People's Pilot, Volume 2, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 February 1893 — AMERICAN PUSH. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

AMERICAN PUSH.

By EDGAR FAWCETT.

(fif'vmGHT. 1891 1 Sr the Aumoay AlxiANCft.

CHAPTER Xl.—Continued. “I remember,” fell from Alonzo, aa ho Stood in the full-lighted interior and Razed about him. As in the Sainte Chapelle, there were fifteen windows of superfine stained glass with their designs front Scripture and the lives of the saints, blossoming out of lovely traceries; there were the same polychrome adornments, and the same statues of the twelve Apostles over against the pillars. “It was so different when I saw it last,” Alonzo continued. “The sunshine then flooded it, and now there are these radiant candelabra, brimming at intervals with wax candles. Why is it thus illumined? What has this dreamy little place to do with all that mundane and dazzling revel that we have just left?” “It has but recently been ligated, as you will see,” said Eric, pointing to a cluster of candles near by. “The king desired this.” “One of his whirrs, I suppose.” “He has no whims." “Does he attend service here?” “Clarimond! My dear Lonz, you know by this time as well as I do that the king has no distinct religious creed. He has given the use of this chapel to his mother during her stay here; the princess’ apartments are not far away from it. I have heard him say that if he should ever be married, his friend, Dr. Wouvermann, whom yc#i already know, should perform the ceremony here between these walls. It will be a new shock to conservatism, of course; for that kindly and intellectual old German, Wouvermann, is a thorn in the side of the recognized Saltravian clergy. .... But here is the king now. He is coming to meet you.” Clarimond was indeed advancing toward them, along the central aisle. As Alonzo’s eyes met his face its excessive pallor challenged notice. The king extended his hand to Eric’s friend, and its flesh felt so icily cold to him that he almost recoiled with a cry. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “I wish to hold a little talk with yon, if 1 you will let me.” Then he nodded to Eric, and swiftly added; “Leave us, please, and carry out my other request. lam sure that you will succeed. And pray do not forget that you may freely use my name, sanction and authority.” With a bow Eric Thaxter mutely departed, while Alonzo and his master stood together, in the jilence and mellow splendor of the charming chapeL . . . It may have been a half-hour later when he returned, accompanied by a lady. The jhapel was then quite vacant again, and the lady gave a little joyful cry as she looked about her. “Oh, this is so lovelyl And you say that the king wishes to see me here?” Then it seemed to Kathleen as if the king’s presence was somehow evolved from out the glimmering softness of the place; and while he drew near to her Eric disappeared. “You are very good to come,” said Clarimond. “I saw how they flocked about you, there in the ball-room. No doubt it was annoying to desert your scene of conquest ” “No, monsieur. I came at your bidding." He smiled, and now she saw how very pale and sorrowful his face was—how it plainly betokened some severe trial, though of course she could not conjecture what “You are to do something more at my bidding,” he said; “that is, if you will.” “If it lies in my power, monsieur—” she began, and, then paused, wondering and alarmed because his mien was so full of that strange, repressed despair. “I hope it will lie within your desire, as well,” he answered. “If it does not you need by uo means rate it as an Vet of obodience.” At this the king raised his hand as if in signal to some one At the further end of the chapeL Kathleen noticed the gesture, and presently receded, trembling. “He, monsieur! I—l did not expect this!” “Do not refuse to see him,” said Clarimond, with great gentleness. While Kathleen stood, half defiant, half acquiescent, Alonzo came nearer, pausing at her side. “Kathleen,” he said, “may I speak to You? The king, with untold goodness, iuui given me this lumpy chance. I fear

you ure very angry at I think you have every right to ba.” “I — l am not angry,” quavered Kathleen. In her consternation, her piteous confusion, she had never looked lovelier than now. “Yon, monsieur,” she Eaid, with a sudden tearful fierceness, to the king, “have told him what I told you/" “Every word,” smiled Clarimond. And then, as Alonzo caught her hand and 6tooped over it, raining upon it kisses, the king moved away, leaving them «<dc by side. In a Small sacristy a few yards beyond the chancel he soon came face to face with Eric Thaxter. , “Monsieur,” exclaimed Eric, with a sort of reverent whisper, “you are doing the noblest act of your life!” “That is easily said,” was the reply, “since my life has not yet been a long one, and few of its opportunities for good deeds have been at all amply exploited.” “Ah! do not say that! Thousands of your poor would certainly show gratitude enough to deny it ! But you are suffering terribly. This strain that you undergo is reflected in your face.” Clarimond sank into a chair. “Yes,” he said, in a muffled kind of voice, “I am suffering a great deaL The pull, the wrench, is harder than I fancied.” As he fixed his eyes upon Eric’ K face they seemed to ray forth spiritual grandeur. “My friend, I had no other course than this. There are things that a man must do just because he is a mqo But if he be a king as well, then the obligation grows double. We have often spoken together on this question of the rights of kings. You know how I despise them—how they strike m*> as but a mildewed survival of ancient error. Yet there has always seemed to me something grand, nevertheless, in the idea of a king who could govern himself perfectly while governing his people as well. Then he ceases to represent mere royalty and becomes vested with a tender yet rugged paternity. In those historic eases where some such human union has existed crowned and throned I should say that the possible sacredness and dignity of kings have found their sole true medium of expression. You have seen Dr. Wouvermann?” “Yes, monsieur. Luckily I met him just as he was leaving the ball-room,

which. he smilingly told me was no fit place ’or a clergyman.” “Wo may count on him, then?” “Oh, yes, monsieur.” “The. signal from Lispenard is to be a few tvuldes of that silver bell on the altar.” “You mean, if she consents?” “If she consents—yes. If not, he will simply come to me and tell me of his failure, after having conducted her back to the ball—l hope,” Clarimond musingcontinued, “that she will consent to let Dr. Wouvermann marry them to-night. They have both been through so much heart-breaking tribulation! And if, as you suggest, Mme. Kennaird has certain more ambitious rlews for her child, that lady will doubtless oppose their marriage in the future with a new zeal bora of chagrin. She appears already to have brewed for both of them a prodigious amount of misery. From all that I can learjj, her interference has risen between them like a column of thick fume, through which they have viewed distortedly one another’s acts. Her influence has been that of malignancy, and I shall regret if she remains in S&ltravia, provided her daughter (as the wife of Lispenard) shall so choose. But what am I saying, my dear Eric? Lispenard may choose to resign his office —who can tell?” “I am certain that he will not resign it, monsieur!” cried Eric. “I am certain, too, that he feels, this hour, as I feeL lam certain he realized, as I do, that you are the soul and center of all that is self-abnegating, grandly generous!” “Thanks, Eric; those words are surely inch in encouragement. You know Ido not care for eulogy, but when oi«a strives toward an ideal of conduct, as 1 strive now, the cheer of a loved friend is like a warm handclasp in darkness—” Just then a little silvery sound reached their ears. Clarimond sprang to his feet. Eric saw his lips twitch and his hand for a brief instant clench themselves at his sides, “The signal,” he said. "She has consented. Go for Dr. Wouvermann. You will be witness, you know, Eric, and I—” he smiled, but to his observer the smile teemed with a terrible melancholy —“I shall give the bride away.” * f * * # * In the ball-room they had begun to miss the king. When at last he appeared it was in company with Kathleen, Eric and Alonzo. The floor was full of dancers; conversation, stimulated by rare and copius wines, reigned in merry babbles that almost threatened to drown the music. Clarimond went to his mother, who sat talking with several gentlemen. Bianca d’Este, also Seated, was at her aids. The gentlemen slightly withdrew as he approached, making a lane for him while he mounted to the low estrade where these ladies were placed.

■'Too are not looking well," K*aamred the princess to him. “Others here spoken of it. I do so hope, however, that your looks mean nothing ■erious. Bianca, here, has been quite anxious Is it not true, my darling*" And the princess, taking the Italiaa girl’s hand, drew her forward a little* the marvelous corsage of precious stones giving forth jets of multicolored light as she moved. “Yes, yes,” fell from Bianca. “We were both greatly worried.” Clarimond sent a kindly glance straight into her blue, solicitous eyes. As he did so it flashed through his mincl: “I will never love any other woman as long a 3 I live. But this maiden might make mo the worthiest of queens, the truest of wives. One day I may ask her hand, provided my mother preserves her present change from arrogance to kindliness. But not now! Now it would be a horror!” Mrs. L'ennairii, during supper, had received, with furtive tinkles of delight, the attentions of an Austrian archduke and a Russian ambassador. She had not noticed Kathleen’s absence. The archduke, who was past sixty but still handsome and of the suavest manners, had whispered in her car that King Clarimond, who did whatever he chose, might perhaps do himself the honor to request the hand of her divine daughter. The elderly Russian ambassador, overhearing tlii3 remark as he presented her with an ice and a glass of champagne, declared thp,t his royal master would never have gone to Denmark for ss bride if he had had the delight of seeing “ Mademoiselle , vetre fills “Ah! prince,” cried Mrs. Kennaird, in her most genial trebles and with her very acceptable if imperfect French, “there has never yet been an American queen, and I imagine there never will be. My poor, innocent child has never dreamed of such aa honor, and, really, if it wore offered to her she would hardly know how to wear it.” The Austrian and Russian exchanged glances. They were both men of very high rank, and it is probable that they abhorred the tenets of Clarimond while respecting and perhaps loving his character. That he should many an American girl, though her beauty were

brighter than the Spartan Helen’s an£ her breeding beyond a Recamier’s, no doubt struck them both as the essence of the ridiculous. But while they may, or may not, have thus quickly and tacitly told one another their mutual contempt and disapprobation, Kathleen suddenly appeared, with Alonzo in her wake. Kathleen the wife felt far bolder than if she were still Kathleen the unwedded. Or perhaps because she was herself so intoxicated by joy, it seemed to her as if a few words, delivered aside to her motlier, might soften tne sense of calamity they 'imparted. This, however, was not true. Mrs. Kennaird heard her low-voic&d tidings and shivered as though an arctic blast had invaded the ball-room. Meanwhile the ball went on, eddying, whirling, billowing in that ecstacy of dance beloved by the young of opposite sexes. The sweet, wild * moans of the violins were rasping screeches in the ears of Mrs. Kennaird, but in other feminine ears they were tender melodies of promise, of elation, of delicious inebriety- V, Bianca d’ESlfe heard them, and hoped. The princess of Brindisi heard them, and half hoped, half doubted. Eric Thaxter heard them and sighed because of that mystic and grievous Parisian past concerning which he had, perchance, by this time spoken still more disclosingly to his dearest friend. Clarimond, king of heard them and thrilled with the pain of sacrifice, though gladdened by that sense of selfconquest which is the sweet wages of honor, as a sense of self-debasement is the bitter wages of sin. Alonzo and Kathleen heard them, and the voluminous cadences they breathed built for both heavenly castles of expectancy. And so the music played on—music which so throbs, when art is its minister, with souvenirs and prophesies, memories and anticipations. Angry, austere, choked with a passionate feeling of defeat and insult, Mrs. Kennaird stood beside her daughter a half hour or so later, that night, when Alonzo laid his hand in the hand of Kathleen. The two ladies were waiting their carriage, cloaked and ready, and at the portals of the palace. “Good-by, good-by,” Alonzo said. “Till to-morrow!” “Till to-morrow!” Kathleen repeated. “Till to-morrov, my wife!" “Till to-morrow— husband!" Mrs. Kennaird had overheard the two last murmurs oi farewell. With her face pale and full of nervous tremors, she moved toward Alonzo. “I’ll never forgive yon,” sh® gasped. “Never! You've kept her from a crown —a throne!” Alonzo, stung, was about to reply; but Kathleen caught her mother by the wrist, and with the same ardor of selfassertion whfisl had more than onoe re-

pelled tie spirit of even thla woman** unsurpassable world linesa and ambition, she affirmed in eager whisper; : ‘K* gives me, mamma, all the crown I want —his love! He gives mo all the throne 1 want —his name and his ps\> tsction!” THE BSD.

“DO NOT REFUSE TO SEE HIM,” SAID CLARIMOND, WITH GREAT GENTLENESS.