Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 133, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 June 1915 — Page 2

Dark Hollow

By Anna Katharine Cireen

SYNOPSIS. A curious crowd of neighbors Invade the mysterious home of Judge Ostrander, county judge and eccentric recluse, following a veiled woman who has ««£ned entrance through the gates of the high double barriers surrounding the place. The woman has disappeared but the judge Is found In a cataleptic state. The judge awakes. Miss Weeks explains to him what has occurred during his selsure. He secretly discovers the whereabouts of the veiled woman. She proves to be the widow of a man tried before the judge and electrocuted for murder years before. Her daughter is engaged to the judge's son, from whom he is estranged, but the murder is between the lovers. She plans to clear her husband s memory and asks the judge’s aid. Alone in her room Deborah Scoville reads the newspaper clippings telling the story of the murder of Algernon Etheridge by John Scoville In park Hollow, twelve years before. The judge and Mrs. Scoville meet at Spencer’s Folly and she shows him how. on the day of the murder, she saw the shadow of a man. whittling a stick and wearing a long peaked eap. The judge engages her and her daughter Reuther to live with him In his mysterious home. Deborah and her lawyer. Black, go to the police station and see the stick used to murder Etheridge She discovers a broken knife-blade point embedded In It. Deborah and Reuther go to live with the judge.

CHAPTER VlH—Continued. Already bad she stepped several times to her daughter’s room and looked tn, only to meet Reuther’s unquiet eye turned toward hers in silent Inquiry. Was her own uneasiness infectious? Wae the child determined to share her vigil? She would wait a little longer this time and see. Their rooms were over the parlor, and thus as far removed as possible from the judge’s den. In her own, which was front, she felt at perfect ease, and it was without any fear of disturbing either him or Reuther that she finally raised her window and allowed the cool wind to soothe her heated cheeks. The moon emerged from scurrying clouds as she quietly watched the scene. Perched, as she was, in a window overlooking the lane, she had but to lift her eyes from the double fence (that symbol of sad seclusion) to light on the trees rising above that unspeakable ravine, black with memories she felt strangely like forgetting tonight. Beyond . . . how it stood out on the bluff! it had never seemed to stand out more threateningly! . . • the bifurcated mass of dismal ruin from which men had turned their eyes these many years now! But the moon loved it; caressed it; dallied with It, lighting up its toppling chimney and empty, staring gable. Spencer’s Folly! Well, it had been that, and Spencer’s den of dissipation, too! There were great tales —but it was not of these she was thinking, but of the night of storm —(Of the greatest storm of which any record remained In Shelby) when the wind tore down branches and toppled down chimneys; when cattle were smitten in the field and men on the highway; and the

bluff towering overhead, flared into flame, and the house which was its glory was smitten apart by the descending bolt as by a Titan sword, and biased like a beacon to the sky. This was long before she herself had come to Shelby; but she had been told the story so often that it was quite vivid to her. The family had been gone for months, and so no pity mingled with the excitement Not till the following day did the awful nature of the event break in Its full horror upon the town. Among the ruins, in a closet which the flames had spared, they found hunched up in one corner the body of a man, In whose seared throat a wound appeared which had not been made by lightning or fire. Spencer! Spencer himself, returned, they knew not how, to die of this selfinflicted wound, in the dark corner of his grand but neglected dwelling. But as she continued to survey it the

clouds came trooping up once more, and the vision was wiped out, and with it all memories save those of a nearer trouble —a more pressing necessity. Withdrawing from the window, she crept again to Reuther's room and peered carefully in. Innocence was asleep at last. Lighting a candle and shielding it with her hand, she gazed long and earnestly at Reuther’s sweet face. Yes, she was right Sorrow was slowly sapping the fountain of her darling's youth. If Reuther was to be saved hope must come soon. With -a sob and a prayer the mother left the room, and locking herself into her own, sat down at last to face the new perplexity, the monstrous enigma which had come into her life. It had followed in natural sequence from a proposal made by the judge that some attention should be given Ms fang-neglected rooms. He had said on rising from the breakfast table — (the words are mors or less important): "I am really sorry to trouble you, ,Mrs. Scoville; but If you have time 'tMw morning, will you clean up my study before I leave? The carriage Is ordered for half-past nine.” The task was one she had long desired to perform. Giving Reuther the vest of the work to do, she presently appeared before him with pail and m Noth" r 1 jfl iwiay-

underlay this special act of ordinary housewifery a possible enlightenment on a subject which bad held the whole community in a state of curiosity for years. She was going to enter the room which had been barred from public sight by poor Bela's dying body. The great room before her presented a bare floor, whereas on her first visit it had been very decently, if not carefully, covered by a huge carpet rug. The judge’s chair, which had once looked Immovable, had been dragged forward into such .a position that he could keep his own eye on the bedroom door. Manifestly ehe was not to be allowed to pursue her duties unwatched. Certainly she had to take more than one look at the every-day implements she carried to retain that balance of judgment which should prevent her from becoming the dupe of her own expectations.

"I do not expect you to clean up here as thoroughly as you have your own rooms upstairs," he remarked, as she passed him. “And, Mrs. Scoville," he called out as she slipped through the doorway, "leave the door open and keep away as much as possible from the side of the room where I have nailed up the curtain. I had rather not have that touched."

Not touch the curtain! Why, that was the one thing in the room she wanted to touch; for in it she not only saw the carpet which had been taken up from the floor, but a possible screen behind which anything might lurk—even his redoubtable secret

"There is no window,” she observed, looking back at the judge. “Nq," was his short reply. Slowly she set down her pall. One thing was settled. It was Bela’s cot she saw before her —a cot without any sheets. These had been left behind in the dead negro’s room, and the judge had been sleeping just as she had feared, wrapped in a rug and with uncovered pillow. Thia pillow was his own; it had not been brought down with the bed. She hastily slipped a cover on it, and without calling any further attention to her act, began to make up the bed.

Conscious that the papers he made a feint of reading wire but a cover for hie watchfulness, she moved tbout in a matter-of-fact way and did not spare him the clouds of dust which presently rose before her broom. But the judge was Impervious to discomfort. He coughed and shook his head, but did not budge an Inch. Before she had begun to put things in order the clock struck the half-hour. *0h!" she protested, with a pleading glance his way, “I’m not half done.” “There’s another day to follow,” he remarked, rising and taking a key from his pocket. The act expressed hie wishes; and he was proceeding to carry out her things when a quick, sliding noise from the wall she was passing drew her attention and caused to spring forward in an involuntary effort to catch a picture which had slipped its cord and was falling to the floor. A shout from the judge of “Stand aside, let me come!” reached her too late. She had grasped and lifted the picture and seen — But first let me explain. This picture was not like the others hanging about It was a veiled one. From some motive of precaution or characteristic desire for concealment on the part of the judge, it had been closely wrapped about in heavy brown paper before being hung, and in the encounter which ensued between, the falling picture and the spear of an image standing on the table underneath, this paper had received a slit through which Deborah had been/ given a glimpse of the canvas beneath. The shock of what she saw would have unnerved a less courageous woman.

It was a highly finished portrait of Oliver in his youth, with a broad band of black painted directly across the eyes. In recalling this startling moment Deborah wondered as much at her own aplomb as at that of Judge Ostrander. Not only had she succeeded in suppressing all recognition of what hqd thus been discovered to her, but had carried her powers of self-repres-sion so far as to offer, and with good grace, too, to assist him in rehanging the picture. This perfection of acting had its full reward. With equal composure he excused her from the task, and, adding some expression of regret at his well-known carelessness in not looking better after his effects, bowed her from the room with only a slight increase of his usual courteous reserve.

But later, when thought came and with it certain recollections, what significance the incident acquired in her mind, and what a long line of terrors it brought in Its train! It was no casual act. this defacing of a son’s well-loved features. It had a meaning—■a dark and desperate meaning. It had played its heavy part in his long torment —a gelling reminder of—what? It was to answer this question—to face thia new view of Oliver and the

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER. IND.

bearing it Baa on the relations she had hoped to establish between him and Reuther, that she bad waited for the house to be sUafit and her child asleep. Unhappy mother, just as she aaw something like a prospect of releasing her long-dead husband from the odium of an jnjust sentence, to be shaken by thia new doubt as to the story and character of the man for whose union with her beloved child she was so anxiously struggling! There was a room on this upper floor into which neither she nor Reuther had even stepped. She had once looked in, but that was all. Tonight—because she could not sleep; because she must not think —she was resolved to enter it Oliver’s room! left as he had left it years before! What might it not tell of a past concerning which ehe longed to be reassured? The father had laid no restrictions upon her, in giving her this floor for her use. Rights which he ignored she could afford to appropriate. Dressing sufficiently for warmth, she lit a candle, put out the light in her own room and started down the hall to this long-closed room. A smother of dust—an odor of decay—a lack of all order in the room’s arrangements and furnishings—even a general disarray, hallowed, if not affected, by time —for all this she was prepared. But not for the wild confusion—the inconceivable litter and all the other signs she saw about her of a boy’s mad packing and reckless departure.

There was an inner door, and this some impulse drove her to open. A small closet stood revealed, empty but for one article. When she saw this article she gave a great gasp; then ehe uttered a low pshaw! and with a shrug of the shoulders drew back and flung to the door. But she opened it again. She had to. One cannot live in hideous doubt, without an effort to allay it. She must look at that small, black article again; look at it with candle in hand; see for herself that her fears were without foundation; that a shadow had made the outline on the wall which — She'returned to the closet and slowly, reluctantly reopened the door. Before her on the wall hung a cap—and it was no sfiadow which gave it that look like her husband’s; peak was there. She had not been mistaken; it was the duplicate of the one she bad picked up in the attic of

It Was a Highly Finished Portrait of Oliver In His Youth.

the Claymore inn when that inn was simply a tavern. Then she found herself looking into a drawer half drawn out and filled with all sorts of heterogeneous articles —sealing wax, a roll of pins, a penholder, a knife —a knife! Why should she recoil again at that? Nothing could be more ordinary than to find a knife in the desk drawer of a young man! The fact was not worth a thought; yet before she knew it her fingers were creeping towards this knife, had picked it up from among the other scattered articles, had closed upon it, let it drop again, only to seize hold of it yet more determinedly and carry it straight to the light

The knife was lying open on her palm, and from one of the blades the end had been nipped, just enough of it to match — Was she mad! She thought so for a moment; then she laid down the knife close against the cap and contemplated them bq|h for more minutes than she ever reckoned. The candle fluttering low in its socket roused her at last from her abstraction. Catching up the two articles which had so enthralled her, she restored the one to the closet, the other to the drawer, and, with swift but silent step, regained her own room, where she buried her head in her pillow, weeping and praying until the morning light, breaking in upon her grief, awoke her to the obligations of her position and the necessity of silence concerning all the experiences of this night

CHAPTER IX. * Unwelcome Truths. Silence. Yes, silence was the one and only refuge remaining to Deborah. Yet, after a few days, the constant self-restraint which it entailed ate like a canker into her peace and ua-

dennined a strength whieft she MM always considered inexhaustible. R«r ther began to notice her pallor, and the judge to look grave. She was forced to complain of a cold (and in this ehe was truthful enough) to account for her alternations of feverish impulse and deadly lassitude. The trouble she had suppressed was having its quiet revenge. Wes there no medium course? Could she not learn where Oliver had been on the night of that old-time murder? Miss Weeks was a near neighbor and eaw everything. Miss Weeks never forgot; to Miss Weeks she would go. She had passed the first gate and was on the point of opening the second one, when she saw on the walk before her a small slip of brown paper. Lifting it, she perceived upon it an almost illegible scrawl which she made out to read thus:

For Mrs. Scoville: Do not go wandering all over the town for clues. Look closer to florae. And below: You remember the old saying about jumping from the frying pan Into the Are. Let your daughter be warned. It is better to be singed than consumed. Because Deborah’s mind was quick it all flashed upon her, bowing her in spirit to the ground. Reuther had been singed by the knowledge of her father’s ignominy, she would be consumed if inquiry were carried further and this ignominy transferred to the proper culprit. Oliver alone could be meant. The doubts she had tried to suppress from her own mind were shared by others—others! In five minutes she was crossing the road, her face composed, her manner genial, her tongue ready for any encounter. The truth must be hers at all hazards. If it could be found here, then here would she seek it. Her long struggle with fate had brought to the fore every latent power she possessed. Miss Weeks was ready with her greeting. A dog from the big house across the way would have been welcomed there. The eager little seamstress had never forgotten her heur in the library with the half-uncon-scious judge.

"Mrs. Scoville!" she exclaimed, fluttering and leading the way into the best room; "how very kind you are to give me this chance for making my apologies. You know we have met before.”

“Have we?” Mrs. Scoville did not remember, but she smiled her best smile. “I am glad to have you acknowledge an old acquaintance. It makes me feel less lonely in my pew life.” “Mrs. Scoville, I am only too happy." It was bravely said, for the little woman was in a state of .marked embarrassment Could it be that the visitor had not recognized her as the person who had accosted her on that memorable morning she first entered Judge Ostrander’s forbidden gates? (TO BE CONTINUED.)

SOME GOOD IN VIVID COLOR

Frenchmen Found Their Red Caps Useful In Signaling to Their Alert Comrades. The French have, with the oncoming of winter, put into use the recently adopted great coat for infantry. It is not, as heretofore, a dark blue, but a blue-gray. The French have left to their British allies the khaki color, and they could not adopt the graygreen hue which had already been chosen by the Germans. So they accepted a blue, which is neutral and from a distance scarcely visible. It blends with the fog of the morning and the smoke of battle.

As for red, it is now definitely proscribed. The vermilion military cap is covered with blue. So the foot soldiers hereafter clothed in shaded foggy wear will attract less attention from the enemy. “But,” says Le Crie de Paris, “if red offers in time of war greater danger to the wearer, it may on occasion present some advantages. The other day a wounded soldier recounted how he and several of his comrades wandered into a position in advance of the French lines. As they were taken for Germans every time one stuck his nose above the trench they drew the fire of our soldiers. All at once an idea came to them. They put on the ends of their bayonets their red caps from which they had removed the cover. The firing ceased and they were enabled to return to their countrymen. This time it was the red that saved them.”

Pet Colt Figures In Divorce.

X A pet colt was introduced into the complaint of Mrs. Sarah T. Langdon for divorce from Leslie Langdon. It was set up as contributing to onp of the many acts of cruelty charged against Mr. Langdon. He is thirtythree and Mrs. Langdon nineteen. In the trial of her divorce action before Judge Monroe the other day Mrs. Langdon said her husband threatened to sell the colt She wanted to keep it because she had raised it. His threat to dispose of the colt was to annoy her, she said, and thereby she suffered mentally. But you can’t always keep the colt a pet; it will grow too big for that," commented the court. But in her mind, once a pet. always a pet The decree was granted on the ground of desertion and nonsupport—Los Angeles Times. ,

Trust in Providence.

When we meet one of these big, blaring motor headlights whirs riding in the modest electric belonging to our wife's relations, we just go ahead, trusting that Providence that watches I over children and drunkards will taka I care of us. too.

CAP and BELLS

PERTINENT QUESTION OF BOY Willie Figures It Out How Father la So Small and Hi* Uncle Jim So Big and Tall. At a dinner party reference was made to pertinent questions, and Congressman James S. Parker of New York recalled the story of how something along that line was exploded by little Willie. * William had an uncle on his mother’s side who was a six-footer, while his father wasn’t much bigger than a full-grown . sparrow. Watching his uncle one day thoughts came into Willie’s mind. “Mamma,” said he, turning to his maternal relative, “how is it that Uncle Jim grdSv so big and tall?” "He was always a good little boy," carefully explained mamma, “and because of that God permitted him to grow up tall and strong.” “I see,” thoughtfully used Willie, and then added, “when father was a boy I guess he must -have been some kind of a sinner.” —Philadelphia Telegraph.

The Masculine Way.

"It’s a wonder old Adam didn’t make a kick when he lost his job as head gardener of Eden,” said Growells. “Oh, he was just like the men of today,” rejoined his wife. “How’s that?” asked the beginner of the trouble. “He waited until he got home,” explained Mrs. Growells, “and then proceeded to raise Cain.”

Fully Qualified.

Office Manager—So you want a job, er? What kind of work can you dp? Applicant—Well, I hardly know. Until recently I was assistant Instructor in a boxing school, but — Office Manager (interrupting)—Oh, I can use you all right. Come around in the morning and hox our mail order shipments, and in the afternoon you can lick the stamps.

“Just as Good.”

We gazed pityingly on the listless drug store clerk leaning against the soda counter. / , “Haven’t you any ambition?” we inqufred, kindly and all that. “No,” he replied, with brightening intelligence, “but I have something just as gpod.”—Philadelphia Ledger.

Alas! Too True.

Him —As a rule a man treats a woman as she deserves to be treated. Her—Yes, I suppose so; but there are exceptions to all rules. Him —What is the exception to this one? Her —Well, sometimes he marries her.

HANDICAP.

"So you are busted again! Well, there’s a sucker borfi every minute.” “Yes, and take it from me, old chap, there’s a shark born every second.”

True, But Misleading.

“Dick hugged me last night before I had the faintest idea of what he was about.” * “And what did you do?” “Why, of course, I was instantly up ip arms about it.”

The Worst Way.

“That man wrote a highly abusive letter about the injuries he had received.” “Oh, that’s not the proper way to write one's wrongs.” *

Their peculiarity.

“Are Italian sunsets any different from other sunsets that they should be so called?” “Yes, inasmuch as they make the d *y B°-"* .

HIS WIFE’S MERRY WELCOME

She Told Him She Had Sent Suitcase Containing Friend’s Belonging* to Rummage Sale. Mr*. Tubbs went to the hall and greeted her husband with her usual affection when he returned from town the other evening. After a few moments, when he was seated comfortably In his own particular armchair, he asked lastly: "By the way, queenie, I suppose a suitcase arrived all right about half an hour ago?” Queenie beamed on him roguishly—they’d only been married five months. "Yes, darling. And what an awful collection of old clothes it had in it! You naughty boy, hoarding up suchf disgracefully shabby things, when you had everything new only* a few months ago. I sent them straight away to the rummage sale —so there!” Tubbs had gradually assumed a petrified expression, which finally melted into one of extreme terror. "I sent those clothes down here for a special reason. They belong to a business friend who is coming to dinner tonight!”—Pittsburgh ChronicleTelegraph.

A Sad Cynic.

"A man should never give up his ideals,” said the genial adviser. “What’s an idedl?” inquired Mr. Growcher. “Something to which he'aspires.” “Not always. In some cases ideals are what people talk about In order to throw you off your guard while they are reaching for plain ordinary lucre.”

Heard In Court.

' Judge—Why did you strike this man? Prisoner —He called me a liar, yodr honor. Judge—That is no excuse. Prisoner —Well, judge, it was my first experience. What does your honor do in such cases?

WORK ENOUGH.

“What did you raise on your place this year?” "Only the mortgage.”

Is She So Ingenuous?

"Charley, dear,” said young Mrs. Torkins, “what does it mean when the paper says money is easy?” “Why it means just what is says.” “I’m so glad. I thought, it was aquiet reference by some of your friends to the fact that you are trying to play poker again.”

Just So.

“But how about the risk?” “Oh, I’ll let you in on the ground floor. You’re safe if you can get in on the ground floor of a new enterprise.” “I don’t know about that. t Sometimes the bottom drops out.”

Convincing Argument.

Doctor—Madam, your daughter needs a complete rest. Mother—But she won’t listen to me. What shall I do? Doctor —Appeal to her in the interest of her complexion.—Philadelphia Public Ledger.

Needless Travel.

"You are not going to Europe next sqmmer?” “No. What’s the use? You can go to any large American city and eat pll the foreign, food and hear all the foreign languages you may happen to care about.”

Marital Amenities.

She —There is only one way a man of your disposition could make any woman happy. He —How’s that? She —By making her your widow.

Plenty of Ills.

"Ha* ha! this house, though It has no sign, is that of a doctor.” “How can you tell?” “Don’t you see the tree growing in front of the gate is a sick-a-more?”

Retort Courteous.

"My dear,” said Crowells, “you are simply talking nonsense.” “I know it,” replied his better half, “but it is because I want you to understand what I say.”

Wisdom of Experience.

"What,” queried the unsophisticated youth, “is the best way to find out just what a woman thinks of you?” “Marry her,” replied the Shelbyville sage, “then wait a few days.” »

The Sensible Thing.

“Jack told Nell he was simply burn. Ing up with love for her.” ; "What happened?” "Her father heard him and put him