Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 259, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 October 1913 — Page 2

The League of Lost Causes

By H. M. EGBERT

The Woman From the Sea

AUL LANE felt utterly dispirited as he ascended the front steps of his cottage on the Long Island shore that Friday afternoon in mid-autumn, with two days of leisure in front of him before he should resume his daily labor with its monotonous toil.

It was not that he hated work or craved a life of Ignoble ease and pleasure. Philosophically inclined, even he left college he had discerned the futility of the search after happiness. Contentment, he knew, must be the reward of work. But this — this eternal toll in a New York office, 'adding millions to millions for the ‘aggrandizement of the monopoly which his father had built up—this was what appalled him. In other lands a man situated as he was might enter politics, devote his life and fortune to his country; here —well, his .country could get along very well without his assistance. In the vast and varied public life of America his efforts would be lost, his ambitions crushed out by daily disappointments and the sordid strife of the political world. He saw no future of contentment for him 'in the land of his birth; he, with his millions, looked forward to fewer opportunities than the poorest and most I illiterate immigrant passing beneath the Statue of Liberty. Many times a millionaire at the age of thirty he had succeeded to the coni trol of his father’s enormous business. He fulfilled his duties punctiliously, sedulously, but without heart. And his week ends he spent alone in his cottage on the J northern Long Island ! shore, among his books, reading, dreaming, or wandering by the barren, desolate marshes and the surf-swept shores of the Sound, while his mag-* niflcient town house remained closed and his automobile rusted unused in ; his garage.

Half a mile from his Isolated house he stopped, awaking out of his meditations to discover that he could no longer see his way. A death-white fog, one of the sea-borne fogs of November, had shrouded the land, blotting out all the familar landmarks. Lane drew in great breaths of it greedily. It reminded him of London, with its mystery and its charm, of melancholy France, when the leafless poplars glisten with white frost beside the Seine. His years abroad had been too few though vivid in incident. Something of his dejection fell from him as the pictures stirred in his mind and painted themselves upon his memory in vivid colors anew. Some day, when he decently could, he would shake off the cares of his life, resign the'business into other hands, and withdraw to that life of leisure which he loved in other lands. Suddenly he heard the booming of a gun over the waters. It sounded like the signal of some ship in distress. That was a treacherous shore near the east end of the Island, and one on ( which ships often came to grief, for the long, oily billows hid the menacing rocks which threatened vessels. Although it was far less than a hundred miles from the metroplis, this region might have been a remote part of the New England shore; ,it was out of the track of passing ships, a little, forgotten space devoted to sea birds and hunters.

Then over the waves came something strident and shrill, hooting like a steam siren and shrieking like an approaching cable car. And out of the void fell something not fifty yards away that plunged into the sand and flung up a smoking hillock. Lane walked quickly toward this object; as he approached he neard the booming sound once more. When he came up he saw that it was a fifty-pound shell from a man-of-war’s gun that had burst asunder there and buried itself in the Sand. The shell had fallen before the booming began; sound traveled slowly; he calculated that the warship must be about three miles in the offing. She was evidently some vessel that had lost her bearings in the fog, and was attempting target practice notwithstanding. That might be a rational explanation, but —suddenly the thought came to him: was ever target practice held in the waters of Long Island Sound before? Though that especial region was out of the track of ships, numerous small craft traversed the /waters, to gather oysters or lay them down on the marine oyster farms. Surely no man-of-war ever engaged in target practice in that populous, landlocked sea. Again a distant scream rose into a clangorous din, and, as the boom of .the gun followed, a shell ploughed up the sand, this time falling further away, but scattering more widely. Lane might have hastened from the apot without imputation upon his courage; and so he would probably have done, but at that moment the fog lifted. He stared out at a stretch of undulating, gray sea, rippling away toward the horizon. Half a mile out, just where the crests of the Rip Rocks | emerge from the waves, a small steam-

Being the Romantic Adventures of Paul Lane, American Millionaire

(Copyright, 1913, by W. G. Chapman.)

ship lay on her side, grinding to pieces, slowly under the incessant pounding of the waters. And, further away, a hulk low down on the horizon, were the black outlines of a man-of-war. The warship was evidently shelling the steamship. This much was evident, for the trajectory of her shells was immediately over the latter. And it was equally clear that the steamship was no abandoned target destined to be battered by navy guns, for Lane could distingush tiny figures that moved hither and thither upon the decks, swarming toward the boats, which they were frantically endeavoring to lower over the side. All was confusion aboard. Another shell hurled forth, falling short of the shore; another, and a pillar of smoke rose out of ther steamship’s sides. Then, even as Lane watched, he saw that one o£ the boats was lowered at last; and the fog descended again. It was incredible that such an episode could occur off the Long Island shore. Where were the warships of the United States, to avenge her outraged majesty? Had war broken out, and was this warship one of a hostile battle fleet already engaged in ruining the shipping of the country and devastating her ports? Lane stood peering out through the blank mists, vainly endeavoring to penetrate the mystery. He must have stood there fully five minutes when he heard the plashing of oars, the shout of voices, challenging cries. Then the sharp crack of of a rifle whipped the air, and through the opacity of the fog a boat’s nose bore in toward the land and the keel grated upon the sandy bottom. Two meh and a woman leaped to their feet, sprang into the sea, and began wading through the shallows. The men were sailors, roughly clad; the woman, who was heavily veiled, was dressed in costly clothes. From her ears hung loops of gold, set each with a single pearl of brilliant lustre, and her fingers were encircled with rings. Lane sprang into the sea and offered her his hand; when she took it he saw that it was the hand of a* lady who had never done any manual work in her life.

“Save me, Monsieur !y she' gasped, in French, and, seeing chat he understood, she added,“Take me ashore — to some place of safety. I can pay anything!" She clutched at a little purse strapped inside her belt. The two men stood by, a little sheepishly, though casting alarmed glances from moment to moment out through the fog. *

Cries were heard again, and through the murk the sharp nose of a ship’s cutter appeared. It was manned by a half dozen sailors in uniform, commanded by a bearded officer, evidently of high rank. The woman looked at them, turned suddenly, and began running across the sand. Lane, intensely curious, but more concerned for safety, did not stop to parley. He took her hand in his and ran with her, leaving the two sailors to their own devices. In a moment the two were running alone in the fog, which closed in, a damp, dripping cloak, on every side. They heard the shouts of their pursuers as they spread out and stumbled blindly through the mists in search of them. But the strangers were ignorant of the shore. They did not know that wall of heaped up stones that seperated the farming land from the sand’s encroachments. That was their stumbling block; before they could regain their feet and ascertain how the land lay Lane and his charge had gained the level road and were running toward the cottage under the hilt

The shouting died away. They had eluded their pursurers. Once in his own demense, Lane felt that the girl was safe, and anger replaced curiosity. He had been made to run as though he had been a schoolboy stealing fruit. The one servant whom he kept in this little waterside retreat of his was away for the afternoon and there was no human habitation within a mile or more. He was aloije with this strange young woman from the sta, dramatically alone with her, and feeling uncommonly perturbed and foolish. She, meanwhile, calmly took off her veil. When Lane turned toward her he found himself face to face with a young woman of not more than two Of three and twenty years. She was beautiful —but that was the least of her charms. There was on her face an expression of high breeding, of dignity, something of hauteur, but everything that was altogether fine. She smiled as he gazed frankly into her eyes; her own scrutiny of him seemed to have been equally satisfactory.

“If you will pardon me, Mademoiselle,’’ said Lane, “I will get my fowling gun. Those robbers, those pirates —” She sat down, laughing. “Robbers!” she exclaimed. “That officer, Monsieur, is a captain .jflk the Imperial Austrian navy.’’ “Then you. Mademoiselle —” Lane began, and checked himself. Her features semed to have frozen. She looked through him as though he had been an underling. He understood that

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN; RENSSELAER, IND.

they could not meet on a common footing in her opinion; she must be at least of noble birth, and probably looked on him merely as a convient medium of assistance. “Sit down, Monsieur, and let me speak,” she said coldly. “As for those sailors, they will not dare to lay a finger on me, nor Captain von Holzrath either.” She pulled the little purse from her belt, opened it, hesitated, and then replaced it “I was about to offer you money,!* she said, "but I see that you are a gentleman. I appeal to your goodness Instead.” Lane remained standing. He bowed gravely at her words but attempted no answer. "I am a person of rank in my country,” continued the girl with a faint smile— “of very high rank. I found it necessary to visit America upon a certain errand. My government objected to this mission of mine and sent a battleship in pursuit of the steamer on which I had taken passage. You know the rest. Happily I succeeded in reaching land, and I have no doubt that the warship is now speeding away seaward, for even the audacity of Captain von Holzrath would go no further than the firing of a few shells in American waters.

Ido not think he will molest us. So now I want you to put me in touch with the person whom I have come to see.” “If that be possible, Mademoiselle, I will do so,” said Lane. “What is hL name?” “His name,” answered the girl slowly, “is Paul Lane.” - “I am Paul Lane,” answered her companion. The girl made no reply but looked at him scornfully. “Evidently you disbelieve me, Madam,” Paul said. "May I inquire the reason for your disbelief? Will my visiting card suffice to prove my identity?” He opened his card case; it was empty. He stared at it in char grin and then hung his head like a schoolboy. Over the girl’s features a faint smile spread once more. “If you are Paul Lane,” she said, “you are undoubtedly acquainted with Monsieur Rosny, of Paris?” “Rosny!” exclaimed the other. “The agent of the Orleans family? Jean’ Rosny, of Breton-sur-Marne?” The girl looked at him in consternation.

“You are reajly Paul Lane?" she murmured in embarrassment “A thousand pardons, Monsieur. But — are you not rich, a millionaire? If this is your house, where are your automobilea, your servants F t <

“Ah, Mademoiselle, not every American cares for those things,” he answered. "I have, I believe, seven automobiles in the garage of my city home. But I have not seen them tor seven months now.” The girl sprang to her feet and extended her hands impulsively. " “Veritably, you are Paul Lane, just as he was described to me,” she said. "Monsieur Lane, how can I express my regrets for my mistrust of you? You knew Monsieur Rosny two years ago,” she resumed. "You spoke to him of your desire to devote your millions to certain causes; he had not forgotten. Your name has been a familiar one among our circle during all the time that has elapsed since you last saw him. And so I have come to you to petition that you follow the former Impulse of your nature, Monsieur. If riches have not corrupted you, you will obey that inner call that you have heard.” Lane looked out through the window at the drifting fog clouds, the low, sandy shore, growing more visible each moment, the long deserted stretches of desolate country; and suddenly there revived in him the impulse to taste that fulness of life when, for three months, he had been

[ closer than a brother to Jean Rosny, the leader of the Orleans conspiracy which was being formed against the government of France to re-establish her ancient kings and rentew her greatness. He felt shaken to the depths. “I will obey that call,” he said in a low voice, and raised her hand to his lips. “Then let me speak quickly,” said the girl, “for at any moment we may be interrupted. He cannot hurt me now, but assuredly Captain von Holzrath will not leave these shores until he has talked with me. . You are agreed with Monsieur Rosny tha£ certain things are true; that the history of tho last century has been one of gigantic blunders. We have reversed the traditions of our fathers and all the ills of the modern world ard due to them." She spoke like a prophetness; her bosom heaved and her eyes flashed as the words poured from her lipa “You are agreed, Monsieur, that it was only under the rule of their ancient kings that the peoples prospered, that democracy, with its drab equality, has removed all purpose, all poetry, all happiness from life. We have formed a league, then, the League of Lost Causes, for the re-establishment of the ancient orders, and our adherents are numerous in country of Europe. But we need money tp

finance our appeal Will you assist i us, Monsieur Lane? Will you venture ■ your wealth and offer us your personal aid? The reward is- danger, such as a man should love, and hardship, and perhaps a shameful death; but there are also other rewards awaiting one courageous enough to venture all in such a cause.” The heart of Paul Lane leaped in his breast and his soul went out in answer to her appeal "Yes, I will venture all,” he answered. “And now—” “One moment,”" said the girl. “There are certain traditions of chivalry which'we believe in and in which you must believe. We live in different ages, you and I; nevertheless we must meet on this common ground. The man who served our cause must give everything and ask nothing; he must obey orders until he has proved his fitness to serve. You must-serve without question; yop must ask nothing, not even my name.” “Your name!" exclaimed Paul. "But, Mademoiselle, how am I to meet you again, how —” “You will go to Paris, to , Jean Rosny,” she answered. “There you -will learn much that is now unknown to you. Our League has grown in-

credibly strong during the past two years. Kings are members of it; other kings are united against us. Someday, perchance, when we have succeeded you shall know —" . Steps sounded on the graveled walk outside. Paul Lane ran to the window. The officer of the boat was coming toward the house, but alone. There was no sign of any of his men. The fog had rolled away and the sea lay blue under the declining sun. There was no trace of the battleship. But for the deserted steamer, pounding away her' life upon the rocks, Paul Lane might have thought that all had been a dream —but for these things and the approach of Captain von Holzrath.

He Went to the door and knocked; he stood there until Paul admitted him. Neither man asked any questions of the other. The officer entered the room in which the girl was standing, Paul at his heels. Captain von Holzrath bowed very low, clicking his heels, and addressed the girl in German. Paul did not understand that language; he noted however, the deference of the officer and the girl’s scorn of him. He seemed to be pleading with her, spreading out his hands as he spoke in a deprecatory fashion, while her replies were a* those of a mistress to a seivant Their conversation was animated and

[ prolonged. At last the girl turned to Paul. i “Tell him,** she said scornfully, and speaking for the first time in English, with a slight and pleasant accent—“tell him that this is«free soil and that he cannot drag me hence with all the battleships of the Austrian navy.” Paul told him. He added: "Perhaps you do not know, sir, that by firing upon a peaceful steamship in these waters you have violated* international law. You can be hanged as a pirate. I hope you will be.” The officer stared at Paul coldly but did not deign to respond. He turned and addressed himself to the girl again. He pleaded earnestly and volubly with her. She shook her head and stamped her foot_angrily, pointing to the door and bidding him be gone. At last he desisted and turned to Paul again. “I hope that we shall meet again some day, sir, tinder different circumstances,” he said threateningly, and flung his card down on the table. “There is no time like the present,” answered Paul angrily, and tore the scrap of cardboard into fragments. The officer laid his hand upon his sword; he seemed about to draw on the other, but, after a moment’s pause, turned instead and made his way toward the door. Paul watched him silently as he went down the graveled path toward the seashore. He disappeared beneath the wall of stone, to reappear a little later upon the marge of the sea, where now the ship’s cutter lay, manned by the sailors. He stepped in and, very rhythmiccally, the oars began to propel the boat from the shore. It rounded the point of rocks and disappeared. The sea was very still. When Paul turned back into the room the girl had disappeared. She had gone silently from his presence while he, in a day-dream, stared through the 'window; gone like a wraith, leaving behind her only a little glove and the faint essence of * some perfune. Paul ran to the door. She was not in the hall. She was not in the house. He ran to the back. There, in the distance, he saw a little figure making its way carefully over the rocks and roots that strewed the branch road toward Farmingville, the nearest station on the Long Island Railroad. His first impulse was was to run after her. Next, remembering the injuction which she had laid upon him, he desisted. This was evidently her wish, to depart thus; and evidently she knew her purpose. She was gone like a wraith —but how different now life seemed to him. This old dejection, his uncertainties, had fallen away. Life had become fair once more and the beacon light of hope flashed out again, calling and luring him to new adventures. Very thoughtfully he strolled back along the shore, and he paced it till the sun sank and once again the white fogs rolled round him, blotting.out all but his memories.

BIBLE IS GREATEST BOOK

Sir Arthur Q. Couch in Address at Cambridge, England, Tells of its Priceless Literary Value. Sir Arthur Qulller Couch, in his address on the English Bible at Cambridge, rightly laid stress on the priceless value of the authorized version as the greatest book of English prose. No one will dispute its title to that pre-eminence. What a marvel it Is that this matchless translation, with its noble majesty, its glorious poetry, its divine simplicity, its ecstacy, its pathos, its tenderness, every chapter Instinct with beauty, every verse ringing like a sweet-toned bell, should have been produced by fortyseven men, none of them as, “Q” reminds us, celebrated, outside their share in the translation, for any superlative achievement.

Some persons who set courses of study in English literature omit to take account of the Bible. It.is an amazing omission, for the authorized version has had incomparably more Influence on English literary style and on our English speech than any other book, or than all other books put together. Taine, that discriminating and sympathetic critic, realized how the style of the Bible had, so to say, inwrought itself into the life of England, and interwoven itself into the very texture of English literature. “Q" detects the Influence of the Bible in Izaak Walton and Bunyan, in Milton and Sir Thomas Browne, in Addison and in Gibbon. Taine writes admiringly of Macaulay’s Biblical metaphors; Ruskin, we know, from his own words, found in the Bible, the basis of his entrancing style;* the secret of John Bright’s noble oratory is to be found in his habitual study of the one book. Well may Sir Arthur Quiller Couch say “It is In everything we see, hear, feel; it is in our blood."

Gratitude Galore.

“What’s this one hour’s overtime, Bill?” said the master of the mill, when settling up his wages on Saturday morning. No one worked overtime last week that I know of.” “It’s quite right, guv’nor; one hour,” answered Bill, passing a horny hand across his mouth. “When was it, then queried the master suspiciously. "Last Thursday.” “Why last Thursday I sent you up to my house to help shake the carpets. And I know you got off at rtx sharp.” “True, boss; but your missus gave me ’art a pie to take home, and that there hour is for carryin* the dish back.”

Always Seeking It.

“Money, after all, is trouble.” “I’d like to borrow some trouble just now."