Oakes Republican., October 14, 1898, Image 3

About Oakes Republican. (Oakes, N.D.) 1898-1906

Image provided by: State Historical Society of North Dakota

                
1 F#, W-
*J
*rs
:&&£:.:•
r* ,i4 i'
l^V:
1
the highway leading to that city, stood
a young man leaning against a huge
chestnut trunk, and gaaiiig silently up
on the picturesque sceue spread out he
fore him.
The sparkling waves of the Isire
danced along merrily through a vine
covered valley, lying like an emerald
between two pre.cipi.tous hills, closely
wooded with chestnut trees, interspers
ed here and there wi:li a birch or larch.
Beyond him lay a smiling tract of cul
tivated land, showing the rare mingling
of orange and lemon with apple and
cherry trees and crowning a gentle
slope was the oddly shaped Chateau of
the noble proprietor, Count Beauvais.
Still further across the undulating
country rose the stately towers and
high parapet walls of another chateau,
and scattered here and there, between
humble daisies in the greensward, were
the low walled dwellings of the peas
ant dependents of these warm friends
and close neighbors, Counts Beauvais
and Germain.
But it was on neither lordly dwelling
the fine dark eye of the solitary gazer
turned so eagerly, but upon the point
directly between him and the river,
"where the highway came out into the
sunshine agaiu, after its cool and shad
owy passage through the chestnut
woods. From this his attention was
scarcely for a moment diverted, and
presently his serac-verance was well re
warded, judging from the glow that
mantled his .vheek and lit his dark eye.
A cavalcade of some dozen persons,
ladies, and gentlemen, came sweeping
out gaily from the dark green arch
way of the woods, their gay dresses,
flying plumes, and sparkling equip
ments lighting up the scene in just the
way to suit an artist's picture or a
poet's fancy.
The youth drew closer before him the
leafy screen of down-reaching boughs—
but peered through them eagerly as the
train drew nearer so that the silvery
laughter of the ladies came distinctly
to his ears.
Foremost, -side by side, on a pair of
spirited jet black horses rode a youth
ful pair, chatting merrily, and now and
then leaning toward each other to give
an earnest gesture to add spirit to jest
or tender talk, whichever it might be.
On these the wild, dark eyes of the hid
den gazer seemed to flame now with
tenderest love, and anon with the fierc
est ire and as they approached still
nearer, he set his teeth against his lip,
till the receding blood left a white line
around each indenture, while his
breath came laboringly. Even when
they passed on, and the remainder of
the party came opposite to him, his
glance still followed the graceful fig
ure of the maiden, with a wistful, de
spairing tenderness that seemed impos
sible from the same eyes that a moment
before had glared so angrily upon the
youth who rode beside her.
But the face of Lady Violante Beau
vais was enough to explain away much
madness upon a lover's part. Such a
face as we meet often in pictures, but
so seldom in reality. All the sweet
loveliness of childhood in the rose-tint
ed cheeks, and lips moulded in love's
own type—the lilies and dimples of in
fancy, but in the large, dreamy and un
fathomable dark eyes—womanhood's
shy reserve and tender mysteries.
She carried her beautiful head
haughtily, so that the snowy plumes of
her blue velvet riding cap swept the
sloping shoulder and yet it seemed a
pride more than a cultivated sentiment,
albeit Hone knew better than she the
most effectual way of keeping presump
tion at bay.
Not even the young Count Germain,
her friend and warm admirer, had
dared so much as touch familiarly the
white little hand, that, released from
the gauntlet glove, stroked the silky
mane of the horse. And now as he rode
gaily beside her, drinking in, with
.greedy delight, the charming grace and
sparkling changes on her expressive
countenance—he dared not, for the life
of him, breathe a word of 1 he soft flat
teries that rose to his lips—because she
•had checked, with queenly dignity, his
first attempt at compliment.
And while he listened to hpr sweet
joyous tones, the young Count was
wondering what was going on at Beau
vais Chateau, and if, as he had prom
ised, his stately father was laying be
fore the Count his long cherished plan
of uniting the two houses by the mar
riage of the beautiful Violante to his
son. That son looked over shyly to
the fair equestrian and queried what
new light would come sparkling into
that dreamy eye, what change would
come over that joyous face, could ehe
hear the momentous discussion prob
ably going on at that very moment in
the antique library of her father's
house would that polished forehead
.grow unlovely with a frown, or would
r* ,'M *h.,4
THE RIGHTFUL HEIR
By flfl. Ti CALDOR.
*¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥¥W¥¥¥*V¥9¥9¥¥n
CHAPTER I.
N1" the summer of
1790, when la belle
France was sudden
ly awakening from
her gaiety and ease
beneath the first
throes, that were
but faint premoni
tions of the terrible
struggle to ensue,
but an hour's ride
from Grenoble, on
Sl
new smiles come coyly around thos*
rosy lips? It was a delicious problem.
Pondering upon it, he grew abstracted
—nor heeded how restless and uneasy
the horse of Lady Violante grew—
foaming at the mouth, starting uneas
ily aside, and at last actually rearing,
while his fair rider, patting his glossy
neck, said chidingly.
"So, so, my foolish Jet, why do you
chafe so restlessly, when we are fresh
upon the ride? What ails you, Jet?"
The animal turned his head at the
familiar voice, but in a moment, with
a shrill neigh of terror, he sprang ior
ward and darted madly away. The
truth was, as she had passed closely to
some wild rose bushes to gather one,
Lady Violante's long rifiing dress had
swept away a bee, which at last escap
ingthe smothering folds, had revenged
itself on the flanks of the innocent
steed.
Wheeling around abruptly, the goad
ed bfeast dashed by the startled train,
and frantic with pain paid no regard
to rein lor call. With wonderful pres
ence of mind Lady Violante kept her
seat and held on firmly, while she was
boi?ne furiously along and only when
the animal dashed away from the high
way into a lane leading to a precipitous
cliff, descending abruptly to the river,
did her wild shriek for aid ring out
imploringly, and startle every ear.
Count Germain and several others
put spurs to their horses, but the very
attempt to reach her served only to ac
celerate the speed of the terrified horse,
and in despair they desisted, and aimed
toward the river, hoping to intercept
her before the precipice was reached.
But her cry had reached and roused
a bolder spirit than theirs. The youth
who had been left leaning gloomily
against the chestnut tree had heard
and seen all. Like an arrow shot from
trusty bow, he had flown forward, leap
ed stile, rock and shrub, till he had
planted himself before tthe fearful leap,
toward which he saw the horse was
coming.
It was a moment's work to shout in
a firm, courageous voice:
"I will save you, throw yourself
toward me, and you are safe!" as he
stood planted firmly to await the shock.
Less than that time to carry out the
critical design, Lady Violante compre
hended his meaning, and with the ener
gy of desperation, as she flew madly
past, she threw her arms toward him.
He caught them, held her in a resolute
clasp, and tore her from the saddle.
As the horse dashed on, both fell to
the ground, for the moment stunned
and bruised, while poor Jet went down
headlong to the water.
The youth was the first to recover
himself. He raised himself slowly,
glanced at her lifeless figure, vainly
endeavored to raise it, and then grow
ing faint, sank insensible beside her.
While the frantic companions of
Lady Violante's ride were exploring the
river, where they found the dead body
of the horse—a body of servants, head
ed by the anxious father, who had re
ceived the alarm—examined the cliff—
and came suddenly upon the insensible
pair. Both were borne tenderly to the
Chateau. Lady Violante soon revived,
and was but little injured. Her gallant
rescuer was more unfortunate. His
steady facing of the animal had caused
him a fractured arm and ankle, the
pain of which was evidently aggravated
by some feverish distress of mind.
"Carry me back," said he, impatient
ly, as soon as he could speak coherent
ly, gazing ruefully at his bandaged
limb3, and the anxious faces around
him—the worthy surgeon, the grateful
Count, and the pitying countenance of
Violante.
"Carry you where?" asked the Count
quietly.
"To the roadside, to the cliff, any
where but here," was the reply, as the
glittering eyes turned wildly upon the
beautiful face beyond him.
"Nay, nay, my friend, you surely can
not think we have so little gratitude as
that! You who have restored to us our
treasure, who have saved my child
from so terrible a fate,"—and he shud
dered—"surely you have a rightful
claim to our gratitude and hospitality
at any time—and now that you are ill
and suffering from your generous dar
ing sufely'you cannot think that we
will allow you to leave us! Calm your
self—I pray you, and seek the repose
your shattered nerves require. Your
commands will be the law of the Chat
eau."
And thus saying, the Count drew his
daughter toward him, bowed with
courteous dignity, and led her from the
room. The surgeon followed, after giv
ing directions to the nurse, who had
been summoned to the care of the
stranger.
Left alone in the gorgeous chamber,
whose richly draped windows softened
the light to a dim, twilight—the young
man, powerless to move, yet showed
by his restless burning eyes how he
chafed and writhed beneath the inexor
able necessity of his novel position.
A week passed by, and though the
fractured bones were improving, still
the sharp-eyed surgeon was dissatisfied
with his patient.
"He is fretting himself into a fever,
he will die on our hands yet," said
he, lugubriously, "there is something
on bis mind, and all the medicine in
4" •', ,'i.v 1 J" v£&aigJ
''.
'A-')
.' *.
I
*ttre worm win-ffiip-rcfifeach re*
"Strange youth!" answered the Count
gravely. "I can make nothing out of
him. He will not even tell his name.
The daring he displayed in La*y Vio
lante's behalf seems strangely incon
gruous with his present sullenness."
"Lady Violante must try to move the
rock," said the physician, quietly smil
ing at the girl's earnest, wistful face.
So Lady Violante sent away the
nurse, and ventured into the sick
chamber.
She advanced to the couch, her dark
eyes soft with pitiful tears, her sweet
face tender with gentle sympathy, and
laying her cool, white hand—the hand
that Count Germain had so vainly
longed to ki*ss—upon his denched,
burning fingers, she said, entreatingly:
"Dear friend, you are unhappy, you
are. grieviijg over some hidden sorrow.
You do not mend, you frighten the
physician. You will die if you persist
in dwelling upon your trouble. Con
fide in me—let me help you—oh-for
my sake, for my sake who have brought
all this pain to you, do not die—" and
here Violante paused, choked by' a
flood of tears.
He looked at her wonderingly, and
said, slowly:
"For your sake? what will it be to
you?"
Lady Violante brushed away her
tears to answer reproachfully:
"Do you think I have a heart of
stone? It will be everything to me to
see the preserver of my life restored to
health and happiness."
"Happiness!" echoed he, with bitter
emphasis, "is a word whose meaning I
have never known. You must urge
some better plea."
She looked at him sorrowfully. The
pallid, handsome face, the restless eyes,
the tumbled jetty waves of hair,
through which the one free hand had a
trick of plunging it:ol.\ to free the ir
ritation there was ?:o other way of
manifesting. All thcto appealed irre
sistibly to Violante's tenderest compas
sion, and seemed to explain somewhat
the singularity c: his behavior.
"Alas!" said she, "can it be there is
any human heir*. beset with misfor
tune, his love c£ 'if has fled? Surely,
then, there is souio one who loves you,
for whose sake you should strive to re
cover?"
He was studying", earnestly, her in
genious face, and then, suddenly, he
exclaimed:
"Yes, yes, if there is any truth on
earth I see it before me. I can trust
you. Lady, sweet lady, there is one
favor you may do for me, which will
give me rest and quiet, if such a thing
is possible for me in this most unfor
tunate affair."
Violante bent eagerly, forward.
"Thank you, oh, thank you, anything
whatever you may ask, will be so joy
fully performed in return for a debt
that can never be worthily repaid."
"Nay, nay," said he, with an im
patient gesture. "Talk not of grati
tude, I beseech you! nor promise rash
ly. It is no common boon I ask of you.
It is strange, unheard of. I know not
but improper but remember it is at
your own option."
The glow faded from her face, yet
she asked earnestly: "What is it?"
"First, Lady Violante Beauvais, I
must appeal to your honorable gener
osity, and beseech you to keep sacred
silence upon the request, whatever you
may decide."
"I promise," answered her sweet,
clear tones, while her cheek paled a
little.
Still he hesitated—a flush passed over
his face, and then died off, leaving it
almost white. The flery light of the
dark eyes was flooded c.-,v.y by a sud
den rise of tears, as he said, vehe
mently:
"Why do I hesitate—simpleton that I
am! I dread to fill you with distrust
and suspicion. Oh, Lady Violante, if I
could only tell you everything, all my
wrongs and woes—but, as there is a
heaven above us, nothing of any guilt
on my part. You, in your angelic in
nocence are not more free from stain
of crime, than Ii" and, quivering with
emotion, he clasped the one useful hand
over his eyes.
"Nay," said the girl, with gentl? dig
nity, "there is no need of the assur
ance. I am confident of already. One
who risks his life to save another who
is nothing to him, lacks discretion, but
not goodness. Nothing can make pie
doubt your worth."
His lip quivered. "Heaven bless you.
Lady Violante, it were worth a thou
sand pangs like these I feel to hear
such words from you lips. Keep such
faith in me, I pray you, while I urge
my strange request. Will you write for
me these words on a slip of paper?"
"Valerie, be at rest. He who is ab
sent is safe and will soon rejoin you
be wary and vigilant till then. Ber
nard, for whom a friend takes the pen."
Lady Violante's face showed her sur
prise, but she quietly drew toward her
a writing tray, and wrote the desired
message.
He who had named himself Bernard
watched her with feverish eyes.
"And what shall I do with it?"
asked she, as she folded the narrow
slip of paper.
"Ah, if I could help it—believe me, I
would rather cut off my right hand
than ask it of you, but it is for the sake
of another—better, purer than I. I
must implore you to carry it yourself
to the foot of the great craig that over
hangs the river, at the end of the
chestnut woods, in the evening. Will
you, dare you do it, Lady Violante?
when I assure you no earthly harm can
come of it to you and much, very
much anxiety mav be soared me. and
&*tfk
another Who is very dear to me.~
Lady Violante drew a long breath,
but said firmly: "Certainly, I will do it,
why do you doubt it? I have often
strayed as far, with only a servant in
attendance."
"Ah, yes, but there must be no ser
vant near to see or suspect anything.
You must promise no living thing shacl'l
see that, hear a word of this conversa
tion, or know au^ht that may be here
after connected with the cliff in your
mind."
The mystery was growing startling!
T.^dy Violante's cheek blanched, and
for the first time she hesitated.
"Ah!" said lie, bitterly, while his
glittering eye followed the changes of
•her face. "I knew it would be so—you
promised to trust mo, but you are al
ready doubting me, and are ready to re
treat."
"No, no!" exclaimed she, impetuous
ly—'Twill not retreat, 1 will do all you
ask of me."
•,"Ai}d no one—not even your father—
most of all, Count Germain, your lover,
shall know what,I have said to you?"
asked he. eagerly.
"No one," repeated she, firmly. "I
take your assurance, that there is noth
ing in the transaction to compromise
my character or station, and I pass over
your allusion to a lover, where there
is no such relation. Now tell me what
else there is for me to know."
He had closed his eyes wearily, and
his lips writhed with a spasm of pain.
The pity again overpowered reserve
—"You are ill, you are suffering, oh,
that I could aid you, could bear half
the suffering myself. Shall I call
Julie?"
(To Be Continued.)
Identifying halncxl Cai-riugcs.
Who that has traveled by railway
has not experienced a difficulty in
finding his seat again once he has got
ten out at an intermediate station?
You get out to get a glass of beer or
a hurried snack at the refreshment
buffet, and when you get back to the
platform you wander along the train
looking into every compartment to
identify the luggage you have left in
order to keep your seat. The Western
of France railway has come to the res
cue of its passengers in this respect.
On its express train in the morning
from Paris to St. Malo and Parame it
has put carriages with pictures upon
them. One has an elephant, another
a lyre, another a snake, etc. There
are anchors, huntsman's horns, bal
loons, tricolored flags, bunches of
grapes, swallows, a pair of scales, a
star, an angler with his fishing rod.
It is thought that one of these designs
will be more readily remembered than
a number, and according to all ac
counts passengers are very pleased
with the innovation. Before long the
Western of France directors hope to
have picture trains on all their lines.—
London News.
The Test.
"Uncle, what breed of chickens is
the best?" "Well, sah, de white ones
is de easiest found, and de dark ones
is de easiest hid arter yo' gits 'em."—
Indianapolis Journal.
Empty Houses.
Many people who leave town to en
joy a well-earned holiday leave their
houses shut up and unattended. When
houses have been practically empty
during the holidays, closets, sinks and
traps have been lying idle the water
in the traps has evaporated, and the
house has filled itself with air directly
from the sewers. On returning to a
house which has been empty for some
weeks, all the windows, front and
back, should be opened, and every
watertap should be turned on in order
that the traps may be filled and seal
ed. It has fallen to the lot of many
a pater familias to see an outbreak of
sore throat in his family caused by
the neglect of the above precautions.
Meteoric Stones.
"Baxter" inquires about meteoric
stones. Are there really such stones,
and where do they come from? An
swer: There are many meteoric stones
in existence. Not long since one of
these stones fell upon the roof of an
Austrian building and caused it to
take fire. It went completely through
the structure, and was found in the
cellar covered with the debris of the
burned building. It is supposed that
meteors are fragments from burning
worlds. They fly through space, and,
coming within the influence of the
earth, they succumb to the effects of
gravitation and fall upon this planet.
Egg Scissors.
Eggs may now be opened at the
morning meal with egg scissors, with
out fear of burning the finders.
SUc Knew Him.
"How do you like the new maid that
I have just engaged, Karl?"
"Ah, pretty! She doesn't displease
me at all!"
"Hm! I thought likely, and so I've
already discharged her!"—Der Floh.
The Proper Place.
Query Editor—"This writer wants to
know where the person with the wed
ding ring should be."
Managing Editor (a confirmed bach
elor)—"Just say in the penitentiary."'
—Jeweler's Weekly.
r?
i
JS
**y"{4 3 *4
3
1 1
I
y^^ii
Fall Medicine
Is Fully as Important and Beneficial
as Spring Medicine.
Hood'f Sarskparllla ia Just the medicine
to keep the blood rich and pure, create an
appetite, give good digestion and tone
and strengthen the great vital organs. Ift
wards off malaria, fevers and other forms
of illness so prevalent in the Fall.
Hood's Sarsaparilla
Is America's Greatest Medicine.
Hood's Pills
cure at' Liver Ills. 26 cents.
A Remote Letter Box.
Cape Horn is a great mass of Rock
rising abruptly from the sea and form
iug a small island. Upon one of the
lodges of'this rock stands a covered
barrel, the international letter box ot a
region more than 500 miles from any
thing that resembles civilization. It ia
the custom of captains passing around
the Horn to send a boat ashore at this
point, if possible, take whatever mall
is going in the direction of the vessel,
and drop in whatever it is desired shall
go in the other direction.
TIte Angered Actor.
"Do you mean to tell me that Barnes
Tormer smashed his wheel just be
cause the tire got punctured? The
idea!"
"That is what he did. He said he
would allow no confounded inanimate
thing of steel and iron to hiss at him."
Indianapolis Journal.
Renl Swell.
"Cliollie says he is in favor of expan
sion."
"How on earth did he ever happen to
have an idea on the subject?"
"I don't know but I think it struck
him as something swell."—Indianapo
lis Journal.
Bow to Prevent Hog Cholera.
HOG CHOLERA is caused by indiges
tion and can be prevented by feeding
cooked feed. We advise our read
ers to write the EMPIRE MFG. CO..
620 Hampshire St., Qulncy, 111.,
for Catalogue of Feed Cooeeks.
These Cookers save at least one
third the feed,put stock in healthy
condition,save your hogs and will more
than pay for themselves in
one week's um
No Occasion for Lying.
"There is one good thing atymt the
consolidation of the two cities," said
the Brooklyn man.
"What's that?" asked the New
Yorker.
"Why, when I go out of town now
can register from New York without
blushing."—Chicago News.
Beauty Is Blood Deep.
Clean blood means a clean skin. No
beauty without it. Cascarets Candy Ca
thartic cleans your blood and keeps it
clean by stirring up the lazy liver and
driving all impurities from the body. Be
gin to-day to banish pimples, boils,
blotches, blackheads and that sickly, bil
ious complexion by taking Cascarets—
beauty for 10 cents. All druggists. Sat
isfaction guaranteed. 10c. 25c, 50c.
Papa's Idea of It.
Little Harry—Papa, what is the still,
small voice?
Papa—It's the voice in which your
mother makes suggestions to the cook
—Chicago News.
"A Perfect Type of the Highest Order of
Excellence in Manufacture."
ESTABMSHBD
1
i.
I
Breakfast
Absolutely Pure,
Delicious,
Nutritious.
...Costs Less man QUE GENT a Cup..,
Be sure that you get the Genuine Article,
made at DORCHESTER, MASS. by
WALTER BAKER & CO. Ltd.
0. Ltd.
17S0.
•fySfl BRkflP
POMMEL
The Best
Saddle Coat.
Keeps both rider and saddle per
fectly dry in the hardest storms.
Substitutes wilt disappoint. Ask for
1897 Fish Brand Pommel Slicker—
it is entirely new. If not for sale in
your town, write for catalogue to
A. J. TOWER, Boston. Ma.s.
•-o FISO'S CURE FOR
Congh ftjrrup.
Bold
N. D. K. V. —No. 42* 1809.
5'
ii
&
5
1
I'
-4fe.
•iii:
»r
"•&"