Saturday Evening Mail, Volume 20, Number 45, Terre Haute, Vigo County, 3 May 1890 — Page 6

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6

A Lotos oi the Nile.

,* B* CHRISTIAN REED.

Continued 'from Iwst week, rou" should not press me so hard,' she said, as they paced slowly to and fro. "I fear I1can never give you what you desire, but I cannot tell yet. Grant me a little time." "A little time! But think how much time you have had!" the gentleman urged, not without reason. "You said *when I went abroad that you were not .Bure enough of your heart to accept me "then, but that you would give me a final answer when I returned. You had all the months of my absence to consider what this answer should be, and when I came for it, spending not so much as an hour in tarrying on the road, I found that it was not ready for me—that I had yet longer to wait. Eleanor, is this kind? is it oven just?" "It is neither," said Eleanor, turning to him with a strange deprecation on her fair proud face. "I know that you have been everything that is patient and generous, and I am sorry—oh, I am more than sorry—to havo seemed to trifle with you but what can I do? Reinembor that •when I decide, it is for my whole life. You cannot doubt that I will hold fast to my promiso when it is once given." "I do not doubt it, and therefore I desire that promise above all things." "But you would not desire the letter •without the sprit?** said she eagerly. "I dare not bind myself—I dare not—until I am certain of myself." "But, good heavens!" said Marston Brent, who, although usually the most quiet and dignified of human beings, •was now fairly driven to vehemence, "when do you mean to be certain of yourself? Surely you have had time enough. Can you not love me, Eleanor?" ho asked a littlo wistfully. "If that is it—if that is the doubt that holds you back—say so and let me go. Anything Is better than suspense like this."

But Eleanor was plainly not ready to say that. She stood still for a moment, then turned to him with a sudden light of rosolvo in her eyes. "You are right," she said. "This must end. I may be •weak and foolish, but I have no right to make you suffer for my weakness and my folly. I pledge myself to tell you tomorrow night whether or not I can be 'your wife. You will give me till then, will you not? It is the last delay I shall ask."

4

'I wish you would understand that you could not ask anything which I should not be glad to grant," said he. a little sadly. "For heaven's sake, do not think of me as your persecutor—do not force yourself to answer me at any given time. I can wait." "You havo waited," said she gratefully—"waited too long already. Do not encourage me in my weakness. Believe that I will tell you to-morrow night my final decision."

Later in the evening, Victor Clare was leaving tho drawing room as Miss Milbourne enterod it They came face to face rather unexpectedly, and while the gentleman fell back the lady extended her hand. "Havo you stayed away so long that you havo forgotten your friends, Maj. Clare?" she said with a smile which -was bright but rather tremulous, like a gleam of sunshine on rippling water, "You havo not oven said good evening to mo, and yet you have an air as if you had said good night to the rest of the company." "So I have," answered Victor, smiling in turn, partly from tho pleasure of meeting her, partly from tho sheer magnetism of her glance, "but it is no fault of mino that I have not been able to speak to you: I havo found no opportunity." "But I thought you always said that people made opportunities when they desired to do so?" "Then tho tirno has come for mo to retract my assertion. As a general rule, a man cannot make opportunities: he can only taUo advantage of them when they come, as I hope to take advantago of the present," he added, smiling. "But I thought you were going home?" "I was goiug homo a minute ago, but so long as you will let me talk to you I shall stay." "It is a very small favor to grant," said Eleanor, blushing a little. "But why -were you leaving so early?" "Partly because I had no hopo of seeing you partly because! am not a 'young duke' to pencil a liuo to my steward and know that a princely collation will bo served at noon to-morrow for half a hundred, or even for a dozen or two people." "What do you mean?" she asked, for though she caught tho allusion to Disraeli's rose colored romance, tho application pususled her. "I see you havo not hoard of our gypsy plan," he answered,and at onco proceeded to detail it.

She was not so much delighted as he expected, but a pretty, lucid gleam came into her oyos at the mention of Claremont. "I shall bo glad to see your homo," she said quietly. "I havo heard so much of its beauty and its antiquity." "It is pretty and it is old," said ho, "but it will not bo mino much longer. I am negotiating its sale now."

She started Whatl you were in earnest, the-n? You are really going^oEgyptT "Yes,I am going to Egypt. Uhy should I stay? What has life to offer mo here save vegetation? There, at least, I can find action."

She looked at Mm with a strange, wistful expression which struck and startled him. Ho felt as If a prisoned soul suddcnlv sprang up mud gawd at him out of Che clear blue depths of her eyes. "Oh, what a good thing it is to be a man!" she said. "How free you are! how able to do what you plea** and go where you please—to actum and to find it! Oh, Maj. Oars, yo? ooghtto thank God night and day that he did iiot make you a womanf "I am glad, certainly* Uiafc I am a man," said Victor, honestly. "Bat you are the last woman in the wwM from whom I should have expected to hoar such rebellious sentiment*. "I am not itsbeUfexw,* xnj£rt» quietly, YSfh*j thjjPK&fif

TEBME

All therebellion in the worlcT could not make me a man mid I have no. fancy to be an unsexed woman. But nobo&y was ever more weary of conventional routine, nobody ever longed more for freedom and auction than I do."

It was on, the end of Victor's tongue to say, "Then come with me to Egypt," but he caught himself in time. Was he mad to imagine that "the beautiful Miss Milbourne"—a woman at whose feet the most desirable matchcj of "society" had been laid—would end her brilliant career by marrying a soldier of fortune, and expatriating herself from her country and her kindred? He gave a grim sort of smile which Eleanor did not quite understand, as he said: "Where is your lotos? It ought to make you more content with the things that be." "I have it," Eleanor said with childlike simplicity. "Mr. Brent remembered and brought it to me. I have not forgotten my promise to share it with you." "Take it to the mountain to-morrow night, then," said he quickly. "Let us eat it together there. I should like to link you even with my farewell to the past."

And, since an interruption came just then, they parted with this understanding.

The next day Maj. Clare was standing on the terrace of Claremont—a stately, solidly built old house, bearing itself with an air of conscious pride and disdain of modern frippery, despite certain significant signs of decay—when his guests arrived In formidable procession. There was something of the "oldschool" in his manner of welcoming them—a grace and courtesy which struck more than one of them as at once very perfect and very charming. "The man suits the house, does he not?" said Mm. Brantley to Mrs. Lancaster. "It is like a vintage of rare old wine in an old bottle. We fancy that it has an aroma which it would lose in anew cutglass decanter." "I always thought Maj. Clare had delightful manners," said Mrs. Lancaster, who could not trust herself to say anything more. She felt with a pang how much she would have liked to bring wealth and prosperity and elegant hospitality back again to the old house, if its owner had not been so madly blind to his own interest, so absurdly in love with Eleanor Milbourne's statue like face, so insanely intent upon periling life and limb in the service of the viceroy of Egypt The pretty widow gave a sigh as she arranged her hair before the quaint, old fashioned mirror in the chamber to which the ladies had been conducted. If he had only been reasonable, how different things might be! Sho walked to a window which overlooked the garden with its formal walks and terraces, its borders of box and summer houses of cedar. "He will change his m^nd before the month is out," she thought. "A man cannot surrender all the associations of his past and the home of his fathers without a struggle."

This consideration lost some of its consoling force, however, when, a few minutes later, two people, walking slowly and evidently talking earnestly, passed down tho vista of one of the garden alleys, and were lost to sight behind a tall, clipped hedge. Even at that distance there was no mistaking the figure and bearing, of Clare neither was there another woman who walked with that free, stately grace in a riding habit whioh Eleanor Milbourne possessed. "If she is engaged to Marston Brent he might certainly put an end to such open flirtation as this," Mrs. Lancaster said between her teeth. "If he were not blind or mad he might see that she is so much in love with Victor that sho would go with him to Egypt to-morrow if he asked her to do so."

An old and sensible proverb with which we are all acquainted says that it is never well to judge others by ourselves and if Mrs. Lancaster had possessed the invisible cap of the prince in tho fairy tale, and had followed tho pair who had just passed out of sight, she would have received an immediate proof of the truth of this aphorism. They had paused in a square near the heart of the garden—a green, shaded spot, in the center of which an empty basin bore witness to a departed fountain, though no pleasant murmur of water had broken the stillness for many along day. Round tho margin of this still ran a seat on which Eleanor sat down. Victor remained standing before her. A lime tree near by cast a soft, flickering shadow over them, and the tall hedges of evergreen which inclosed tho square made a somber but effective background. "You seo that ruin and decay are all that I havo to offer you here," Victor was saying with a cadence of bitterness in his voice. "But if you had courage enough to end the life which you despise, to cut loose from all the ties which bind you in America, and go with me to Egypt, there I might have a future and a career for you to share—there at least, you would find freedom and action and life."

A flush came to Eleanor's cheek, and a light gleamed suddenly in her eyes, as if tho very wildness of this proposal lent it fascination but she shook her head, smiling a little sadly. "You are of my world." she said "you ought to know better than that. I am not so brave as you think. I must do what is expected of me, and 1 am expected to marry Marston Brent." "Forget the world and come with me.** "That is impossible. If I had only myself to care for, 1 would but there are others of whom I most think." She was silent for a moment, then, looked up at him piieously. "They have sacrificed so much for me at home," she said, "and they are so proud of me. They hope, desire, count on this marriage I cannot disappofrit them. Mr. Brent himself has been most kind and patient, and he does not expect very much. I am a coward, perhaps, but what can I do?"

Again he said, "You can come with me." Again she answered, "It is impossible. Do you not am that it is impossible? Starting forth on anew career, it would be insane for yod to burden yourwdf with a wife. As'for me, lain no mora1 to 1

fit fo marry a poor man "fcban tgi.'be a housemaid. Victor. it is-hopeless For heaven's sake, let us talk of it.no longer The only thing we can do is to forget that we have ever talked of it at alL" "Will that be easy foar you? I confess that Tmt.hfng on earth could be harder forme." "No, it will not be easy, but I shall try with all my strength to do it. God only knows," pitting her hand suddenly to her face, "how I shall live if I am not able to do it" Then passionately, "Why did you speak? Why did you make the misery greater by dragging it to the light, so that we could face it, talk of it, discuss it? Oh why did you do it?" "Because I wanted to see if you were not made of braver stuff than other women," said he, almost sternly. "In my maddest hours I never dreamed of speaking, until—what you said last night Thinking of that after I came home, I resolved to give you one opportunity to break through the artificial trammels of your life, and find the freedom you professed to desire. It was better to do this, I thought, than to be tormented all my life by a regret, a doubt, lest I had lost happiness where one bold stroke might have gained it" "And now that you have found that I am not brave, that I am like all the other conventional women of my class, are you not sorry that you have inflicted useless pain upon yoursolf?" "Of myself I do not think at all, and even when I think of you I cannot regret having spoken. Let the misery be what it will, it is something to have faced

you love me, though you refuse to share my life. "You must not say that," said she, starting and shrinking as if from a blow, "How can I venture to acknowledge that I love you when I am going to marry Marston Brent?" "Are you going to marry him?" "Have I not told you so?"

He turned from her and took one short, quick turn aoross the square. Like every man in his position, he felt outraged and indignant, without pausing to think how infinitely more inexorible the laws of society are with regard to women than to men. He could put Mrs. Lancaster's fortune aside and go his way—to Egypt or to the dogs—without anybody orying out against his criminal folly, his criminal disregard of the duties and traditions of his class. But if Eleanor Milbourne put Marston Brent's princely fortune aside and disappointed all her friends, what remained to her but the bitter condemnation of those friends in particular and of society in general?

When he came back she rose to meet him, making a picture worth remembering as she stood in her graceful youth and picturesque habit by the broken fountain, with the somber cedar hedge behind and the intense azure of the summer sky above. "Let us go," she said. "By prolonging this we only give ourselves useless pain. All is said that can be said. Nothing remains now but to forget and that can best be done in silence. let us go."

There was a tone of pathos, a tone as if she was not quite sure of herself, in those last words, which made Clare refrain from answering her. He turned silently, and they entered a green alley which led to the foot of the terrace surrounding the house. As they walked along, Marston Brent's figure appeared at the end of the vista, advancing toward them, and it was this apparition whioh first made Clare spehk: "If you will not think me fanciful—I am sure you will not think me presumptuous—promise me that before you give that man his answer0 you will share the lotos with me of which you have spoken. I may be superstitious, but I feel as if we ihallgain now strength with which to face the future after we have together renounced the past"

She shook her head. "I am not superBtitious enough to think that it will enable us to forget one pang," she said. "But if you desire it, I promise."

When the afternoon shadows were lengthening the party from The Willows sot forth again and reached the foot of the mountain a little before sunset, making tho ascent in time to

Bee

HATTTE SATURDAY SVENDfG. MAIL'

it together—it is everything to know that enable us to forget everything but the present, and this is the present" "But it will be the past in a little while," said she, "and we must forget it, like all the rest Victor, we must forget!

the day

god's last radiance streaming over the fair, broad expanse of country beneath them. There was a small cabin on the summit which was to be devoted to the ladies, and round the camp fire which was soon sparkling brightly the gentlemen proposed to spend the night on the blankets with which they were all plentifully provided. Meanwhile the party, dividing into groups and pairs, were sooh scattered here and there, perched on the highest points of rock, enjoying the cool, fresh air which came as a message of love from the glowing west, and chattering like a chorus of magpies.

When the evening collation was over —a gypsy like repast for which every one seemed to have an excellent appetite —Mr. Brent asked Eleanor if she would not accompany him to the eastern side of the mountain to see the moon rise. While she hesitated, uncertain what to say, Clare's voice spoke quietly at her side. "Miss Milbourne has an engagement with me," he said. "Iffear youmust defer the pleasure of admirtng the moon in her society for a little while, Mr. Brent" Then to Eleanor, "Shall we go nowF* •%-»u

She assented, and they walked away. Mr. Brent, thus left behind, naturally felt aggrieved, and turned to Mrs. Brantley with some slight irritation stirring his usually courteous repose, "It strikes me that Maj. Clare's man* ners decidedly lack polish," he said with an air of grave reprehension. "Is it true, as I am told, that he is going to sell that fine old place where we spent the day, and emigrate to Egypt?" "He is quite ready for a lunatic asylum,** said Mrs. Lancaster, who was standing near. "But, whatever his folly may be, I certainly do not agree with you, Mr. Brent, in thinking that his manners need any improvement"

Meanwhile, Eleanor was saying, "Yew should not have spoken so curtly to Mr. Brent" "If I can avoid it, I shall never speak him again*" C3are answered. "Doot

sss

let.u&Ttalk of'Tumr I- did not bring- you away to .tUSCtiss anybody we have left behind,.or- anything of .which we have talked before. We are to be like immor tals—to forget the past and yye^only in the present."

Where are we going?" she.askecL

A

"Bound to a point from whenoe we can overlook Claremont. She said nothing more, and he led her to the eastern side of the mountain, where, near the verge of an almost precipitous descent, they sat down together under the shadow of a great gray rock. From this point the view was more extensive than any they had commanded before. The rolling country, with the sunset glory fading from it, lay like a panorama at their feet—shadowy woods melting into blue distance, streams glancing here and there into sight, fields rich with cultivation bounded by fences that looked like a spider's thread. To the left Claremont, seated above its terraces, made an imposing landmark. Behind it the moon was rising majestically in a cloudless sky. After they had been silent for some time, Clare turned and looked at his companion. "How beautiful you arel" he said Abruptly. "I wish I had a picture of you as you sit there now. It would be worth everything else in the world to me. But, perhaps, after all, the best pictures are those which are taken on the heart "You have forgotten," said Eleanor, trying to smile, "that we are going to eat tho lotos in order to efface all pict•.ITPS. "Nay," said he. "I thought it was to

They say that all things are possible to resolution: let us resolve to do that" For some time longer they sat silent Then Clare said, with something like a groan, "Would to God I could die here and now, or else that there was some spell by which one could make .memory a blank!" "Let us try the lotos," said Eleanor "See, I brought it as you told me."

From her pocket she drew a paper which, being opened, proved to contain the dried petals of a flower, evidently an aquatic plant. Yellow and lifeless as it Was, Eleanor looked at it with wistful reverence. "It came from Egypt," sho said then she added, "where you are going." "We will see if there is any magic in it," said Clare.

So together they took the dried petals and began to eat them, smiling a little sadly at each other as they did so. "Herodotus says that when the Nile is full, 'and all the grounds round it area perfect sea, there grows a vast quantity of lilies, which the Egyptians call lotos, in the water,'" said Clare. "He adds that this flower, especially the root of it, is very sweet If this is the same, it has certainly ohanged its flavor sinoe that time." "It is not disagreeable," said Eleanor. "But I fear we shall not find the effect for which we have hoped. It is of the lotos fruit that Homer and Tennyson have written." "And the lotos flower of mythology is an East Indian, not an Egyptian, aquatic but since we desire to link our fancy, with the flower of the Nile, we will ignore the poets and the Brahmins. After all, we only desire it as a symbol of the renunciation of the past on whioh we have agreed. Eleanor, what if we should indeed resolve to leave tho past behind us from this hour and face our future together?"

He looked at her imploringly and passionately, but instead of replying she put her hand to her head. "How strangely dizzy I am!" she said. "Can it—do you think it can be the lotos?*4 "Dizzy!" he repeated. "Then I must take you from the edge of this precipice. Perhaps it is that,which affects you. It could not have been the lotos, or I should feel it, too. Come, let me lead you round tho rock."

But when he attempted to rise he found that to him, too, a sudden strange dizziness came. A constriction seemed gathering about his heart, a mist seemed rising before his eyes. Before ho had half risen he sank back against the rock. "Do you feel it too?" she asked quickly. Is "Yes," he said slowly, putting his hand also to his head. "What can it mean? Could there havo been anything wrong in that plant? The lotos itself is harmless, either flower or fruit. Eleanor. my darling!'" he cried with sudden alarm. "Good Heavens! what is the matter? How pale you look!" "I—I do not think it could have been the lotos. It must have been some poisonous plant,"

Bbe

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said faintly. "This

giddiness and numbness increase." Then she held out her hands tremulously. "Hold me," she said. "The earth seems slipping away from mo. Oh, Victor, what if it should be fatal!" "Do not imagine such a thing," he said. "It is impossible! The plant has probably tome narcotic property which affects you temporarily. Lean on me until it is over. My God! how mad I was to have suffered you to eat it!" "Do not blame yourself," she said, clinging to him, her fair head rocping heavily on his breast "It was I who spoke of it—who sent for it"

She stopped, gasping a little,' and pressing her hand to her heart, where an iron clutch seemed arresting the circulation. A glance at her face filled Clare with a terror which he had not felt before. Partly this, partly his own sensations, told him that the poison of the plant which they had shared between them was fatal—one of the swift and terrible agents of death which abound in the East—and a sense too horrible to be dwelt upon came to him, warning him that aid, to avail at all, must be summoned quickly.

Bat how! The summit of the mountain was large, the rest of the party were far from them. He bad purposely led his companion to this remote spot, where, even if be had been able to nlss his voice, there was none to hear. As for leaving her, be doubted his own ability to walk tea_stepa. He felt sure

".Hou strangely diazy I am!"

that if he suoceeded in gaining his Teet he should reel and fall like a drunken man.

Still, the attempt must be made, and that instantly. Every second lessened the hope of its success, with every pulse beat he felt the awful, reeling numbness increase. How much longer he could retain his consciousness he could not tall. He saw plainly that Eleanor was losing hers. "My darling," he said, striving vainly to unclasp the arms that clung to him, "I must go—I must call assistance this may be more serious than I thought Try to rouse yourself, Eleanor I must go I"

Alas! it was easy to say—it was awfully impossible to do. Even when Eleanor relaxed her already half unconscious embrace, and he strove to rise, he found that not even desperation could give the requisite power. He literally could not gain his feet Every effort failed he sank back hopelessly.

Then he tried to raise his voice in a cry for help, but it refused to obey his bidding. He was not able to speak above a broken whisper. Finding this to be the case, he turned in an agony of despair to the girl beside him—the girl whom, with a last effort, he drew to his breast "Eleanor," he said, "it is hopeless. If this is poison we must die! Oh, my darling, can you forgive me? O my God, send us help! Eleanor, can you hear me? Eleanor, will you not speak to me?"

For a minute all was silence. Then the fair head raised itself and the lids slowly and heavily lifted from the blue, flower like eyes. Tlie moon, whioh had now risen high in the oloudless July heaven, shone full on her face as she said, "Hiss me."

For the first time their lips met when they parted both were cold. Still clinging together, they were jfcmnd. At their feet lay a fragment of the deadly poisonous Egyptian river plant which Marston Brent had ignorantly pluoked for a lotos.

THE END.

"Good and Weity."

To the true born westerner, in whom the instinct of moviftg on to find a more desirable country never dieB, not even the Pacific ocean can be a barrier. A man "of this class, who had lived successfully in a number of states and territories between his native Ohio and his present home in California, one day had a revival of his migratory longing. He must "pack his grip" and "go west" "But how can you get any farther west than Califor nia?" he was asked. "Pshaw!" he an swered. "There's plenty of west left, all down through Mexican California and South America. There's Peru, now: I'd give a good deal to see tho mines down there. I tell you, sir," ho cried, warming with his subject, "it must be real good and westy down in Peru!"—True Flag.

Rejoice, O young man. in tho uays of thy youth, out remember that, big as he is, the wh«le does not blow until tie reaches the top.—'Terre Hauto Express.

Strains and external injuries are the chief causes of weak ankles and joints By the free use of Salvation Oil a cure will be effected in a short time. "And there was a mask ball that night," yes, and they kept it up pretty lively until morning. You see they weren't afraid of the early frost—knowing that all the druggists keep supplied with Dr. Bull's Cough Syrup, the old reliable standby.

1 He* Method of Treating Disease.

HOSPITAL REMEDIES.

What are they? There is a new departure In the treatment of disease. It consists In the collection of the specifics used by noted specialists of Europe and America, and bringing them within the reach of all. For instance the treatment pursued by tipeclal physicians who treat Indigestion, stomach and liver troubles only, was obtained and prepared. The treatmentofotherpbysiclans celebrated for coring catarih was procured, and so ou till these Incomparable cures now Include disease ofthe tangs, kidneys, female weakness, rheumatism, and nervous debility.

This new method of **one remedey forgone disease" must appeal to the common sense of all sufferers, many of whom have experienced the 111 effects, and thoroughly realize the absurdity of the claims of patent medicines whioh ars guaranteed to care every 111 out of a single bottle, and the ose of which, as statistics prove, has ruined more stomachs than atoobol. A circular describing these new remedies is sent free on receipt of stamp to pay postage by Hospital Remedy Company, Toronto, Canada, sole proprietors.

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