Newspaper Page Text
i*~ iUmn * " " - '
§\ The \\/i?e's Secret, i:
[ \JOMB A BITTER reckoning;;
By CHARLOTTE M. BRABMB '.'.
}\^BjP^ % By CHARLOTTE M. BRAEMB
"*««rt» I*' ——-—— ————— •£
. "You don't know what a strange place
this world la, Miss Mallett," he began
"Your father loves you, anil takes every
care of you. You must therefore bear
this in mind, and not be hard on the fail
ings of others who have not had your
privileges. My wife—poor —had no
mother whea I first met her, and was
totally dependent on her father for so
ciety. It was a bad training for a young
woman, for her father was a good-natur
ed, careless fellow, always avoiding re
sponsibility as long as was possible, and
when at last compelled to show authority,
making up by exaggerated harshness for
his previous neglect.
"My wife was a high-spirited girl and
could not submit to the alternate fits of
Indulgence and tyranny. She was about
seventeen when I first met her, and her
father's treatment was becoming unbear
able. I became desperately sorry for
her and suggested the only means in my
power to help her, which was to make
her my wife. It was a foolish proceed
ing, I know, but I was young then, and
had not begun to look at life seriously,
or I should have asked myself how her
position would be bettered by being tied
for life to a helpless, penniless fellow, as
I was then. Well, we were married—
privately, of course—and for a few
weeks thought we loved each other very
dearly; then she had another fearful
quarrel with her father and begged me
to take her away to a home of her own.
I was earning a beggarly pittance at that
time. 1 explained my position to her,
and advised her te wait until I had ob
tained a certain appointment, of which
I was almost sure. Sue lost her temper,
poor child, and vowed site's never
come near me again. The very next day
I was telegraphed fur t« England. I
wrote te her, asking her to be patient for
awhile, telling her that 1 would werk
harl and get a permanent post now that
there was a necessity to work, and prom
ising to cone back shortly to take her
from the cruelty to which she had to sub
"On any arrival In England I fnnnd
that aa almost unknown uncle had left
me a property amounting to nearly three
thousand pounds a year. You can Im
agine how glad I was for my poor girls
sake, I made up my mind to surprise
her and personally communicate the good
news, so did not write. 1 got through
the usual legal formalities as quickly as
possible, and rushed back to Rome—
to find them g.me! Some told me they
had gone to one place, some t« another,
until I was utterly at a loss what to do
However, I traced them, after a mouth*
search, to Naples, and then It was only
to find that her father had died a few
days previously and that she had disap
peared no on» knew whither.
"I did not know any of her people
so I was compelled to search single
handed. For six months I went up and
down like a restless spirit In search of
peace. At last I found her—or rather
her grave—for she had died; she had
died in a convent, where she had been
teaching English. By the help of a Mr
vant 1 obtained permission tit see her
grave. There was a plain stone with her
name only, and the date of her death,
which took place some few weeks prior
to my visit. Poor child! I cannot con
vey to you how great a blow it was to
me. and my grief was not lessened by
the fact that she bad died at enmity
"We must hope she forgave you, al
though you did uot see her," Ethel said
Pelting did not answer, and them was
silence for a time. It was a relief when
Mr. Mallett spoke.
"She must have been of a most unfor
giving disposition to resent your pov
erty so bitterly, and to nurse her hatred
in her dying momenta."
"I dent think she did that—lndeed
the chaares are that, in her poor little
war, she was leokiug for me as anxious
ly as I was for her. It was one of those
strange fatalities that human foresight
seems utterly uuable to prevent."
lie rose ane<l slto«k himself, as If wish
ful to pat away the memories that had
crowded upon hiiu while speaking of the
"Yea will think me no end of a bare
for annoying you with all this history;
but, if you cau imagine the relief it baa
been tern« tv apeak of it, and you have
any hitman kindness in your hearts, yon
will forgive me for the infliction. But
my peer sketches? 1 have it! Yea must
come down anil spend a long day with
me or Sunday. What d<» you say U,
Ethel leaked perplexed. She hud hoped
against hope that ,l«ck would return ev
ery Sunday since bit departure, and went
through a torment of expectation as th«
day were on. This bad taken place fer
the last three Sun-lays; but she went on
hoping, lief father, recognition the dim
culty in which Ethel found herself, Ull .
to the rescue.
"If Ethel can arrange matters, it shall
be as you wisUi. I can't say m»re- fur
it is not air affair, but hers."
"Ttiaak yeu very much."
Ten minutes late* the captain ataad
alone at the gate, watching the dog cart
disappear down the road
"So it's Ethel's 'affair.'" he said
"Well, I hope they'll come and bring
Ethel's 'affair' with thei». I shall be
better able to Judge of i»jr own chance
after I have eeeo my nwl."
CHAPTER Tin. I
It wss a day or two aft** Ethol's
visit to Wimbledon that aha sj-r reading
a curious letter, which ru st fallow*]
"Your lover caree for yon aa longer.
His honor and his pity for v»u alone
keep him te hi* given word. Ha makes
light of you te ethers."
Ethel did not quite believe all this;
but she telieved enough of it was true
to Justify her in giving Jack an oppor
tunity of freeing himself from his en
gagement. She decided that she would
not worry her father, but would act fer
her»«lf. Acting on tki« decision, she
||vrU7 Dear Jack— have now been
away three weeks. As yet you do not
say anything about returning, but, on the
contrary, speak of your work as being
likely to keep you for several weeks
longer. In the three week* of your ab
sence you hare written me four letters,
and those have evidently been an unwel
come task. Do you guess what 1 am go-.
Ing to gay? I wish I were sure you
knew, that I might be saved the pain of
writing the words. I think you have
found out that you do not care for me In
the way you thought you did, and your
sense of honor alone is keeping you to
the letter of your engagement to me. 1
have reason* of which you know nothing
for believing this to be the case; so we
have both made a mistake, and that, if
you are willing, our engagement had bet
ter come to an end.
"Please don't think I blame you In
any way; it was only one of those mis
takes that everybody is liable to make.
"Ever your sincere friend,
Poor Ethel! How she cried over that
letter! How she hoped against hope that
Jack might not be willing to end the
engagement! How carefully «lie read thi>
words through to be sure that she had
not definitely settled the matter—that,
In fact, she had done only what she in
tended —given Jack a chance of accept
ing his freedom if he wished for it!
Had the matter-of-fact little epistle
arrived at a more favorable moment,
had Jack had leisure to read between th«
lines ami discover the wounded pride
and self-respect that had dictated every
word, his manhood might hare assorted
itself in Ethel's favor. As it was Jack
read the letter impatiently at first, but
as Its meaning dawned upon him he
turned back to the Up ef the leaf and
read it again, assured himself of the un
equivocal nature of the offer of freedom,
thrust It late his pocket and went »ff
whistling eiwgetically to meet Hiss Marl
ing at the station ou her retura from
Pauline saw at a glance that some
thing had happened, and, knowing what
she knew, guessed shrewdly wkat that
something was. She had nut been five
minute* In Jack's society before she felt
a subtle difference In his manner toward
"I am so (lad to find you still here,
Mr. Uornton," she said at luncheon,
glancing at him bewltcliiiigly between the
leaves of a palm plant. "We wen- so
afraid that you would not have been able
to endure a fortnight of this terribly dull
place. Weren't we, Mrs. Sefton?"
"Yon forget that Mr. Dorton has
had a real occupation to make the dull
ness endurable. His life is not passed in
killing time, as yours is, dear."
"To be. sure. I hud forgotten to ask
how the pictures have progressed."
"The view of the house from the
woods is finished ns far as I can finish
it here. The rest of the work I must do
in Newman street.
"That Is where your studio Is. is it
not I should like to see some of your
Completed pictures. Will you ask us up
some day to look at them?"
"Any day you please. Say the day
"1 cannot go back to dusty London
again so soon. I expect my first batch
of visitors on that day, too. At last I
shall bo able to do something in the way
of entertaining you. Mr. Dprnten, and
show my gratitude to you for enlivening
our solitude in the past."
"You are too kind. Hut I have made
arrangements for returning to town to
"Nonsense. You speak of arrange
ments In such a serious way that one
might Imagine you had a wife and chil
dren; instead of which you are the en
viable creature —a man without a tie."
She paused an instant, dreading his
reply. He made none; but a dull red
crept slowly up his face to the roots »f
bis hair. She rend this sign to suit her
self, and went on:
"That being the case, as you have no
one to claim fear presence as a right,
why not favor me wit* it as a pleanure?
I slionld advise you to stay. Mr. Porn
ten. There are sums really ruling
people coming en Thursday whom yen
Mrs. Sfitoii was the emaodhaeat el
discretion, « very Model for lady-Win
panion*. She walked away, and Jack
followed Miss Mailing v the picture
They were Standing In front f the
easel on which Jack bad placed his (mint
ing of Mnllingford House. It was »
"You must do me x copy of this, Mr.
Demtoß," said Pauline, "as a memento
of that first moralßg wheu I found you
;i*le*p in Ibe wood."
"A ad awakened mr '."
Tie words were simple enough, but
Jack threw ■ great deal of ecpraMlon
into them, and his eyes conveyed a world
.if meaning. ...s* Malting fia»h».i a
glance at him as ska asked:
"Did 1 wake yon? I: was quite unin
tentional en my p* 11
"And involuntary on mine."
Pauline, fearing thai the c.Hvernation
was getting beyond her control, turned
quickly and caught up the first picture
that came in her hand from the open
As wa* to be expected, Jack had spent
many of his spare hours during the last
lonely fortnight in painting her portrait
from Memory; and it was this that she
caught up in her nervous haste.
"Oh, Mr- Dora ton!" she exclaimed, In
: rapturous tone*. Even her vanity was
\ satisfied, an.i »he blushed genuinely at
j the lovely picture .lack bad made or her.
"1 am sorry you found taat. You will
i perhaps think it gross presumption; if St.
1 can destroy it. 1 can't wish it undone,
; for it has given me so many pleasant
"Presumption? Km, tanned! i feel as
tonished at the truthfulness and the flat-
I tery you Kara managed to combine in
• the picture."
I After that there was an awkward
pauee. Pauline half wished to he*r Jack
i j say that hr <ovt>J her. and she half dread
' Ed ft, far she kid not yet made op hei
mind a* to haw ah« would answer aha.
Her wish waa fulfilled sooner than ah«
Jack showed her his sketches on* after
another, and they were discussed, criti
cised and replaced. As he put the last
one back Into the portfolio he turned and
' addressed her abruptly. Wkh such im
: petuous force did his words flow that
sue was compelled to listen, to the end.
"With regard to my staying here, Miss
Mailing, I did not care to discuss the
matter further before Mrs. Sefton at
luncheon; but I must do so now."
;He drew a deep breath, and clinched
his hand firmly on the back of a chair.
"I cannot—l dare not stay here with
out telling you the truth; for, if 1 allow
my feelings to become any stronger than
they are, .and meet disappointment In the
end, I'm afraid I shall not be responsible
for my actions. Miss Mailing, I love
you—madly. While 1 am telling you
this I know the chances are that you will
presently turn your back and say, as you
leave me, 'Please quit my house at once;'
yet I now tell you, because I cannot
stay in your presence with safety another
hour unless you give me some hope. I
have loved you from the moment 1 woke
and saw you that morning in the wood.
You will say that is not very long; to me
it is a lifetime. I never lived until that
moment. I shall never live again if you
send me away."
His face was very pale when he ceased
speaking. Pauline stood near him, the
color coming and going in her cheeks,
her eyes fixed on his face; but she said
never a word. When he spoke again his
words came slowly, hesitatingly, and his
voice had a stifled sound, as if choked
"You have no answer for me; but yo\
do not tell me to leave you! It cannoi
be that, Pauline; heart of my heart,
queen of my soul, you love me!" •
His last words died away to a whisper
of intense rapture; and, as Panline fel*
his arms encircle her, his kisses on her
lips, she forgot all the shadows that
lurked in the past, forgot all the ques
tionable means she had employed to at
tain this end. She only knew that she
loved him with all the force of her na
ture, that she was loved in return; and
for the moment there was in her heart
as supreme a joy as was ever felt by a |
(Te be continued.)
CARWH»ELB ANB CURVE&
Me«tlHc American Answers Questions
One of the question* from corre
spondents that eemes to this office
With persistent reiteration is that of
the possibility of owe or the other of
the puir of wheels on a railroad axle,
in passing around the curve, slipping
OB the rail over which it is rolling,
while the other wheel does not slip
011 its rail, says the Scientific Ameri
can. Although we have frequently ex
plained how this condition is possible,
the question is one that evidently
continues to puzzle a great many
people—in which respect It is first
cousin to that other much-de
bated fact, that the portion of
the periphery of a rolling cart
wheel that is near the ground Is mov
ing more slowly with relation to the
earth than Is the rest of the periphery.
In the case of the two wheels on any
axle of a railroad or ( trolley car that
is passing round a curve It is evident
that In a given length, say 100 feet of
the curve, measured on a line lying
centrally between the two rails, the
Inner rail will be shorter than the
outer mil, and this for the reason that
it Is struck to a radius that is about
four arid three-quarters feet shorter.
Now, when n pair of wheels passes
around the curve It follows that, be
cause of the difference In length of
the two rails, either the Inner wheel
must slip backward on the inner rail
or the outer wheel slip forward on the
outer rail, for the two wheel*, being
fixed on the same axle, move at the
same peripheral speed over different
lengths of rail In the same time.
It Is probable that the excessive
wear of the rails on curves is due
chiefly to the slipping of the wheels.
Not long ago some remarkable f*cts
on rail wear on curves were brought
out in the conrs« of a paper read be
fore the New England Street Railway
Club by the roadma#t<»r ef the Boston
elevated road. The road is exceeding
ly crooked, over 40 per cent of the Hue
sonsisting of enrves, many of which
are very sharp. There are eightee* »f
li*« than 100 foot ratlins and sJrteen
others with a radius of le*s than im>
feet, On the sharpest curve, which is
»f only foot radius and where it Is
claimed that the rralßc is heavier than
thai on »dv other steam or he«Yy ,>!f,«
trie railroad, the life of ordinary stfel
mil* aVerages only forty-four days, Hie
head of tli« rail wearing down from
oi'ii to 0.77 of mi inch in that time.
The groat Inconvenience caused by the
constantly recurring repairs led the
company to experiment with hardened
•steel rail* and when some nickel steel
rails wore pat in on the curve* the
wear wmh reduced to 0.58 of mi inch
in 204 days, a manganeee steel nil
la now bring used with good renTilts
and the wear «f these Is only shout ."W
per pent a* rapid as that of the nickel
steel rail and about ft per cent as rapid
as that of the carbon ste<»l rails.
"But 1 thought you told me this was
such a congenial country," snld the
man who had Just moved ont in the
"And It Is," replied the suave agent
'Why. it Is full of malariar
"And that Is why I think It Is to
congenial. You see. everybody Is al
Gruff Patient—Are yon quite sure
you understand your business, sir?
Physician—Well. I've been practic
ing medicine for fifteen years and not
one of my patients has ever com
Gruff Patient—Huh! Probably not
Dead me* tell no tales..
I PRISON OP POLAND.
i ' '■•••
r GLOOMY POLITICAL BABTILE aT
WARSAW. .* -
■ Citadel Once a Fortress, in Which
: Thousand* of Polish Patriots Were In
carcerated and Where Many Grim
, Tragedies Were Unacted.
The political prison of Warsaw is
I the most hated and certainly thy most
dreaded «pot in all Warsaw. Once ■
' fortress, It is mow a political prison.
behind the walla of which many grim
, ami terrible tragedies are enacted.
, How many men and women have
■ b-pen executed in the citadel since the
present movement against the Czar's
government reached Poland, nobody
I '.in the commandant and the governor
of the prison will ever know.
The few who return from this
prison say littk; about what goes on
Inside, for they dare not tell the
truth. But their drawn faces, shat
tered nerves and bruised bodies speak
for themselves. Little wonder that
the citadel has been called the bastile
of Poland; little wonder that the
Pole shudders at its red walls and
green ramparts. Not only Is it the
slaughter house of his race, but Its
guns, ever turned toward the city,
ENTRANCE TO CITAHEI..
are ready to vomit fire at th« first
sign of a general rising against toe
Russian stranger within Its gate*.
Built by mi3*ififl hands but with
Polish gold after the ceverß«e« ef
1803, the citadel forms the apes of
the triaHgnfoy-sliaped fortWlcu«»ns
that stretch from the Prussian t« tlw
Austrian frontiers. It Is to Poland
what the fortress ef BS. Peter and
IN A CKLL OV THU WARSAW PRISON.
Paul In Petersburg is to Russia.
Should this country ever escape from
th« Russian yoke it will meet the
came fate as the hostile during the-
reiii'li revolution of 1789.
A visitor to th« citadel la struck by
i Its plemft&nt appearance. There are
no gray walls or lowering towers.
Wsrui, red brick pavilions, a gold
domed chuvch, well-swept walks, and
' fi-aeM pl(M« Bunked by cannon balls ar
rayed in pyramids are the tlrat things
tlurt saei*t the «ye. Seniors are. being
drilled, a hand, unseen, bat near, is
pluyiu« all's from the Geiwha, a gen
! •"arnit?. looking smart ill his blue tunic
: and rod facings, ousts a glanoa at you
las ho hurries with dUpatcliss to the
I commandant's quarters behind the
I church. The place looks like an un
j usually well-kept garrison in central
' Russia, and that Is all.
flow Political Bii»|w«i« Disappear.
That Is the way the citadel appears
to the oaßßal rivtter, but it la alto
fivther different to the Polish political
suspect*. Wiien for some reason or
other simpleton falls upon a person,
he or she Is seized by th« gendarme*
aiid the bonne Bearehed. Then the
prisoner Is taken to the oitadel and
Inte the office of what Is known as
th« "truth paTlllon." There he Is
photographed nnd bis valuables taken
from hint. Men and women all re
ceive the same treatment, as there are
ns female warden la the citadel.
After being closely Inspected by th«
ward«r». Uie prisoner's name, age, oc
cupation, etc., are entered in the
books, and he Is conducted into a
long, dimly lighted oorrldor, Into
which a number of small Iron doors
open. They are those of tho cells
One of tlh-se doors is opened, the
prisoner feels a rough push from be
hind, hears the clang of a door, finds
himself in a narrow dea. furnished
SACRIFICE OF MAHT LIVES THE COST OF SBASOITB FOOTBALL
The football season closed with a record of 21 deaths and 150 badlr
with a bed, table and chair, and light
ed by a small barred window high up
In the wall.
The silence, but for the occasional
tramp of sentries* feet, Is as the
silence of the grave; the air, damp
and close, bed, hard and narrow.
Worse than all are the two eyes,
which, glaring through the grating In
the door, watch him day end night till
It seems as If they look into his very
soul, reading tb« secrets he must use
nil his strength to keep.
But there are other hardships to
be borne. No books, nor letters, not
a cigarette, not even the friendly tick
of a watch breaks the monotony of
those long, unmarked hours and rest
less nights. His warders treat him
like a dog; he spends five minutes
dally outside his cell—three in a small
oenrt and tw» in g»lng there and
back. This life goes on sometimes for
twe weeks, sometimes for as many
Then cue sight, when he is sleep.
Ing uneasily in the narrow bed, rlie
lien door Is ftnng open and his ward
ers teH him to g<et up and dress.
i>azed and disheveled, he follows them
through winding passages an* into a
room—the sort of rom,« he might have
known long ago, before he went to
th« tenth pavilion. .-
His wyes, unused te tat glare, can
only take la the details gradually, but
before long lie sera the pretty furni
ture, bright curtains, th« birds, flow
ers nuil books which surround him.
Ills warders have gone and he Is left
a lon*. Hut net for long.
Like tha Spnulak Inquisition.
A portiere I* drawn aside, two
spruce officers of tho gendarmerie es
ter uud ask him in friendly tone* t*
Kit down. This common act of civility
often makes a poor creature sunt np
in a Mil for weeks aud used to his
warder's brutal speeches, burst Into
tears. He sits down bewildered, tea
is brought in, cigarette* are handed i
round, ami the conversation begins.
BRUDNO CEMETERY. SHOWINQ OttAVHa OF PRISONERS.
This conversation Is nothing more
or less than a cross examination pre
vious to the form of a trial which is
generally gone through before a politi
cal offender is sentenced. The object
Is to unnerve him to such a point that
ho makes a clean breast of it and.
gives information against his party.
These midnight visits are repeated at
long intervals, and men and women
who are proof against any amount of
physical suffering dread them more
than anything in the tenth pavilion.
After several such examinations,
alternated by dreary days In the cell.
he Is taken to a small room hung
with mirrors and gloomy draperies.
He has scarcely time to get over the
shock of his altered appearance when
a man, dressed In black, emerges from
behind a curtain and piles him with
questions. If the suspect refuses to
answer, tlw man claps his hands, and
a couple of ruffians »>ntw with whips
and treat him.
i Whet the prisoner baa undergone
several examinations, be Is either re
leaned for want of evidence or put
through the mockery of a trial. A
mockery because, though the procura
tor who Judges him allows him legal
counsel, his fate is -sealed beforehand.
Tt«r« Is no evidence for the defense,
but the prisoner's counsel has the
right to confer with his client —in his
cell, of course, and In the presence of
RELICS OF CORONATIONS.
Valuable Collection from Knidnn*
Loaned to Public Library.
A small collection of coronation rel
ics, representing costumes and robe*
worn at different English coronations
by the royalty and the principal at
tendants, was loaned to the public
museum recently, says the Kansas
City Journal. The cloth samples are
the property of Ilutton H. Haley and
were sent to him by his grandmother,
Mrs. Haley, of London, Eng., who
was In touch with many of the tail
ors of London, and who was placed in
a position to make the collection,
which Is probably the only one of its
Tho most treasured piece of cl»th is
a strip taken from the coronation robe
worn by James 11. In 1082, rellned and
worn by Queen Victoria at her corona
tion In 1838, and later remodeled for
the royal inauguration of Edward
VII. in 1902. The cloth Is of a rial
lustrous red and was actually part
of the robe until It was remodeled for
The collection also Includes « piece
of the beautiful ermine and gold
trimmed robe worn by the Princes*
Victoria at her father's coronation Id
1002. There were sixty yards •* fold
braid, costing $2,100, and forty yard*
of ermine of an almost equivalent val
ue. The cloak was upon a purple
background and lined with white
Carmine and white samples of the
official robe* worn by the bisheps at
the coronation, whl c and wine -col
ored satin, corresponding I* that In
tha robe* worn by tl»« Knights nt th»
Path, and a blue and carmine com
binatlou clipped from the unfinished
official garb of the Prime Minister,.
Lord Etosebery, who was one of th»
central figures at King Edward's cor
oratlon, are aluo among the reflos.
li.» lilt- «<•<• *l H*«kle*« Ilrnvir».
Hie—Do you believe men are ft»
brave now as they used to bet
He—Sure! Just see the poetry
some men writ* now.—YoukersStatea