BEGINS THIS WEEK. A POWERFUL STORY. BY A FAMOUS AUTHOR. DON’T FAIL TO READ IT. “THE BRANDED FOOT,” Entered According to Act of Congress, in the Year 1901, by Street & Smith, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. Eutered et the Post Office, New York, a3 Second Clase Matter. OFFICE: 238 William St.. New York Vol._57 New York, November 2, 1901. No. 3. Three Dollars Per Year. Two Copies Five Dollars. i : s | a ec ream i Hi ‘“‘Speak, doctor! promise me—! know you hold your word sacred—promise me that if | should faint you will not lift so much as the corner of my veil!” Dr. Krafft’s answer was short and to the point. “Be calm, hesaid. ‘“Youneedall your nerv- ous strength for what you are going to en- dure. | promise, as you have already stated, | am too occupied with important matters to concern myself with you or your projects. ” ‘‘And you will forever keep the fact of this operation a secret?’ ‘You have nothing to fear from me.” The doctor said so much and*then sudden- ly checked himself, as if a new thought had come to him. He added with dignified se- | HHH il Hitt Hi ti if HH | verity: 'to fear from me unless hereafter | should dis- ‘cover you engaged in some nefarious scheme. © The woman laughed scornfully, released her viselike grasp on his arm, and reseated herself upon the couch: Dr. Krafft resumed his pro- fessional tone. “Tire filesses, fe said, ‘lt this 1s ta: be done, it must be done without further delay.” ‘‘None of the delay has been of my seeking, © she retorted. An interval of dreadful silence followed, broken now ‘and then by a smothered groan from the sufferer. ‘Ha!’ suddenly muttered the doctor,- im- patiently. ‘‘Just as | anticipated—a faint!” Hi = z tH {tt i i Hi | i HINT THI i HE H TL HTH | HH Hl i ii HH HHH HH] ‘| will qualify that. You have nothing | ‘bling as with an ague. “A ROMANCE OF A MONSTROUS PER- SONATION FRAUD bY A Famous Author “No, no!” gasped his patient, ‘‘only a little weakness. © Taking a bottle from the table, the doctor hurriedly saturated a napkin with its contents and thrust it into her gloved hand. ‘Inhale and bathe your face,” ed. Feebly the woman obeyed. Silently and rapidly the doctor proceeded to dress the wound. That done, he encased the foot in a large slipper she had brought, and gave her a mix- ture he had prepared to soothe her nerves. The woman swallowed it eagerly, and then struggled to a sitting posture, though trem- he direct- (Continued on Page Two.) THE NEW YORK WEEKLY. Vol. 57—No. 3 THE RIVER OF DREAMS. BY HENRY VAN DYKE. The river of dreams runs silently down By a secret way that no man knows; But the soul lives on while the dreanitide _ flows Through the gardens bright, or the forests = brown; And I think sometimes that our whole life seems To be more than half made up of dreams, For its changing sights and its passing shows, And its morning hopes, and its midnight fears, Are left behind with the vanished years. Onward, with ceaseless motion, The lifestream flows to the ocean— And-we follow the tide, awake or asleep, Till we see the dawn on Love’s great deep, When the bar at the harbor mouth is crossed, And the river of dreams im the sea is lost. The Branded Foot. A ROMANCE OF A MONSTROUS PERSONATION FRAUD. BY A FAMOUS AUTHOR. CHAPTER I. MIDNIGHT AND MYSTERY. Dr. Krafft shivered and bent over the grate. So long had he been sitting motionless, wrapped in thought, that the fire had. died down, and the chill wind of winter, laden with icy sleet, had found its way to his study. And well it might, for if ever a tempest raged that could make a man fear for the aay of his house, it raged upon that dismal night. All day long the wind had been rising. At sunset it was a gale; as midnight approached, it wrought itself to a fury, driving the sleet before it in clouds, slapping the window panes, and howling as it was forced by stout walis to whirl about and double.on itself. It seemed to be maddened by the resistance of houses, and when the church clock tolled the twelfth hour, it roared its anger till the booming of the great bell was lost in the tumult. The doctor rapped the smoldering chunk of ecanne!l coal with the poker. It broke into pieces, and the flames leaped instantly over the oily surfaces, setting the room alight with a lurid glare and sending out a wave of heat that caused the doctor to withdraw his face hastily. . He glanced at his watch, for he had not heard the tolling of the church clock. “Twelve o’clock,’’ he muttered, ‘‘and a fear- ful night. In another hour I must face it. What a storm! It seems like risking my own life for the slender chance of saving that of my patient. But—bah! what is the weather to me? Let it rage. My battle is with death —death that does not come riding on the storm. Human life depends upon my knowl- edge and skill. Ah! that is a thought to rouse the courage! It makes a man forget the gale, the freezing cold, the——’’ “Doctor—Dr. Krafft!’’ It was a startling interruption, not because the tone was loud or agonized, but because it was so utterly unexpected. There was something, too, in the intensity of the low tone that thrilled the physician from top to toe. He leaped to his feet and wheeled about. The dancing flames in the grate threw a maze of wavering shadows upon the wall op- posite. tis own, shadow, that were mingied in hows i f his table, swaying con + his easy- fusion, ane het pracntod ation i ees r in ght it seemed like a wom- ; an’s shadow painted there—a tall woman, .@raped from throat to feet in a black cloak, ‘her face invisible behind a heavy veil. “Who are you? How did you get in here?” demanded the doctor, sharply. : His answer was a mocking laugh, in which there seemed to be a ring of triumph, either attained or anticipated. It was followed by a slight catching of the breath, a plain indication that the woman was laboring under intense excitement that she controlled with difficulty. “Come!” said the doctor, sternly, “I am not to be trified with, and you are not here for trifling. How did you get in?’ $ Then the woman answered, at first in a tone of scorn. “When the celebrated Dr. Krafft leaves his doors unlocked, he must not be surprised if visitors intrude upon him; and if he gets so lost in thoughts of scientific problems that he cannot hear loud and persistent knocking, he must not find fault if his visitors take other means of arousing him.” The doctor was more and more amazed. It was clear that this was no ordinary wan- derer of the street who sought merely to gain shelter by her impudence. Wihat could be her purpose in coming at this unearthly hour? “Did you say that you knocked?” he asked. “J did; several times.”’ “But there was the bell. seen it by the light of the street lamp. was put there for a purpose.” Again she laughed. “A house bell,’’-she retorted, ‘‘rouses the house servant. I wished to see nobody but Dr. Krafft.’ This suggestive reply seemed to rouse the doctor from the half stupor into which the surprise of her appearance had thrown him. He crossed the room and peered intently at the dark, motionless figure before the door. “Veiled,” he said to himself, as he drew near. Then, without completing the thought, he raised his hand above his head and turned a button on the chandelier. ee Suddenly the room was flooded with brilliant light. 3 On the instant the woman dropped to her knees with a stifled cry and crouched there, pointing one hand toward the windows. ; “Man alive!’ she gasped; ‘‘the curtains! the curtains!’’ Dr. Krafft moved quickly to the windows and drew down the shades, All the hesitancy from the moment of her entrance had disap- peared. He was still amazed, and everything she said and did amazed him the more, but he had now recovered that perfect control of his faculties that makes a physician cool and steady when others would falter. Once more he was the man of science, alert, prepared for surprises, ready to act instantly according to the dictates of his trained judgment. After he had lowered the shades, the doc- tor also unloosened the heavy curtains and let them fall. While he was thus employed the woman arose, turned the key in the door by which she had entered, crossed to another door and locked that, and then swiftly moved to the chair the doctor had vacated. She stood there resting her gloved hand on its back when the doctor finished his task and faced her. For a moment neither stirred. It was as if these were foes, each studying the other and watching for an opportunity to spring. Breathlessly she watched the doctor’s tall form, his clear-cut, strongly-marked features, the piercing gleam of his steady eyes. She noted that his head was thrown slightly for- ward, and the shoulders somewhat rounded, both indications of the persistent study to which he devoted his life. He saw little more than he had seen before he turned on the light. There was the same darkly-shrouded form, the attitude only revealing a suggestion of some terrible purpose that had brought her there. He saw the flash of glittering eyes be- neath her veil, but it was a flash, nothing more. The color of her eyes and the contour of her face were effectively concealed. “T take it for granted,’ said he, slowly, ‘that you require my professional services. By whom am I thus honored ?’’ She made an impatient gesture, as if the formality of an introduction were wholly un- necessary. When she spoke it was ton “6 You could have It in harsh, abrupt es. nd I take it for granted,’ said she, ‘‘that you have no objection to earning a fee.”’ The doctor half closed his eyes, but kept them fixed upon the luminous spots beneath her veil. ‘It is my business to serve others,’ he answered. “I object to no fee that is earned honestly.’’ @ : Perhaps he had not thought of the sugges- tive significance of that last word, but the woman evidently saw a comment in it. made another patience. “Can you attend to me at once?” manded. “T do not know,” replied the doctor, indif- ferently, ‘““whether I can attend to you at all.’’ He took out his watch and glanced at it as he proceeded: ““When I know what your ailment is——”’ “Nothing ails me!’’ she interrupted hastily. The doctor shut his watch with a _ sharp click and replaced it in his pocket. “I was about to say,’’ he remarked in the same cool, indifferent way, ‘that at one o'clock I must be with a patient whose life erisis will come at that hour. I can give yo half an hour—not a’ minute longer.” ‘ “Tt is enough!”’ ; The woman spoke irritably. Then, after a slight pause she added in a tone as quiet and apparently indifferent as that of the doctor’s: “T want you to brand my right foot.’’ With this startling announcement she eb ng the room and seated therself upon a sofa. Paying no attention to the physician’s amazement, she proceeded to remove the shoe and stocking from her right foot, as if the operation she required were the most com- monplace thing in the world. Dr. Krafft’s face and voice both expressed the shock her demand had given him. “Brand your foot!’’ he echoed; “surely you cannot mean it.’’ “I believe I understand the English lan- guage,’ she retorted. ‘‘I said that I want you to brand my right foot, and that was what I meant. There is the foot. Here,’’ and while speaking she hurriedly took a black bag from her arm and emptied its contents on her lap, “here is the branding iron, and this is a dia- gram——”’ She stopped abruptly and looked up at the doctor, appearing to note for the first time the amazement—ay, consternation—she had caused him. “Listen, Dr. Krafft!’’ she exclaimed; ‘‘don’t stand there and stare as stupidly as——’”’ “T hear you, madam,’’ he interrupted, coolly. “T hear and I will tell you what I think.’’~ **“Well?’”’ “You have come.to the wrong practitioner. “Bah! you cannot drive me from my pur- pose by insults. No, Dr. Krafft, I knew per- fetcly well what I was about when I called on you for this operation.’’ The scorn in her voice and the possible in- sinuation in her words brought a flush to the | physician’s pale face. “That. demands an explanation,’’ gravely. ‘‘Why did you. come to me She raised both arms in a frenzied gesture and uttered a cry of exasperation. “Thirty minutes!’’ she exclaimed; ‘‘you said thirty minutes, and yet you delay for ex- planations! Do you think I am not in tor- ture already in anticipation of the ordeal? Do you think it hasn’t cost me agony to get up courage to come here and endure it? And yet you would prolong the agony by asking needless questions! Are you a man with a heart, or are you a cold-blooded demon?’’ “Such talk, madam,’’ he responded, ‘‘is ut- terly lost on me, except as it makes me more unlikely to serve you. shall give you not one of those precious thirty minutes, which are passing steadily, until I have some under- standing of the reason that brought you to me.”’ Again she showed her irritation by a sweep- ing gesture. Then she spoke vehemenily and with exceeding rapidity. “It is the quickest way,’’ she said. ‘‘Here, then, are the reasons. I come to you be- cause I know your career, your ambitions, your attainments, Dr. Krafft. I know that in the medical profession you are held to be one of the greatest surgeons in New York—per- haps the greatest. But your fame does not go much beyond the borders of your profession, of im- she de- gesture indicative ane said that had marked him for you hide yourself away here in Grove street, where your neighbors are poor, and where, therefore, the rich do not find you out, and where, therefore again, you cannot exact high fees. You prefer to live among the poor because you can pursue your studies She shrugged her shoulders scornfully and | gave the woman a paper on which he had would not call upon him, or send for him to attend to it. “You are thoughtful,’’ glanced at the paper bag “If you are quite ready,”’ she said as-- she and thrust it into her he began, with terrupted: that will prevent a wound such as this from appearing to be recently made? I want the sears to be there, you understand’’—she spoke impetuously, with fearful bitterness—‘‘but I don’t want them to appear as if they were made yesterday. will remove the appearance of freshness?’ Once again the doctor’s keen eyes tried vainly to pierce the heavy veil. “Tt will cost,’ he remarked slowly. ee ee matter!’ she almost shrieked; it! Silently Je went to the other side of the room and unlocked a cupboard in the wall. From this he took a large jar and a tiny phial. He filled the phial, corked it methodically, and took it to the woman. She snatched it from him in her eagerness. “Apply with a soft sponge as soon as the wound begins to heal,” said the doctor, speak- ing. as if he were prescribing for a simple cold in the head; “it won’t help the healing a particle, it won’t lessen the pain, but it will destroy the traces of recent work. It is a preparation I made myself, and is not known to the druggists.”’ “The price, doctor—the price?’ “Twenty dollars for that phial. all you will need.’’ It amounted to about a dollar a drop, but she paid the money without a murmer. “We are ready now,” he said, ‘‘but I beg you to take off your hat-and veil.’’ The woman for the first time showed signs of alarm. “Do you think I will faint?’ she agitatedly asked. ‘ Fe BOS She stood up quickly and grasped him by the arm: Hoarsely and with frightful eager- ness she said: ‘ “Speak, doctor! promise me—I know you hold your word sacred—promise me that if I should faint you will not lift so much as the corner of my veil!’’ Dr. Krafft’s answer was short and to the point. “Be calm,” he said. ‘‘You need all your nervous strength for what you are going to endure. I promise. As you have already stated, I am too occupied with important mat- ters to concern myself with you or your projeets.”’ “And you will forever keep the fact of this operation a secret?’’ ‘“*You have nothing to fear from me.” The doctor said so much and then suddenly checked himself, as if a new thought had come to him. He added with dignified se- verity: “I will qualify that. You have noth- ing to fear from me unless hereafter I should discover you engaged in some nefarious scheme.”’ ‘The woman laughed scornfully, released her viselike grasp on his arm, and reseated herself upon the couch. Dr. Krafft resumed his pro- fessional tone. “Time presses,’’ he said. “If this is to be done, it must be done without further delay.’’ *‘None of the delay has been of my seeking,’’ she retorted. An interval of dreadful silence followed, broken now and then by a smothered groan from the sufferer. _“Ha!’’ suddenly muttered the doctor, impa- tiently. ‘“‘Just as I anticipated—a faint!” “No, no!’’ gasped his patient, ‘‘only a little weakness.”’ Taking a bottle from the table, the doctor hurriedly saturated a napkin with its con- tents and thrust it into her gloved hand. “Inhale and bathe your face,” he directed. Feebly the woman obeyed. Silently and rapidly the doctor proceeded to dress the wound. That done, he encased the foot in a large slipper she had brought, and gave her a mix- ture he had prepared toe soothe her nerves. The woman swallowed it eagerly, and then It contains with less interruption, but you have to have fees, else you could not live. There are sev-| eral reasons already, but there is «nother, racre importeon: than ali the oth "On to you because yuu al... pree pea in your ice searches, your books and your experiments, that when I am gone you will forget me. You will not have the curiosity of ordinary men to follow me and try to learn my secret or discover my identity. Furthermore, a skill- ful surgeon can give good advice. Now, then, doctor, will you brand my foot?’ | The question shot from her lips with savage fury, and she waited. . Dr. Krafft folded his hands behind his back and looked at her for a brief moment. “T will,’ he said, quietly. : “To business, then!’’ she cried, energetically. “TI will pay in advance, for I do not expect to be in a condition to count money after it is over. How much?’ The doctor named a sum and she took up the purse that had been one of the articles in her bag. When she had paid him the amount, she handed him the other articles, calling at- tention first to the diagram of which she had begun to speak.”’ “TI want you,’ she said with the same ra- pidity as before, ‘“‘to gum that paper to the sole of my foot and pencil through it the ex- act spot where the brand is to be placed. The brand on my foot must correspond perfectly with the diagram.’’ Dr. Krafft had the paper in his hand and was studying it intently. He saw a drawing of the sole of a human foot with a brand mark on the ball. In spite of ‘his rigid self-control, the shocked expression came again upon his features as he saw the mark and read the word it made. He took up the branding iron and examined it, comparing its surface with the mark on the diagram. : They were exactly alike—the same dreadful word. Bending over her, he -held the di.gram close to her veil and pointed to it with the brand- ing iron. Slowly ‘he said: “I cannot believe that you really want that word burnt into your fiesh. Think of it, madam!’’ : CHAPTER It. BURNED TO THE QUICK. as seemed habitual sture. The woman’s answer, : with her, was given with imperious ge “Do you suppose,’ she demanded, “that I came here on the impulse of the moment? I have long considered my desire, and now I wait.” Dr. Krafft thereupon turned from her and put the branding iron and other articles upon the table. He went to a corner of the room and began to move a large operating chair to the middle, where the light was strongest. ‘What are you about?’ she asked sharply. “TI am getting ready,’’ he answered, begin- ning’ then to bring up an apparatus for ether- izing the patient. “Stop it!’ she cried. that!”’ He looked at her with renewed amazement. “Surely,” he said, ‘‘you cannot dream of the anguish this operation will cause without chloroform or other anzesthetic——”’ “T will not have chloroform, ether, or any~ thing of that kind!’’ she snapped. ‘“‘I will sit where I am, unless you wish to move the sofa a little nearer the light. You can put my foot on a stool. Understand me! I am determined. Don’t waste time. with argu- ments.”’ The doctor shut his jaws together and moved the chair and eitherizer back to their places. “Tt shall be as you say,” -+he remarked, ‘‘but you will not endure it.” “JT willl’? she retorted, vehemently. He took a blowpipe from a closet, turned on the gas and ignited it, and set the branding iron in the flame. While it was heating he made other prepa- rations. “How get home he asked ab- ruptly, his work and turning to her. She nodded in the direction of the door. The doctor looked and saw what he had not noticed before—a erutch leaning against the wall. “T brought it with me,’’ she said. Dr. Krafft could not but feel a certain ad- miration for his strange client—he could hardly call her his patient, but he said noth- ing of it. He had given up argument when he accepted her fee. “You will find it exceedingly difficult to walk with a crutch to-night,’’ he said, simply. “The wind is high and the sidewalks are slip- “T will have none of ™ will you interrupting pery with sleet.” “TF will manage it,’ she’ doggedly responded. ' Dr. Krafft went silently on with his. work, ' pausing now and again to look at the heat- | ing iron and turn it in the flame. When all was ready: for the operation he | = written directions for treating the wound ‘he | was about to make, for he inferred that-she | his hand.upon the branding iron, when she in- | “A moment, doctor, there is one thing more. | In your studies have you not-found something | Isn’t there something that | “get. ; within. Roused to a paroxysm of agony and rage, she shifted her crutch to her left hand, leaned her weight more completely on her el- | bow and shook her clinched right fist in air. _ “Never!”’ she hissed, and then, with a grat- ing scream, “‘never! never! I’ll defy her! I'll make her out the impostor! So, beware, Hes- ; ter Millburn, how you cross my path! Be- | ware, for the torture of this night has given my spirit the remorseless fury of hell! I will not suffer thus and lose the reward I seek!”’ Once more she shook her fist at the inky |sky. Then she took her crutch again under |her right arm and hobbled slowly, painfully on. A few toilsome moments, and she turned into | another street, where there was a cab waiting ‘at the curb. | Disdaining the proffered help of the aston- | ished driver, she crept in and sank with a | groan upon the cushions. to a doctor, lady?’’ sympathetically. | “Shan’t I drive you asked the driver, she hissed. “Go where I told you “*Fool!”’ to!” He slammed the door, mounted to and drove away. The tempest was howling its worst, and for the first time the woman seemed ta be aware of its tumult. “Is it a threat of Heaven?’’ fearfully. ‘‘Does it condemn? scornfully at coming failure?’’ She burst suddenly into a harsh laugh. “‘Bah!”’ she cried, pulling herself to a sitting posture, and tearing aside her veil. ‘‘Do | talk of failure? I, who have endured so much? | It is a perfect plan, and it cannot, shall not fail. The first two steps have been taken successfully. The third shall follow. I will not permit myself to doubt or fear. I will go on unfiinchingly, remorselessly to the end, and woe to them—nay, not merely woe—death to them who try to block my path?” TO BE CONTINUED. A Splendid Man; the box she muttered, Does it laugh THE CROWN OF CHANCE. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands, Author of “Brave Barbara,” “A Kinsman’s Sin,’’ Woman Scorned,” “A Girls Kingdom,’ etc., etc. +4 (“A SPLENDIP MAN’’ was commenced in No. 1, numbers can be obtained of all newsdealers.) Back CHAPTER IV.—(Continued.) After he had spoken, Cuthbert had had a moment of reactionary fear. What if she were to fight him—make matter public? who would fight for her and put lasting dis- grace upon ‘him? But these fears were but transitory. He told himself that Doris would do nothing. As we know, he had sneered at her passion- ate threat of self-destruction; but he did not sneer now. He. seemed to understand her proud nature for the first time. He longed for the day to come, and with it some news from Winstone. Colonel Thorpe had promised to send him a telegram the first thing in the morning, and the tragedy was sure to creep into the papers, _ Doris had adopted the name of ‘‘Mary Scott’’ for her professional work, and though she-had not risen very high, still she had made a little success for this name, and regretful mention would certainly be made of the death of so charming a young. singer. Wearied at last with walking to and fro, Cuthbert Latimar threw himself into his arm- chair, and rested there a while; but. he was nervous beyond description, and, though fa- tigued, could not bring himself to undress and go to bed. Half idly he stretched out his hand and took up some letters that had gathered during his the What if she possessed friends |} “D— her!’’ teeth. This intrusion at such a time For it would unless, of he said again, between his Dove into his life inopportune. to ignore her, bring definite Dottie was most be impossible course he wished to annoyance upon himself. Suddenly he sat forward with a frown. He recalled her declaration of calling at his rooms, probably on the morrow. He must prevent this. All sorts of things might hap- pen when daylight came. He might have a visit from Colonel Thorpe. He fully expected to hear something from those lawyers who seemed to have been that old man’s friends. He must be prepared for everything, and Dot was the very last kind of person he desired should be seen in his rooms. He set her in imagmation beside the figure of Margaret Thorpe, and he shivered. He must write to her; he had noted address before destroying her letter. He sent her a few friendly words, bidding her welcome home, and saying he would call upon her, if possible, late the next afternoon; and when this was done he put on his hat and coat and walked to the nearest mail-box. The slight contact with the chill air did him good; he felt less disturbed as he re-en- tered his rooms. After all, he had the spirii of the true adventurer, and to one who lives by. chance, emotional influences must gradual- ly disappear; even fear, which is more power- ful than most mental sensations, can be un- consciously repulsed. Cuthbert Latimar had long ago cultivated indifference to all feelings that find their home in the heart; and so, when finally he threw himself on his bed, he slept dreamlessly and peacefully. of her CHAPTER V. It was not until evening of that long day that Meg found herself alone in the Abbey. Lady Sara had fretted to be gone early, but there had been many things to detain Colonel Thorpe, and indeed the girl knew right well that her father would have infinitely preferred to have remained at Winstone, but both he and Meg had grown into the trick of gratifying every whim of the little dainty woman who ruled at the Abbey. Sometimes (this night, for instance), Meg would go back to that first keen regret that she had been unable to repress when her father’s second marriage had been made known to her. They had been so much to each other; ever since she could remember, she and her father had been comrades; and had she been one whit less selfish, Margaret Thorpe might very eas- ily have resented the advent of another wom- an into her happy life. But the girl had in- stantly lost her heart to little Lady Sara; she quite understood what had led her father to take such a step as a second marriage when she had come in contact with the delicate, girlish creature who had become her step- mother. The question of relationship was easily solved by Meg. “It is I who ought to be the not you, you dear little child,”’ ito her father’s wife. between them stepmother, she had said “Why, how old are you —sixteen?’’ and this had delighted Lady Sara, for she was a good many years more than sixteen, a good many years older than Meg; but youth was her métier, and she fell in- stantly into the position as arranged by Meg. And there had been very little disagreement | between them in the five years that had |elapsed since first she had come to Winstone Abbey; indeed, Lady Sara had grown fond of Meg in her own selfish way, the girl was so thoughtful, so clever, so useful. A household such as that which was gathered under the roof of Winstone Abbey required practical dealing, and though she loved to pose as a rperson of power, Lady Sara in reality de- tested everything in the shape of work or trouble. Hence, she was but a mere figure- head; it was Meg who managed everything, Meg who was her father’s right hand, Meg again who had the full burden of duties upon her shoulders when the house was full of guests, as it very frequently was. To-night the old place seemed strangely sad and desolate. The drawing-rooms were closed, and Meg elected to sit after dinner in one of the big chairs in front of the hall fire. struggled to a sitting posture, though trem- bling as with an ague : ‘I think vu hag better lie Nf few s : 1id. liaal at her, *“No, no! let me go!” der the crutch!”’ The doctor brought it from the corner and she rose unsteadily to her feet. Again he felt that glow of admiration for her, and now he was stirred by compassion as she slowly moved to the door. He laid his hand upon her shoulder when she reached it. “You really must lie down a few minutes, he said. ‘I will go out and find a cab for you somewhere.”’ Leaning on her crutch, she angrily shook off his hand. *‘Let me alone!’’ she harshly gasped. no, fool. I know what I can bear. go!”’ The doctor yielded, for she was no more to be argued with than before, and helped her through the entrance hall and down the steps to the slippery sidewalk. With no word of gratitude—how could she pe one in her acute suffering?—she left im. Silently, her face unseen, she had come; silently and still unseen, she departed. The mystery was swallowed up by the black, tempestuous night from which it had come. Dr. Krafft watched her until he could no longer distinguish her wavering form in the darkness. When he re-entered his study his attention was attracted by two things—a handkerchief on the floor and the branding iron on the blowpipe shelf where he had placed it at the end of the crucial operation. He took them up and examined them. The handkerchief was of ordinary marked in a corner by the initials ‘J. B. ‘There are doubtless thousands in New York with those initials,’ he muttered. He turned the iron over for any other mark of identification beyond the terrible word on its surface, but found none. Then he sat at his writing-table and wrote in a large book a precise but brief account of the time and circumstances under which the iron and handkerchief had come into his possession. This done, he closed the book, wrapped the iron in the- handkerchief and put them in a cabinet drawer. i “Tf they should ever be needed,” he thought, “T can produce them. In her agony she forgot the iron and dropped the handkerchief. i not likely that she will return for them.”’ Through a lull in the boom of the church clock. “One o’clock!’”’ he exclaimed, to she cried, irritably spur of her great misery. ” linen, in hurry.”’ later Dr. but- make to-night. I must did, and a moment running along Grove street, toning his overcoat as he went. The strange woman struggled slowly through the dark, deserted street. At first was a blessing to her that the way was difficult, for the constant effort necessary gle I am to Hurry he Krafft was so to keep herself upright on the icy walk distracted | her mind in some measure from her physical pain, But presently the torment renewed itself in| overpowering throbs. Gasping, her teeth chat- tering in the effort to hold back a scream of anguish, she leaned her left elbow upon a stone} post at the corner of steps leading to a house, and waited for the spasm to pass. Ah! how that tortured foot sent of shrieking protest from limb to messages limb, to her finger tips that dug into the flesh of her | to | palms, to her temples that seemed like burst with each pulsation of pain, to her throat, where they were held so firmly in check that no audible sound issued from her quivering lips. Her heavy.veil dripped with the perspira- tion that fell from her brow, and her body, despite the wintry wind and the icy sleet, seemed to be afiame. “What biting, unimagined torture! she muttered, seeming to find a shadow of relief in putting her feeling into words. ‘“‘It is worse, far worse than I had dreamed. Could I have done it if I had known how terrible {It is too late to ask that! It is done, it is done, and I told myself over and over again that, cost what it. might, it would be worth while. It is so, it shall be so! I believe it, and now, while the worst of the horror is upon me) I rejoicé that I had the courage! And yet, how do I know what may happen during the slow weeks while this awful wound is healing? What if she should return before I can ‘get about? Shall I give up then? Shall I con- fess that all this was for nothing?’ As these strange questions occurred to her and she uttered them, her voice grew louder. Battling fiercely with the pain, and half- conscious of the howling storm, she cried: “Shall I? Ah! shall I?” ” The storm without was unequal to the storm } looked iL Te, > Items of Interest. Shipbuilding is to be taught in the Univer- sity of Michigan. Two-penny meals, to the number of two millions, are daily supplied to the poor of Lon- don by the authorities. Every public school in Paris has a restau- rant where meals are supplied to children who are unable to pay for them. A London medical journal asserts that much of the headache from which women suffer is due to the heavy hats they wear. The Laplanders are the shortest Europe, the men averaging four inches in height, and the women less. people in feet eleven two inches Wire netting incloses many of the farms in New. South Wales, as a protection against rabbits. Already 15,000-miles of this netting have been erected. A number of girls in a factory in Derby, Conn., went on a strike because a Polish damsel scented the workroom by lunching on garlic and limburger cheese. Among the pets of the Sultan of Morocco are seven lions. These he permits to range the courtyards of the palace at night, to act as guards to the royal harem. Plumpness is contemplated with aversion by some Englishwomen, and many of them are imperiling their health and spoiling their com- plexions by resorting to drugs to reduce their weight. Frank Jacks, a poor farmer in Madison County, Ala., found secreted near a spring 4 pot containing gold coins to the value of nearly $20,000. The money is supposed to have been buried there during the Civil War. A little man in Kokomo, Ind., although only fourteen years old, has «taken unto himself a wife. To further exhibit his manhood, he has been carrying a revolver; but for this a city magistrate has compelled him to pay a fine. London has introduced slot machines which provide meals. Four pennies dropped into a slot cause a screen to rise and disclose a tray, holding a teapot, a milk jug, a sugar bowl, and a cup and saucer. Two pennies more pro- duce a buttered roll or a sandwich. Experts in alcoholism say that old cider and sherry make a person quarrelsome, while port wine tends to soothe and induce slumber. Champagne causes exhilaration and loquacity, and Burgundy produces dullness and lack of coherency in the expression of one’s thoughts, A German chemist has demonstrated that sawdust, combined with certain chemicals, makes excellent flooring, and that it is firm and smooth. What is more, it is fireproof and practically indestructible; but its chief advan tage, apart from its cheapness, is its im- perviousness to sound. During a thunderstorm in Hazleton, Pa., lightning struck a Hungarian boarding-house, passed between two boarders who occupied the same bed, and threw them in opposite corners of the room without serious injury. A cradle containing a baby was crushed to splinters, but the child escaped unhurt. Many American tourists are in the habit of visiting London stores, and spending hours in the examination of goods, but seldom buy any- thing. As a gentle rebuke to such people a store in Oxford street has this plaeard promi- nently displayed: ‘‘Americans will please take notice that this place is not a museum. It is a shop.’’ An air-tight casket, with a pane of glass just above the face, incloses the body of Louis Dorsey, who died some time ago at Deepwood, Nevada. The casket is inclosed in a coffin of solid stone, on the top of which is a square cut in the form of a Bible. This square re- volves, and enables a spectator to view the face of the corpse, which is® still startlingly lifelike. — >AA— NEW YORK, NOVEMBER 2, DAR eee Ta Ieee 1901, ren PAPAL PALL PL LLL ‘Terms to Mail Subscribers: (POSTAGE FREE.) S months... 5.000. 20a0 "T5E.|2 Coples. 2... ces eee $5.00 4 tegen he + oO OOS CODIOS rein. «vi -10.00 1 year ek Ragece, Oo RODIOR 6 Soh e's © 2.» 2000 TO CLUB RAISERS.—Upon request we will send sa:uple copies to aid you in obtaining subscribérs. AGENTS.—Our responsibility for remittances ap- plies only to such as are sent to us direct, and we will not guarantee the reliability of any subscrip- tion agency or postmaster. ADVERTISING RATES.—One dollar five cents per line, agate measure. Subscriptions may begin at any time, and any is- sue later than . 1896 can be supplied at regular rates. Carefully state with what number and vol- ume you wish your subscription to begin. COPIBS LOST IN TRANSIT—Are duplicated with- out extra charge. Remit by Express Money Order, Draft, Post Of- fice Order, or Registered Letter. We will not be responsible for loss of remittances not so sent. All letters should be addressed to STREET & SMITH, 238 William St., N. Y. and twenty- The New York Weekly has a larger cir- culation than all other similar publi- cations combined. PRINCIPAL (eae CHOW BUG The Branded Foot (Serial)......By a Famous Author The Girl from the Country (Serial)............ Ernest De Lancey Pierson A Splendid Man (Seria])....Effie Adelaide Rowlands Gladys’ Wedding Day (Serial) .-..-..... Bertha M. Clay Nina’s Peril (Serial) ...... Mrs. Alex. MeVeigh Miller Run to Earth (Serial) --.....-.....-.- Nicholas Carter Brownie’s Triumph (Serial)....Mrs. Georgie Sheldon The Story of a Woman’s Heart...-.. Caroline Archer A Father’s Revenge............ Francis A. Durivage Matrimonial Engagements...............-.--. TENE PRUE Bos oh ae CS Sw awgucs out tee ..Harkley Harker Pa MER RK VE AVON Ss oc ss hte ewe nc che wen Kate Thorn Josh Billings’ Philosophy..-.......-..--.. Josh Billings Pleasant Paragraphs.............. Charles W. Foster WEEN ath a ae, ae Sa oe Mrs. Helen Wood Items of Interest, Correspondence, Htc. POEMS “The Two Paths,” by Nathan D. Urner. “The River of Dreams,’’ by Henry Van Dyke. “Beauty Cannot Die,” by Rev. Harrold Johnson. HINTS REGARDING WEDDINGS. ise usually marks the end of trouble] in a novel, but this is considered wholly a novel way of arranging matters, as in real life it is more apt to denote the beginning of trouble. There are many kinds of weddings, such as grand, gay, fashionable, golden, tin and tear- ful. As it takes more than one swallow to make a summer, so it takes more than one person to make a wedding. Usually it takes two mothers-in-law, with their husbands, their children, and near rela- tives, a bride, and some say a bridegroom; but the latter personage is of no particular im- portance, and, like salt in the porridge, is never noticed unless he is missing. The enormity of his offense in ruthlessly preventing a young and lovely girl from be- coming a sad and neglected old maid is deeply impressed upon him. He doesn’t dare make a joke, for fear of being.considered a monster, nor to look grave, for fear of being thought an ingrate. He is. compelled to wear boots two sizes too tight for him, and to look divinely happy. But the bride is not without her anxieties. Besides the lurking dread that the bridegroom may dodge the ceremony at the last moment, by taking the early train for the far West, she has to give some thought to her personal appearance, However appropriate it may be for a bride to appear in a soiled wrapper and crimping pins a few months after marriage, it is con- sidered bad form on her wedding-day. It frequently happens that a bride who, when she is married, looks, in the eyes of her fond lord, ‘‘sweet enough to eat,’’ will, a few years after date, look sour enough to eat him. This is an eternal mystery. In her ap- pearance the bride should strive to mingle the grave and gay, the lively and severe. If too serious, people will think she is old, and may imagine that this is her last chance. If too frolicsome, they may fancy that she is unbecomingly glad to get married. In this as in all other affairs in life, the main considera- tion is what other people will think. Wedding presents vary from a house and lot down to half a&dozen dishcloths with a red monogram. emblazoned on one corner. If you are the father of a real bride, something handsome will be expected of you; but if you are only the father of a bride in a novel, all you need do is to give her your blessing. This, while it is always a graceful thing to bestow, is comparatively inexpensive. Con- gratulations may also be showered upon the young pair; but it is not the correct thing to wish them many happy returns of the day. Rice and old shoes are the most appropriate articles of diet to throw after them on their departure, as they beautifully typify the. in+ sipid and leathery quality of the food which will probably be their portion after the honey- moon is. over—especially if the bride is the cook. It is generally supposed that a bit of bride- cake’ placed under the pillow will produce re- markable dreams. Experience proves that the same piece eaten just before retiring will be much more efficacious. eR pe INFLUENCE OF A GOOD EXAMPLE, When we have given our money to help the poor, and spoken our most encouraging words to help the weak, we have not yet exhausted al our resources. A true Christian may help others as much by his life as by his words and gifts.. Nay, the principal contribution which any one can make to the life of the world is not his word or deed, but himself. It is a vain thing to try to set a good example without a good heart. A life which is merely acted is not genuine, and the counterfeit will soon be detected. Artificial lives are like the artificial flowers which one sees in the mar- ket. They are beautiful to the eye, but shed no fragrance on the air. The bees never hover about them. A good life proceeding from a good heart creates a spiritual atmosphere which greatly affects every one who comes within its range. ‘Ss. BY REV. Beauty is forever young, While there speaks a poet’s tongue. Beauty never fades or dies To the artist’s seeing eyes. While the sun shall rise and set, Whiie the moon and stars shine yet Tranquil in the sky, Beauty cannot die. Love-light is the heart of God, Beauty riseth from the sod. By the orange groves and palms, In the storms and in the calms, In the sorrow ’round us spread, In the joy that breaks ahead, Sing it low and high, Beauty cannot die. BEAUTY CANNOT DIE. Vol. 57-—Ne. S$ HARROLD, JOHNSON, Wedding robe and funeral bier, What sweet mystery is here? Birth of every little child, Anguish of a mother wild, Lilt of song birds in the air, Burst of joy and fold of care, Ever love is nigh, Beauty cannot die. Comfort ye, oh, comfort ye, Man and woman, where they be. While this spacious earth shall stand, And the harvest bless the land, While both cold and heat hold sway, And the night succeeds the day, This from God say I, Beauty cannot die. Two Heads. By Harkley Harker. Two heads are better than one. Why? Because no two minds are alike. One man sees all the obstacles; another all the chances. One sees the past ever before him; another forgets what is behind, and is all future, all dream and hope. One man is suspicious of customers; another is trustful of everybody. One man holds back; another pulls. We are made so. Successful businesses, as a rule, are apt partnerships. To work well together, two men need to be of opposite mental characteristics. They must be of like affections. Differing heads, united hearts. If they are not good friends, they cannot, of course, agree. If they cannot agree, of course they will pull each other to the ground, and two will fall heavier than one. Two men, who trust each other, can get on their feet again better than one. There are four feet to kick and dig their heels into the ground. A horse goes faster than a man because he has four feet to spring with and alight with. A hound has two feet making the spring, and two more ready to catch the body on as it is propelled forward. In a financial wreck, partners recover quick- er than the solitary man, provided they have not come to dislike each other in the tumble. Every man has his own friends. Two part- ners double the friends, three treble them. No man gets up, when down, without the help of friends. It is impossible. Two men remem- ber more of the mistakes that lead to the fall, are twice as observant of the causes, Two correct each other’s special mistakes. “You did thus and so; that pulled us over.’’ “Yes; and you did so and thus; that pulled us over.’’ But this must not lead to anger. If it is crimination and recrimination, it is worse than silence; especially between man and wife, in the most sacred partnership. It must be taken as a wholesome though bitter medicine. The pretty, wise head of a pure-hearted girl- friend can help a young man immensely. Perhaps nothing will ever come of it in the shape~of affiancing, but if you know such a dear, sharp-eyed creature, my boy, just you value her friendship highly. Be sure you live so as to deserve and keep her friendship. Then consult her on a good many things. i she sxapris } } warn you against base fellows and Silly girls... She will prevent your repeating some society blunder and a foolish mistake in your attire. She will detect whether you are losing ground with your customers or employers, and give you word in season; you had better heed her, too. She will see to- morrow plainer than you do yesterday. She sees by flashes where you plod in slow reason- ing. There are few of us who do not have occasion to remember the softening, refining society of some gentle girl friend along our path; a real friend, whose pretty head stands yushe can hejpi3zou.- out along the memory lands, surrounded with a halo almost as bright as the head that is now growing gray at our side—almost, not quite. ; Twaq heads are better than one when old and young form a close friendship. A boy of fourteen years was in the habit of running into a big factory office in a New England town. The aged bookkeeper took a liking to the lad; they became fast friends—used to walk together and sit talking together. The whole village noticed- the strange friendship as it went on.. One day the lad was standing in the post office when the proprietor of the big factory was overheard to say about the aged bookkeeper, ‘‘Yes, I’m going to get rid of him. I must have a younger man in training; though if the old man could only renew his youth I’d keep him as long as the mills stand.’’ The boy reported what he had heard to his friend. Two days later the old bookkeeper said to his employer, “I’m getting old. Let me take a young chap and train him up in my own way of doing things. I never can i grow young again; but this boy’’—bringing in his young intimate—‘‘will grow up my other self—or a better man than I—over again.” That was nearly sixteen years ago. The boy is now head bookkeeper. The old man comes in every day, at the astonishing age of ninety- one, sits in his armchair, while he looks with loving eyes on his protege at his old desk, then walks home to a cottage that the cor- poration voted him. The childless proprietor is dead these seven years, and the concern is a stock company now. I have often noticed of how much real service an old person can make a friendship with a younger man’ or woman, or a boy or girl. It is a wise thing to bring your brother down to the city. You have been in business in town for a number of years. Fetch the other boy down from the farm, if his aged ‘parents can spare him. He will do you lots of good, I know, if he is a worthy youth. Two brothers in business together, when they agree, make the strongest kind of a partner- ship. The intimacy is not only down town and in business hours; it is up town in the even- ings; it rnns. ‘‘But no, it was too vivid for that. -Ah! when my last hour really comes, I only hope I shall have such a face as hers bending over me,’’ and then he relapsed into slumber, He was conscious, now and then, of an occa- sional visitor in the room, and of a rough but Kindly voice, to which some one responded in a gentle tone. Though he felt no inclination to move or open his eyes, he knew the silvery voice was the one he had heard when he was at the mercy of the mill stream. “Then she is not a myth, but a blessed real- ity,’ he thought, and he felt strangely glad that such was the case. More than once that day he heard her voice | balm to his! again, and it seemed to carry troubled spirits. He slept soundly until the morning, the day before, before he could realize where he was. With the exception of a slight weariness, he was little the worse for his experience, and, hopping out of bed, proceeded to dress him- self, for his own clothes, dried and pressed, lay on a chair by the bed. He was curious now to learn the identity of his fair rescuer. “Oh, I suppose she’s some stupid country girl, with nothing but her face and voice to recommend her. A bovine creature, with scarcely the brains of a learned poodle. Still, I owe ‘her a debt of gratitude for saving me. That baptism in the mill-race seems to have inspired me with a desire to fight fate a little while longer.’’ He completed his toilet, and then cast a look around the humble, but neatly furnished room. “Poor folks, these, I should«say. I would like to do something big for them.’ Then he laughed bitterly, ‘‘l am a nice one to think of conferring benefits on any one, when I’m in such a peck of trouble!’ He looked at his watch, but it had stopped, so he had no idea what hour of the morning it might be. . He slipped down the stairs and into the gar- den. A fresh breeze, warm with the fragrance of the woods, stirred the trees that seemed to be reaching out their branching arms as if to welcome it. 7 Gilbert-Warden stood in the doorway for a moment, inhaling the morning air with sense x The silence, the Sylvan scetic, was -ve ‘ ling, 4 inclined to envy the dweilers -n sl 2 spot, “far from the madding crowd.” ~ In his ignorance of the country he little real- ized that envy, malice and all uncharitable- ness were not exclusive products of city life, but could rankly fiourish in such an arcadian spot as this. A bit of color moving among the trees drew him away from the door, and, advancing, he found himself face to face with the one who had played such an active part in his recent dreams. , He had never felt quite so embarrassed in his life as he stood facing the young girl, who “appeared quite at her ease as she stood there, a rich color in her brown cheeks, a smile on her lips, her arms filled with wild flowers which she had evidently just returned from gathering. “Tl wonder how people begin when they want to thank one who has rescued them?’ was the question passing through the young man’s mind. “T hardly expected to see you about so early as this,’ she began, noticing his embarrass- ment. “All owing to the kindly care I have had,” he stammered; ‘‘and then I was eager to sat- isfy myself that you were not indeed a myth, a figure in a disordered dream, a spirit that would vanish with the morning.’’ “You will find me a very substantial spook,’’ she replied with a little laugh. Then, noticing how pale he was, she continued: “I should advise you not to overtax. your strength after what you have been through. Better sit down and rest,’’ and she pointed to a circular seat that ringed an old chestnut tree near which they were standing. “But there is something I wanted to say to you,” he stammered. Bovine country maid indeed! He felt shy as never before in ‘his life, in the presence of this girl in the shabby frock, who was so at her ease. “To speak to me?’ and she seated herself beside him. “Yes,” and it seemed to him that his tongue had suddenly grown to be of an abnormal size. “Well, with something of a roguish smile on her lips, as if she enjoyed his confusion, “Well?” and she occupied herself in making figures in the dirt with the point of her little shoe, as she awaited his next utterance. “T wanted to tell you—to let you know how deeply I feel the debt I owe you for having saved my life. Not that it was worth much!” with a bitter laugh. She looked up at him quickly, and, noting the sad expression on his face, quickly with- drew her glance. “J don’t like to hear a young man talk in that way,” she said in a tone of mild rebuke; “you, with all your life before you.”’ “Very true, but I have suffered much, life had little charm for me.’’ Wihat was the reason for his sadness? She noted that there were weary lines about his mouth such as are seldom to be seen in one of ‘his years. “You are rather young to feel so. hopeless,” she said in a tender tone of sympathy. “After all, your family—’’ and she paused as if she had already said too much, “Ah, my family—yes,’ with a grim smile. “We are what you might call a divided house, and it is months since I have seen any of them. Now, at the risk of being lowered in your estimation, I will tell you why we became alienated.”’ “But why should you tell me, when I am but a stranger to you?” : “Well, I want you to know me as I am. I have led a prodigal life. They might still tell you in town of Gilbert-Warden’s follies. squandered my inheritance—in short, made a thorough fool of myself, so that you cannot He na so wonder that I made little effort to save myself: yesterday—until you appeared on the scene. I don’t know how it was, but when I was being swept down to what seemed a certain death, I heard your voice, and it sounded like a trum- pet call to duty. I made up my mind then that I had been a coward, and that I must live, if only to unmdo the weaknesses of the past. You are astonished, if not bored, that I should speak in this way to you.” She was silent. “