Kawartha Lakes Public Library Digital Archive

Fenelon Falls Gazette, 6 Jan 1899, p. 6

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. her quickly, WW gnaw Diamond Cut _._,____.__ ______.__ Diamond 0R, THE ROUT OF THE ENEMY. ficfissm (‘HAPZCER X.â€"Continued. "You have heard news?" he asked with a look of appre- hension, half raising himself in his chair. "No, noâ€"nothing," she answered socthingly, passing her hand caressing- ly upon the sleeve of his coat; "it is onlyâ€"as before." "Ahâ€"des amants i” he said, with a smile. “My poor Rose! And it is thy misfortune, never thy fault, my daughter." She was silent, looking away from him, for this time she knew that it had been h:r fault. ' . "It is that young manâ€"did you not say his name was Dane? A name of illâ€"omen, my child, that should have warned you from admitting him withâ€" in your doors. Of course, he is no re- lation iâ€"-â€"l think you told me that." She had never told him. He had taken it for granted, and she had not cared to undeceive him. It was only after they had settled themselves down at Hidden House that the name of the clergyman had startled her, and it was long before she discovered that he was in truth, a brother of Matthew Dane, ’the head of the great merchant house of Dane and Trichet. Why-disturb the old man’s rest by revealing such an unwelcome and unexpected coin- cidence to him? . . She knew that a Protestant clergy- man was not likely to enter their house; as a friend, he would not be received, and as priest, their religion protected them from his possible visits. She had not meant to deceive him, only to shield him from annoying ideas. When Geoffrey had been introduced to him, it had been merely as the Aug-- lican cler yman’s son, that he was the nephew 0. ‘his uncle had never been revealed to him. 2 Yet there was a certain sense of treachery upon his soul, as though she 'had tampered with the natural en- emies of her race. ~\Vas that why she was so bitterly punished? she asked of herself in her remorse. To Monsieur de Brefour the notion that Rose had admirers, was an amus- ing one. He even chuckled over it a little to himself; it did not occur to him that to Rose herself there could possibly be any tragic complication in the situation. " Old Martine entering with the tray for his dinnerâ€"little delicacies which she had cooked herself of sweetbread and daintin fried potatoesâ€"was greet- ed by an unwonted outburst of hil- arity from her old master. "See here, Martine," stretching out his long, lean finger playfully at his daughter-in-law, "Madame has lovers ~impertinent young donkeys, who want to pay court to her. \Ve must leave, I am told, because of Madame's admirers! She breaks their hearts by the dozen, the heartless one, and much she cares! Ah] what it is to be young and beautiful!" - ‘ 1 Martina threw a swift look of ter- ror at Madame’s flushing face. It might be a joke to the old man, but was it one to her? Martina knew better. , ,' ‘ As for Rose, she bore it bravely, as she bore all things. Though the hot color, partly pain, and partly shame, had flooded her beautiful face, yet she joined faintly in the laughter, kissed the old man on the forehead, uncovered the dainty little silver dish~ es, and stayed to help him to them. Only, without, in the narrow passage, her heart failed her, when hfartine clutched her convulsiver by both hands. ' "Ah, my poor treasure," said the faithful creature brokenly, "is it nev- er to endâ€"never And this oneâ€"such a beau jcune hommel Grande dieu, but it is hard!" “Hush, Martine, you must not talk like that; Monsieur is right to laugh, it is ridiculous you know for me, quite ridiculous.” l And then the tears burst forth, and Rose turned and fled into the sanctu- ary of her own bedchamber.‘ A week laterâ€"the east winds still blew cold and keen over the Downs; the daffodils and primroses still bloom- ed .in a blaze of yellow in sheltered corners under the hedges and along the tangled border of the drive; there were a few more little bright green buds upon tlw sycamorcs and the lilnc bushes than a week ago, a little furâ€" ther promise of summer that strug- gled out into life in spite of adverse circumstances-no other change; when a young man came springing up the hill with that light, buoyant step which youth, and hope, (and happy love alone can give. His face was bright with n glad expectancy, his brown eyes shone, his lips were curled into a smile as he came. She had not sent to meet him at the station, but that was nothing; he gave his bag to a porter and hurried on on foot, eager to look once more into the face that “up; so dear to him. When he came in sight of the grcy gateway, he wonâ€" dered perhaps a little that the famil- inr graceful figure was not standing there to greet him; wondered a little too, that the sharp bark of her little dog did not ring as usual upon his cars. It was only a small, mild won- der, nothing more, no npprchcnsion, no anxiety was in his mind; perhaps she was out driving, perhaps the old man was ailing, and she was in his room. \Vhst did it matter! In a few min- utets, a few seconds indeed. he would be with her. When he pot within sight of the house, something strange and unexâ€" pected in its appearance struck upon him with a cold chill. There was a stillness as of death itself upon Hid- den llmzee. There were no muslin curtains at the windows. no bright flower-pot filled with daffodils upon the library window sill, and in one of the upper rooms the shutters were cloaed; no smoke came from the chim- neys, and not a sign of life was to be seen or heard. Fairly alarmed atlast. Geoffrey hastened forward and rang the door-bell; it clanged loudly at his touch, and the echovs went ringing on and on in a ghostly fashion within, dying away by degrees into the per- fect silence from which they had been awakened. He waited, perhaps three whole min- utes, then, sick with a horrible dread of he knew not what, he rang again This time, distant sounds from the further side of the house responded to his call. Heavy steps came stumping along the passage, and were followed lby a great unbarring and unchaining and unlocking within. Then the door opened wide, and a very dirty-faced, roughâ€"haired woman, with her sleeves :tucked up above her elbows, and her { gown gathered up about her waist, 2‘ confronted him, with a dustpan in her hand andalook of much astonishment in her grimy face. "Law, Mr. Geoffrey,‘fancy it’s being you! I couldn't think whoever it I could be. aringing so." I It_ was a woman out of his father's , parish who earned her living by the ‘homely process known as "going out chairing." ' “Where is Madame de Brefour i” was all that Geoffrey 'could find voice to say, and. he said it with a gasp, with a face as white as death. “Them furrineering people you mean, Sir? Oh! they've leftâ€"turned out bag and baggage last Tuesday as eyer was, and a good job, says I, to get rid of a lot of Papists and jabbering furrin servants as never do no good in a decent English parish. Yes, they was off quite sudden like, and Mr. \Vright he 'telegraphs to meâ€"quite giv’ that tallygram .did, sirâ€" as how I'd minded the But I says to my old man, says Iâ€"â€"â€"" .“Never mind," broke in Geoffrey im- patiently, “tell me gone." , “What, them furriners, sir? knows, I don’t." "Have they left no address, no orders about forwarding lettersâ€"nothing 2" "Nothing as I knows on, sir." He pushed past her into the house, and entered the library. where they have \Vhat a dreadful thing is a room we have loved and been happy in, when shorn of the presence that has beautiâ€" fied it in our eyes. A woman’s room most especially is utterly desolate, when _she who had made it her own, and lived in it daily, has left it for ever. iliar place with a sort of despair. The books were all gone, the bookâ€"shelves standing bare, and empty, like yawnâ€" Lng caverns out of which jewels have been taken; gone too, was the litter of magazines and papers upon the ta- ble. The vases that were wont to be always filled with fresh flowers, the cushions that used to pillow her 10Ve1y head, the footstool upon which her tiny slippers were wont to restâ€"«gone ‘the litter of nick-nacks from the vwriting- table and. the mantelshelf, and all the small trifles with which a woman's daily life surrounds itself. The room was empty and void, silent and ‘Cold as the grave; it was like looking upon a. dead face. A bitter misery flooded his soul as he looked at it. All at once he remembered, with a sudden rush of painful memory, how she had said to him, only a week ago, that she would go away and leave no trace be- hind her by which he could follow her. “118. then, was what, she had done to him !‘ But why had she done it; had he not kept his bargain with her? Had he not been true to his prdmised word? He had done as she had asked himâ€"and kept his love back out of her sight, so as to preserve her friendshipâ€"had crushed away hisown feelings so as to respect and consider hersâ€"and this was his reward! He had been faithful to his part of the covenant between them, but she, she had broken hersl And he was very angry with her. Angry with that anger against those we love, that is so terrible in its cutâ€" ting anguish. ._ Ah! better a thousand times is the coldness of indifference than that sharp pain of wrath that stabs with knifethrusts into our very heurtsl Hot tears, that almost burnt him as they welled up from within, blinded Geoffrey's eyesâ€"he turned his back upâ€" on thnt sad empty room, strode past the still gaping charwoman into the open air, and away down the daffodil-bord- ered way. Ah, cold blast of spring! Ah, cold winds, that cut with nipping keenness through the bones. Cold as you may be, you are nothing to that bittercst sorrow of a man's young life, when his first love has betrayed his trust, and, for all her sweet beauty, he can find no dearer nor fonder word than a curse. CHAPTER XI. Angel I-Ialliday stood learning some- what disconsolntely against the lace window curtains of Lady Lessiter's smart house in Pont Street. It was a new, red brick abode of the latest Queen Anne pattern; more Qucen Anne, in fact. than any edifice ever erect:d within the reign of that Grac- ious Sovereign of happy memory. lt was great in red gables and white woodwork, in small colored window panes, and in quaint projecting bal- conies. Inside it “'ardour Street furniture and blue chinaâ€"with Burneâ€"Joncsian wall de- corations that were draped wulh the me a turn, but knowin place before, Mr. \Vright he‘telegrams, that I am to go and clean it down, and. that I and my old man can stop in it if so be like till it's let again. was a miracle of Lord Geoffrey looked round the fam- latest novelty of textile fabrics . from Naples Lady Ims<it:r had had 01106 u mania for furnishing and decorating â€"-for six months shc had 110116 mad 0"” itâ€"she had tried fifty diffcrent experi- ment; in every room inthc house. had fitted up her drawing-room successively in the Moresque, the E-u‘tEnglish, and the Japanese styles ,hzid flown about to every second-hand dealer in London, " picking-up ‘ what she called bar- gains, 'but which were in truth but bad bargains for poor Sir George, who was required in time to pay for them, She had held committees of art and taste ll] her house, wherein everybody had suggested something different, and she, in a fine Cosmopolitan spirit, had endeavoured to carry out the ideas of all, and finally, after she had spent a-small fortune, suddenly she got sick of it; some-new. fancy had cropped up, and the High Art House was left to itself, a‘sinnding monument of half- fim~h=d mcongruity and inconsistency. let it cannot be denied that, although strictly speaking, it was false in art and meretricious in decoration, it was, nev- ertheless, exceedingly effective on the whole. Lady Lessiter‘s friends always told her, either that her house was a paradise, or that it was a museum-the frivolities of the one being presumâ€" ably tempered b th ‘ ‘ other. y e solidity of the \Vhether Angel Halliday, in her week s_ sojourn with her friend, had en- Joyed it as a museum is uncertain, but very decidedly she had not lo k on it as a paradise. 0 ed up. Lady Lessiter had, nevertheless d 8 her duty as a hostess to the prellfy girl whom she had invited to stay with her. She’ had taken her about to con; certs and exhibitionsâ€"she had taken her to dinner at Hurlingham, and to supper at the New Club. She had driv- en her down to Sundown Races, and had in_v1t_ed a great many smart young men, in immaculate collars and exotic button-hole bouquets, to dine‘ and to at téiézlhpluse in her honour. Yet . ese 1 - ' satisfy her. g ts had _totally failed to When a young woman’s soul is set upon one particular. young man, then; not all the joys of the whole earth nor'yet the entire male population of Christendom, can render her happy if that_one particular young man be missmg. .Now that is an incontroverâ€" iible truism, quite as old as the hills and quite as unchangeable, and yet it is constantly being left; out of our cal- culations in our dealings with young women. , " What is the matter, m dear f” as s a mother of a sad, langin daughtdi‘, whom she is vainly endeavouring to render happy. “ Nothing, mamma,” answers the young lady, and the mother rests sat- Isfied With the unsatisfactory answer. \Vhy does Edith look so pale, or Maggie eat nothing, or Florence sit so. Silent?” enquires John Bull of his Wife, with affectionate solicitude; and Edith IS forthwith taken to the sea- sule, and Maggie is ordered horse exâ€" ercise, and Florence is taken more into society. But neither father nor moth- er remember that briefless barristâ€" er who has been civilly dropped, or that disreputable though fascinatingg young captain, who has not had an invitation to dinner for even so long, or the pen- niless younger son of the country vicar, whom from obvious reasons it. has been consrdered expedient to ignore,â€"and so the.girls pine after the "one man," until they are tired; of piningg, and by and bye they get over that miseryâ€" for glI‘lJS do not often die of broken heartsâ€"and they marry somebody else because there is nothing else left for them to do, and they settle down conâ€" tentedly into a quiet, common-place sort of happiness, which, perhaps, is the best thing in the long run for them, but with which the first fever of Love’s young hopes has very little to o. . Thus it was that Angel Hallida in- ed for the unattainable, and chtpall the joys of the London season failed to satisfy her. ' For Horace Lessiter had not been once to his srster-inâ€"law’s house since she had been in townâ€"he was in London she knew, and yet he had never been to see herâ€"surely he could not love her. Toâ€"dny, Dulcie was coming, up to join her, and toâ€"morrow they were both to go on and stay with old Mr. Dane, in Cromwell Road. It was not-likely that Captain Lessiter would find her out Diamond Cut Diamond' there. All hope, therefore,- seemed to have come to an end to-day. No wonâ€" der that Angel had declined to go out drrvrng with her hostess, and now stood sadly, in her loneliness looking vague- ly and miserably out into the sunny street. The room behind her was a litter of confusion and disorder. Her ladyship was geing to hold a stall at a fancy bazaar, and was hard at work dressâ€" ing dollsâ€"mil day long she was flying about buying expensive materials for thy costumes of her dollsâ€"it was her latest mania. Every doll on her stall was to be differently attired. Much more amusing work, than finding a husband for pretty Angel Hallidny. which she had assured her husband :1 few weeks ago it was her solemn mis- sum from on High to do. To make more money at her doll stall for the Out-of-\\'ork Labou re rs‘ Or- phan Society," than that horrid Mrs. Jenkins, who painted her face and ogled the men, and who boasted to all her friends that she would take the Wind out of her. Lady Lessiter's. sails at the bazaarâ€"that at present was the» end and object of Venetia's existence: from morning till night she thought of nothing else. She was nor at all sor- ry when Angel made Dulcie's arrival an excuse for not going out with her as usual. "Oh! all right, dear; then I can i take Mrs. Vere out in the Victoriaâ€"she .Wlll have the next stall to mine, you know. on the lnzh; she is, going to sell [flowers and ferns, and wants me to drive her to that pottery shop to get some little pots and vases; and then I can go again to Liberty's for the gold embroideryâ€"and do. like a dear thing. finish dressing that Circasaian slave for me whilst I am out." But. 'Anzel did not address herself to the garments of the Circamian slave when her hostess had left her. She only stood in a melancholy mood by the window, and looked listlessly into the street. Everything looked gay and sunshiny â€"flower boxes of geraniums and while daisies bloomed at the open windows of the houses opposite; carriages flash- ed by filled with smartlyâ€"dressed wo- men; children ran gziyly along the pavements; and everybody looked hap py and busy in the sweet summer after noon, but Angel only felt miserable Then all at once. her heart beat, and there was a sudden revulsion of joy within her, for a hansom had dashed up to the door, and somebody sprang out of it and ran lightly up the steps below. He had come at last, then ! 0h. why would her cheeks burn so hotly. and her heart flutter so wildly! "All alone, Miss Halli‘day i’" cried Horace Lessiter, in his cheery voice, as he entered; and then he cast ahurâ€" ried glance round the room, as though he was looking for something. " My sisterâ€"in-law out? Good heavens! what is all this about 3" He was confronted by a row of twenty dolls, all in different costumes. that were propped up in a line on the end of the grand piano, while at least as many more, in all states and condi- tions of incompleteness of toilet, were scattered about the room, on the sofas and tables. l "Is Venetia starting atoyshdp i" “ Not exactly," answered Angel, laughing and recovering ‘her compos- ure and her cool pink cheeks at the same time by a wonderful process‘of selfâ€"control; "but she is going to keep a stall, you know, at-the bazaar; and she has settled upon dolls, in the dresses of every nation on the face of the earth. we are hard at work dress- ing them. It makes rather amess in the room, I must confess." To Be Continued. ." WINTER WRINKLES. Irishly Speakingâ€"She is rather wan- faced, think you not? Bedad, she is two-faced. , . Sheâ€"'Jt requires money to get into society nowadays. Heâ€"Yes, and it reâ€" quires brains to keep out of it. Pa, what is a scheme? I can‘t define it, my son; but it is something that will fall .through quicker than anyâ€" thing else on earth. I’m sorry the golf season has closed, \Vhy? It is better to have people go and play the game, than to have them sit around and talk about it. Just Filled the Billâ€"The Heiressâ€" The man I marry mus the very handâ€" some, afraid of nothing, and clever. Money’s no object to me. Mr. Broke â€"Doesn’t it seem like fate that we should have met. \Vise Fatherâ€"And remember this, my son, that the race. is not always to the swift. The Son1 who has had some ex- perience,-â€"-I should say it wasn’tâ€"zesâ€" p'ecially in a professional sprinting race. , Young man, said the investigating philanthropist, you are an interesting puzzle to me. You are too proud to beg, too honest to steal. and too lazy to work. How in the world do you manage? I get trusted. Old Ladyâ€"Now, porter, you’re quite sure you’ve put all my luggage in fâ€" the big portmanteau andâ€"â€"-â€" Porterâ€" All right, mum. Old Ladyâ€"And you‘re certain I've not left anything behind? Porterâ€"No, mum, not even acopperl \Vhat would our wives say if they only knew where we are to-night? re- marked the captain of a vessel heat- ing about in a thick fog. I wouldn‘t care what they said, replied the mate, if we only knew where we were ourâ€" selves. . A Field Day for Both Partiesâ€"Sh People talk of Sunday being a day of rest, and yet look at the way the poor women have to work to get their 'hus- bands to go to church. Heâ€"Yes, and yet look at the way the poor husbands have to work to get out of going. \Vysemanâ€"I make it a rule never to ask a gentleman to return money he has borrowed of me. Prattâ€"Then how do you manage to get it? Wyscman-f Oh, after i wait a reasonable time if he fails to pay up I conclude that he is not a gentleman and I ask him. Sunday-School Teacherâ€"Who was the shortest man mentioned in the Bible? Bright Pupilâ€"Peter. Teacherâ€"Why, I wasn't aware of any reference being made to his stature. Bright Pupilâ€"He spoke of it himself, when he said, “Silâ€" ver and gold have 1 none." Could any one be shorter. Getting Through the Listâ€"What does your Majesty intend to do next? in- quired the German Emperor‘s friend. i don‘t know, was the answer with a suppressed yawn. I‘m afraid the field is pretty near exhausted. When you get time l wish you‘d try to think up something more for me to excel in. Hadn‘t Forgotten lt.â€"Mr. Peckâ€"For years I have suffered in silence, but you should remember the old saying that even the worm will turn. Mrs. Peckâ€"Well, I hope you don‘t call your- self a worm, do you! Mr. Peckâ€"Pos- sibly notâ€"and yet on the (lay of our marriage 1 have a distinct recollection of hearing some one refer to you as -' ie early bird. _._.â€" .â€"«â€"â€" oâ€"â€"â€"-__._â€"- SOLICITOUS. I.‘oclorâ€"Y0ur wife. sir. is suffering from gcncrzl functional derangenn-nt. Mr. Parvenu -â€" I lint-w it. Maybe she'll give me credit with knowing a few things after a while. I told her to quit gadding around to all 'hcsc. swell functions or she'd bu sick. Now she's deranged. Is she liable to bl- violent. doc? STRANGE REMEDIES. “W â€"-â€" Lluu-ds are Good for (‘ancer and Wan-rill a Red 6qu (‘urcs lipllcpsy. In the old medieval days the strang- est and most remarkable things were used as drugs for the amelioration and cure of disease. Even toâ€"day we may still find curious cures. One of the strangest in this latter category Is the use of precious stones for the cure of disease. The diamond is considered one of the most useful of all gems, and is "Spwially indicated in certain diseases ..!I the nervous system. Its success- ful application in long standing cases of feminine irritability has long been known to the average husband and lover, but its prosaic use as a substi- tute for asafetida or other objection- able substances will no doubt come as a surprise to everybody. Novel as is the idea, it, however, finds aparallel in the case of certain nations, who be- lieve that a diamond placed in aglm of water communicates many virtues to the fluid, making it exceedingly val- uable in the cure of disease. In Jam- aica the natives believe resolutely that people with wartscan‘ get rid of them provided they use a piece of pork fat to rub the excresoences, and then bury the fat immediately after using it, a new piece beingiused for each applica- tion. For the cure of warts, indeed. a somewhat similar remedy is in vogue in certain parts of England, the ex:- crescences being rubbed with apiece of beef, which must, however, be stol- en before it is used, and must then be carefully buried. Breathing on a wart nine times at the time of the new moon is also declared to be very effec- tual in removing them. Among oth- er remarkable methods of curing must certainly .be mentioned one which is much used in certain parts of the 'l‘y- rol for cancer. This consists in decap- itating and skinning lizards, the flesh of which is cut up into pieces and swallowed by the patient without cook- ing or any modification. After a. few doses of this " drug ” have been swallowed they are said to produce :5 sloughing off of the cancerous growth' which is repaired by perfectly healthy; tissue. Scarcer less potent is a mode; of healing which is much vaunted in certain quarters of India. This may be called " color healing.“ lt conststn of administering water in glasses, of different colors, from which color the draft obtains its properties, which are magical in their effectâ€"provided 'the patient is endowed with sufficient faith. \Vater in a red glass wrll cure epilepsy, insomnia, nervous diseases, the plague, fevers and agues and half a. score of the other diseases which mor- tal flesh is heir to. In a blue glass it is a sovereign remedy for the. palsy, for falling sickness, for typhoid and for numerous other allied and nonâ€"ro- lated complaints, while in a green glass it is a specific for other complaints, and in yellow for yet another batch . WHITE MEN as SLAVES. In Hungary Pens-ants Arc llurnesscd 0: the l'lough lec Beasts of Burden. Stephen Varkonyi, the leader of the peasants revolution which convulsed Hungary during the early months of the year, has just been sentenced to one year‘s imprisonment for high trea- son. The movement which was inaugurat- ed by Varkonyi, was a revolt against the remnants of serfdom, which still exist in some parts of Hungary. In these districts each peasant is compellâ€" ed’ to work fifty days in the year for the landowner without pay. These fifty days of compulsory la- bour are not successive, or at fixed In- tervals, but when the landowner has work to be done he sends a drummer through the village, and every male inhabitant is obliged to respond to the summons. 'l‘hereupon so many men are select- ed as are required. The landowner al- most invariably cxacis this labour in the summer when the peasant's lime in most valuable to him. In summer the peasant can earn as much as one shilling a day; in winter not more than fourpence or sixpence. in winter the peasants are compelled to not as heaters in the magnate-5' ‘hunts for a wage of iwupencc a day. The oc- cupation is a dangerous one, and the time is not counted in the annual fif- ty days' compulsory labour. The wives of the peasants are requir- ed to sweep and scrub the local manor house once a week without pay. Finally, many landowners, use the pennants as boasts of burden, harnessing four men to the plough instead of two oxen. Sicphcn Varkonyi, who instigated the revolt against these degrading condi- lions of labour, is a son of Hungarian Wat ’l'yler. lie is the son of poor pea- }sunls was mlucplud in the farmyard, and graduated in lire field. if... is quite a typical horny-handed son of foil. is physically lull, stoully built. with plc-niy of character, in his shaggy head and small eyes. with their suggestion of the Mongolian slit, and has that rough kind of natural ‘hu~ mor which appu-uls to the simple, pea- sant mind. Varkonyi. whose rum-er over the ag- lricultural population of this country is unl'oundl-d. is one of the most in- teresting figures in modern Hungar- ian life. Author. after completing a new bot-k â€"~'l'lwre. that will make me more iw» mortal than ever, profuse perspiration and gradually a5, *7.

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