Genre Adventure. Page - 19

Riches, leisure, opportunity to study for a career upon his stage, are mine if I desire."

"Dost thou desire this, little Ilse?"

"Yes."

"And the man Venem who has followed thee so long?"

"I cannot be what he would have me--a Hausfrau--to mend his linen for my board and lodging."

"And the Fatherland which placed me here on outpost?"

"I take thy place when God relieves thee."

"So ist's recht!... Grüs Gott--Ilse----"

* * * * *

Among the German settlers a five-piece brass band had been organised the year before.

It marched at the funeral of Albrecht Dumont, lately head gamekeeper to nobility in the mountains of a long-lost province.

Three months later Ilse Dumont arrived in Chicago to marry Eddie Brandes. One Benjamin Stull was best man. Others present included "Captain" Quint, "Doc" Curfoot, "Parson" Smawley, Abe Gordon--friends of the bridegroom.

Invited by the bride, among others were Theodor Weishelm, th

t for my hate, oh scaled and shining One!

The sun was setting, etching the green and hazy blue of the forest in brief gold. The waning beams glinted on the thick golden chain which Dion of Attalus twisted continually in his pudgy hand as he sat in the flaming riot of blossoms and flower­-trees which was his garden. He shifted his fat body on his marble seat and glanced furtively about, as if in quest of a lurking enemy. He sat within a circular grove of slender trees, whose interlapping branches cast a thick shade over him. Near at hand a fountain tinkled silverly, and other unseen fountains in various parts of the great garden whispered an everlasting symphony.

Dion was alone except for the great dusky figure which lounged on a marble bench close at hand, watching the baron with deep somber eyes. Dion gave little thought to Thoth-amon. He vaguely knew that he was a slave in whom Ascalante reposed much trust, but like so many rich men, Dion paid scant heed to men below his own station i

>"I b'lieve, Cap'n," remarked Trot, at last, "thatit's time for us to start."

The old man cast a shrewd glance at the sky, thesea and the motionless boat. Then he shook his head.

"Mebbe it's time, Trot," he answered, "but I don'tjes' like the looks o' things this afternoon."

"What's wrong?" she asked wonderingly.

"Can't say as to that. Things is too quiet to suitme, that's all. No breeze, not a ripple a-top the water,nary a gull a-flyin' anywhere, an' the end o' the hottestday o' the year. I ain't no weather-prophet, Trot, butany sailor would know the signs is ominous."

"There's nothing wrong that I can see," said Trot.

"If there was a cloud in the sky even as big as mythumb, we might worry about it; but -- look, Cap'n! --the sky is as clear as can be."

He looked again and nodded.

"P'r'aps we can make the cave, all right," he agreed,not wishing to disappoint her. "It's only a little wayout, an' we'll be on the watch; so come along, Trot."

Together they descended the win

"The night can hear," answered Ka-nu obliquely. "There are worlds within worlds. But you may trust me and you may trust Brule, the Spear-slayer. Look!" He drew from his robes a bracelet of gold representing a winged dragon coiled thrice, with three horns of ruby on the head.

"Examine it closely. Brule will wear it on his arm when he comes to you tomorrow night so that you may know him. Trust Brule as you trust yourself, and do what he tells you to. And in proof of trust, look ye!"

And with the speed of a striking hawk, the ancient snatched something from his robes, something that flung a weird green light over them, and which he replaced in an instant.

"The stolen gem!" exclaimed Kull recoiling. "The green jewel from the Temple of the Serpent! Valka! You! And why do you show it to me?"

"To save your life. To prove my trust. If I betray your trust, deal with me likewise. You hold my life in your hand. Now I could not be false to you if I would, for a word from you would b

d bobtail of insignificant satellites, wefloat under the same daily conditions towards some unknown end,some squalid catastrophe which will overwhelm us at the ultimateconfines of space, where we are swept over an etheric Niagara ordashed upon some unthinkable Labrador. I see no room here forthe shallow and ignorant optimism of your correspondent, Mr.James Wilson MacPhail, but many reasons why we should watch witha very close and interested attention every indication of changein those cosmic surroundings upon which our own ultimate fatemay depend."

"Man, he'd have made a grand meenister," said McArdle. "It justbooms like an organ. Let's get doun to what it is that'stroubling him."

The general blurring and shifting of Fraunhofer's lines of thespectrum point, in my opinion, to a widespread cosmic change ofa subtle and singular character. Light from a planet is thereflected light of the sun. Light from a star is a self-producedlight. But the spectra both from planets and stars have, in

man devils I had met in plenty, but never a single angel--at least, of the male sex. Also there was always the possibility that I might get a glimpse of the still more angelic lady to whom he was engaged, whose name, I understood, was the Hon. Miss Holmes. So I said that nothing would please me more than to see this castle.

Thither we drove accordingly through the fine, frosty air, for the month was December. On reaching the castle, Mr. Scroope was told that Lord Ragnall, whom he knew well, was out shooting somewhere in the park, but that, of course, he could show his friend over the place. So we went in, the three of us, for Miss Manners, to whom Scroope was to be married very shortly, had driven us over in her pony carriage. The porter at the gateway towers took us to the main door of the castle and handed us over to another man, whom he addressed as Mr. Savage, whispering to me that he was his lordship's personal attendant.

I remember the name, because it seemed to me that I had never seen an

eye could reach. In all its vast expanse there was no break but for a single galley, which was slowly making its way from the direction of Sicily and heading for the distant harbour of Carthage.

Seen from afar it was a stately and beautiful vessel, deep red in colour, double-banked with scarlet oars, its broad, flapping sail stained with Tyrian purple, its bulwarks gleaming with brass work. A brazen, three-pronged ram projected in front, and a high golden figure of Baal, the God of the Ph[oe]nicians, children of Canaan, shone upon the after-deck. From the single high mast above the huge sail streamed the tiger-striped flag of Carthage. So, like some stately scarlet bird, with golden beak and wings of purple, she swam upon the face of the waters--a thing of might and of beauty as seen from the distant shore.

But approach and look at her now! What are these dark streaks which foul her white decks and dapple her brazen shields? Why do the long red oars move out of time, irregular, convulsive? Why a

used a youngman, the following day in the little hamlet of Tafelberg, towhistle as he carefully read it over.

"I am glad that I am not the mad king of Lutha," he saidas he paid the storekeeper for the gasoline he had just pur-chased and stepped into the gray roadster for whose greedymaw it was destined.

"Why, mein Herr?" asked the man.

"This notice practically gives immunity to whoever shootsdown the king," replied the traveler. "Worse still, it givessuch an account of the maniacal ferocity of the fugitive asto warrant anyone in shooting him on sight."

As the young man spoke the storekeeper had examinedhis face closely for the first time. A shrewd look came intothe man's ordinarily stolid countenance. He leaned forwardquite close to the other's ear.

"We of Lutha," he whispered, "love our 'mad king'--noreward could be offered that would tempt us to betray him.Even in self-protection we would not kill him, we of themountains who remember him as a boy and loved his fatherand hi

to remembrance of the laws under which yelive."

At this sudden outflame of wrath the two witnesses sank theirfaces on to their chests, and sat as men crushed. The Abbotturned his angry eyes away from them and bent them upon theaccused, who met his searching gaze with a firm and composedface.

"What hast thou to say, brother John, upon these weighty thingswhich are urged against you?"

"Little enough, good father, little enough," said the novice,speaking English with a broad West Saxon drawl. The brothers,who were English to a man, pricked up their ears at the sound ofthe homely and yet unfamiliar speech; but the Abbot flushed redwith anger, and struck his hand upon the oaken arm of his chair.

"What talk is this?" he cried. "Is this a tongue to be usedwithin the walls of an old and well-famed monastery? But graceand learning have ever gone hand in hand, and when one is lost itis needless to look for the other."

"I know not about that," said brother John. "I know only thatthe wo

g to Gavrillac on a November morning, laden with news of thepolitical storms which were then gathering over France, Philippefound in that sleepy Breton village matter to quicken his alreadylively indignation. A peasant of Gavrillac, named Mabey, had beenshot dead that morning in the woods of Meupont, across the river,by a gamekeeper of the Marquis de La Tour d'Azyr. The unfortunatefellow had been caught in the act of taking a pheasant from a snare,and the gamekeeper had acted under explicit orders from his master.

Infuriated by an act of tyranny so absolute and merciless, M. deVilmorin proposed to lay the matter before M. de Kercadiou. Mabeywas a vassal of Gavrillac, and Vilmorin hoped to move the Lord ofGavrillac to demand at least some measure of reparation for thewidow and the three orphans which that brutal deed had made.

But because Andre-Louis was Philippe's dearest friend - indeed, hisalmost brother - the young seminarist sought him out in the firstinstance. He found him at break