The Irish standard. [volume] (Minneapolis, Minn. ;) 1886-1920, 1899-05-13

by without another word or look, and
out into the street. The mystery of the
affair went with him, but, somehow, r
never felt more relieved in my life.
Past ten o'clock. The play had gone
as we'll as ever-the end of that power
full third act was at hand. All! as if I
were playing it now, can see that scene
the lights low, the violin bows
just moving beneath, Gavin Usher lying
there motionless on the floor of the bare
room that he had barricaded, and the
house blur of pale faces as, carrying
the lamp and the knife, 1 slid back the
secret panel and crept across the floor.
|. Was it q prescience? never
understood, but many times as l had
played the treacherous valet felt Curl
ously dazed and uncertain that night.
The music had neverseemed SO far away,
the house never SO hushed. knew I
had stumbled more than once in my
small part; the sinister strangeness
of that three-tingercd mans proposal
kept fitting to and fro in my brain.
Now was close to the still figure
now on my knees beside it, lifting the
blade for the foul stroke on the effect
of which SO much of the after-play
hinged. But seemed to bungle again
could not seem to get my usual grip
of the handle. recollect starting half
guiltily, as Usher whispered under his
breath: "Whatever's the matter, man ."
Pooh! Up went the knife. Just the
pause, for dramatic effect. I had to
give scared glance round, and-and-
as 1 did so, took in something that,
tritling in itself, sent sickening thrill
through me. A man, standing at the
end of the second row of stalls, just
below there, craning forward with
wide eyes and parted lips, as though
holding his breath for that stroke. 1t
was like seeing myself in a looking
glass! 1t was Hunt-Woburn-m
double, the other Cripps, waiting for
what?
To this moment have not realized
what impelled me, what it was that
sent the merciful instinct like light
ming through my hazy brain. There
was no time to falter, or think-and
Usher was never the man to forgive
me for spelling the play; but as
brought down the knife, must have
slipped my left hand under it just in
the nick of time. Heavens, that sensa.
ton! The spring did not give, it was
not the property" knife; it's point
Shnl fhrn,rh
Jared against and shivered button
of Gavin Usher's vest.
| started back with one choking cry;
and recollected no more till l found
myself lying in Usher's dressing-room,
with Usher himself and doctor bend.
ing over me. And perhaps but one man
in that audience that hight OWNED that
that scream had not been included in
the 'lines," that the curtain had gone
down on real bit of tragedy. Not I'M
til next morning; and then all London
was ringing with the news that, by
the most mysterious chance, had prob.
ably saved the life Of the greatest actor
of the day.
And afterwards? Well, Woburn, the
villain-or the mailman, as sometimes
think-committed suicide upon his ar.
rest abroad, a week later; and SO the
exact truth could never be ascertained
But there could be small doubt that he
had carefully planned the Enthusiastically
daring scheme to spite Usher and Ush'
er's oft-repeated determination, and
had matched the property" knife with
the purpose of taking his revenge in an
exquisitely realistic manner that should
yet leave him his chance to escape, to
breathe his identity in Usher's ear, to
gloat for second. to strike the blow OF
tragedy instead of farce, and then to
fly before the facts could be unraveled
yes, that must have been his idea of q
great revenge. and then. baked on the
brink by my queer discovery, it had en-.
tered his mind as last desperate al.
Tentative to substitute that murderous
weapon for the property" knife, and
trust to chance for the crime being com.
mitted by proxy.
How nearly it succeeded. you know,
But for me-what was the temporary
disablement of limb, and the fact that
those bank notes were forgeries, in the
balance against the grateful friend.
ship of man like Gavin Usher? That
great actor never forgot-he was, as all
the world knows, man more of deeds
than mere words. To tell you of the
hand he put out to lift Mollie and | from
obscurity, to recall the triumph of the
role he allotted me in his next great
play-that would simply be to repeat
dramatic history. But the dear old
house, where the sharp turning point in
my career so strangely came-why, yes,
gentlemen, it goes to my heart to think
it is gone!-London Tit-Bits,
Anchor to the Land.
Everybody cannot be farmer. Ev-
erybody is not naturally fitted to be
one. But it is the duty of young men,
duty to themselves, to think seriously
before leaving the farm and EMBARK
IN 0{l e