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Charming Romance!
Lightning Action!
Baffling Mystery!
Waa the thought also • cbltm-ra of
the night? He knew not what to
think The dawn found him atlll at
hi* window detailing It.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A Dual Over the Tea-Cupa.
Gavin had alwaya been an early
riser and one who flouted the modern
Idea that the world ahntild tie aired
before men went abroad. Faithful
ho hi* habit, the following morning
t<Mind him riding In the park a little
after aeven o'clock: and not until the
aweet cold air of the highlands hud
decompenaed him for a waking night
did ha return to the Hall and the
generous breakfast table there spread
Ihr him. A professed diei lple of the
simple llf«, Gavin confessed that Ihe
Earls lavish hospitalities were alto
gether too much for Ills philosophy;
and he ate and drank with the hearty
relish of one to whom these unend
ing luxuries were both a revelation
In the art of living and a satire upou
the habits of the rich.
What vast quantities of food were
heaped upon that priceless sideboard
—ln dishes of shining silver, each
warmed by the clear flame of a sll
ver lamp beneath I .If I. a lid of-ono
of those granaries and there you
would espy an omelet which none
but a man from I’arta could cook.
Peep Into another and there are eggs
prepared an cunningly that they
would melt the heart of Master Kas
tldlty himself. Kish and fowl and
flesh, grest red Joints upon the buffet,
exquisite peaches from the hothouse,
bunches of grapes that would have
taken prlxes In any show how Iron
leal to remember the rlasa of man
who usually sat to eurh a table, his
ennui, his distaste, and the altsll
nence cure the physicians compelled
him to practice. Gavin was Just a
hearty Englishman, fit and strenuous,
and needing no "waters" to make life
endurable. He look what came to
him and made ho ls>nes about It
Had he been u rich man himself, he
would have done Iha „ came, he
tonight Humbug was no part of hts
c.eed, and he never mistook neces
sity for self sacrifice.
The Karl had not come down when
ha entered the famous breakfast
rtsjm. and. not a little to his aatlsfae
tlon. he fonnd himself alone with
lady Evelyn for the first time since
his arrival at the Manor. A student
of faces alwaya. he slndled this face
today with a curiosity which he set
down to his own delusions rather
than to an absolute Interest In the
personality of a stranger A beau
tiful woman he had admitted her to
be when first he saw her by her
father's side upon the night which
carried hint to the Hall. But now
Ms scrutiny went deeper, and. so far
as opportunity served. he looked
at her as one seeking a woman's se
cret. and s<-okng It with a man's de
sire to help her.
And first Its said It was an Eng
tlsh fare In repose, and yet not an
English fare when the repose was
loat The masses of Jet hlark hair
would have excited no surprise upon
the Corso at Home or shining In an
aureole east nut from a Florentine
window. Here, In England, the
treases spoke of the t4outh and Its
■una —and yet. In flat rentradlrtlon,
the perfect skin, smooth and silky as
the leaf of a pink whfte rose, could
tall of English lanes and sunless days
and the kinder climate of the North.
Character he read In the firm contour
of her chin —romance and passion In
the deep blue of her eyes and the
modulations of a voice whose music
had not been lost In the roaring Sat
urnalia of the modem salon That
he himself had so far failed to at
tract her notice was a fact which
■either wounded his vanity nor
abated hla Interest It had been the
first maxim of hts life to hasten
slowly, and to no pursuit whs this
maxim more necessary than to that
of friendship
This. then, was the estimate which
one strong personality formed of an
other: the man saving to himself, "I
would read this woman's heart!” the
woman asking herself If she must
talk architecture until the Karl c#m»
to her assistance. Hreaktng the Ice
with a common ohservntion. she re
marked that she had seen him gal
loping across the park and regretted
the dilatory habit which kept her In
bed
'Getting up Is a foreign art," she
said. “It lives In the kitchens and
places where thev scrub. The doc
tors positively fOrhld It nowadays.
And. of course, life Is too short to
disobey ,ne doctors
Gavin looked at her with the air
of a man who has too much common
sense to deal In frivolities and rarely
troubled to aay the thing which was
not
"They talk nonsense,” he said
quietly; "the profession Is becoming
far too commercial It lives and
thrives upon the credulity of fools.
Just consider—man Is the only ani
mal which does not glory In the Cre
ator's gift, the dawning day ami «1!
Its wonders. For w hat do we change
itT FVtr the electric light and the
champagne which disagrees with us*
We borrow the night and then grunt
ble because we have nothing to offer
the day. If men could get up at five
o'clock and go to bed at ten. they
would begin to understand the reali
ties of llylng."
Evelyn, much amused at his earn
estness and quite understanding that
aotne pleasant originality of cliarac
THE LADY EVELYN
hv MAX PEMBERTON.
Copyright, 1006, All Rights Reserved.
ter dictated Hie outburst, looked at
him a little mischievously from be
neath her long lashea while she said!
'ln winter surely not five o'clock
j then. Mr. Ord?"
■'Not at all,” was the quick reply;
"we* nr#* #*ip#*ctf*#l to uws our common
sense In Ihe matter. A winter's
dawn la distinctly unpleasant; have
nothing to do with It A true bene
fector of mankind would help us to
hibernate. Imagine how splendid It
would be In sleep from the twenty
sixth day of fare ember until the first
day of April. Those are the month*
of the Income tax -of no Interest to
you, Ijidy Evelyn, but of great Im
portance to poor people who are un
able to help the government to throw
hay Into the sea from Ihe shores of
Mouth Africa Hint out the winter,
by all means; but leave 11s the sum
mer, and do not expect us to spend
the best hours of It In bed.”
“Am I, then, personally guilty In
the matter? Frankly, yon will never
convert me. I am hateful before ten
o'clock, and If I go riding before that
time, the very horses tremble. Ton
slder what golpg to bed tit ten o'clock
would mean to us in the season?"
“I have considered It often. We
should be spared a large number of
very Indifferent plays; a great many
falsehoods would not be told to our
acquaintances; old gentlemen would
not, under such circumstances, need
to go to Carlsbad to be scrubbed.
You would save vast quantities of
good Paid; learn wbsl the country
Is to those who really know It; ami,
perhaps, discover that strange per
sonality. yourself. Why should wo
be so frightened of such an excellent
companionT Men and women tell
you that they desire to keep self at a
distance. The fellow would he trou
blesome, ask questions, and that sort
of thing Hut let others always ua
shout lug In our ears (and modern
society has excellent lungs), then w#
leep the stranger out and are glad
to he quit of him. Some achieve tha
same end hy work I am one of
them When ray work gets hold of
me 1 cannot answer a common ques
tion decently Sometimes 1 wake up
suddenly ami say. 'My dear (lavtn,
how are you getting on and what
have you been doing all this time?
I become solicitous for the fellow and
want to peep Into his private hooka.
That Is often at dawn, lauly Evelyn,
just when the sun Is shooting up over
ihe horizon. Then a man may not
be ashamed to meet himself. For
the rest of the time he Is often play
act lug."
A faint blush came to her check*
and she turned away her head.
Why not If playacting amuses ua?
Perhaps we are not hII contented
with that amiable stranger, our
selves. Home other figure of the pres
ent or the past may seem more de
sirable as a friend. Is there any law
if Nature which compels us to take
one personality rather than another?
Cannot you Imagine a man or n wo
man living years of make believe -
playacting always, If hy playgctlng
they can discover a world more de
slrahlc than the one they live In?
We speak of Imagination as a rare
gift I doubt If It Is so. Even little
rnildren hnve their dream-world*,
and they arc more remarkable than
any books 1 would say that your out
look Is too limited. You see one side
of life, Mr. Ord. and quarrel with
those who cat) look tolerantly upon
both."
tlavin was honest enough to admit
that it might -e so
“Yea, he said. "I grant you that
the world is sometime* better for
make believe. If we did not deceive
ourselves, some of us would commit
suicide. The age Is to blame for the
necessity. We have not color enough
in our ilves, and even our devotion*
arc often entirely selfish Witness
the case of a modern millionaire who
Is proud of being called 'a hustler.'
This rogue tells his friends that ho
has no lime for ordinary social Inter
course M.v answer Is that he ought
to be hanged out of hand Such a
fellow never comes face to face with
himself once In twenty years. Men
envy him and yet despise him. Take
tie meanest hero of mediaeval fic
tion and placb him side by side with
a Gould or a . anderbilt What a
very monarch he becomes' Total up
the riches of a trust and remember
Mozart died of starvation Vulgarity
every where nunc of us is free from
It. Our very ambitions are adver
tised."
" And wo hnve not even the courage
to hide ourselves in nunneries."
"They would come hero with cam
eras and photograph our habits No.
we must accept the position frankly
and make the best of It. That oar
rlos mo round the circle. By getting
up with the sun we see something of
ourselves sometimes. Our work Is
not then the whole occupation of lU*
day. “
Hut yours, surely. Is not work you
despise. Mr. Ord?"
Ho little that 1 fear It on that
very account Just Imagine how this
h-mse ls going to make a captive of
me, I shall know every stone of It
before a month has passed. I will
tell you then all Its truths and all
lit* fables. The dead will become my
(intimate friends. 1 shall reconstruct
i from the beginning I must do It.
| for how shall 1 date to touch the hal
lowed walls unless something of the
builder's secret Is known to me. In
six months' time I will show the
harvest of dreams. In six months'
time "
"In six months’ time! What an age
to wait! l way not be in England
then."
"You will return to be my critic."
”1 may never return."
"Never return! my dear lady, you
could not possibly desert Melbourne
Hall. The very atones would cry out
upon you."
"Oh," she said, looking stralghMn
to his fsce; “my husband may not
like England, you know.”
'T will believe It when he has the
courage to tell me ao.”
"Men are generally courageous
when It la a question of telling a wm
man what they do not like. I am to
live In ilukhareat, be It known. My
summers will he spent In the Car
pathian* I shall become a child of
the primitive colors—the red, the
blue, and the orange—which Menle
Muriel Dnwte tella ua are an eternal
delight to the eves, t am promised
weeks on the Black Rea. and more
glorious weeks on aeas whlrh are not
black. The sun la always shining
there —why should one want to come
back to England?”
Had anyone asked Evdlyn why she
spoke in this way to a stranger, a
man of whose existence she had
hardly been aware yesterday, she
would certainly have been unable to
give a satisfactory answer. To no
other In all her life had she spoken
so openly and so readily as to this
fail r-l\al red, hlueeyed Englishman,
who did not appear to have one grain
of humbug In all his body. Her sur
prise was not greater than her pleas
ure; she would not deny that It
pleased her thus to confess Intimate
thoughts which she had not shared
even with her own father. Gavin, tip-
"MY GOD!" HE CRIED ALOUD: “I CANNOT DO IT—I CANNOT DO IT!”
on his part, a servant of candor al
ways. observed nothing unusual In
her freedom; but he could ask him
self already if she were in love with
I the man to whom or future was
pledged.
"We are forgetting how to be ,
serious," he rejoined; "that Is also j
one of the vices of the age People
chatter awaj as though words wore
enough and the truth of words noth
tug at all. You do not mean anything
you say. and you expect me to listen
to you In the same spirit. 1 decline
to do so. If you go to Bukhareat, you
will come back again before the year
is out. As for the blue, red and or
ange. well. 1 could as soon Imagine
you buying an early Victorian slde
! board That Is my frank opinion
I You must forgive me If it offends?"
He looked straight Into her eyes
and she did not turn away Gavin
lord was unlike any man she had
| known—not by mere cleverness
alone, hut by that strength of will
and character which could not fall
to i»ssert Itself In any company,
whatever its nature. Here sat one
whom, were he to command her, she
would certainly obey. Such a poaaal
jblllty of docility astonished Evelyn
beyond measure—but It also en
j eouraged her to put a question to
I him.
"Frank opinions need no forgive
ness." she said. "1 am longing for
I more, Mr. Ord You told me last
I uight that you believed you had met
Ime in London. Floase tell me xf here
'it was,”
She asked the question with some
i pretty pretence of Indifference which
did not deceive him for an instant,
lit is heller, he thought, that I should
I tell her. and so he said, without any
affectation whatever:
"1 am quite wrong, of course; but
when I thought the matter over l re
membered that a young actress,
who made a great sensation at the
Carlton Theatre in May, might have
been named for your own sister
Thai la what gave mg Ute idea that
THE AUGUSTA HERALD
if had seen you before."
"How strange! Do you al»o remem
ber Ihe lady'* name?"
"Perfectly, All I/>ndon went mad
over her. Hhe called heraelf Etta
Homney. and the play showed Just
such a house as thla. ft was the old
story of Df Vernon refold. Lady Eve
lyn.”
"Yon were much faken with the
play. It appeara?”
"Not with the play at all. But I
thought Etta Romney one of the
cleverest women I have ever seen on
the stage."
“Is she playing still, may ! ask?'
"You know that she la not, J-ady
Evelyn.”
"I konw It—are you serloua?”
"So serloua that I ihall forget the
subject until you choose to speak of
It again.”
Hut It Interests me greatly,” she
pleaded, with that Insistence which
often attends the discussion of things
better avoided. "If I am really so
like somebody else, ought I not to be
curious? You say—"
"Indeed. I say nothing." ho ex
claimed quickly, and then In a lower
voice—“at least until the Earl has
breakfasted."
She did not reply. The Earl en
tered tue room and began at once to
speak of Gavin’s work and the ar
rangements which must be made for
It.
CHAPTER XIX.
From the Belfry Tower.
Gavin's little band of workmen ran
up a llgnt scaffold of ladders and
boards for him against the belfry
tower, and had It finished upon the
morning of the conversation with the
Lady Evelyn. To this height he
climbed early In the day, when be
r ui tin examination of the decaying
fabric and set down the first lines of
the report he had to make to the
Earl. The old building was In a
shocking state certainly; the plumb
line declared surprising departures
from the stately grace of perpendicu
larity the text-books had taught him
to esteem. Gavin should have taken
the greatest interest In all this, but
he did not Had you spoken to him
yesterday, he would have been ready
io declare that nothing on earth
rould be more fascinating than the
very task he now pretended to be
engaged upon; hut his habitual can
dor came to his rescue today and he
now pronounced the work to be al
most distasteful. For. In truth, he
had discovered a secret as old as
man. and the delight of that new
knowledge surpassed the worker's
dreams hy far.
He stood upon a dizzy height, tyit
custom had staled the peril of his
employment, and. In this aspect, fear
w :is unoknwn to him. A high trem- j
hllng ladder permitted him to climb
up to a couple of boards suspended
from the parapet above by frail
robes cunningly wound obout the em
brasures of the battlements. He
stood with his hack to a mossy wall:
beneath him lay the fair domain of
Melbourne Hall; Its ancient trees so
many children's fretted tovs; its
grass lands supremely green; pool
and lake and river ablaze with the
golden light of an autumn sun. But
more to Gavin than these was the
figure of the Lady Evelyn herself,
clearly to be seen In the glade where
the gypsies had pitched thetr camp—
the figure of an English girl divinely
tall, of one whom the splendid xiyj
might well choose for their divinity.
She rode through the glade and by
her slit* their walked a rough fellow,
who, Gavin thought, would have been
much belter ig Derby jail than Idling
In the home park nr. Melbourne.
Home chancy, observations which had
fallen from servants' Ups had made
him acquainted with the circumstan
ce* under which these Apparent va
grants had come to Derbyshire; and
ho was quick enough to perceive the
connection between the Karl's young
er days and this odd visitation.
"He knew these fellows In Rouma
.na and they have come here to
blackmail him," was the unspoken
comment. "Their master Is a shady
Roumanian count—one of the long
haired brand, who ogle the women. 1
1 take It that she had promised to
marry this man, not altogether at jier
father's bidding, but Just because he
|g romantic liar enough to appeal to
one sldo of her imagination. That’s
what sent her to London play-acting.
She had to escape from this monot
ony or It would have killed her. Well,
1 think I know the temperament—a
very dangerous temperament which
has sent many a woman the wrong
way and will send many more before
the world Is done with.”
He turned again to the crumbling
stone work and passed his hand Idly
over It. This old house, how many
women's hearts had It not imprison
ed and stilled! What stories of wo
| man's love and passion could It. not
unfold If these rotting stones might
speak? Many a I>l Vernon had gone
forth from secret doors to meet her
lover; many a one had lived and died
with her girlish secret unspoken.
Study In those records and the true
story of Evelyn, my Lord of Mel-
bourne's daughter, would be read. A
brave girl, a lonely girl, full of the
stuff of which dreams are made, such
he believed her to bo. And she had
come suddenly Into his life, bidding
hint turn from his work to gaze af
ter her, impotently as a man may
look upon a precious thing he may
never possess. For even If she loved
him, what right had he to speak to
her; what position or name had he
to give her? He was a worker in
clay. Bricks and mortar were not
the tokens In which a woman's Im
agination deals.
"If I built a cathedral," he said to
himself. Ironically, "she would mere
ly say, "How draughty!' It la ne
cessary to he a brigand or a .musi
cian to reach the heart of her de
sires."
So the work went on a little sav
agely. He had the scaffold shifted
to the tower of the chapel where the
clock face records the deeds of that
Ix>rd of Melbourne who fell with
Pleton's troop at Waterloo. "Time
passed above his head but will turn
to look at him. . . the Inscription
went. Gavin was cleaning the dust
j of the century from It when he heard
i a voice upon the parapet above, and
looking tip he perceived my Lady
Evelyn there, standing hy the battle- I
ment and watching him curiously. I
“Is not that dreadfully dangerous?" I
she asked him. Indicating the frail I
seanold upon which he stood.
He answered at once by another
question.
“Do you refer to Time? If so. yes.
It Is always dangerous. Time never
sleeps, remember."
She laughed and leaned over, a lit
tle afraid of the height, but destrir*.
she knew not why, to hear him talk.
“You will not look Time in the
face, then?" she said: "or does the
j bell of time speak to you? I know
people In France who always cross
I themselves when the clock chimes
j the hour."
"The beCs chime eternity—oh, yes.
Time rarely laughs If It Is not Iron
ically. Here's a clook which tries to
tell all the world how a brave man
died. Time passed him by, but re
turns twice a day to have a look at
him. The dirt of nearly a hundred
years Is cast upon his monument by
k Time. The ages used to be cleaner,
Lady Evelyn. Nowadays we trample
mud" on every tomb. There Is always
an 'lf for the best of our friends."
"Meaning that some disappoint
ment has made a cynic of you, Mr.
Ord ?'•
"Perhaps, I cannot tell you. What
la the good of ideals In this twen
tieth century? We have learned to
scoff at simple things, faith, honesty,
even courage. Rich men try to be
lieve that they were never poor and
the poor believe that they are rich —
and go through the Bankruptcy Court
accordingly. I could do great work In
the world, but ray enemy Is an esti
mate. A man no longer builds a tem
ple to the glory of Ood; he builds It
to the memory of John Snooks, hog
merchant. Most of nur ailments are
the penalty of soullesigiess. If we
lived and strived toward an end, the
mind would not smart so often as
the body. That saps our courage as
well. I can work upon a scaffold!
like this because I have the past all
round about me. But directly I cease
to work I become a coward. Time Is
dangerous because Time is truth; one
of the few truths our modern life
permits us to recognize.”
“Then you do really believe the the
old glory of achievement lingers some
where?”
“In the imagination of men who
would be artists but remain the ser
vants of Mammon. Let me interrupt
you to beg a favor. Your arm is shift- ;
lng the rope and If It gave way ”
“The rope—the one I am leaning
against? Does that go down to your
scaffolding? I never ontlced it.”
“There Is no damage done." he said :
quietly; “please pull It down over the
stone work. No, hardly that way. Let
met come up and show you.”
A short ladder led up from the scaf
fold to the roof the cloek tower. The
foothold of planks was held up by j
stout ropes wound about the era- '
brasttres of the parapets. Uncon
sciously as she talked to him, Evelyn
had shifted the right-hand rope from
Its place and Gavin's heart leaped
when he perceived that In another In
stant hoards and man and ladder must
go headlong to the stone terrace be
low. In truth, the climax came while
the light words were still upon hla
lips .and the rope, slipping away from
the girl's weak hand, the scaffold
swung out in an instant and Gavin
was left above the abyss, his fingers
twined about the second rope and his
feet vainly seeking a hold against the
time-worn stone.
Men fight for their lives in many
ways—the cowards desperately and
without reason, brave men with a
quick apprehension of the circum
stances and a bold course from which
fear does not divert them. Desper
ate as Gavin's situation had become,
he realized the whole truth of It in
an Instant. Forty feet below him was
square flagged pavement built
about the belfry door. Above him a
single rope swayed and strained
against the stone of the parapet, here
bulging outward and difficult to climb.
If t?ie rope held, Gavin believed that
he might touch the parapet, hut to
mount It would be an acrobat's task.
Other help seemed impossible to
bring. His assistants had gone down
to the outer stables to load up the
permanent scaffold. His quick eye
could not detect the presence of a
single human being in the vicinity of
the gardens. Evelyn herself stood as
one petriflpd hy the battlements, afraid
,for the Instant to lift a hand or utter
j a word lest the spell of his momentary
1 safety would be broken. She h'ad
never possessed that particular cour
age which stands upon a height un
flinchingly, and this dreadful accident
found all her nervous impulse para
lyzed and shattered. She listened, as
l In a trance of terror beyond all words
■to describe, for the broken cry which
| would speak of death; for the sound
iof a body falling upon the flags below.
! Infinitely beyond Gavin Ord's. her Im
agination added Its darkest picture to
her handiwork. She clinched her
I hands, fearing clumsiness, and with
!eyes half-closed drew back from the
j battlements. Never until this day had
'she seen a man die; never had she
'been asked to take an instantaneous
resolution wherein the measure of her
own peril might be the measure of
i another man's safety. If for the brief
est instant she failed to answer the
call, cowardice had no part In her ir
■ resolution. Few would have acted l
\ otherwise.
Gavin climbed the rope almost inch
by inch, seeking as he did so a foot
hold upon the rotting stone and care
ful always to bring no sudden Jerk
upon the trembling cord. It seemed an
eternity before he reached the forbid
ding parapet where the graver dan
ger must be faced; but when he did
so and tried to put an arm over the
bulging stone, then he understood that
if none came to his assistance, he
was most certainly doomed. Beneath
him. the crumbling cornice became
so much powdered dust whenever his
feet touched It —he could find no foot
hold there, nor so much as feel a
single projection upon the buttress
bv which he might pull himself up
to safety. And his wrists now ached
with a pain which threatened to be
(come intolerable, the rope cut his
hands until drops of blood trlckied
from them to his face. Salvation de
pended upon that which he could do
while a man might count twenty, and
.with death looking up at him exult-
MONDAY, JULY 18.
Third of Herald's
Remarkably Bright
Novelette Series. . ,
Unqly, he made a last effort %o sur
mount the bulging parapet and in the
i same Instant told himself that it was
| Impossible.
"My God,” he cried aloud; "I can
not do It—l cannot do it!”
Perhaps be no longer feared. death.
There la this merit of exhaustion In
danger that K blinds the imagina
tion and Jemves Indifference to the ul
timate issue. Gavin was just at that
point when u man la Incapable of fur
ther effort, even in the cauae of hla
own safety, when, looking up. he per
ceived Evelyn at the balustrade, her
face deathly white, her eyeß shining
iterror; but her acts wefe as cool and
colleoted as they had been when first
i he met her In the long "gallery of Mel
bourne Hall. Waked from the trance
of fear by the words he had spoken,
she cast one quick glance 4t the flgnrc
swaying upon the rope; then turned
about her and. stopping ,she picket
tip the long rope which her own ma
ladroitness had displaced from the bat
i Dements. Methodically and without I
blunder, she made a noose in this ant
passed it over the parapet.
“Slip your arm over It," she said
in a voice that betrayed no emotloi
whatever. "I will tie it to the weatl)
er-vase—please, please try. I cai
help you—l am very strong, Mr. Ord
: Yes. that is the way—now take m
hand —don’t be afraid to hurt me
ves, yes, like that."
He slipped one arm over the noo*
and changing hands cleverly upon tb
1 other rope and digging his feet detv
Into the rotting stone, he drew tb
noose around his body while sb
caught up the slack of the cord aft
bound It round and round the greg
Iron pillar of the weather-vane whin
; crowns the Belfry Tower of Me
' bourne Hall. His position wa f suci
in this Instant that .he hung oit clea
above the abyss with his face upoi
• a level with the parapet, and his bod;
backward to the flags b.elow. All da
! pended upon the Iron pillar ,of th<
weather-vane and the stuff of* wbicli
the rope was made. Gavin had nc
alternative but to trust to it, and ha
swung himself out fearlessly with one
i earnest prayer for safety upon bis lips.
I Bo near to him that he wonder that
his arms could not touch her waa
the figure of Evelyn, seeming 10
heekon him to sadvaAion. Ko feit the
noose draw tight about his body, and
for some instants he swung to and
from almost with the content of one
who has waged a good fight and would
sleep. Then her voice came wekoome
ly to his ears once more, bidding him
make an effort; and at this ha pulled
himself up alraoht with superhuman
will and touched the round of the
j stone-work with his hands laid flat-up
on it and his knees bent upon th«
balustrade. Would he fall back one*
j more or had she the strength to savs
him? Her little hands had caught
|him by the wrist* now; and, kneeling,
she exerted a strength she had never
known herself to possess. Must they
| go crashing together to the flags shin
ing in the sunlight below? In vain
I he supplicated her to release her hold
and leave him to do battle for him
; self.
"I shall pull you over,” he cried
'madly. “For God's sake, leave me to
myself!”
She scarcely heard him; her eyes
were closed, her lips were hard set;
she had thrown her whole weight
backward from the hips and with ev
ery muscle straining, every danger
| forgotten, but that of the man whose
safety she had imperilled, she drew
him to her side and fell fainting be
fore him.
Gavin was dizzy and sick from fear.
His hands were cut and bleeding; his
clothes torn to ribbons; he could hear
the heavy pulsation of his heart when
he bent to lift Evelyn In his strong
arms as one who, henceforth, had
some right to do so.
"The worst may become the best,
Ihe said to himseif quietly; “she will
tell me her story now.”
And so he carried her down to the
! Long Gallery and Melbourne Hall
heard of the accident for the first
time.
To be continued. .
THE LADY EVELYN.
Here's a problem for every girl to
solve for herself:
If your father were in the power of
an unscrupulous but brilliant man,
and that man were in love with you,
in spite of yourself, feared you
might perhaps be more than half in
love with him: and, if the man made
your acceptance of his hand in mar
riage the price of your father’s safe
ty— would you marry him or would
you not?
If. moreover, something within you
alternately bade you to yield to your
infatuation for him, while something
equally strong warned you to beware
of him as untrustworthy, to which
inner voice would you listen?
Added to this, suppose another
man -a clean, manly, plucky young
fellow, who honestly loved —appear-
ed on the scene just then, to compli
cate matters, could you force your
self to care for him?
Those are the various phases of a
problem that might well puzzle any
girl, imagine then, how they af
fected the original girl to whom they
presented themselves, not as theories
but as very real facts!
That girl was the heroine of Max
Pemberton’s newest and most ab
sorhtnely Interesting novel, "Tho
Lady Evelyn,” which is appearing
serially in this paper. And the fore
going heart problem will be en-
Continued on page 7.