3ood Iiver Slacier.
HOOD RIVER, OR., JUNE 15, 1889.
Sir. Injralls' Hint to the Pregldent.
(Philadelphia Inquirer.)1 '
Tbe Hon. A. C Ilarmor, representa
tive in congress for tho olh District of
this city, was talking with a number . of
triends yesterday in relation, to the ex
pected , changes in tho federal offices
here. ""Yes,!' ho said, "the changes
come slowly. That recalls an incident
which occurred in Washington the oth
er day," he added. "Senatoj Ingalls of
Kansas had called on the president to,
urge the appointment of a man to a place
in his state, and after stating the case,
the president observed that the time of
the incumbent had not yet expired.
'Nof replied the senator, 'he was ap
pointed only a short time before Presi
dent Cleveland's term expired.' 'In
that care,' said tho president, 'we had
better let him remain until his time is
out. Cleveland seems to have douo
that with his Republican predecessor,
, and we ought to at least do a well as
Cleveland.'
"Well, Mr. President,' remarked the
cyriical president pro tem of the senate,
'maybe your judgment is best, and cer
tainly your opinion in this1 matter will
have the most force, but I would like to
,. call your attention to where Cleveland
isnovy.' " The subject was not pursued
. further, -i i :'' T i , j . r
. - ,1 L. 1
Pari It c CoHgt fruit, in the Bast.
San Francisco," June 12. J. K. Amis
by, of the Armsby Packing Co., of Chi-
' cago, is in the city, and when questioned
concerning the handling of California
fruits in the East, said 'today: "We
have been very successful in disposing
pf California fruit. It finds a ready
market, and few compaints come buck
about it.! The growers, however, should
exercise more care ' in raising, and in
preparing fruit for the market, and
should send only the best quality of
goods. Pacific coast fruit is a favorite
in 'the East, and the market is just
opening up. Last year's crop Jiaa- all
been disposed of at fairly goodjrices.
-Pru-hee bae-a-la-F;? sslS and i is no
reaSQijyiiy those from this coast should
not supply the 80,000,000 pounds an
nually imported from France and Turkey-
- ' ' - t - '
, r Clowned In a Wulerspont.
. , i (Hcppner Gazette.) f ' - .
On Wednesday of last week Mrs. Les
lie Spicer was drowned in a waterspout
near Pilot Rock. A shearing crew were
at work in a corral near the house when
the rain storm came up, which was con
fined principally to the gulch in which
the house was situated. Mr. Spicer
was with the crow and started to the
house to look after his wife, but before
reaching it the building washed away,
resulting as stated above. Her body
was found a half mile below on Thurs
day morning. The building was torn to
atoms by the force oi the current, Mr.
and Mrs. Spicer were married last fall,
and this is surely a sad onding of their
happiness. .
.... Snow and ftloet In Wyoming.
Cheyk.wve, Wyo., June JO. So much
rain has fallen in the- past few days
along the line of tbe Union Pacitic and
100 miles north that the track is soft in
many places, and all trains nro some
what delayed. Saturday and Sunday
there was sleet and heavy snow three
inches deep here, and a foot at Sherman,
thirty miles west, and fifteen inches at
Carbon, and Rawlins, the center of the
territory. The Western Union wires
are still down. There have been bliz
zards in the foothills, and a consider
able loss of sheep. Otherwise the storm
is highly beneficial.
Stanley's Movements.
Zanzibar, June 12. A letter received
here from Ururi, on the southeastern
shore of Victoria Nyanza, dated Decem
ber 22, 1888, reports the arrival there of
Henry M. Stanley, with a number of in
valided mombers of his force. The let
ter says that Stanley had sustained
heavy losses, a large number of his men
having died from disease and famine.
The explorer had rejoined and left Emin
Pacha at Unvara, on the northwestern
shore of the lake.
. Bodies Recovered at Johnstown,
"4tii Wabd Schodl IIoosk Morgue,)
June 8.
"The bodies received here are 219;
Pennsylvania railroad station morgue,
182; Morrellville morguo, 128; St. Col
umbia church morgue, in Cambria city,
835 ; the Hawes morgue, "73 ; Millville,
57; Grandview chappel, 118; the old
Nineveh, Indiana county, morgue, 56;
Nineveh proper, 233. Total, 1880,
Mrs.' Ferry Sues For Divorce.
Sax -Francisco, June 8. Mrs. Eve
lyn P. Ferry, the woman who has been
the cause of so much scandal in the
American colony of Paris during the
past four months, brought suit today,
through her attorneys, asking jor a di
vorce from Iter husband, Clinton P.
Ferry, on "the ground of cruelty and
neglect. '
Her Rival's Valentine.
"Do it," ho said, "and anything short of
taking my own life I'll do."
"You would not part with that?"
"It's only just begun. ' I've had no fling
yet. Ko, my lady, I'll not part with my
life.". ' i '
"Perhaps," still in a bantering tone she
spoke, "you would take the life of another?"
An understanding was growing up be
tween them. He drew a step nearer, and
now looked at her steadily.
"I would take a life," he said deliberately,
"if I were paid for it." y .
"And whp-t would be your price?"
He paused, and a hot flush deepened the
brown of his skin. Only by an effort could
he speak. .
"I wouldn't do it formoney,"he said, "but
I would for love."
Ho expected to see the fury spring into
her face and bear himself denouncedfor his
audacity, but she stood still and kept her
eyes upon his face. .- t
"To-morrow night," she said in a tone
that reached his ears distinctly, but went
very little beyond him, "a gentleman will
come riding through the village towards the
Gordonfells."
"Do I know him?" he asked in the same
keen whisper.
"His name is Basil Brandreth."
"1 know him well."
"Enough, then. He is not to come to the
Gordonfells; he must never reach It; and it
he could disappear and never be heard of
again all the better." . f ; .
"He can be "
"Do not let mo know what could be done,'
hut tell me this can he be kept from the
Gordonfells?"
"He can." . ; .
: lie no longer called her "my lady," and
eacft moment ho was growing bolder. He
had drawn nearly up to her when she check
ed him with her hand. -
. JVfm mic,t Af .A", wArV five
"and then seek payment." ;
"I'll have something on account," he said.
"You will not deceive me?'' .
"If there were twenty Basil Brandreths,
not one of them should roach the Gordon
fells to-night."
"Or be heard of again?" '
"Never again." . ;
"Haste you, then, to-day to Carpingdean.
and post this letter there." She drew one
from her breast and handed it to him as sho
spoke. "Do It secretly and well." " '
"You must not go yet," he said, planting
himself in her way. "Something on account.
Let me touch your cheek with my lips."
With a shuddering frame she stood still
while he stooped down, and trembling with
joy, put his lips, not to her cheek, but to
her lips he had quite recoveredhis ordinary
audacity. , ...
"That's my seal upon the compact," he
said. -
And Vida, without answering a word,
drew her cloak over her head and hurried
back to Gordonfells. .
CHAPTER III.
HIS SHAKE OF THE COMPACT.
Vida went back by the way she came, and
had got no farther than the border of the
wood when, to her secret terror and dismay,
she met Abel Moore. .
He was usually dressed with remarkable
neatness early or late, but now there were
signs of a hurried toilet, In an imperfectly
tied scarf, and an overcoat buttoned awry.
He wore no gloves, and carried a heavy
riding-whip In his hand. t
"Why, dearest Vida," he exclaimed in an
agitated tone, "j. am rejoiced to find you
safe." ' ' "' .
"Safol" she repeated with a forced smile;
"1 have never been in danger."
"Not that you know of," herejoined,"but
you have had somo fellow dogging you as
you walked. I could see him from the win
dow of my dressing-room in the north tow
er." . .
"I I havo seen no one," she stammered,
appalled at the danger of discovery that bad
been only just averted.
He mistook tho nature of her agitation,
and taking her hand drew it through his
arm.
"You must not be out so early alone," he
said, "and, perhaps, after all, I have need
lessly alarmed myself."
"It may havo been fancy," Vida suggest
ed. . .
"No, I saw the fellow clearly enough."
"Did you recongnise him, uncle?"
"No, my dear, but I thought he looked
like a gipsy."
And as he spoke her lips burned with the
memory of tho vagabond Bardolph's kiss as
it would have done withthe after-pain of
a wasp's sting. . . ' '
"Well, I am safe," she said with a faint
smile, "but I am very sorry to have brought
you out In the chill damp of the early morn
ing." .
"Why, dear child, I am not made of paste
board, but, as you say, it is chilly, and we
must hasten back."
At the hall-door they met Ruth, attired
for a walk and coming to meet her cousin.
; t"
How pure and fresh her beauty was I Like
a newly blown rose, rich and radiant In the
morning light.
"My dear father," sheexclaimed, ''you out
walking too?"
"I have been a little way to meet Vida,"
he answered, as he touched her cheek with
his lips. . '
She turned to Vida to give her the accus
tomed morning salute, but already it seem
ed to Vida that a black" barrier stood up be
tween them, and she barely touched Ruth's
cheek in return.
"I am no longer Vida Moore," she thought,
"but theancee of agipsy vagabond."
She would fain at this moment have un
done the work of the morning, but it was
already too late. .
Bardolph was on his way to Carpingdean
with the letter, and there was no recalling
him. The rest of his work he would do by-and-by,
and there was but one way of sav
ing Basil Brandreth, and that tfas by open
confession. .
No, that would never do tho bitter work
must go on to the end.
Of all tho days of her young life, Vida
had never knpwn one like that which fol
lowed. It was not pain, or sickness, or fear, orre
pentance that assailed her, but a wild
watchfulness and soul weariness that was
inexpressibly horrible to bear.
"I slept very little last night," she told
Ruth when she ' expressed some anxiety
about her health, '"and my headaches. I
think I shall spend the day quietly in my
room."
"Shall I read to you?" Ruth asked.
"Yes; read to me," Vida said.
Vida lay upon her couch with the curtains
drawn to dim the light, and Ruth, choosing
"Evangeline," began to read that charming
story of woman's pure faithful love.
It jarred upon Vida's ears ; she turned her
thoughts to Basil Brandreth.
She knew he was at Briarwood, spending
a few hours with his people, and burning
with impatience to mount his horse and ride
to his lady-love. ' "'.-''.
In the depths of her aching heart her an
guish boiled and bubbled like oil in a cauldron.,-
' '
."If he were burning, to come to me," she
thought, "how different my life would bej"
"What did you say, dear?" Ruth asked.
' "Nothin?," she replied. "I did not speak."
"I thought you did. Shall I go on read
ing?" "No, thank you. I think if you leave mo
now I shall sleep, and if I d'o not wake to
dress for dinner, do not disturb me."
"But Basil is coming," said Ruth.
"To see you," replied Vida, smothering
some harsh words that rose toherlfps."You
will be good company enough without my
poor society. I will join you at tea."
Ruth left, and as it was then four in the
afternoon Vida knew she would be disturb
ed no more. , . if
To guard against the posstr$ftf a visi
tor, she went to the door anoj5Cked it.
' To her coh she di1 -not return hut s?.t
down by the fire and tried to warm her chill
ed hands and feet, which seemed to have
been turned to ice.
In vain, the life-blood would not return to
them, and, shivering she arose and walked
about the room. .
Every few minutes she looked at her
watch, and the" time lagged wearily. .
"My lover with the tiger's eyes will keep
his word," she said; "Basil will not be hefb
to-night. But where and how will ho stop
him." .
She felt that Bardolph might be trusted,
but as the time for the arrival of Ruth's
lover drew hear, she became restless beyond
all endurance. One moment she would
have stopped the murderer for Bardolph
could tie nothing less than that to be
successful and the next moment she
was ready to take a share in the deadly
work.
Now hot, now cold, she pwed the
room until she could bear it no longer.
"I must go out," she though; "Imustt
nave air."
She took the fur-lined cloak she had worn
In the morning, and wrapped it about her.
Just outside in the corridor there was a
staircase seldom used, that led to a small
door in the north tower. .
Mr. Moore used it occasionally for a pri
vate mode of entrance or cxitbr.t nobody
else ever went that way.
Opening the door of the room softly she
listened. All was still without.
"Now," she said, "1 can Umivo safely. It
Is the idle hour of .all at Gordonfells."
She locked her door quietly, and with a
light step descended the staircase.
As she passed her uncle's room, she heard
him within humming a tune. 1
"All are merry here but me,'? sho thought
bitterly.
The door below turned back on its hinge3
without noise, and she passed out, closing
It gently behind her.
It was already night, and the moon was
rising.
"I will walk here," she said, and paced
up and down the terrace once.
Then she was drawn by a mysterious pow
er that was irresistible. towards tho road by
which Basil would come. ' '. '
Sho crossed the park, and avoiding the
lodge, reached the main road by a gap iu
tho fence she knew of. Once on the high
road she went forward swiftly.
A revulsion of feeling had again come up
on her. . "
"I was foolish mad," she murmured. "I
must stop that gipsy bloodhound. If Ruth
get3 the letter lean say that it is a Jest.
Hark I is that not a horse coming?"
' Sho stopped and listened, and the patter
ing of a horse's hoofs fell upon her ear.
The sound came from a distance.
"He is com'ng," sjie said; "the gipsy has
been false to his promise. No. Oh, my God!"
The report of a gun or a pistol echoed in
the night air.
In a moment the sound was repeated, and
then a stillness followed. ,
With hurried feet, and trembling in every
limb, V-da glided swiijlly over the ground.
She reached the be'f "-t the road, turned
it, and came upon a
blood back upon her
t sent the life
d for a rap-
nient stopped its beating.
On the ground lay a young fellow with all
the grace of early handsome manhood in
his face and figure, an unmistakable scion
of gentle blood.
He was quite still, and lay as if ho had
fallen asleep upon the road.
In the distance a horse was galloping off
in affright ; -
Not far from the trembling Vida stood a
man, roughly dressed, with a mask cover
inghisface. .
Vida drew near to the fallen man, and
with wild eyes and hushed breath scanned
him over.. . i
Suddenly she fell upon her knee's beside
him.
' "Not dead, not dead 1" she cried. "Basil,
speak to me! Oh, Heaven, what have I
done? Basil, come back to life!"
"If you make this noise," said a stern
voice behind her, "you will bring somebody
who will make it unpleasant for both of us.
You were mad to come here." '
"You villain!" cried Vida, leaping to her
feet and turning upon him, like an angered
tigress, "for this foul work I will have you
hanged ! There is no gallows high enough
for such a pitiless murderer!"
v "Heyday!" said the masked Bardolph
Dimsey, "so that is your game. You set me
to do your dirty work, and when it Is done
you threaten to pay me with a rope. But,
my lady, mark me ! we shall die together."
She stared at him now like a woman sud
denly turned to stone. Her very soul wag
frozen with horror. .
Bardolph glanced down the road, and see
ing that nobody was coming, took her by
the wrist, and, tearing off his mask, looked
her full in the face. - '
. "We live or die together," he went on;
"Do you remember that letter I posted to
lay? I'm not a gipsy vagabond-I've gentle
Wood in my veins, and I've learnt to read
' nd write. 1 opened your letter bofore I
posted it and copied it."
"You villain!" hissed Vida.
Ho laughed softly, and put his arm about'
aer. , .
"Come," lie said, "let us be friends. I've
ao notion of harming you if you keep your
word. I've done my work, let me have air;
ther kiss on account" . .
He stooped down to kiss her, but sho
Itruck him fiercely, and wrenehed.from his
rrasp. . ...
"Do not madden me," she said; "if you go
too far I may despise the risk I run myself
and bring the do?s of justice on you. Look,
man is it here," pointing to the still form
of Basil Brandreth, "that you dare talk of
love?" ' ,
"By-and-by, then," he said recklessly. '
"I've not been bred so daintily as you, and,
ni not so particular. Hurry home, my
bride, you may be missed, and leave me to
give the finishing touches to this job. , I've i
the grave ready.'.' --!
i Her face blanched, and she shook so ter-;
rihly that she was in danger of falling, but
when he put out his arm to hold her up, she
recovered herself with an effort, f
"Do not touch me here," was all she said.
"Go then," he-answered, "but remember
this: I shall expect you to-morrow at the
place where we mot and talked so pleasant
ly this morning. Yon know the spot, and
do not forget or I shall be induced to make
a call at the Gordonfells." . ' ;
It was a peaceful spot in which they stood.
Not far from the place was the old church,
with its massive tower, and the bright sil
very moou behind it.
In the churchyard lay those who slept
with their fathers, and the dark windows of
the church looked blindly down upon them.
Beyond a mile away the lighted houses
Of the village faintly gleamed.
" All so still, so peaceful even to Basil Bran
dreth peace on everything butlheman and
woman on whose souls lay the weight of the
murderous deed. .
heir hearts dark passions were con
ig. The tires of hate and unholy love
i d fiercely, flashing from their eyes.
iot blood ran like molten lava through
. vo n.
- . mi ,vi 1 1 m for mo if T clo not oo -you,"
saia Vida siowiy.
"Indeed I will," he answered.
"Suppose I am ill?" she asked. "I feel a
fevej; in my veins. It may lay me on a sick
couch to-morrow." .
"I will not wait for fever or anything,"
he said impatiently. "You'must come."
"So be it then," she said, "in the after
noonan hour before sunset"
Then, casting one shuddering glance at
Basil, she drew her cloak closely around
her, and hurried from the place.
CHAPTER IV.
: v A WE All Y WAITING. , -
"It seems to me," said Mr. Moore, "that
we shall have to wait dinner for Basil Bran
dreth." ;
' "The last man In the world I should have
thought to prove a laggard lover," said Mrs.
Moore. -
They were in the drawing-room alone,
and it was within five minutes of the dinner
hour. Neither Ruth nor Vida had come
down. ':
"When a man himself makes an appoint
ment,"! continued Abel, "even, in a small
matter, he should keep it."
"Something must have dotumed him,"
said Mrs. Moore. (
"In any case, he could have sent a mes
sage," the husband rejoined. '
At this moment Ruth came into the room
She looked pale and troubled, and the smile
that she put upon her face was a very faint
one indeed. - . .
"Basil is very late," she said; "he will
scarcely have time to dress for dinner."
"I am afraid that he will not dine hereto
night," said her father, shrugging his shoul
ders; "it is sometimes necessary to teach
tho rising generation good manners. Ruth,
how is Vida?" -
"I have knocked at. her door several
times," Ruth answered, "and sho is still
sAeeping." ;
Barker slowly and solemnly entered the
room.
"Madame, shall I keep dinner back?"
Mrs. Moore looked at lo,er, husbau'd, who.
answered for her; '
' "No, Barker; Mr. Brandreth has bu
tained. Let dinner be served at oner.
They went into the dining-room, bt,
ner, so far as Ruth was concerned,
mockery. She could eat nothing. Tb
was being removed when Vida appearf
"My dear child," said 'Mr. Moore, il
hurriedly, "how pale you are I Why d'
not keep your room?" , r
"Being alone Irew wearisome," shl
"and so I came down. No fish, thanl ,
n little wine." - ! j
The attentive Barker poured hefjj
glass of sherry, and she drank it.
looked at Ruth steadily and without?
ing. ' .- , ;H
"Why, Birdie," she said, "you mTv
too. We have ceased to be roses a J
come lilies." u
"Somebody has been detained," saJJ
Moore jocosely; "but he will belief
and-by." . '.tut
"In the selfishness of my headache,
Vida, "I forgot Basil was expected, p.
wprfl nw lnv(r T ahnuM nnt. pasilv tneev'
him Jt I
Fri
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SATISFACTION GUARATE
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