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js-*" W intrigues and Another snappy Story fresh from the author's pen A Tragic: Disappearance Here is the story of the infatuation of a man and the schemes of a cold-blooded calculating woman. Love finally breaks its reserve and enlightens the sorely tried victim of the woman's wiles and "all live happily ever after." The price of the UNION remains as before, $i.oo per year if paid in advance, and at this price you get several times your money's worth in every year. o-*r I!? Copyright, 1900, v'-''': .y: By Harol MacGrath CHAPTER XVContinued. "Patience, count," said the prince, shaking off the hand which the count had placed upon his shoulder. "Decid edly this fellow is worth consideration. Since we have no swords, sir, and they seem to be woman's weapons these days, we will use pistols. Of course, you have come prepared. It is a fine time for shooting. This first light of twilight gives us equal advantage. Will it be at 10 or 20 paces? Tdare say, if We stand at 20 in the center of the road, we shall have a good look at each other before we separate indefinitely." "Your highness insists?" murmured the count. "I not only insist I command." The prince took off his coat and waistcoat and deposited them on the grass at the side of the road. Hillars did likewise. There was a pleased expression on his facer "I do believe, count," laughed the prince, "this fellow expects to kill me. Now the pistols." "If you will permit me," said the inn keepev, taking an oblong box from un der his coat. "These are excellent weapons." The prince laughed. "I suppose, inn keeper, if the result Is disastrous to me it will pledse you?" The innkeeper was not lacking in courtesy. "It would be a pleasure, I assure you. There are certain reasons why I cannot fight you myself." t(To be sure." "It would be too much like murder," continued the innkeeper. "Your hand would tremble so that you would miss me at point blank. There goes the last of the sun. We must hurry." With a grimace the count accepted the box and took out the pistols. "They are old fashioned," he said. "A deal like the innkeeper's morals," supplemented the prince. "But effective," said the innkeeper. The count scowled at the old fellow, who met the look with phlegm. As an Innkeeper he might be an inferior, but as a second at a duel he was an equal. It was altogether a different matter. 1 The .count carefully loaded the weap ons, the innkeeper watching him at tentively. In his turn he examined jthern. 1 "Very good." he said. wn*s VIHS R. C. DUISN, Publisher. A Irm doi ^^Woman By Harold MacGrath g:^.. The paces were then measured out. During this labor the prince gazed in differently toward the west. The aft ermath of the sun glowed on the hori zon. The prince shaded his eyes for a spell. "Gentlemen," he said, "I believe the princess is approaching. At any rate, here comes the coach. Let us suspend hostilities till she has passed." A few minutes later the coach came rumbling a'long in a whirlwind of dust. The stoical cavalrymen kept on with out so much as a glance at the quartet standing at the side of the road. Hil lars looked after the vehicle till it was obscured from view. Then he shook himself out of the dream into which he had fallen. He was pale now, and his eyebrows were drawn together as the count held out the pistol. "Ah, yes!" he said as though he had forgotten. "There goes the woman who will never become your wife." "That shall be decided at once," was the retort of the prince. "She will marry the gentleman back at the inn." "A fine husband he will make, truly!" replied the prince. "He not" only de serts her, but forsakes her champipn. But that is'neither here nor there. We shall not go through any polite formal ities," his eyes snapping viciously. The two combatants took their places in the center of the road. The pistol arm of each hung at the side of the body. I "Are you ready, gentlemen?" asked jthe count, the barest tremor in his ,voice. "Yes," said the prince. Hillars sim ply noddedr- "When I have counted three, you .will be at liberty to fire. One!" The arms raised slowly till the pis tols were on the level of the eyes. "Two!" I The innkeeper saw "Hillars move his jlips. That was the only sign. "Three!" The pistols exploded simultaneously. The right-arm of the prince swung back violently, the smoking pistol fly? ing from his hand. Suddenly one of the horses gave a snort of pain jand terror and bolted down the road. No attention was given to the horse. The others -were watching Hillars. He stood perfectly motionless. All at once the pistol fell from his hand. Then troth hands flew instinctively to'fihf -breast. Thersr was_ AH expression of surprise on his face. His eyes closed, his knee* bent forward and he sank into the road a huddled heap. The prince shrugged, a sigh of relief fell from the count's half parted lips, while the innkeeper rarr toward the fallen man. -~CV "Are you hurt' prince?" -asked the count. _"The cursed fool has blown off my elbow!" was the answer. "Bind it up with your handkerchief and help me on with my coat. There is nothing more to do. If he is not dead, he soon will be, so it's all the same." When the prince's arm was suffi ciently bandaged so as to stop the flow of blood, the count assisted him to mount, jumped on his own horse and the two cantered off, leaving the inn keeper, Hillars' head propped up on his knee, staring after them with a dull rage in his faded blue eyes. The remaining horse was grazing a short distance away. Now and then he lifted his head and gazed inquiringly at the two figures in the road. "Is it'bad, herr?" the innkeeper ask ed. "Very. Get back- to the inn. I don't want to peter out here." Then he fainted. It required some time and all the inn keeper's strength to put Hillars on the horse. When this was accomplished, he turned the horse's head toward the inn. And that was all. "Dan?" said I. The lids of his eyes rolled wearily back. "Is there anything I can do for you?" "Bury me." It was very sad. "Where?" I asked. "Did you see the little cemetery on the hill, across the valley? Put me there. It is a wild, forgotten place. 'Tis only my body. Who cares what becomes of that? As for the other, the soul, who can say? I have never been a good man. Still I believe in God. I am tiredtired and cold. What fan cies a man has in death! A moment back I saw my father. There was a wan, sweet faced woman standing close beside him perhaps my mother. I never saw her before. Ah, me, these chimeras we set our hearts upon, these worldly hopes! Well, Jack, it's curtain and no encore. But I am not afraid to die. I have wronged no man or wom an. I have been my own enemy. What shall I say, Jack? Ah, yes! God have mercy on my soul! And this sudden coldness, this sudden ease from pain, is death!" There was a flutter of the eyelids, a sigh, and this poor flotsam, this drift wood which bad never known a harbor in all its years, this friend of mine, this ^inseparable comrade, passed out. There were hot tears in my eyes as I stood up and gazed down at this mys tery called death, and while I did so a hand, horny and hard, closed over mine. The innkeeper, with blinking eyes, stood at my side. "Ah, herr," he said, "who would not die like that?" And we buried him on the hillside just as the sun swept aside the rosy curtain of dawn. The wind, laden with fresh morning perfumes, blew up joyously from the river. From where I stood I could see the drab walls of the barracks. The windows sparkled and flashed as the gray mists sailed heavenward and vanished. The hill with its long grasses resembled a green sea. The thick forests across the riv er, almost black at the water's .edge, turned a fainter and more delicate hue as they receded till far away they look ed like mottled lass. Only yesterday he had laughed with me, talked and smoked with me, and now he was dead. A rage pervaded me. We are puny things, we who strut the highways of the world, parading a so called wis dom. There is only one philosophy it is to learn to die. "Come?' said I to the innkeeper, and we went down the hill. "When does the herr leave?" "At once. There will be no-ques tions?" I asked, pointing to the village. "None. Who knows?" "Then remember that^Herr Hillars was taken suddenly ill and died and that he desired to be buried here. I dare say the prince will find some ex cuse for his arm, knowing the king's will in regard to dueling. Do you,un derstand me?" "Yes." I did not speak to him again, and he strode along at my heels with an air of preoccupation. We reached the inn bxsilence. "What do you know about her serene highness the Princess Hildegarde?" I asked abruptly. "What do~es herr wish ttf know?" shifting his eyes from my gaze. "All you can tell me." "I was formerly in her father's serv ice. My wife" He hesitated, and the expression on his face was a sour one. "Go on." "Ah, but it is unpleasant, herr. You see, my wife and I were not on the. best of terms. She was handsomea cousin of the late prince. She left me more than 20 years ago. I have never seen her since, and I trust that she is dead. She was her late highness' hair dresser." "And thlTPrincess Hildegarde?-' "She is a woman for whom I would gladly lay down my life." "Yes, yes!". I said impatiently. "Who made her the woman she is? Who taught her to shoot and fence?" "It was I." "Your "Yes. From childhood she has been under my care. Her mother did so de sire. She is all I have in the world to love. And she loves me, herr, for in all Tier trials I have been her onljr friend. But why do yon asfe these questions?" a sudden suspicion lighting his eyes. "I love her." He took me by the shoulders and squared me in front of him. "How do you love her?" a gUnt of anger min gling with the suspicion. "1 love her as a man who wishes to make her his wife." His hands trailed down my sleeves tiirthey met and joined mine. 5? *'I wilt tell you all there is to"be "told. Herr, there was once a happy family^ in the -palace of the Hohenphalians. -The prince was rather wild, but he lov- *d his wife. One day his cousin came to visit him. He was a fascinating man in those days, and few women were there who would not give an ear to his flatteries. He was often with the princess, but she hated him. One day an abominable thing happened. This cousin loved the princess. She scorned him. As the prince was en tering the boudoir this cousin, making out that ho was unconscious of the husband's approach, took the princess in his arms and kissed her. The prince was too far away to see the horror in He toofyrthe princess in his arms and kissed her. his wife's face. He believed hereto be acquiescent. That night he accused her. Her denials were in vain. He confronted her with his cousin, who swore before the immortal God him self that the princess had lain willing in his arms. From that time on the prince_changed. He became reckless he fell in with evil company he grew to be a shameless ruffian, a man who brought his women into his wife's presence and struck her while they were there. And in his passions he called her terrible names. He made a vow that when children came he would make them things of scorn. In her great trouble the princess came to my inn, where the Princess Hildegarde was born. The prince refused to be lieve that the child was his. My mis tress finally sickened and died broken hearted. The prince died in a gam bling den. The king became the guard ian of the lonely child. He knows but little or he would not ask her high ness" He stopped. "He would not ask her what?" "To wed the man who caused all this trouble." "What! Prince Ernst?" "Yes I prayed to God, herr, that your friend's bullet would carry death, but it was not to be." ^'1 am going back i:o London," said I. "When I have settled up my affairs there, shall return." "And then?" "Perhaps I shall complete what my friend began." I climbed into the ramshackle con veyance and was driven away. Once I looked back. The innkeeper could be seen on the porch then he became lost to view behind the trees. Far away to my left the stones in the little ceme tery on the hillside shone with bril liant whiteness. CHAPTER XVI. There were intervals during the three months which followed when I believ ed that I was walking in a dream and waking would find me grubbing at my desk in New York. It was so unreal for these daysmosaic romance in the heart of prosaic fact! Was there ever the like? It was real enough, however, in the daytime, when the roar of Lon don hammered at my tears, but when I sat alone in my room it assumed the hazy garments of a dream. Sometimes I caught myself listening for Hillars, a footstep in the corridor, and I would take my pipe from my mouth and wait expectantly. But the door never open ed, and the footsteps always passed on. Often in my dreams I stood by the riv er again. There is solace in these deep, wide streams^ We come and goour hopes, our loves, our ambitions. Na ture alone remains. Should I ever be hold Gretchen again? Perhaps. Yet there was no thrill af the thought. If ever I beheld her again, it would be when she was placed beyond the glance of my eye, the touch of my hand. She was mineaye, as a dream might be something I possessed, but could not hold. Heighol The faces that.peer at ns from the firelight shadows! They troop along in a ghostly cavalcade, and the "winds that creep over the window sill and under the doorwho can say that they are not the echoes of voices we once heard in the past? I was often on the verge of sending In my resignation, but I would remem ber in time that work meant bread and butterand forgetfulness. When I re turned to the office, few questions were asked, though my assistant looked many of them reproachfully. I told him that Hillars had died abroad and that he had been buried on the conti nent at his request, all of which was truer but only half of it I did my best to keep the duel a secret, but it finally came out It was the topic in the clubs, for Hillars had been well known in political and ilterary circles. But In a month or so the affair subsided. The world never stops very Jongr even when it loses one of its best friends. One late October morning I received a note which"read: ^~ik John WJnthrop:- g^s Dear SirI am in tendon for a "few days,' home- wa. i bound from a trip to Egypt, and at we are cousins and "orphans, too,4' I should -like the pleasure, of making' your acquaintance. Trusting that I shall find you at leisure, 1 am, your humble ervant, PHILIP PEMBROKE. "Ah," said I, 'that Louisianian cous in of mine, wh may or ifiay not Hve the year out," recalling the old law yer's words. "He seems to hang on pretty well. I hope he'll be interesting. Few rich men ore. He writes like a -polite creditor. What did the old fel low say was the matter with him? Heart_trouble or consumption? I can't remember." I threw the note aside and touched up rorne of my dispatches. Precisely at 10 o'clock the door open ed, and a man came in. He Avas fash ionably dressed, a mixture of Piccadil ly and Broadway in taste. He was tall, slender, but well formed, and his blond mustache shone out distinctly against a background of tanned skin. He had fine blue eyes. "Have I the pleasure of speaking to John Winthrop of New York?" he be gan, taking off his hat. I rose. "I am the man." He pre sented his card, and on it I read, "Phil ip Pembroke." "Philip Pembroke!" I exclaimed. "Evidently you are surprised show ing a set of strong white 'th. "Truthfully I am," 1 said, taking his hand. "You see," I added apologetical ly, "your family lawyerthat ishe gave me theerimpression that you were a sickly fellowone foot in the grave or something like. I was not ex pecting a man of your build." The smile broadened into a deep laugh, and a merry one, 1 thought en viously. It was so long since I had laughed. "That was a hobby of the old fel low," he replied* "When I was a boy, I had palpitation of the --heart He never got rid of the idea that I might die at any moment. He was always warning me about \iolent exercises, the good old soul. Peace to his ashes!" "He is dead?" "Yes. When I took to traveling, he all but had nervous prostration. I sup pose he told you about that will I made in your favor. It was done to please him. Still," he added soberly, "it stands. I travel a deal, and no one knows what may happen. And so you are the John Winthrop my dad treated so shabbily? Oh, don't protest he did. I should have hunted you up long ago and given you a solfd bank account, only I knew that the son of my aunt must necessarily be a gentleman and therefore would not look favorably un on such a proceeding." "Thank you," gaid I. The fellow pleased me. "And then I did not know but what you cared nothing for .money." "True. A journalist doesn't care anything about money. The life is too easy and pleasant, and most of the things he needs are thrown in, as they say." This bit of sarcasm did not pass. My cousin laughed again that merry laugh of his. "I think we -shall become great friends," he said. "I like frankness." "My remark in its literal sense was the antithesis ol frankness." "Ah, you said too much not to be frank. Frankness is one of the rea sons why 1 do not get on well with the women. I cant lie in the right place, and when I do It is generally ten times worse than the plain truth." "You'fle a man^f the world. I see." "No merely a spectator." "Well, you have the price of admis sion. With me it's a free pass. Some day we will corypare notes." "Who is your banker?" "Banker? I have none. I distrust banks. They take your mite and invest it in wh|it nots, and sometimes when you go for it it is not there." "And then again it multiplies so quickly that you have more than you know what to do with, eh "As ~to that I cannot say. It is hear say, rumor. So far as I know it may be so. Experience has any number of teachers. The trouble is we cannot study under them all. Necessity has been my principal instructor. Some times she has larruped me soundly, though I was a model scholar. You will go to luncheon with me?" "If you will promise to dine with me this evening." And I prdmised. For an hour or more we chatted up on congenial topics. He was surpris ingly well informed* He had seen more of the world than I, though he had not observed it so closely. As we were about to leave the door opened, and Phyllis, Ethel and her husband, Mr. Holland, entered. For a moment the room was filled with the fragrance of October air and the essence of violets. They had been in town a week- They hadsbeen "doing" the Strand, so Ethel said, and thought they would make me a brief visit to see how "it was done," the foreign corresponding. Mr. Went wdrth and his wife were already domi ciled at and the young people were going over to enjoy the winter festivities. Phyllis was unchanged. How like Gretchen, I thought While Ethel was engaging my cous in's attention I conducted Phyllis through the office. "What a place lo work in!" said Phyllis, laughing. The laugh awaken ed a vague thrill. "Dust, dustevery where dust. You need a woman to look after you, Jack." -s, As I did not reply, she looked quick ly at me, and, seeing that my face was grave^ she flushed. "Forgive me, Jack," impulsively. "1 did not think." I answered her with a reassuring smile. "How long are you to remain in town?" I asked to disembarrass her. "We leave day after tomorrow, Sat urdaya day or two In Paris, and then we* go -orr. Every one in New York fa talking about your book. I -knew,that yon were capable." "I hope every one is buying it," said I,4assin over her last observation." ?Was 1% here that you wrotejt?" -grvHc^r Jgg, &&.?&&*: "Oh, nor It was written in my rooms under the most favorable cir cumstances." "I thought so. This is a very dreary place." -i ,0?~ "Perhaps I like it for that reason." Her eyes were two interrogation points, but I pretended not to see. _l'What nice eyes your cousin has,"s she said, side glancing. With^a wo man S^ls always a man's"eyes. "And his father was the man who left you the fortune?" "Yes," I answered, with a short laugh. Of course I had never told Phyllis of that thousand dollar checK. "You must run over this winter and see us," she said. "I anticipate noth ing but dinners, balls and diplomatic receptions. have never been there. It will all be new to me. Think of "see ing Egypt, the holy lands, Russia, France and Spain and yet not seeing the very heart of the continent! Thank goodness, I know the language." "And will she not be a sensation?" joined in Ethel. "A decided-sensation," said I, scru tinizing the beautiful face so near me. What if they met as probably they wouldPhyllis and Gretchen? "Phyl- lis," said I suddenly, "where were you born?" "Where was I bom?" with a wonder ing little laugh. "In America. Where did you suppose?" "Eden," said I. "1 wasn't sure, so I asked." "I do not know how to take that" she said, with mock severity. "Oh, I meant Eden when it was par adise!" I hastened to say. "Yes," put in Pembroke. "Please go back, Miss Landors, and begin the world all over again." "Phyllis," said I in a whisper, "have you ever met that remarkable affinity of youis?" I regretted the words the moment.they had crossed my lips. "Yes, you are changed, as 1 said the other night," distrustfully "There is something in your voice that is chang ed. You have grown cynical But your question was impertinent Have you found yours?" I was expecting this. "Yes," I said. "Once 1 thought I had now I am sure of it. Some day I shall tell you an in teresting story." "We came up to ask you to dine with us this evening," she said, trailing her brown gloved finger over the dusty desk. "Are you at liberty?" "No I have only just met my cousin and have promised to dine with him." "If that is all, bring him along. I like his face." We passed out of the fileroom. "Phyllis, we must be going, dear," said Ethel. I led Phyllis down the narrow stairs. A handsome victoria stood at the curb. "I shall be pleased to hear your sto- ry," said she. It occurred to me that tht tale might not be to her liking, so I said, "But it is one of those disagreeable stories one where all should end nicely, but doesn't one which ends leaving the hero, the heroine and the reader dis satisfied with the world in general and the author, who is fate, in particular." I knew that she was puzzled. She wasn't quite sure that I was not refer ring to the old affair. "If the story is one I never heard before," suspiciously, "I should like to hear it." "And does it not occur* to you," throwing back the robes so that she might step into the victoria, "that fate has a special grudge against me? Once ^as not enough, but it must be twice." "And she does not love you? Are you quite sure? You poor fellow!" She squeezed my hand kindly. "Shall I be candid with you?" with the faint est flicker of coquetry in her smile. "As in the old days," said I, glancing over my shoulder to see how near the others were. A groom is never to be considered. "Yes, as in the old days." "Well, I have often regretted that I did not accept you as an experiment." Then I knew that she did not under stand. "You must not think I am jesting," said I seriously. "The story is of the bittersweet kind. The heroine loves me, cannot be mine." "Loves you?'4with far. *w a slight start "How do you know?" "She has told me so," lowering my voice. Frankness of this sort to a woman who has rejected you has a peculiar effect. The coquetry faded from her smile, and there was a perceptible con traction of the brows. Her eyes, which were looking into mine, shifted to the back of the groom. No, I shall never understand a woman. She should have been the most sympathetic wom an In the world, yet she appeared to be annoyed. "What's all this between you and Phyllis?" asked Ethel, coming up. "There is nothing between her and me," said I. "Well, there should be," sheretorted. "That is the trouble." My observation was: "I have always held that immediately a woman gets married she makes it her business to see that all old bachelors ^re lugged ut and disposed of to old maids." "I shall never forgive that," Phyllis declared -"never." "Then I shall always have the exqui site pleasure of being a supplicant for your pardon, is delightful to sue pardon o'f a. beautiful woman." Phyllis sniffed. "Forgive him at once," said Ethel, "if only for that pretty speech." ~_ Mr. Holland ^pulled out his watch suggestively. "Well," I said, "I see that I am keep ing you from your lunch. Goodby, then, till dinner, when I shall continue at length-en the evils" "William," interrupted Ethel, ad dressing the groom, "drive on," And so they left us. x! "Shall we go to lunch now?' Tasked oX Pembroke. "Yes," jr_ather dreamily, I tboinyhi. ,**&