15he Scovirge I A Story of 1 I
qfDa.ma.sc\Js By
SYLVANUS
^ COBB. JR.
Copyrighted 1M1 by Robert Bonner'a Sons.
CHAPTER XVII.—(Continued.)
Ulin bowed her head upon her
hands; and could the instinctive
promptings of her heart at that mo
ment have been read, they would have
revealed a secret not much to be won
dered at.
“I think,” said Ezabel, after a pause,
“that you have had some opportunity
to study Julian’s character.”
"I have seen enough to assure me
that he is a noble, generous man,”
returned Ulin, raising her head.
"And,” added Ezabel, "if you could
know him better you would find your
impressions strengthened. But he will
not be here long. As soon as he re
covers from his wound he will leave
us.”
“If I am not mistaken." ventured
our heroine, “Julian is at home in this
place.”
"Most certainly he is, my daughter.
From his earliest childhood he knew
no other home but this.”
“And he was on his way hither
when he overtook me in the hands of
the Arabs ”
"Yes.”
“And will my presence cause him to
leave you?”
“I think not, lady. But you will
give yourself no uneasiness on that ac
count. If Julian feels that he had bet
ter be away from you, he will go for
his own sake. And, remember—the
truly poble soul finds joy in the gen
erous sacrifices which it may be called
upon to make. I hear Ben Hadad’s
voice. He is calling me.”
She arose and left the chamber; and
when she returned sne was followed by
Ben Hadad. Now that Ulin saw the
hermit by the light of the day she was
awe-struck by his venerable appear
ance. All that could be noble and
honorable and lovable in old age
seemed combined in him; and as he
bent his gaze upon her and extended
his hand in welcome, she felt her heart
go to him with all its trust and confi
dence.
“My child,”’ he said in tones of ten
derest solicitude, "Ezabel has told me
your story and I have come to bid
you an affectionate welcome to my
cave. Rest here and feel that you are
at home. Your mother paid me for
this long ago. Come—follow me to
where the air is fresher, and where
the sunbeams can greet you.”
The maiden thanked Ben Hadad as
well as she was able and then rose to
follow him. He led her to the main
cave, where she found Hobaddan and
the slaves.
“This is my home,” said the old
mao, as he led the maiden to a seat;
"and here have I lived more years than
go to fill up the allotted age of man.
All these trees and shrubs I have
trained up from the tender sprout, and
these vines I have taught to clothe
the gray old recks. And I have been
most fortunate in my life! I have been
able to protect many who needed pro
tection and my days have been length
ened out to protect more.”
Ulin was touched by the deep pathos
of the hermit’s words, and for a whole
hour she sat and listened to his conver
sation. At the end of that time he led
her back to the cave where Ortok, the
black slave, had prepared dinner. She
did not feel hungry, but she sat down
with Ben Hadad and Hobadden and
Ezabel—she and Albia—and partook
with them.
Thus passed three days; and Ulin
had become so used to the place that
it already seemed like home. She had
learned to love the hermit; and she
had learned to love Ezabel; and she
had learned to respect and esteem the
3tout-hearted Hobaddan and to con
verse with him freely. Once she asked
the lieutenant what had become of
Julian’s band. Would they not be
seeking him?
And he explained to her that he had
communicated with them—that they
knew of their chieftain's safety and
had gone away into the mountains of
Lebanon, where comfortable abiding
places for them were plenty.
When Ulin retired to her own apart
ment she sat by herself, with her head
bowed upon her hands, taking no no
tice of her serving-maid. At an early
hour she retired; but it was a long
time ere she slept; and when she did
sleep she was troubled with strange
dreams. She dreamed of the unfortu
nate Helena, and awoke with a cry
af pain. And then she dreamed a more
pleasant dream—a dream of something
that had haunted her waking thoughts
—a dream of the Scourge and Damas
cus.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Something More Than a Dream.
On the following morning, when
Ulin entered the main cave, Julian
was there to greet her. She extended
her hand to him and smiled as she
spoke. The youthful chieftain was
somewhat pale, but his large, lustrous
syes burned with a deeped intensity
and the white brow offered a strange
contract to the waving mases of golden
aair. The maiden's smile faded away
when she met the earnest gaze that
was fixed upon her, and her hand
trebled before she withdrew it. He
spoke to her a few words of cheer, ex
oressed his gratitude that she had
found a place of safety; and hoped
that the future might have no more
clouds for her.
“O, my mistress.” cried Albia, when
she and Ulin were alone, “how noble
a man he is!”
“Who?” asked the princess, starting
out from a deep reverie
“Julian. I mean.” returned the maid,
quickly and with enthusiasm. "Does
he not look handsomer than ever?”
Ulin bowed her head and made no
reply.
“Is he not beautiful to gaze upon?”
pursued Albia, without seeming to no
tice her lady's abstracted mood.
“Hush, Albia, say no more now. I
am busy with my own thoughts.”
“Pardon, sweet mistress. 1 meant
no wrong. I thought—we owed him
so much—and ije has suffered in our
behalf—that you might—”
“Albia, say no more. I know you
meant well. You mistake me if you
think I am not grateful. There—say
no more. I love you, and would not
hurt your feelings. Go out into the
grove and walk awhile.”
Ulin bowed her head again as she
spoke, with her hand upon her brow—
upon her brow for a moment—and
then pressed upon her bosom. And
thus Albia left her.
When the freed girl reached the
grove in front of the cave she found
Julian and Osmir in close conversa
tion and before they noticed her she
had heard enough to excite her cu
riosity; and with a freedom that was
natural to her, she asked them what
had happened.
“Osmir thinks,” said Julian, with a
smile, "that one of the Arab rubbers
has followed us and tracked us to
this place; but I laugh at him.”
“I may be mistaken,” rejoined the
other, “but still I think I am right.
I have seen the fellow twice; once by
the river at the entrance of the wood,
and once further away. It was one of
the rascals wno escaped us.”
“And if it is the Arab, what can he
want?” asked Albia.
“If it be one of those fellows,” re
turned Julian, “he may wish to join
our ranks.”
“Oh,” added Osmir, “he may hope to
steal something.”
“Very likely,” assented the chieftain.
“However,” he concluded, after a brief
pause, “we may as well keep a sharp
lookout.”
"Selim and I are on the watch,” said
Osmir; "and if we catch the rascal,
we’ll secure him.”
Albia fancied that Julian had
thoughts which he was not willing to
express in her presence, but she did
not mean to fret herself; and before
she rejoined her mistress she had al
most forgotten the circumstances.
At noon, and again in the evening,
did Ulin meet Julian; but they did
not converse freely together. She
could not meet the gaze of those lus
trous eyes without tremb.ing, and she
sought to avoid that which so much
moved her. If he had approached her
and spoken freely with her on some
subject of general interest she would
have joined him readily; but he did
not do so.
Morning came again, and again the
maiden met the man who had saved
her from the Arabs. This time he
greeted her in few words, and soon
turned away to speak with Hobaddan.
He did not seem well. He looked
paler than on the day before, and
there was an expression of pain about
the mouth and eyes. Ulin was uneasy.
Perhaps his wound was giving him
new trouble. As soon as the morn
ing's meal had been eaten, she sought
Ezabel and asked her if Julian was
suffering from his wound.
“No,” replied the old woman. "I
do not think it is his wound. I have
noticed his appearance and have asked
him what it meant; but he puts me
off with a smile and a blessing and
tries to assure me that all is well. I
do not like to see him suffer. He is
like a child to me and I love him ten
derly. Ah, the world little knows
what a noble, generous soul dwells
within that manly form.”
“If I thought he was suffering from
m;' account,” said Ulin, “I should be
most unnappy.
"How on your account” said Eza
bel, quickly.
“I mean in consequence of the wound
he received while fighting for my de
liverance.”
"I hardly think it is that. Some
thing beside the wound troubles him.
It may be that the short captivity in
Damascus worries him. He may have
heard something there that gives him
unpleasant thought.”
At noon Julian did not appear when
the rest ate their dinner. He was out
by the river. Late in the afternoon
Ulin met Ezabel again and the latter
seemed sad and dejected.
“Julian is going to leave us,” ex
claimed the woman, in answer to an
inquiry from Ulin.
“Leave us!” repeated our heroine,
with a start.
“Yes; so he told me only an hour
since.”
“When will he go?”
“Early in the morning.”
“But he will shortly return?”
“I fear not. I asked him that and
he only shook his head.”
“Does he give any reason for his
going away?”
“None that you need to know, my
child. In fact, he gives me no reason
directly. 1 am left to draw my conclu
sions from accidental remarks.”
When Ulin retired to her chamber
she was in a frame of mind not eas
ily analyzed. She spoke to Albia con
cerning the chieftain’s unexpected de
parture and the girl expressed the
opinion that he felt himself to be in
j the way.
“What do you mean by that?” asked
1 Ulin.
“Well," replied Albia. “I think Jul
ian feels that there are enough dwell
ers in the hermit’s cave without him.
I may be mistaken; but his manner,
for a day or two pa,st, has seemed to
indicate that he was not perfectly at
ease here.”
The princess asked no more ques
tions, but busied herself with her own
thoughts.
As the sun was sinking from its
dally course, Ulln wandered out into
the grove alone, and as she approached
the spot where she sometimes sat with
the hermit, she saw Julian, seated
upon a bench beneath an orange tree.
At first she thought of turning back,
and retracing her steps; but an im
pulse which was no result of her will,
but rather an Instinctive emotion, as
though some secret force, led her on;
and almost before she was aware of it
she came so near that the youth
heard her stop and looked up. He
started when he saw her and a flash
of joy, like a quick passage of Bun
light, was upon his face. In a moment,
however, the look was gone, and a
shade of sadness succeeded. The
maiden could not now have withdrawn
even had she been so disposed in the
first place. Following the strong im
pulse, she aavanced to the shadow
of the orange tree and placed her hand
upon Julian's shoulder; and it thrilled
the youth like an electric shock.
“Kind sir,” she said, scarcely able
to speak above a whisper when she
commenced, “Ezabel tells me you are
going away.”
“Yes, lady,” Julian replied, rising
as he spoke; “I have so determined.”
“And you go soon?”
“In the morning.”
“This is sudden, sir.”
“No, lady; no more so than my
movements are apt to be.”
CHAPTER XIX.
Ulin and Julian.
Ulin hesitated and trembled, and
finally sat down upon the bench from
which the chieftain had arisen. In a
few moments she had recovered her
self so that she could speak without
faltering.
“Good sir, I have one question to ask
you.” She went on hurriedly, as
though the old impulse still led her;
“You had not planned to leave the
cave so soon?”
“I had planned nothing about it,
iady.”
“But—if I had not been here, with
my servant, you would have remained
longer?”
“Lady, do not ask me such ques
tions.”
“I must ask them, sir, for I want
to know. If I thought that my pres
ence here had caused you to leave
your old home, I should be most un
happy. When I came here I did not
know how near and dear this place
was to you. If one of us must go,
let me find some other resting place.”
Julian started and trembled like an
aspen. A moment it was so, and then
he turned upon the maiden a look so
earnest and so deep and so full of
tumultuous feeling, that she shook be
neath it.
“Lady,” he said, speaking almost in
a whisper, “you shall know the se
cret which I had purposed never to
reveal to mortal being. The words
are forced from me. Let me speak
them now; and then let them be for
gotten. When I heard that the king
of Damascus had shut up a fair maid
en within the Palace of Lycanius, and
that he meant to make that maiden
his wife, I felt my heart grow sick
within me and I resolved, if the fair
one was held against her will, that I
would set her free. I led my brave
men to the palace and overcame the
guard which the king had set. Heaven
was opened, but in the blessed realm
I was offered no abiding place. I saw
the loved spirit of light within the
cave which had been the home of my
childhood; but my love I dared not
speak. How could I, the enemy of
Damascus, and the branded robber,
tell my love to the daughter of the
king’s prime minister. Lady, j dare
not trouble you more.”
(To be continued.)
THE INDISPENSABLE MAN.
Prudent Business Men Now Get Rid of
That Pomposity.
Some of the most successful busi
ness men in this country make it a
rule to dispense with the services of
any man in their employ, no matter
how important his position may be,
as soon as he comes to regard himself
as “indispensable,” says Success. This
may seem harsh and even unbusiness
like; but, If we look Into it, we shall
find that there Is wisdom in this prac
tice. Experience proves that, the mo
ment a man looks upon himself as ab
solutely necessary, he usually ceases
to exercise to the fullest extent the
faculties which have helped him to
rise to that indispensable point. He
becomes arrogant and dictatorial, and
his influence in an organization Is
bound to be more or less demoraliz
ing. Many concerns have been seri
ously embarrassed by the conduct of
managers, superintendents, or heads
of departments, after they had reached
positions where they thought no one
else could take their places. This
undue appreciation of one's own im
portance is as disastrous In its re
sults as utter lack of self-esteem. It
is really evidence of a narrow mind,
and ignorance of general conditions;
for the man who is up to the times,
thoroughly posted in regard to the
world-wide trend of the twentieth
century, will realize that there are few
people in the world no matter what
their talents or ability, who cannot
be replaced. It is a very rare charac
ter, Indeed, that is imperatively nec
essary, and the man who actually
Teaches this point does not brag of it,
nor act as if he considered himself
“Indispensable.”
Leon Czolgosz Is Sentenced to
Die in Electric Chair.
SAYS HE HAD NO ACCOMPLICES.
Murderer of McKinley Tells dodge No
One Else Was la Plot — Dramatic
Scene In Court—Falters While Making
His Statements to Judge.
History of the Trial.
Monday, Sept. 16. — Czolgosz ar
raigned in court before Judge White,
charged with the murder ot President
McKinley on Sept. 7. He refused to
answer the Indictment.
Monday, Sept. 23.—Czolgosz placed
on trial. Pleaded guilty to charge. Plea
not accepted and trial proceeds.
Tuesday, Sept. 24.—Czolgosz is found
guilty as charged.
Thursday, Sept. 26.—Judge White,
who presided at trial, sentences pris
oner to be put to death in the electric
chair at Auburn prison, sometime dur
ing the week beginning October 28.
Csolgoss Receives Sentence.
Czolgosz was sentenced to death by
Justice Truman C. White in the Su
preme court at Buffalo Thursday
BRINGING CZOLGOSZ INTO COURT FOR SENTENCE. FROM A SKETCH
MADE IN COURT.
afternoon. The assassin took advan- |
tage of the opportunity to speak, but
he confined himself to taking upon his
own shoulders the blame for the great
crime of having murdered the presi
dent of the United States. He advanced
no reason In justification of his mon
strous deed. Not a word did he utter
of anarchy, of his enmity to govern
ment or of the motives which prompt
ed him to the commission of his crime.
Hall Cleared By Folloo.
Greater crowds gathered for the sen
tencing of the assassin than came for
any one session of the trial itself. Be
fore 12:30 p. m. a crowd had gath
ered in the corridor in front of Justice
White’s court room. By 1 p. m. the
corridor was jammed. Capt. Regan
then appeared on the stairs with a
squad of 100 uniformed officers and
cleared the hall. It was a case of first
come first served after a line was
formed, and the tickets of admission
issued for the trial were worthless. It
took less than ten minutes for the
single file to fill the court room and
then the doors were closed to be
opened only upon the arrival of offi
cials, counsel and others connected
with the day’s proceedings.
Dramatic Scene In Court.
In a hush that was like the silence
of death Justice White pronounced the
prisoner’s doom. Physically tottering
under the ordeal, but sustaining him
self by sheer force of nerve, the mur
derer heard the words of death pro
nounced, was shackled and quietly sub
mitted to be led away.
In no brazen fashion did the pris
oner face the court. Swaying from side
to side, boyish looking, trembling with
nervousness, but held up by nerve, he
stood leaning on the chair in front of
him.
Falters In Ills Words.
Falteringly, hesitatingly, he spoke,
after having been asked each question
several times. He acted almost as if
the words were being wrung out of
him, it took him so long to find utter
ance, and he spoke so rapidly when the
first word left his lips in response to
a question.
His voice was hardly heard ten feet
away, although every ear In the great
court room was strained to catch the
slightest sound from his lips.
His face paled at no .time during the
proceedings. It was flushed with the
emotion it was costing him so much
strength to master. As the prelimin
ary to the pronouncing of sentence
many questions were asked by the dis
trict attorney. Czolgosz evinced the
utmost willingness to answer all these
questions, but his utterance seemed to
smother in his throat.
Lawyer Offers Aid.
It was only after an effort that each
reply was blurted out. As he stood his
breast heaved, his eyes blinked rap
idly and once be almost reeled, so that
ex-Judge Titus, his counsel, held up a
hand to support him.
He did not need the proffered aid.
but straightened himself up of his own
effort. It was with a feeling of relief
that the assassin heard the words.
“Remove the prisoner," pronounced by
Judge White. He heaved a great sigh
as he was manacled and was led away.
Tells of 111* Life.
“Stand up, Czolgosz, please." said
Mr. Penny, turning to the prisoner.
Nudged by bailiffs, the prisoner stood
up, the center of all attention in the
crowded room.
In answer to questions put by Mr.
Penny, Czolgosz said under oath that
he was born In Detroit, that he was
educated in the common and church
schools, that he had been a Catholic,
that he was a laborer, and that he had
lived In Cleveland and In Buffalo.
The court clerk then asked the ques
tion for which all had been awaiting.
Judge Titus asked that the prisoner
be permitted to make a statement In
exculpation of his act.
Czolgosz leaned heavily on a chair.
He then spoke, saying he alone com
mitted the crime. No one had any
thing to do with his crime but himself,
he said.
Judge White—"Before the passing of
sentence you may speak on two sub
jects. First, you can claim that you are
insane; second, that you have good
cause to offer that Judgment should
not be pronounced against you; third,
that you wish a new trial.
Given Liberty to Speak.
“These are the grounds specified by
statute. You are now at liberty to
speak.”
Czolgosz—"I have nothing to say on
those things.”
Judge Titus then consulted the pris
oner.
Judge Titus—“I think he ought to be
permitted to make a statement in ex
culpation of his family, your honor.”
Judge White—“The defendant may
speak in exculpation of his father and
brothers and sisters. If that is what
he means to do it is proper.”
Say* Ho Old it Alone.
Czolgosz—“No other person had any
thing to do with it. No other person
knew of this but myselr; my father
Y KV I
REMOVING HANDCUFFS FROM CZOLGOSZ'S WRISTS IN COURT.
or mother or no one else knew nothing
about It. I never thought of, the crime
until two days before I committed It
and never told nobody about it.”
Judge Lewis—"He says he did not
make up his mind to do it until a few
days before its commission.
Judge I*as»eti Sentence.
Justice White—“Czolgosz, in taking
the life of our beloved president you
committed a crime that shocked and
outraged all the civilized world. After
learning all the facts and circum
stances in the case, twelve good men
have pronounced you guilty of murder
in the first degree. You say that no
other person abetted you in the com
mission of this terrible act. The pen
alty is fixed by statute, and it becomes
my duty to impose sentence upon you.
The sentence of this court Is that on
October 28, at the place designated and
In the manner prescribed by law, you
suffer the punishment of death.
“Removo file prisoner.”
Considerable surprise was expressed
that Justice White did not pronounce
the customary appeal to the Almighty
mf Ilf i
DISTRICT ATTORNEY PENNEY.
(From a sketch made at Buffalo.)
in concluding his sentence, "and may
God have mercy on your soul."
The court quit at the middle of the
customary formula in pronouncing the
sentence.
Mannrlsd and I.sd Away.
The hush as the solemn words were
pronounced was like the silence of the
tomb. For several moments the silence
was unbroken. The click of handcuffs
put a startling termination on the
strain. Like a great sob the emotion
of the court room welled up and were
lost in the shuffling of feet. The final
scene of the historic trial was con
cluded.
Manacled to detectives who had
brought him into the court, the assas
sin was conducted away. Between the
wall of bailiffs, policemen and specta
tors the murderer passed. He looked
not into a single eye. Justified by him
self or not, his deed lay heavy on his
head. A groan of execration followed
him down the broad court house stairs
to the jail tunnel below.
POWERS OF HERDITY.
Sump Remarkable Stories Told of Its
Mysterious Influences.
Doctors disagree as to the influence of
heredity. Some hold that a great deal
hinges upon it; others believe the con
trary. Some of the authentic stories
told to exemplify this mysterious bond
between ancestors and descendants are
very curious. There was a loan col
lection of old portraits exhibited in
London lately and a young girl was
among the visitors. She was an or
phan and wealthy, but without near
relatives, and was often heard to com
plain of the loneliness of her position.
As she passed through the gallery one
particular portrait attracted her atten
tion and she went back to it more than
once. Her companion saw in It noth
ing but the commonplace painting of a
middle-aged man in the costume of the
latter part of the last century. "It is
such a nice, kind facfe," said the girl,
rather wistfully. “I imagine my father
might have looked like that had he
lived.” As most of the pictures were
ticketed the visitors had purchased no
catalogue, but. before going away. Miss
B. bought one at the entrance and
made a last visit to the portrait for
which she had felt so strong an attrac
tion. To her astonishment she found
her own name opposite to its number
and learned on inquiry Jhat the orig
inal was one of her direct ancestors.
Another occult coincidence or psycho
logical phenomenon happened a few
years ago to a southern statesman and
financier whose family has always been
of rank in his native state. This gen
tleman was overhauling old documents
1 and letters which had been stored in a
musty chest for years and intended to
publish whatever might be of historic
value and interest. To his surprise hs
unfolded a letter yellow and time
stained which was written in his own
peculiar handwriting, or seemed tc
have been written by him, although th«
date was two generations before hii
birth. The signature of the surname,
which was the same as his own, was s<>
markedly characteristic that he could
scarcely believe his own hand did not
pen the letters.—Montreal Herald and
Star.
Fewer Strikes in France.
The statistics of the strikes in France
for June have just been published. In
all the month gave birth to 57, while
the total for the first six months of the
year was 306. The same period in 190C
yielded 475, which shows an agreeable
falling off in the discontent of th«
working classes.
