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Show s f : 4--v;, v ,: v," :: ! n ft - . : - p"f fc" Northland Romance IS Kobert W Service ff.N'Il St-rvtce SYNOPSIS would be a grateful suru..-e to my companions. Obviously 1 had been inspired, and now I produced thorn in triumph, bier, plump, glossy follows, fol-lows, buried in the fragrant cedar dust. I shook clear a large bunch, and once more we tried the old man. It seemed as if we bad hit on the one tiling needful, for he ate eagerly. When he had finished and was resting quietly, she tinned to me. "I don't know how I can thank you. sir, for your kindness." "Very easily," I said quickly; "if you will yourself accept some of the fruit, I shall be more than repaid." She gave me a dubious look; then such a bright, merry light flashed in to her eyes that she was radiant in my sight. "If you will share them with me," she said simply. So, for the lack of chairs, we squatted squat-ted on the narrow stateroom floor under the old man's kindly eye. She ale daintily, and as we talked, I studied stud-ied her face as if I would etch it on my memory forever. It must be remembered, lest I appear ap-pear to be taking a too eager interest inter-est in the girl, that up till now the world of woman bad been terra incognita incog-nita to me; that I had lived a singularly singu-larly cloistered life, and that first and last I was an idealist. This girl had distinction, mystery and charm, and it is not to be wondered at that T found n joy in her presence. Her mind seemed nimbly to outrun mine, and she divined my words ere I had them uttered. Yet she never spoke of herself, and when I left them together to-gether I was full of uneasy questioning. question-ing. It was on the third day I found the old man up and dressed, and Berna with him. She looked brighter and happier than I had yet seen her, and she greeted me with a smiling face. Then, after a little, she said: "My grandfather plays the violin. Would you mind if he played over some of our old-country songs? It would comfort him." "No, go ahead," I said ; "I wish be would." So she got an ancient violin, and the old man cuddled it lovingly and played soft, weird melodies, songs of the Czech race, that made me think of romance, of love and hate, and passion pas-sion and despair. The wild music throbbed with passionate pas-sionate sweetness and despair. Unobserved, Un-observed, the pale twilight stole into the little cabin. The ruggedly fine face of the old man was like one inspired, in-spired, and with clasped hands, the girl sat, very white-faced and motionless. motion-less. Then I saw a gleam on her cheek, the soft falling of teats. I felt as if I had been allowed to share with them a few moments consecrated to their sorrow, and that they knew I understood. That day as I was leaving, I said to her: "Berna, this is our last night on board." "Xes." "Tomorrow our trails divide, maybe never again to cross. Will you come up on deck for a little while tonight? I want to talk to you." "Talk to me?" She looked startled, Incredulous. She hesitated. 'Tlease, Berna, it's the last time." "All right," she answered in a low tone. She came to meet me, lily-white and sweet. She was but thinly wrapped, and shivered so that I pul my coat around her. "Berna !" "Yes." "You're not happy, Berna. You're in sore trouble, little girl. I don't know why you come up to this Godforsaken God-forsaken country or why you are with known Jewesses. Confound i.or. any way! I almost haled her. Vet I fell constrained to watch and wait, and even at the cost of my own ease and comfort to prevent further violence. For that matter there were all kinds of strange doings on board, drinking, gambling, nightly orgies and hourly brawls. It seemed as if we bad shipped all the human dregs of the San Francisco dead-line. As I sat in silent thought (hero came to me Salvation Jim. His face was grim, his eyes brooding. "I don't like the way of things a bit," he said; "I don't like it. There's enough evil on this boat to stake a sub-section in hell. Sooner or later there's goin' to be a reckonin'. There's many a one shoutin' an' singing' to-night'li to-night'li leave his bones to bleach up in that bleak wild land." "No, Jim," I protested, "they will be all right once they get ashore." "Right nothin'l You mark my words, young feller, for I'll never live to see them fulfilled there's ninety in a hundred of all them fellers that's goin' to this here Klondike will never make good, an' of the other ten, nine won't do no good. As for me, I feel as sure as God's above us guidin' us through the mazes of the night, I'll never live to make the trip back. I've got a hunch. Old Jim's on his last stampede." He sighed, then said sharply: "Did you see that feller that passed us?" It was Mosher, ths gambler and ex-preacher. ex-preacher. "That man's a skunk, a renegade sky-pilot. I'm keepin' tabs on that man. Maybe him an me's got a score to settle one of them days. Maybe." He went off abruptly, leaving me to ponder long over his gloomy words. Although he was my room-mate I had seen but little of the old Jew. He was abed before I retired and I was up and out ere he awoke. For the rest I avoided the two because of , their obvious connection with the Winklesteins. Surely, thought 1, she cannot be mixed up with those two and be everything that's all right. Yet there was something in the girl's clear eyes, and in the old man's fine face, that reproached me for my doubt. What was there about this slip of a girl that interested me so? Ever and anon I found myself thinking of her. Was it the conversation I had overheard? Was it the mystery that seemed to surround her? Was it the irrepressible instinct of my heart for the romance of life? With the old man, despite our stateroom propinquity, propin-quity, I had made no advances. With the girl I had passed no further words. But the gods of destiny act in whimsical ways. Doubtless the voyage voy-age would have finished without the betterment of our acquaintance; doubtless our paths would have parted, part-ed, nevermore to cross; doubtless our lives . would have been lived out to their fullness and this story never have been told had it not been for the luckless fatality of the Box of Grapes. Puget sound was behind us and we had entered on that great sea that stretched northward to the Arctic barrens. bar-rens. As we forged through the vague sea lanes, we were like a glittering glit-tering trinket on the bosom of the night. Our mad merriment scarce ever abated. We were a blare of revelry rev-elry and a blaze of light. Excitement mounted to fever heat. But one there was who, amid all our unrest, remained cold, distant and alien the Jewish girl Berna. Even In the old man the gold fever betrayed be-trayed itself in a visionary eye and a tremor of the lips ; but the girl was a statue of patient resignation, a living liv-ing reproof to our febrile and purblind pur-blind imaginings. The more I studied her, the more out of place she seemed in my picture, pic-ture, aud, almost unconsciously, I found myself weaving about her a fabric of romance. I longed to know her uncommon well, to win her regard, re-gard, to do something for her that, should make her eyes rest very kindly kind-ly on me. In short, as in the way of young men, I was beginning to grope blindly for that affection and sympathy sym-pathy which are the forerunners of passion and love. That day I had missed the old man, and on going below, found him lying as one sore stricken. "Poor old beggar," I thought; "I wonder if I cannot do anything for him." And while I was thus debating, debat-ing, a timid knock came to the door. I opened it, and there was the girl, Berna. There was a nervous anxiety in her manner, and a mute interrogation in her gray eyes. "I'm afraid he's a little sick today," to-day," I said gently; "but come In, won't you, and see him?" "Thank you." With some words of endearment, she fell on her knees beside be-side him, and her small white hand sought his thin gnarled one. As if galvanied into life, the old man turned gratefully to her. "Maybe he would care for some con'oe.'' I said. "I think I could rustle him some." She gave me a queer, sad look of thanks. "If vim could." she answered. When I returned she had the old man propped hp with pillows. She took the coffee from me. and held the cup to his lips; but after a few sips he turned away wearily. "I'm afraid he doesn't care for that," I said. "No, I'm afraid he won't take it. Ob, if I only had some fruit!" Then it was I bethought me of the box of grapes. I had bought them just tef - l.-miig, thirkiug they 1 plniss 11 been in help yu,i. I'm sorry sor-ry I've Cttf.-.e so little. Can't I be really real-ly and truly your friend, Berna; your friend that would do much for you? Let me do something, anything, to show how earnestly I mean it?" "Yes, I know. Well, then, you are my dear, true friend there, now." "Yes but, Berna! Tomorrow you'll go and we'll likely never see each other again. What's the good of it all?" "Well, what do you want? We will both have a memory, a very sweet, nice memory, won't we? Believe me. it's better so. You don't want to have anything to do with a girl like me. ;You don't know anything about me. and you see the kind of people I'm going go-ing with. Terhaps I am just as bad as they." "Don't say that, Berna," I interposed sternly; "you're all that's good and ipure and sweet." "No, I'm not, either. We're all of us pretty mixed. But I'm not so bad, 'and it's nice of you to think those 'things. . . . Oh ! if I had never come on this terrible trip! I don't leven know where we are going, and I'm afraid, afraid." "Well, Berna, if it's like that, why ;don't you and your grandfather turn back? Why go on?" "He will never turn back. He'll go on till he dies. He only knows one word of English and that's Klondike, Klondike. He mutters it a thousand :times a day. He's like a man that's .crazy. He thinks he has been chosen, :and that to him will a great treasure be revealed. You might as well reason rea-son with a stone. All I can do is to follow him, is to take care of him." "What about the Winklesteins, Berna?" "Oh, they're at the bottom of It all. It is they who have inflamed his mind. He has a little money, the savings of a lifetime, about two thonsand dollars; and ever since he came to this country, coun-try, they've been trying to get it. They'll rob and kill him in the end, and the cruel part is he's not greedy, ;he doesn't want it for himself but for me. That's what breaks my heart. "Surely you're mistaken, Berna ; they can't be so bad as that." "Bad I I tell you they're vile. 1 should know it, I lived with them for three years." "Where?" "In New York. I came from the old country to them. They worked me in the restaurant at first. Then, after a bit. I got employment in a shirtwaist shirt-waist factory. I was quick and handy, and I worked early and late. I attended at-tended a night school. I read till my eyes ached. They said I was clever. The teacher wanted me to train and be a teacher, too. But what was the good of thinking of it? I had my living to' get, so I stayed at the factory fac-tory and worked and worked. Then when I saved a few dollars, I sent for grandfather, and he came and we lived in the tenement and were very happy for a while. But the Winklesteins i never gave us any peace. They knew he had a little money laid away, aud they itched to get their bands on It I wasn't afraid in New York. Up here it's different. It's all so shadowy and sinister. "I didn't mean to tell you all this, but now, if you want to be a true friend, just go away and forget me. You don't want to have anything to do with me. Wait! I'll tell you something some-thing more. I'm called Berna Wilo-vich. Wilo-vich. That's my grandfather's name. My mother ran away from home. Two years later she came back with me. Soon after she died of consumption. She would never tell my father's name, but said he was a Christian, and ot good family. My grandfather tried to find out. He would have killed the man. So. you see, I am nameless, a child of shame and sorrow. And you are a gentleman, and proud of your family. Now, see the kind of friend you've made. Yon don't want to make friends with such as I." "I want to make friends with such as need my friendship. What is going to happen to you, I'.erna?" "Happen! God knows! It doesn't matter. Oh, I've always been In trouble. I'm used to it It's what I was made for, I suppose." What she had told me had somehow stricken me dumb. There seemed a stark sordidness in the situation that repelled me. She had arisen when J aroused myself. "Berna." I ;:!. "what yon have told me wring-- ley hearl. I can't H you how terrili';. sorry 1 feel. Oh. I hate to let you j;e Ibis." Her vob e was full of path' iie rcs'g nn; ion. "What ran you !o? If we were- going go-ing in to::H!irr il !ii;::ht be different. When I in. I yon at first I hoped, oh, I hoped well, it doesn't matter what I hope-, nm, believe me, I'll be all r'.z'.it. Yon won't forget me, will you?' "Forget you! No, Berna, I'll never forget you. Ii. cuts mo to the heart 1 can do nothing now, but we'll unci up there. We can't be divided for long. And you'll be all right, heib-vc me, too, little girl. Be good and sweet and true and every one will love and help you. Ah. you must go. Well, well '' ' -mi, Berna " (To Be Continued) I rwAPTER 1- Dissatisfied with the I t life In nis l'ume surroundings, V qu!Vl Meldrum, younu Scotsman who the story, leaves his mothor and -I f -her Garry, to sock li is fortune. At l J Francisco, practically penniless, he a laborer's job. and meets a fel- ! adventurer whom he dubs, and K'" i, hereafter known as. the Prodi- I L ' PB4PTER II. Th Prodigal Is -sious to join the rush of gold seek-n seek-n into Alaska, and .Meldrum agrees f. oowith him after h (tha Prodigal) ;es back from a visit to his wealthy Either in the East. Athol, in great la Is befriended by Jim Hubbard Salvation Jim"). When the Prodi-ji Prodi-ji returns, the three men join the !ta-ipede into the Frozen "North, the prodigal and Hubbard financing: the outfit- CHAPTER III ' Say I you're looking mighty blue. Clieer up, darn you I What's the matter?" mat-ter?" said the Prodigal affectionately. And indeed there was matter enough, for had I not just received letters from home, one from Garry and one from mother? Garry's was jravely censorious, , almost remonstrant, remon-strant, ne pointed out that I was in fair way of being a rolling stone, and hoped that I would at once give up my mad notion of the South seas mid soberly proceed to the Northwest. North-west. Mother's letter was reproachful, in parts almost distressful. She was failing, she said, and she begged me to he a good son, give up my wanderings wan-derings and join my cousin at once. Also she enclosed post office orders for forty pounds. Her letter, written In a fine faltering band and so full of gentle affection, brought the tears to my eyas; so that it was very bleakly I leaned against the ship's rail ami watched the bustle of departure. 'I've just heard from the folks," I said, "and I feel like going back on von." "Oh, beat it," he cried ; "you can't renig now. You've got to see the tiling through. What you want to do is to get busy and make yourself acquainted. ac-quainted. Say! Of all the locoed outfits this here aggregation has got everything else skinned to a hard-boiled hard-boiled finish. They've got a notion .they've just got to get up there and I'irk big nuggets out of the water like cherries out of a cocktail. It's the limit." Our eyes roved round from group i 'o gi'uup, picking out characteristic j figures. Salvation Jim was talking to two men. "There's a pair of winners. I put my money on them. Native-born Americans, all grit and get-up. See "ie tall one smoking a cigar and wising at the women? He's an ath- !J fie. Name's Mervin. See the oth-w- Hewson's his name; solid as a tower; muscled like a bear; built from the ground up. You can't down I man like that." ., lie indicated another group. "xw there's three birds of prey.' ullhamnier, Marks and Mosher. The 5 "S. Pig-eyed heavy-jowled one is Bull- mer. He's in the saloon business. S e middle-sized one in the plug hat 3 s Marks; calls himself a mining j broker. The third's Jake Mosher. es an out-and-out gambler, a sure-"'IJ'g sure-"'IJ'g man, once was a parson." bad-looking bunch," I said. 'vs, there's heaps like them on ward. Jt:st get llext to tUoPe two ;j ws, MiU and Uebeccu Winklestein. t ll'i' re going to open up a sporty rpstauratit." ''he man was a small bandy-legged "'wire, with eyes that squinted, a ''Plexloa like ham fat and waxed " 'ladies. Rut it was the woman j " S0lzwl "iy attention. Never did fooMfS,Kl1 " strnnninS Amazon, six ; 1 if an inch, and massive in pro- a ''n' She was handsome, too, in ; her f ' Wfly' thoSu "ear at band on was sensuous and bold. Dan-tho'iH' Dan-tho'iH' 'ms(-'!'upulous and cruel, T to,-,, a '"""-woman, a shrew, a llll;,s;,ut, ciiiu", 1 Was 'ovvtuS weary of the no in a"d '"nscd t0 SO below. I was ger interested, yet the voice of I ; rodigal droned in my ear. (hui..i!leS aD oM num ani1 llis f-'ra"'1-si'eii'i' t roliUives 'f the YVinkle-l,,.' YVinkle-l,,.' 1 Relieve. I think the old fel- Wiii n serew l0,,se- Comes from jar'',, S',ea,;s Yiddish or some such 'Klonil'iu0!1-? EnsIisl1 he knows is I lo-irti i KU,I1,like-' The girl looks lot in ' roor liu'e I'PSW.r. l'ou'ro Lent. rung t0 'hat I'm saving. ( s' fly (1"u't you!" roinid ,Plcase him- 1 t"rned full nrchai , look(it1' An old man- l,:Uri-dcck l,:Uri-dcck p as',cct- crouched on tno haiul' on T'1 by his skle' with her fiire , s shouIder, stood a slim '"llfferonn 1 "sure 0f a sirU 'her f(!ot y n)y eyes traveled from I rested t her face' Tllere they got pVe , ' a clceP breath. I for-firs, for-firs, "lin? else. Then for the ' saw He ma. T will not try to depict the girl. Ten descriptions are so futile. I will only say that her face wa.s very pale, and that she had large pathetic gray eyes. 'Twas the face, I thought, of a virgin vir-gin martyr with a fear-haunted look-hard look-hard to forget. "Poor little beggar!" Then I cursed myself for a sentimental senti-mental impressionist and I went below. be-low. Stateroom forty-seven was mine. We three had been separated in the shuffle, and I knew not who was to be my room-mate. Feeling very downhearted, down-hearted, I stretched myself on the upper up-per berth, and yielded to a mood of penitential sadness. As I lay, there came voices to my door, guttural tones blended with liquid ones ; lastly a timid knock. Quickly I answered it. "Is this room number forty-seven?" a soft voice asked. Even ere she spoke I divined it was the Jewish girl of the gray eyes. "Yes," I answered her. She led forward the old man. "This is my grandfather. The steward told us this was his room." "Ob, all right; he'd better take the lower berth." "Thank you, indeed ; he's an old man and not very strong." Her voice was clear and sweet, and there was an infinite tenderness in the tone. "You must come in," T said. "I'll leave you with him for a while so that you can make him comfortable." "Thank you again," she responded gratefully. So I withdrew, and when I returned she was gone ; but the old man slept peacefully. It was late before 1 turned in. Every Ev-ery one had gone below, I thought, and the loneliness pleased me. Suddenly I beard a sound of sobbing, sob-bing, the merciless sobbing of a woman's wom-an's breast. Wonderingly I looked around. Then, in a shadow of the upper deck, I made out a slight girl-figure, girl-figure, crouching all alone. It was Grey Eyes, crying fit to break her heart. "Poor little beggar !" I muttered. "Gr-r-r you little brat! " If you open your face to him IT1 kill you, Bee 1" The voice was Madam Winkle-stein's, Winkle-stein's, and the words, hissed in a whisper of incredible malignity, arrested ar-rested me as if I had been struck by a live wire. I listened. "See here, Berna, we're next to you ,two we're onto your curves. We know the old man's got the stuff In bis gold-belt, two thousand in bills. Now, my dear, my sweet little angel, we need the nion, see !" (Knock, ! knock.) "And we're goin' to have it, see!" (Knock, knock.) "That's where you come In, honey, you're go-in' go-in' to get it for us. Ain't you now, darlin' !" (Knock, knock, knock.) Faintly, very faintly, I heard a voice : "No." If it be possible to scream In a whisper, the woman did it. "You will! you will! Oh! ob! oh! There's the cursed mule spirit of your mother in you. She'd never tell us the name of the man that was the ruin of 'er, blast 'er." "Don't speak of my mother, you vile woman !" The voice of the virago contracted to nn intensity of venom I have never nev-er heard the equal of. "Vile woman ! Vile woman ! You. you to call me a vile woman, me that's been three times jined in holy wedlock. . . . Oh, you brat ! You whelp of sin! You misbegotten scum! Oh, I'll fix you for that, if I've got to swing for it." Her scalding words were capped with an oath too foul to repeat, aud then came a. horrible pounding, like a head striking the woodwork. Unable Un-able to bear it any longer, I rapped sharply on the door. Silence, a long, panting silence; then the sound of a falling body; then the door opened a little and the twitching face of Madam appeared. "Is there somebody sick?" I asked. "I'm sorry to trouble you, but I was thinking I heard groans and I might be able to do something." Piercingly she looked at me. "Why, no! my niece in here's got a toothache, tooth-ache, but I guess we can fix it between be-tween us. Wo don't need no help, thanks, young feller." "Oh, that's all right," I said. "If you should, you know, I'll be nearby " Then I moved away, conscious that her eyes followed me malevolently. The business worried me sorely. The poor girl was being woefully abused, that was plain. I felt indignant, indig-nant, angry and, last of all, anxious. Mingled with my feelings was a sense of irritation that I should have been elected to overhear the affair. I bad no desire just then to champion distressed dis-tressed damsels, least of all to get niiM';! u; in the family brawls of un- '' 'V -v. pi - J w The Wild Music Throbbed With Passionate Pas-sionate Sweetness and Despair. those people. I don't want to know ; but if there's anything I can do for you. any way I can prove myself a true friend, tell me, won't you?'' She did not speak at once. Indeed she was quiet for a long time, so thai it seemed as if she must be stricken dumb, or as if some feelings were con Aiding within her. Then at last very gently, very quietly, very sweetly, sweet-ly, as if weighing her words, she spoke. "Xo. there's nothing you can do. You've been kindness itself to grand father and me, and I never can thank you enough." "Nonsense! Don't talk of than!: .Berna. You don't know what, a bap |