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i r l’l T F A 1 5 f~7 ft I | I/ K L" 1 * ’ <O> A Story of Love, Mystery and Hate, with a • «<¥» By META SIMMINS 1 11 EL Nj/”\ 1 ELO \..yr 1 V>EL Thrilling Portrayal rif Life Behind Prison Bars ®r Author of‘'Hushed Up” FIRST READ THIS:— JACK RIMINGTON. the hero of the story, and a man with a mysterious se cret. preposes to and is accepted by BETTY LUMSDEN, the charming young daughter SIR GEORGE LUMSDEN, who. however, Is opposed to Jack because of the lat ter's poverty, hut favors PAUL SAXE, a millionaire, whom Betty has refused to marry after telling him that she is engaged to tack Betty's sister. MRS EDITH BARRINGTON, suddenh returns from France and horrifies Bettv bv declaring that her first husband. EDMOND LEVASSEUR, whom she married secretly when a girl, and whom she thought dead, has appeared and demands 2.000 pounds (|10.000) in ten davs' time or he will tell ANTHONY FARRINGTON ever: ’hing < >nh four days are left and Mrs Bar rington begs Betty tn borrow the mone\ from Saxe Betty Is horiified at the proposal and refuses, but after a frantic appeal from her sister, con sents. The next dav Betty telephones tn Saxe and he consents tn give her the monev. but insists that slip < al! at his house at 11 o'clock that night Bettv can not refuse That afternoon Fimington gets a note from Saxe asking him tn call at 11 30 o'clock that night Rlmlngton is puzzled, but goes and •* astonished to see the nameplate of j. j. FITZSTEPHENS, on the railing, this man being the money-lender whose persecutions drove TOBY RIMINGTON, Jack's brother, to South Africa Rlmlngton ascends the stairs but is startled to hear a woman’s scream He dashes into a room and *inds tn his horror Betty standing over a dead man with a dagger in ber hard The lights suddenh go out .lark calls. "Betty!” Betty van ishes in s he darkness and Rlmlngton manages to escape from the house tn which he hi- been trapped Meantime Mrs Barrington anxlouslv awaits the return of Betty, who ultimately arrives. In a distressed and exhausted condition, without the monex Nevertheless, the SIO,OOO reaches Mrs. Bar rington bv post the next morning —Now Go On With the Story What did those words which stared up 1 at her—written in that clear, colorless. ’ clerkly hand, that had the distinction of being more clear than print Itself mean? , What could they mean” That Betty had , betrayed her. that already her secret— , that secret In which the happiness of 1 three lives was so Intimately bound up— , had passed Into other and perhaps un- I armnulous hands” A vision of her sister's fare flashed up 1 TftQ Dingbat Cimily Pah’PAH Is “Reshciled" Copyright 1912. National News Association RQY Y ITTI dYi j S TjTTTIFx - X ''N ~ -TT 5 " - n ~~ ~ ~ -R-R.-FUL 6og M'LOV£> W TMK Svmv OF These) I )5 \ / * r .? E 3 <E F ' tX>& - - GOW& BACK, <7 tiMOUxAAWo » - 7-X-7 7 J —F —1 HELP ~ oEE H °W u,CK f \~=V HEIP " F=fi^-= r —/ \ 6rr ) CAT A6A/M7_/ Bopyy BEEA/ \-T HE -HE ll RESCUE You -—' « - / - --±?=K bL7 72gL717 —„ £\KlbDiM6 you - ~7 Z I Z/Z 1 — : „■ ae«i „ f>r jp- , i ajn» i F 1 K f l —— _. 1 r» mwZ \ < Jr oi ”' -- I^JfW OO ' SfcA> I fcJw >«Ma -A2 z a ? > - tfwSlx )7 7ii Xsc V A ■■ rYf\ £j Mr KT ffthQl 1 trtjMP* I - .... 0 ■■ . . ■—■ . . . - “ “ /the C*MP&ea?\l (MOOR PO6EVE6 n idOK- IGMA-TZES ') /> S J ~ Z -1 * V Z// X 7* \ AftE. CmiMG j (THe CAMPBELL'S y (M A KEMPBEU_SzC 1 t ? <- —>// S ij<i * <5 ?——— ? . Sll (fe_ - ", "' -- — — JZ I L —3®fe _3« - ■ Shctlocko the Monk. The Adventure of the Pack of Wolves gg copyright, m 2. National News Asa'n * liHMsn. sr o «£ | (come I (oh mp. 5 hc ß u3ckZ- 1 Z AS ‘. P£PU<:Epl -V ' -- ; on the Rialto, tavo ! *ei L Dls<3ulse somebody's stolen the u-hoiesple th.ef ' the Uagon/, watso. A —Z I canhot w OF MT STUFFED NOLVE&I ' 1 USE A ? W IN FRONT OF H -—<7 I* W Sr B«« smuts -' .£££% > Z^ N Z D IOTF' ws ~' Ha I \ "cjjSst 1 Deeded a pack of 1 ■ /h' jS'lf \ vnoLves to give ( ) ■ ' 'M t ZiK ' '/jL • ’ / j ■ *F Ilf z 1 AX- W ! >i • 'C'S'TV PER-FCR.MANCE of , /x ‘ \ ■ SjiFX. I //# rs i'ZTT '' CROCKETT ' > f\X 1 ) ■ g<x i k diS' • I ''• / JJ7i\ / In L.. ’ r —" — \I r ° Bc * s -°»' them , 71 i® rRSSW RagF :_ 235 . atiSMi - - Mr. Inbad’s Rules Were Out of Date © ®®> © © By H. B. Martin 1 .. 'zrr TtHAT rWE OF AW Bny I r : "X y ’ v>E ABOUT THAT A?R /NB4/>. I HOOD DAVS ‘ 1 'NELL (TS BE£N j ( iahH cant WHY I SAW HIM ToBAY \ V L. ' ~ | A Long TrME. IHF let 1 BCE4N UP A Boys 50S£ 6-9Z4.J 3AV tfISTER'X 1 Since I PLPyED \ \SOYS 1 GfiYE JUST our Os PUfl£ J NlLt YOU / \&4LL BUT I GUESS ALONE-' \ r \ LEANNESS COME OVER / I CAN >?EAT£N)BERI hfs>lwAvs\ fT? A > - "Tm t 7\ ( Ac/' Y m AND DECIDE L " -4'- XmmeA- TH p PUJCO J TT ' N<5 'V / ,/M \ THOSE I\ \ / 1 "M * ~3PU. T £ / JS ~ E _ guLfs >L.jd | Mt -y ' ~ UPa. _ e r IR L A \’v 7 wßWr> si Vo *SC w cJsl v <sk - Q d ./ M 4? ._ before her. Betiy’s face, transformed and stricken looking, with trembling Ups that faltered out the story of her failure "I didn't got the monev, Edith Don't ask me what happened I don't know I can't tell” And yet even in the light of that memory, terrible and heart-breaking though It was. Edith Rarrington could not bring herself tn believe that the so lution lav in the fact of Betty’s betrayal Some instinct within her, an instinct ut terly outside and beyond reason, seemed ITTE ATLANTA GEORGIAN AND NEWS. TTESDAY, JTNE 4. 1912. to tell her emphatically that Betty was ' Incapable of such a breach of trust —that 1 e\en in a moment of crisis such as she appeared to have undergone, that had 1 left such terrible traces upon her. the < girl might betray herself but never the , confldence of one who trusted In her. An Unexpected Return. A sudden light brushing of fingertips, hardly to be called a knock, against the f panel of the bedroom door, roused Mrs. ! Barrington from her abstraction. She ' bent tn gather the fallen papers together J with a movement so abrupt and violent ' that it sent the dainty wicker tray, with its fragile earlj- morning tea set, crash- 1 ing to the floor The sound mingled with the somewhat noisy opening of the bed- 1 room door, as In a perfect frenzy of fright 1 she gathered the scattered papers to gether and crushed them, all damp and i stained as they were, within the bosom 1 cjf her loose gown 1 'Anthony'” The name escaped her pale 1 lips in a little gasp of terror as she turned ' and faced the man who had come smiling f into the room and stood regarding her with a half-quizzical expression on his ' handsome face ' "You didn't expect me. old girl!” he 1 said, ’and pon my word, I don t believe * you're remarkably glad to see me.” ■ There was just a suspicion of reproach In f his tone that served to put the woman on ; her guard She forced her trembling lips ■ into a smile and put out her hands with « a charming gesture of welcome. > "Pleased' My dear Anthony, I am so ' absolutely surprised that I haven't room ; for any other emotion, she said "I have Just been reading your rwstcard from ’ Paris —and turn round and see you stand- 1 ing in the room For the moment I doubted my eves How on earth did you ge* here -on a Bleriot*" "ea, with Phil hanging on to the tail behind,” Barrington laughed. Her explanation appeared to gratify him, his eyes twinkling as he made his own; “Phil—cute little beggar—l expect he posted that card. I lust managed to get away by the skin of my teeth- -left Puf fy to finish up with the exhibition ” Hi? tone softened ‘ I had to come, Edith —it seems centuries since you went away! It’s a good job I did. it seems to me You're looking pretty queer—has anything happened?” He put his hands on her shoulders and looked down into her face with a ques tioning look in his shrewd gray eyes Very charming eyes, with their ever-lurk ing suggestion of laughter, well set be neath level black brows. He was a tall man. but, tall as he was, they w>re pret ty well matched in height, and her brown pvea looked into his gray ones unflinching! as they stood. "What sort of thing?” she asked, light ly "Does anything ever happen at the t.rnft? No, I am maligning It—l believe my father has given his el ght-hundred eighty-eighth cook notice —and—yes, this Is rather astonishing—Betty had a head ache last night and is in bed—l hope asleep So she will not be able to pre side over the breakfast table —where I am therefore morally bound to put in an appearance—unless T wish to upset my father for the whole day. Can t you run away and amuse yourself while I dress, Tony?” She paused and looked at him with her head on one side for a mo ment. “Do you know that yfur spruceness 1 is positively amazing?” she said "You look as though you had stepped out of ■. the proverbial band-box instead of out of ■ the train." . "I have stepped not so very long age out of a cold tub at the Weybourne Arms,” Barrington replied. "I arrived late last night—or, rather, extraordinarily t earlj* this morning—and I hadn't the cheek to ring up my respected father-in law at such an hour.” ; He bent suddenly and kissed her, press ! ing her against his breast with that lover like fervor that the years of their mar j riage had never staled, but for the first time his caress failed to thrill the woman. ] She was conscious of one thing and of one thing only—the almost cruel pressure of those damp, roughly folded papers . against her breast "I'll go down and have a look at the 1 papers before your father comes down to sit on the Times.” Barrington said. Dreading the Worst. I As the door closed behind her husband Edith gave a long, sobbing breath of re lief and turned the key in the lock, lean- 1 ing against the woodwork, her breath ‘ coming quickly, like that of a woman well nigh spent with running But with an effort she recovered herself and, tak ing the papers from their hiding place. - smoothed them out and folded them into a neat, unobtrusive packet which she [ stowed away in the innermost recess of 1 her jew’ei case. Just for the first moment of her sur -1 prise, when she had turned to find her • husband standing there in the bedroom 1 behind her. Edith Barrington had dreaded • the worst Her mind had leaped to the conclusion that it was as an accuser An- s thony had come to England—that he had 1 heard Edmond Levasseur’s story already, r But the first glance of his eyes had re f assured her; they were devoid of any sus picion—the same frank eyes that had 1 never looked at her except with tender- ‘ ness. • The thought brought no comfort with 1 it; it was like a stab in the heart. She shivered, for all the soft warmth of the as she set about her toilet, won dering with a sick dread how long this 1 ■ fool’s paradise of love's creation would • last—-how long it would be before that dread specter, started up out of her past, would drive her out into the thistle 1 . strewn desert of the world that laughs. < f Before going dowmstairs she slipped : 1 along the corridor to Betty’s room The : girl was still asleep. She lay on her side, one closely-clenched hand under her ‘ cheek. Her breathing was quick and un- ; 1 even, and her face was slightly flushed. There was something so unnatyral in her look, in this prolonged sleep, that Edith I Barrington's heart sank as she stood there looking down at her. For Betty, ( ■ .who, like a child, seemed to rise with the 1 birds, to be sleeping so profoundly now! , 1 Certainly it might be the sleep of pro -1 found exhaustion, yet she was afraid. She lingered reluctantly, even after the . second gong had sounded a summons of . ) such shrill impatience that she knew it ? had been beaten out by her father’s hand; 1 and as she lingered the girl in the bed stirred and flung out a protesting arm. The movement disclosed something fallen • on the bed from her suddenly relaxed • hand. I Edith bent and picked it up—a small • scrap of paper, on which were written, in that same clerkly handwriting which had come to her by that morning post, the words of an address* 88-B Tempest street, W.C. She stared at it question ingly, and from it to the girl, sleeping still. Then, as she heard her father's voice in the hall below, calling alternate ly for herself and Betty, she dar®d to delay no longer. She went downstairs. In the hall she came face to face with her father "Morning, Edith.” He scarcely brushed the cheek she extended to him —scratched it with his moustache, that had been Betty’s childish description of her father's perfunctory kiss. "I’m glad to see you alive. 'Pon my soul, I was beginning to doubt it—thought some tragedy had swept the boards clean in the night. Where's Betty? Headache? I don’t be lieve It. And where the plague are my papers? That fool over there" —he jerked an angry head in the direction of tho slightly ruled-looking butler—"saV he left them as usual on the waiter by my chair. .As though, if he left 'em there, they wouldn't be there now! What the mis chief are you laughing at, Edith?” For Mrs. Barrington, though not laugh ing. was certainly smiling, having caught sight of her husband standing in tho French window behind Sir George, an ir resistibly mirth-provoking figure, laden, as he appeared to be, with innumerable badly folded sheets of newspaper the re sult of an ineffectual struggle with a blown-away "Times,” swollen to incredi ble proportions by a financial supplement. "There are your papers, father," she said, with a little gurgle of nervous laughter. Continued Tomorrow.