People's Pilot, Volume 2, Number 29, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 January 1893 — AMERICAN PUSH. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

AMERICAN PUSH.

EDGAR FAWCETT COPYRIGHT. 1891. BY THE AUTHORS' ALLIANCE.

CHAPTER IX. —CONTINUED. For the first time Kathleen looked full into his face. Let it be forgiven her when recorded that the curious complexity which we call a woman’s heart throbbed strangely. No woman was ever really the lover of two men at the same time; but many a woman has believed that she could have love (and passionately and truly loved) some man whom she has known while still loving the object of her first allegiance. Perhaps it was this way with Kathleen; perhaps the fact of Clarimond’s great rank wrought with her more than she would have wished to tell. Women are shaped from self-contradictions, not because they are in the main weaker than men (it will some day be scientifically disclosed, no doubt, that they are strong where men are weak and weak where men are strong), but because millions of years have lapsed in which they have served as slaves to the alleged lords of creation. Yet is this, after all, a true philosophic view of things, and is not a stern wrong done to Kathleen, when we assert of her that she felt one whit more disarrayed than a like environment would have rendered, one of the other sex, this nearness of sovereignty being feminine, not masculine? Few men, if history does not err, have resisted the blandishments of queens. And Clarimond; if he dealt in no blandishments, bore himself at all times with that magnetic demeanor which would have made his greatness quite secondary in the eyes of not a few women on whom he might have chosen benignly to beam. Lightly he now pursued, with his gaze fixed upon Kathleen's face in a way that somehow belied the levity of his words: “Oh yes, the weather here is my only rebel and my only traitor. I’ve an idea about it; I’ve decided that it is only endurable when we don’t think of discussing it. Am I not right, and do we not respect it most when, like Caesar’s wife, it is above suspicion?” Laughing, enjoying the pleasantry, Kathleen threw back her head. Now for the first time had she a moment of real, vivid social distraction. "I resent this rebellion, monsieur;” she said, “on the part of your Saltravian weather. Still, as yet, I’ve no personal grudge against it. When a rainy day comes I shall ask you to give me some preliminary edict, that I may read it to the insurgent elements, signed with your royal seal.” “Have you as much faith in my power as that, mademoiselle?” he asked, drawing closer to her. “I assure you I am a very small sort of king.” “You’re the first that I’ve ever met,” she answered, gathering boldness. "If they are all like you, monsieur, I shouldn’t be afraid to meet any of them—not ever the tsar of Russia.” “Russia?” he said, his sunny face clouding a little. “Do you care for that country?” "It’s romantic to us who do not know it. It’s so far away, monsieur, and so—" "Barbarous," he replied, a little harshly. “Yes, being the most uncivilized of European countries, Russia is hence the most romantic. Her very patronymics, with their bristling thickets of consonants, seem like lairs for the imps of assassination; and one need only hear the words ‘Masco' and ‘Odessa’ and ‘Volga’ to feel as if one had been assisting at a conspiracy of nihilists.” He ended these words almost sternly, but at once his face lightened and his voice grew kind. “Pardon me, mademoiselle,” he pursued. “I try to be without rancors. Usually I succeed in showing none. Of all times this is the last when I should remember them. Shall I tell you why?" “If you wish, monsieur?” "Then my reason is this: That I read in your face, in your manner—will you pardon me for saying so?—the evidence of a sorrow which does not consort with your unquestionable youth, and— will you still pardon me?—with your very extraordinary beauty.” “A sorrow?” faltered Kathleen, drooping her eyes. Then, in another minute, she lifted her gaze and said firmly: “You are right, monsieur. I have a sorrow—a great sorrow." For what seemed to Kathleen a strangely long time there was silence between herself and the king. She waited for him to speak, and at last he did so, in a voice full of somber repressions. "If it were a sorrow that I could lighten, or in any way appease, mademoiselle, I would so gladly do my best to help you!"

Once more their eyes met, and IT-rd* leec » Uj» trembled. “Yon you are ao good!” she heattoted. Then« flood of memory swept over her andshe continued: “We only eame here, inamma and I, for a short visit. We are going tomorrow. to-morrow. We are going to—" “Going?” shot in Clarimond, with an intonation that was at once flattery and reproach. “To-morr jw!” he gave an impatient frown oadlossed life head. Then, *® if ■ desire to control undue overplus of ardor, be went on: “May I noMWtaee •sSe? May for au instant he touched her vri&t With Kathleen eEook her lieacL “AKf monsieur,” she murmured, “you Will be godd and not try to persuade us?’ .-/ “Us!” he echocda' ‘,‘^h—yuur mother! I had And you, mademoiselle? You on leaving Saltravia?'” His fact? mA freshed aqd his gray eyes had kindled. “Yon-mbit stay for a little yet. You mutt stay!” Kathleen smiled. “Ik /hat a royal commapd?”,khoasked, “They tell me I must not remind yj>u that you, are a king; and yet—”.' t , ' , “Ah!" he cried, softly, “I win remind you, mademoiselle,' that I am not only a king but a tyrant!’’ • • “Monsieur?” ’V. -1 *f ) *..< “Yes, yes; I mean i.tP’. And he threw his walking stick into the air with a grand show of “I tell you that I will not you have reminded me thatl am a king, you shall feel my power. I will defy your country—America, Is it not?” “Yes and no. America and England, both together, * monsiedb, for I waS born—” “Enough.” And he wavedhis walking, stick once again. “I will defy America and England both. Luckily Saltravia is an inland Iringdom, ahd they can’t come with ironclads to get you until—” He paused and looked ! intently at her,; smiling, and yet with a sudden dubious undecided gleam in lucifl eyes. ■ “Until?” said Kathleen, secretly excited, with a lovely rose at full bloom in either cheek. •*' .

over

“Until I have opened the ball with yon at the palace ne±t Thursday. It’s against precedent. It will shock certain people. It will immensely shock my mother, the princess of Brin disk But I vow to you that I shall not dance the first quadrille, that all the duchesses and archduchesses and princesses must do without me, provided you refuse this little request of mine. Now, will you refuse, or will you be kind and consent?” She saw that he was.greatly excited. She realized that unwittingly she had captivated him, a ,young man of about her own age and full as was she herself with the power to' love, even to worship. She could not, as a woman, fail to understand the tremendous honor that he paid her. For a moment she forgot Alonzo. This man was a king, and womanlike she forgot the man she loved better than throngs of kings. ‘ ' “Will you consent?” he persisted; and she scanned his face, thinking how manful, how noble he looked. How every inch royal. s “Yes, monsieur,” she answered, know ing well the exultaqt delight of hep mother on learning of this brilliant honor, no matter what might be the stern disapprobation of the court. Just then her mother’s voice broke upon her ear. She started, half because the spund .was not further away and half because it jarred so on her now, pleasured mood. ' “My dear Kathleen,” her ' mother began. But it was too late, dpric, slipping away from two or thral ladies with whom he had been at odds in some gay argument, darted forward, but he also found that it was too late. o“Lonz,” he staid, catching his friend by the arm. ■=< o. : But Alonzo, rvho had arrived from Munich a day or two earlier than he had himself expected to come, pressed forward, seeing the king and never dreaming of whom’else he was destined to see. He had secured two or three really superb, pictures in the Bavarian capital, and wm anxious to, iell'Clarimond of this trbvnazlles. As he reached the king’s presence, however, he abruptly perceived the truth and recoiled, growing pale. < ! * Clarimond noticed nothing, however. Kathleen thoroughly controlled herself, as did her mother. In a way they werq both prepared /or the ' *. ( “My friend!” said the king, extending to Alonzo his 'hand. “You have' returned "sooner than I expected.” Then there was a pause, after which Clarimond; with all his accustomed graciousness, j. . present you, Lispenard, to these ladies, who are, I believe, your countrywomen—” And at that point Alonzo quite lost his head. It seemed to himselX after*

2 * *• ■ ’ wnrfl, tel while hwfcytng ewwy he must have fallen there on the terrace before the palace»-if aim had mA ■troagly thrust itself within Ms own, infl perhaps, too, if Eric’s votes had not pefehly burst upon hie singing braln,|l M lsnxz! Lous!” tide voicf; called th toW “You’re disgxwciiig youreeli before&e king. W “X flpn’t help ft. Let me get w»vay. “Lonalj-Qh, very well, we’re ting away, it strikes me, as fastasWe're ; able—look heee, now, Lonk, knoWp you were coming—” Yea, Erie; I understand. CdMHgiik on. Wbea we’roeft h"Uie »« talk it AWtotne thw did talk iwtor. Whew his Mood whs said, with a kind of dogged dullness, to Eric: ’'■* j. | “I suppose it’s all ’up with me. I might as well send in n?y resignation at bhcb.” ; ‘‘ r “Nonsense,” replied Eric. | “tl’hat I did. you'know, Waa a great breach'of ctiqufttte." “ The king irnftla io itiquett®." “Still, I rushed ofl >ht scandalous baste. • What wogld you do? fiVritp him a letfer nnd confess evdrythiwg?” Erip said, a^teralreflective pause. “Thai’s precisely wl*t I Would do, my dedr friend, ' Abd if tyou want him to sympathfed with you, be As untruthful as you can manage ’| : do you mean, Erie?’® let full facts Don’t tell Clarimpnd how- baefly you behaved to that poor girl,” “Ah, you will have it that® behaved badly!” said Alonzo, as he quitted the room to write hiS propobed lebter. It was now almost dark, aKd dinner would be served at eighth Alonzo lighted the studio and then siated himself at his writing desk. words were in coining; he felt lhe excessive awkwardness of this epistle, and yet did he notfewe it to Cluritaond, his master; his lAnefactor, his protector? Would- not tilence in hijn be churlish at suoh a tiiflo as this? Suddenly a certain /thought crossed hie nund, and he rose, flinging his pen aside.’ In one corner of the room stood his easel, draped. He drew back its

covering and looked at the canvas thus revealed It was the picture of Kathleen. Just before leaving for Munich he had given the portrait what he felt were his absolutely final touches. He had not known then how good it was—hoW definitely and vitally the witching head bloomed forth from shadow. Yes, Eric had been right. His powers were of the slow and brooding sort; they were like those of the poet who must “beat his music out” in travail <?f self distrust. But here was plainly a masterpiece; nevertheless. And yet, as he watched this perfect portraiture of a woman whom he still hungrily loved, though she was lost to him forever, a sepse, of the terrible irony of such a picture pierced him to the soul. The very excellence of its art would be an incessant jeer. Why had he not foreseen this? An abrupt desire to ruin the picture now swept dbwn upon him, oddly blended with the egotism of the creator, an element always potent in every true artist’s mind He actually seized his mlette knife and stood undecided as to whether he should rip the work into tatters or spare it for future hours of mingled happiness and grief. While he thus hesitated, a knock sounded at the studio door. “Come in,” he said, startled, citing the palette • hnife,qp the floor, and turning to meet, as he dupposfea, Eric Thaxter. But it Was- riot Eric. To his very great CbnSterriation, it was the king. Clarimond seemed repose itself. “You mipjt pardon me,” he said, “for intruding upon you like thia, Nd doubt I bore you horribly. J do not? That is pleasant to hear. Pray let me take this chair, and you—will yon have the kindness to sit Hear me? That is right. I " wanted to stretch out my hand toydu afid clasp it dor a' moment—like that. Yon see, I am certain you are very unhappy, teud-rihen my friends are unhappy I am' always full of sympathy for them.” /. ... , ; . <J < The king’s hand was pressing his own while Alonzo, with drooped eyes, miserablymurmured: “Oh, monsieur, I have behaved with an immense vulearitv!” “Vulgarity? ’ said Clarimond, in a musipg voice, which had the effect of giving his listener a chance to escape from the toils of embarrassment, just as the young sovereign’s marvelous tact had no doubt suggested to him that it would do. “Vulgarity,” he went on, “is the ultimate ally of passion. And passion is naturalness. We can’talways keep the landscapes of cur lives full of clipped’shrubs, like an Elizabethan garden. Tell me, now, num ami, weraydu not once engaged to marry this Mlle. Kennaird?” , “Yes, monsieur.” “So I gathered, from the tumultuous things that her mother said after you left Mademoiselle scarcely spoke at

•Q. Aw OKAbar bad an amount to say?*' p' “And against mgraelf, at ,coura|, m£» The king stared for a moment down at the earven agate of his can® handle “Well,” he at length laid, smiling, “abs was not merciful to you. But I did not believe her, and it stnuk me that , mademoiselle did not believe her, either. .You will think me a sad bmybody— •’ should" be glad tn hear your ver»ionof the afluir. Shall t tall >□■ why?” He spoke with marked eagerness, and yet the instant Hatrly met those of’-Akflizo he averted | his look and went Of in a queerlyvoice; “It is because the young 1 Tbdy, Mlle. Krthleen—ls not that her name?—has greatly interested me.” After a fetv .seconds he repeated the words: “Greatly interested me. Yes," be soon continued, “if you would tell me just what occurred I should feel most grateful for your confidence.” , “Permit me, then, to tell you, monsieur,” said Alonzo, and he at once began a recital, in which he adhered to the strictest truth with wh*t~might be called a very carnival of conscientiousness. Remembering Eric’s.harsh judgment of his conduct, he ajloyved this to, cast upon his disclosures a self-ac-cusative gloom. Ending, he said: “I fear that I exacted too much. I' am conscious of this now, monsieur, though I once thought myself sternly wronged." The king rose. “It all seems to me the fault of that very dominating person, the young lady’s mother,” he said. “You are generous to rid Mlle. Kathleen of all blamse as you do—but it is like you.” He Mtrvtchcd out’ his hand, which Alonzo sprxug forward to grasp with both his own. “I have { known for some time that you bad a' large, humane heart I did not need Eric to tell me that.” “Erie will rarely see faults, monsieur,” faltered Alonzo. The Mng now turned his e?ras toward the picture on the easel. "Ah! you have been painting something,' he said in the voice of one who speaks from a dfesire to break an Irksome pause. Then he gave a great start and hurried toward the portrait “It is she!” he exclaimed. Receding a few steps, he threw both bauds upward with a gesture of extreme enthusiasm. “tVonderful!” he pursued. ’’Not merely as a portrait I mean, but as a work of art. It reminds me of the ‘Mona Liza’ in the Louvre. It has the same fine security of treatment the same rich subtlety of color.” ■ • “Monsieur is very kind.” “Kind? No! no!” the king replied, almost .irritably; He .turned toward Alonzo and surveyed him for a nfement with an odd, restless, enkindled glance. hia lips, “how I envy you for being able to paint like thq,t—to., paint thitr Thebe ivW lown dead iUime. Alonzo, with wholly ‘ new ' emotion*, watched him while he g&ve the picture Jiq ft n/l hifr companion once more. “I want" It * I wtofe 4t very much.” “I did not wish so dispose of it monsieur-” . • j; , v . [to be continued.] •

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RECEDING A FEW STEPS, HE THREW BOTH HANDS UPWARD WITH A GESTURE OF SUPREME ENTHUSIASM.