Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1905-09-26

| in the far-back centuries. 1t led sharply
| downward and ended in a great vaulted
chamber The chamber, however, was ma
lures work; and was the beginning of the
end, of the great network of the Holland
| Caves.
But It was something more. 1t was Har-
vey WfsemanS secret workshop And II
had been the scene of tragedy.
There was perhaps a dramatic fitness.
which Harvey himself would have recog-
nized in the fact that Nemesis found him
| at last In the workshop of his crime: and
that the Illicit wealth which he had spent
seven years in creating took, probably,
hardly more than about as many seconds
to destroy its creator. His end had been
awful. but 1t must have been sudden; his
agony was mercifully short. Sims found
two blackened bodies, contorted, disfgured
horrible; and the shriveled hand of one of
them still held the revolver which had fired
the shot that was fate's signal to make an
END The two men had quarreled; quar-
| relied sordidly over the share which their
new accomplish, the woman was to have
she explained that afterward-and Harvey
had fired AS well fire a shot In a pow
der magazine! The air was heavy with ex-
plosive spirituous fumes, and the flash Ig-
nlted them. The rest was but matter of
seconds.
Twisted metal tubes that had once been
part of the apparatus of distillng; the iron
hoops. and a charred stave or two, of great
barrels, retorts, burst and ire-twisted
everywhere signs of the havoc that the fire
mad wrought. But Sims needed none of
eiiSse. I1c Oh, III ne came TO the
place where the two galleries opened upon
the monks path.
He took the one on the right His mas
ter's whistling had led him up 1t before;
out now there was silence
He went on until he came to the cavern
where he had left Mary with his MASTER
Stlll silence, and the cavern was in dark
ness. But presently he found them, and
When ne mashed his lantern on them and
saw that they were not dead, he broke
down and cried like child And then
Wortley heard him and awoke.
FOR they were merely asleep, worn out by
the long fight for air and life: and near
them was Ellen Holland. sleeping also and
marked by the breath Of the fire but alive
for MARY had made second attempt to
had carried her in her arms to where she
lay now.
The story of what. they suffered in that
nlght was one that. afterward, they did
not care to speak of They escaped because
their cavern happened to be off the main
path of the blazing spirit But they had
not believed that they would escape; they
thought that death was coming; and indeed
he had come near enough. The burned
gases had not come in to any great extent,
but the heat for an hour or two had been
terrible.
Only the first rush of the fame had run
up the gallery which led to their cavern,
and even that did not penetrate more than
half way. But it had reached far enough
to meet Eustace'S widow, and to set on fire
the cotton blouse which she was wearing.
Then, having put its mark upon her, 1t
surged backward and left her.
She was badly burned about the face and
neck, and her beauty, faded already. was
withered forever. She owed her escape
with life to the fact that underneath the
cotton blouse everything else which she
wore wooden. Even it was a month
before she left the bed which, after ALL she
occupied by the dowagers invitation in the
spare room at Holland Abbey More than
that, the Dowager Lady Holland sent for
kho hi foyif1 nLyG1 ftar hiplh ar-
self, with the same care that she would
have given to a real grandson. and grew
fond of him. And from that, also there
were consequences.
Mary threw off in a few hours the Ill
effects of her terrible experience. and then
constituted herself sick nurse again. Her
mother was already convalescent, and
week saw the old lady about the new du-
ties of her self-imposed task of nursing the
baby who was not her grandson, and IN
defatigable in the drawing of fine linen:
But Wortleys broken ankle gave Mary
reason and excuse for six weeks tender
care of the man who was to be her hus-
band. Their love had begun IN mlsunder-
standings and receptions; in those SIX
weeks of comradeship 1t blossomed into
very perfect thing.
They were married at the end of March,
and Wortley would have no one but Sims
for his best man. And Mary was quite
pleased that it should be decided so. The
twisted little man was the only one who
saw them off from the little Highland sta
ton of Aviemore; and when they We're gone
he took his car back TO Holland ABBEY 10
wait for them there. For. after fortnight
in London. they were coming back, and
then Sims was to have his wish. For the
rest of the honeymoon was to be spent In
touring in the 81. NJ. c." and Sims was
to make a useful and unobtrusive third in
the party of pleasure.
Lord Wortley waved an acknowledgment
of the little mans raised cap as the train
steamed out of the station, and then, after
an interval which was filed by proceedings
which were important to the actors but
are not essential to the story. he said:
II saw another of our friends last night,
who wished us we'll l think she meant 1t,
too"
..Eustace's wife?.' asked Mary
yes l didn't realize how terribly dis
figured she Is Whatever she may do in the
future she will never earn living again
by appearing before the public in paint and
spangles. Your mother has been very gen.
erous."
What have you arranged?"
81 have arranged nothing. The credit isn't
mine; it's Susan Lady's. That little chap
who was brought her as Claimant Number
Two has won her heart, l think. He's
jolly little beggar, too which some people
would consider strange. Anyway, Susan
Lady is going to be responsible for his fu-
ture."
.'And the mother?"
''The mother consents gladly. She's
really fond of the kid, and she says that
he wouldn't have much OF a chance if he
stayed with her. She is going to live on
the allowance to which, Eustace's
widow. she is entitled 1 wanted to lend
her money to start her in shop. or some
thing of that sort; but she wouldn't take II.
She says that woman who was once a
circus beauty. and has had all the skin
burned off her face, owes 1t to her past rep
utation not to be seen any more, even be-
hind a tobacconists counter. She said 1t
whimsically; she's got pluck, you know;
and I fancy what she really means is that
q woman who was once beauty and is
now a fright ought to be dead. She wore a
black veil all the time she was talking to
me, and she wouldn't lift 1t. It's pretty
grim punishment for her wrong doing. To
be fright for the rest of her days il a
tragedy to woman like that"
'To any woman, said Mary.
perhaps. But surely more especially for
her. Her beauty and her natural cieverness
were her weapons. The beauty is gone. ana
/ somehow think the edge Is off the clever
ness. The only thing she seems to care
about Is the boy, and 1t says something for
her that she has the sense to see that she
will serve him best by giving him to your
mother"
There was a moments silence, and then
Wortley added with a laugh:
THE dowager seems to have weakness