For a time
•the three remained walking together,
little Leon clinging on to Sutherland’s
hand; but after a while the child ran
•on to pluck some flowers, and left the
two together.
“How he loves you!" said Marjorie,
noting the child’s backward glance; “I
don't think he will ever forget the ride
you ;;ave him on the roundabouts at
the Champs Elysees—you were very
kind to him; you were very kind to us
both ”
Sire paused, but he said nothing;
presently she raised her eyes, and she
saw that he was looking fixedly at her.
She blusned and turned her head aside,
but no gained possession of her hand.
“Marjorie,” he said, “you know why
1 was kind to you, do you not? It was
because I loved you, Marjorie I love
you now—I shall always love you; tell
me. will you some day be my wife?”
The word was spoken, either for good
or evil, and he stood like a man await
ing ids death sentence. For a time she
did not answer; when she turned her
face toward him it was quite calm.
"Have you thought well?” she said.
“I am not what I was. I am almost
an old woman now, and there is my
boy.”
“Let him be my boy, Marjorie; do not
say ’No!’ ”
She turned toward him and put both
her hands in his.
“I say ‘Yes,’ ” she answered, “with
all my heart, but not yet—not yet!”
Later on that evening, when little
Leon lay peacefully sleeping in his cot,
and Miss Hetherington was dozing in
her easy-chair, Marjorie, creeping from i
the house, walked in the Castle grounds 1
to think over her new-found happiness
alone. Was it all real, she asked her
self, or only a dream? Could it be true
that she, after ail her troubles, would
find so much peace? It seemed strange,
yet it must be true. Yes, she was free
■at last.
CHAPTER XXXV.
.t * I..XV iuc uumca*
sion of her love for
Sutherland, and the
promise his love
had wrung from
her trembling lips,
Marjorie was not a
little troubled.
Again and again
she re p r o a c h e d
herself for want of
fidelity to CaU3si
mere a memory, for she was tender
hearted, and could not readily forget
what the man had once been to her.
'inflate is Ui* capful) lot Xorfiiveaeaa
implanted in the heart of a loving wo
man, and now that Caussidiere had
gone to his last account, a deep and
sacred pity took possession of his vic
tim's heart.
Sutherland saw the signs of change
with some anxiety, but had sufficient
wisdom to wait until time should com
plete its work and efface the French
man’s memory from Marjorie’s mind.
When they met he spoke little to her
of love, or of the tender hope which
bound them together; his talk was
rather of the old childish days, when
they were all in all to one another;
of old friends and old recollections,
such as sweeten life. He was very
gentle and respectful to her; only show
ing in his eyes the constancy of his
tender devotion, never harshly ex
pressing it in passionate words.
But if Sutherland was patient and
self-contained, it was far different with
the impulsive lady of the Castle. No
sooner was she made aware of the true
state of affairs than she was anxious
that the marriage should take place
at once.
“I'm an old woman now, Marjorie,”
she cried, “and the clays of my life are
numbered. Before I gang awa’ let me
see you a happy bride—let me be sure
you have a friend and protector while
I'm asleep among the mools.”
She was sitting in her boudoir in
her great arm-chair, looking haggard
and old indeed. The fire in her black
eyes had faded away, giving place to a
dreamy and wistful pity; but now and
again, as on the present occasion, it
flashed up like the gleam upon the
blackening brand.
Marjorie, who was seated sewing by
her mother's side, sadly shook her
head.
“I cannot think of it yet,” she re
plied, “I feel it would be sacrilege.”
“Sacrilege, say you?” returned Miss
Hetherington. “The sacrilege was wi’
yon Frenchman, when he beguiled you
awa’, and poisoned your young life,
my bairn. You owed him no duty liv
ing, and you owe him none dead. He
was an ill limmer, and thank God he’s
In his grave!”
“Ah, do not speak ill of him now.
If he has sinned he has been punished.
To die—so young.”
And Marjorie’s gentle eyes filled with
tears.
“If he wasna ripe, do you think he
would be gathered?” exclaimed Miss
Hetherington, with something of her
old fierceness of manner. "My certie,
he was ripe—and rotten; Lord forgive
me for miscalling the dead! But, Mar
jorie, my bairn, you’re o’er tender
hearted. Forget the past! Forget ev
erything but the happy future that lies
before you! Think you’re just a young
lass marrying for the first time, and
marrying as good a lad as ever wore
shoon north o' the Tweed.”
Marjorie rose from her seat, and
valking to the window, looked dream
ily down at the Castle garden, still
tangled as a maze and overgrown with
weeds. As she did so, she heard a
child’s voiie, calling in French:
“Maman! Maman!"
It was little Leon, playing in the old
garden, attended by a Scottish serving
maid, who had been taken on as nurse.
He saw Marjorie looking down, and
looking up with a face bright as sun
shine, waved his hands to her in de
light.
“How can I think as you say,” she
said, glancing round at her mother,
“when I have my boy to remind me
that I am a widow? After all, he’s my
husband’s child—a gift that makes
amends for all my sorrow.”
As she spoke she kissed her hand
fondly to the child, and looked down at
him through streaming tears of love.
“Weel, weel,” said the old lady,
soothingly; “I’m no saying but that it’s
weel to forget and forgi’e. Only your
life must not be wasted, Marjorie! I
must see you settled down before I
gang.”
“You will not leave me, dear moth
er!” answered Marjorie, returning to
her side and bending over her. “No,
no; you are well and strong.”
“What's that the aulil sang says?”
returned Miss Hetherington, smooth
ing the girl’s hair with her wrinkled
hand, as she repeated thoughtfully:
‘I hear a voice you cannot hear,
That says I must not stay;
I see a hand you cannot see,
That beckons me away.’
That’s it Marjorie! I’m an old woman
now—old before my time. God has
been kind to me, far kinder than I de
serve; but the grass will soon be green
on my grave in the kirkyard. Let me
sleep in peace! Marry Johnnie Suth
erland wi’ my blessing, and I shall ken
you will never want a friend.”
Such tender reasoning had its weight
with Marjorie, but it failed to conquer
her scruples altogether. She still re
mained in the shadow of her former
sorrow, fearful and ashamed to pass,
as she could have done at one step,
into the full sunshine of the newer and
brighter life.
So the days passed on, till at last
there occurred an event so strange, so
unexpected, and spirit compelling, that
it threatened for a time to drive our he
roine into madness and despair.
One summer afternoon Marjorie, ac
companied by little Leon, met Suther
land in the village, and walked with
him to Soiomoa* ciilafie. ThSy Icojid
the old man in the garden, looldng un
usually bright and hale; but his talk
was still confused; he mingled the
present with tho past, and continued
to speak of Marjorie, and to address
her, as if she were still a child.
The sun was setting when they left
•him, turning their steps toward An
nandale Castle. They lingered slowly
along the road, talking of indifferent
things, and sweetly happy in each
other's society, till it was growing
dark.
Then Marjorie held out her hand.
“Let me go with you to the Castle
gate,” said Sutherland eagerly.
“Not to-night,” answered Marjorie.
“Pray, let me walk alone, with only lit
tle Leon.”
Very unwillingly he acquiesced, and
suffered her to depart. He watched her
sadly till her figure disappeared in the
darkness, moving toward the lonely
bridge across the Annan.
Having wished Sutherland good
night, Marjorie took the child by the
hand and walked back across the mead
ows toward the Castle. It was a peace
ful gloaming; the stars were shining'
brightly, the air was balmy; so she
sauntered along, thinking dreamily of
the past.
She' walked up by the bridge, and
looked down at Annan Water, flowing
peacefully onward.
As she looked she mused. Her life
had begun with trouble, but surely all
that was over now. Her days in Paris
seemed to be fading rapidly into the
dimness of the past; there was a broken
link in her chain of experience, that
was all. Yes. she would forget it, and
remember only the days which she had
passed at Annandale.
And yet How could she do so? There
was the child, little Leon, who looked
at her with her father’s eyes, and spoke
his childish prattle in tones so like
those of the dead man, that they some
times made her shudder. She lifted tho
boy in her arms.
“Leon,” she said, “do you remember
Paris, my child—do you remember
your father?”
The child looked at her. and half
shrunk back in fear. How changed she
had become I Her cheeks were burning
feverishly, „ cr eyes sparkling.
“Mamma,” said the boy, half draw
ing from her, "what is the matter?”
"Nothing, darling,” she said.
She pressed him fondly to her, and
set him again upon the ground. They
walked on a few steps farther, when
she paused again, sat down upon the
grass, and took the boy upon her
knee.
“Leon,” she said, patting his cheek
and soothing back his hair. "You love
Annandale, do you not?”
“Yes, mamma, and grandmamma,
and Mr. Sutherland.”
“And—and you would be able to for
get the dreadful time we spent In
Paris?”
“And papa?”
“My darling, your father is dead.”
She pressed the child to her again;
raised V:r eyes and looked straight in
to the (Vice of her husband.
Causa* tliere!
It wa,' indeed he, or his spirit, stand
ing therfe in the starlight, with his pale
face turned toward her, his eyes look
ing straight into hers. For a moment
they looked upon one another—he made
a movement toward her, when, with a
wild cry, Marjorie clasped her child
still closer to her, and sank back
swooning upon the ground.
When she recovered her senses she
was still lying where she had fallen;
the child was kneeling beside her, cry
ing bitterly, and Caussidiere, the man,
and not his spirit, was bending above
her. When she opened her eyes, he
smiled, and took her hand.
“It is I, little one,” he said.' “Do not
be afraid.”
With a shudder she withdrew her
hand, and rose to her feet and faeed
him.
(TO BH OOXTIXCBD.)
HARSH ENVIRONMENT,
Those People Are Stunted by It Mord
Surely Thau by Heredity*
In Limousin there is d, barren range
of low hills which lies along the divid
ing line between the departments of
Dordogne, Correze and Haute-Vienne,
about half way between Perigueux and
Limoge3, says Popular Science Month
ly. Tho water courses show the loca
tion of these uplands. They extend
over an area- about seventy-five miles
long and half as wide, wherein average
human misery Is most profound. Denso
ignorance prevails. There is more il
literacy than in any other part of
France. The contrast in stature,even
with the low average of all the sur
rounding region, is clearly marked by
ihe dark tint. There are sporadic bits
of equal diminutiveness elsewhere to
the south and west, but none are so
extended or so extreme. Two-thirds
of the men are below five feet three
inches in height, in some of the com
munes, and t!ie wopnen are three or
more iuches shorter even than this.
One man in ten is below four feet
eleven inches in stature. This is not
line to race, for several racial types
are equally stunted in this way within
ihe same area. It is primarily due to
generations of subjection to a har3h
climate, to a soil which is worthless
for agriculture, to a steady diet of
boiled chestnuts and stagnant water,
and to unsanitary dwellings in the
deep, narrow and damp valleys. Still
further proof may he found to show
; hat these people are not stunted by
any hereditary influence, for it has
been shown that children bor here,
but who migrate and grow up else
where, are normal in height; while
those born elsewhere, but who are sub
ject to this environment during the
growing period of youth, are propor
JormUIy dwarfed.
Spain’s New War Ships
rushing Work on Three Armored Cruisers of a
Type Superior to the Vizcaya.
The Spanish government Is doing all
within Its power to augment the
strength of her navy, and with that end
in view, orders have been given to push
forward the three new armored crui
sers, the Cardinal Cisneros, Princesa
de Austurias and Cataluna, which this
country is building, and which are de
scribed In the following articles, taken
from that excellent weekly naval il
lustrated paper, El Mundo Naval, writ
ten by Lieutenant of the Navy Mario
Rubio Munez:
"The navy is anxiously awaiting the
happy completion of the three armored
cruisers which are being built in the
arsenals of Fcrrol, Carraca and Carta
gena. The general description given
in brief in a previous number, When
wc described to our readers the cruis
ers Infanta Maria Teresa, Vizcaya and
Oquendo, are repeated in reference to
their sister ships in all that relates to
the generic type; but there will be a
large number of new details which
augment their fighting value in the
Cardinal Cisneros, Princesa de Astur
ias and Cataluna.
Armament to Be Heavier.
“Apart from the small variations of
external appearance, the differences to
which we allude are for the main part
introduced in the armament of the new
cruisers, which Is to be heavier and at
the same time more complete.
“The characteristics of these cruisers
are the following: Length, 106 metres:
breadth; 18m. 8cm.; draught, 6m. 6cm.;
displacement, 7,000 tons; engines, 15,
000 hprse power, and speed 20 knots.
Armor: Belt, 31cm.; deck, 5cm.; gun po
sition, 27cm., and conning tower, 31cm.
Armament: Hontoria system, 24cm., 2;
14cm. quick firing, 10; small calibre,
20: torpedo tubes, 8.
“If our readers will take the pains
to compare these official figures with
those of the Infanta Maria Teresa, Viz
caya and Oquendo they will find in the
newly built cruisers an Increase of
1,200 horse power in the engines,which
that idea In mind the new cruisers
have been equipped, for the rapid firing
guns are perfectly protected by armor,
and with special provision for a separ
ate supply of shell.
Better Than Old Type.
"These points will mark the suprem
acy of the Cardinal Cisneros, Princesa
de Asturias and Cataluna over the In
fanta Maria Theresa type. The rapid
evolution which has taken place in na
val construction of modern times, age
in a short time the most admired and
renowned ships; the sphere of action
of the critic expands and extends log
ically under such circumstances, and
daring are the arguments of those who
seek to show that efficiency is want
ing.”
HERO OF MAINE DISASTER.
Brave "Bill” Anthony, marine order
ly of the ill-fated battleship Maine, has
a record to be proud of. Amidst the
shrieks of wounded sailors and the rush
of flames, with the great steel ship
settling to its grave and' the dead lying
thick upon its shattered decks, brave
Anthony made his report to Captain
Sigsbee.
That report—the essence of courage
and discipline—should live in Ameri
can history.
"Sir,” said the gallant orderly, stand
ing at salute. "I have to Inform you
that the ship has been blown up and i3
sinking.”
"Bill” Anthony has carried a rifle in
Uncle Sam’s service since he was 17
years old. His father was a boss
truckman In New York in the old days
when Fifty-ninth street was out in the
suburbs, and "BiU" was born within
a stone's throw of the battery. He was
a natural born soldier, six feet two
Inches tall, broad-shouldered, narrow
hipped, slender-limbed, and stout
hearted.
The family moved to New Jersey just
about the time “BUI" completed a rath
C.\P7\J>» W T SAltrnOV or THE IOWA
CAPTAIN * C'. CHADWICK OT TKX KSW.
COHMaNCBR AMOLRM MaRiaoR TMB«'Ka
MAINE BOARD OF INQUIRY.
of course will give a large increase of
speed. In addition to this there Is the
finer model which will add still fur
ther speed. The armored belt which de
fends the vital parts of the Cardinal
Cisneros is larger and the quality of
the plates has improved, and we main
tain hopes that the sister ship In Bil
bao will have even stronger resistive
power. The defensive power of the
whole has also increased not a little,
for they have the exceptional advan
tage of the installation of a battery of
14cm. quick Bring guns.
Compared with Our Ships.
“It seems, in our opinion, well to
form comparative data with other na
vies as the best means of appreciating
the relative value of the national forces
and with that object in view we present
to our readers for reference and anal
ogy the three most powerful armored
cruisers flying the United States flag,
which serve to-day as the sword of Da
mocles to our Spanish pessimists.
“The four fundamental properties of
this class of ship, power defensive and
offensive speed and radius of action,
can be easily appreciated by the data
which follows:
I»i8f laceraent, Tons,
Machinery, H. power,
^ \ Belt, In cm...i....
|« Deck plating, cm.
t fGun poaltlonsicm
< ! From 22 to 28chi..
j j From 16 to22cm..
e i From 14 to lRcin..
c Of 10cm.
< {Smaller.
Torpedo tubes.
Speed In knotM.
Hadlus of action in
miles.
Deduction From Figures.
"Direct deduction from the preceding
figures enables us without any strain
ing of our conscience to call our three
national cruisers superiores in absoiu
to over their foreign antagonists, but,
nevertheless, the eloquence of those
figures should be sufficient to inspire in
the pessimists and incredulous the ne
cessary peace of mind, to close the
mouths of those who are constantly
stating that the Spanish forces are de
fective and those who so freely criti
cise the naval profession in our coun
try.
■'Recent experiences of such import
ance as that of the battle of the Yalu,
in the Chino-Japancse war. have dem
onstrated the supremacy of quick fir
ing ordnance, and the former custom
of trusting to guns of immense cali
bre has gone out of date, while to-day
the great aim of constructors is mid
dle sized guns well protected. With
3,500 3,500 10,000 12.000 6,000
er turbulen career in the public Schools
and one morning he vanished. •'Bill”
had enlisted. That happened twenty
eight years ago. and from that moment
Anthony has never ceased to wear the
uniform.
His first active service carried him
to the Carolinas, where the Ku Klux
were busily engaged in their deviltries.
.There he laid the foundation for his
soldierly reputation. His commanding
officer in those early days was Major
Steward, long since retired, but still
living.
| Years later a young man drifted into
the marine corps as a volunteer, a
slender, soft-handed fellow, who was
the butt of the company until “Bill”
Anthony, the pride of the barracks,
called a halt. The recruit proved to
be the wayward son of Anthony's old
major, and the big marine watched
over him like a father.
Anthony saw fourteen years of sol
diering, most of it cn the western plains
before he threw in his fortunes with
the marines. He was always a marked
man in the service, conspicuous for his
magnificent physique, his cool courage,
and perfect discipline.
As a non-commissioned officer he
lilled every position known to the mil
itary code, and filled them well. There
was just one blemish in brave "Bin's”
character—a blemish which many be
lieve alone kept him out of a commis
sion. “Bill" would drink, not often to
ANOTHER VIEW OF THE WRECKED BATTLESHIP MAINE.
PHOTOGRAPH.
FROM ▲
— • i
excess, bui Invariably just at the wrong,
time, when his commanding officers—1
favorite though he was—could not1
wink at the offense.
His last army service was at West
Point, where he figured to the admira
tion of cadets and everybody else as
drum major. “Bill’s" splendid figure
and profound knowledge of soldiery
won him this appointment.
Ten years ago he left the army and
enlisted as a marine. It was the old
story over again—rapid advancements,
followed by the Inevitable setbacks, all
due to unwise conviviality. Not that
“Bill" ever transgressed while on duty
—for a firmer disciplinarian never
wore a marine uniform. Over at tho
Brooklyn navy yard Anthony is well1
known and well liked. Ho was sta
tioned there for two years, and during;
the greater pert of that time served!
as clerk in the recruiting office.
Anthony was detailed to the Brook*
lyn or. Us cruise in the China seas. Up
on his return he was sent to the Maine*
DIVER ON THE WRECKED MAINE,
where his soldierly merit won him the
post of marine orderly.
Wreck of tlie Alhnelot.
Lieutenant Frank S. Hotchkin, of
Chicago, who served eighteen years in
the United States navy, and then re
tired into commercial life, says that It'
the Maine had not been a warship the
disaster might have been much worse
than it was. The lieutenant waB an
officer on board the the fated Ashuelot
when that warship was wrecked in the
China sea. Eight men were lost—three
Chinese who were looting the officers’’ .
quarters, and live "middies’’ whoi
Jumped overboard, crazed by fear. The
Ashuelot was built for service on the
Mississippi during the war, and fifteen
years ago, Feb. 23, was in Chinese wat
ers. She was walled in by a heavy fo®
when at 4 o’clock in the morning Lieu-'
tenant Hotchkin went to relieve the»
watch. He had scarcely put foot on
deck when the lookout cried: “Land on>
the starboard beam!” The next min
ute the ship strilck, and had it not'
been fqr .the discipline the whole .out
fit would have gone to the bottom!*
The loss of the ship caused an inquiry
and a court-martial, and the captain
and the navigator were disciplined.'
"If ever I am in a marine disaster
again,” quoth the lieutenant, "I desire
that it shall be on a man-of-war.”
Wheelmen in Training.
An experienced trainer asked to con- •
dense the best information he could
give a new racing man, answered as
follows: “Eat almost everything ex
cept 'green stuff,’ potatoes and turnips.
Make beef, dry toast and weak tea the
principle articles of food. Do not be
afraid of ice cream and ripe fruit at:
your meals. Be in bed at 9 o’clock each,
night and up at 6 in the morning. Take
a cool spray bath on rising. Do not
use tobacco or drink any kind of li
quor. For rubbing mixtures so dear to
all racing men use witch hazel mixed'
with a very little pepperment oil. Mix
in the proportion of one pint of witch
hazel to five cents’ worth of oil. Do
not depend so much on the mixture as
on the rubbing. Have the body well
rubbed over. Knead every muscle.
End by briskly rubbing in order to
bring blood to the surface nicely.—Ex
change. , it
- .-j
An Artist.' Model's Card.
Even artists’ models nowadays use
the latest form of advertisement. Ono
lady in Paris leaves the following visit
ing card at the house of certain famous
painters: “X——, model. Fine and
spiritual figure. Civil as -well as mili
tary uniforms of all epochs worn with
the same style of excellence.”—Das
Fremdenblatt, Vienna.
Man’s "science” may be quite Irre
concilable with man’s “theology,” but
God’s “Word” and God’s “work” can
never contradict each other.
