Genre Fiction. Page - 193

ng-girl at a public-house in Shadwell. Never beforehad Valentine Jernam looked on so fair a woman. He had never been astudent or admirer of the weaker sex. He had a vague kind of idea thatthere were women, and mermaids, and other dangerous creatures, lurkingsomewhere in this world, for the destruction of honest men; but beyondthis he had very few ideas on the subject.

Other people were taking very little notice of the singer. The regularpatrons of the 'Jolly Tar' were accustomed to her beauty and hersinging, and thought very little about her. The girl was very quiet,very modest. She came and went under the care of the old blind pianist,whom she called her grandfather, and she seemed to shrink alike fromobservation or admiration.

She began to sing again presently.

She stood by the piano, facing the audience, calm as a statue, with herlarge black eyes looking straight before her. The old man listened toher eagerly, as he played, and nodded fond approval every now and then,as the full, rich

ve for a second or two and then smiled reassuringly. "It will be all right in time, quite right. You are suffering from shock; but you needn't worry. No worry. That's the great thing. A day or so will put you all right, Herr--let's see, what's your name?"

But I didn't bite. "Is it Lassen? The nurse said so."

"Don't you know it yourself?" he asked very kindly.

"No." That was true at any rate. "How did you find it out?"

"From the card in your trousers' pocket. You are the only survivor from the Burgen and had a very narrow escape. Even most of your clothes were blown off you. Doesn't anything I say suggest anything to you?"

I lay as if pondering this solemnly. "It's all so--so strange," I muttered, putting my hand to my head. "So--so----" and I left it at that; and he went away, after giving me one more item of valuable information--that my belt which contained my money had also been saved.

I played that lost memory for all it was worth and with gorgeous succes

or her father. A little thought on the matter decided him to rectify the deficiencies, in so far as it lay in his power. He visited a large establishment making a specialty of "furnishing homes complete," and ordered a new kitchen outfit, including a modern range, a mission style outfit for a dining-room, dainty summer furniture for the five chambers to be occupied by his three nieces, the Major and himself, and a variety of lawn benches, chairs, etc.

"Look after the details," he said to the dealer. "Don't neglect anything that is pretty or useful."

"I won't, sir," replied the man, who knew his customer was "the great John Merrick," who could furnish a city "complete," if he wished to, and not count the cost.

Everything was to be shipped in haste to the Junction, and Uncle John wrote McNutt to have it delivered promptly to the farm and put in order.

"As soon as things are in shape," he wrote, "wire me to that effect and I'll come down. But don't let any grass grow under your feet.

Nay, old friend--[to ALCIMEDON, who wants to break in; then to ORESTES again]--though you slay us all, you have but lost the food and shelter we had given you; and the shedder of blood escapes not the Dread Watchers.

ORESTES.

[Who had been cooling, starts and threatens her.] What know you of the Dread Watchers?

ANDROMACHE.

And there is little glory in the slaying of a woman, and little gain.

ORESTES.

[Wildly.] What woman? Who are you that taunt me? Priest, is this your witch?

ALCIMEDON.

[Angrily.] She is no witch! You lie, both stranger and priest!

ANDROMACHE.

I am a bondwoman of the King.

ALCIMEDON.

Andromache, once wife of Hector, Prince of Troy.

ORESTES.

And am I to be the guest of a bondwoman?

ANDROMACHE.

There are others of free estate who will take you in. I only sought to save men's lives.

ORESTES.

What worth are men

e are rather to be bewailed as imperfections than admired as ornaments in these great men; rather obscuring their glory, and holding them back in their race to greatness, indeed unworthy the end for which they seem to have come into the world, viz. of perpetrating vast and mighty mischief?

We hope our reader will have reason justly to acquit us of any such confounding ideas in the following pages; in which, as we are to record the actions of a great man, so we have nowhere mentioned any spark of goodness which had discovered itself either faintly in him, or more glaringly in any other person, but as a meanness and imperfection, disqualifying them for undertakings which lead to honour and esteem among men.

As our hero had as little as perhaps is to be found of that meanness, indeed only enough to make him partaker of the imperfection of humanity, instead of the perfection of diabolism, we have ventured to call him THE GREAT; nor do we doubt but our reader, when he hath perused his story, will con

; and the boat's going to start inside of an hour, and we're going to start with her!"

Sure enough, when at last the heavy boom of the Yucatan's warning whistle caused the window glass along the main street to tremble, a little party once more wended its way down the sidewalk toward the wharf. Uncle Dick led the way, earnestly talking with three very grave and anxious mothers. Behind him, perfectly happy, and shouting excitedly to one another, came Rob, Jesse, and John. Each carried a rifle in its case, and each looked excitedly now and then at the wagon which was carrying their bundles of luggage to the wharf.

"All aboard!" called the mate at the head of the gang-plank, laying hold of the side lines and waiting to pull it in. Again came the heavy whistle of the ocean steamer. The little group now broke apart; and in a moment the boys, somewhat sobered now, were waving their farewells to the mothers, who stood, anxious and tearful, on the dock.

"Cast off, there!" came the hoarse

Louise came home from school one afternoon and found her dear mother sobbing bitterly as she clung around the neck of Gran'pa Jim, who stood in the middle of the room as still as if he had been a marble statue. Mary Louise promptly mingled her tears with those of her mother, without knowing why, and then there was a quick "packing-up" and a rush to the railway again.

Next they were in the house of Mr. and Mrs. Peter Conant, very pleasant people who seemed to be old friends of Mamma Bee and Gran'pa Jim. It was a cosy house, not big and pretentious, and Mary Louise liked it. Peter Conant and Gran'pa Jim had many long talks together, and it was here that the child first heard her grandfather called "Colonel." Others might have called him that before, but she had not heard them. Mrs. Conant was very deaf and wore big spectacles, but she always had a smile on her face and her voice was soft and pleasing.

After a few days Mamma Bee told her daughter she was going to leave her in the care of the Conan

d under the Brooklyn Bridge span at Dover Street and turned into South, where Christmas Eve is so joyous, in its way. The way on this particular evening was in no place more clearly interpreted than Red Murphy's resort, where the guild of Battery rowboatmen, who meet steamships in their Whitehall boats and carry their hawsers to longshoremen waiting to make them fast to the pier bitts, congregate and have their social being.

Here, on this day, the wealthy towboat-owners and captains are wont to distribute their largess to the boatmen as a mark of appreciation for favors rendered,--a suggestion that future favors are expected,--and here, also, punch of exalted brew is concocted and drunk.

An occasional flurry of snow swept down the street as Dan reached the entrance. Murphy was out on the sidewalk directing the adornment of his doorway with several faded evergreen wreaths, while inside, the boatmen gathered closer around the genial potstove and were not sorry that ice-bound rivers and harbor had

ned.

Number Four changed by the addition of an extra latrine for the second floor. Females on the first, juvenile delinquents on the second.

Bennington had learned to move like a ghost, move quietly or die, on the almost forgotten battlefields of a police action in Korea. He had had a post-graduate course in the South-East Asian jungles. On the Chilean desert he had added to his skills.

He moved now as he had then.

But there was little reason for caution. The guards were too busy collecting their fees, the juvenile delinquents were too busy acting as ushers, with even the sex deviates from Number Three busy.

The customers, of course, were far too interested in what they were buying.

And there was nothing to be done tonight. Bennington snarled to himself, as he carefully made his way back to the house.

But tomorrow morning....

* * * * *

A good breakfast inside of him, the early morning sun brightening the scene before him, not even combined could t

ed great, heavy childish sobs, shedid not dare to strike him, and raged the more.

If it were known that she had harbored him, the priests would be uponher, and all that she had would be taken from her and burned. She wouldnot even let him put his clothes on in her house.

"Take thy rags and begone in thy nakedness! Clothe thyself on thehillside! Let none see thee until thou art far away! Rot as thou wilt,but dare not to name me! Begone! begone! begone!"

And with his rags he fled naked through the doorway, and hid himself inthe little wood beyond.

Later, as he went on his way, he had hidden himself in the daytimebehind bushes by the wayside or off the road; he had crouched behindrocks and boulders; he had slept in caves when he had found them; he hadshrunk away from all human sight. He knew it could not be long before hewould be discovered, and then he would be shut up; and afterward hewould be as Berias until he died alone. Like unto Berias! To him itseemed as though surely never child