I
That
Mysterious
Major...
...BY...
ETI1EL A. SOUTHAM
CHAPTER XI.
“I ask him! Do you dream for one
moment that I shall ask him for it?"
Evelyn opened her eyes In amazement.
She began to think she had perhaps
made a mistake in pretending she hud
been an interested listener to the re
cent conversation.
“Certainly! Did you not understand
me? You have merely to say you
wish for the check in order to com
pare it with your own signature, and
the rest becomes easy. Lady Howard,
you quite agree with me?"
“And do you suppose that Major
Brown’s suspicions will not be aroused
at once?” exclaimed Evelyn, caring
nothing either for her aunt’s or for
Falkland’s opinion upon the subject.
“No—Jt is ridiculous! It would be
worse than useless!”
"But, Eve dear, Burely Mr. Falk
land must know better than you.”
"He may, of course; but, for all that,
I should not like to be the one to
make the attempt. If you think your
plan will answer, though, why not ask
Major Brown yourself?” she added,
turning a somewhat indignant look
upon (Jilbert Falkland. “You have al
ways disliked him; so you ought to
be satislied now if there is a chance
of convicting him of forgery."
“Yes, Miss Luttrcll, you are right—
I had my suspicions of him from the
first," returned Falkland, a rather pe
culiar expression coming into his face.
"I never dreamed, however, that they
would be so speedily realized. But, as
to your suggestion. I would willingly
follow It if 1 could, only It is ten to
one that where lie would most prob
ably comply with one of your requests
mine would absolutely fail. But think
it over to yourself for half an hour.
Anyhow, we must do something to
‘•IS THAT THE COFFEE AT LAST?”
night Every moment Is of conse
quence, and- We must secure It—
-if not by fair means—well. In such a
■case as this I suppose any means are
allowable!"
Evelyu's only answer was a deep
sigh as she rose slowly to her feet and
turned away with a strange inexpli
cable longing to be left alone to her
own thoughts, contllcting ones though
they were, to be worried by no more
cross-questioning or cynical taunts
concerning the tnan whom, despite her
short acquaintance with him and her
aunt’s strong prejudices, she was be
ginning to regard with something
which was not exactly mere interest.
No wonder, therefore, that this lat
est affair had been to her like a blow,
that for the time Iteiug she was sim
ply stunned by the seriousness of the
discovery. 8he could hardly believe
that everything had been done with
one aim and object In view, that all
the Major's attentions, his numerous
little acts of klnduess to both her aunt
and herself, had been part of a deeply
laid scheme. It was too terrible to
think how easily she had been duped,
how she had been carried away by his
well assumed courtesies. In many ca»es
falling readily into the traps which
had been so Ingeniously contrived for
her. Yet. as she reviewed the past
two weeks, It seemed Incredible to her
that tt should really be so that a
man who could commit such a delib
erate felony could al the same time
possess such fascinating manners anti
appear, as he always did. sit thorough
ly at his ease
II wot* growtua •!.»rh wh*it hulin
ruii-.l h■'(«•!( w« *ril> fr»*m h> - tmtn*
• Iwl humitnliMi ravarb«, m»>l ltirtt*>l
h»f li tb* lilrottlua uI tha
brilliant lamplight »hi«b atraaia
lag fur lb Iruw !<*••» Iltiwar<i * »•«>*«
llor aunt bn*l illMppaarnd «>hh un»*
prtrlouilr alarUMul n« >U>ubi by lb*
hvavlly falling ami It ugly
aa lha kmr • »» atrttrh by am 4ia
uni rbacb that Kvalya rtmatercl
•b« vnabl bn wailing fat bar to ataba
bar “<•••
Omni «u b«r aauaubmaal. b« a
ever, as she drew slowly nearer and
nearer, to hear the sound of voices
and to behold not only her aunt, but
two other figures sitting in the shade
of the veranda. One was Falkland
—she would have recognized his pale,
rather cadaverous-looking face a mile
away—and the other Oh It was ab
surd! She must be dreaming! It was
beyond the bounds of possibility! It
could not be Major Brown!
Whether it was beyond the bounds of
possibility or not. it was certainly the
Major w'ho sprang up at her approach,
and who moved his chair to one side
to allow her to pass with that same
spontaneous courtesy which had struck
her from the first.
"Dear me, child, where have you
been? I thought you were lost!” ex
claimed her ladyship by way of greet
ing. "King the bell, dear, and say wo
are ready for coffee. They are later
than usual this evening.”
But Evelyn did not utter a word
as she passed silently through into
the sitting room. At the sight of the
Major her heart had given one tre
mendous bound, and now it was boat
ing almost to suffocation. What was
ha doing there? What could be the
reason? Never before had she seen
either her aunt or Falkland making
themselves so obviously agreeable to
him. Never before had he even been
made welcome to their room.
“Miss Luttrell”—it was Falkland
who had followed her through the
window—“this will be your opportu
nity. You cannot have a better
chance. Go out the instant your aunt
leaves the veranda, and in as casual
a way as possible try to gain posses
sion of that check.”
At the sound of the low, rather hur
ried words, Evelyn started slightly and
suddenly dropped the parasol which
she was swinging slowly to and fro
in her hand.
"The check!” she gasped, gazing
wildly round.
There was no need to wonder any
longer what the unusual affability
meant. The Major had not been pro
claimed innocent of the forgery, as
she in a vague sense of despair hud
almost imagined. It was clear why he
had been welcomed so warmly into
their private room; and yet. as her
eyes rested for one brief moment upon
the accused as he stood talking to
her aunt, a handsome, wonderfully dis
tinguished-looking man in his fault
less evening dress, all her old feel
ings of Incredulity came back to her
as forcibly us ever. She forgot any
doubts and suspicions that she had,
never for un Instant remembered the
episode of the birthday book and the
strange manoeuvres ho had adopted
to secure a specimen of her writing
and her signature, and with a decided
shake of her head put an Immediate
veto upon Falkland's carefully work
ed out plan.
"Then you refuse to do anything in
the matter? Iteaily, Mtsa l.uttrell you
astonish me!” observed Falkland, a
cynical »mlle curling his Ups. "Ititt you
have a tender heart. I suppose and
dlallke the thought of your elegant
fiiend being provided with a suit of
broad arrows at the nation s e«
"I rr(MM " returneil Kvelyn her
hr«4 ereet. her eyee (tanking. ‘altuiily
Imnuae | ant lertaltt that Major liroan
la ** Inmaent of for n In* that rhetk
<*• pauaing to a hi ir«*|«r <*tn|>ka*u
(w her »or lie - "a* you are!“
"Oh. eery well- there U nothin*
mure In be mM, I auppuae'" war I'atk
la nil a mint reply m he liirkol away
and without »«*# alleutptui* to ar*u<
the point further. walked am.** to the
other aide of the ruuni
l:*e »H looked »(• I hint »: 11|' no *tr
of aattafaitUm anil then <lr*« n atnh
of relief hhe wna agreeably aerprlaed
hjf the ear In whnh he hail reeei*e4
^ her refuanl. knowing thnt he uwed
the Major a gruuge iroiu me very nrst,
she had felt that, if he could annoy
him over anything ho would assur
edly avail himself of the earliest op
portunity. But what was the mean
ing of this alteration of his manner,
considering how determined he bad
been a short time ago to secure that
check without an instant's delay? He
was taking her decided refusal to help
him in his scheme with wonderful
placidity. Yes—he was too calm—far
too calm. He must have some other
plan in his head. Some other plan?
Clearly he was not the kind of man
to be so plainly balked.
The entrance of one of the waiters
with a tray of coffee cups diverted her
thoughts for a moment. Moving slow
ly towards the window again, she stood
gazing out on the starlit night. Lady
Howard, engrossed in an interesting
conversation with Major Brown, turn
| od with a slight start at her approach.
“Is that the coffee at last, Evelyn?
You might bring it to us out here—
the air is so pleasant this evening.”
Miss Luttrell drew a faint sigh. lie
turning to the small table whore tlie
tray had been placed, sho found Falk
land hovering over the cups and sau
cers somewhat uneasily, a sugar basin
in his hand.
“Let me see, Miss Luttrell—will you
make your aunt’s coffee? I believe
you generally do."
“Yes—I will make It,” replied Eve
lyn, taking up the half-filled cup of
coffee which was nearest to her, fill
ing it with cream, and then carrying
it off to Lady Howard without offering
as much as a glance In Falkland's di
rection.
She wished he would not thrust his
company so persistently upon her. As
he knew how detestable his presence
was to her, she wondered he had not
the delicacy of feeling to remain on
the veranda or to absent himself en
tirely from her aunt's room for the
rest of the evening. Hut no—,t B<em
ed as though lie took a delight In tor
menting her this evening, for, look
ing around again, she saw him still
standing by the table contemplating
the coffee cups in the most meaning
less fashion.
Evelyn gave a little cesture of im
patience and marched boldly past him;
even if Falkland was annoying her, it
would never do for Major Drown to
suffer in consequence. With this ob
ject in view, she took up the cream
jug. and was trying to reach another
cup of coffee, when Falkland stretched
out his arm before her and placed one
into her hand.
“For Major Drown, I suppose?” he
interrogated, with unusual deference.
Evelyn murmured some word of
thanks and turned away. But what
was it that arrested her attention?
What was it that made her start, bend
hastily towards the cup, and then,
growing whiter than ashes, look round
at Falkland?
“By fair means” or “any means.”
Those were the words he had uttered;
and now back in her ears they were
ringing, back in her ears she could
hear them clanging, clashing, whilst
a horrible idea struck her—an idea
which seemed almost to paralyze her.
(To be continued.)
Doing Penance for Sins.
In former times persons guilty of
grievous and notorious offenses were
required to make open confession, and
further to make satisfaction for the
scandal given by their bad example by
doing penance publicly in a white
sheet in their parish church. The sheet
was used to show clearly to everyone
which was the offender. The last time
that public penance was done in an
Bnglish church was on Sunday even
ing, July 30, 18S2, when a man named
Hartree, in the church of All Saints,
East Clevedon, made an open confes
sion of immorality, and promised to
perform the penance thus imposed on
him by-the vicar. No white sheet was
used on this occasion. The last case
in which one was used appears to have
been one in St. Bridget's church, Thea
ter, in 1851. But on that occasion the
penance was not public, the church
door being locked. In the previous
year, however, public penance in a
white sheet 'was done in r country
church in Essex, and a similar thing
occurred in Ditton church, near Cam
bridge, in lS-tb. Stray Stories.
Metropolitan llfgiciftr*' Trmt.
The New York police have recently
made the discovery that mast of the
successful beggars In the city belong
to a trust. The beggar*.' trust is said
to own a large house In Brooklyn,
which provides every description of
beggars' supplies, including bogus
wooden arms, legs, hump tracks, pitirul
placards for alleged blind men and
I cripples, etc. The beggars pay the
1 trust a certain percentage of their earn
ings, and the trust regulates the hours
of their labor, selects the districts, fur
nishes a list of charitably disposed peo
ple, ami looks after mcinlx-rs when til.
The polti's say that several wealthy
and cultured mendicants tielonging to
the trust live In fashionable Hats. Sev
eral attended the grand opera last sea
son. and one rides In his own carriage.
I'Uh lUrwiM.
Krotn th* Mew York U*«I \| iny
*»**t ■turtv* nr* toltl lit lr«n> rirclea In
•>( cn'iiunirr* iwiniwii u*>«*r*
4».| In etiiirl, John I'AUpoi I'ur*
; '»* In the «*nrjjf <Um of hi* »iru«*t*
•I lk« Imr, 4|>p**r»4 in « >-•»# t» r«r»
l4»rt| t‘h»»*»ll*»r t'Ur*. 4»*l Inti <to«n
*>»«»«' point* In l*n wkhti 414 not nn4
I»*m in lh" mtn4 «f ih** | ■ 1*1 If
ilui k* Uv I mat *« ttll burn nr
| buukr, ‘ «4i4 I.«tr4 i'i«n • |t*tt»r
r* * m mi. • i • i i ;-(*n
l l»» * *• « ’ l»*r III ||; ItlM |n «, ,|
f.o l« ♦*•*!»• «ni ’*» *«• i.« run' ii
in* t . . n It It. »ur4 Hr* C.
THE EBON CROSS.
My friend, Robert Thurston, 13 a
man whose real character, and that in
dicated by his appearance, are a3 far
different as can be imagined. He is
i the proverbial ‘‘black sheep” of the
family, and yet, despite all his wild
ness, ho has often been mistaken for a
clergyman. Here is the story of one of
my nomadic friend’s adventures, as
related by himself:
I was in Paris. The city and its
ways were well known to me, while
my circle of acquaintances was not
small.
One day, while wandering about the
city alone, I came to a standstill at
the corner of one of Hie most fashlon
abe streets. A man passed me who
looked very searchingly into my face.
In a few minutes he returned, and
again favored me with that annoying
stare.
“I beg your pardon, monsieur, but is
not this Aluris?
The man was sincere, and I com
prehended that I was mistaken for
some other person, but I was about to
deny all knowledge when the desire
for a little sport overcame my more
serious inclinations, and I gravely re
plied:
"I am so called.”
‘‘I thought it must be so," he contin
ued, with an air of satisfaction. ‘‘Those
black crosses are too uncommon to be
seen in large numbers on this corner
at the appointed hour.”
I bowed slightly. I knew my strange
friend referred to the ebon cross that
hung over my white shirt bosom, but
for all that his words were most mys
terious.
“You are nearly an hour before
time,” continued the unknown, ‘‘but if
you are ready we will at once proceed
to the residence of my master.”
‘‘Quite ready,” I replied; "lead on.”
Had you been present, my dear fel
I TOOK THE UNWILLING BRIDE ASIDE.
low, you would, without doubt, have
been greatly shocked at the course I
was taking; but it just suited me, and I
saw before me a prospect of rich pleas
ure.
So I followed on after my guide, who
finally paused before one of the most
pretentious mansions of the city, and
applied for admission. While we wait
ed for an answer to his summons, I
read the name upon the door-plate of
the mansion. It was M. Jules Levane.
The servant who answered the bell
admitted us without question, and my
companion conducted me through sev
eral rooms Into the library, and then
left me with the announcement that he
would at once send M. Levane to my
presence.
The mystery was deepening. This
house, with Its magnificence, was such
as might well be inhabited by a prince,
and I began to fear 1 had carried my
joke too far.
The reflection that It was now too
late to retreat caused me to determine
to keep up the deception for a time
longer, and 1 heard advancing foot
steps with the utmost trunquillUy.
A tall. Imperious-looking man of
about 60 years entered, and, while sa
luting me, kept his gate constantly
Used upon me.
“You are the clergyman sent here by
Col. d« Lisle’" he questioned, abrupt
ly.
to th«* rornirr of-au.|
! i|n«M,h I uRti'tuicU. at » tfttun,
“An I you ar« t(•ntlvmaa nbo waa
4tr*rt»4 to to tk« aim* of
A tartar
-I «m “
-v*fjr *«»** IM.I Col 4* Mata la
form you a* to tti« aaui* of the bu*l
u*<m la &*»«!?’
IU 4M out," | y«ntur*4 to affirm
"Vary ••II. I n*III m*k« It plain to
you Kira*. !»>•*••(. I yrnvni you
Hi tit* t»ol4, frarlia* man t'ol 4* U4»
uroxl to Mill to m» oa« willing to
perform a bulj 4««4 for a |>**u alary
Ia4u> *ia«al * '
“Col. de Lisle knew his business," I
returned with an emphatic nod.
"Then, monsieur, we will to busi
ness at once. As you have, perhaps,
learned, my name is M. Jules Levane.
I am believed to be very wealthy, but
really I am not worth a thousand louis
d'ors. Ten years ago 1 lost nearly my
whole fortune by the failure of a
scheme in which I had speculated
largely. Ruin stared me in the face. I
knew not what to do in such a fearful
situation. Accustomed from my youth
to a life of luxury and ease, and looked
upon as a man whom princes dared
not slight, the idea of falling was too
terrible for contemplation.
“Thus situated, I did what nearly
every other man would have done in
my situation. I had a ward, given to
my charge five years previously, by
her dying father, my early friend. This
ward was very wealthy, and all her
property was under my control. To
save myself from ruin I appropriated
her fortune that has for ten years kept
my head above the tide. Now my
ward has reached the age at which her
! fortune was to be placed conditionally
in her hands. Monsieur, what shall I
do? Ruin Is inevitabe if I give up her
money.’’
“Let me hear your plan,” said I.
“I have a son, 24 years of age, the
heir of my respectability and my pov
erty. If Louis and Marie were to mar
ry, the fortune would not need to leave
my control, and all would be well.”
"Then, let them marry.”
“Ah, that is the trouble. Marie re
fuses to wed my son.”
I began to comprehend the plot, and
resolved to carry out the part I had
undertaken.
“Proceed,” said I, blindly.
“Did you ever hear of a marriage
ceremony being performed where the
bride refused to give her consent to the
union?" demanded M. Jules I^evane,
fixing a gaze upon me as though he
would read my very thought.
“Frequently," I replied, carelessly.
“I asked the same question of Col.
de Lisle," said the old villain, with an
air of relief, “and he gave me an af
firmative reply. He furthermore prom
ised to send a clergyman to the corner
of - and - streets, at 2 o’clock
p. m. today, who would he kind
enough to perform such a ceremony.
Col. de Lisle was obliged to start for
Lyons this morning on important busi
ness, so he could not be present. It
was agreed, however, that the rever
end gentleman should wear upon his
breast a peculiar black cross, and It
was by that my man recognised him."
M. Levane here arose and went to a
desk in one corner of the room. This
he unlocked, and took therefrom a
stout canvas bag, which was half filled
with glittering gold, lie laid the bag
before me, and then continued:
“Sow, monsieur, .Marie Duehuno
must wed my son. If you perform
that ceremony this gold Is yours.’*
i did not hesitate an instant, but
pocketing the gold, bade the scheming
guardian lead the way to tbu bridal
| chamber.
1 found the bride-elect, a most beau
tiful girl, to be firmly opposed to the
union conlempiated by her guardian,
and so I applied to M Levane for per
mission to argue the case with her. He
readily consented to this, and I took
the unwilling bride aside and eg- j
plained the circumstances of the rase ;
to her. fihe was at first inclined tu i
doubt nty statements, but I succeeded |
ia convincing her of my truth fulness
at length, and by my advice she con- '
seated to let the ceremony proceed,
when assured that It would be a mere
farce.
Uukf waa delighted at my success {
as a diplomatist, and the marriage was
at unee perforated Mile, Marie acted
Ike part of the unwilling, but submis
sive. bftde to perfection, and I venture
tu any my part waa creditably per
formed, thanks tu the egperteaee | bed
had In our miniature play* at home
After partaking of n bountiful sup
per I left the Levanes, father and son.
In raptures, and, with the bag of gold
In my pocket, proceeded to the office of
the chief of police, where I told my
story and demanded justice for the
unfortunate ward of M. Jules.
I need not dwell on what followed.
Marie Duchane recovered her fortune
and soon after married a worthy
young man.—New York News.
HAD HEARD OF HIM.
A Naples Landlord Who Mistook Dewey
for Buffalo Hill.
Washington Post: In connection
with the visit of Admiral Dewey to
Naples, an amusing story is told. It is
highly illustrative of the dense igno
rance of the Neapolitans as to current
events in other parts of the w'orld. It
seems that the inhabitants of that
beautiful but sleepy city were not
aware of the presence of their distin
guished guest, although the Italian
journals in other cities had contained
greut accounts of the exploits of tiic
American naval commander. The
English and American colonies wera
very profuse in their display of the
stars and stripes, and the newspapers
of that city might have been aware,
had they not slumbered, that an Amer
ican of some distinction was about to
honor the burg with a visit. It was
not until the day after the admiral s
landing, however, that the Naples
press awoke to the importance of their
guest. Even then, instead of announc
ing the fact with adequate headlines,
the mention was wedged In, with or
dinary type, between the police news
and the daily reports on the spaghetti
output. A well-known English broker,
who was putting up at one of the flea
infested hotels of the city, was very
desirous of paying his rezpccts to
Dewey as soon as he should arrive.
The broker, who butchers the dulcet
Italian in frightful styl", undertook to
question his oily and garrulous land
lord about the hero of Manila. "Corpo
di Dio!" exclaimed the boniface, ar he
thrust his thumbs into his velvet
waistcoat. “I hear speak of deece
Americano; he have one big shoe—
what you call him—show? Ze Vilda
Vesta expozisione—I see heem. He
ride cowboy in Roma two, three years
ago.” The moral being obvious, no
comment is necessary.
A Itattle-Krarred Heroine.
There is a very handsome young
woman in Washington, rather well
known in art circles, who had the mis
fortune to fall down stairs a few years
ago, so badly fracturing one of her
knees that the limb had to be ampu
tated, relates the Washington Post.
The young woman, of course, walks
with the aid of crutches. She is not
in the least sensitive about the mat
ter, and she doesn't mind informing
properly introduced people of the na
ture of the accident which maimed
her. She has set a little limit, however,
and she was compelled to use it one
afternoon recently. She got into an F
street car, bound for the hill, and
found herself in the same seat with a
sharp-faced woman, who seemed to
take a whole lot of interest in her and
her crutches. She scrutinized the
young woman’s face carefully for a
couple of minutes, then turned her at
tention to the workmanship of the
crutches, which she took the liberty to
handle curiously. Then she looked the
young woman over again, and leaned
over to her. "D'ye mind tellin’ me
how you lost your leg?” she asked,
raspily. "Not in the least,” responded
the young woman, amiably. “I lost it
in the battle of Gettysburg.”
Speed of an Automobile.
The greatest speed of a motor-car
yet recorded is nearly sixty-six miles
an hour. A Belgian inventor, M. Ca
mille Jenatzy. in April this year de
termined, if possible, to break the
kilometer record of 38 3-5 seconds
made by Count de Chasseloup I.aubat.
The course was a perfectly straight
and level road running through the
new sewage farm lying off the high
way between Saint-Germain and Con
stance. The car which Jenatzy rode
was the "Jamais Contente," which is
built of sheet-iron, and is torpedo
shaped so as to offer as little resistance
to the wind as possible. The first kilo
meter was ridden in 47 4-5 seconds,
and the second in 34 seconds, which is
equivalent to 105.882 kilometers (65
miles 1.404 yards) in the hour. "La
Jamais Contente" is not even yet satis
fied. for Jenatzy thinks that he will be
able to do the flying kilometer at the
rate of about 120 kilometers, or about
75 miles an hour.
An I nfnrttiamtf ttliiii<t«*r.
Sew York Weekly: Mrs. D'Avnoo—
Oh, the a wfuleHt thing has happened!
Clara de Style, who never could deign
to look at any one In trade, has just
discovered that the man she has mar
ried is a dry goods clerk. Mrs.
1)'Fashion Horrors! I should think
she might have found him out by his
I talk. Mrs D’Avnoo- That's Just how
the poor girl was deceived, lie never
seemed to know anything aliout any
thing. and she supposed, of course, he
was a millionaire's son.
tlmual •
New York Journal Hitts* I nearly
1 killed my barber this morning. Hoggs
Judging from the ayi earance of your
face I should say he u<arly killed you.
Higgs It amounts to the same thing
| | shave myse.i.
tiMh<4 Him
Indianapolis Journal; The fthoe
| Clerk Heg your pardon, madam, but
It la a number g«« shoe you want. In
stead of a number three gt»e Num
Iter ive! You must be thinking of the
else of your hat,
■elf admiration Is ample proof that
there Is no accounting for tastes