Newspaper Page Text
8
, FTHE GATES OF SILENCE”
FIRST READ THIS:—
JACK RIMINGTON. the hero of the story, and a man with a mysterious se
cret, proposes to and ts accepted by
BETTY LUMSDEN, the charming young daught. r of . , lhr .
SIR GEORGE LUMSDEN, who, however, is opposed to .lack because of the iat
ter’s poverty, but favors . , ... ~m__ him
PAUL SAXE, a millionaire, whom Betty has refused to marry after telling him
that she is engaged to .lack. Betty’s sister. horrifies
MRS. EDITH BARRINGTON, suddenly returns from France and hornnes
Betty by declaring that her first husband. whom
EDMOND LEVASSEUR, whom she married secretly when a girl anil whom
she thought dead, has appeared and demands 2.000 pounds ($10,000) tn ten
days' time, or he will tell „ . . , xr.o Bar.
ANTHONY BARRINGTON everything °n'y four days are left and Mrir Har
rington begs Betty to borrow the monex from Saxe. Betty is horrified at
the proposal and refuses, but after a frantic appeal fromher ■ - .
x > sents. The next day Betty telephones to bay and he consents to giveh r
the money, but insists that she call at his house that night
Betty can not refuse That afternoon Rimington gets a note from baxe
asking him to call at 11:30 o’clock that night Rimington ts puzzled, but
goes and is astonished to see the nameplate of tender whose
J. J. FITZSTEPHENS. on the railing, this man being the money-lender whose
TOb’^RlMlNGTOn'.' Jack’s brother, to South Africa Toto's I ’room
stairs, but is startled to hear a womans scream He dashes into aro >m
and finds to his horror Betty standing over a dead man with a dagger
her band The lights suddenly go out .lack calls. Betty.
—Now Go On With the Story
What did those words which stared up
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—
Ifhat secret in which the happiness of
three lives was so intimately bound up
had passed into other and perhaps un
scrupulous hands?
A vision of her sister's face flashed up
her. Betty’s face, transformed and
stricken looking, with trembling lips that
t JYie Dingbat Family Copyright 1912, National News Association FfCTViman I
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faltered out the story of her failure: ”1
didn't get the money, 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 Barrington could
not bring herself to believe that the so
lution lay tn the fact of Betty’s betrayal.
Some Instinct within her, an instinct ut
terly outside and beyond reason, seemed
to tell her emphatically that Betty was
incapable of such a breach of trust that
pven in a moment of crisis such as she
appeared to have undergone, that had
niE aTLAXTA GEORGIAN AND NEWS. TUESDAY, JUNE 4, 1912
left such terrible traces upon her, the t
girl might betray herself but never the f
confidence of one who trusted in her. (
An Unexpected Return.
A sudden light brushing of fingertips,
hardly to be called a knock, against the '
panel of the bedroom door, roused Mrs. J
Barrington from her abstraction. She f
bent to gather the fallen papers together t
with a movement so abrupt and violent j.
that it sent the dainty wicker tray, with |
its fragile early morning tea set. crash- ’
ing to the floor. The sound mingled with »
the somewhat noisy opening of the bed
room door, as in a perfect frenzy of fright j
she gathered the scattered papers to- |
get her and crushed them, ail damp and ’
stained as they were, within the bosom j
of her loose gown i
"Anthqny!” The name escaped her pale 1
lips in a little gasp of terror as she turned
and faced the man who had come smiling <
into the room and stood regarding, her <
with a half-quizzical expression on his
handsome face.
“You didn’t expect me, old girl!” he
said; “and ’pon my word, I don’t believe
you’re remarkably glad to see me ’’
1 There was just a suspicion of reproach in
k his tone (hat served to put the woman on
t her guard. She forced her trembling lips
i into a smile and put out her hands with
g a charming gesture of welcome.
d “Pleased! My d£ar Anthony, I am so
- absolutely surprised that 1 haven’t room
1 for any other emotion," she said. “I have
- just been reading your postcard from
d Paris and turn round and see you stand
s ing in the room For the moment I
it doubted my eyes. How on earth did you
ie get here on a Bleriot*"
d “es. with Phil hanging on to the
A Story of Love, Mystery and Hate, vetth a
Thrilling Portrayal of
&
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 Duf
fy to finish up with the exhibition." His
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 were pret
ty well matched in height, and her brown
eyes looked into his gray ones unflinchingl
as they stood.
“What sort of thing?” she asked, light-
Iv. “Does anything ever happen at the
croft” No. I am maligning it—l believe
my father has given his eight-hundred
eighty-eighth cool; 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 1
am therefore morally bound to put in an
appearance—unless I wist) to upset m>
father for the whole day. Can't you run
away and amuse yourself while 1 dress,
Tony?” She paused and looked at him
with her head on one side for a mo
ment.
"Do you know that your snruceness
Is positively amazing?” she said "You
look as though you had stepped out of
the proverbial band-box instead of out of 1
the train.” £
“I have stepped not so very long ago I
out of a cold tub at the It eybou?he i
Arms." Barrington replied. “I arrived 1
late last night—or. rather, extraordinarily
early this morning—and I hadn t the i
cheek to ring up my respected father-in- i
law at such an hour."
He bent suddenly and kissed her. press- (
ing her against his breast with that lover- I
like fervor that the years of their marZ I
rlage had never staled, but for the flfst
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, roughlj' folded papers
against her breast.
”I’ll go down and have a look at the
papers before your father comes down to
sit on the Times.” Barrington said.
Dreading the Worst.
As the door closed behind her husband
Edith gave a long, sobbing breath of re
lief and turned the key in the lock, lean
ing against the woodwork, her breath
coming quickly, like that of a woman
i 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
i stowed away in the innermost recess of
' her jewel case.
i .lust for the first moment of her sur
, prise, when she had turned to find her
> husband standing there in the bedroom
■ behind her. Edith Barringjon had dreaded
tlie worst Her mind had leaped to the
j conclusion that it was as an accuser An
i thony had’ come to England—that he had
f heard Edmond Levasseur's story already.
But the first glance of his eyes had re
assured her; they were devoid of any sus- s
picion—the same frank eyes that had i
never looked at her except with tender- i
ness. .
The thought brought no comfort with
it; it was like a stab in the heart. She ■
shivered, for all the soft warmth of the
rooming, as site set about her toilet, won
dering with a sick dread how long this
fool's paradise of love’s creation would
last —how long it wrouid be before that
dread specter, started -tip out of her
past, would drive her out into the thistle
strewn desert of the world that laughs.
Before going downstairs she slipped
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
even, and her face was slightly flushed.
There was something so unnatural in her
look, in this prolonged sleep, that Edith
Barrington’s heart sank as she stood
there looking down at her. For Betty,
who. like a child, seemed to rise with the
birds, to be sleeping so profoundly now!
Certainly it might be the sleep of pro
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;
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.
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,
By META SIMMINS
Author of “Hushed Up
the words of an address: 88-B Tempest
street, W.C. She stare’d 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 dared 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 the
slightly ruled-looking butler—"say 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 the
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.
