People's Pilot, Volume 2, Number 32, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 January 1893 — AMERICAN PUSH. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

AMERICAN PUSH.

By EDGAR FAWCETT.

■ (fiPVRIGHT. 1891. Sy the Authors' ALLiANce. CHAPTER XL—■ Continued. •‘Scandalous?” he said, with swiftlyehanging manner. “What a name to •all honesty by!” “Oh! lam not so honest, I assure you.” “There, you confessed that you are. Anyone else would have spoken so differently.” “Any other woman, you mean?” “Well, yes,” he assented. “And other women, when they talk with you, metasieur, are anxious to convince you of their honesty.” “Well, yes.' 1 Kathleen seemed to muse a little, ■lowly shaking her head. “That is because you are you." He made an impatient gesture. “It is so conducive to feminine deception, then, this being I, as you put it?” and, without waiting for her to respond, he went on: “What made me in the first place like you so much, mademoiselle, was your charitable forgetfulness of who I really am." “I didn’t forget it in the least, however. I cultivated myself into seeming as if I did.” “ Ah! you’re bent on disappointing me. ” “No, monsieur, only on telling you the truth.”

“The truth from people never disappoints me.” “Are you so sure?” she murmured, a little vaguely, not meeting his look. He gave a slight start. “Not quite ■are, not quite sure—in your case. * . . . Bor example, it did disappoint me to learn that you are unhappy.” She would not admit that she had ever confessed this to him during their previous talks, and for a good while they gently battled with one another concerning what human happiness truly means, until Clarimond at last said, with an accent of mild irritation: “For a man or woman of reasonable age there is but one perfect kind of happiness. The heart is a mill, whose wheel should always turn in a full stream and grind forth golden grain. The soul, like a wealthy miller, must be buoyant and gladsome at the labor performed; the deeper he is covered with the dust of that delicious industry the more prosperous he rates himself, while he looks forth on the world defied by his heart’s consoling thrift ” “It is not everybody,” smiled Kathleen, as the speaker paused, “who can be both king and poet in one short life.” “Areyou now satirical,mademoiselle?” “No, no! But lam skeptical There are so few hearts I like that— Mine, I fear, is an idle mill wheel above an empty stream-bed!” “Yet one whose waters have been dried. Or, if not dried, cruelly dammed." “I have not said that, monsieur.” “You say more, I find, thuxxyou mean to say." “Arid yet you do not think me deoeitful; you have granted as much." His eyes, for an instant, seemed to caress her face. “I think you strangely miserable!” he affirmed. Then, lowering his voice a little, and leaning nearer to hen “I can’t but wonder if you are incurably so.” “I am not miserable,” she said, with wistful ardor of denial “It is too bad that you should think this. You said something of the same sort yesterday. But you are wrong—wrong. I still have a great deal to live for.” “Still! And you say that in the early glow of your maidenhood! Still! It is amazing. Or, no; it isn’t amazing at all; it is thoroughly explainable. There is something you want I wonder if I •ould get it for you.” She shook her head quickly and then •tared down at the hanas which lay like two fate curled feathen in her lap

•Ko, monsieur." she breathed, enshrining the words, as it were, in a sort of long sigh. “It is nothing that yon coaid get me.” He accepted her reply as a surrender. She wax a sorrower, after all, and the feints of her assertion to the contrary had been admittedly futile. In the silence that now followed they both looked forth upon the incomparable valley, flanked by its mighty mountains, over-scattered by its ethereal villas, crowned, accentuated, dignified by its romantic and imposing palace. The king slowly lifted his hand and pointed to that pale and beauteous edifice. His voice was quite faint (though it reached her ears very clearly indeed) as he said: “I have thought of offering you this for a home.” She did not make the slightest sign of reply. He saw the color leave her cheeks and the light greaten in her eyes. But she did not turn her look towards his. Now her breath came visibly quicker, pulsing the spray of lace at her throat. Soon he saw her delicate hands flutter a little there in her lap like fallen flowers that a breeze blows over and vaguely unsettles. But that was alh “Yes,” he went on, “I have thought of asking you to dwell there with me—as my wife.” At once she turned and met his gaze with great directness. “You—have had this thought, monsieur?” “It k- my wish—my request—my entreaty.” “Your wife?" she repeated; and he saw that she was deeply perturbed. “My queen,” he continued. “I want you to share my throne and crown with me, such as they are. I have never asked any woman to do this until now. I have never asked any woman, for the simplest of reasons. Need I tell you that reason?” He reached his hand forward and took her hand, lifting it to his lips. It had grown cold—piteously

cold, and the kisses that he gave it were somehow bestowed with the compassionate tenderness which implied that he sought to reawaken its natural warmth. “Your queen—your queen,” she said, and withdrew her hand, not rudely, and yet with firmness. The color came back to her cheeks. As he watched her face it seemed like a tea-rose in some delightful process of revivification, faint yet distinct. “That is what I said,” he answered, “and that is what I mean.” He watched her struggle with her agitation. It seemed to him cruel that he should do this, and yet it gave him a curious pleasure just as if she were some oddly beautiful bird that revealed some touch of iridescent splendor beneath its wings every time they were fluttered. But at length Kathleen, so to speak, fluttered her wings once more. “Monsieur,” she said, with a kind of pathetic tranquillity, “there is—your mother.”

“My mother will be no obstacle. I can and will prevent her from being one.” She hesitated a moment. “Then there are—there are—(how shall I put it) your traditions." “I’ve trampled on a good many of them, as it is. Come now, mademoiselle,” he pursued, with a gruffness that would have frightened her if it had not ended in a smile. “You’re going to throw me over—you’re going to reject me—to (what is the right phrase?) send me about my business!” “No, no!” she exclaimed. Immediately then she rose and stretched out her right hand. “I will be your wife,” she said, “and I thank you for the great honor you do me.” He also rose at this and wrapped her with his embrace. But something in her lips, her eyes, her look (he could not for his life have told just what) made him put her away at arm’s length, intently scan her features and then recoil several steps, touching her no longer. “Your heart isn’t in it!” he exclaimed. “You’re giving yourself to me only because of your mother!” Her eyes dilated frightenedly. “Oh, no; don’t think that!” she cried “But I do think it—l must! Why not, when I read it, when I see it? Your heart is elsewhere, and you’re willing to let me possess if I will—the void that marks where it once beat Am I not right? Answer me, Kathleen; am I not right?” She burst into a passion of -tears. “Yes! yes! I dare not lie to you. If you were not so good and fine I—l might lie, but you tear the truth from me! You saw my pain, my undying memory; you taxed me with them; you insisted that they haunted me, and I—l confessed that you were not wrong. But I am willing to be your wife—willing. Oh, hear me, monsieur! I am not absurd to phrase it. like that Only it is best to be truthful. You, who are so sincere yourself, will understand, will pkrdbn. I had never taribwn him it would have been so different! I could have loved you then with all n>y soul! I nan imagine tome good woman loving

yoa that way. P.xhaps *t will come to me tn time. You spoke of my mother. No, it is not she—not wholly she. Of •curse she wants such a marriage; what toother would not? I myself am proud to be your wife; only there is that other tore which will not die! Am I not wiser to let you know this? You can’t blame me. I see now in your eyes that you do not blame me. I’ve never asked yen if he has spoken of nje; I’ve never wanted to know. It’s quite over beW. <?n us. There, that is all. I go to you without a guilty eonscience. You know me just as I am. I’ve tried to crush it but it would not be crushed. Suppose I had never said a word about it and let you take me with a falsehood in my soul. Many a woman would have done that. Almost every other woman in the world would have done it. But I’m not vaunting my virtues. I’m simply making a clean breast of things—don’t you see? You do see; yop must! There —I dare say I’ll be a worthy wife to you, monsieur, and I’m certain that I’ll be a very faithful and devoted one. As for a queen (and she laughed wildly through her tears), I may fail at that. It is such an un-dreamed-of part for me to play! But I’ll try. I’ll try hard, strengthened by your help!” The tears were glistening on her cheeks as she put forth both hands to him. He took them, kissing them both, and then, still holding them, he said: “Kathleen, you are a very noble and brave girl. I thank you sincerely for what you have told me. One easily multiplies words. You will understand just how grateful I feel. The evening of the ball is so near that a press of affairs may keep me from seeing you till then. But (as I said to you yesterday, if I mistake not), my carriage will be here at the hour named to conduct your mother and yourself to the palace. Au reooir. Let everything rest undetermined, please, until we meet again.” She felt his lips touch her hand, and

then in the twinkling of an eye, before she could even be sure that he meant to leave her, he had vanished from the room. She sank into a chair. Her heart was throbbing and her head swam a little as she leaned it backward. In a few more seconds her mother shot into her presence by another door. “Kathleen!” “Well, mamma!” “You’ve been crying! You’re in tears yet! What has happened? Is it arranged?" “No; nothing is arranged. That is, if you mean—” “Good gracious! I hope you haven’t quarreled!” “We haven’t quarreled.” “Thank heaven!” Mrs. Kennaird dropped at her daughter’s feet, in a collapse oddly picturesque, considering her size and weight. But after all she was a woman who never dealt awkwardly with her avoirdupois, though just now carried away by an emotion which might well have imperiled gracefulness. “Kathleen! Kathleen! Tell me, my darling. You can’t be unkind enough not to tell me! Did he mention it? Did he say one single word about it? Now, my child, consider how I suffer. Don’t torture me. Let me know everything!" Kathleen regarded her mother for a moment, and then slipped both arms round her neck. “Mamma,” she said, with a deceit born of pity, and also of that love which all the icy ambition, all the worldly striving, all the hard, harsh, American push of her parent had never served to annul, “there is really nothing for you to know except that the king was very kind to me, very kind, and I—well, I became a little nervous. It seems like such a great ordeal, mamma, for me to open the ball with him. And yet he’s good enough to insist that I will get through all right. He—”

“'All right!" cried Mrs. Kennaird, regaining her feet with a phenomenal alacrity. “There won’t be a woman in the ballroom who can hold a candle to you.” At this same time, as it happened, Alonzo Lispenard was crossing the threshold of a small apartment, full of books, busts and a few very rare pictures, where Eric Thaxter had passed many an hour of artistic musing. Alonzo held a paper in his hand. “You see,” he said, after handing the paper to Eric, and throwing himself into a chair at his friend’s side, “my royal command for the state ball has actually come.” Erie merely glanced at the paper. “Mine has just come, too,” he said. “What?” queried Alonzo. “Were you not invited till now?” “No. It was that horrible princess. Clarimond has been letting her have her head, but the other night he pulled her up with a short rein. 1 hear that she’s now humility itselt tam naturally delighted. I’ve seen it coming, Lonz, but of course I could say nothing to the king.” “And you will go to the ball?” said Alonzo, slowly. “Go? Yes. It will be great fun to see the haughty old Brindisi dame de-

posed. Shell be obliged to beam on us. We will go together, be beamed on in dno!” “I cannot go, Eric.” “Not go, Lons? But you must!" “Must!” “You will insult the king. And remember, you are his—" “Servant,” struck in Alonzo, bitterly. “Absurd! He of all men would hate that word of your* Listen: I know everything that passed between you. I think, on the whole, that you behaved very welL” t Alonzo gave a harsh little laugh. “It’s a wonder that you’re willing to admit that.” “Oh, I’m willing to light for you, dear boy, when I think you’re in the right. Clarimond, however, apologized.” “Yes, a king’s apology.” “My dear Lonz, you’re sulky." Alonzo repeated his laugh. “What a queerly wrong kind of word from you, Eric, who usually pride yourself on the mot jutte!" Eric smiled. “There is a great deal of talk about the right word in the right place, but it has always seemed to me that'there should be in all cases at least five words to choose from; otherwise language becomes a pauper, and expression a mere joiner’s mechanism!” Alonzo tossed his head. “This burst of brilliancy,” he said, somberly, “leads “Another word in which to define your present mood —jealous.” Alonzo gave a great start Then he tried to laugh, for the third time, and lamely failed. “Oh, that’s cruel of you!" Here his brow clouded. “And if lam jealous of a man like that!" “A very noble and exceptional man, remember!” “Oh, yes. But a man whose immense rank compromises Kathleen by the fact of his being in love with her!" Eric played for a moment with, an ivory paper cutter which had lain on the desk near which his friend had discovered him while deep in the solution of some new architectural problem. “How do you know the king is in love with her?” he suddenly asked. “Bah!” grumbled Alonzo. “How do I know I am I, you are you?" “Well, granted that he is. Come now, Lonz, you’ve known him long enough to feel, if not also to know, that he’s n man who would scorn to treat any pure woman—well,” Eric went on, after a pause and a gesture, “to treat any pure woman as kings have too often done.” Alonzo gnawed his lip. “What on earth will he do, then, Eric? He is in love with her.” “Every man is. lam. I’ve only seen her the least little bit and yet—” “Oh, seriously! He can’t marry her!" “Can’t he!” “What do you mean?” cried Alonzo, jumping up from his chair as though something had stung him. “Ah,” said Eric, with a voice cool and incisive, “I thought you had forever broken with her. How, then, can it wake your wrath if she should become the queen of Saltravia?” “It wouldn’t —it wouldn’t,” muttered Alonzo, pale and visibly distressed. [to BE CONTINUED.]

THE KING SLOWLY LIFTED HIS HAND AND POINTED TO THAT PALE AND BEAUTEOUS EDIFICE.