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MISS CRANE’S CHANCE:
(Continued from last week.)
NE bright March morning, when
the sky was a miracle of blue, with
soft white clouds floating across
its azure depths, and the sun
shine sending lances of gold
through the evergreen trees in the
front yard, where the birds twit
tered cheerily in harmony with the
day, Miss Crane walked with de-
O
termined step down the jonquil-bordered
walk and went directly to a real estate office in
the business center of the town. She placed
her home with the agent for sale, and feeling
that she had also, on her knees, left the mat
ter with God, she tried with more or less suc
cess to forget all about it. Mental anguish
she told herself, was not faith, and to fight
for the best things within her limtied reach,
was a better way to wait for results, than
to indulge in bitter introspective moods. She
did not enjoy in the least, the psychological
process through which the total loss of income
Had involved her, but at the same time she
refused, with the splendid courage which was
as much a part of her as the blue of her eyes,
to sit down in the acrid ashes of a senseless
despair. So, she helped Mrs. Gordon More,
get ready for the musical she had planned, with
an enthusiasm which a younger woman might
have envied. She became so deeply interest
ed indeed in the future of Mary Brand’s chil
dren, that she volunteered to go to the city,
and see what she could sell Mrs. More’s dia
monds for to a jeweler, who was an old ac
quaintance. She was glad to do this, in order
to push forward Gertrude’s phenomenal
scheme for helping one little struggling sister
of the poor, save the children, with the atro
cious names.
On the morning of her departure for the
city, Miss Crane looked at herself, with a de
gree of approval in the long, gilt-framed mir
ror, which hung between the windows in her
dining room. She w r ore a grey coat suit, and
a velvet turban, which matched in color, and
the violets on the deep revers of her collar,
were no bluer than her eyes.
“Miss Crane, I congratulate you,” she said,
with a whimsical smile. “You do not look at
all like a forlorn wretch, who has lost all of
her income, within the month.”
The journey to the city by rail was achieved
without accident, and, while she was offered
five hundred dollars less for the diamonds than
Mrs. More had anticipated, still she believed
her friend would accept it, as she had worn
the rings a number of years. But her return
journey from the city was emphasized in a
way for which she was scarcely prepared; al
though she might have been, if it had occurred
to her to think about it. She was no sooner
seated in the big trolley car than a man with
iron grey hair, and of distinguished appear
ance, filled the vacant seat at her side. With
out effort, she seemed to look into the brown
depths of the great financier’s eyes, heard the
rich, well modulated voice, and the rare smile
of Powhattan Grey flashed again across her
vision, as the suburban car swung forward on
the homeward way. The houses they had ad
mired and criticised along the route, were
still standing amid their grounds—they had not
vanished with his going away. There was the
log bungalow, too, which being built in a grove
of original forest, had appealed to them both
from an artistic point of view, very strongly.
They had called it, “The Home of the Happy,”
and Miss Crane, looking at it now, for the first
time since her friend went away, felt the hot
blur of tears in her eyes. And there was the
river, too, broad, amber and flowing slowly—
but still marvelously with its wil
low-fringed curves, and ivy and azalea thickets,
along its deep banks. She remembered having
once said to him: “That river breaks the mo-
The Golden Age for November 7, 1912.
notony of the landscape, and is to me the su
preme point of attraction in the journey from
the city.”
“It is not to me,” he had answered, with
a flash like a sword, in his eyes. “In fact, I
am not prepared to tell you, what is the su
preme attraction, it might take too long. But,
some day, perhaps, I can give myself that pleas
ure.”
He had spoken lightly, but he had aroused
her curiosity, for she had felt that there was
a deeper meaning, a something mysteriously,
interesting back of his words. But now one
would never know, at least not until she, too,
had crossed the bar into that other world, about
which we speculate so much and so vainly.
‘ ‘ Oh, I did care; I did care! ’ ’ she said to her
own heart, “so much more than I realized. He
was my unknown bon comrade, on the road of
life, with whom I shared my highest thoughts.
He was my I intellectual companion and friend,
and I did not know it, until he was gone.”
When Miss Crane arrived at her own town
she went through the one long business street,
with her veil down. But it was thin enough
for her to read the large black bulletin board,
in front of the real estate office, where she had
but a few days before consigned her home for
sale. And she saw, not without dismay, that
the place was advertised already in this con
spicuous way, for sale. And the only thing
she had'to be thankful for was that her name
was not given to the public, along with other
needful details. She had indeed crossed the
Rubicon, and burned her bridges. As she
walked on towards the cottage, she thought
of the beautiful things for which her home
had stood, and memories of vanished days
filled her heart with sadness. The things
worth while, for which she had striven, the
kindnesses, the word of cheer in season, the
helping hand in times of darkness, the hospi
tality which had been lavishly given through
the years. Ah ! me; was it all in vain? If she
had served herself more faithfully, and others
less, would she have been better off, the game
worth the playing, and the end different? She
stopped in the yard and pulled a jonquil with
a hand that shook. She did not really know
what she was doing, for the blackness of a great
despair had fallen upon her. And her mind
was only a bulletin board, on which the words
“For Sale,” were tabulated. And she felt
for the moment, that that meant the end of
everything, that there was really nothing worth
while left under the sun, for Caroline Crane.
A man of impressive appearance, dressed,in a
dark blue business suit, rose up from a rustic
chair on the veranda, as she blindly approached
the steps. Miss Crane came out of her dismal
abstractions speedily, as she recognized Way
land Hamilton, one of the most prominent law
yers of the town. Miss Crane, being a civil
creature, greeted him courteously, and after
a moment’s hesitation, asked him into the sit
ting room.
“I owe you an apology,” the lawyer ex
plained, as he took a chair by the claw-footed
center table, “for not coming last week, as my
business with you is important. But I was
called to New York by an unexpected telegram,
and I did not return until 12 o’clock last night.
I suppose that you knew,” he continued after
a pause, “that my late client, Powhattan Grey,
regarded you very highly—this ca/i be no news
to you.”
“No, not exactly,” she replied. “I thought,
or, rather, I knew, he was my friend. Still
our association was casual and never premedi
tated, I am sure on his part. We frequently
came home from the city, on the same car, and
sometimes we dined together at the house of
a mutual friend. But our intimacy was not
such that we ever planned to meet —we left
that to fate.”
“Possibly,” the lawyer gravely admitted,
By ODESSA STRICKLAND PAYNE
’‘but I have often heard him refer to the fact
of how much he enjoyed talking to you. I
am sure, because I have his own word for
it, that, intellectually, he considered you
leagues beyond the average woman.”
“I am sure that I appreciate the compli
ment,” she returned, in a voice that was not
quite steady, “because he was what you and I
knew him to be, a giant among men.”
“Indeed, it will be long,” Wayland Hamil
ton answered, “before we look upon his like
again. And now before we leave this social
aspect of the case,” he continued, gravely,
“perhaps you will allow me to state the rea
son, why Powhattan Grey never cultivated his
friendship for you. He knew that he had
organic heart trouble—and he thought that it
was best. But he left incontestible proof, all
the same, of his estimate of you,” the lawyer
added, as he took some folded legal-looking
papers out of his coat pocket, and laid them
on the table. “Powhattan Grey left you,
Miss Crane, his large fortune, unconditionally.
And that last word means, that his trust in
you was very great. For some men tie up
their estates, in their wills, in away that
handicaps the heirs fearfully. And if you
knew as much’ about such things as I do, Miss
Crane, you would bless 'his memory for a free
hand, almost as much as for the fortune he be
queathed you.”
Miss Crane sat perfectly still under the an
nouncement of the astounding news, which
changed her fate, metaphorically from a pau
per in the dust, to a princess on the throne.
Indeed the only evidences of emotion about
her were revealed by the darkened depths of
her blued eyes, and the rigidity with which her
hands were locked on the lap of her grey
dress.
“I do bless his memory,” she said, at last,
when she could speak, “not only for the for
tune left me in this untrammeled fashion, but
for many hours of beautiful association. For
inspiring words when the way was dark, and
for that sort of sympathetic comprehension,
which made me feel like when with him, that
I did not always have to use words, to make
him understand.”
The lawyer gave the lady across the table a
long look. Her direct sincerity appealed to
him strongly. She was worthy perhaps of
the great financier’s trust, and Powhattan
Grey’s regard for her was no longer a thing
of mysterious speculation. Some of the rea
sons for it, were being revealed in this unusual
interview, between himself and the heir-at-law.
“I hazard the guess,” he said, after a silence
which it seemed difficult to break, after her
last words, “that Mr. Grey’s fortune is much
larger than you suspect. In cold English, Miss
Crane, how much of a fortune do you suppose
has been bequeathed you?”
“I suppose, perhaps, a hundred thousand
dollars.”
He smiled, as if amused by the smallness of
her estimate. “Multiply that figure by five
and you will be nearer the truth.”
“Oh, what a responsibility!” Miss Crane ex
claimed, in an alarmed voice, as the lawyer
arose to go.
“Yes, it is undoubtedly,” he admitted, “but
you know that you can command all the help
you will need in its management.”
“Thank you for the suggestion,” and then
she added graciously, as she also stood up. “I
would like to retain in my service all those
who were Mr. Grey’s assistants, yourself as
chief counsellor among the number.”
Wayland Hamilton bowed. “I shall be
happy to serve you, Miss Crane.”
And then, without an added word, he shook
harjds with her, and left her to the deep silence
which filled the old-fashioned sitting room.
(Continued on page 15.)
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