Genre Fiction. Page - 256

o, no; go on; don't wait for me," he answered. But neither Charley nor I was inclined to do that.

Dick was soon on his feet again, while we assisted him, in spite of what he had said, to get up his horse. The animal's leg did not appear to be strained, and Dick quickly again climbed into the saddle.

"Thank you, my dear boys," he exclaimed, "it must not happen again; I am a heavy weight for my brute, and, if he comes down, you must go on and let me shift for myself."

We made no reply, for neither Charley nor I was inclined to desert our brave friend. The rest of the party had dashed by, scarcely observing what had taken place, the Indians taking the lead. It was impossible to calculate how many miles we had gone. Night was coming on, making the glare to the eastward appear brighter and more terrific. The mules were still instinctively following us, but we were distancing them fast, though we could distinguish their shrieks of terror amid the general uproar.

The hill for which we wer

vely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels.

Evangeline. Part i. 3.

And as she looked around, she saw how Death the consoler, Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed it forever.

Evangeline. Part ii. 5.

God had sifted three kingdoms to find the wheat for this planting.[616-1]

The Courtship of Miles Standish. iv.

Into a world unknown,--the corner-stone of a nation![616-2]

The Courtship of Miles Standish. iv.

Saint Augustine! well hast thou said, That of our vices we can frame A ladder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame.[616-3]

The Ladder of Saint Augustine.

The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they while their companions slept Were toiling upward in the night.

The Ladder of Saint Augustine.

The surest pledge of a deathless name Is the silent homage of thoughts unspoken.

The Herons of Elmwood.

He has singed the beard of the king of Spain.[616-4]

e with you. The railway last night for twenty miles back was held up for State purposes. We none of us know why, and it doesn't do to be too curious over here, but they have an idea that you are either a journalist or a spy."

"Civis Britannicus sum!" the boy answered, with a laugh.

"It doesn't quite mean what it used to, sir," the man answered quietly.

CHAPTER II

AT THE CAFÉ MONTMARTRE

Exactly a week later, at five minutes after midnight, Guy Poynton, in evening dress, entered the Café Montmartre, in Paris. He made his way through the heterogeneous little crowd of men and women who were drinking at the bar, past the scarlet-coated orchestra, into the inner room, where the tables were laid for supper. Monsieur Albert, satisfied with the appearance of his new client, led him at once to a small table, submitted the wine card, and summoned a waiter. With some difficulty, as his French was very li

For the time being she raised her eyes and looked into LordBracondale's, and something told her they were the nicest eyes she hadever seen in this world.

Then when a voluble French count had rushed up, with garrulous apologiesfor being late, the party was complete, and they swept into therestaurant.

Theodora sat between the Western millionaire and the Russian Prince, butbeyond--it was a round table, only just big enough to hold them--cameher hostess and Lord Bracondale, and two or three times at dinner theyspoke, and very often she felt his eyes fixed upon her.

Mrs. McBride, like all American widows, was an admirable hostess; theconversation never flagged, or the gayety for one moment.

The Western millionaire was shrewd, and announced some quaint truthswhile he picked his teeth with an audible sound.

"This is his first visit to Europe," Princess Worrzoff said afterwardsto Theodora by way of explanation. "He is so colossally rich he don'tneed to worry about such things at his ti

h telegraphed and wrote, begging piteously to be permitted to accompany them on the long journey by way of San Francisco, and so it had finally been settled. The colonel's household were now at regimental headquarters up at Prescott, and Angela was quite happy at Camp Sandy. She had been there barely four weeks when Neil Blakely, pale, fragile-looking, and still far from strong, went to report for duty at his captain's quarters and was met at the threshold by his captain's daughter.

Expecting a girl friend, Kate Sanders, from "down the row," she had rushed to welcome her, and well-nigh precipitated herself upon a stranger in the natty undress uniform of the cavalry. Her instant blush was something beautiful to see. Blakely said the proper things to restore tranquillity; smilingly asked for her father, his captain; and, while waiting for that warrior to finish shaving and come down to receive him, was entertained by Miss Wren in the little army parlor. Looking into her wondrous eyes and happy, blushing

ction?--notfor publication, of course."

"I should suppose not," said Ridley significantly. "For a Divine hewas--remarkably free."

"The Pump in Neville's Row, for example?" enquired Mr. Pepper.

"Precisely," said Ambrose.

Each of the ladies, being after the fashion of their sex, highly trainedin promoting men's talk without listening to it, could think--about theeducation of children, about the use of fog sirens in an opera--withoutbetraying herself. Only it struck Helen that Rachel was perhaps toostill for a hostess, and that she might have done something with herhands.

"Perhaps--?" she said at length, upon which they rose and left, vaguelyto the surprise of the gentlemen, who had either thought them attentiveor had forgotten their presence.

"Ah, one could tell strange stories of the old days," they heard Ridleysay, as he sank into his chair again. Glancing back, at the doorway,they saw Mr. Pepper as though he had suddenly loosened his clothes, andhad become a vivacious and malici

s the guy who saw fire come down from the sky and decided that was the answer to some of his problems. The witch doctor was too scared of both the problem and the answer to believe the problem could ever have a solution. So he manufactured delusions to make himself and others think the problem would just quietly go away. There are a lot of witch doctors still operating and they're not all as easy to recognize as Granny Wicks!"

They reached Ken's car, and he held the door open for Maria. As he climbed in his own side he said, "How about coming over to my place and having a look at the comet through my telescope? You'll see something really awe-inspiring then."

"I'd love to. Right now?"

"Sure." Ken started the car and swung away from the curb, keeping a careful eye on the road, watching for any others like Dad Martin.

"Sometimes I think there will be a great many things I'll miss when we go back to Sweden," Maria said thoughtfully, as she settled back in the seat, enjoying the smooth

large black letters on the first page, and leaped to the eyes.

"Late last night," it ran, "an appalling murder was committed at the Villa Rose, on the road to Lac Bourget. Mme. Camille Dauvray, an elderly, rich woman who was well known at Aix, and had occupied the villa every summer for the last few years, was discovered on the floor of her salon, fully dressed and brutally strangled, while upstairs, her maid, Helene Vauquier, was found in bed, chloroformed, with her hands tied securely behind her back. At the time of going to press she had not recovered consciousness, but the doctor, Emile Peytin, is in attendance upon her, and it is hoped that she will be able shortly to throw some light on this dastardly affair. The police are properly reticent as to the details of the crime, but the following statement may be accepted without hesitation:

"The murder was discovered at twelve o'clock at night by the sergent-de-ville Perrichet, to whose intelligence more than a word of praise is due, and it is

s, and onlyafter she had recovered from her astonishment and her husband hadfled did she take notice of the pain, then remaining in bed forseveral days, to the great delight of Paulita, who was very fondof joking and laughing at her aunt. As for her husband, horrifiedat the impiety of what appeared to him to be a terrific parricide,he took to flight, pursued by the matrimonial furies (two curs and aparrot), with all the speed his lameness permitted, climbed into thefirst carriage he encountered, jumped into the first banka he saw onthe river, and, a Philippine Ulysses, began to wander from town totown, from province to province, from island to island, pursued andpersecuted by his bespectacled Calypso, who bored every one that hadthe misfortune to travel in her company. She had received a report ofhis being in the province of La Laguna, concealed in one of the towns,so thither she was bound to seduce him back with her dyed frizzes.

Her fellow travelers had taken measures of defense by keeping

"That is Mt. Togonda," he answered, pointing to the hills before them, "and this," swinging his hand around the plateau on which the camp's tents were pitched, "is La Plaza del Carabaos."

The captain's eyes met those of Lieutenant Smith.

"La Plaza del Carabaos" means "The Square of the Water Buffalos."

As if with one thought the two men turned and looked out to sea. The sun had set. Against the glowing western sky a huge rock at the plateau's farthest limit was outlined. Rough-carved as the rock had been by the chisel of nature, the likeness to a water buffalo's head was striking. Beyond the rock three islands lay in a line upon the sunset-lighted water. Far out from the foot of the cliff the two men could hear the waves beating upon the sand.

"This is an excellent place for a camp," the captain said when he turned to his men again. "I think we shall find it best to stay here for some time."

Perhaps a month of respite from attack had made the sentries careless; perhap