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GRADY COUNTY PROGRESS, CAIRO, GEORGIA.
15
GEORGE DARR ff
' Illustrations &-ray
eoPY/i/cf/r. /ss-f;
/3V DODO, />f£AD
■AND COMPANY
CHAPTER XX—Continued. '
—14—
“No, I do not forget, .Tames.' There
was but one way in which I could hope
to steal him away from you, and I
went about it deliberately, wltfe my
eyes open. I came here to induce him
to run away with me. I would have
taken him back to his mother’s home,
to her grave, and there I would have
told him what you did, to her. If after
hearing my story he elected to return
to the man who had destroyed his
mother, I should have stepped aside
and offered no protest But I woyld
have taken him away from you in' the
manner that would have hurt you the
•worst. My sister was true to you. I
would have been Just as trhe, and after
you bad suffered the torments of hell,
It was my plan to reveal everything to
you. But you would have had ydur
punishment by that time. When you
were at the very end of your strength,
when.you tremble' on the edge of ob
livion, then I would have hunted you
out and laughed at you and told you
the truth. But you would have had
years of apguisa-—years, I say;"
"I have already had years of agony,
pray do not overlook that fact,” said
he. VI suffered for twenty years. I
was at the edge of oblivion more than
once, If it is a pleasure for you to hear
me say it, Therese.”
"It does not oftqet the .pain that her
suffering brought to me. It does not
counter-balance the unhappiness you
gave to her boy, nor the stigma you
put upon him. I am glad that you But
tered;-:' It proves to me that you secret
ly considered yourself to be in the
wrong. You doubted yourself. You
were pever sure,' and yet you crushed
the life out of her innocent, bleeding
heart.; You let her die without a word
to shew that you-—"
"I yyaa lost to the world for years;",
he said. “There were many years when
I was hot in touch with—”
“Bui her letters must , have reached
you. -'She wrote a thousand of—”
“They never, reached me," he-said
signljfoantly.
■ ordered them destroyed?" she
crledfm sudden comprehension. .
"I inuSt-deoHne-to; ahswerthatqiies-
tion." ...
and draw back from them. They con.
vict you, James."
“Now I can sbe why you have taken
up this fight against me. You—you
know she was, innocent,” he said. In a
low:, unsteady voice. .
“And why I.have bated you.'aH-e?
But what you do • not understand is
how I could have brought myself to
the point of loving you.”
“Loving me!. Good heaven, woman,
what do you—"
Loving you in spite of myself,” she
cried, beating -upon ,the; table-with her
hands, “I have, tried to convince my
self that it was not I but the spirit of
Matilde that had come to lodge in my
treacherous body. 1 hated you tor
myself and I loved you for Matilde.
She loved you to the end. She never
•care. It was-pettiof the price I was to
pay in advando.'! I would have told him
everything as ■ soon as the ship on
which' we saildd was outside the har-
hated you. That was it, . The pure,
deathless love of Matilde ivas constant
ly fighting against the hatred 1 bore
for your I believe as firmly as I be-'
Heye that l am alive that she-has been
hear me all the' time, battling against'
my insane desire for vengeahce. You
have only to recall to yourself the mo
ments when you were bo vividly re
minded of Matilde Valeska. At those
ttmesT am sure that something of Ma
tilda was in me. I was not myself. You
have looked into my eyes a thousand
times with a question in your own.
Your soul was striving to reach the
soul of Matilde. Ah, ail these months
I have known that you loved Matilde—
him. Ho was loyal to Lydia and to
himself.”
“And what did he think of you?" de
manded Brood scornfully.
“It you had not come upon us here;
he would have known me for who I am
and ho would have forgiven me. I had
asked him to go away with me. He re;
fused. Then I wbb about to tell him,
the whole story of my life, of his life,
and of yourB. Do you think he would
have refused forgiveness to me? Not
He would have understood."
“But up to that hour he thought of
you as a—a wbiat shall I say?”
“A bad woman? Perhaps. I did not
come to, again and—well, it may bo tho
last time he'll ever open his eyes, Yes,
it's ob bad as all that.”
“I'll go—at once,” said Brood, his
face ashen. “You must revive him for
a few minutes, Hodder. Thcro's some
thing I’ve got to say to him. Ho must
be able to hoar and to understand mo.
It Ib the most important thing in the
—7 He ohoked. up suddenly.
"You’ll have to bo caroful, Jim. Ho’e
ready to collapse. Then it’s all off."
"Nevertheless, Doctor Hodder,, my
husband has something to say to his
son that cannot ho put off for an in
stant. I think, it will moan a great
deal to him in his fight for recovery.
It Will, make life worth living for him.”
, Hodder stared for a second or two.
"-He'll need a lot of courage and if any
thing can put it into him, he’ll malco a
better fight; If you get a chance, say
it to : him, Jim. I—I—if it’s got any
thing to do with 1iIb mother, say it, for
pity's’sake. " He hd's, moaned tho word
a, dozen- times—"
"It has to do with his mother," Brood
cried out. "Cornel I want you to hear
it, too, Hodder.’’
"There isn’t much time to lose, I’m
afraid," began Hodder, shaking his
head. His gaze suddenly rested on
hire. Brood's face. She was very erect,
bor yonder. That was my intention,
and I know. you'believe, mo when I say
that—there was nothltig more in my
mind. Time would have straightened
everything out for him. Ho could have
had his Lydia, even though he went
away with me. Once away from here,,
do you think that he-would ever re
turn? No! ^Iven though he.knew, you,
to be his father, he would not forget
that he has never bden your son. You
hkve hiirt him since he was a babe.
DO you understand? I do not hate you r - — —-
now. It is something to know that you: and a smile such as he hud-never aeon
have worshiped her all these years.- before waB on her lips—a s»?,Ue-that
You were true to her. What you did phzzled and yet inspired him with a
long, long ago was not your fault. Yoii. positive, undeniable feeling of encour-
believed that she had wronged you. agemeutt , . •
But you wont on - loving her ■ That is | “He is not going to file. Doctor Hod-
what weakened n?y resolve. You loved dpr,'‘ she said quietly'. Something
her to tho end, she loved you to the went through his body that warmed It
end. Well, in the face of that, could I curiously. He felt a thrill; as one who
go'on hating you? You must have Id seized by a great overpowering ex-
been worthy of her love. She knew you citement.
better than all the world. You came She preceded them- Into tho hall,
to me with love for her in your heart. Brood oame last. He oloBed the door
You took me, and you loved her all the behind him after a swift glance about
time. I am not sure, James, that you the room that had been his most prl-
are not entitled to this miserable, un- vate retreat for years,
happy love I have come to feel for you He was never, to, set foot inside its
my own love, not Matilde’s.” . j walls again, in that single,glance ho
You—you are saying this so that I; bade farewell to it; fordver. It Was
not me. -You loved the Matilde-that
was in me. You—”
“I have thought of her—always of
her—when you were in my' arms.”
“I know how. well you loved.he.r,”
she declared slowly. “I know that you
went to her tomb long after her death
Was. revealed tojrfra. I know that years
ago..you made an effort to find Fever-
elli. You found hiB grave, too, and you
could not ask him, man'to man, if you
had wronged her. But in spite of all
that you brought up her boy to be sac
rificed as—”
CHAPTER XXI.’
Revenge Turned Bitter. ,
She gave? him a curious, incredulous
.presence of tier,,God,. Wait! Where
are you going?”
i’T.-km going dowh to; him!”
“Not yet, James. I have still more
smile,. and then abruptly .returned to,
her charge. "When my sister came
home, degraded, I was nine years of
age, but I was not so young that I did
not know that,a dreadful thing had
happened to her.' She was' blighted
beyond all hope of recovery. It was to
me—little me—that , she told her story
over and over again, and it was I to
•whom she reaa all of The pitiful let
ters she wrote to you. My father
-wanted,to come, to America to kill ypu.
He did come later on, to plead with
you; and to kill you if you would not
listen to him- But . you: had gone—to
, *1—I—good , God, am I . to believe
you?: It-.he should be! my son!” he
crie’d, starting up, cold with dread.
“He is your son. He could be no
otherjman’s son, I jlvave her dying 1
word Itor ’it. She' declared” it” in the
to say to you—more to ; confess.. Here!
ke this package Of letters, Read
. RnHRMU
them as ypu sit beside, his bed—not
Ma Snnfhhpit: ! fnr'.T jaHnll . l-6Rtnr«. him
his deathbed, for-I shall restore him
to health, never fear. If he were to
die, I should purse myself to the’end
of time, for I and 1 alone would have
been the'cause. Here are her letters
-and the one Feverelli wrote to her.
S ownstairs, so that he may not die;he
aving-' • mo to ; be’ :an evil woman,
faithless wife. Thank God, I have ac
complished something! You know that
he,;ls: your son; Yon knoyy that my,sis
ter was as pure as snow. You know
that you killed her and that she. loved
' ;ht
This is her deathbed letter to you. And
this is a 1 letter to her son and yours!'
-an;
Africa, they said. I could, not under-,
stand why you' would not give to her
that little baby'boy. He wad hers and
—’’ She stopped, short in her recital
and covered her eyes with her hands.
He waited for'her to go on, sitting as
rigid as the image that faced him’ from’
beyond the, table’s end; “Afterwards;
my father and my uncle made ; every.ef
fort to get the .child a-tfay'from you,'
hut :ha ’ “was- hidden—you know t how
carefully he was hidden so that; .she
might never find. him. For. ten years,
they searched! for him—and you. For
ten years she .wrote to you; begging
you to let her have .him, if only for a
little-while at a time. She promised
to restore: him to you,:'God bless- her
poor soul! - You never replied. You
scorned her. We were rich—very rich.
But btir money was of nb help to us. in
the, search for her ;boy.: You: had se
creted Aim .too. wpll.*. At lastii.Pffdday^
ehe tdid infe' What 'It was that you ac
cused fyer of doing. She told me about
Guido jrdvereUl, her music-master^ I
knew -him, .James. He. had .kpowfe her
from, childhood. He was one of the,
finest Ada 1 1 haVe' ever seen;”
“He was In love with her,” grated’
Brood. '.n/r,;
"perhaps, who knows? But If so,
he never uttered so much as one' word
cf lave to her. He challenged you.
IWhy did you refuse to fight him?”
"Because she begged me hot W kill'
im. Did she tell you* that?"
Yriu may some day’read it: to him. And
here—this is a document requiring me
to share iny fortune with her son. It
is a pledge that I topk before my fa
ther died a few years ago.I| the boy
ever, appeared, he was to haVe his
mother's share of the estate—and it' is
S ot - an inconsiderable amount,: James.,
Ie is independent of you. -He need
ask nothing of you. I was taking him
home to his oWn.7
!| She shrank slightly as he stood: over
her. . There was more of wonder and
pity In his face than condemnation.
rShe looked for the anger she 'had-ex
pected to arouse . In him,, and was
dumfounded to see that'it was not re
vealed in his steady, appraising: eyes.
1‘Your plan deserved a better fate
than this Therese. It was prodigious!
I-^I can almoat plty you.”
“Have—have you no pain—po regret
—np grief.?”, she cried weakly.
VYes," he said,: controlling, himself
with difficulty.- “Yes. I know all these
and more." He picked.,up the pack
age of letters and glanced at the sub
scription on the Oh'fOr 1 envelope.' Sud
denly he raised.them’:tqihis lips,and,
With his eyes pipped, kissed the words
that were yrattf - ' ' "
ip'ped: Unto th'd«Chair And
buried his face, am his quivering, arms.
In muffled tones came the cry from hiB
soul. "They’ve ali 1 said that dm-is"like
me. I have seen it at times, but I would
not believe. 1 fought against .it, reso
lutely, madly, cruelly! Now'it is too
late and I seel I see; I feel! Damn you
—oh, damn you—you have driven me
to the killing of my own son!’'
She stood over him, silent for a long
time, her hand hovering above his
head.
"He Is;hot going to die," she said at
last,.when she was sure that she had
full command of ! her voice. *T‘ can
promise' you that, James. t‘ shall not
go from, this house until he is well. I
shall, nurse him back to health and
give him back to you and Matilde, for
now I know that he belongS'to both of
ypu and not to her alone. Now, James,
you raay go-down to him. He Is not
conscious. He will not hear you pray
ing at his' bedBlde. He—’ 1
A knock earne st the door—a sharp,
Imperative knock,.It was.repeated sev-
Utvina haFnro oiHiOr nf Hinni rvn 11 ll
thdt were Written there., Her head
drooped, and” a sob barns -into her
throat- 'She,did not: Jook,up until he
him.
“Yes. But that was not.tfee real rea
son.' I It was. because you were not
sure of your ground.”
*T deny, that!” Gift*
“Never mind. It is enough that poor
Feverelli passed oat of her. life. She
did not see him again until Just before
she died. He Was a noble, gentleman.
He wrote but one letter to her after
that ^retched .day in this, house. I
have it here In this 1 packet.”
She drew a ; package tot papers from
her bosom and laid it i upon the table
before him. There were a halt dozen
; letters ' tied together, with a piece of
white ribbon.
. “But-one letter from him,”, she went
on. “I have brought it here for : you to
read. ' Biit not now!; There £re other
and documents here for you to
' letters
consider. . They, are .from thq gtaye;
Ah, I do'not wonder that you shrink
began speaking, to her again, quietly,
even patiently.. "Biit why should you,
even' inyourionglng for reVenge—why
shpaldi Yop' have .planned to humiliate
and degrade him even more .than .I
copld have done? Was it Jfept to your
sister's- son that you should ’blight his*
sister'
life, that,you Should tdrnhlm Into a
skulking, sneaking betrayer?.,. What,
would you have gainedin the end? His
loathing, hit Scorii—my God; Thbre'se,
did you not think of all this?”;
,“1 have told.,you .that;!, thought’ of
everything. I was mistaken. X did n
stop to think that I’would be taki:
him 1 away from happiness in the shape
of love that he might bear,for someone
else. I did not know that there
T „S’ln-niSairtoillT' Whftri T orirn'O t.
t——- — er ? was a
Lydia D'esmofe'd'.'When I came to know,
tn'jr heart softened and my'purpose loBt
most of Its force, rPe would.heye been
'safe with. me. but would he have been
happy? i could* hot give him the kind
of love that-'-Lydla. promised. -1; could
wdys loved Lydia.
Just as; I fascinated you. He, would not
have gone away wfth.me, even after
you had told -film ! that v He-was not’your-
son.. He would hot :do that to. you,
James, In spite of the blow you struck
eral times before either of them could
summon the courage to call out. They
were petrified with the dread of some-
may refrain from throwing you out in-j s hated, unlovely spot'. He had spent an
to the street—” age ini it during those bittp.r morning
“No!” she cried, coming to. her feet.; hours, an age of imprisonment.
fT;8hkli-hslc:nbthihg of you.’ If i'aml! On the landing below, they cknle up-
to go it shall be because I have failed, on Lydia. She was seated on a wln-
—
you have said all that to me hbiore.
Lydia.”
“What Is your object In keeping mo
away from him at such a time as this.
Mrs. Brood?” demanded Lydia. “You
refuse to let me go in to him. Is it be
cause you are afraid of what—’’
“There are trying days ahead of us,
Lydia," interrupted Yvonne. "We shall
have to face thorn togother. I can
promise you this: Frederic will bo
saved for you. Tomorrow, next day
perhaps, I may he able to explain
avotythlng to you. You hate me to
day. Everyone In this house hates me
—oven Frederic. There is a day coal
ing whon you will not hate me. That
was my prayer, Lydia. I was not pray
ing for’Frederic, biit for myBelf."
Lydia started. "For yourself? I
might havo .known you—"
"YOU hesitate? Perhaps it Is-Just as
well."
”1 want to say, to you, Mrs. Brood,
that it is my purpose to roniain In this
Iioubo as' long as I can be—'"
"You are welcome; Lydia. You will
be the one great tonic thnt is tp re
store him to health of min'd and body.
Yes, I shall go further and say that
you are commanded to stay here and
help mo In the long fight that is ahead
of us."
“I—I thank you; Mi's: 'Brood," the
girl was surprised into Saying.
; Both of them turned quickly as the
door to Frederick room opened and
J lines Brood came out Into tho hall.
I is faco was drawn with pain and
k ixiety, but the light of exaltation was
lit his eyes.
, "Gome, Ly&ia,”‘he said softly, after
he had closed the door -behind .him,
"He knows me. He is conscious.
Hodder can't understand it, but he
seems to have suddenly grown
stronger. He-
i"Stronger?’’ cried Yvonnp, ,tbe ring
of triumph in her voice. “I knew! I
I have been a blihd, vaimglorlbus fool, dow ledge, leaning wearily I against
the casement. She did not rleq as they
The trap has caught me instead.of you, ---- ™
and; I; shall ‘ take the cohseqUences. 1 1 ; approached, but watched them with
have lost everything!” \ ]stfeady; Smoldering eyes in which 1 there
“Yes, you hayq lost everythius/* Bald! ( was. no friendliness, no . compassion,
he steadily.' dj .
"You despise me?”’ — , i, .
“I cannpti ssk/yoq to stay here— ; Brood's eyes'met hers for an lhstant
after this:”' :' . / iandr.tlieu tell before the bitter look
“But I shall not go. I have a duty ;they .encountered.' His shoulders
to perform before I. leave this house. I
Intend to save the life of that poor boy
pould feel it coming—his strength-
eVen out here, James. Yes, go in ndw,’
Lydia You will see a strange sight,
my dear. James-Brood will kneel be.
side his son and tell him—
“Gome!” said'Brood, spreading out
bib hands in a gesture of admission.
"You' muBt hear it, too, Lydia. Not
you,' Therese I You are not to - come
in."
"I grant you ten minutea, James."
ie said, with the air of a dictator.
fehe
"After that I shall take toy stand be
side him andiyou will flot -be needed.”
She struck her breast sharp|y with
her clinched hand. "His one atid only
lhape lies here, James. I am his sal-
’ation,. I-am his.strength. When you
omo out of that room again it will
>e> to stay ‘out Until I give tho word
for you to re-enter. . Go now and put
spirit, into ftlm. That is t all. that i ask
of I you,”
He Stared for a moment and then
lowered his head: ; A moment lhter
Lydia followed him Into the room and,
Y^obiie whs alone' iri the halL Alone?
Ranjab-was-ascending tfio stairs. He
came and stood before her, ond bent:
his knee. ,
“I forgot,*’ She said, looking down
upon hlni' Without'a : vestige of the
old dread in her eyeB. “I have a friend,
after..all.” ...
thing that awaited them beyond the
door. It was she- who! finally
closed
called out: "Come.ln!”
Doctor Hodder, coatless and bare
armed, came Into' the room.
CHAPTER XXII.
The Closed Door.
The’ doctor blinked for a mPment.
The two were leaning forward with
alarm In their eyes,-, their hands grip
ping tjie table. ’
“Well, ’are' we'to send for an under
taker?" demanded Hodder irritably.
Brood started forward. “Is—is he
dead?"
"Of course not'. but he might aS well
be," exclaimed the other, and; it was
plain to be seen that, he was very much
out ;of patience. 1 "You’ve called in an
other doctor and a'priest and now-I
hear that a Presbyterian parson is in
the library. Hang it all, Brood, why
don’t you send.fPr the coroner and; u%
dertaker and have done with it? I’m
"Ajid What Did He Think of You?"
drooped as he passed close by her mo-
tlohless figure and followed the doctor
down the hall to the'bedroom door. "It'
opened and closed an instant later and
he was with his son.
For a long time, Lydia’s somber, pit
eous gaze hung upon tho door through
which he had passei'and which was
closed so cruelly against her, the one
who loved him best of all. At last she
looked away, her attention,caught by a
queer clicking sound near at band. She
was surprised to find Yvonne Brood
standing close beside her, her eyes
closed and her fingers telling the beads
that ran through her fingers, her lips
moving In voiceless prayer.
The glri-watched her dully for a few
moments, then with growing fascina
tion. The incomprehensible creature
was praying!
,ydia believed that Frederic had
1 himself. She put Yvonne down as
blessed If I—” .
Yvonno'eame swiftly to hls side,,’ 7-IS!
he conscious? Does.he know?”
"For God’s sake, Hodder, is there
any hope?" cried Brood. * -
“ijll be honest with’Yon, Jim. I don’t
believe there is, ;; It . went,-,in : here,
to let-up! on; tho ether for awhile,.you
see. He openejl his eyes a few; min
utes: ago; hfra. Brood, add my assistant
J s certain that he whispered Lydia
jie'qmbdd’B name. jSounjdiMLBtol! way,
to him, but, of .course—’’
"There! Ypu see, ^amesl'.’ slie cried,
.whirling upon-’hdr husband. ' ’
'I think you’d better step invalid see
him now, J|m,” said the doctor,; sud
denly becoming very gentle. “He may
the|real cause ot'the calamity that had
fallen- upon the house. But for her,
Janies Brood would never have had a
ohve for striking tho blow that
crushed All, desire to live out of the un
happy boy. She had made of hor hus
band ah unfeeling monster, and now
Bhe; prayed I She had played with the
emotions; of two, men and now* she
begged, to be pardoned for her folly I
An inexplicable desire to laugh at, the
plight Of the trlfler catoe over the girl;
but even as she checked it another and
more unaccountable force ordered her
to'obey the Impulse to tqrn once more
to look Into the face’ of her companion.
Yyonne was looking at her. She had
ceased, rupplflg the beads ant her
liahds hung limply at her side,
■PL, , Fpr p
full minute, perhaps; the two regarded
each other without speaking.
“I^e jls; notigojng to die, Lydia,’’said
Yvonne gravely.
■ ■ The girl started to her feet. "Do you
.think it is your prayer and not mine
that'has-rpaohed God’s ear ?’’ she cried
...... ......
in real amazement., ;
■ “Thb'pWyer'of 'a iibliler woman’tkiin’
i you' or I has gone to the throne,"
; gone to the I
either; you:
said|thp otfier.,!
Lidia’s eyes grew dirk with r.esent-
nient.' “You' could ' have prevented
,811—”
"Be good enough to remember that
CHAPTER XXIII.
: ' 1 .;
The Joy of June.
On a warm morning toward the
middle of the’ month of June Frederic
and-Lydia-sat in the quaint, old-fash
ioned courtyard,, In the grateful shade
of the south wing and almost directly
beneath ihe balcony off Yvonne's bou
doir. He lounged comfortably, yet
weakly, In the Invalid’s chair that had
been wheeled to the spot by the dog-
like Ranjab, and Bhe sat on a pile of
cushions at his feet, her back resting
against the wall. Looking at him, one
would not have thought that he had
passed through the valley of the
shadow of death and was but now
emerging into the sunshine of secur
ity. His face was pale from long con
finement, but there was a healthy glow
to the skin and a clear light In the
eye. For a week or more he had been
permitted to walk about the house and
Into tlie garden, always leaning on the
arm of his father or the faithful Hin
du. Each succeeding day saw his
strength and vitality increase and each
night ho ; slept with the peace of *
care-free child. Yvonne knows that
As for-';Lyd!a;-she-;tvas radiant with-
stant, whon her
her; -there had been distress but never
despair. If the strain told on her it
did not matter,
flgh!
power to thwar’. dentil, at least In this
instance, had its eitoct, not only on
the wounded man but on. those who . ..
attended him. Doctor I-Ioddor and the
nurses wore not slow to admit that
her magnificent courage, her almost
scornful self-assurance, supplied them .
with an incentive that otherwise might
never have got beyond the form of a
mere hope. There was something pos
itively startling in her serene convlo- - .
tion that Frodorlc was not to die No .
loss n skeptic than the renowned
Doctor Hodder confided to Lydia and
her-mother* that ho now believed In
tho Bupe.rnatura! and never again - -
would say “there is no God." With
tho dampness of death on tho young
man’s brow, a remarkable clmngo had
occurred oven as he watched tor tho
Ifcst fleeting breath. It was as If some
secret, unconquerable foroe had sud
denly Intervened to take the whole
matter out of feature's, liqpds. It wns
not In the books that lie should. got
v eil; It was ngalnBt overy rule of nn-.
t ire thnt ho should havo survived that
ilrBt day’s struggle;- He wns marked
for denth.nnd thqre was no pl^ernative,
lihen came tho boivlldorlng. mystify- ',
ing ehangb. Life did not take Its ox- •
pected flight; Instead It clung, flicker- .
ing but indestructible, to its clay and
would not | obey the lows of nature.
For days and days life hung liy what
wa are pleased to call a thread; tho
great shears of-death could f not sever
the tiny thing that held Frederick
soul to earth. There was no hour in '
any, of those, days In wh|ch ,the. be
wildered scientist and Ill's ‘ assistants
did nbt proclaim that H would be his I-"
last, nnd yot ho gave the He to them.
iHodder had gone'to James Brood at
the ond of tho tliird- day, and With the >"■
sweat of tlie haunted on his brow had- >
whispered hoarsely .that the caBO was
out of his hands! He was go longer
he doctor but nb agont governed by a
siilrlt that would not permit dea.th ttf
claim its own! And somehow Brood
understood far better than the man of,
science. '
The true’ story if the shooting bad - tv '
long been {known- to; Lydia agd. her: - .
mother. Byood .cofefesaed everything
to] them. He assumed all 'of tlie blame
for what had transpired on-tfiat’fraglc
morning. Ho humbled , himself bpfpre,
them, and when they, shook, their
heads and turned' their bn'oks'upon 1
him he was not surprised; for- hi-knew ■ :'
they were not conviettng him of as- t
sault with a deadly firearm. Later
on the story of Therese was, told by,
him to Frederic and the girl. HO did 1
his : wife no.’injustice in, :the; recital. > .
ITederic laid Ills hand, upon ..the. soft,,,
brown head at his knee and voiced the
thought that waitf in bis mind.
J ,‘Yofe are wondering^ as l iiun, . top,, ,
in ti-iuuu * i 1 ** L *"
pafay us. She has said.so horself, an,d
father has said so. He will not take
her with him. So today must see the I
end of things.”
"Frederic, i want , you rto. do JJOMO-,-;
ifeg for me/’ said Lydia, oarrioBtly.
There wfes a ‘time when I could not ‘'
haye asked this-of you,' but now. 1-... ;
iraploro you to speak to y.our,father , .
in her behalf. I lpve her, Freddy, dear.
I cannot help It. She asks nothing’ of
afey! of ds, she expects, nothing, ahd
yot sfeo loves all ot us-ryee.-all of ^s., ,,
She will never, by word or look, make
a single plea for herselL I have hatched
her closely all these - weeks.. There
was never an instant when she-re
vealed the slightest sign of an appeal.
She takes it for granted that she-has
no place in our lives, in our memory,
yes, but that is all. I think she i9 ,
reconciled to what sho considers her
fate and it has not entered her mind
to protest against it. Perhaps it'is
natural that sho should feel that way
about it. But It is—oh, Freddy, it is
terrible! ; If he would—would only un-
bond a little toward her: If he—’’
"Listen, Lyddy, dear., I don’t be
lieve it's altogether up to him. There
,'s altogether up to. hlm. t Th
is a barrier that we can’t soe, hut they ’
do—both of them. My mother stand#
between them. You see, I’ve crime to'
know my father lately, doar. He’s not
a stranger to me any longer. I know
what sort of a heart he’s got. Ha
never got over ,lo,vine my .mother, and ,
he’ll never get over knowing - that
loved, him to.
now what it
happiness. The long fight was over. was , n Yv0 nne that attracted him from
ad gone through the cajnpaign t]lR n r? t and she knpws. Hb’b not
against death with loyal, unfaltering , lkB jj to f 0rg j ve .himself so easily. Ha
courage; there had never been an in-
stanch heart liad failed
didn’t play, iair .with either of them,
that’s what I’m trying to got at. I
don’t believe he can forgive himself
ter, for she was of thi
g kind. Her love wns the sue
tenfeiice on which she throve desp
the 1 fieggarly offerings that 1 were lad
befrire her during those weeks of fam
ine. . f. ’ ■ - *
Tltoes there were when a pensive
mood! brought; the 'touch of sadneds to
her j grateful heart. She was happy
and!Frederic .was happy, but what of
the one who actually had wrought the
mirariJe? That one alone was un-.
happy, unrequited, undefended. There
was.no place for her in the new order
of things. When Lydia thought of
her—as she often did—it wsb with an
indescribable 'craving in her soul. She
longed for the hour to come, when
Yvonne Brood would lay aside the
mask'of resignation and demand trib
ute; when the strange defiance that
held all of them ; at bay. would* dis
appear and they oould feel -that she
no dojiger regarded them as adversa
ries.’ ; •'
There was no longer a symptom ot.,
ra'ncby in the^eart o^ydla Desmond.
She irealized that'her Sweetheart’s re
covery was due almost entirely to the
remarkable influence exercised by this
wom£a at a time when mortal agen
cies appeared "to'benof'ho avail. Her'
absolute certainty that she had the
any more than he can forgive Yvonne
for the thing she set about to'do. You
see, Lyddy, she married him without
love. She debased horself, .even
though she can’t admit '*
It even now.
_ .. o,H-,She’a-tl
derfiil woman
tho finest instincts a w.
I.love her, too., .She’s• the most- won-
m in' the world. She’s got
U10 I1U0BI lUBUUUUJ tt ’WUiwmi. .uict
possessed. But' she did- 1 give' hei'self
to the man she hated with all her soul,
and—well, there you are. Ho can't for
get that, you know—and she can’t.
Leaving me. out lot the question alto
gether—and you. .too—there still re
mains the sorry fact that she has be
trayed her sister’s- love. She -loves
hini for, herself now, and—that’s what
hurts both ot them. It hurts because
they both know that, he still loves
my'mdthW." ' • > \
"I’m not so sui
see how he can help loving Yvonne, In
spite of everything. She—’’, ,
“Ah/, but you have'-it from her that
lie lrived ipy :nibtferir 'tfyeii whoft^sh#
.was in-hls-arms,..becatise, in a way, sho
represented the love that had never
died. Now all that is a thing of the
post. .SheJs,herself, she is ootMeUldp,,
He loved Matilde ail the tim-i"
(TO BE CONTINOEDJ