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THE GIRL WITH
, A MILLION ? w * By D. C. Murray CHAPTER IL— (Continued.) "The carriage is ready, dear," said An gela, laying a hand upon her uncle's arm. Fraser bowed with a flourish, and she could scarcely do less than respond. "One of those Home Hula fellows?" asked the major, as he took up the reins. "Don't like 'em. Traitors, the lot of *em. w The groom and his master sat side by side, and Maskelyne and Angela had the interior of the carriage to themselves. "It la a real pleasure to be here," said the young man as the carriage rolled al6ng, with wood on one side and river en the other. He looked about him on the landscape, which seemed to doze in the warm light, but his glance returned to Angela. "I was afraid that I shouldn't be able to come, for my lawyers cabled to me twice to call me home again, but I managed to gat the business throup without crossing. I wouldn't have missed coming for all the lawyers in New York!" "You will find us a little dull here," aaid Angela. "The fishing is very fine, and you will find plenty of work for your camera, but the evenings are very long, even in this beautiful weather." Just at this moment - the major's whip swished in the air with an angry sound, and the horses, which had been going at a steady trot, dashed for a minute into a gallop. "Surely," cried Maskelyne, "that was Dobroski whom we passed just now." An gela raised her eyebrows a little, and held up a warning hand. "Ah," said the major, who had pulled the horses back into their settled pace again, and now turned upon his seat with a wrathful face. "You know that fellow, do you, Maskelyne? Where did you meet him?" "I met him in the States," returned Maskelyne. "Here and there. He excited a good deal of notice there two years ago." "Please do not speak of him in my uncle's hearing," Angela said, in a low tone. "I will tell you why later on." No later on than that evening she told him, and he sa wquite clearly that it could scarcely be politic to mention Do broski to Major Butler if he desired to see that excellent gentleman keep his temper. "Mr. Dobroski," said Angela, "escaped from St. Petersburg in a very romantic way more than thirty years ago, after the seizure of his wife and children by the government. He went to England, and my father heard his story there and found him out and was a help to him In many ways. My father was an ardent sympathiser with the Poles, and Mr. Do broski was known as a really ardent and eelf-sacrificing patriot. People sometimes speak of him as a Russian, and that greatly angers him, for he has nothing but Polish blood in his veins." "He looks Jewish," said Maskelyne, "not commonplace Jewish, but heroic Jew ish. A modern Jeremiah, and full of la mentations." "He became passionately attached to my father," the girl went on, "and I do really believe, without exaggeration, he would have laid down his life to serve him. When my father died he transfer red his affections to me, and I know be loves me dearly." "That," sa id the young American to himself, "is not a surprising circum stance." But he kept silence. "I could never tell you." said Angela, with an earnestness which seemed to the listener very pretty and engaging, "a tithe of the things he has done to prove his gratitude to my father and his affec tion for me. He has been most devoted and most self-sacrificing. But he tinges everything with a sort of fanaticism, and an idea once seized is immovable with him. My uncle intrusted some funds of mine, as my trustee, to a business enter- ! prise of some kind which failed, and Mr. Dobroski thought for some wild reason— ! or no reason—that my uncle had profited by my loss, and had actually attempted to rob me. Nothing—not even the fact that before my uncle heard this accusa tion he had restored the lost money to my account, and had taken the whole loss npon his own shoulders—could or can persuade Mr. Dobroski that this mon strous fsncy is not true. They quarreled desperately, and I have tried for two or three years to reconcile them, but with no result. My uncle will never forgive Mr. Dobroski, and Mr. Dobroski will not abandon his ridiculous fancy, It is hard for me sometimes to keep my place be tween the two." "Yen meet Mr. Dobroski 'still T' asked Maskelyne. "Oh, yes. I meet him still, and my nncle makes no objections to my meet ing him. But we fiad no idea he was liv ing near here when my nncle decided to buy this house. I find my place between them difficult, though they both deserve to have it said that they do their best under the conditions to make It easy." Mr. Maskelyne had taken, a year or two ago, an attitude toward Angela which made him see whatever she did and thought in the most Cavorabls light, and yet the continuation of her friendship with Dobroski struck him as being a little curious hi the circumstances. Perhaps she saw this, for she hastened on: "I do not think that I could give you any idea of poor Mr. Dobroski's devotion. My uncle understands how hard it would be to separate myself from him. I never seek him, but when we meet I cannot treat him coldly. And, indeed, until he formed these dreadful fancies, there was no one In the world I loved so well." "Excuse me, Miss Butler," said Maske lyne, "but is Dobroski quite I wouldn't say anything to annoy you for the world. But is he quite—how shall I put it?-—quite master of his own fan cies?" "No," she answered, frankly, "he Is not. Bnt hers comes my uncle. Let us say no more about him." CHAPTER 111. When Eraser had seen his luggage tak -41 from the van and bestowed in the fimall omnibus which met the train he walked leisurely toward the hotel, guided by the gilt sign which gleamed high above the surrounding village houses. Coming suddenly, as he had done, out of the golden glory of the evening sun light into a shadowed chamber, he did not at first make out the things about him with any great distinctness, but he could see that a man and a woman sat at the far end of a table, and he bowed to them. "Hillo, Eraser!" said a voice. "That you? Are you holiday-making over here?" Fraser advanced, shading his eyes with his hand. "That you. Farley?" he returned. "How are ye? I'm a troyfle short-so.vted —and 1 didn't rfiake y'out at first. How are ye? Deloyted to meet Mrs. Farley once more. Are ye here for long?" He bowed and shook hands and waved a royal condescending pardoning sort of refusal to the chair Farley pushed to ward him. "We have been here a month," said the novelist, "and we intend staying on until the crowd comes. Then we run away. Do you stay for any length of time?" "I can't say how long I may stop," returned Fraser, with a smile. "The man would like to know my secrets," said the smile. "I'll be having a companion in a day or two," he added. "O'Rourke's com ing over." "Ah!" said the other, csrelessly, "I forgot. It's getting near the Whitsuntide recess." The landlady, seeing her new guest in conversation, had withdrawn, but at this moment she re-entered, in conversation with an older visitor. She seemed to have considerable difficulty in making him un derstand what she had to say, for she said the same thing three or four times over, and he looked at her with a puzzled face and an occasional shake of the head. "It is a pity, monsieur," said the land lady at last, turning upon Farley, "that there is no one here to talk the language of monsieur." The new arrival understood the tenor of this speech, for a wagged his head at the novelist and spoke. "English not," he said. "French, so leetel —ver leetel. Grec? Ah, yes. Deutsch? Yes." "He speaks German, madam," said Fraser, splendidly. "Allow me to trans late for you." Then, addressing the new comer, "If I can serve you 1 shall be pleased." The new arrival smiled, and put a ques tion afafrut the postal arrangements of the town. Fraser got the required informa tion from the landlady, and transferred It. The other was profuse In thanks, and ducked Ingratiatingly at his magnificent interpreter. "I*ve never been able to get to like that fellow," said Farley, as the man sat down at the dining table, after the manner of the place, to write his letter. "He came here shortly after our arrival, and we j have been here together ever since. He is always very civil, and he smiles as if by clock work, but his eyes are a good deal too close together for my fancy; his forehead slopes back too much for my liking; he has a stealthy way of walking; ho la my beau ideal of what a spy should be. M "V do expect a spy to understand the language of the laud he lives In, don't ye?" asked Fraser. "Well, yes," Farley admitted, laugh ingly. "I suppose that's needful. But I shouldn't be in the least surprised to learn that he did understand. I shouldn't be in the least surprised if be understood what I am saying now." "Perhaps he might be," said Fraser. "He'd not be pleased, anyway." The man at the table went on with his letter. While Farley and Fraser still talked about him, standing at the window, he arose and walked to the end of the room, where stood a table spread with writing materials. Taking from this a little porcelain jar of sand, he sprinkled a part of its contents on the sheet of pa per he bad just written, and then, turn ing with the paper in both hands, he stood sifting the tine sand lo and fro In an ab sent way, regarding meanwhile the two men at the window. At that moment the expression of his face was sinister, but as Farley turned in speaking his face cleared, and when their eyes met he was smiling, aud he gave that little half-nod whereby some people always recognise a glance of which they are conscious from a man they know. Just then Maskelyne came in. "This Is me young friend, Mr. George Maskelyne, from New York," said Fraser. "He's just doying to know ye, Farley." "I have desired to know you, air," said Maskelyne, in bis solemn, gentle way, "for a year or two past, and to thank you for all the pleasure you have given me. it may please you to know, sir, that you have as large and as af fectionate a circle of readers on our aide as en your own." M Twould please him more," said the delicate-hided Fraser, "if the Yankees wouldn't steal his copyrights." "Mr. Fraser," said Austin, "has a knack of hitting the right nail on the head. Not only that, but he always hita It at the right moment, and, as Charles Reade says, he does it with a polished hammer." "Ye flatter me," cried Fraser, smiling and bowing. The young American threw an extra but unintentional heartiness into the shake of Farley's hand. "I am In some sort an ambassador," said Maskelyne. "An English gentleman, Major Butler, and his niece are residents in the neighborhood, and will be greatly pleaaed If you allow me to take back a permission to them to call upon you, and make the scquaintance of Mrs. Farley and yourself. Miss Butler and I had an accidental meeting with Mrs. Farley thia morning." Farley saw a period of loneliness for his wife since he had begun to work again, and he was disposed to welcome the advent of pleasant people who would break the monotony of her retirement. There would be time enough to make ex cuses for himself hereafter. O'Rourke came the next day. Mrs. Farley leaned smilingly between the flow er pets 01 the window ledge to bid the arrival welcome, and he, with hie reddieh wary hair bathed in sunshine, and a brighter light la hie gray-blue eyes, etood laughing and aodding back to her. O'Rourke had the pleaoantest face, the pleaeanteet voice, and the pleaeanteet manner in the world. A well-shaped head, square and sagacious, gray-blue eyes full of expression and variety, a noee with a squarish plateau on the bridge and a good deal of fine modeling about the noetrils, a handsome beard and a mus tache of the ruddiest gold, and a figure at once lithe and sturdy confirmed the impression of the pleasant voice, when* ever a stranger, attracted by it, looked at him. "How did you come here, Mr. O'Rourke?" asked Lucy. "Nobody came by the train, but the engineman and the guard." "I came by diligence," said O'Rourke. "1 managed to get into the wrong train at Naraur. The people of the house tell me that Fraser is staying here. You have seen him, of course?" "He has gone to see Dobroskl," said Austin. O'Rourke turned in his own swift, bright way. "Ah," he said. "Dobroskl is staying here." The tone was half questioning, lialf affirmative. "You know he is," returned Austin, laughing. O'Rourke laughed also. "Hello! There's Fraser in the read. Wlio'h that with him? Is that Dob ronki?" "That is Dobroskl." O'ltourke raised his hat with an air of involuntary homage, and turned his face away from Farley. By and by he spoke in a low and softened voice, with his face still turned away. "That's the one indomitable heart in Europe, Farley. I must go and speak to him," he added in his customary tone, and left the garden at a brisk pace. Pres ently Farley saw him in the street ad vancing toward the Cheval Blanc, in front of which stood Fraser and Dobroskl. O'Rourke shook hands with Fraser, and then stood bareheaded in talk with the old Anarchist. It was not until Dobroski had several times motioned to him that he replaced bis hat. "This is me friend and colleague, Mr. O'Rourke, Mr. Dobroski," said Fraser. O'Rourke's attitude and expression were almost reverential. "I have long hoped to have the honor of meeting Mr. Dobroskl," he said. "The smallest drummer boy has a right to wish to see his general. There is not a patriot in Ireland, sir, who does not envy Mr. Fraser and myself this honor." "I am honored in your presence here," Dobroski answered, with dignified sim plicity. "We are not charged with any formal mission," fcaid O'Rourke; "and you will understand how impolitic it would be to allow ourselves to be taxed with such a mission by our opponents In the House of Commons. But we are charged with the private and personal greetings of a hundred men who are animated by your own spirit or by seme reflection of it. We bring you, eir, the profound and passionate sympathy of every true Irish man, and their thanks for the part you have played. The mere spectacle of one unconquerable and unpurchasable patriot is a help to true men the wide world over." • He spoke in a low tone, but with a manner and accent of great earnestness. "Sir," said Dobroski, in an unsteady voice, "I thank you. Let us say no more of this." "Hallo!" cried Fraser, who gave no sign of being at all overwhelmed by any of the sentiments of veneration which appeared to influence O'Rourke. "Here's Farley's spy. Ifave ye seen Farley, O'Rourke? He's steeing at the same hotel with me." "I have seen him," said O'Rourke. "What do you mean by Farley's spy?" "Oh," returned Fraser, with his smile of allowance for human weakness, "poor Farley 'got it into his head that this fel low that's going down the street was spy ing on Mr. Dobroski. The deloytful part of the business is that the man doesn't speak a word of French or of English, either. But ye know Farley?" (To be continued.) The Kindness off the Poor. The old adage that the poor are the best friends of the poor was Instanced in the etory of a chambermaid, who la a young widow with two children to support. After a lingering sickness the younger of the children died, and the young mother's bank account having been depleted from defraying the ex penses of the weeks of medicine and doctor's visits, she was obliged to con tract a debt at the undertaker's. After that she paid a small monthly install ment until the bill was half settled, when one day there came through the mall a receipt for the remainder. The receipt was accompanied by a badly written and blotted note from a scrub woman In a large uptown hotel, who knew of the trouble, knew the family and the circumstances, and in her note explained that abe had no family nor near relatives and that she earned enough to support herself and that wanted to use this surplus mondf the little mother, who needed all tbat she could make extra to support the remaining child. As scrubwomen re ceive only 50 or 75 cents a day, one will readily appreciate the spirit wt&leli moved one kind soul to help another In distress. —Leslie's Weekly. Ho Noror Smiled Agala. "Really, Miss Prtmm, you ought to get married," remarked Wedderly. "You'll soon be In the spinster class If you don't hurry up and catch on." "Oh, don't worry about me, Mr. Wed derly," replied Miss Primm. "It I were as easy to please as your wife I would have been married long ago." Not JMtltoi. Mrs. Uppson—Your former nurse girl applied to me for a position to-day. Why did she leave your employ? Mrs. De Style—She whipped darling Fido unmercifully for almost nothing. Mrs. Uppson—lndeed! Mrs. De Style—Yes; he hadn't done a thing but bite the baby. It does not pay to envy any man's success nor rejoice In his failure THE HAND OK THE JEW THAT WILL NOT PAY IS WI . WITH SALT. Just now when the troubles in Morocco bring that •urvlval of a remote past prominently to view anything pertaining to the uses and abuses of these people is of Interest. The above engraving, from the Illustrated Lon don News, shows the interior of a Moorish prison. A prison In Morocco Is not built originally for the purpose, hut im formed from the courtyard of a disused private house, covered by a grille to prevent the prisoners cTlmb- IX over the walls. No food Is furnished the Incarcer ated unfortunates; they must be- fed by friends outside or earn their living by making baskets. THE BELL 07 THE ANGELS. It la said, somewhere, at twilight A gnat bell eoftiy swings. And a man may listen and hearken Te the wondrous music that rings. If he pot from his heart's inner chamber All Che passion, pain and strife. Heartache, and weary longing That throb in the pulses of life; If he thrusts from his soul all hatred. All thoughts of wicked things. He cna hear in the holy twilight How the boll of the angels riaga. Let us look la our hearts, and queettoa Cm pur of thoughts eater la To a soul If It be already T%a dwelling of tfceughte of sin? So, then, let us ponder a little— Let ue look in our hearte, and aee If the twilight bell of the angels Oaa ring far yea and me. John Prlngle's Chance John Prlngle waa a man with a aad face and eurlons eyes. His wife said that he was a genius; his friends said that he was a fool; be himself said he waa an ass. As a matter of fact, be was all three, but If there wns any thing to choose between the definitions, It was John Prlngle who was right. When he was a boy, John Prlngle wanted to go Into the church. His am bition was to be eaten as a missionary by the gentle savage beyond the South ern seas. His mother, who had dream ed dreams of seeing her son In a round collar and a soft felt hat, openly en couraged the boy to put his pennies Into a mlnlonary box, and wept In secret at the thought of her Johnny being roasted on a aplt. Three yehrs later, however, having vlaltsd the wicked pantomime by stealth for the first time, John Prlngle Informed his horrified parent on his re turn that he didn't want to be a mis sionary any longer, but Intended to be come a clown. John Prlngle'a mother ■ado the boy write out the 93d Psalm, and foil aa her kneea and thanked heaven privately when her Johnny had beaa dismissed to aa oarly and Im penitent bod. At the ago of 18, John Prlngle qunr rolod with his rich uncle, who had glvon him a clerkship In tea, and sold blmaolf body and soul to a touring the atrical company for ton bob a week. Ia order to make things easy for John Frlaclo materially, the rich uncle re nounced htm, and his mother wrote enclosing a half-crown postal order for expenses, and said her Johnny had broken his affectionate mother's heart. Jobs Prlngle slept with the letter nmdar his pillow, and sent the postal ardor back. Incidentally he wrote to his rich ancle, and wished him a pros permia Journey to a place whore clerk ahlpe cease from troubling and rich ancles are not at reet. It waa about this time that 'John Prlsclo's eyes began to look curious and John Prlngle's face began to look aad. For five years John Prlngle remained la the eame company; then he fell la loive. She had aa artificial color, an unnatural waist, and a knowing aye. She agreed to marry John Prlngle when his aalary should reach the fab uloua sum of 30 bob a week. Meantime, she carried John Prlngle's ring In her purse Instead of on her finger. She said that If the atage manager knew of her engagement It might spoil her chance. John Prlngle knew all about chances. He was waiting for hla own. He agreed, when the stage manager chuck ed hla betrothed under the chin at re- INTERIOR OF A MOORISH FRISOV. When the Moors wish to extract money from a Jew they wither his right hand with salt. The band ia put in a leather pouch with a lump of salt and Is then padlocked to the victim's back, so that he cannot move it. The unfortunate Jew knows that every day be delays payment of this money demanded brings the destruction of bis hand nearer. In about four months tbe hand has shrunk past cure. One of these unfortunates is prominently pictured In the above en graving. A couple of recalcitrant tribesmen are shown burdened with heavy Irons. Two new arrivals are Just being kicked Into tbe prison b.v tbe guard. hearsal, tbat be would look tbe other way. While he looked bis betrothed ran away with the stage manager. She also ran away with John Prlngle's en gagement ring—not Inside her purse. As tbe reward of virtue. John Prln gle spent fire weeks In a Dublin hospl tal. The doctors said !t was nervous exhaustion: John I'rlngle knew It was a wounded heart. When be got up John Prlngle's 'eyes wtre still more cu rious and John Prlngle's face was still more tad. Fifteen years passed, and John Prln gle was still waiting for bis chance. It was a pleasantry auiong his fellows to send him numerous postcards from managers of London theaters asking him to give them an Interview with a view to his playing tbe leading part. John Pringle Invariably naswered tbe postcards, and Invariably sullied when tbe Indignant managers enclosed his postcard la their reply letters. It was while he was answering a bogus adver tisement, Indeed, that John Prlagle met his fate. Joha Prlngle's fate was young aad slender, with a fluctuating color, an overstrained heart, and a sensitive month. Within a month John Prlngle had married her. Their Joint Incomes at that time repreaented the Interesting sum of 35 shillings a week. During their waits at rehearsals tliey would sit and hold hands In corners and whis per together of what they should do when John Prlngle got his chance. He was to play Hamlet, and she was to WEWT HOME TO MIS. WHOLE AND UCD. wear white ntln and diamonds, and alt In a box and applaad. Meantime, Mr. and Mrs. John Prlngle ■tarred. At the end of a year John Prlngle became a father. Basins his claim to consideration on the merits of that interesting fact, John Prlngle laid his long apprenticeship before the manager and asked him for a ralae. The mana ger clapped John Prlngle on the back, gave him a whisky and aoda and told him not to talk auch rot John Prlngle refused the whisky and aoda and went home to Mrs. Prlngle and lied. He said that, by virtue of becoming a father, be had been raised ten bob a week. Mrs. John Prlngle had beef Jelly and oysters to celebrate the occa sion, and chatted gaily In the twilight of the fnture that awaited the baby, now that his father hnd begun to get his chance. Foor days later, John Prlngle, who had atarved hlmaelf to a shadow, fainted at rehearsal and was sent home In a four-wheeled cab. The shock npaet John Prlngle. It also npaet John Prlngte'a wife. A week or two later, John Prlngle went about Birmingham In a brown coat aupple mented by a band of crepe. A week later, the little John Prlngle, not fad ing a patent food aa administered in termittently by an Intermittent land lady sufficiently Interesting, most con veniently died. The ladlea and gentle men of the company and the manager aent a wreath of orchlda, which, con verted Into beef Jelly and oysters, would probably have aaved John Prln gle's wife. Tlu~ sold. "It was quite a romance." The day after the baby's funeral John Prlngle got his chance. He played the part of a boy of 20 who came In for a large fortune and married the girl of his heart. A great dramatist who unexpectedly witnessed the performance went round after the act and enthusiastically demanded his name. "The very man I've been looking for!" cried the great playwright, look ing delightedly Into the gay young face. "Such entrain ! Such dash! In heav en's name, where did you»learn It? You can't be much more than a boy." John Prlngle took off his wig and smiled. The little hair ha bad was white.—London Sketch. A Camfarttbln Planter. Grandfather Bobbins was Irascible at any time, but Grandfather Bobbins afflicted with a stiff neck cauw Bear to making an absolutely unendurable vis itor, as bis young daughter-ta-law dis covered. -"I've mad* mustard plasters all day long," complained little lira. Rabbins, telephoning to • sympathetic and help ful neighbor, "and he wont wear one of them. I'm fairly at my wit's end. What shall I do—be won't let aw aend for the doctor." "I'll come right over," replied Mrs. Brown. "What I want," growled the Irrita ble Invalid, when approached, "Is a plaster that'll take the pain out with out taking the skin off, too. and I want It quick. Mind, I won't stand a hot one." "I'll make you a plaster," soothed Mrs. Brown, "that you'll renlly enjoy wearing." The patient submitted meekly to the lady's ministration. The neck was lim ber the next morning, and the relieved old gentleman was loud in his praises of Mre. Brown's skill. He advised bis sou's wife to acquaint herself without loss of time with the Brown recipe for mustard plaster*. "Why." laughed Mrs. Brown, when asked for the rule, "your mustard can was empty, so I made It of cocoa, mix ed with flour and Masoned with gin ger." Omfiti Hmm Dowa River. 8. M. Depew of Orange, Tex., re cently accomplished quite a (eat In house moving, having moved 0. S. Bolster'* residence from Its former lo cation at Blverslde, several miles above Oritnge, on the Sabine Blver, to a loca tion In the southern part of Orange The house was placed on roller* and safely placed on a big barge. The barge wa* then towed dowa the river to a landing opposite the street on which the lots are located which were to be occupied by the house, aad the building wa* then rolled off the boat and safely located several blocks away. The work of moving the house from Louisiana Into Texaa, across the Sabine Blver, was accomplished while It was still occupied by Mr. Relster, who never moved out during that time and whose bouse furnishing* were not disturbed If the move. for "Furthest north* hey?" sneered th* lawyer. "Why doa't you go celar to the pole?" "Why don't you cloee up that will case that you've been living on for the last sixteen yean?"— Washington Her ald. Aatavttl »«»<■< Mevvadara. "Why do you send two men to get that Interview?" asked the managing editor. "One of them," answered the city editor, "1* a notary public."—Pittsburg Press. Daniel Oslrla, the Jewish banker and philanthropist of Paris, who recently died, left a will In which he 'llsposed of $13,000,000, giving *5,000,000 to the Pasteur Institute.