Newspaper Page Text
r
\
m Fl °WPS COUfcriON
HE girl had the last word—
as a woman will. The man
only thrust his hands a
little deeper into the pock
ets of his coat and then
turned and walked slowly
away. The girl stood for
a moment gazing after him
with wilful eyes, then with
flushed cheeks and a dis
dainful air she strolled
down over the sand and out
among the great gray
rocks and boulderous ledges
which lay exposed and grim In theii
rugged roughness when the tide was low.
Out 3cross the sand and among ths
boulders Doris slowly wandered, far
along to where, in a crevice high among
the rocks overlooking the sea to the
horizon, she sat crouching upon a dry,
tide-left bed of seaweed and wondered
what she had lo be thankful for now
it was Thanksgiving day, and they had
quarreled.
"It was his fault:” she mused regret
fully as she sat there with her chin
resting upon her hand and gazed ab
stractedly off at a white winged sea bird
circling through the air.
"It was his fault!” she repeated, "and
I’ll never speak to him again. Never!
And I told him so,” and with a sigh she
leaned wearily back against the boulder
and closed her eyes and tried to think,
to realize or imagine how it would seem
never to see or speak to him again.
"Perhaps she had been a little hasty,”
0 — 0 — 0 — 0.~0.:0.:0-*-0 — 0-f0—0.»~0--0'-
she thought, "but she wanted to show
him that she was her own mistress yet.
and she would give the first dance to
whom she pleased that night. What if
they were engaged? He had no right to
insist upon it, even If he did hear her
half promise it to Fletcher. She didn't
care anything about Fletcher, and siie
only did it—well, because Dick hadn't
asked her. If he had,” she meditated,
“it. would have been altogether different;
but to wait until some one else asked
her and then to 'be indignant because
she refused him. The idea!” she thought.
“Just because we were engaged, he ex
pected the first dance without even tak
ing the trouble to ask for it.” and she
sighed unconsciously and debated wheth
er she would give him his ring or send
it back to him the next day. She won
dered if he cared or felt as badly as she
did, and she sighed again and tried to
Imagine just iiow indifferently cool she
would be the next time she saw him.
“He will have to speak first!” she re
solved firmly, and then she wondered if
he would, and what he would say. Then
she thought how Indifferent she would
Jie if he did. and she rested her cheek
against the cold unresponsive side of the
boulder and sobbej softly to herself.
Over her head (he afternoon sun sunk
deeper down into the .west and a chill
began to creep out of the gathering
shadows that grew with the rising tide.
The sea gulls flew in wider circles and
their weird cries grew louder and nearer
and at last aroused a huddled form there
*0.».0.».0-»-0.».0.:0.—0.:0.:0.»*0.».0.»- 00
among the rocks, and Doris lifted her
tear-stained face and looked bewildered-
ly about. The sun had gone and the
autumn twilight had deepened into early
darkness .while she had been unconscious
ly sobbing herself to sleep, then sud
denly realizing her danger, she sprang
to her feet and climbed quickly up on
to the top of the great boulder and
glanced toward the shore. Nearly a mile
of unbroken sea rolled between her and
the deserted mainland. The sand and
rocks over which she had come were now
deep under water and the rising tide
had keen slowly cutting off her only way
of returning while she had thoughtlessly
slept.
”lt is all his fault!” she repeated, and
she mentally charged it up in her heart
against him.
For a moment she stood there gazing
helplessly about. Surrounding her on
every side was the rising sea lapping all
around the very boulder on which she
stood, too thoroughly terrified to move
lest she should slip and fall.
A full November night chill was in the
air and the darkness was settling down
fast over the land and sea. Far away
along the dim uncertain shore line she
could already see the gleam of a few
scattered lights, and In desperate fear*
Doris gathered her skirts a little closed
about her and tried to cal! loudly, but
her voice seemed to have suddenly lost
its power and her cry ended in a low'
moaning sol).
The tide crept up a little higher and
0--0-»-0-*-0*-0 — 0.:0.».0.:0.*0.9. 0-»-0—0—0m-0
rippled and broke about her feet and
almost drenched her with its flying spray.
Only a few inches higher—a few moments
longer and the very bowdder on which
she stood trembling must be submerged
like the others all around her whose
• tops bad already disappeared some time
before, and she vaguely wondered! if
Dick would care or miss her very much
after all. Then the thought of each and
every cruel word she had uttered to him
that, afternoon came and filled her heart
with shame and Tcgret.,
One by one she saw the evening stars
as they came straggling out and then she
watched the early moon creep slowly out
of th.e east beyond the horizon and throw
its mellow light in a pathway of gold
far out across the sea and along the dis
tant shore. All (Was stil] save for the
Incessant cry of the sea birds circling
overhead and the steady monotonous
wash and break of the tide as it rose
higher and nearer. Somewhere off across
the waters along the shore she heard a
dog bark loudly for a moment and then
all was still again with that somber
si'ence which seemed to enshroud and
fill her with an awful fear.
'Oh. Dick. I am so sorry!” she sobbed
brokt nly. “Where are you—why don't
you cotne?’’
”1 am here!” came in response to her
cry. and Doris started and glanced hope
fully about, and there unnoticed lrt the
shadow's she saw lihn plainly—Dick sit-
t ng calmly In his dory watching her.
lie must have heard her crying confes
sion and the thought of it filled her heart
•‘0-*^0‘9‘0'*‘0-m‘0-»-0—-0-»-0'»‘0—-0—-0-»-0-»-0-i
with sudden humiliation and a sense of
mingled shame and indignation.
“Dick!” she exclaimed. “What are you
doling here?”
“Waiting to see if you were ready to
go ashore. I thought perhaps you would
be before long,’’ replied Dick coolly os he
lit his pipe and leaned comfortably back
on his seat. ‘‘Are your feet wet?”
“No, they are not!” responded Doiis
shortly.
“Well, they will be pretty soon, I
guess,” drawled Dick slowly, then pick
ing up his oars he swung the dory around
toward the shore. “I'm 'going in now,”
he said carelessly. “I’ll take you ashore—
if you will give me the first dance to
night.”
She had forgotten that all important
event—the Thanksgiving ball—in the ex
citement and peril of her position, and
then Dick's words and manner together
with his cool indifference to her danger
aroused all her spirits and indignation
anew.
“Would you leave me to—to drown?”
she cried quickly.
“Oh no.’’ replied Dick slowly. “I really
wouldn't do that, you know.”
“But—tout you are going to!” she wailed
as she saw the dory begin to drift In
with the tide nearer the shore.
“I’ll go ashore and find Fletcher and
tell him.” called Dick as he gathered up
the oars. “Keep up your courage. He
will be out after you in an hour or so,
but you will be late for the first dance,
I guess,” and th e dory began to disap
pear In the direction of the shore, then
'• • ■:0--0-»- • 1
as it passed into the nearest shadow' Dick
lifted his oars and smiled confidently as
he waited. All was still for a moment,
then just as he was about to turn back,
h e heard her suddenly cry.
“Oh, Dick—don't leave me," she sobbed.
“Come back. I'll promise, if you will only
take me home. I'm afraid out here
alone.”
Take a flash the light dory swung
about and a moment later floated up
against the side of the boulder and reach
ing up Dick took her trembling hand in
his and lifted her gently down into the
stern and then pulled rapidly for the
shore.
Two hours later, Doris flushed but. hap
py. Dick calm and confident, led the
(grand march and after the first dance
was over strolled out Into the moonlight.
A line of broken rocks and boulders ran
far out into the sea and loomed up for
biddingly against the evening sky.
“Tell me, Dick!’’ demanded Doris se
riously. “Would you have left me out
there to drowm if I hadn't broken my
word and—spoken first?”
"I should have left you there—yes.” re
plied Dick smiling. "But not to drown,
dear, for see, the tide had turned and in
another half hour you could have easily
walked ashore.”
"But I was so thankful when I saw you
there, Dick,” said Doris, smiling up at
him after a little pause.
“I guess we both have got considerable
to feel .thankful for tonight,” replied
Dick, w'inking slyly at the moon. "I
know I have.”
(• • #•••#••*# ••*#••* #••• 0 ■*.#.•> #.«. 0 >•• 94.i.|.f4.0 ‘9*0 0*m*0 -w.0 0... 0 •«. 0 0 'W0 0 •••# # ••• 0 0 0 0 •*. 0 .«. 0 ••• 0 -f 0 •'
•••.I
■•■•■•••••••• #•••••*• • 0-*-0-t-0-*-0-»-0-:0-:0 —0 *- 00»-m—-0 00»-0».0
Maturity of the
HD mainsail swung down
with a rattle as the white-
ipainted yacht came up in
the wind. With jib and
forestall fluttering gently
she lay at anchor in a tiny
bay. it was one of those
coves upon the southwest
coast where the trees
stand boldly out toward
the waves, marking with
a fringe of green the
landward limit of the
.beach. Mostyn Gainsford
clambered up the narrow companion
stbirs. The man who was lounging by
the tiller regarded him doubtfully.
“Clean ducks—and such pretty brown
boots,” he mused. “Think it over, Mos
tyn. Go down again. Change into
something more prosaic and then you
can join me in some beer. Good, hon
est, unimaginative beer!"
Gainsford was gazing shore-wards to
ward where a roof gleamed through the
trees. Ills countenance contracted'
slightly.
“Because one is about to marry,” he
said, “Is that a reason to shudder at an
Incident of the past? May 1 not remem
ber a preiod that was—yes, the most In
nocent and poetic of my lifetime?”
“SuQh candor in an engaged man Is as
admirable as it-Is rare,” returned the
other. “But let me reassure you your
words are already forgotten.
“It was such a simple affair. ButtreU,”
went on Gainsford unheeding. "She was
one of those country girls one reads
about but never sees. Peach-blossom
cheek, milk-white hand—and a disposi
tion! Perfectly pastoral! I saw what
lay beneath—the girl had soul. I read
to her, I talked, I gave her glimpses of
the outside world—of Its better parts. I
set myself to cultivate a mind latent
with untold possibilities. It was a fas
cinating pastime, I admit. It was as .he
training of a pretty child. And vou
would have it there Is harm in a Dar-
donable curiosity to see the result of
those endeavors of mine three years
ago?”
Luttrell shrugged his shoulders.
“In these matters the question is not
of right or wrong. The point hinges on
the more Important lady’s mood should
she chance to hear of It. Still, it's no
business of mine.”
Gainsford’s eyes sought the roof again.
“It was an idyll,” he said. “Would
you know the extent of our caresses? She
pressed my hand, and only at the part
ing. It was in token of gratitude. I be
lieve, whereas I owed her more. To me
it was a glimpse of purity that I treas
ured.”
ButtreU h'ad lit a qigar. He watched
the flung match as it struck upon the
smooth water.
“I trust you will not find it a wild-
goose chase,” he said. “And yet. per
haps that would bo the best. Too tame
a bird, you know, might spell complica
tions.”
“It is useless talking to you,” retorted
Gainsford. “If she Is there still you shall
come to see her with me. and then, per
haps. you will understand.”
The dingy, an oarsman within it. was
waiting at the quarter. Gainsford step
ped into it. A moment later the man
was pulling him shoreward with quick
st rokes.
“Do not wait,” he told the man as the
boat's nose slid, grinding upon the beach.
“I shall be here some time. Stand by on
board until you hear my whistle.”
As he wtalked slowly along the path
that led from the beach the old famil
iarity with the surroundings was upon
him once more. He had not thought to
have remembered the spot so well. The
scent of the May blossom came strongly
to him. It seemed to him that the sweet
ness of the perfume had killed three
long years. Surely it was only yester
day that he had trodden the verdure-
lined path.
His pulses tingled a little as he set
eyes upon a large, flat stone set low
down by the wayside. They had sat
upon It so many times, he hand she. A
voluptuous reverie was upon him. So
pleasant was it that, submitting, he
encouraged its thrill. lie let himself
sink down upon the broad slab.
It was here that he hau first met her.
It was here that he had sung the ca
dence of Wordsworth and Tennyson into
her ears. He had marked the parted lips
and the light that came and went In her
eyes. It had been a pleasant fountain at
which he had drunk. And the waters had
bequeathed no bitter taste. She had ben
efited; he had little doubt of that.
Ho rose slowly and paced onward. He
could see the cottage now, with its green
shelter of oak and elm. He looked more
closely. There was something strange
about the biuldlng. There was an addi
tion, the new whiteness of which stood
out rather glaringly from the worn tint
of the rest. He had drawn near to the
main road that ran at right angles be
tween the path and the cottage beyond
when he heard the starting pants of an
automobile. A brilliant red car went
speeding up the road. Its throbbing jarred
upon him; the wafted odor of petrol an
nihilated with noisome brutality the scent
of the May.
A minute later he had crossed the road
and was walking up a narrow garden
path. He stared about him in growing
unrest. In the place where had reveled
a tangle of undergrowth and shrub was
now a cleared space, ravel covered. Two-
tables were there and a medley of chairs,
while neare r to I he house stood a long
bench.
He seated himself upon the latter to
await—whatever should occur. A very
small infant came toddling toward him
from round a corner of the building. The
child held a plec» of jam-covered bread
in his hand. As he pressed his small
frame confidingly against Gainsford the
jam left a red stain upon the white duck
trousers. Gainsford, in his preoccupation,
allowed the misfortune to pass almost
unheeded.
He looked up quickly at the sound of
an exclamation. She herself, the one who
had lived in his mind's eye. stood in the
flesh before him. He stared for a while
in dumb amazement. The tracings of
her features, of he r form, ail this escaped
him. He noticed but one thing—she wore
f0—0 — 0-»-0.:0-—0 — 0.— 0+-0-»0-a-0*-0-—0-»-0—-
a waitress’ cap and apron.
There was a glad light in _her eyes as
Gainsford's han'd went out toward her.
Yet she was not the same. There had
been a great change. As Is the way in
such matters, he could not at first see
whore It lay. But this much "was evi-
Crown vs. Cupid
By MURIEL A. ARMSTRONG.
T was the hour of sunset
aiirj tile calm of eventide
wrapped the little world of
Isehnwohld in its embrace.
On this delightful Au
gust evening, the town was
en fete, ^t the Schloss. a
reception was being held
in honor of Prince Oscar's
eightieth birthday, to
which the American consul
had procured invitations
for many of the guests at
the hotel. Toward 9
o'clock, the streets suddenly became ani
mated and a gay throng of men and
women, in carriages and on foot, might
be seen wending their way to the now
brilliantly lighted Schloss.
An hour later, a tall, dark figure clad
in flowing draperies emerged from the
hotel and glided swiftly and gracefully
down th e high street to the beach be
low.
On the beavh. the woman threw back
the long dark cloak which had been so
closely wrapped about her, disclosing a
slender, graceful form, with a fair, girlish
face above, full of youth and ^sentiment.
She stood partly in the shadow of a great
rock yet with the moonbeams falling di
rectly on her, lending an added charm
to her tender beauty,, And ^s she waited
thus another figure came quickly across
the sands toward her.
She did not see the man approach, for
her gaze was fixed on the distant hori
zon veiled in shimmering mist. He came
quite close to her.
“Helen,” h e whispered softly, and she
turned with a cry qf glad surprise, ex
tending both hands toward him.
”1 was beginning to fear that your
duties as aide de camp would prevent
you from coming tonight,” she said, and
as lie did not speak, she went on, “but,
perhaps, 1 should not hav> written to tell
you of our arrival until after this state
function. Are you cross because I didn t
wait, Carl?”
“Not at all, my deaT girl,” replied the
young German in English, which he
spoke fluently. “I could not be cross
with you if -I would. But tell me.
Uebchen, why ar P you not at the pal
ace tonight? I saw several of your
people there with the American consul.”
"My aunt wanted me to go, and I'm
almost sorry now that I didn’t, since
you regret having come here to see nte. '
The girl's answer was full of reproach,
and the man felt how brutally cold he
had been.
“It is because you do not understand
all that you say these things,” he said,
throwing his arm passionately about her
shoulders., "You have been constantly in
my thoughts since that day I met you in
Rome, at Signor Rosetti’s studio. Do
you remember it, Helen?”
“Yes, perfectly. I had been watching
you from the window as you came along
on tihe terrace below, and then I saw
yon stop to speak to the ragged little
flower girl with the basket of violets.
Site was beautiful, (too, and as you talked
to her so interestingly, I mentally com
pared you to King Cophetua and the
beggar maid. Then yom came in ,and
tile old professor introduced us. He said
we were his rival pupils in Italian, and
after that we grew to be great friends,
didn't we?”
"Yes, great friends,” he answered,
withdrawing his arm from her shoulders,
‘Ibu't why did you compare me to King
Cophetua?”
The gill shivered slightly as though
suddenly struck by a cold breeze.
“To be strictly truthful, I did 1 not stop
to consider the adaptability of the
similie, at the time. I was only a roman
tic school girl out for my first holiday,
and naturally my mind was alert to any
thing unusual which might happen
around me. Seeing a well dressed and
apparently well bred young man con
versing with a ragged yet (beautiful gill
reminded me of the legend of King Co
phetua and his beggar maid. Hence,
you see, the comparison was but the
fanciful creation of a romantic brain.”
“Well done,” laughed Count Von
Schreiner. “You have proved it like a
proposition in Euclid.” But despite his
jocularity there was a mirthlessness in
his tones which grated on Helen Went
worth’s ear.
lie turned from her and looked out
over the broad expanse of the sea, no
longer tranquil, for the incoming tide
was advancing and in a few moments
would be at their feet. The pale light
of the moon fell on his handsome figure
wearing the uniform of the Isehnwohld
army and showed to perfection the clear-
cut outline of his profile. His usually
firm mouth had relaxed into gentler
curves and his whole expression was al
most womanly in 1-ts tenderness. She
thought of that April day In Rome on
the hotel piazza overlooking the Tiber,
when he had come to say goodlby. So
this was their meeting, but he was no
longer a boy and the old feeling of good
comradeship had given place to an al
most painfully constrained cordiality.
“It is growing late and I must go
back,” she sa'id at length. Her voice
was soft and subdued, but he did not
look at her.
"What a pretty rose you are wearing.
Carl! May I not have it as a memento
of tonight?"
He unfastened the rose from his coat
and flung it into the sea, 'but instantly
the girl stooped and rescued it.
“Where are your good manners, Carl?”
she asked, a mocking reproach in her
tone. “Your temper is sadly out of re
pair and you are tiresome tonight. Go
Continued on Last Page.
0.».0.— 0.9.0+.0.».0.l.0+.0.». 0-t-0.,-0;-0.,.0.,.0. l
dent, that where he had left a tremu
lous snowdrop a firm-stalked sunflower
now stood.
“Well! I never did!” she cried.
Gainsford experienced a sudden shiver.
Her mode of expression had been more
dTfTident In the old days, but her eyes
were as pretty as ever. They were danc
ing with pleasure now.
"To think of Jt!” she exclaimed. “Why,
it seems just like old times seeing you
here!"
Her hand was playing with the lace of
her cap. Gainsford, gazing at her afre.sh.
disagreed—inwardly, hut entirely—with
her words. His thoughts went back to
the shy, willow-figured girl with the
large eyes and tremulous voice that he
had known.
“The place has changed," he began. He
felt that his voice came from him with
a horribly dead sound. “But the path
was the same. I passed the stone—the
stone where we—”
She broke Into a little laugh.
“Ah. that stone sees more folk than It
used to.”
lie was gazing hard at her. He won
dered whether it was a fleeting blush that
he saw upon her cheek.
“Dots of people come here now,” she
went on in answer to his mute inquiry;
“it pays.” She eyed him with a sudden
speculative look. “Would you like some
tea?” she asked.
lie attempted a faint return to gal
lantry.
“Your tea was always excellent,” he
said.
“It's better now.” she answered, “it's
a shilling a head.”
"Oh!” exclaimed Gainsford.
The vendure and the wall of the house
seemed to rock for a second before him.
“A shilling—a head,” he repeated dully.
“Cream Included,” she rejoined.
She drew a little nearer.
“It was the reading and the poetry
that first put it into my head.” she con
fided to ' im. “After you'd gone I’d get
to thinking about the things you hart
read and the ideas that came to me
were something surprising. There was
the one about the girl that was like a
violet by a mossy stone that worried me
more than all the rest put together. I
thought—well, of all the lives. It was a
kind of warning.”
Gainsford felt it incumbent upon him
to fill the gap.
“I see,” he murmured untruthfully.
“My goodness! What a fright I got
in.” she continued. “It was the think
ing that I might get that way myself
that nearly drove me clean out of the
place. Then Jim came along. He'd hart
some experience as a waiter in London.
It was after we’d got* married that we
started the light refreshment business,
and good tea, and good service—well, it
pays nicely.”
The infant was attacking Gainsford
once more. A second jammy smear took
its place by the side of the first upon his
white trousers. Gainsford eyed the child
• 0 '*■ 0'm-0 0 0 ■•■0 0 0-*'0 ••• 0 m‘0 0-**0.m. 0
in growing dislike.
“Oh, Mostyn, you bad boy!” cried his
mother In reproach.
Gainsford looked lip quickly.
“Mostyn?” he repeated.
Tt was undoubtedly a blush that adorn
ed her cheek this time.
“We called him that,” she murmured,
“because—”
“Because of what?”
“You see, if It hadn’t been for your
kindness T might have been gawking on
in just the same old way. Jim and I
have never forgotten that. So when he
came wo called him Mostyn. Sometimes
after we’ve had a good day's business
Jim'lt take him on his knee and call
him a little living token of gratitude.
But it's only right that you should see
Jim. Jim!” she called.
A second later a white-aproned man
stood before Gainsford. Gainsford un
derwent an inward struggle. Then he
•held out his hand. The act was a con
cession to the unity of man and wife.
The latter hastened away to perform the
duties of her office.
The child was still gyrating slowly
about the pair. The man bent toward it.
“Mossy!” he said, “run away after
your mother.”
Gainsford shivered. Mossy! It was
the last straw.
“It’s a fine afternoon, sir,” said Jim.
“The atmosphere of this r*ice is not
what it was,” returned Gainsford.
“It's wonderful healthy,” protested Jim.
Just then his wife returned with the
tea tray. The desire of flight, possessed
Gainsford. Heedless of the probabilities,
he pleaded indisposition.
“Of course,” he concluded, “I'll pay for
the tea.”
Jim’s eyes wavered diffidently between
the tea tray and the visitor.
“There's no getting away from the
fact that it was prepared speshul,” he
admitted. “But seein’ as it's you, sir,
supposing we say sixpence instead of a
shilling?”
His wife’s fine eyes glowed in appro
bation.
Gainsford drew a half crown from his
pocket. He swallowed once or twice
ere he spoke.
"Give the change to—to—Mossy,” he
said.
The final word was his sacrifice to the
ashes of what once had been a glorious
spiritual edifice.
"No, you need not come back with
me,” Gainsford assured Luttrell, upon
his return to the small craft; “the fact
is that the one I expected to find was
not there.”
“Ah, it's just as well,” returned Lut-
trell. “These little dippings into the
past are either dangerous or bitterly
disappointing. I heard from a man who
had been there that there is an excellent
tea place in the neighborhood. Shall
we go?”
“Not for worlds!” said Gainsford. “Son
see I happen to have been in there once
already this afternoon.”
*