The Sketcher.

Lake County Press, Issue 904, 29 March 1900, Page 2

The Sketcher.

A Penny Novelette.

Of the Approved Kind.

Ever since the oldest inhabitant could remember there had been a Clobber at Clobbertou. Tradition said that the family had come over with Noah hi the Ark, but, be that as it may, the archives of the race dated back to the time when Mir Ughtred Clobber, the hero of a million lights, received the Victoria Cross from* Julius Caesar for leading the forlorn hope at Ma'iwand and, with a handful of men, routing the whole Russian army ! Now, even in these less stirring times, the men of the Clobber race were noted for their courtley grace and reckless courage. Young Ulrie, the last scion of the house, had already earned a high reputation as a mighty Nimrod. It was he who had, single-handed, stretched a grizzly bear dead upon the arid plains of Africa, and when, in his search for fresh adventure, he had carved his name deep upon the North Pole, he returned with a whaling ship laden to the scuppers with lion skins.

But the time had come when he yearned for the restful calm of the oldmoated Abbey of Clobber. His heart had fluttered from one fair woman to another as a bee sucks honey, but he had never met one worthy to be placed among the stately patricians whose porirails thronged the walls of his ancestral domains. The Clobber gallery was famous from —voila tout ! —lxmdon to far Cathay. On the tapestry-draped ,vails might be seen Rembrandt’s latest ■lief d’oeuvre, side by side with a ■racked and faded painting by Whistler, while in a shaded niche stood the armour worn by Sir Wilfred Clobber when, battle-axe in hand, he fell at Waterloo, dumting the battle-cry of his house, “ In vino voritas !”

But evil times had come, like curses, to roost at Clobber. The fair estates were mortgaged to the hilt, and already the axe of the woodman was heard on the hill playing havoc with the stately

oaks that reared their broad crests into the empyrean. For old Sir Godefroi, Ulric's father, was a gambler ! He would stake millions upon a single throw of the dice, and slowly but surely Hie life-blood of Clobber was being drained. There was a perfect embarras tie richesscs.

Nothing remained for Ulric when he came home but a rich marriage. Such, fortunately, awaited him. Colonel Fitzcrampshaw. the old comrade-in-arms of Sir Godefroi, had left an only daughter, and to her came an income of fifty billion a year on condition that she consented to wed Glide Clobber.

Ulric had never seen her. From his youth he had been tracking the mighty moose in India or camping with the fierce Pathan in the trackless wastes of Greenland. Cela va sans dire ! But let us describe Ulric. A tall, grandly-formed young Englishman, with a strong, firm month, shaded by a fair silken moustache, sans pent et sans reproche. His golden hair would have been curly had it not been cut so short, and his steel-gray eyes looked down six feet of stalwart, well-dressed manhood. He was the soul of honour, and the idea of a mercenary marriage rent his proud heart. When his father broached the subject Ulric rejected it with haughty scorn, and after a stormy scene left the house. Nothing was thought of this, but when days passed without his return the parents began to feel anxious. At length one evening. Lady Clobber rose up suddenly, and with tcatering steps made her way downstairs. In a few moments she returned pale and breathless. “The prophecy. Godefroi !” she cried ; “ the prophecy Sir Godefroi hurriedly seized an ancient volume that lay on the char-a-banc. With trembling fingers he opened it. and his eyes fell upon the old couplet that had so strange an influence upon the fortunes of his house :

“ When inne ye house there beere ys none, Vo eldest sonne shall leave hys home.”

With a gasping cry Sir Godefroi fell to the ground, and in a few moments Sir Ulric reigned in his stead.

A pea! of laughter like the splashing of a tinkling brook o’er silver pebbles was wafted through the air. and came dreamily to the ears of the young man who lay lazily pulling at a choice Havana. The next moment he had risen to his feet, and was bowing with courtly grace to two maids who stood blushing in sweet confusion.

“ Ladies,” said Sir Ulric, for it was he, bowing once more, “ command me.” The ladles looked shyly away, and Sir Ulric, seeing that one of them had dropped a hairpin, adroitly took the opportunity of making their acquaintance. In a few moments after introducing himself Sir Ulric had learnt their history. The elder, a pleasant but commonplace girl, was Isolde Fitzcrampshaw, his destined bride; and the younger, a lovely girl with a pure profile and fathomless azure eyes, was, Sir Ulric learned with a strange pang, Susan Muggins, her companion.

“ Whither away, fair ladies ?” asked Sir Ulric gallantly. Susan made a charming mone.

And so the acquaintance ripened. Sir Ulric felt himself Irresistibly drawn to Susan Muggins, while all the blandishments of Isolde could win nothing but gentle courtesy from him. If Susan had only been the heiress ! Sir Ulric was not mercenary, but bis heart was sore when ho thought of (Jobber Abbey in the hands of some man who had earned his living.

But amour propre.prevailed, and one glorious evening Sir Ulric poured his story of love into the willing ears of Susan Muggins.

"We shall be poor, my darling.” he said tenderly, “but I shall easily obtain a post as ambassador, and that, with the twenty thousand a year that remains to me. will keep us from starvation. Though indeed, sweetheart, love like ours will be worth any privation.” And so. a week later, a quiet wedding took place at the quaint country church. The only witnesses were Isolde and the deaf old verger, but never was wedding happier. Everything was Jen d'esprit. and as Sir T'lric clasped his wife in his arms he would not have had things different for all Isolde's billions. When they were alone Susan looked timidly at her husband.

“ TJlric,” she whispered, ” 1 have a confession to make. Forgive my deception. TJlric ; I am not what I pretended to be.” Sir TJlric, In spite of his love for her, drew back with passion ! “Wretched woman,” he cried, “have you brought dishonour upon my name ? Death rather ! You know the motto of our house, Tojours perdrix hors I'honneur.

*o. no,” she cried, " no* that Mr name is stainless as your own ; but, U1 Susan \rl' ? # de Fitzcrampshaw, and UlHe fo l r U< t gIDS 18 luy companion. Ah ! you VZ ghe doubts - I wished

i And with those soft arms about his neck what could Sir but forgive ? trinmohal A year later there was a tr . return to Clobber Grange. the oaks had been replaced, and as a cheers of the tenantry Sir Ulr his wife to her new home, he wWsperc softly. “ Raison d’etre ’-Heibert Cadett, in the “ Weekly Sun. >