Newspaper Page Text
\
FOURTH PAGE
THE SUNNY SOUTH
The Turnpike House
By FERGUS HUME
Author of '"The Mystery of a Hansom Cab,'* 4 ‘The Crimsom Cryptogram“The Golden Idol," “ The Dwarf's Chamber." etc
(Copyright, 1902.)
'illo OPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAP-
v,„ A Poverty-stricken woman and
a wan 'boy of 10, inhabit a mis
erable hovel called Turnpike House. They
recall better days, and the woman indi
cates that her ihusband has brought her
to her low condition. The man arrives,
and quarrels with his wife. The boy at
tempts to stab him with a table knife,
Dut is drawn off. Shortly afterwards
mother and son hurriedly leave,
and the dead body of the hus
band is found lying there. It has
transpired that the woman was formerly
governess to a rich merchant named Cass,
and the man Jenner was his clerk, but
♦ acl b® e , n dismissed for neglect, and af
ter taking another situation went to
prison.
CHAPTER THREE
Young Love, True Love
T was Christmas time, many
years after tihe events nar
rated in the previous chap
ter, and the snow not only
lay thick on the ground, but
was falling heavily from a
leaden sky. A strong wind
which rose with the com
ing of night drove through
the leaflless trees of the
park and clashed iron
music from amongst their
frozen boughs.
Beyond the red brick wall
■which encircled Hollyoaks Park the
frozen road ran straight to the village
of Westham, and the one street of that
hamlet was crowded witih people return
ing homeward laden with purchases for
the next day.
But if it was wintry out of doors, within
the mansion of Mr. Cass all was color
and warmth and tropical leafage. The
mediant’s mother had been an Andalu
sian, and perhaps some far-off strain of
Moorish blood had constrained her son
to build his house on Moorish lines. When
Mr. Cass, some twenty years ago, had
bought Hollyoaks from the decayed coun
ty family who then owned it, the manor
iliouse had been but lately destroyed by
tire. The purchaser found a pleasant
country, a beautiful park, but no place
where he and his family could lay their
heads. So he proceeded to erect what
* the countryside called “Cass' Folly”—a
true Moorish dwelling place such as one
tinds in Seville and Cordova. A series
of low buildings clustered round a cen
tral court, or, as it would be called in
Spain, a patio. This, in deference to the
English climate, had been roofed in with
glass and turned into a winter garden.
The roof was protected against the ele- j
ments by a close iron frame work, which j
was yet sufficiently open to aSmit the |
light. But it is rarely that the sun shines J
with full strength in the Midlands; so
it happened that this garden was usually [
pervaded by a fascinating twilight.
This large space was tilled with tropi
cal foliage; palms rose tall and stately
from an undergrowth of oddly-shaped
plants with serpentine and hairy foliage
interspersed with brilliant flowers. What
witih the diapered pavement, the white
marble pillars of the corridor and all this
tropical fecundity, the spectacle was bril-
diant and strange to English eyes.
This striking interior, however, made a
special appeal to the emotions of a tall,
S'lim young man who was seated in a
lounging chair beside the pool. He had
arrived from igindon only two hours be
fore, after an uncomfortable journey in
the cold. He remembered his last Christ
mas spent at Hollyoaks, when he had
arrived much about the same time and
had been greeted with the same splendor.
Then he had been a stranger; now he was
well known .to tihe Cass family, best of
all to the youngest daughter of the house.
But where was she now? Why was she
not here to greet him?
His color came and wont now as he
thought of the girl he was about to meet,
the girl who was all the world to him.
He tugged nervously at his small golden
moustpche, and his blue eyes blinked at
the dazzling colors of the flowers. But
there was something about the hoy—for
he was no more than 23—which brought
conviction that his spirit was more manly
than his looks would have one believe.
His air was resolute, his figure, though
slim, was athletic: yet withal he was
nervous and emotional in the extreme.
And. after-all. this was as it should be,
for Neil Webster's fame as a violinist
of rnre promise was well known. Already
be had made a name for himself both in
England and America.
With suoh a temperament it was not
•wonderful that he should love Ruth Cass,
who also was of a highly sensitive nature.
Nell thought of iher now with an inten
sity Inspired by the memory of the joy
she had been to his appreciative' eyes
when, last Christmas, he had seen her
for the first time.
As the young man sat there wrinkling
his brows in the effort to recall com
pletely the memory of Ruth's first ap
pearance, a side door opened and she her
self appeared. With light steps she stole
forward, and laying her gloved hands
■upon his eyes she laughed out of sheer
Joy.
"Who is it?" she asked gaily. *'I give
you three guesses.”
Neil turned, took her hands and kissed
them. "As if I needed more than one,”
he said, with light reproach. ‘I should
not be a true lover did I not guess your
presence even without seeing you.”
"Yet you didn't, you didn’t,” sang the
girl. "I came upon you unawares.”
"But I knew you were coming, for I
felt It In my heart. Come, let me look
at my Rose of Sharon. It Is six long
weary weeks since I saw you.”
She. made a little curtsey, and then
■tood demurely before him. To a stranger
she would have been almost os great a
surprise as tihe 'house Itself. And she
•was In keeping with It—the beautiful An
dalusian Marquise of de Musset’s ballad
come to life in foggy England. The Quak
er name of Ruth suited ill with the rich
soi»them beauty. Had she been called
Cleopatra, that royal name would well
have mat-'hed her appearance. Although
but 20 years of age, she was already In
the full bloom of womanly loveliness. Of
no great height, she possessed one of
those perfect figures seen only In Spain.
She walked with the swaying, graceful
gait of the Andalusian women. An olive
«kin, large liquid eyes of midnight black
ness, lips scarlet as a pomegranate blos
som, full and a trifle voluptuous.
As becomes a daughter of the south,
Ruth was arrayed in a ravishing dinner
dress of black and gold which suited her
swarthy beauty. In the coils of her blue-
black hjlr she wore sparkling diamonds;
the same stones blazed on neck and
wrists, and In this splendor she seemed
to the excited eyes of her lover like some
gorgeous tropical flower blossoming be
neath ardent skies.
"Come, now,” she said, sinking into a
dress, she advanced to greet Neil, and her
greeting was that of the Ice Queen.
“You must have 1 lad an unpleasant
journey,” she said, in i reezing tones.
“Thank you,” said EVebster with a cer
tain reserve. "I had Inot a very pleasant
time. But this makefs amends,” and his
eyes wandered to Rilith.
Mrs. Marshall drew! her thick eyebrows
together, for she had Hong suspected that
the two young people J were more to each
other than ordinary frtiends. But at that
moment Ruth was equlal to the occasion.
Her attitude toward I Neil was one of
genial hospitality. J
Neither of tihe younlg people attempted
to carry on the conversation, and Mrs.
Marshall was somewh'at at a loss. Turn
ing at last to Ruth* she asked sharply
where the remainderl of the guests were.
"Dinner will be reijidy in a quarter of
an hour,” she wen* on, consulting a
jewelled watch that Jtung at her girdle.
"I hope we shall sit djown punctually, for
I detest waiting.” ,
“So do 1,” assented'her niece, cheerful
ly. "I am hungry.” >
The elder lady toolk no notice of the
flippant reply. "Have you been giving any
concerts lately?" she asked, with the su
percilious patronage of a rich society
woman.
“No. madame,” replied the young man.
His frequent contact with foreign
artists had accustomed him to this form
of address. “The season in London is
hardly propitious just now. I am rest
ing.’’
“When do you begin again?”
“After the new year. It is possible 1
may give some concerts in Paris.”
“It might be advisable for you to leave
England for a time,” the lady said, drily,
looking at Ruth.
“My aunt is thinking of your delicate
appearance, Mr. Webster,” interposed the
girl, trying to parry the stroke. “This
I foggy climate does not suit you In her
| opinion. Is that not so, Aunt Inez?"
“Well, it is not quite what I meant,
'My first recollection is my recovery from a long illness, and all my memories date
from that time. What came before—where I 'tvas born, where brought up—is a
blank"
chair. "We have just a few minutes I
before the others come in, and they are
not to be passed in silence.”
“Who are the others?” Neil asked, tak- i
ing a chair beside her.
She waved a fan of black and yellow !
feathers from which, true daughter of !
Spain as she was, she would not part
even in winter.
“Oh, all the people you have met here
before,” she said, smoothing her dainty i
gloves. “My father, Jennie Brawn, my
uncle and aunt, and Geoffrey Heron."
As she pronounced the last name Ruth |
stole a laughing glance at her lover. And,
as she had expected, a shadow came over
his face, and his color went and came
like that of a startled girl.
“Oh, ig ibe here?” was his comment.
“He is a very good sort of fellow."
“Too good for your taste, Monsieur
Othello,” laughed Miss Cass, tapping his
flushed cheek with her fan. “1 see how
it is. You think he is a rival.”
“I don’t think it, I know it, Ruth.”
“Well,” with a coquettish toss of head,
"perhaps he is. But you think, moreover,
that 1 admire him. I do, as one might
admire a picture. He is good looking and
very nice—”
“I can’it contradict you,” interrupted the
young man.
“But,” she resumed, smoothly, “he is
not clever, he is not musical, and he is
not the most jealous man in the world.”
“Meaning me, I suppose?”
“Of course. Who else should I mean?
Come, I won’t have your forehead wrin
kled." She brushed the lines away with
her fan. “Smile, Neil, smile, or 1 won’t
speak to you all night.”
He could not withstand iher charming
humor, and he did smile. But, in spite
of it all, he shook his head ruefully.
“It’s all very well making a joke of it.”
he said. I know you love me as I love
you, but your father—he knows nothing
of our attachment.”
“My father? Pooh! I can twist him
round my linger.”
“I am not so sure of that. Re"member,
I have known him many years. He can
be hard when he likes, and in this case
he will be hard. lie is rich, has a posi
tion, while I—”
“While you are Neil Webster, the great
violinist.”
“Oh, that is all right,” he said, dis
missing his artistic fame with a nod.
“But I mean I do not know who my
parents are. I never heard of them.”
"Perhaps, like Topsy, you growed,”
Ruth said, for she attached no importance
to his speech. "Dear! What does it mat
ter?”
“A great deal to a proud man like your
father. Yet he may know my parents
since he brought me up. I’ll ask him.”
“Papa brought you up, Neil? 1 never
knew that. 1 thought he met you at some
house in London and asked you here be
cause he is so fond of music.”
The young man frowned and tugged at
his moustache. His color changed. “I
should not have told you,” he said, in a
low voice, ‘“but my tongue runs away
with me. We have often talked of my
earthy life.”
“Let me see,” said Miss Cass, gravely
mischievous. “I think you did say some
thing about having been brought up in
the south of Englupd.”
“At Bognor,” he explained. “An old
woman, Mrs. Jent, looked after me there.
When it became apparent that I had mus
ical talent your father had me taught on
the continent. I appeared first in Amer-
ical talent your father had me taught on
the great violinist. I made a success
and returned to London; then—”
“Then he brought you down here a
year ago, and ini six months we fell in
love with one another, and—”
“I loved you from the first,” he cried.
“How rash!” remarked the girl, pursing
her mouth demurely. “But we will say |
nothing about that. We love now, that is |
sufficient. But tell me how It was my i
father first came on the scene in your life?
I know much that you have told me;
‘but my father—that is something new.” /
“I can remember him ever since I was
a young child—from the age of 10.”
“Oh! then be did not come to you be
fore that?”
Webster paused, then turning toward
her made an extraordinary speech. “I
don’t know. I can’t recollect my life be
fore that.”
“Oh,~dear me!” cried Miss Cass, not
quite taking in the meaning of his words.
“What a stupid child you must have
been! Why, I recollect all sorts of things
which happened when I was 5.”
“I don't mean that exactly,” said Web
ster, “but my Han recollection is my re
covery from a long illness, and all my
memories date from that time. What
came before—where I was born, where
brought up—in a blank.”
“What did Mrs. Jent tell you?” cried
the girl, now anxious to solve the mys
tery.
“She told me I was born in America,
somewhere near New York; that my
father had played in an orchestra, und
that my mother had been a singer. 1
foil ill somewhere about my tenuh year,
and since then I have seen your father
frequently, but I have never questioned
him closely. However, 1 will speak to him
tomorrow, and at the same time I will
tell him that 1 love you.”
“Then he will consent to our engage
ment,” Miss Cass said, promptly.
“1 wonder!” Again Neil drew his hand
across his face. “It does not seem a sat
isfactory past. I always feel there is
some mystery about it.”
"Mystery! What nonsense!” cried Ruth
with pretty disbelief. “I am certain that
what Mrs. Jent has told you is true, and
the illness made you forget your childish
days. My father ilias been good to you
for reasons which ho will no doubt tell
me. And, since he has always helped
you, and has, so to speak, been a father
to you, he will not forbid our marriage.
Why did yoq not tell me all this before?”
Webster looked puzzled. “I hardly
know,” he murmured. “Something always
kept me silent, and I talked, as you re
member, more about my career as an
artist than anything else.”
“But you never said that my father
paid for your studies,” persisted Ruth.
“No, that is quite true. But I kept
silent on that point because he aisked me
to. Ho is a man who likes to do good
by stealth, but he did not ask me to be
silent on any other point, so I might have
told you ail that I have said tonight long
ago. I tell you now about your father in
spite of his prohibition, as I want you to
know everything concerning me. Should
wq be fortunate enough to gain his con
sent. I don’t want you bo remain in ig
norance of ihis kindness. But shall we
ever marry?” he sighed.
“Of course we shall.” said Ruth, im
periously. “I have made up my mind.”
“Ah! but your father has not made up
his. Ruth.” lie seized her hands. “Do
you really love me? If you do not—”
“Don’t get excited, Neil. If I did not
love you I should tell you so. But I do
love you, how dearly you will never
know.”
“But it may be—my music you love,”
he urged.
“Conceited boy,” laughed Miss Cass.
“Of course 1 love your music, but I love
you for yourself as well. Speak to my
father. We will not keep our engagement
secret any longer."
“I feel that we should not have kept It
secret nt all,” murmured the young man.
“After your father’s kindness to me I
feel somewhat of a traitor.”
“You can lay the blame on me,” an
nounced the girl, calmly. “I wished it
to be kept quiet on account of Aunt Inez.
You know what she Is—a jealous woman,
always putting her finger Into everyone’s
pie. I’m sure she has quite enough to
do In looking after her own husband.
He is a wicked, gay old man, Is Uncle
Marshall.”
“I don’t think Mrs. Marshall likes me.”
“That Is why I kept our secret. She
does not like you; why, I do not know.
And had she discovered our engagement
she would have told my father and put
an end to it long ago.”
“Well, perhaps Mr. Cass will put an
end to it even now.”
Ruth looked round to see that no one
was about, and then dropped a butterfly
kiss on his forehead. "Darling, nothing
shall part us. I love you, and you only,
ynu foolish fellow.”
“And you are sure, quite sure, you care
nothing about Heron?”
"No, no, of course I don’t. But I will
if you insist on putting your arm round
my waist. Gracious! Here is Aunt Inez!”
And at this moment an elderly double
of Ruth sailed into the winter garden.
CHAPTER FIVE
A Strange Episode
Mrs. Marshall had reached the mature
age of 45, but she was still beautiful.
Dark women with hard natures always
wear well, and Ruth’s aunt was no ex
ception to the rule. She need not be
described here, for she resembled her
niece in all particulars save those of
youth and the exuberant spirits, which
rendered the younger woman so charming.
Tall and dignified in her black velvet
I Ruth.” And she turned to Neil. "Have
j you any relatives in England, Mr. We.b-
; ster?” she asked.
| The suddenness of the question took
| away the young man’s breath. It was
I evident that her brother had not confided
in Mrs. Marshall.
“r have no relatives in the world, ma
dame,” he said.
“You remind me of someone.” she went
on, fixing her black eyes on him some
what fiercely. “Do you sing?”
“Not at all,” he answered, wondering
more than ever at th->. oddity k> fthis sec
ond question. "I have no voice.”
"Humph!” muttered the lady, and
turned away. "I must be mistaken.”
"You are certainly mistaken, madame,
in crediting me with any relatives. I am
an orphan, a waif, a stranger in the
land—”
“And a great violinist,” finished Ruth,
glancing defiantly at her aunt. "That
surely ought to cover all deficiencies, Mr.
Webster.”
“No doubt it does—to musical people,”
said the elder lady, coldly.
The young man felt nettled and more
puzzled than ever nt her manner, and
he was about to ask a leading question
when Miss Jennie Brawn, accompanied
by Mr. Heron, entered.
"Oh, here you are.” cried Ruth, includ
ing both in one gay greeting. “You are
late.” \
“The sacred mysteries of the toilet
have taken up Miss Brawn’s time,”
laughed Heron, looking mischievously at
the homely face of 'the girl beside him.
“Ono must do honlor to the season,”
replied Jennie. She was dumpy and san
dy, and wore a pince-nez on her turned
up nose. "How are you, Master?” For
she always spoke to Neil Webster in
that style. "I am glad to see you. Your
■lovely and exquisite music never fails to
inspire my muse.”
Put in plain prose this speech meant
that Miss Brawn wrote poems for draw
ing room ballad composers, and that she
trusted to music for inspiration. Miss
Brawn further occupied herself with writ
ing short stories for children’s Christmas
hooks, and she figured in a popular maga
zine ns “Aunt Dilly.” She had come to
regard herself as a literary personage.
"I hope I may he able to inspire you to
some purpose tonight,” Webster said
quietly.
Young Heron turned away Is disdain.
He was a handsome country squire, pos
sessed of no nerves and no artistic crav
ings. He came of an old family, and had
an income of four thousand a year. His
time was spent in hunting, polo, shoot
ing, fishing, and tearing round the coun
try in a motor car; and he had not much
opinion of the “fiddler-fellow,” as he call
ed Webster. But this was due to the
fact that he ihad noticed Ruth’s predelic-
tion for him, not to any fault in the man
himself. For Geoffrey loved the girl. He
treated Webster with a coldness almost
equal to that of Mrs. Marshall. That lady
was his firm friend, and was most anx
ious that he should marry her niece. See
ing now his look of disdain she was about
to speak, when a cheerful voice was heard
above the others.
"Oh. here Is my husband,” Mrs. Mar
shall cried, "her dark face lighting up.
“I was wondering where he had got to.”
“I am here, my dear Inez, here,” and
a brisk, stout man darted forward. “Ruth,
my dear, you look charming! Miss Brawn,
allow me to congratulate you upon your
toi'let. Mr. Webster, good eyening.” I-Ils
manner was colder, but with renewed ge
niality he shook hands with Geoffrey
Heron. “Ha, iha, my boy! a merry
Christmas to you'"
This volu/ble, active little man rattled
on. cutting jokes, laughing at his own
wit and paying compliments all round,
while his ta'll, dark wife stood near him
listening with a smile on her face. Why
Mrs. Marshall should love her husband so
much remained ever a mystery to her
friends. For he was a fat, beeir-barrel
of a creature, and possessed neither the
looks nor the brains which would be like
ly to attract as refined and clever a wom-
an-as his wife undoubtedly was. Yet Inez
adored him, although Mr. Robert Mar
shall was an elderly Don Juan, fond of
the society of pretty girls, and he prided
himself no little on his conquests. There
was undoubtedly some charm about him
which captured t>hh hearts of women. And
Mrs. Marshall, as vhe lawful proprietor of
this universal hearth-breaker, took a pride
in her proprietorship.
“I hope you will give us some music
tonight,” Mr. Marshal! said, turning to
the musician, and again his manner
was freezing. “Yourl playing is delightful
—delightful!”
“I am glad you like 'it,” Nei'l said, quiet
ly. “Of course, I am Always ready to play
here, although, as a rule, I never do so
in private houses.” I
“Ha! the exclusiveness of a musician.”
“Or the dignity of an artist, Uncle Rob
ert.” )
“Quite so, my dear!” said Uncle Robert,
turning toward his njiece. "But, of course,
Mr. Webster will not wrap his talents up
In a napkin here.”
"The Master is always willing to oblige
his friends,” put in Jennie.
“His friends are much honored,” added
Aunt Inez, with an Iron sihile.
Mr. Heron made no remark. In shaking
hands with Webster he had done his duty.
In his own heart the young squire wished
the fellow well out of the way, for Ruth
looked at him too often And- much too
kindly.
A diversion was made at this moment
by the entrance of the host, a tall, slight
ly-made man, dark and solemn—a typical
Spaniard both in complexion and bearing.
Tonight he was in a genial mood, and
unbent more than usual. Nevertheless,
although he shook hands with Neil he
was decidedly colder to him than ti> the
rest of his guests. Indeed, it was appar
ent Neil was not a favorite.
"A merry Christmas to you all,” Mr.
Cass said, bowing. “Perhaps I am rather
premature; still, it is better to be early
than late.”
“So long as you adopt that plan with
your presents, papa, I shall not quarrel
v. itb you.”
“You see what a bold daughter I have,”
he remarked to Heron. “How would you
like to be her father?”
“Not nt all, not at all.” replied the
young man with a very significant glance
in the ckrection or Ruth—a glance which
made Neil’s blood boil.
“Ha. ha!” cackled Marshall. “We know
all about that. Heron,” and he slapped
him on the back. “But. come! Dinner—
dinner!”
“And, indeed, nt that moment dinner
was announced. Mr. Cass gave his arm
to his sister, and to his delight Cfeoffrey
found himself seated beside Ruth; poor
Neil had Mrs. Marshall fo~ his companion.
Neither of the two relished their juxta
position. Jennie and Don Juan-in-his-
dotage were happy in the congenial com
pany of each other and kept the table
merry.
The conversation only flickered feebly
with Mr. Marshall's aimless merriment.
Neil, annoyed by the coldness of his re
ception. was considering the advisability
of a return to town the next day; he
thought he recognized Mrs. Marshall's
hand in the chilly reception of Mr. Cass.
For hitherto the merchant had treated
him with uniform kindness, and he was
puzzled by this new departure.
When the ladies had retired to the win
ter garden, Mr. Cass was more amiable
to his guest, the violinist. And the young
man, anxious to please, did his best to
make himself agreeable. Heron and Mar
shall were discussing county affairs; so
the merchant and young Webster had a
quiet talk.
“1 am making a good deal of money
now, Neil said. He was recounting his.
artistic triumphs. “In a few years I shall
be a wealthy man.”
“You must let me Invest your capital
for you. You artistic folks know little
‘about business.”
“I should be more than grateful if you
would. I daresay, in time, there will be
enough for me to marry on.”
Mr. Cass looked keenly at the speaker
from under his thick black brows. “Are
you thinking of marrying?” he asked,
carelessly. Then without waiting for
an answer; “I would not if I were you.”
‘“Why not? I am young, strong—”
“And nervous,” finished ihis host ab
ruptly. “I have peculiar views about
marriage, and I do not think you are fit
ted for it. Take my advice, and keep sin
gle. Come.” he started to his feet before
the other could reply, “let us join the la
dies.”
Webster was annoyed. He had fully in
tended there and then—since the oppor
tunity seemed to offer itself—to ask Mr.
Cass for his daughter’s hand. Plunged
in meditation, he did not see that the ob
ject ot it was beckoning to him with her
very useful fan, and Herl.n, taking ad
vantage of his absorption, secured the va
cant seat. Before he could recover him
self Mr. Cass appeared to carry him off
to the drawing room.
“You must play to me," he sa.ld. “Miss
Brawn will accompany you; she plays
well.”
Jennie did, indeed, play more like a
professional than an amateur; and Web
ster, anxious as ever to please, got his
violin. The sounds of the exquisite music
which he drew from the wailing strings
brought everyone to the drawing room.
Then Geoffrey Heron sang, and sang
well. He chose a typical drawing room
ballad, flat nnd insipid. Tihe music, of a
lilting order, suited the words—'Miss Jen
nie Brawn's—which were full of mawkish
sentiment.
The song had not yet finished when Mr.
Marshall suddenly rose and hurriedly left
the room. His wife looked after him with
an uneasy smile, and shortly afterwards
followed, to find him in the winter gar
den.
“What is the matter?” she asked sharp
ly, though she knew tjuite well what it
was that had stirred him.
“Jenner,” stammered iher husband, lift
ing up a white face. “Heron’s voice re
minds me. of his. I have never heard him
sing before.”
“Nor will you again if you make such a
fool of yourself. What do you mean by
rushing out of the room and provoking
remark? Jenner is dead and buried these
twelve years.”
“Yes; but think how he died,” moaned
her husband. “And I was so iutimate
with him.”
“You were—to your shame ana dis
grace. Don't behave so foolishly, Robert.
I don't know what put him into your head
in the first place.”
“Heron’s voice is so like his—nnd the
looks of Webster.
Mrs. Marshall turned as pale as her
swarthy skin permitted, and the fan in
her hand shook. "What about him?” she
asked.
“He Is like—”
“I know who he is like,” she inter
rupted, sharply. “A mere chance resem
blance. Come back with me.”
“I am going to bed,” v#fts the only re
sponse, and turning abruptly, Mr. Mar
shall fled up the stairs, leaving his wife
gazing after him with a black frown on
her face.
“I wonder if that young man—bat no;
it's impossible. Sebastian,” she spoke of
her brother, “would not go so far.” And
after composing herself with a glass of
water she returned to the drawing room.
By this time Webster was seated beside
Ruth, who was showing him a book of
photographs, Geoffrey Heron was talking
to Mr. Cass, and casting glances at the
two young people who were getting on
much too well for his liking.
Suddenly the whole room was startled
by a cry. It came from Nett, who with
a white face, was staring at a photo
graph.
“What's the matter?” asked his host,
hurrying toward him. “Are you HI?”
. “Who—wiho—is this?” stammered young
£5*he Widow's Courtship ^
By MRS L
Written for Cifte Sunny South
HEN a woman has lived
with a mean-spirited hard-
twisted man for ten years,
a peaceful widowhood is
not to be despised. Before
now I have seen little
faded, browbeaten wives
bloom and freshen out in
to handsome widow wom
en—just as a white tea rose
In the shadow of a wall
turns pink and lusty in the
garden sunshine—not that
it was ever .that bad in my
case! For when John took the surls, I al
ways put my conscience in it and gave
him as good as he sent. But I never en
joyed the duty of doing it, being a church
worker with a sight of spiritual responsi
bilities.
Well, it was in the spring, John had
been dead two years and I was just get
ting over the wear and tear of living
with him. So I sodded down his grave
good and green, put on second mourning
end begun to take notice of w-hat w-as
gcjng on around me.
Now, I always thought that some of
them Ephesian widows disappointed the
Apostle Paul, and that was how he came
to turn his face agin us the way he did
in the Scriptures. For there ain't no
more reason for a woman to remain deso
late all her days on account of her hus
band being dead than for a man to stay
disconsolate forever alter his wife has
departed, and we all know how unreason
able that there is! It's agin nature, and
so far as I car. see, widows has as much
right to gad "from house to house” as
the Apostle Paul did! I'll be bound that
the “elect lady” was a widow herself.
But after I put on second mourning I
hadn't more’n got the garden planted
and the tulips spiered up green and pros
perous looking in the front yard before
in walked Deacon Jones and asked me
to marry him. Yes, sir, without no sen
timent or courting—just rid up, tied his
horse and 'stepped over to the hyacinth
bed where 1 was mulching the ground,
complimented my industriousness and
asked me to have him before I could git
the dirt off my hands to tell him howdy!
Right then I knowed how it happened
that some young widows choose to wear
their weeds so long. For iT one of us ia.
fairly good looking, she can't so much as
tack a lilac ribbon on her bonnet unless
some man takes it for a sign that her ice
is breaking and hurries in to git her
committed once more to the folly of
matrimony.
Still, many a time I have thought that
if Providence ever gave me the chance
I aimed to even up with his sex for some
of John's tormenting ways. I never was
a hand to heap coals of tire on nobody's
head. My notion is to deal honest and
pay the devil in his own fire; and as I
stooped over them hyacinths I recol
lected how me and Sophie—that was the
deacon's wife that died the year after
John went—used to confide our aggrava
tions to each other, and how much alike
they appeared to be by our experiences of
’em. Sophie was a soft spoken, poor
spirited little thing, and she used to cry
and take on terrible because the deacon
was plumb pdsened agin her having the
kind of things she wanted in the house
and as sot as old Harry to have his
H HARRIS
own way inside and out. Well, 35 .
remembered all our trials with therq
two men I sensed that the g 00f j
had put it upon me to chasten the deacon
and maybe settle a few old. scores agi„
John’s sex at the same time; so, without
lifting my head, or taking my fi ngerg ^
of the dirt, I ’lowed:
“Deacon Jones, if I had a been soma
gal out here in this yard with my
flying over my face, instead of bdng
done up tidy and twisted tight, if ffly
hands had a been white and full 0 f r0S6j
in the place of being soiled with clay,
you would have acted different. You wo u ij
have dallied a spell, loverlike 0v . r th,
gate afore you set foot Inside rind, dea .
con, you would have courted like a
house a’fire for three months afore y ou
asked her to marry you! Now, 1 don't
pretend to he no yearling k tvithout
my wisdom teeth; but I am. a sigh’ y.'Ung
er than you be! And I aiut saying
whether I will or I won't have you; but
after worrying along with John them
ten years, I don't ’low to tie up with
another man unless he can c ■ v good
reasons and a sight of fool, cicss to
justify me In taking the step 1 com
mitting the error!” With that 1 ris and
walked in the house, leaving - c aeon
standing out there in the yard ; .king
like some new kind of tig' r- w his leered
hollyhock.
But X reckon he took the hint, : r soon
he begun to pay me “attent
same as if I had been a gal. i I
to git right into the spirit of ti tning,
and 1 did too. Some folks v\ nd;d-
ized at tlie way we carried on the
nelgnbors ’lowed that it would: t sur
prise them no time to hear ted u: John
and Sophie rising outen their gra\ • - to
ha’nt us. Old Miss Polly Stru.t told it
around that the deacon was w;
substance like a crazy man on .1 Bow
en’s widow, and that was a fa •
wan't candy it was fruit every c. or
two. I accepted everything 1,
ing bent upon unloostening his jist, any
how, before I married him.
We went on this way for quite a spell.
And there was some talk of “chun king”
us both because the deacon carried mi
to a heathen concert in the opera he ise.
But it wan't just like being a g
for I reckon a woman can't be 1
a fool but once in a lifetime. Still, ?
few widows ever enjoyed a courtship
more than I did mine. The deacon .-p-y-.t
most of his time dallying over my front
gate, and he never seemed to k' ■ r who
saw him nor what was said, f : ,
he would fetch in a bunch of sweet .
liams and hand them over to me is g
lant as if we had both been yuung. A 1
never once did he mention b : : . ss,
though he knowed that I was no
the best woman manager in the c
From first to last he put me in mind of
somebody that had the sense to enj a
good joke at his own expense.
I helt out as long as X could; bu' : .
August I come clear out of second
ing and wore a sprig muslin wi;,. ; nk
bows to the Grangers’ picnic. That
tied it. It seemed like them black s 3
in my skirt was all that had stood tv
tween us. So we were married that :
And I never had no trouble mana
the deacon as long as he lived.
Webster, pointing to the portrait of a
thick-set man who figured in a group. f
“An old clerk of mine,” replied Mr. |
■Cass, trying hard to steady his voice.
“That is a photograph of ‘t:he clerks in
my office some twenty years ago. Why
should that face disturb you?”
“I—I—don't know,” was the stammer
ing reply. “Have X seen him in a dream?
His face is quite familiar to me.”
“Fooh! Nonsense!” Mr. Cass had by
this time recovered his self-commnnd.
“The man died long ago; you never s- v
him.”
“But I have seen him,” persryreq n
“I have seen him in a dream, and"—his
voice leaped an octave—“X hate him," ha
exclaimed with passion. “I hate him/’
They all stared in amazement.
Suddenly Ruth cried: “Neil—you are lii
—you—”
“Stop!” cried her father, sharply. “Ha
has fainted.”
And as ho spoke Nell fell hack ir. .-
sible on the cushions.
(To Be Continued.)
\du ddiit but
your friends do.
Why don’t you have It covered? It can be done. The trouble is not
ehronic, but functional. It is caused by a weakened condition of the hair
follicle, due to a microbe that feeds upon and destroys the delicate mucous
membrane with which It fs lined.
The hair-root, deprived of its nourishment, gradually becomes weak
ened, shrivels up, and the hair easily falls from its collapsed follicle.
This very common condition—known as premature baldness—is over
come by the use of the Cranitonic Hair and Scalp Food, the only safe and
scientific cure for all hair and scalp diseases. It strikes at once at the
seat of the disorder, destroys the microbe that causes it and as.-'sts iD
feeding the weakened hair-follicle back tc health.
Cranitonic Hair and Scalp Food is not greasy or sticky, and contains
no disagreeable or dangerous sediments. It is clear, pure as crystal and
delightful to use. Its odor is pleasant—yet not pungent. The important
thing is—it grows hair.
For sale by druggists at $1.00 the bottle, or sent, expressage prepaid,
upon receipt of price by the Cranitonic Hair Food Co. ,
SPECIAL NOTICE.—If you have a thinly covered spot like that shown
above, you are becoming prematurely bald. Don’t wait until your case be
comes chronic. "Write the Cranitonic Hair and Scalp Institute, 526 West
Broadway, New York city, and send a small sample of your hair combings;
state in your letter if you have dandruff, falling hair or itching scalp,
when our physicians will make a microscopic examination of the hair,
mail you a report upon Its condition and prescribe curative treatment free
of charge.
To all who send hair we will mail free a 48-page illustrated bock en
titled “Hair Cure;” also a sample of the Cranitonic products.
ADDRESS,
Cranitonic Hair Food Co.,
526 WEST BROADWAY,
New York City.
DO YOU WANT A WATCH
Watch that runs and keeps good time? This watch has a Solid
upia laid case, handsome dial, dust Droof. aditimed to onuition. natent escapement.
satisiactlon for 20 years. It has the appearance ot a *40.
The watch is accompanied with a 20 Year Guarantee. Thi
cases are Beautifully made by the most skilled workmen. The movement is an Axner*
expansion balance. Quick train, and you can rely upon it that when tod
tolly handsome watches you will at all times have the correct timi
fS!T moDm Joat watch for railroad men, or those who need a very cicM
JZT’wK? 12° wapta watch of this character? If so,V>ow ia your opportunity to seeux*
towaliV SJFiX? M ? Premium to anyone for selling 18 pieces of our handsome
and we will P^cc 2&c. eacn.) Simply send your name and address
and ve will 223122 i?® 1? ot jewelry postpaid. When sold, send us theJMft
I* 1 ® handsome Solid Gold laid watch. We trust you and wiU
▼erhMnnr We propose to give away these watches simply to m-
catch-words in this advertisement. We mean just what we
for mT 1 g preferred. You require no capital while working
Wf w. Address, SAFI WATCH CO., P. O. Cm 180. W York CltP