T
he
The
By Will Levington Comfort
CoDTriffht. 19. h. Win t : ... .
CopTrirtt. 1907. b, J. B. L.pp.xcott
CHAPTER XVI. (Continued.)
Ilow many times the blue eyes of old
Ernst rolled back under the lids, and his
grip relaxed upon the oars, only to be re
called by the pleading voice and the face
of tragedy before him; how many times
the whipping tongue of Macready mum
bled, forgetting its object, while his senses
reeled against the burning walls of his
brain ; how many times the splendid spirit
of the woman recalled her own lowlier
faculties to action and the terrible mean
ing of the quest only God and these
knew. Hut the little boat held its prow
to the desolate shore.
They gained the Sugar Landing at last,
and strange sounds came from the lips of
Ernst, as he pointed to the hulk of the
launch,' burned to the water line. Gray
covered heaps were sprawled upon the
shore, some half-covered by the incoming
tide, some entirely awash. Pelee had
brought down the city ; and the fire-tiger
had rushed in at the kill. He was hissing
ud crunching still, under the ruins. The
Toman moaned and covered her face.
"There is nothing alive !" she said with
dreadful stress.
"Whnt else could, vou Ink fur?" Mac-
ready demanded. "Wait till we get over
th' hill, and you'll hear th' burnls siug
ln' the naygurs laughin' in the fields an'
wonderiu' why the milkman don't come."
"I can live yes, I can live until I see
our house crushed to the hill, all coated
with paste, and those heaps lying about
on the ground ! 'A woman can't
be a friend like a man' ! You will stand
and uncover your heads when you see
your friend lying upon the ground and I
I will die!"
She was walking between them, up to
ward the market place, fighting back her
terrors, which added to the burdens of the
men. The opened space was filled with
the stones from the houses, hurled there
as from a dice box. Smoke and steam
oozed forth from every ruin. The silence
was awful as the sight of death. Hue
Victor Hugo was effaced, the way up to
ward the morne undiscernible. A breath
ing pile of debris barred every way. It
was plain that they must make their way
southward along the shore.
"If I cud on'y get holt o' that barna
cle av a shark's toot,' Pugh if I cud on'y
get him here wance bare-futted," Denny
gasped "sure I'd lie happy holdin' av
him! 11a! don't sthep there!"
He pulled her away from a puddle of
oncongealed stuff as hot as running iron.
Once he had stepped upon what
eenied to be an ash-covered stone. It
was soft, springy, and vented a wheezy
sigh. Hain and rock-dust had smeared
all things alike in this gray, roasting
shambles.
i
"Speak won't you pleaBe speak?" the
woman cried suddenly.
"It luks like rain, ma'am," Macready's
quick tongue offered.
They were on the shore, nearing the
rise of the Morne d'Orange. Saint Pierre
, had rushed to the sea at the last. The
mountain had found the women with the
children, as all manner of visitations find
them and the men a little apart. There
was nothing to do by the way, no lips
to moisten, no voice of pain to hush, no
dying thing to ease. Pelee had not fal
tered at the last. There was not an in
sect murmur in the air, nor a crawling
thing beneath, not a moving wing in the
hot gray sky. They traversed a shore
of death absolute these three and the
Ionian was thinking ahead.
Prom the shoulder of the morne Lara
. turned back one look. Saint Pierre was
like a mouth that had lost its pearls. The
land ahead was a husk divested of its
fruit. Pelee had cut the cane fields, suck
ed the juices, and left the blasted stalks
In his paste. The plantation house push
ed forth no shadow of an outline. It might
be felled, or lost in the smoky distance.
- The nearer landmarks were gone homes
that had brightened the morne in their
day, whose windows had flashed the rays
of the afternoon sun as it rode down over
sealevelled like the fields of cane. There
was no balm, no saving grace. Pelee had
swept far and left only his shroud, and
the heaps upon the way, to show that the
old sea-road, so white, so beautiful, had
been the haunt of man. The mnngoes
had lost their vesture; the palms were
gnarled and naked fingers pointing to the
pitiless sky. '
She hnd known this highway in the
mornings, when joy was not dead, when
the songs of the toilers and the laughter
of children glorified the fields: in the
white moonlight, when the sweet draughts
from the sea met and mingled with the
spice from torrid lulls, and scent of jas
mine and rose gardens. The
dark eyes under the huge helmet were
staring ahead; her lips were parted and
white. Though they had passed the ra
dius of terrific heat, she seemed slowly
to be suffocating. Macready remembered
his voice. .
"Things are queer by the sea, ma'am.
Now, if I'd ha tuk Pugh be th' froat I'd
be intcrtainin Mr. Constable presently in
the bottom av th' Bhip, togged out lfcad
an' fut in irons fur th' occasion, an' he'd
bhv, 'Pinny, why didn't you sthand be th'
lady whin I tould you? Perhaps you can
stand be th' bunkers bctthcr, me son. Go
to thim, ye goat !' Ernst, lad,
you're, intertainin', you're loqucnehus."
The woman was stepping forward
swiftly between them. Words died upon
Macready's tongue when he saw her 'face
and thought of what she would find
ahead. He believed that she would keep
Sepulchre
Pclec
CoM,m. AU right, rerf
her word that she would break, brain
and body if the mountain had shown no
mercy at their journey's end.
And Macready did not hope. The man
to whom he had tied bis own life would
be down like the others, and the great
house about him! All that a soft Irish
heart could feel of terror and bereave
ment had waged in his breast for hours.
To let the woman succumb among her
dead was more than he could bear.
The ruins of the plantation house wav
ered forth from the fog. The prayer had
not availed ; the day still lived. A swoon
had not fallen pitifully upon the woman.
He was allowing her to walk forward to
her end, this beautiful creature whose
courage was more than a man's !
Her fingers were upon his sleeve, pulling
him forward. She had no need of words
from him now. Life remained In her to
reach the place ahead. She did not want
more life, if the dead were there.
"Wait, ma'am !" he pleaded.
"No, not I cannot wait!"
"Fur ould Dinny !"
"I thank you both. You have been very
brave and kind; but, Denny, don't keep
nie hnck not now !
"Let me go fiisht!" he implored, har
boring the. mad idea that he might put
something out of her sight.
"No!" she screamed, breaking from
him, and rushing forward through the
fallen gate.
Her cry brought an answer a muffled
answer, the voice from a pit. Macready
and Krnst plucked at the charred boards
in the circle of ruin.
"Peter, King Peter ! Where are you,
Great-heart?" she called, laughing, cry
ing, picking at her hands.
"In the cistern in the old cistern,"
came the answer. "Why did they let
you come here ?"
"Didn't 1 tell you 'twud take more than
a sphit av a mountain t' singe hair av
him, ma'am?" Macready yelled, dancing
about the rim. "Are you hurted, sorr?
Tell me, are you hurted?"
He was pushed away, and the woman
knelt at the rim, bending far down.
CHAPTER XVII.
Constable rested and reflected in the
cistern. It did not occur to him, save in
the most flimsy and passing way, to doubt
the efficacy of the distance in the case of
Iara. She was safe, eight miles at sea,
and watched over by Macready, whom he
had learned thoroughly to trust. Here
was gladness immovable. Second, for the
present and to all intents, his own life
had been spared. This was not so impor
tant in itself, but was exceedingly vital
in consideration of the third point that
she loved him, and had said so, His first
worry was that Lara might be thinking
him dead.
The aspect of Constable's mind being
touched upon, it may be well to outline
the state of affairs as a third party
would see it. In the first place, there
was a woman in bis arms, a woman whom
the fire had touched and in whom con
sciousness was not ; the mother of the
world's matchless girl. Then he was sit
ting upon a slimy stone in a subterranean
cell, the floor of which was covered with
six inches of almost scalding water, and
the vault filled with steam. The volcanic
discharge, showering down through the
mouth of the pit, had heated the water
and released the vapor. An earthquake
years before had loosened the stone walls
of the cavern, and with every shudder of
the earth, under the wrath of Pelee, the
masonry lining the cistern tottered. Then,
his hand had been torn during the descent
of the chain, and the terrific heat in the
well livened his bums to exquisite paiu
fulness. Hut, as has been stated, these
were mere cuticle disorders, and the heart
of the man sang again and again its tune
ful story.
Pelee was giving vent to the after
pangs. Torrents of rain were descend
ing. The man in the cistern had lost
track of time. Though replenished with
rain, the water was still too hot to step
in ; therefore, he" could not change his
position and relieve the tension of his
arms. Still, he felt that he owed an as
tonishing debt to the old cistern. No sud
den impulse had brought him there. Since
he had discovered the place in his night's
vigil, and examined it more closely the
following day, the idea had become fixed
in his mind that it might be used at the
last minute.
The women sighed now and stirred in
his arms. The first gripping realization
took his mind. lie waited in embarrass
ment for her to speak. Wo'uld the fact
that he had snved her life stand as ex
tenuation for bis rough treatment? Con
stable was by no means sure that he was
not about to hear her estimate of him
on the old footing, with the rage of a
manhandled woman added the whole a
finished document delivered with Mrs.
Stansbury's art and force. But she did
not yet awake. '
His brain worked rapidly now. She
had lain upon his shoulder during the de
scent. Livid dust had fallen-through the
orifice. His burns were slight.
His eyes strained hi to her face, but the
cistern was dark, dark. The fire had
touched her hair he knew that. Her
bare arm brushed his cheek, and his whole
being crawled with fear It
seemed that hours elapsed. Where had
Uncle Joey been at the last? Did Pelee
tolerate any favorites? Brecn, Soronia,
Pere Rabeaut, Mondet, the ships Id the
inner harbor, the thirty thousand of Saint
Pierre were they all wrecked In the mills 1
of the world? But the Madame
was eight miles at sea ! Pelee had waited
for the woman. His heart of hearts held
this joy.
The breath of life was returning to his
burden. She sighed once more, and then,
full pityingly, he felt her wince with the
pain which consciousness brought.
"What is this dripping darkness?" he
heard at last. The words were slowly
uttered, and the tones vague. In
a great dark room somewhere, in a past
life, perhaps. Constable had heard such
a voice from some one lying in the shad
ows. "We are in the old cistern you and 1,
Peter Constable." His tones became glad
as he added, "But your daughter is safe
at sea !"
"Did you forget something, or did Lara
send you for her parasol?"
"I came for you came to tell you how
much we needed you how much we fear
ed for your life, and to ask you once
more "
"What an extraordinary youth !K
she murmured. "Was there ever such
darkness as this?"
The cavern was dark, but not utterly
black now. The circle of the orifice was
sharply lit with gray.
"They will come from the ship to res
cue us soon. Please please turn your
face to the light so ! Yes, that
will do !"
"Did you not know that I am blind,
boy? How big you seem! I
should think you would put me down and
rest your arms "
Her face had been turned upward In
the descent of the chain ! He steeled him
self to speak steadily. There was a
cumulative harshness In that her face,
above nil oi.lii.ri, so fragile, of p-irnit line,
should "meet the coarse element, burning
dirt. Furies leaped upon him that he
had not saved her.
"The water is still hot In the bottom of
the cistern,' he said. "My arms are not
in the least tired."
An interminable interval passed before
he heard the voice again, slower, fainter:
"And so you came back for me and you
knew Pelee. better! No, the
burns do not hurt terribly. My face
feels dead. You were not burned so?"
This was the moment of dreadful mem
ory. Her body, her face, arms, throat,
had covered him, as the rusty chain slip
ped through his hand. The molten stuff
had not cracked his flesh because she had
stood between.
"I tried to save you you know that
but you kept the fire from me!"
His voice was broken with rebellion.
Then out of a sigh came the words that
lived with him always:
"I would have you know that
la Montagne Pelee is artistic !"
(To be continued.)
SHARPENING A PENCIL.
In This Act Vou Mar Head Man's
Character.
No woman should marry a man till
she has seen him sharpen a lead pen
cil. She can tell by the way he does
It whether he Is suited to her or not.
Here are a few Infallible rules for
her guldnnee in the matter:
The man who holds the point to
wnrd him and close up against his
shirt front Is slow and likes to have
secrets. Re Is the kind of man who,
when the dearest girl In the world
finds out that there are "others" and
asks him who they are and what he
means by calling on them, will assume
an air of excessive dignity.
The man who holds the pencil out
at arm's length and whittles away at
It, hit or miss, la Impulsive, Jolly,
good-natured and generous.
He who leaves a blunt point Is dull
and plodding, and will never amount
to much. He Is renlly good natured,
but finds his chief pleasures In the
commonplace things of life.
He who sharpens his pencil an Inch
or more from the point Is high strung
and Imaginative and subject to exu
berant flights of fancy. He will ul
ways be seeking to mount upward and
accomplish things In the higher re
gions of business and art, and his
wife's greatest trouble will be to hold
him down to earth 'and prevent his
flying off altogether on a tangent.
The man who shnrpons his pencil
nil around smoothly and evenly, as
though It was planed off In an auto
matic sharpener, is systematic and
slow to anger, but he Is so undevlatlng
from a fixed principle thnt he would
drive a woman with a sensitive tem
perament to distraction In less than
six months. On the contrary, he who
jumps In nnd leaves the sharpened
wood as Jugged as saw teeth around
the top has n nasty temper and will
spank the baby on the slightest provo
cation. The nmn who doesn't stop to polish
the point of lend once the wood is cut
nway has a streak of conrseness in his
nature.
He who shaves off the lead till tte
point Is like a needle is refined, ftoll
cate and sensitive. He will not bt
likely to accomplish so much as hit
more common brother, but he wll
never shock you, and Is without doubt
a good man to tie to. New York Pres?
To ne Rxact.
"Gee whiz! Here's the rain coming
down-again and somebody's stolen mj
umbrella."
"Somebody's stolen what?"
"Well, the umbrella I've been carry
ing for the Inst two weeks." Phil
delphla Press.
THE HELPLESS FLUFFY, i
There Is a sort of woman whom all
women despise and most men adore,
nnd that Is the bit of fluff who enn't
do anything for herself when there Is
a man around.
She Is not always a pretty woman.
If she were, women would forgive her.
She Is not always a little woman. If
she were, women could stund her.
But sometimes she Is old nnd big and
fat 'but- helpless. Helpless, too, In
maddening ways. She can't get up a
flight of steps alone, or over a muddy
crossing. She never can swim, so she
requires all the men on the beach to
pull her up when she falls down In
the water. Then she generally weeps
and does kittenish things that make
other women long to slap her.
The men may regard her as a nui
sance, but they bear with her nnd wait
on her until self-respecting women, who
can tie their own shoe laces nnd button
their own gloves without calling out
the fire department, wonder If It pays
to be self-reliant nnd strong.
Did you ever take the trouble to
watch one of these women? A small,
rather pretty woman, I mean, who was
of the helpless variety?
She watches men as a cnt watches a
mouse-hole. She never gets helpless
when there are only women about. She
enn stir around quite nimbly when she
has to. But wait until the mouse
pushes his first whisker out of his hole;
wait until she enn see a little black
speck on the horizon which her Instinct
tells her will resolve Itself Into a man.
Presto! Both her shoe laees come un
tied, she drops her handkerchief, and
everything In sight becomes unbuttoned.
Yes, I said everything In sight.
The mnn appears, nnd no matter how
much the other women mny want him,
he finds himself hooking and button
Ing nnd tying the helpless woman, re
trieving her handkerchief nnd parasol,
fetching and carrying for her like a
white slave, nnd nnd believing what
her timid, upward glances tell him of
his strength and bigness nnd viking
like qualities of mind nnd soul nnd
body.
Meantime the properly hooked nnd
buttoned women hnve to stand around
and grit their teeth nnd mnke up their
minds never to be cnught -again with
everything done. They register a vow
that If It Is ns easy ns It looks they
will come undone somewhere nnd mnke
a man tie 'em up.
Oh, the motor veils which hnve to be
kept In plnee by n mnn! for the help
less womnn ! The wny she can stumble
over her own feet. If there are no rocks
hnndy, nnd the fool way the men fall
Into her traps!
Helpless women are regular mnn
stinres.
They ought to be regulated by the po
lice. Chicago Journal.
lie Knew Their Secrets.
Bishop Donahue, of Wheeling, W.
Vn., is n very conservative prelate. He
shares the views of mnny other bishops
In his communion concerning secret so-
cletles, and as n consequence, when the
Knights of Columbus was organized In
his diocese, he was rather chary In nf
fording them official recognition. Final
ly, he became convinced that the order
was not Inimical to Church or state,
nnd ns a proof of his satisfaction ..t
tendod one of their annual gatherings.
A member of the order attempted to
twit hlm on his skepticism, nnd ho
promptly retorted :
"You young men Imagine that yon
belong to n secret society ; but you nre
very much deceived. I have- been up
In the cupoln of the cathedral, and with
the aid of a telescopi? have discovered
; everything that you hnve been doing,
jl know all of your signs; I know your
passwords, and I even know the eokr
of your goat."
I'nlntul Memorlea.
The best man thought he'd take a
look around and see that everything
was running as a fastidious bride
would wish It, nnd up In the room
where the presents were displayed,
nlono nnd unhappy looking, he came
upon a yuth, seemingly ready, like the
wedding guest of the English poet, to
"beat his breast." He was wunderlng
about, looking at silver, nnd cut glass
without seeing them, nnd the best man
hardly knew how to nppnmch hlm.
"Kr have you kissed the bride?" ho
nsked nt last.
And the answer told far more than
Its two menger words might hnve been
expected to. It wus, "Not lately I"
Dyer Well, I see Falling Is on his
feet again.' Ilyer Yes; he wus obliged
to sell his auto. Puck.
"Was that you I kissed In the con
servatory last night?" "About what
time was It?" Philadelphia Inquirer.
She Yes, whenever I see a man In a
dnrk street I always run. He And do
you ever catch one of them? Hurler's
Weekly.
"I didn't see you In church yester
day." "No; Willie didn't shovel u
path through the Sunday papers In
time." Puck.
Polly How do you like my bathing
suit? Dolly It must huve lieen per
fectly sweet before you outgrew It.
Cleveland Leader.
Barber Hair getting thin, sir. Ever
tried our hulr preparation, sir? Cus
tomerNo, I can't blutue It on that
Boston Transcript.
He Has your fortune ever been
told? She No; but I dure say papa
will tell you If you really have serious
intentions. Sketch.
"You seem to manage remarkably
well on your housekeeping money.
"Yes; the storekeepers haven't sent In
their bills yet." Stray Stories.
"WIil-u they tike, woman nwny from
the co-educational college," said tho
speaker, "what will follow?" "I will,"
cried u voice from the audience. Suc
cess. "Ah, I see you nre married!" exclaim
ed the merchant. "No, sir," replied tho
applicant for a position. "I got this
scar In a railroad accident." The Bo
hemian. Iioule Uncle, what's chagrin? Un
cle Well, It's what a stout man feels
when lie runs nnd jumps on a car that
doesn't start for half an hour. Chicago
Dully News.
Tommy Pop, what Is retribution?
Tommy's Pop Retribution, my son, Is
something that we are sure will event
ually overtake other people. Philadel
phia Itecord.
Mrs. Benham Why does n mnn hnto
his mother-ln-luw? Ilcnhum IIo
doesn't hate her; he simply hates to
think of the way she got into his fam
ily. Harper's Weekly.
"Do real resourceful nmn," said Un
cle Elx'ii, "when some one hands him a
lemon Is ready wld do sugar nnd other
flxln's to make It tol-lable pleasant to
take." Washington Star.
"Officer, I appeal for protection. A
mnn Is following imsund attempting to
make love to me." "Begorry, Oi've been
lookin for nn escnied lunatic. Where
Is) he?" Kansas City Times.
Scott What makes you think that
tho trust originated In Rhode Island?
Mott Dad used to speak of the trust
In Providence us far back as when I
was a boy. Boston Traveler.
Old Gent Here, you hoy, what nre
you doing out here, fishing? Don't you
know you ought to be nt school? Small
Hoy Then!, now! I knew I'd forgot
something. Philadelphia Inquirer.
Sparks I wonder why It Is a woman
lets out everything you tell her? Parka
My dear boy, n woman has only two
views of a secret elt her It Is not worth
keeping, or It Is too good to keep.
Stray Stories.
."You know Miss Strong, don't you?"
"Oh, yes; mannish sort of girl." "Is
she, really';" "Yes; she used the tele
phone to day for the first time In her
life, i! nd she didn't giggle once." Phil
adelphia Press.
She This dress doesn't become' my
complexion. I must change it. He
More expense? -I can't stand It; you'll
ruin me. She You silly ! I don't mean
the dress I mean the complexion.
Chicago Journal.
"Here, Willie!" cried the hoy's fa
ther, "you mustn't behave that way.
Everybody will he calling you a little
glutton. Do you know what that Is?".
"I suppose," replied Willie, "it's a big
glutton's little boy."
'i have written a book that every
body ought to read," said the author.
"I am afraid It won't do," answered the
publisher. "What the public seems to
want now is a book that nobody ought
to read." Washington Star.
jack Smith asked me to come to his
homo this evening. Says he's going to
celebrate his golden wedding. Gladys
Why, he's been married only three
years. Jack That's what I told hlm.
Ho said It seemed like fifty.
Mrs. llonpock (to her husband)
What would you do If I were to die?
Heiipeck It would drive me crazy.
Mrs. II. Would you marry iigalul
Henpeck I don't think I would be na
crazy as that. Pioneer Press.
"How often docs the trolley run past
your li'iuse?" asked a tourist of a
farmer. "Wonl, they run by so fre
quent nnd so often that I can't keep
no track of 'em, but I Jedge the last
one passed here two hours ago." IhiC'
ptr's bazaar.