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Ui'M7" t- .',f "W i, i\Tm.…
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Ui'M7" t- .f "W i, i\Tm. 9TS rasa a- ,r 7° ..T-TT, JS-; r„ J,IL- ,Tf (A\ o mt 1-1 ( LE tl 1) LHL I LE I L .> J» '■ '• ■'■»■' ■ — ■■ »■» «l ~I —I ■■ M iXn. nil ■<■ ■ — .■ ■ ■ — ■■■ » Synopsis of Previous Chapters. CHAPTERS 1.& II.—Gerard Granville Gough, familiarly known as "Granny," com- plains to hii fr **ad, Phil Ralston, that he has been swindled by a man named Garshore. Gough had been on the point of securing a valuable concession in connection with some oil wells in Rcumania. Garshore, taking an unfair advantage- of some information Gough had given him, steps in and secures the concession over the latter's head. A lady frieiid of the Minister Soutzo's —toy name Lydia-Popescu, had been bribed by Garshore to help him in the matter. Ralston induces Gough to accompany him back to London. Granny tells his friend that he is secretly engaged to Miss Myra Stapleton. but that he is now too poor to marry her. Ralston and Gough "are at the Hotel Cecil when they see Garshore and Lvdia. Popescu driving away together in a hansom. On parting Gough tells Ralston that he may be leaving town., but will wire his address. Next morning RaJston sees a startling headline in the papers. He rushes to the Cecil to find that Granny's bed has not been slept in. CHAPTERS-HI & TV.—Ralston asks the hotel porter the address which Garshore gave tothecabmattonthe previous night, and is told 127a, Redcliffe Gardens, West Brompton also that Gough had made similar inquiries. The morning' newspapers all contain ah account of a mysterious tragedy of the night at Redcliffe Gardens. A handsome woman of foreign appearance had been murdered, evidently after a desperate struggle. Ralston learns that Garshore, as well as Gough,. has left town that morning. He at once concludes that the dead woman is Lydia Popescu. Going to see his journalistic friend, George Cunliffe, he finds him engaged on the case, and accompanies" him to Red- cliffe Gardens. RatetOn learns that no mark has been found on the body to indicate the cause of death, nor can the jpoliCe assign any motive for the crime. tie is told that the maid who had rented the house on the previous day is missing, and the police are trying to trace her. An old It&Kan poig-ftard which Ralston recognises as his oWn is;found in the room. He attributes its presence to Gough. Lifting up the sheet from the dead woman's face he is amazed to find that it is not that of Lydia Po- pescu. CHAPTERS V. & Vj.—»It transpires that the front door of the house in Redcliffe Gar- dens had been found open after the crime, but as there is some possibility of the woman having died a natural death,secrecy is enjoined on Cunline. That same afternoon Gough turhs np at Ralston's chambers. Granny tells his friend that a banker wishes him to go over to America on business, but that although he is practically penniless, he does not feei equal to the task. He goes on to speak of the money he has made and lost, but tells Ralston that he has provided for his adopted daughter Gertie, whom he loyes almost as much as his fiancee, Myra Stapleton. Ralston asks Gough if the woman they saw leaving the Cecil with Gar- shore was Lydia Popeseue. Granny asks why Ralston should doubt him, and aeka Him never to repeat what, he has said about her. CHAPTTER VII. Dissects a M&ri's Heart. Granny Gough's ■curious request that his de- nunciation of the fair Lydia should be kept a strict secret, aroused within me increased sus- picion. Why was he so feverishly anxious that none should know'of his antagonism towards the woman, save myself ? What could it mean ? There was mystery in his attitude. And yet, when I came to reflect, the woman dead.atJEledcliffe Gardens was cer- tainly not the woman be had pointed out to me as the Roumanian whose presence in Bu- charest had been found -undesirai>le by His Ex- cellency the Minister Souteo! There was mystery-deep", unfathomable. I looked straight into his big, open face. About his lips was a nervousness quite unusual to him. He was keeping back from me some- thing he wished to tell me. I felt sure. For a long time we smoked on. I longed to ask him certain questions regarding that woman, sight of whom had filled him with such resentment. AC last, ia order to approach the subject, I asked-— Is Garshore still at the Cecil ?" I don't know," he snapped. The fellow's movements are no concern of mine. He didn't play the game wHiirme, and I have no further use for curs of that breeds" "No. T quite agree, old felloW. He served V'ju a very :sCúrry trick." And did me out of what- was just within my grasp he declared. If I had had no conscience I could have used that woman as a lever to obtain the concession from Soutzo. But I've never, to nrt' knowledge, served a voman a low-down trick—and I hope, Phil, I never shall. Now Garshore has got the concession signed he'll drop her acquaintance; I suppose," was my remark. Of course," he laughed. She, no doubt, believes in him. Wotheh are so easily misled by flattery stud a little attention. But, I ad- mit, he acted very oleverly, and it only shows the fellow's canning, He got all the details of the business from tne) and then went to work Oimself." You're a little too fond of speaking about your own I said. Perhaps "I «or. I'm "too fond of believing that every man is made like myself." He laughed, blowing the smoke from his lips. So Gertie is-still at Brighton ?" I remarked, turning the conversation into a different chan- nel. Yes, dear Itttle aoul. She's growing into a charming child,he «a«i< pteasant contented expression overspreading his fatfe. As you know, I put her into a family—tradespeople they are—living alofag at Hove. They send her to a very good ttchool, and she's getting on capitally. See, ahe's been showing me to-day how she can write and draw," and the big fellow puHedfrom his breast-pocket a piece of paper en which was some childish writing and some crude sketches of ducks and houses. He.. the man whom the world called an adventurer I was proud ol it, for he loved that child better than his life. I took the paper and looked at it, remarking that she must be getting on well. Rather, my dear chap. She's as sharp as a needle, and she grows prettier every day. The good people, keep her very nicely drtpsed, but of course, they're well paid for it." i ThanloS to you, Granny," I remarked. Her existence is one of your secrets, isn't "Thankll to you, Granny," I remarked. Her existence is one of your secrets, isn't it Yes," he said hi a low voice. Nobody knows threat troth. only you, Phil. You recollect, Tro doubt, what I told you—how, late one winter's night while I was going along Hoi- born I met a po^r shivering woman, thinly clad, and iso ill with rheumatism that she could scarce drag one foot after the other. Her face was wan and pinched ^and she wore a dark grey summer dress although it was mid-winter. By the hand she led a tiny fair-haired child. As I hurried p afet on tay way back to the Cecil the woman held out her hand, offering me matches, but saying no word, I brushed past her, but as I did so a look in the eyes Of the poor pinched little child caused me to halt and turn back. Well, I didn't buy the matches, but I gave the woman a soereign. She almost collapsed with thankfulness, for they were both starving. They had not tasted meat for a month, for she was a-Widow, and too ill to work. And to cut a long story short, I gave the poor woman from time to time money to put her on her legs again. Two months went past, and she had already obtained work, and was again earning -her living, when she was suddenly taken ill, attd died before I knew of her seizure-Tattle Gertie was left-alone—and so I adopted her, and afhe is mine." A strange and pathetic meeting," I said with a sigh. Surely no man would believe that at the bottom of Granville Gough's heart was such deep sympathy for the poor and afflicted. Had I not known the truth myself I should have scouted the idea. C'( You love the child, I know." Love her t" he echoed, turning m his chair. U She's all the, world to me, Phil. I tell you that I atways thank Providence for giving me the money-I've, invested for her. She will never want again." And while ;you are hafd up hke this she has every'luxury What does it matter.?" he laughed, lightly. I never think .of the morrow for myself. Never have done in aU my life. You'fe tot» td yOur friends,' I declared,-recoHecting the many open-handed actions which I had knosvn him perform- Well," h^ said, "rm fast coming to the conclusion that the more one helps one's friends the jess one is thought of. Why,the very men whom been able to tide over a crisis are those who have afterwards been my worst enemies 1 And when a man like myself has an enemy it's-a^-serious matter, I can tell you. One word against me has often been the means of preventing me from bringing off a lucrative gtroke of business. One" case I recollect especially. I was in Athens selling to the Greek Government two torpedo boat destroyers built in Italy. Pauletfci's, of Genoa, had given them into my hands to sell at a big commission. I had worked all my cards with the Greeks— backsheesh, etc.—aad was just on the point of getting the pttrchase signed, when there sprang up in Athens a man who was one of mj worst enemka—fiv £ n though I had once saved bimfromarrest in Vienna. This gentleman—he was a Clerman, by the way—wrote to the Greel Minister of Marine denouncing me as a cheva- lier d'industrie. The result was that I Waf compelled to pa^k tny traps and take the boa4 back to BrindiSi;" «' Most tiaen Eire"betted Off without friends/ f declared. —. «' You're quite right, Phil," he said. ] wish I could straggle on without them; bui somehow I pick up so many." Because of your power to attract them The man who has no- Mends usaaJiy grows rich. rr, j < You mean niiserlyskunk-ek?'f know the type. Yes, The really rich man has,few friends. He's clever enough not to make any." Yes. But that requires more tact than I possess. My forte is cheek, I believe. I pride myself that, if occasion require it, I can tell a lie perfectly. Indeed, in my profession, I've brought lying to a fine art." In that I quite believe you, my dear Granny I laughed. You're a better liar i even than an Old Bailey lawyer." When necessity dictates." Granville Gough was surely a man of com- plex nature. A light-hearted, careless, devil- may-care adventurer, without fixed habita- tion, but with hosts of friends, he lived in all the capitals of Europe by turn, a few days herfe, a few days there, until he was just as much at home in the Puerta. del Sol in Mad- rid, as in the Corso in Rome, the Nevski in Petersburg, or our own familiar Strand. His friends, too, were of every sort, from Princes and Ministers of State, whom he would invite to dinner, down to those ragged night-birds, the scum of a Continental city, who knew him to be a crook, and were ever ready to fur- nish him with information or render him a ser- vice. I, perhaps, was the only man who knew Granny Gough intimately. Many a man and many a woman who reads these lines will have met him in London and on the Continent— under a different name, of e-oirrse-always ex- quisitely dressed, always affable, and always affluent, for never once within my experience has he ever allowed the world to believe him anything but prosperous. It was one of the tenets of his religion. Put on a bold front, and order a good dinner,even though you have to pawn your portmanteau afterwards," he used to say. When Granny Gough put his wits together there was not a cleverer man on the whole face of Europe. I have known him to get the best of the most expert diplomat, and to con- vince a Minister of State against his will. When he intended to carry his point he would fix his opponent with his big clear blue eyes with a look of intensity which seemed somehow to hypnotise and fascinate. How it was I cannnot tell. In this chronicle of strange events I am simply setting down what actually occurred. I am not seeking the reason Of my friend's marvellous and amazing power over his fellow- men but I am relating a curiously romantic and extraordinary chain of facts of which I myself have been witness in this past year or so of my own cosmopolitan life. I myself have been a constant and homeless wanderer on the Continent, like Gough, but in a different sphere. Circumstances, curious in themselves, had drawn us closely together, and now, at the period of which I am writing, r found that o-tirhves had become, almost before I was aware of it, closely aasocia.ted; He was my friend. Men might call him an adventurer. Those whom he had befriended— and they were many—might hold up their- hands m pious horror that they had ever asso- ciated with an outsider. For that I cared no- thing. I knew the true heart of the big-handed, big- faced, clean-shaven man with the fair curly hair,who always reminded me of an overgrown boy that heart which had sympathised with the starving woman and-her child that heart that loved little Myra Stapleton so dearly, which delighted in Nietzche's philosophy, and was now broken because of the dastardly treachery of a man whom he had foolishly treated as his friend. Again I looked at him, as he smoked on in thoughtful silence. CHAPTER VITI. I The Perfect Stranger, I Next morning I received some rather dis- concerting news. A letter informed me that a favourite aunt of mine—from whom I had considerable ex- pectations, by the way-was lying seriously ill at a nursing home down at Worthing. There- fore I drove at once to Victoria and took the next train down. Though a good many people were travelling, I managed to find an empty first-class smoker, but scarcely had I settled myself when another man, dark-bearded, middle-aged, well-dressed, and without luggage, like myself, entered and seated himself in the opposite corner. Ere the train moved off he made a casual remark to me, and we began to chat. He seemed a pleasant fellow, and struck me as a City man making a flying visit to hi- wife and family at the seaside, &K is so often the case. We had smoked and chatted pleasantly for half-an-hour or so when the topic of conversa- tion turned upon traveling. I mentioned that I travelled a good deal on the Continent, when he exclaimed with a sigh Ah! yes and so do I." I then put him down as a commercial tra- veller, for he spoke of the various capitals of Europe with intimate knowledge, My life is spent in almost constant tra- vel," he went on. But, after all, there's no place like England." I agreed with him heartily. Though a cos- mopolitan, I love my own country, notwith- standing its mud and fogs. Then we cnatted all the way down to Worth- ing, where we parted. But before doing so I exchanged cards with my pleasant companion, whose name I discovered was Mr Charles Grinfield." I lunched at Warne's, spent the afternoon at my aunt's bedside, and at 6.33 caught the express to Victoria. An agreeable surprise awaited me when I found my fellow-traveller of the morning lounging up and down the platform awaiting the train. Hullo he cried, pleasantly. I wondered if you might be returning by my train." So together we entered an empty compart- ment and continued our chat. There was something about the man which struck me as indescribably mysterious. Why, I cannot tell. Somehow he seemed unduly in, quisitive regarding my recent movements. That he was a detective was, of conrsc, out of the question. Besides, why should the police keep observation upon myself 1-1 had com- mitted no crime. But I dismissed such weird thoughts from my mind. Perhaps it was that, owing to my cosmopoli- tan existence, I had become distrustful of every stranger. Indeed, I never travelled without a revolver in my Mp-pocket, a habit acquired abroad, and one which had on many occasions secured for me a peaceful night. Alone, in a strange and lonely house, in a strange land, it is really remarkable what security one feels with a handy sii-shooter under one's pillow. "You're too generous to your friends," I declared. Now I confess that before we got to Croydon I entertained some shrewd suspicion of my engaging fellow-traveller who had given his name as Grinfield. Be had been a little too ready to give me his card, and I always dis- trust that action. Quickly made friendships have usually some ulterior motive. And yet, as he sat back in the corner, enjoy- ing his excellent cigar, there was nothing sus- picious about, him. Nevertheless, why had he waited in Worthing to travel back with me T Once in the afternoon I had caught sight of him in the town, but he had instantly aisap- appeared. ttadhe been watching my move- ments ? Some of his remarks were certainly inquiries regarding myself. And this imquisitiveness I naturally resented. This he apparently noticedfot while we were waiting in Croydon Station he suddenly looked me straight in the face and said Mr. RalBton, I see that you are just a little annoyed with me in prying into your affairs." And his bearded face relaxed into a smile. Well," I answered. I confess I don't quite follow your object in asking certain of the questions you have asked. I tell you frankly I consider it a bit of impertinence. How i can my private affairs concern you-—a perfect stranger T" i They concern me greatly," was his prompt L response. I admit that I have been imperti- nent, and for that I apologise and ask your forgiveness. You are no doubt annoyed—I should be if I were in your place." You followed me down to Worthing. Admit t that." Certainly, I admit that, I came down with you in order to have a chat." Then I will leave yflu and get into another [ carriage," I said, rising in anger. 0 b No. Remain here. We shall be in Victoria in a few minutes," he qrged. "I want to speak to you in strictest ^'confidence. If you 3 answer my questions truthfully it will be dia- tinctly to your advantage." •A- I looked him straight in the face in wonder. What could the stranger mean ? At that moment.the train moved slowly off therefore I could only resume my seat. Now, let us be frank, Mr Ralston," said the stranger, his dark eyes fixed upon mine. You are a cosmopolitan, and we have met on many previous occasions, though we have never spoken. Philip Ralston is known in all the capitals—so am I, but under a different name to that I gave you this morning." Then you are masquerading," I cried re- sentfully. Of necessity. I could not exhibit my hand at once to you." And what's in your hand, pray ?" "The winning cards-if you'll help me to play them." I don't follow you." He laughed. Of course you don t. But I will try to explain if you will reply to one or two simple questions." Well ?" You were in Bucharest quite recently ?" I was." And you were at the Hotel Boulevard with a certain Granville Gough ?" I was. Why ?" Mr Gough is a friend of yours ? I have known him a good many years." Rather—er—well, rather an undesirable acquaintance—shall we say T" No," I replied. He is my friend." The stranger who had given me a false name smiled ratiier sarcastically. Surely a rather dangerous friend, Mr. Ralston ? Permit me to say so." No. I do not permit you to say anything against a man who is my friend," I exclaimed, quickly. Not if that friendship constitutes a danger to yourself ?" To myself," I cried. What danger need I fear ?" Well, one hardly likes to be known as the friend or accomplice of an adventurer." I choose my friends, and take the risk, »- was my response. lien I will leave you and get into another carriage," I said. He shrugged his should ersand tossed the end of his cigar out of the wipdow. Very well, my hear sir, I Will say no more, he exclaimed. I approached you as a friend—" And an enemy of Gough," I mterrupted. Ah, there you have entirely misjudged me," the stranger said. Gough is my friend, though his friendship is dangerous-veryt dan- gerous—to me In what way ?" That's a question we cannot enter into now. It is outside this present discussion. I simply tell you that Gough is my friend." What proof have I of that ?" The easiest. Gough is in London, I know. You will see him to-night or to-morrow. See him this very night if you can, and ten hfm,— well, tell him you've met Tom Winch." Winch," I repeated, very well I shall yemember the name." The stranger's attitude puzzled me. He seemed to be treating me with unconcern. IDs chief interest was Granny. If you know that Gough is in London, and is in the habit of visiting me, you surely need not have taken the t ;x>uble to follow me to Worthing, Mr Winch," I remarked. I have reasons for not approaching him." May I not know them ?" I had a motive in speaking to you thus privately—because I am Gough's friend. Ask him and he will tell you whether I speak the truth." Was this man a crook, like Granny ? I ex- amined his dress, and saw that it was just a trifle showy. Was he an adventurer and a. sharper ? It struck me that he was, therefore I grew a little more confidential. I'll certainly see him. Where are you stay- ing, if he wishes to see you See me," he gasped. I hope be won't see me." But he's your friend." That's just why I don't wish to see him." You're speaking in enigmas," I said Why don't you tell me openly what your game is ?" My game is rather an intricate one," he laughed as we swung through one of the sub- urban stations. It is to betray your friend." To betray Granny Gough," I cried, Well my dear sir, you're at least frank." I told you I would be if you replied, to my questions. Granny Gough lives in a glass- house, and stones are dangerous. Certain peolpe are now throwing stones. Do you now follow me ?" Not exactly." Well, then, I will speak plainer. I am here to betray Granny Gough into the hands of the police." y And yet you are his friend," I cried, staring at him. I repeat what I have said, Mr Ralston, Because I am his friend I do not go near him. I have travelled with you to-day in order to speak with you and to Warn him." Of what ?" "Of imminent danger,"was the man Winch's earnest reply. See him to-night as soon as you get to London, and tell him that you ha.ve'. met me, and that I urge him to disappear at once. Every moment brings the peril of arrest nearer. It you are his real friend, Mr Ralston, assist him to get, away from London to-night. Tell him not to try and get back to the Con- tinent. Better for him to remain in hiding in England." But he's at the Hotel Cecil," I exclaimed in apprehension. If the police are in search of him they will easily find him." He is no longer at the Cecil," was the stranger's cool reply. I have already seen to that. This morning I forged your name to a telegram—forgive me for it-telling him to go at once in secret to the Queen's Hotel, near the Crystal Palace, and there await your arrival at nine-thirty to-night. So as soon as we get to .Victoria,take train down to the-Crystal Palace, meet him, and get him clear of London. He only escaped from the Cecil to-day just in time. They are now watching for him there— expecting him to return." « All this is very alarming," I declared. Is there real danger "? Tell me plainly." Danger echoed the stranger. Why, there's the greatest danger. By this time the whole police of England are seeking for him. Therefore arrange his hiding-place in some out-of-the-way place in the country. If he Attempts to leave by any of the Continental routes he'll be arrested instantly. For what ?" Upon a terrible charge—a charge of mur- der I" (To be continued.)
.PICTURES WORTH £ 50,000.
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PICTURES WORTH £ 50,000. JEOPARDISED BY LONDON EXPLOSION. A startling explosion occurred on Saturday immediately opposite Marlborough House, the residence ot the Prince and Princess of Wales. It was caused by the fusing of electric wires under the pavement outside a firm of wine merchants. All the windows of the firm were shivered to atoms. Another firm had their stock scattered, and the men engaged in erecting Venetian masts for the visit of Presi- dent Fallieres had narrow escapes. The Marlborough House fire alarm was rung, and within a few minutes a large number of fire engines and men were on the scene, but with the aid of a hydrant and some sand the flames were extinguished. The seriousness of the explosion lay in the fact that it threatened the premises of Mr Gooden, the well-known picture dealer. There were £ 50,000 worth of pictures in the building, including purchases at Christie's Gallery valued at £10,000 and not yet insured.. Among these was Millais's The Gambler's Wife," for which Mr Gooden gave 2.,200 guineas, while a, Hoppner was valued at 3,000 guineas. A Gainsborough, worth £ 10,000, had just been re- turned from the exhibition in Germany. Only slight damage was done, however.
KING ANB BURQOMASTEftS.
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KING ANB BURQOMASTEftS. His Majesty's German Speech. The German burgomasters now visiting Lon- don were driven in open carriages from tbeir hotel to Buckingham Palace on Saturday to be received by the King. Count Metternich, the German ambassador, formally presented the visitors in a short speech to his Majesty delivered in German, and King, Edward replied in German, heartily welcoming the burgo- masters. The King expressed the earnest hope that they had enjoyed their trip to London. The members of the party were then separately presented to his Majesty, who shook hands with each in turn. The Oberburgermaster of Munich thanked the King for his extreme kindness, and said how greatly he and his colleagues had appre- ciated the invitation to Windsor as well as this morning's reception. Words failed him to ex- press the cordiality, hospitality, and universal kindness which had been extended to the party throughout their English tour. They would carry away grateful recollections, and be earnestly hoped and believed that these interchanges of visits wbnld do something to- wards strengthening the already good relation-. j ships subsisting between the two countries,
Y GOLOFN GYMREIG .
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Y GOLOFN GYMREIG Dymunir i"n gohebwyr Cymrelg eu gohebiaethau, Uyfrau i'w hadolygu, etc., fel y ca.nlvn:—" Ifano. Cii Hedd. Becthwin- street, Cardiff. o.
AT Y BEIRDD.
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AT Y BEIRDD. Tro J. L. Johnson yw hi yr wythnos hon i gael y Golofn iddo ei hun ac onid rhagorol y tal y bryddest am ei gofod ? Sicr ydys na chanodd y bardd o Landysul ddim cystal a hon y mae'r cyfansoddiad drwyddo yn un y gall ymfalchio ynddo. Byw a chywrain, fel arfer, yw englynion Gweledydd.
SANATORIUM.
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SANATORIUM. (Eisteddfod Ysgoldy'r Cyngor, Penyparc, Mai 1,1908.) Gwarchodfa rhag erch adfydU-yw tirion Sanatorium hyfryd; Cloi hafog blm pob clefyd Yw purgamp ei her i gyd. Abercraf. Gwcledydd.
Y WADD.
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Y WADD. (Penyparc eto.) Urtswil ei greddf, isel ei gradd,—heb wstwl Am ei "byd yn ymladd: Un dwria 'i Ilwybrau diradd Dan-fir wedn, iieu dwyn, yw'r w&dd. Abercraf.. Gweledydd.
FY MEBYD.
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FY MEBYD. I. The memories of infancy are wrapped in gloom and mystery." Awen! gwrando ar furmuron Pur adgofion boreu oes Sydd yn sibrwd yn fy nghlustian Am adega.u gwyn, diloes; Ie, distaw yw'r sisialon Ghida Adgof—nid mewn iaitb— Am flynyddau'r niM a'r blodau I'm dyddori ar fy nhaith. Dwylaw Siom ym mynwent Adfyd Gloddiodd fedd adgofion lu, Ond ni chodwyd meini coffa. Uwch y claddle, er mor gu. Ofer felly ydyw chwilio, Fel pererin calon drona, Am yr un o'r mwyn adgofion Gladdodd angharedig Siom. Rhaid clustfeinio'n hir a gwrando Yn ddirwgnach ar fy hynt. Tra mae bysedd Cerdd yn deffro Nodau per y dyddiau gynt. Ust! mi glywaf ryw sllpnuon Dychwel o flynyddau pur Fel boreugerdd 'hedydd bycha-n Sydd erioed heb adwaen cur— Salmau pur o odia-n somber Genais i yng ngwanwyu. oes: Nid oedd dannau yn fy nhelyn Seiniai bruddnod ing na loes. Tannau eraill roddwya ynddi Gan drallodion chwerwon byd— Rhai a ddrylliwyd gan dezntaaiwB Yr anialwchlawer pryd. Ha! na fydded i ddychymyg Gael cydwybod arvddihun: Gwell yw iddi lechu'n ddiddig Tn ei dirgel fan ei hun. Rhwydd hynt i Adgof 'bedeg Yn ol i gyfnod gwell, Yn ysgafn heb Jyfethatr- Mae'r daith drwy'r ttiwl ym mheI1- I ddeffro awgrymiadao Am ddyddiau disglair, byw, Gylch Eden-ardd fy mebyd, Oedd hardd fel boreu Duw, I adgyfodi'r tegwch A wisgal ddol a bryil, A dwyf gyssegru'r llwybam & dagrau hiraeth syn. n. ""The happiest and the sweetest thing thou art, my child divine." Carolwn fel y mwyalch Ar laslwyn ger fy nhy, Hyd hirddydd haf digwmwl, Dan wehau heulwen gu; Yn nwyfiant byw plentyndod, Heb nabod gwell nag^raeth, Pob tegan oedd fel eilun rr Affricanwr caeth; Ac iechyd mewn ttysÏnéb A ddawnsiai ar ddwy tfoeh Fel natur yn deheuig Brydferthu rhosyn coch. Mor sionc fy symudiadau a'r ewig ysgafndroed Pan glywo drwst y gelyn Yn deffro yn y coed; "Roedd bywyd yn ei ffyniant Fel yr aderyn rhydd Yn« ngwanwyn rktw^a. oarolL Weo nds i fritho'i Sia^adwn hecid i'ri«Sk>n Wnai fynwes Mai werdd Cyn canfod un helygen I grc^l mekrs gerdd. Gwreiddioldeb a nodweddai Pob gair ddae dros fy min- 'Doedd Ieuan bach yn debyg I neb ond iddo 'i bun; Un digrif, ond naturioi, Fel cawod Ebrill hardd Yn disgyn i adfywio Rhoslwyni teca'r ardd; Uchelgais heb ddadguddio Pinaclau gwynion clod, A'r meddwl pur heb dynnu Un llinell gam erio'd; "Boedd mangre hedd cychwyniad Fy muchedd loew bryd Yn addurn gylch yr aelwyd 0 gyrraedd swn y byd. Yn nhyrnor diofalon Aeth gwres fy sftl yn fflam Pan wasgwyd i fy yspryd Rinweddau tad a mMn; Rhieni duwiolfrydig A'u hymffrost yn y Groes^ Dywysai'm traed yn foreu Hyd lwybrau rhina moes; Tra'n dringo'r mynydd santaidd Y nos i gwrdd & Duw, Troasai 'i addewidion Yn salmau yn eu clytr; A blodau crefydd dyfent Yn ddwyfol hardd o'u hoi, Fel brjeill gwylaidd Ebrill Brydfertha lawr y ddol. l Mor ysgafn y disgvnna Y gyfnos o law Mr Pan y machludo'r huan Tu cefn i'r eang for! Mor betaidd ydyw miwsig Yr awel yn ei chlyw Wrth adrodd cyfrinacbad Yn Hawn o feddwl Duw. Mehisach ydoedd gwrando Cyfrinion cariad mam, Ddisgynnai fel can engyl Ar glustiau un dihain: Hi'm suai i baradwys Ddibryder gwledd a grills Prin y caf well gorffwysfa Ar fynires Duw Ei Hun. Doe gras y net bob boreu Heb ball am flwyddi maith, Fel angel cafedigrwydd I'm noddi ar fy nhaith: •Ddaeth newyn na gwg eisieu Erioed at gil y drws: Dioichwn am ddigonedd Drwy ganu emyn tlws; A thywyniadau huan— Creawdwr boreu gwdl- Ymlidiai hwyrnos adfyd Dros ael y gorwel pfell. III. "And there were joy and expectations." 'Roedd y byd i gyd yn gwenu, A phob gVdn yn troi'n fwynhad, Gan ariannu y dyfodol Gyda ffrwyth breuddwydion mid. Credwn gydag hyder saataidd Fod y gwyn hwnt i bob lien; Ond er amled y breuddwydion, Ni ddaeth un o'r rhain i ben. Olwyn fawr Rhagluniaeth Duwdod- Ha ni welir hon i gyd- Mwy n^'i banner sy'n goddiadig Yn y nef o olwg byd. Cyfnod brif" heb gysgoddreinUwyn I broffwydo ing na phoen, Oedd ddedwydded i fy maboed "g yw gwanwyn gwyrdd i oen; Gwell uåg angel yn gofahi Y doedd mam tlwch ietianc gryd; Dawnsiai gwên alltudiai bryder Ar ei didwyll wynebpryd. Fel y mte y'm pnwyd ynddo. Weithiau'gwmwl, weithiau haul, 'Roedd ci ch^lon yn fy ngharu A'm mynwesu bob-yn-ail. Hi sislalai hwiangerddi Cymru yn fy nghlyW dinam Mewnysprydieteth; agwladgarwch Oedd cyweirnod alaw mam. Swyn y cerddi salmber hynny A gynfeuodd wladgar din. Ddeil i losgi yn angherddol Yn ei niab at; c. Wlad y Gin n Carwn fod yn ieuanc eto ennyd fach; Dotiaf ar y gwamryn a'i awelon iach. Ral mae heulog Hefin a'i brydferthwch gwyw Yn fy ngadael weithian am gynteddau Duw, Tra mae hydref dejfiol gyda'i farug gwyn Ar ei ymdatth ataf; ai cysurlawn hynt Yn ddisymwth, cludodd angel Cariad ddeilen i^y llaw, Roes addewid y caf dreuiio Hefin gwell heb gawod wlaw, Ar brydferthach bryn Ua'r ddaear- } Cartref pob tlysineb gwiw,— 'Feiddia hagrweh byd am eiliad x Godi pabell lie mae Duw. Llandysul. D. L. Johnson.
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Mr E. R. Horsfall-Trimer is about to issue the Municipal History of Llanidloes." Already Mr Horsfall-Turner has issued a reliable guide to Llanidloes, and his Wander- ings in Cardiganshire" is a most enjoyable •hook. i
.,Jl■v-.'.'.'l"■ll.JUf.,lit"IBB—wsnmmm—war-1lnu
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,Jl v-l" ■ll.JUf.,lit" IBB—wsnmmm—war-1 l nu The Outburst. By JOHN FINNEMORE. I. In a large room of a great Russian country house a girl sat writing at a table. A single glance at her would have told that here was no Slav, ao native of the soil. She was a little above middle size, and her brown hair, hazel eyes, and the charming oval of her face marked her as an English girL Evelyn Bridge was English to the end of her dainty finger-tips, but for the last two years she had been an inmate of the vast Palace of Prince Yelmoloff, four hundred versts to the south-east of St. Petersburg. She was neither governess nor companion, but something be- tween the two. She read and talked English with the two daughters of the house, she wrote the English letters to the Princess. Her duties were very easy, her salary was very good, and the young Yermoloffs were the best of friends to her. Yet in the autumn of 1905, Evelyn felt very uneasy amid the splendour which sur- rounded her. She often thought with longing of the quiet, homely English safety of the little vicarage under the North Downs, the spot which meant home to her. At this moment she was writing to her mother, and saying in reply to a very anxious letter that she had received, that so far the wide lands which owned the rule of Prince Yermoloff were unswayed by the spirit of revolt which had flamed up so fiercely and sud- denly among the peasantry. This was strictly true, for the monjiks had as yet shown no sign of uprising, but an unrest pervaded the country, an unrest which Evelyn felt as strongly as anyone, but no hint of which she dared put into her letter lest it should further alarm anxious hearts at home. She looked up from her notepaper, and glanced round the room. The whole vast palace was a marvel of luxury which wealth can obtain. She was sitting in the crimson saloon, a great apartment, of which the splendid white- and-gold furniture was upholstered in crimson damask. The wails were panelled with crim- son damask also, and the floor was covered by a priceless crimson carpet. This room was but one of a suite, the others being adorned in like manner in yellow, blue and green. Eve- lyn had become accustomed now to the splen- dour of the stately mansion, but at first she had felt as if she had been transported into the midst of the Arabian Nights. She finished her letter and glanced at her watch. In an hour and a half the Princess would need her. Up to that moment she was quite free, and she resolved to go for a good walk while still the sun was high above the vast pine wood which encircled the chateau. Ten minutes later, she let herself out at a side door opening on the gardens, crossed the latter and struck at a brisk pace down a broad avenue through the forest. Within ten minutes shp had lost, sight of the building, and seemed to be in the midst of a primeval wilderness. The park lay on the other side of the house, and this was un- touched woodland, a sweep of thick growing pine and hemlock with gnarled trunks and mossy branches. Suddenly from a cross path which debouched into the avenue, a tall figure appeared with a j gun in the hollow of his arm. At the next mo- ment his cap was swept off. Good morning, Miss s Bridge," he called cheerily, and Evelyn smiled and responded, Good morning, mi Gordon." They stopped and shook hands. Itwas quite clear they were very friendly as became com- patriots, living amongst strangers in a far-off land. George Gordon was a tall, straight, handsome young fellow of eight-and-twenty, and for seventeen years of his life he had lived on the Yermoloff estate. Seventeen years before, the Prince, tired of lazy and incompetent Russian overseers, had written to a friend of his in Scotland, and begged him to send a manager in whom a be-, wildered owner could put faith. In response to this request Robert Gordon had appearodand taken affairs into his capable Scotch hands, and Ihe Prince had blessed his lucky stars, Robert, who was a widower, had been accompanied by his son George, and the boy had grrown up on the estate. When George was twenty-four, his father had died, but the son was at once corfirmed in the post which his father had held. Nor was it a position to be despised. The salary was twelve thousand roubles and a fine house on the outskirts of the village. The house was altogether too big for George, and he had been feeling lonely in it. But of late he had been turning over in his titind a remedy for this. and now he was hoping hi« he ttiigjit be abte to p^r- suade Evelyn Bridge to stay in "Russia and share it with him." But as yet he had not said a. word. Miss Bridge," said George, I hope you are not going far." "Only a stroll through the forest and back," she said, why do you ask ?" These are queer times, you know,' said George. The country is in a frightful uproar. It's quiet here, at present, but we never know when the storm may break." Have you any fresh news ?" asked Evelyn, Well, there was a disturbance the day be- fore yesterday," said George, gravely." Over at Bielostok, about seventy versts away, the peasants attacked a. manor-house, plundered and burnt it. The owner and his family had to fly for their lives." How dreadful said Evelyn. I was in Wenden (the local town) yester- day," went on George, and there ace great difficulties there. The bank has stopped pay- ment, and half the merchants are ruined.' The state of the country is fearful," mur- mured Evelyn. Yes," said George. I am glad I haven't a kopeck at stake in the business., But my father never trusted a Russian bank for a moment. The distance made it awkward, but he always pinned his faith in the old bank in Edinburgh that he knew, and events have proved that he was very wise." At this moment a horseman trotted along the avenue. It was Prince Yermoloff himself, whom George wished to see. The young man took leave of Evelyn and went to join the magnate; the English girl resumed her walk. Within twenty minntes she reached a little hamlet lying in the woods, thetpointt at which she intended to turn back. But before turn- ing she could not help standing to gaze upon the scene and contrast it with the glittering magnificence she had so lately left. Just/as the chateau was the highest embodiment of the splendour amid which man may live, so the huts of these peasants were the lowest and fil- thiest forms of the squalor amid which life may be still maintained. Each hut was no more than a low wretched cabin of a single room, mud-walled, straw thatched, damp, incredibly and horribly dirty, with heaps of rotting filth before each door. This was not the main village of the estate. That lay far away beyond the great pine woods —this was only a knot of cottages inhabited by the woodmen who cut fuel for the great house, and so were permitted to live within a mile and a. half of it. On her way back, Evelyn took a slightly different path, and came upon half-a-dozen of the woodmen engaged in cut- ting up and removing a great pine which had fallen in a recent storm. ♦ Again shestood and looked at these peasants with a new interest, for were not the fellows of these men breaking out into open and violent revolution, burning, destroying, killing, if their victims were not warned in time. At the pre- sent moment nothing seemed more unlikely f.han that these men should break out into deeds of violence. True, theyvrere huge, shaggy fellows with unkempt hair and beard, and looked as rudte and wild as men could look. But they were so humble and submissive in their demeanour that it seemed one need fear them no more than one feared the big patient oxeii in the plough. Yet, however, there was one point to be taken into consideration, and that was oxen had no taste for vodka, the cheap, fiery, poisonous spirit which tamed these big quiet fellows into dangerous mad- men. This thought erbasecl Evelyn's mind as she walked onward. n. Dusk had closed in that evening, and George Gordon was sitting at his desk before a large window in a room on the ground floor of his house. He was writing letters when he heard a faint scratching on the window before him. He looked up and saw, for the blinds had not been drawn, that a hand with five fingers out- stretched was laid flat against the glass. No- thing else was to be seen, but he understood the signal at once. It had been arranged so that the man outside could talk with him-with- out the servants of the house being any wiser as to whom had come and gone. George went at once to the door and locked it. He put out his lamp and when the room was in darkness opened the window which reached within afoot of the ground. The new-comer stepped in, and then every blind was drawn elose and the lamp was relighted. The rays of the lamp showed George the short, spare familiar figure of the Btarosta, the Elder of the village, the president of the village council. ♦* What now, Pavlo?" said George. There's something wrong ?" He spoke in Russian, for he had mastered that difficult language till it slipped as easily from his lips ae from those of a native. Excellency," said Pavio, it is all wrong, Our time of trouble has come. There-are wild folks in the village to-night." Who are they ? When did they come ?* demanded George. He had been in the village some three hours before. It had been quiet enough then. They are revolutionists," murmured the Starosta. They came about two hours a.go. There are twenty or thirty of them. Most were on foot, but they had a carriage full of wounded with them." Wounded," cried George. What do youtv mean ?" Excellency, there has been a riot on an estate thirty versts to the south. But Cossacks were fetched and there was a fight. The sol- diers won, and this party has fled from the battle. They say that many were killed." George nodded. His mind was workin quickly, and it was made up in an instant. You're a good old chap,Pavlo, to run to me with the news," he said, patting the Starosta on the shoulder. It may mean much or it may mean little. It depends on what sort of people these are who have dropped into the village. In any case, things must be looked after without delay." He put out the lamp, and this time both passed through the window and went towards the stables. Five minutes later the Starosta was returning towards the village, and George Gordon was galloping at full speed for the chatean. When he arrived at the great house he sent in his card to the Prince, marking it in one corner with a cabalistic .sign which his patron, and his patron alone, would understand. In consequence, he was taken by the Prince's own attendant by narrow and private passages to a small cabinet where the master awaited his coming. Prince Yermoloff was a tall, thin man of fifty, pale-faced, and wearing a careless look of dignity, which was not unkindly. In many ways he was typically Russian. He was not harsh to the peasants on his vast estate, and on the other hand, he did not concern himself greatly with their welfare. To him it seemed perfectly natural that a peasant should live in a hovel, and a Prince in a palace, and he left it at that. He was merely one of that great band of Russian landlords who were now being taught some elementary lessons as to the rights of man, in so dreadful a fashion. Well, Gordon," he said in English, What does this mean ? You have marked your card with the danger signal, so I am meeting yon well out of earshot of the ladies." George told his tale, and the Prince's brow darkened. A band of revolutionists in the village," he muttered. That looks bad." He deliberated for a few moments, then raised his head. "We'll go and see what they're doing," he said we'll go as a couple of peasants, Gordon," and George bowed agree- ment. Fifteen minutes later the Prince and the young Scotsman slipped out of a sma.ll private postern door and mounted a couple of horses which were held ready for them by a groom. They trotted away along an avenue which led them at once out of sight of the house, and the groom followed. Half-a-mile from the vil- lage they dismounted in a thick wood, left the horses with the servant,and pushed forward on foot. Both were disguised as peasants. They wore huge shaggy sheepskms, for though the snow had not yet come, the autumn night was bitterly cold, and their caps were pulled low over their ears. These great coats and caps, with their trousers stuffed into huge clumsy boots, and a bristling pair of false moustachios on each face, hid their identities completely. It was the Prince's own village into which he was walking, yet he well knew that if a cer- tain spirit had been raised by the revolution- ists, it were safer for him to walk into a den of lions. Hence the need for disguise. And it followed that Gordon must be disguised also, or the identity of his companion might be sus- pected. Almost at the entrance to the village stood a kabak, the village public-house. The uproar within and around it was deafening. Vodka had done its vile work on the moujiks, and a babel of drunken outcries rung out on the night. The Prince and George thrust their way through a knot of disputing men at the door and entered the place. For a second the filthy reek caught thefai by the throat and choked them, then they breathed again. The smell of the spirit, the disgusting odour of close packed and unwashed humanity, the air which had been breathed over and over again, all mingled to nauseate those coming in from the sweet cold freshness of the pinewoods, but they crushed back the nausea and pushed on to find where their danger lay, and to find how far the moujiks had been roused against their master. They found that up to the IPresent drinking had been the order of the day, and that the speaking was about to commence. The first to address the crowded throng of half-drunken peasants was a tall, thin, pale-faced man, a shoemaker in Wenden, well known for his advanced opinions. He put forward the familiar question of the down-trodden condition of the Russian workers.and of the line they must take to better their hopeless state. He was clear. sound and convincing, and George knew that the man was right, that something must be done. The next speaker was a girl of eighteen, a short, broad, thick-set girl, a student who had beensenthome from the University of Moscow, and who had been in the fray that day. Across her face was a great purple weal, and she laid her finger on it. This- sbe'eriod, *» th« ar- ol cbe MtftatiM (o oia ^nMlocJo*- tice. The Cossack nagaika.the huge whip which b^ngs at his saddle-bow.a lash from that is the omy answer we receive," and then she plunged into a torrent of denunciation which roused her hearers to frenzy. Kill," cried tLe wild voice, kill them all, these proud aristocrats who eat off plates of gold while children die of famine-fever in the huts on their estate. Let them know that there is a limit to their power, that they too can suf- fer as well as we." George began to feel profoundly uneasy and to regret that the Prince had taken this fashion of finding out what was happening in his vil- lage. These were no ox-like moujiks, these pale-faced, wild-eyed revolutionaries, fresh from a battle where they had seen their friends fall by Cossack shot and steel. Then an awful proof of their sufferings was exhibited. After reaching the village a badly-wounded man had died, and now the body was raised on the platform where the speakers stood, and was shown to the audience. Look on this," shrilled the frenzied voice of the Mcenad-like girl. See, Stepan was this morning as you are. He talked with us, he laughed, he was eager for the good of the people. Here is the answer of those who rule over us." She tore aside the dead man's shirt, and showed the gaping wound in his breast. "Stepan was answered with the bayonet. What answer shall we give ?" The question was received with a savage yell; the wolves in the great forest close by could not have raised a more dreadful cry. Then a frightful thing happened. Prince Yer- moloff had pushed his way deeper into the crowd than George, and they were separated. He required the use of a handkerchief, and what did the unhappy man do, without think- ing, but draw out his own delicately-scented, cambric handkerchief from the pocket of the fine clothes covered by the great sheepskin. Through the foul air George caught a waft of the exquisite scent, and saw what the Prince had done he had destroyed his incognito. Beside the Prince stood a short man who turned and seized the handkerchief as the scent reached his nostrils. What is this ?" screamed the revolutionist, you are no mouiik. You are a spy." A score of hands seized the unlucky Yer- moloff, and tore away his cap, his coat, his dis- guise. 1 1. The Prince roared fifty voices, and then uprose wild yells of Aristocrat," Spy," n Traitor." Yermoloff turned to thrust his way through the crowd, but a savage foe was upon him at once. A knife clashed in the air behind him, and was then buried deep between his shoulders. He pitched forward on his face, and the mad- dened crowd of enemies to his order closed over him as a pack of wolves close over a dy- ing stag. For five seconds George fought like a madman to gain his patron's side. He fought in vain. The close-packed seething masss of foes who struck and stabbed at the fallen noble, was not to be penetrated. Then a thought Bashed into the Scotsman's brain, and he turned and pushed from the kabafe. Nothing could be done for the Prince. What of the four helpless women in the chateau ? In that yelling, whirling throng his move. ments had drawn no suspicion on him, and he was soon in the open air. He ran at full speed, to the spot where the groom had been left. There were the horses, but there was no sign of the man. George leapt on the back of the Prince's big bay, for he knew it was the fdflfzkQf. &rii4 Ó'J1rtnAr1 nwHv lAP f.Ko -¡ & He dismounted at the great door,and ran up the steps. The porter admitted him, and he sent the man at once with a message to Evelyn, asking her to come to him in a small ante-room opening from the hall. In a few mo- ments she came a horrible pang went through George at sight of that graceful figure gliding towards him across the wide hall. He knew he contraction of heart which seizes one who sees a dearly-beloved person in danger. Evelyn stepped into the room, and started for a moment at sight of George in peasant. dress. He had plucked away the disguise from his face. Then she came swiftly towards him. What is it, Mr Gordon ?" she said. You have come with ill news. You are pale as death. Very ill news, Miss Bridge," said George quietly. I most tell you, for it will fall to you to break it to the Princess." Evelyn nodded, but did not speak. Her great bright eyes were fixed intently on George's face. She was pale to the lips when he had finished his story, but she did not flinch. Then we are all in danger," she said in-a low voice. In great danger," said George, "if they attack the house." I will go to the Princess at onco," said Evelyn. Come with me—she will wish to see you." They had crossed the hall, and were at the head of the fight of stairs which ran up to the apartments occupied by the family, when both, stopped dead and looked at each other. A tre-. mendous uproar had broken out in some dis- tant part of the house, in the servants' quarters. "They know. They have heard,"said George, and Evelyn nodded. How the news had flashed thither they never knew. Either by the groom or by some other swift messenger the story of the Prince's fate was already known in his palace and among his servants. Run on," cried George. I will watch." Evelyn flew forward and George waited • anxiously. He had not liked the sound of the T 1 uproar at all. Certainly it was not a cry of grief. It sounded much more like mischief. Two minutes later a door opened in the di- • rection of the wild outcries, and the figure of an elderly man rushed across the hall. His clothes were torn and dishevelled, blood was streaming across his face from a wound in his head. It was Ivan the house steward, and he was pursued by a mob of footmen in gay livery, huge fellows one and all. for they had been picked for their size. Ah murmured George to himself, "re- bellion within and without. Here's a frightful fix." Ivan was running for the stairs. Itwaa clear that he meant to warn the family, and that his subordinates intended if possible to < prevent him. One pursuer was far ahead of the rest, a heavy cudgel in his hand. He gained upon the older man, he swung. his stick on i high, but it never fell. George's hand darted under the sheepskin and drew out the revolver f which he had slipped into his pocket upon earing the Starosta's news. There was a loud crack, and a puff of smoke eddied slowly up. The heavy .455 bullet struck the huge mutineer and he dropped as if he had been felled with a poleaxe. This checked the pursuit, and Ivan scrambled up the stairs. They have gone mad," he panted, they speak of the death of the Prince they shout lor joy they talk of plundering the house." Look here, Ivan," said George, shortly can these rascals get at the ladies by any other stair than this ?" ■ Only the little stairs at the other side," panted the steward. Then run through and make that door safe," said George. He followed the steward from the landing, through the door whieh led to the family apartments, and shot the great bolt on the inner side. He was dragging forward a heavy sofa to further bar the entrance, when Evelyn came swiftly to his side. Oh, Mr Gordon," she cried, what new terror is this ?" They have risen indoors as well as out," said George. Listen The uproar had broken out anew in the great hall. The mutineers were howling vengeance on the bold hand which had checked their murderous rush. Evleyn came, near and laid a hand on the rough sheepskin. But, Mr Gordon," she said, in a low voice, why should you stay in this dangerous place ? In your disguise you could easily pass through them and escape." George turned and took her hand. Her pale face was flushed at once with warm colour, but she did not withdraw the hand he had seized. Aad leave you, Evelyn," he said, and leave you, when for a long time now I have been only waiting an opportunity to tell you that I love you dearly, that your welfare is a hundred times more precious to me than my own existence." He threw the shaggy arm of his great sheep- skin coat round her pretty evening dress, ahd drew her to his side. Her answer was in her beautiful eyes, and for a second the lovers clung together and their lips met. Then a tre- mendous crash against the door at their side brought thorn back to the needs of their des- perate situation, and they hurried to join the rest of the party. They found the Princess and her daughters, pale and weeping, in the last room of the suite, where Ivan stood at the door of the little stair- case. Why have you not closed the door T" roared George. No, no," said Ivan, all is quiet this way. I will lead the ladies to the stables. There is no one there. The men have all rushed up to the house. Then I will put a pair of horses in a light carrage and drive them to Wenden." And safety, good," replied George. "Away with you at once. I will keep these gentlemen in play." He nodded towards the distant door, where loud splintering crashes told that the furious crowd was breaking in the door he had barred against them. He ran back through the rooms fearing that they were already in, but he found that the massive oaken door had not yet given, though there were rents in it. He flew across the room, placed the mouth of his pistol in a gaping crack, and fired thrice. A furious out- burst of oaths and yells told that the bullets had not gone astray, and the attacking crowd scattered and fell back. He waited moment after moment, counting the seconds he wished to give the ladies time to get clear of the house, then he would hurry after them. A faint sound came to his ear, and he glanced round. Evelyn was hurrying down the long room to- wards him. They have gone," she whispered breath. lessly. Come now, quickly. You need stay no longer." And you have come back to fetch me ?" cried George in a transport of grateful admira- tion, oh, dearest, you should not have run the risk." A fine thing if I had gone off with them, and left you uncertain when to follow," said Evelyn dauntlessly, all seems quiet here." Yes, I have driven them off for the mo- ment," said George. Hand in hand the lovers were hurrying fot the little stairs, when George stopped and held Evelyn fast. .c They are there, they are there," he hissed below his breath. It was only too true. Heavy feet clattered on the little stairs, rude rough voices rang up the narrow staircase. Beset both TOttt twy» i, ,T George Gordon did not hesitate for an in. stant. They were crossing- an unlighted re. nd he leapt to the window, and thing it open., It Was a clear twenty foot drop to the ground outside. He seized the window curtains, and tore them down as if they had been rotten rags. He knotted them together and lengthened them with the stout silken cords which looped them back. As he did so he whispered swift directions to Evelyn, and the prompt, brave girl seconded him with the utmost pluck and coolness. In a trice he had a loop round her waist, and she had poised herself on the sill. Then he let her down steadily and cautiously. As soon as the rope slackened he made his end fast to a stanchion and swarmed down it. As he swung himself out of the window he had a glimpse of a brutal crowd swarming into the room and through tt" intent on talking him in the rear. It was the closest of close shaves. He dropped to the ground and found that Evelyn had already freed herself of the loop. They took each other's hands and fled into the darkness of the thick-growing shrubberies. Not until they were far from the house did they pause to draw a breath and savour the sweetness of escape. At that instant they heard the roar of a great mob approaching the chateau by the main avenue. The revolutionists and five handred mou- jiks to back them have arrived," said George. The chateau will be a heap of ashes by morn- ing. We must strike right away at once." Hush," said Evelyn in his ear. I hear th. sound of a horse's feet." They remained perfectly still; and in a mo- ment the horse passed them. But it was rider- less, and George knew it at once. It was th6 big bay. He had turned it loose when he leapt from its back, and the creature was wander- ing about cropping the grass here and there. In a trice George had caught it. Here's luck," he murmured. "Nowwe'l soon be in Wenden." He swung Evelyn up t. the front of the broad saddle and sprang be- hind her. Then the big bay, to whom tht double burden was a featherweight, was headed for an avenue which would carry them deal of the track of all enemies. They were within three versts of Wenden and could already see the lights of the towv When they drew up towards a carriage traveL ling at a good speed. The wind brought bacli- to them the cracks of a whip and the voice oi an eager driver.. It is Ivan," said George," the Princess and her daughters are safe." And we are safe now," said Evelyn. W. shall be in Wenden soon." Yes, dearest, but we won't stay there any longer than we can help," murmured George I'm sure you've had enough of Russia, and I know I have. We'll clear affairs up, and thes* I'll take you home and put you safe in your mother's hands. But you'll only stay there c little while, Evelyn, only a little while." And the lovers held each other closer still. (The End.) Next Ttr^fV WHEN MEN BELIEVED. By Marjorie Bowen.
NO CASE TO ANSWER.
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NO CASE TO ANSWER. Swansea Charges of False Pretence Dismissed. At Swansea Police Court on Saturday Thomas A. Fox (37), commission agent, wat. charged (1) with obtaining £1 Is from Mrs A. J' Chappell, by false pretences; (2) with obtaining 158 from Mrs Rowe (3) a sum from Mr Levert (4) 12s 6d from Mr Walters; (5) a sum from Albert Chidgey; and (6) £9 10s from Mnf Jenkins, of the Osborne Hotel, Langland Bay. Mr Verley Price, who prosecuted, said with. respect to the first case that Messrs Wills pub- lisbed for the Great Western Railway Co. tt guide entitled South Wales, the Country of Castles." in which Mrs Chappell had an adver- J tisement, and on the 16th April defendant called and said £1 Is was due. She paid him, and received a receipt signed Thomas A« Fox, per pro Messrs Morton and Co., Higfc Holborn, London, W.C." Messrs Morton were a firm doing a similar business to Messrs Wills, publishing certain books for railway companies;, but in none of their guides were there adver- tisements from Swansea. Defendant had bee^ appointed by the Bristol agent of Messii Morton (a Mr Cooke) as his sub-agent, but had, never been authorised to collect money or ta give receipts, but merely to canvass for adver- J tisements. Mrs Chappell was called, and said defendant asked her for a subscription for the advertise* ment. She did not ask what it was for, as she only had one advertisement, and thought ii must refer to the guide in which she adver. tised. She received a receipt, but defendant diq not tell her he represented any firm. At tht time she paid the guinea she gave (defendanj an order for an advertisement in a guide whick be said Messrs Morton issued. Mr Vaughan Edwards submitted for the do fence that defendant had made no represents tions whatever, and there was consequently n< case to answer. The charge was dismissed. The sixth charge was then proceeded witty and a large number of witnesses were called The evidence for the prosecution was not con- eluded when the magistrates decided t# adjourn. Mr Vaughan Edwards, for the d« fence, applied for bail, saying he had a cotnr plete defence. Adjourned for a week, d'efeœ dant being released on his own recognjsancea.