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CHAPTER XXVI.
HE hunt for the escaped convict proved
fruitless. The sheriff of the county, who
had been wired to come, brought two
deputies with him, and joined a half
dozen men of the Hickory Hill neigh
borhood in the search for the would-be
assassin. Again and again the dogs
found the track and lost it as often, in
the many gorges and rocky ravines and
# JU
through rivulets and creeks that flowed through the
valley.
At length the search was abandoned. For days,
there was anxious watchfulness and dread in the
Wiggan’s household, then, gradually, the sense of
danger wore off. In the days that followed —beau-
tiful May days of sunshine and shower —of springing
grain and blossoming wild roses, it seemed incongru
ous to think of such dark things as revenge and as
sassination. Vera alone continued to be haunted
by apprehension. It followed her like a shadow. She
had seen the cruel determination in that dark face,
with its fixed, sinister grin, and every day her un
voiced prayer followed Bob out to the field. Every
evening she experienced a sense of relief when she
returned from school and saw him, smiling and un
harmed.
This solicitude for his safety deepened the tender
regard she felt for him. Had she analyzed this re
gard, she would have been startled to see how nearly
akin it was to love.
term was drawing near. As-
had nkunied to go home
•v lun'il after mar
to the mountains, and have
’ , Jo Springs divided ii tc Jots and
|<T)r the Industrial Scl po gl. Al-
Ited offers for seve"- lots at
excellent pnces. '
On the day following the close of her school, her
pupils had a picnic in the beautiful woods that
elrQrv Hill to its lofty summit. Luncheon
the children in baskets and spread
|®r*natural terrace of rock, under a large
beech tree rooted in crevices of the rock.
After dinner the children scattered along the slope
of the hill, picking dewberries and wild flowers, and
swinging in the wild grape vines that hung in fes
toons fro mthe trees around the spring at the foot
of the hill.
Vera had stayed on the terrace, where, seated on a
gray boulder, she might watch the sun drop out of
sight behind the mountains, whose purple peaks
were outlined against the silvery blue of the sky. Rob
approached her hesitatingly, until she beckoned him to
a seat beside her. In her white dress, with the leaf
shaded light trembling over her face and her white
graceful throat, she was very lovely.
The beauty of the hour, the green stillness of the
woods, the majesty of the mountain moved them to a
mood of silent joy.
At length, Vera spoke.
“God’s grand old mountains; I shall think of them
often when I am in the man-made town.”
“I hope their spell will be strong enough to draw
you soon back to them —and us —” Rob said. He was
not looking at the mountains; his eyes were upon
her. * The days will be a blank to me, until I see you
again ’ he went on, so earnestly, that she felt con
strained to say:
‘■'Rob, you must not care so much for me.”
“I can’t help it,” he burst out, passionately. “I
love you; I love you with all the life that is in me.
I did not mean to tell you; but I can’t keep it any
longer. I have struggled against it with all the
strength I possess. What shall I do? Tell me, what
shall I do?”
The anguish in his voice pierced her to the heart.
“I am to blame for this,” she faltered. “I ought
not—”
“No, no,” he interrupted, “I have not misunder
stood your sweet ways to me. I knew it was only
kindness— friendly regard. I know you can’t love
me. I have no right to worry you with my trouble.
I will bear it like a man I must.’
“Dear Rob, I do love you; I love you dearly,” said
The Golden Age for January 6, 1910.
■Joky HILL SETTLEMENT
By MARY R. 'BRYAN, Author of Mauch. Wild Work, Kildee, Uncle Ned’s White Child. Rte.
Vera, hardly keeping back her tears, “but Ido not
think the love I have for you is that which a woman
should bring to the man she marries.”
“Might it not come to be that?” he asked eagerly.
“Might it not grow into that, if I made myself wor
thier? I will study hard. I will learn things that
make for success. I am young; I have energy; I
have ambition. I may make myself a man you can
respect, if only you will give me the hope that you
will then be mine—will you give me this hope, Vera,
dearest —dearest, will you give me the hope that
when I am worthier, you will be my wife?”
The passionate appeal in his voice; his eyes were
almost more than Vera could bear. Pity, tenderness,
gratitude, self-blame, all spoke for him. She cared
for him deeply; she could make him happy; she
could help him to climb. Should she forego this
mission because he did not measure up to her more
masterful ideal?
She looked away to the suset lighted mountains as
though to seek the strength and inspiration she
needed. Suddenly her look was drawn down to a clump
of bushes below the terrace. The bushes parted.
She saw a dark, vengeful face; the muzzle of a gun
was thrust through the branches.
“Oh, Rob!” she screamed, and threw her arms
around him.
The bullet ploughed its way through the flesh
of her arm and lodged in the heart that was beating
high with love and hope.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Midsummer found Vera still in the city. She could
not bring herself to go back to the mountains, and
carry out the improvements at Chalybeate Springs,
she had so happily planned with Rob. Judge Haydon
secured for her an honest and energetic promotor,
who carried out her ideas regarding the fast-mater
ializing summer town. The only real interest she
took in it was in regard to the Industrial School to
which she had donated twenty acres of valuable
land on the creek, and an initial contribution of five
hundred dollars towards putting up the school build
ing.
Mrs. Weston had quietly married Judge Haydon
the last of June, and had moved to his home —a
large, substantial mansion in the most aristocratic
part of the city. Vera had two beautiful rooms as
signed here there, but she felt more at home in
Briar cottage, and spent most of her time there. So
ciety, that had welcomed her mother back to its
most select circle, eargerly held out its arms to the
daughter, whose charm of beauty and intellect was
enhanced by the romance of her past love affair.
But Vera, to her mother’s disappointment, showed
no inclination for society. She wore no colors, and
no ornaments, and attended no large parties. Her
grief for the boy lover she had tried to save was deep
and lasting. The scar of the bullet—deplored by
her mother as marring the white beauty of an other
wise perfect arm —was to her a sacred reminder that
her blood had mingled with his own on that tragic
day. She missed him constantly. No where, she said
to herself, could she ever find a friend so devoted,
a companion so congenial. In the midst of the city
throngs, and the company of gay acquaintances, she
was more lonely than with Rob on the mountains.
Harvey was absorbed in his new love his time
taken up with atttentions to her. He and Lee Max
well were to be married in October. They would live
with her father in the pretty flat, in which father
and daughter had set up housekeeping. Captain
Maxwell had become a partner in a good business
company. He had come bravely out of his habit of
morbid seclusion; also, he seemed to have renewed
his youth. He was extraordinarily young looking,
and his distinguished appearance was greatly ad
mired. He told Vera that he owed this change in
his mind and his mode of life to her, and to what she
had modestly, but firmly, told him that first, night
of their acquaintance, when he asked her for a sin
cere opinion concerning his hermit life, and his feel
ings towards those who had wronged him.
His admiration for Vera partook of the ardor of his
nature. It required all her tact to prevent him from
becoming her suitor. She had other admirers —one,
who her mother thought was particularly desirable,
but to none of them did she give any encourage
ment.
One day, a person of her acquaintance—a silly,
shallow-brained, society woman — said to her, “Miss
Weston, doesn’t it make you feel sorry that you did
not marry Austin Brand, when you see what is said
about him in the papers—his courage and his clever
ness, and what a hit he has made as a foreign press
correspondent? The latest about him is that he is
to marry the beautiful young widow whom he res
cued from the Boxers after they had killed her
missionary husband. A friend of Mr. Brand’s told me
that he was expected to return to this country in Au
gust. Os course, he will bring his bride with him.
Their love story is quite romantic, isn’t it?”
“It is,” assented Vera, “doubtless the daily jour
nals will make the most of it, as he is a newspaper
man.”
Her interlocutor was plainly disappointed that
Vera had betrayed no emotion, on hearing that the
man she had almost married was to be the husband
of another woman, and that the pair would shortly
arrive in their native country. Harvey, who had
heard the chatter of the frivolous little woman, saw
deeper. When the door had closed upon the visitor,
he exclaimed impatiently, “She is one of the fools
that rush in where angels fear to tread. Vera, don’t
class me with that woman, if I venture to speak to
you about Austin Brand. Believe me, I have another
motive than curiosity. I would give much to know
if you still care for him, for the reason that my con
science accuses me concerning the part I played in
separating you and him almost at the altar. 1 have,
of late, often wished I had never gone to San An
tonio, to verify the accusation against Brand that
the asylum superintendent had made to you.”
“Why should you regret going? You brought
only a confirmation of the superintendefcTs story.”
“The account I brought back did confirm the su
perintendent’s story, but —”
“Was it not the truth?” she demanded, almost
fiercely.
“It was the truth —but not all the truth. Had I
told you what I thought about the matter, you might
have judged Austin less harshly. I was in love with
you at the time, and hard hit by the blow of your ap
proaching marriage, else I would have told you my
true opinion of the matter.”
“Was he not guilty of wronging the girl? Tell me
that.”
She was very pale, and the pupils of her eyes were
dark and dilated.
“Yes, I suppose he was what you, with your ex
acting ideals about honor, would call guilty, but, let
me tell you, there’s only one man in a thousand
who would not have done as Brand did, if a young
and pretty woman ran him down and threw herself
into his arms. That is what the girl did, so I learn
ed from two outside informants, who did not know
I had any direct interest in the matter. It seems,
she had been cranky all her life, growing worse and
bound* to culminate in a case of insanity. She be
came violently infatuated with Brand; on hearing
him speak on some public occasion, she pursued
him with letters, photographs, poems, and finally
visits. She was utterly reckless of consequences.
What was to be expected, happened—most likely.
At least, she said it did, and when he refused to
marry her, she revengefully branded him as having
ruined her. Her case is not an uncommon one. The
asylums are full of such hysterical young women,,
who pursue men and then denounce them. It is like
ly, the asylum superintendent did not know the true
story of his interesting patient’s relations with Aus
tin Brand. He was, no doubt, sincere in writing
that letter to you—his old friend’s daughter, when he
saw the announcement of your engagement to Brand.
He regarded the man as a deliberate betrayer of
youthful innocence. The mother was, of course, bi
ased in her judgment. She was so hysterical. I
could hardly get anything coherent from her. Now,
Vera, I have at last told you all the truth. My con
science has often reproached me for not telling you
at first. If I had told you all I learned about the girl
(Continued on Page 15.)
