Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 187, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 August 1916 — The Red Mirage [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Red Mirage

A Story of the French Legion in Algiers

By L A. R. WYLIE

SYNOPSIS. —l4 Bylvia Omney, her lover, Richard Farquliar, finds, has fallen In love with Captain Arnaud of the Foreign Legion. In Captain Sower’s room Farquhar forces Sower to have Preston’s I O U's returned to him. Farquhar Is helped to hts rooms by Gabrielle" Smith. Sower demands an apology. Refused, he forces Farquhar to resign hia commission in return for possession of Farquhar’s father’s written confession that he had murdered Sow- ’ epß father. Gabrielle saves Farquhar from suicide. To shield Arnaud, Sylvia's fiance. Farquhar professes to have stolen war plans and tells the real culprit why he did so. As Richard Nameless he joins the Foreign Legion and sees Sylvia, now line. Arnaud, meet Colonel Destlnn. Farquhar mets Sylvia and Gabrielle, and learns from Corporal Goetz of the col- ' onel's cruelty. Arnaud becomes a drunkard and opium smoker. Sylvia becomes friendly with Colonel Destlnn. Arnaud becomes jealous of Farquhar. Farquhar, on guard at a villa where a dance Is In progress. Is shot down by Arnaud. Ar-. naud justifies his Insanely jealous action to Colonel Destinn. Arnaud goes to a dancing girl who loves him for comfort. Gabrielle meets Lowe, for whom she had sacrificed position and reputation, and tells him she is free from him. Sylvia meets Destlnn behind the mosque. Arnaud becomes 111 but Sylvia will not help him, nor Interfere for Farquhar. Gabrielle, aiding Farquhar, who Is under punishment, is mistaken by him In his delirium for Sylvia.

What does duty mean to you? Despite his position of power, the situation in which Colonel Destinn finds himself is hopeless. There Is nothing to live for, apparently. At this moment sounds the stern call to duty, but an Instant later temptation in the person of Sylvia stays his response. Will duty win?

CHAPTER XlV—Continued. Once past the sentries, the spahi turned into one of the quieter avenues leading to the barracks. He had not decreased his speed, and his horse’s hoofs struck a metallic, ominous music out of the cobbled roadway. Colonel Destinn heard it and it seemed that another sound bad caught his attention, for he went to the window and stood with his hand on the clasp, his head bent. Something rustled —something white flashed out from between the trees and came gliding hurriedly toward him. “Sylvia!” he muttered. She almost flung herself into his arms, clinging to him with a child’s panic, and for the moment that he held her their shadows were sharp cut against the light. Then he half dragged, half carried her into the room and closed the windows. There were heavy curtains on either side, and he dragged them across. Save for the soft jingle of his spurs and her own quick breathing there was no sound. He came back to her and drew her veil from her white face. “Where have you come from?” “From the Cercle. Desire left me. T don’t know where he went to —but I ran here.” “I have watched five you.” “I knew. It has beefiawful —the temptation, the fear, the uncertainty. Every night I tried to make-up my mind one way or another, but I couldn’t. I seemed to have lost hold. Oh” —her white baby hands clutched at his dolman in helpless despair—“oh, what have you done —what have you done?” “I was very brutal.” He led her gently to an armchair far from the window and stood quietly beside her, his hand still holding hers, his eyes turned from the bowed head to the disordered table, as though seeking a memory. “Some men are born brutal —some become brutal through habit, Sylvia. I have seen life too long from my deliberately chosen standpoint to change. And then I meant there should be no illusions —either for you or me.” "I have none,” she broke out bitterly; “they are all gone. I would n<rt have come to you tonight if you had not made me see my own worthlessness.” “I knew that You would have played on the safe side of the game and called it virtue.” “Paul, how cruel you are!” “Yet —you love me, don’t you?” She looked up at him with veiled wistful eyes. “Yes —I believe I do. You are the one real thing left me—the one real thing of my whole life. I have been fed on illusions, my own and other people’s. They thought because I was beautiful —more beautiful than most women —that I was also better, different And I believed so, too. From our second meeting I knew that you had seen me—the real me—the foolish, selfish, vain, shallow child. And at first I was frightened, angry, fascinated against my will, and then —intensely, unutterably grateful." He bent over her and lifted her to her feet “You have been honest,” he said, in a changed tone. “That is all I wanted. We wear masks—every one of I mine. I am not absolutely a devil. It’s hard to believe. I suppose, but there was a time when I was fond of —all sorts of unlikely things—flowers and music, and men and women—and children.” His bands released hers,

and he walked restlessly to the table, where he stood a moment in silence, his back toward her, his head bowed. “This Is a miniature of my son,” he said abruptly. She came softly across the room and took it from him. There was a moment in which they seemed to pass out of each other’s consciousness. Then she looked up timidly. His head was still bowed, and the sharpcut indomitable profile gave her no clue, no indication. “He died?” she said almost In a whisper. “No, it was I who died.” He straightened up like a man shaking ofT a dream. “I am getting sentimental, Sylvia. You are young and very beautiful —and I am an old man who has murdered the best in him —”

“I never think of you as old,” she interrupted thoughtfully. “There is something about you—” “What was that?” ——- She had broken off abruptly, her features white 'with panic. He lifted his head, but did not look at her. “Did you hear anything?” “Someone rode up—l heard the horse's hoofs—there is someone coming—now—” Her voice was dry. ...Terror had stamped out ail trace of beauty from her face. Destinn crossed the room and held open a side door. ——- “Go in there!” he commanded quietly. “It is probably a message. In five minutes the man will have gone. Don’t come In till I call you.” She obeyed unresistingly, and with one a hqunted glance over her shoulder, crept past him into the unlighted room. He closed, the door and went back to his table. He was now perfectly calm. Someone knocked Imperatively, and he answered the summons with tranquil indifference. As the door opened he glanced up, and the eyes of the two men met fixedly over the wavering candle-flame. It seemed to blot out everything but their faces. —Riehard Farquhar saluted. “I have come with a message from General Meunler.” “The message is urgent, then?” “Yes. A spahi arrived this evening with news that the tribes are rising. The outposts have been cut up. There is no communication between here and—” “Give me the letter!” With rapid, steady fingers Colonel Destinn broke the seals and hurried over the half a dozen lines of precise writing. When he had finished the whole man had changed. The masly was in its place, so absolute in its disguise of energy and steeled purpose that what had been before now seemed a grotesque incredible comedy. “The First marches at midnight,” he said, half to himself. “The orders were already given when you left?” “Yes. Corporal Goetz’s men were in campaign but five minutes after the signal.” , “You were badly wounded. What are you doing in this business? You aren’t fit to earry a rifle.” He saw the tightening of the dogged jaws, and for a moment there flashed between them a strange sympathy—the sympathy of fighters to whom fighting is tire great essence of life.” It passed like a streak of light in the darkness. Colonel Destinn turned away. “Give my compliments to (Jeneral

Meunier. I shall be with the regiment in ten minutes.” This time there was no answer. The silence seemed to impress itself slowly on Colonel Destinn’s consciousness. He looked up over the top of the letter which he still held to the light and his gaze rested for a second on the little ivory fan and the white gloves—then passed upward, as though drawn by an Irresistible fascination, to the face of the man opposite. He, too, had seen. A minute later their eyes met. In tne distance a bugle chanted the Legion’s war signal, “Aux armes! Aux armes!” Richard Farquhar swung round and closed the door behind him. Instinctively Colonel Destinn had placed himself between Farquhar and the door leading to the inner room. It was typical of him that he did not threaten or attempt to deny the vital facts of the situation. In an hour this man might be arrested and shot down —but not now. Richard Farquhar picked up the fan and opened it. “Colonel Destinn, a man I knew gave this to the woman he was to have married. How did it come here?” Colonel Destinn looked into the blazing eyes of his opponent and frowned. It was the first sign of yielding self-possession. “You are brave. Courage is the ono thing I can respect. You are free ta go, Englishman.” “Not till you have answered.” “I shall then have double cause to order out a shooting party on your behalf.” “What you insinuate is a damnable lie—” Destinn laughed. —“At least you have the courage of your convictions,” he said, almost with regret. The legionary made no answer. He had thrust aside the intervening table, and the next men were locked together in a merciless embrace. There was no sound —scarcely a movement. The first fury of Farquhar’s onslaught balanced his feverweakened condition and leveled their respective strength to practical equality. Then the steeled muscles of the elder-man asserted themselves, and slowly, imperceptibly, he retreated from the door, seeming to yield, never for an instant relaxing his tenacious hold upon the other’s arms. Suddenly he wrenched himself free and sprang back to his writing table. “If you touch that door I shall shoot you down—now,” he said quietly. Farquhar turned, conscious that his own rage had suddenly burned out. He saw that the door which Destinn had protected had opened, and that Sylvia Arnaud, white and large-eyed with terror, stood trembling on the threshold. Farquhar recoiled a step. Colonel Destinn had replaced his revolver on the table. There was something akin to pity written on his hard face. Sylvia glanced at him and then at Farquhar. Behind her fear there had already begun to dawn the knowledge that the situation was dramatic and wholly in her hands. . “I knew that you were a traitor, Richard,” she said. “But I thought you were still a gentleman. It seems I was mistaken.” Her manner was tearful, childishly resentful. He turned from her without answer. “I owe you an apology, Colonel Destinn,” he said simply. “Do you trust me enough to let me place myself under arrest?” “I trust yon enough to let you find your punishment under fire,” was the courteous answer. “I shall need brave men.” “I thank yon.” They sainted each other —gravely, with respect, as unreconciled duelists who have learned each other’s worth in the bitterness of battle; then, with a slight bow to the woman, standing against the dark background of the inner room, Richard Farquhar passed out of the open window. “Aux armes! aux armes!” He langhed to himself, his teeth clenched. But the mnsic of that storm signal was as the call of the blood, a challenge to the fighting spirit of his race. He swung himself lightly into the saddle and drove bis heels against the horse’s dripping flanks. “En avant, Grane!” The animal swerved. Someone had caught at the bjridje. Farquhar bent forward, ing into the darkness. “Who is it? My God—Gabrielle!” “Yes; I thought I recognized you. Where have you come from?” “Colonel Destinn’s —” “Is—” “Yes; she is there.” “Captain Arnaud Is asking for her, and I suspected. There isn’t a moment to be lost—”

Has Captain Arn*ud discovered his wife’s utter treason, and started out to kill her and her men friends? After what you know, would you blame the husband for anything murderous he did?

(TO BE COKTIMUVDa

“I Knew That You Were a Traitor, Richard,” She Said, “but I Thought You Were Still a Gentleman."