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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 20, 1936)
CHAPTER VIII—Continued —10— This, like the bedroom, was pan eled, and there, sure enough, a key was declaring a cupboard sunk in the wall. The moment I opened this, I knew that some one beneath It was knocking upon its floor. I saw the bolts of a trap which was sunk in the floor of the cup board six feet from the door. In an instant I had it open, there was a curling staircase of polished oak and Helena, wrapped in a dress ing gown, sitting on one of the stairs. Beside her was standing Sabre, fairly snufling excitement and ready to leap. “Thank God," says Helena. “I thought you must be asleep. And now take Sabre, my dear, and tell him to watch your door. And then come down." The watch was soon set, for Sa bre was very wise, and thirty sec onds later I entered my lady’s room. She pointed to a table, standing close to the hearth, laid for one only, but bearing enough for three. “Open the wine, my darling. I’ll cut the chicken up." “We mustn’t eat much,” I whis pered. “If we do, they’ll know I’ve been here." "Let them know,” said Helena, quickly. “What do I care? What doec it matter, John? What does anything matter now?" I shook my head. “This matters, Nell. Compared with this, the forester’s cottage and all was a Sunday School show. Don’t think I'm prudish. I’m not. r I'm only too glad of a good excuse to be here. You see. I’m a man, and I love you—from throat to foot. But no one must ever know it. If we stood on the steps of a scaffold, I’d say the same." I saw her fingers tighten about the stem of her glass. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m getting my values wrong. Never 1 Saw Her Fingers Tighten About the Stem of Her Glass. mind. Sabre can cover your tracks. I’ll leave a plate on the floor and they’ll think I gave him a meal." Absurdly enough, this arrange ment comforted me. The fragments of propriety that remained were scarcely worth taking up, all the same. So we broke our fast together and shared her glass. FO' five minutes we smoked in silence, regarding the leaping flames. I threw down my cigarette and go. to my feet. “Interlude,” I said quietly. "And jow, if you please, my darling, 1 want you to go to bed. We’ve got * hard day coming and we’ve left a hard day behind. It’s no good our talking tonight." She did not seem to hear me, but after a moment or two she rose to her feet. “John," she said, "do you love me?" 1 caught her hand and put it up to my lips. "You know that I love you," I said, "far more than life." “I wonder," she said. “That’s ter ribly easy to say." "Why, Nell, what’s the matter?" 1 whispered. She shook her beautiful head. "Nothing's the matter. I only wondered. . . . You see, I love you —blindly. There's nothing else in my world. Reputation. Yorick, Valentine — compared with you they’re so many idle words. And I naturally can’t help wondering whether you love me as much.” "Give me jour hands.’’ I said, “your beautiful hands.” She dropped her cigarette and gave me her other hand. “And now your eyes.” She lifted her gaze to mine. “I can’t define the word ‘love,’ hut when you look troubled, Nell, it tears my heart. Pharaoh s getting at you through me—we both know that. Well, I can't curse the day I met you, but I wish to God that he'd got me at Annabel. Nell—that day when Kush Jogged his arm. and he hit the mirror instead.” Her arms were about my neck, and her breath on my lips. “No, no. Take it back. Don’t say such terrible things. Oh. John, my precious, my darling.” For a mo ment site clung to me desperately. Then she snatched a note from her pocket and thrust it into my hand. “You say you love me. Then take this note to your cousin and save me from something that frightens me more than death. You can go by the footbridge nnd tunnel—that key 1 gave to Florin was Valen tine's master key. But you must go before It's light. If you’re seen coming back it won’t matter—be cause you’ll be coming back.” “But, Nell, how can I? I’m on parole, my darling. We’ve passed our w’ord.” “How could 1 help it? 1 was fainting. For more than a minute ray head had been going round. And who have I passed it to? To a flend—a butcher, that’s trying to smash my life. And how am I breaking my word? Listen. This note's to warn your cousin that Valentine must not return. We never told Barley to keep him, so when he comes to they’ll naturally let him go.” “It’s ’taking action,’ Nell. You swore you wouldn’t do that.” “If you love me, you’ll do It. John. Call It breaking my word, If you please, and think the less of me for It—but do as I say. I haven’t mentioned Pharaoh. 1 haven’t breathed a word of the plight we’re in. But if it comes out that I laid hands on my brother— well. I’ll just be ruined for life. Open the note and read it. Here— give it to me.” She seized and tore it open. “Lis ten to this: "Keep Valentine with you. Use any violence you like. He must not return to the castle, and no one on earth must know that he Is with you. Don’t fail me.” “But why write to Geoffrey, Nell? I could tell Barley to tell him. and—” “No, no. You don’t understand. It’s too serious for that. I don’t think you know what I've done In abducting the Count. You must give this note to your cousin—into his hands.” “But, Nell, that’s out of the ques tion. Geoffrey won’t be back till seven o'clock.” “What does that matter, John? We’re free till noon.” She stuffed the sheet Into its envelope and thrust this again upon me. “Take it, I beg and pray you, and give it into his hand. You talk of my rep utation. in this affair far more than m.v name is at stake. If they knew what I’d done, my own servants would use me as a leper; they all took the oath that I took, and It’s never been broken, John, since Yor ick was built. I had to do It, John —you know that I hnd ; but if any one ever finds out, there’s an end of me.” “Pharaoh knows, my darling.” “What can he prove? Nothing. But If Valentine and he get togeth er. I haven’t a chance. And Pha raoh would be on to Mona within the hour.” “All right,” I said, III take It. But—” “Thank God, my darling.” She threw herself into my arms. “Now I do know that you love me. Don't think I don’t know what I'm ask ing.” She brushed my cheek with her lips and threw hack ner head. “Ask what you like of me after—I’ll give It with all my heart. We’ll live or die together—just as you say. But we’re going to live—I know it. We're going to come out of this pass. But I mustn’t be stained, my darling—I don't want your wife to be stained with a blemish that won’t come off.” “God help me,” said 1. “I’ll d<. It. But why I must wait for Geof frey—why I must stand and watch while he reads your note—” “To bring me back his promise. Until I know that he’s read it, 1 shan’t know a moment's peace. Oh, John, my dear, I've got so much to carry.” “Very well, my oeauty. I’ll go at once.” I hastened back to my bedroom and dressed as fast as I could. Gin gerly feeling my wound, I remem bered Helena's promise to send a horse for me to the mouth of the entrance drive. She had, of course, no Idea that Dewdrop had stabbed me so deep. Perhaps if I stood in my stirrups— Before I left the chamber, I drew the bolts of the door. Then I took Sabre and made for the polished stair. Twenty minutes later I fought my way out of the bushes that were masking the tunnel's mouth. • •••••• Something at least I was spared, for Goeffrey drove up to ’'e inn live minutes before his time. "Well, I'm damned,” he said. "And where the deuce have you been ?” "I’ll tell yon later," said I, and put the note into his hand. “And now come out of that car. I've got to get hack.” "Get back where?” said Geoffrey. "I’ll tell you later," said I. “You read that note.” My cousin stared. Then he drew out the sheet of paper and read the message It bore. When be bad done, lie looked me full in the eye. "You shouldn’t have opened It. should you?" It was my turn to stare. “As a matter of fact. I didn’t. She sealed it before 1 came down—in. Then she broke It open and read it to me herself." Geoffrey fingered his chin. “Well, you can’t go like this,” he said, getting out of the car. “I mean—" “Geoffrey,” I said, "believe me. I must get back. I'll get into touch again as soon as ever I can, but, however strange you find it. I can’t wait now." "Only one moment," said Geof frey,” taking my arm. Despite my protests he bn led me up the steps and into the Inn. In the hall I planted my feet. "Look here, Geoffrey," l said. "I don't want to have a row, but I’ve got to get back to her without one instant's delay. I wouldn't have dreamed of coming, but she couldn’t send a servant and—well, there was no other way. I'd have left the note with Barley, but she wouldn’t have that. She's got to know that you've got it, and have promised to do as she says." "Oh. well, here goes," said Geof frey, and hit me under the jaw as hard ns he could. CHAPTER IX The Fragrant Valley WHEN I came to my senses. 1 was lying on the door of a car that was traveling fast. My wrists and my ankles were bound and my mouth was gagged. Barley was seated above me watching my face. As 1 tried to sit up, he pushed m back on tlie pillows which made my bed. “Lie quiet a bit. sir." he said, “and you’ll soon he as right as ruin.” To tills day I do not know why I did not go out of my mind. They say that 1 fought like a madman, hut that was because I was macl. Barley had to throw him self on me, to keep me down. And then at last I fainted. I do not think Barley knew it, for my senses had hardly left me he fme they returned; but T think that discretion came with them, for then 1 saw that to struggle and fight was hopeless. And so, to feign resigna tion, I lay quite still where I was and shut my eyes. And that was my undoing, for after a moment or two I fell asleep. Though the car fled on I knew nothing, and I never knew when It stopped. I was lifted out, still sleeping, and though my bonds were loosened, I never stirred. And while I slept, Lady Helena Yorick was playing her part. The song of a brook woke me, and 1 propped myself on an elbow to gather my wits. The next Instant I was afoot and was staring wildly about me. , . . The wooded peak of a mountain looked placidly hack—and a pride of beeches was smiling and a chap ter of gray-green rocks was casting its stately shadow upon the most vivid of swards. It was half-past four. 1 had slept for more than nine hours. The dial of my watch grew misty. I felt the tears beginning to leuve j my eyes. One of them fell upon i the dial. So I stood for a moment. Then I flung myself down and buried my face in the grass. • • •*••• “Come, come, old fellow,” said Geoffrey, “you mustn't take It so ill.” 1 made no answer. 1 dared not trust my voice. “You'd have done the same,” said my cousin. ‘‘John, I couldn’t Ig j nore such a hint.” I sat up nnd dashed the tears from mv face. “Hint? What hint?” Geoffrey raised his eyebrows. “I don't know what she read you.” he said. “But I don't think she read you that.” As he spoke, he gave me a pa per—Helena’s note. Mr. Bohun: Keep John with you. Use any violence you like. He must not re turn to the castle and no one on earth must know that he Is with you. Don't fail me. Helena yorick. “No," * said, you’re quite right. She didn't read that.” I laughed shortly. “You'd have seen through ft, of course; nine out of ten people would. But you must remember that I’m no ordinary fool. Besides, I trusted her blindly—trusted and loved her blindly. So you see It was awfully easy to have me on.” I laughed again. “It’s rather like fooling a dog or a baby child. A dog, I think. Your dog. You’ve decided to have him destroyed, so you take him for a walk and stop at the vet’s. t He doesn’t know. He doesn't care where you go, so long as he can go with you —be with his god. He loves you blindly, you see. He’s not the faint est Idea that you’re going to do him In. You can speak to the vet. In his presence—‘I want this dog destroyed.’ You're perfectly safe. He’ll lick your hand while you’re speaking, if only you'll give him the chance. . . . But—if—that—-dog’s— eyes—were opened. ... If when you were gone and he was stand ing, waiting, with his eager nose to the threshold, straining his ears for some signal of your return—if then h.v some magic that dog was made aware of the truth. . . .’’ “Now, look here, old fellow,” said Geoffrey, “I'm not going to take any sides till I know where I am. I want to hear your story from first to last. Don’t leave out any de tails. This show’s hung full of de tails, and details count." I plucked at the grass. “I don't know that 1 care to tell you.” “Take your time,” said Geoffrey. “But we don't leave here till you do.” “I don’t know that 1 want to leave here." “No more do I," said Geoffrey. "It’s a very attractive spot, and I’m glad of a change.” I lay hack and stared at the sky. I felt a curious detachment from all that ten hours ago had been my life. Looking back. I seemed to be looking across gome unbridge able depth. I think the truth Is that my In terest in Helena Yorlck had sud denly died, and since that had filled "I Don’t Know That I Want to Leave Here.” my being, for the moment my life was empty as never before. I did not regret the lady—I was neither happy nor sad. I simply had no material upon which my emotions could work. The bitterness 1 had shown Geoffrey was that of a sav age critic—not of an injured man. I was impersonal. So much for the state of mind which my abrupt disillusion had brought about. Helena Yorlck had deceived me. Nell had looked Into my eyes and fooled me to the top of my bent. The utterly impossi ble had happened. The ideal I had carved out of marble had crum bled away. There was only one thing to be done—the game must go on and from now I would play my own hand. I sat up and looked at my cou sin. “I suppose l may as well tell you,” I said. “I suppose so,” said Geoffrey, yawning. “Where shall I start?” “From where I left you at Vll lach. Just over a week ago.” A full half hour went by before I had done. “I’ve got to digest this,” he said. “I shan’t be long.” While he strolled, I lay flat once more and stared at the sky, and though 1 would gladly have stopped them, my thoughts ramped hack to the antics which I had lately per formed. Helena Yorlck tiad piped, and I had danced. Tliat was ns much as it came to. But I had trusted the piper, and the piper had played me false. My cousin was standing before me, regarding his watch. (TO HE CONTINUED) About Buncombe In 1820 Felix Walker was thi congressional representative of tin North Carolina district which In eluded Buncomb? county. During the close of a debate on the Mis 3ouri Compromise when the hous* wanted to take a vote on the ques tlon, Walker Insisted on making h speech declaring lie was bound t< make a speech for Buncombe, wlilcl expected it. Hence the expression and Its abbreviation "bunk” eatm to mean any insincere political tal intended for the gallery, or tali that is for effect and not sincere. Constructive Suggestions or Complaints: Which Get Results? First Method Fosters Good Will; Second Causes Annoyance. Thtre are two ways of accom plishing things which one has to get done. One is to complain that things are not as they should be. The oth er is to make constructive sugges tions and request that they be fol lowed out. The first method Is apt to annoy the person conferred with. The second appeals to his sense of Justice, snd, If the suggestion Is a good one and within reason, it Is generally heeded. Assuming that, in both cases the thing gets done, In the first instance, annoyance pre vails. while In the second, good will Is fostered. You will remember the old adage that you can catch more flies with molasses, than vinegar. In other words you can get more aecom pllshed by keeping good tempered and sweet, than by getting nnnoyed and sour tempered. Getting Thing* Accomplished. It is well to remember these lueth ods for family use, and for civic pur poses. It does not mean that one can get things clone merely by being good natured. There must he a plus to It. There must be continual effort In the right direction, until the point Is won. And when there has been no hard feeling created, and the matter Is seen to, there Is likely to be n feeling of satisfaction on the side of both parties, each being pleased that a good thing has re sulted. It was by the recommended meth od that a woman succeeded In get ting a bench put on n waiting sta tion platform. She appealed to the correct authorities, telling of the genuine need for such a bench, as tired persons found It almost more than they could endure to stand from ten to twenty minutes, more or less, according to the connection of one car with another at this Junction. At first, came a note stating that her request had been noted, and for mally thanking her for letting them know of her wish; nothing more, and nothing was done. A Restful Bench. It was only after repeated appeals, and continued assertions that the company would be treating their pa trons with consideration by putting the bench at the place suggested, that finally she succeeded. And now. not only are her own trips to the city made less tiresome, but hun dreds of other persons dally find the seat a blessing. Another instance comes to mind. Repeated accidents of major and mi nor severity occurred at a certain city corner, by autos colliding. A woman requested the city to Instnll STOP BEFORE CROSSING aigns by the curb at each corner of the cross street. Since her request was heed ed, fewer catnstrophes hnve oc curred, nnd there need be none, If only motorists would heed them. She did not complain, but she made a i Sailors Are More Costly to Educate Than Soldiers It is figured by the adjutant gen eral's office in the War department that Uncle Snm’s sailors are more expensive by far than his soldiers. It costs approximately $15,000 to ed eate a midshipman for four years at Annapolis, compared to about $9,715 <o school a cadet for the same pe riod at West Point. In actual serv ice it Is estimated that it costs $4,500 annually to mnintain a naval officer and $1,100 for an enlisted man. In the army, however, maintenance cost falls to $4,420 for officers and $810 for each private.—Pathfinder Mag azine. good suggestion In a good way, and won her point to the comfort of all but the reckless. © Ball Syndicate.—WNU Servlc*. A Grave Mistake for a Mother to Make GIVING CHILD UNKNOWN REMEDIES WITHOUT ASKING DOCTOR FIRST IVING your child a medi cine or remedy you don’t know all about — without ask ing your family doctor first — is a bad risk for any mother to take. Doctors and child authori ties say health, and sometimes life itself, depends on this. So — when you’re offered a "bargain" in a remedy for your child; ask your doctor before Safety fit ty. NOW, ALSO IN TABLIT POIM You can assist others by refusing to accept a substitute for the genuine Phillips' Milk of Magnesia. Do this in the interest of yourself and your chil dren — and in the interest of the public in general. you buy it. Do this for your child’s sake and your own peace of mind. Ask him particularly about the frequently used “milk of magnesia" — about Phillips' Milk of Magnesia. He will tell you that for over 60 years phy sicians have endorsed it as SAFE for your child. The kind of remedy you want your child to have. Remember this when you buy, and say "Phillips’ Milk of Magnesia" to your druggist. Comes now, also, in tablets that taste of peppermint, that children like to take. i_: msm pi GEE... Aom, j'm so thrilled \ |I WISH THIS DEAR/ HEfe THE I HEADACHE RICHEST YOUNG would quit. N man IN jp^.miiik i DATE TO GO } l L . — MAY BE " X SKATING 111 1 RICH BUT wnri BILL f - III !■> 1F BRAINS WERE ||4p. J WATCH WHAT Ifl^-NO FUN? | You're doing/11 this is swell/ % j§|||| I You ALMOST BUT-WHATEVER ff |pf|||| I pushed aae over/ M you say I LETb GO HOME, / S r~ BEING 1 ■ ANYWAY... dftlt / SARCASTIC I THIS IS NO Hflt* IS HE ? TELL ■bFL^ ^HIM WHERE, |r BILL DIDN'T ASK ME 1V THE BIS DANCE NEtfT MONTH/ 6UESS THE SNOB THINKS I i/vsTv:k! I %Q PAYS LATER I P f OH, MOTHER.... I’M SO HAPPY/ BILL ASKED ME . TO MARRY Vi EXPECTING IT, Hi DARLING! YOU’VE | BEEN THE SWEETEST GIRL f IN THE WORLD J -SINCE YOU M SWITCHED TO Ip POSTUM/t^““ IE DOCTOR S8|i _D YOU TO r COFFEE AMD MK POSTOM HP TAD. YOU'RE |§§ NGTO DO rr. (P ) —AND GET BIB • OF THOSE BIK TEE-NERVES/J| “ - - , f I