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f ! 4 E TTEATIST’S SUNDAY AMKRTGAN. ATLANTA. GA., SUNDAY. AUGUST 17, 1318. ADAM’S CLAY By Cosmo Hamilton SYNOPSIS OF PRECEDING CHAPTERS. F ROM babyhood John Aahley ha* known no Ufa except that of a lonely Engtllgh farm, no aoclety except that of hla morose father p.nd the farm laborers. At the age of twenty-five he learnt the reaeon for this—hie mother ran away with hie father's cloeest friend a year after her marriage. The elder Ashley hse been determined that his son should be spared a fate like his own. and has guarded him against the wiles of wot Idly wise women, learning of the death of his wife, who forsook him and their child, the elder Ashley kills himself A few months later Betty Blundell, a charming hut heartless married coquette, visits at a neigh boring farm, learns John's history, and irr.lt* to her London woman fiiend, Milly Cator. of her proposed conquest. Betty takes advantage of a severe thunder- Itorm to seek shelter at John's farm There she comes In contact with her victim, and the result of the Interview Is an appointment for the fol- owlng afternoon on a nearb • hill John la on hand promptly Betty make* use and he ..f all the arts she knows to win him. leaves her completely fascinated Betty’s husband. Kvelyn Blundell, a naval ofTn-er. 1m on his way home to her from a foreign cruise She telegraphs her friend, Milly Cator, to detain him In London for another day in order that she may have the opportunity ror ano"'"r meeting with Ashley. Milly Cator. who was once In love with Blun- deL. lakes a mean revenge on Betty by banding him the letters telling of her aftalr with Ashley. Befor* going to his room to read the letters Blundell has a little flirtation with a restaurant ws-treSM. Blundell, deeply wounded at the revelation of Betty's faithlessness as made In her letters to Milly. remains In I^ondon. In the meantime Betty entertains Ashley one evening in her room, and later, while she is standing at the window In her nightgown, he cllmos u plhe wall • nd take* her In his arms The next, day she brutally tells him that all Is over between them because she Is married and Impatiently awaits her husband’s arrival. Concluded from Last Sunday. CHAPTER XIV. ‘■Faithful r U4RLY In the ning, furiously angry. “ Mrs. Blundell sent a telegram to her bus band and prepaid the reply. What right had he to stay at the Metropole while she had to put up with two Impossible rooms In an out-of-the-way hole In the country? It was un just. It was ridiculous. She was only there she argued, with dabs of angry color on her cheeks, at hla especial request. All this time she might have been in London, or near Lon don, at any rate in civilization, having a good time At midday, a telegram and a note were brought up to her 'he telegram was from Evelyn Blundell, the note from John Ashley. “Coming some time to-day," ran the first. The seoond centalned these eleven words: “Meet me on the hill this evening for the last time.” Anger left Mrs Blundell. Determination took Its place—a determination to get Blundell to take her away to London, to Brighton, to Dieppe, anywhere away from the country, where there were people, things to dress for, things to see; a determination to make him pay for not having hurried to her side. And she could make him pay, she said to herself, with a triumphant smile. In which there was not a little cruelty. She knew her husband well. She knew ezactly the temper of him, the nature of him. Ah, yes. he should be made to pay. She laughed a rippling laugh of amusement as she re-read John Ashley’s little note. Yes; distinctly it would be good fun to see him again. After all, he was an unktssed man Ho still existed as a subject for experiments, and it would be Interesting to see what manner of mood he was In. ; But she had plenty to do before the evening. Whether she ultimately decided on Brighton, Dieppe. Dlnard, or London, dress was a diffi culty. She would, she decided,, run through her wardrobe, and see how she stood—decide which dresses would pass muster as they were, which could be made to pass muster with a little manipulation, and which would have to be replaced. She gave little thought to her outstanding bills at the dressmaker’s. After all, Blundell oouldn’t expect to get everything for nothing. And so. In the best of spirits, she Bpent a large portion of the morning and afternoon trying on frocks, peering critically at them, patting them here and there, and making notes on a sheet of writing-paper. And she sang the while, as a bird sings, and flung her arms up gaily at the thought of leav ing the country she so heartily disliked. Like a child, she even stood and looked out at the magnificent panorama, spread In front of the window, and made a moue at It. Yes; after all, she had put In a fairly good time, she thought. John Ashley was very new. He had given her some excellent fun. He had proved to her, almost too convincingly, the fact that she had lost none of her power The evening came, as evenings have a knack of dping. She had been longer over her dress parade than she had Intended to be. Evelyn would be In the cottage before she could return from the hill. It pleased her to think that he would be upset at not finding her waiting to give him welcome. She dawdled a little In giving directions to Mrs, Weeks aB to dinner, and, for the same purpose, made her way quite slowly through the fields. She had no eyes for the dell- jato beauty of the evening, for the rich coloring of the corn, for the splashes in the hedges, for the whispers of the shaking grass, for the loud cantata of the birds. ’’Dinard, Dieppe, or London?" she asked herself over and over again. “Or London. It’s a bad time of year for Ixrndon, but there are the theatres, and there Is the Exhibition—that huge patch of gravel and painted can vas, popular chocolates and pop ular bands But there—there are people ^people! ” She .ooked at her watch, rest lng one pretty foot on the lower itep of a stile. By taking the art in which she had driven, Evelyn would be already in the cottage. She laughed aa she imagined hie disappointed face, and wondered now long It would be before Tie commenced to blaspheme Against the sky, erect and very still, stood Ashley, arms folded, chin low, watching her gravely as she went up. The expression In his eyes was curiously cynical, curiously bitter With a kind of shock Mrs. Blundell noticed that the young look she had so admired In him had gone. There were lines about his eyes and mouth; a peculiar slope about his shoulders He made no movement as she came nearer. Bareheaded, there he stood, with a never-ehang ing expression, like a man turned into a statue. insignificant, commonplace. She felt small and Ignoble by the elde of this cold, Impassive man, and all kinds of ridiculously feeble remarks fluttered through her mind. “Good evening,” she said finally, with a meaningless laugh, for which she hated herself. "What a beautiful evening " John Ashley merely continued to look at her ellently. “We have certainly been very lucky In the weather." she added, after a most uneasy pause, “Your corn is very good, Isn’t it?” Again she paused. Still Ashley remained silent, with his eyes going over her slowly. She felt that he could see Into her heart, and was a*are of the emptiness of It that be could see how poorly her nature compared with her appearance. She could feel the blood flooding her face. She bent down and plucked some grass. “You said you wanted to see me,” she said "I thought that you had always known that I was married. I’ve always worn my ring.” She caught his eyes. She knew that he was aware that she was lying. "My husband will be wait ing for me I think I’d better" ’’Stop!" he said quietly. “I have nothing te say, no reproaches to make. You have merely proved to me that my father knew what he w as talking about Before you go out of my life, will you kiss me once more?” Immediately Mrs. Blundell became herself, and Ashley dwindled before her eyes "Oh, yes," she said; "but you must,really be quick about It." He opened his arms and put them round heT. He drew her slowly toward him. looking down Into her eyes. Slowly ho bent his head. There was a gleam In his eyes; and as she looked at them her dream came back to her, and she felt his hands close round her throat. She tried to call out. She struggled wildly. He was killing her. A coarse laugh rang through the quiet, scent ed air, and she found herself falling to the ground. When Betty Blundell came to herself, as she did quickly, the first thing she noticed was that her stockings looked quite charming against the green of the grass; the second that her husband and young John were standing straight up look ing at one another quietly. She sat up, and rubbed her elbow and straight ened her frock and waited, with a sense of de light, for an outburst of blasphemy from her husband Her delight turned Into anxiety The silence so totally unexpected, so absolutely out of place, became oppressive. She-examlned her hus band’s face curiously, and then shot a quick glance at Ashley’s face There was none of the mutual hatred that sue expected and hoped to see upon either face— only an expression of sympathy. In the distance a sheep-bell tinkled, and the shrill voice of a boy frightening the crows away drifted up. Among the branches of a neighbor ing tree a linnet sang, and a bee, self-absorbed, one-purposed, hunted musically for a useful blossom. At last Blundell spoke. “Well," he said, “are you going to kill that dirty little woman, or Isn’t It worth your while?” With a shudder and a gesture of disgust Blun dell shook her off. "Faithful!” he said. “Faith ful?” "Yes. yes ’’ He took out the bundle of letters and flung them In her face. The veins stood out suddenly upon his fore head and his face grew red. “Get up,” he said; "your stockings won’t af fect me. And when you’ve got nothing better to do, run through those letters. They’ll amuse you. I shall allow you a third of my pay through my solicitors. You know how precious much that Is. But you won’t starve, worse luck I It would be a mighty fine thing if you could! Your sort don’t starve, but In order to live as you want to do, you’ll be obliged to fol low the oldest profession In the world like an honest woman, and no longer spend your life indulging In your amusin’ hobby. You’ll find at least one good woman among your new com panions—very much too good for you. Here’s your first week's pay.” With a sneer oif his face, Blundell dropped two sovereigns upon the grass at Betty’s feet. "Evelyn, Kvelyn,” she cried, "as God’s my Judge” With a hoarse, Inarticulate cry Blundell sprang at his wife and seized her by ths shoulders. All his rage and grief and wounded vanity and self-pity wore stirred, and they surged through his veins Into his brain. Mur- der was In his blood—a red hot, fiendish, Irresis tible desire to hurt, to smash, to wound, to stamp upon the beautiful thing who had tricked and Tooled him, whose life was a lie, whose touch was contamination, whose mind was warped and horrid and low The good little bad woman had used the same expression in defending a He. On her lips it had not sounded blasphemous. On the lips of this woman, this kind of woman : Blundell shook her as a dog shakes a rat. His lip was curled up from his teeth, and his breath came in gasps. He suddenly flung her away with an excla mation of horror, and stood shaking for a mo ment, as he realized what he had intended to do. Then he, too, turned on his heel and swung down the hill. Having sucked a clover-head dry, the bee moved off, and Its humming hung for a moment on the air. The boy raised his voice again in a long whoop, but at a greater distance than before. The Linnet's song ceased, and the bird dipped away. Below, the old clock sang the death and the birth of an hour. "Evelyn. Evelyn!” CHAPTER XV. The End, of It All VOTING ASHLEY opened the gate of the * little churchyard gently and closed it behind him. His hands were still shaking and his heart still beating quickly. He halted on the narrow gravel path, bor dered with Irregular lines of box, and took off his hat. He would not stand by his father's grave until he had mastered himself. There was not much to tell him, but lie would say what he had to say coolly. In the fading light he stood erect, with limp arms and pet face, among the graves of the villagers, young and old. Young and old, many of them had worked on the farm. Young and old, many of them iad been known to him by sight. Angry blood no longer rushed through their veins. Pain and happiness afflicted them no longer. They had escaped Then, at last, young Ashley made his way to the grave of his father. He took a revolver out of his pocket and placed It by his side. It was the one which had enabled the elder Ashley to take a short cut to death. He looked down upon the letters carved primly upon the stone and read them over mechanically—"John Everard Oampbell Ashley John Everard Campbell Ashley, born, died. For he loved, for he loved.” Swamping his great loneliness, forcing aside his grief, came a rush of intense bitterness. His face took on a sneer as he reviewed in his mind the small procession of days In which so much had occurred. He saw himself -vaklng up and going to bed with the sun, a sorrowful tbit not discontented man. He saw himself going HI Ik pfi •. .... 'Father,’’ he said, bending over the grave, Ashley shook his head without a word. Then he stooped and picked up his hat and Blundell watched the man who thought that he knew more than his father had known swing down the hill. A sudden feeling of fright seized Betty Blun- dejl. She scrambled to her knees, clasped her hands together, and cried out: “Evelyn, Evelyn!” Again the coarse tfaugh rang out. "Evelyn, before God I have been faithful to you—before God. Evelyn!” Blundell was not looking at her. He was watching Ashley The beautiful Betty Blundell crept through the grass and caught up her husband’s hand. you were right, after alL” through his day’s work with quiet energy and determination, painfully conscious of his father’s absence, but fully aware and approcla tive of the ripening beauty of the earth. He saw himself flung Into a state of chaos at the sudden apparition of the woman who had seemingly fallen from the sky. He lived over again the thrill, the bewilderment, the wonder, the desire. He heard himself appealing to his father to be let off his promise never to have anything to do with a woman of the world. With contempt he went through his blind infat uation, his implicit belief, his absolute and will ing capitulation. • He revived the feeling of ecstasy which noa- Vi sessed him as he stum bled blindly home, cer tain that all was right with the world, and that it was only a matter of days before he should possess her, body and soul; the sense of calm assurance and thankful ness which were his as he waited for her on the hill; the frightful shock caused by her cal lous announcement of the arrival of her hus band, His breathing became short, and the perspiration broke out on his forehead as he again felt his fingers tightening around the slim throat and the mad desire to prevent her, by death, from ever being held in an other man's arms. "Father,” he said, bending over the grave, "you were right, after all. I am sorry I asked you to let me off my promise. Her beauty took my breath away. I never had seen any thing so .wonderful be fore. I needn't tell you what she did. You can guess—all the same, it has done for me. I shall end it all with your pistol. Will you keep a lookout for me?” He leaned over the stone. His hand closed over the revolver. As he cocked it a thrush in a tree almost within arm’s length of him suddenly broke into a throbbing song. Young Ashley started guiltily and listened. In the song he caught a note of optimism and a love of life that put him to shame. He look ed round. The night had opened her eyes while he had knelt there. Over his head an evening star gazed down upon him steadily, "Coward,” croaked a frog at his side. "Coward,” whispered the wind. “Live, and thank God for His great gift,” sang the bird. “Put back that revolver. You are not the only living thing to know suffering. You are not the only one to meet with false ness and trickery. Go home and live it down. Go home, young Ashley, and oarry out your work. There are other women in the world, good, sweet women, whose lives are like the aroma of flowers, whose Influence in the world Is blown upon the wind. Don’t whine and grizzle like a schoolgirl because the only woman you happen to have met is not one of these Get up and play the man. Even If you don’t have the good fortune to find one of these, the earth Is very beautiful, and you are needed by the earth. Your father’s case was a different one. He didn’t take his life until he knew that the woman he had loved and had lost was free. He had lived without her for twenty-five bitter years, and he hurried, rightly or wrongly, to Join her. You have no such excuse. The crea ture who twisted you around her finger and dropped you when you had served her purpose belongs to no sex. You are badly hit, but the wound will heal. You gave her your heart. Don't feed the maw of her vanity by throwing her your life. Go home, young Ashley, Who knows how much you may be needed, there? Who knows, who knows—who—knows?’’ The song stopped as suddenly as it had be gun. .mother star came out and blinked cheer fully at him. Young Ashley slipped the revolver Into hi* pocket and rose to his feet. He was cramped and wet with dew. but his pulse was normal and his blood cool. “Father.” he said, ‘T am going back to the farm. Whether the bird said those things to me or not, they are true. There is work for me to do, and life is very short. I still refuse to believe that all women are alike, I will see. Good night, father.” Young Ashley shut the gate of the little churchyard after him softly and turned his face in the direction of home. Hope led him by the hand through the copse, not despair. There were two ways from the churchyard to Ashley’s farm—the long way over the Hog’s Back and the short way through the village. With a superstitious feeling for which he was unable to account, young Ashley chose the shorter way. ’’Who knows how mnch you may be needed at home,” ha repeated ’to himself again and again And the taster he walked, the louder rang this sentenoe In his ears. Blnoe the death of his father, young Aahley had not felt that he waa needed In the world. He gave work to a handful of men, and so en abled them to bring up their fnmllles, It la true. Old Sloke and his faithful wife depended upon him for a livelihood, It Is true. The poor woman and her little superfluous child Vould have to enter the workhouse but for his charity, It Is true. But others would carry on the farm if he were to give it up, and pay the same wages to his men and to the Slokes, and he could leave in the parson's care enough money to provide for the woman and the child for whom his father had been so sorry. And so the bare idea of his being needed at home again gave swiftness to his stride. So great a hold did the words of the bird's song take upon him J & I u*?' When Betty Blundell came to herself, as she did quickly, the first thing she noticed stockings looked quite charming against the green of the grass. that her * that he broke Into a run as he cleared .the . copse and turned Into the road. If, In passing, he had looked Into the post- office, he would have seen Mrs. Blundell, smil ing cynically, leaning over the desk, writing out a telegram. He would not have seen the wording of the message. Had he done so It would have conveyed very little to his mind. It was addressed to Valentine Worthing, 888 Plo- cadllly, London: “Meet me Paddington to-morrow, 2:45. “BETTY BLUNDELL.” But young Ashley's eyes were looking straight ahead. Betty Blundell and all to do with her must belong to the past She had played the chief part In a bad dream. He would root her out of his memory, he determined. All the same, his pace quickened as he ran under the window's of Mrs. Weeks’s cottage, and his teeth came together with a snap. He opened the white gate of the farm and pulled up. There were lights In-the kitchen and the sittingroom. But the place w-as as quiet as usual. He found old Sloke waiting on the threshold. He searched the man’s face eagerly. He saw anxiety suddenly replaced by relief. But noth ing else. He passed quickly Into the sittingroom and looked round wistfully. The lamp stood alight upon the table. The windows were open, and the scented air filled the room. The cat rose up from the hearth and rubbed against his ankles. The sheep dog charged at him, barking loudly. The lamplight fell softly upon the pho tograph of old Ashley. But the room was empty. With a feeling of poignant disappointment young Ashley sat down in his chair. “Who knows how much you may be needed at home?” What did that mean, if it meant anything? Young Ashley did not know whom he expected to find, but he had expected to find someone. There was no one. He was still alone. He was to remain alone, always. As he said these things to himself, young Ashley rose quickly and stood listening. He strode to the door and opened it. He could hear the rumble of old Bloke’s voice In the kitchen and the chink of crockery Nothing that was not usual. Then he shut the door and turned Into the room. With a sudden feeling of excitement he went over to his father's chair, which stood in the shadow. With difficulty young ABhley restrained a cry. With her golden head resting against the back of the chair, her long lashes lying on her pale cheeks, glistening with tears, her thin, black legs hanging limp, her hands crossed upon her lap, lay the little superfluous girl, fast asleep. From under her hands half an envelope peeped, with a black border. Young Ashley bent over the little girl, and held his breath. His heart beat quickly. He saw' his name upon the envelope. With the gentleness of a woman he drew the envelope away and crept to the lamp With a hand that trembled he opened the envelope and read the note. “Honored Sir—-But for your father and you, my baby and me would have starved or gone to tho workhouse. I have prayed to God to bless you both for your goodness every night of my life. I now write this knowing that I km going. It will be brought to you by my child when I am dead. She will need a friend. Dare I ask” Young Ashley dropped the letter upon ths table and flung his arms above hla head. “Oh, my God,” he orled in his heart, “this Is good of You. In a bird’s song Your message came, and I give You thanks. I am needed In the world. Here is a little girl who shall be one of the good, sweet women of the earth. I will guard her. Nothing of harm shall oome to her, ever.” With a smile upon his face, young Ashley tiptoed Into the kitchen. "Mrs. Sloke.” he said. In a whisper, "the little girl. When did she come?” "Well, theer now!” cried Sloke. "Dagged If Oi dldnt forget to tell ’ee about" "Never mind—her mother’s dead ” "Yes, sir," said Mrs. Sloke, "yesterday, poor thing! ” “She has asked me in a letter to take care of the child. I shall do so,” said young Ashley, holding his head high. "Get my father's room ready for her.” "The old master's sir?" There was surprise as well as pleasure In the woman’s voice. “Yes; and lay her place by my side at the table. ” A gush of tears came suddenly into young Ashley’s eyes. ‘Oh, Mrs Sloke,” he said, with the abandonment of a boy, "It is very good to be needed again." He returned to the sittingroom and stood looking down at the little girl. She gave a long sigh and opened her eyes. For a moment she forgot where she was Be wildered and nervous, her hands wandered about for the letter Then she slipped out of the chair and gave a curtsey. "Oh, Master John,” she said. ‘Tf you please, I came with a letter from—from" Her mouth trembled. She shut her eyes. Her little shoulders shook with sobs. Young Ashley sat down, put his arm round the child, and drew her head down upon his chest, gently. "Poor little girl," he whispered, "poor UUle girl, poor little gtrll It is like that with me, too. You have lost your motheT and I my father. We were both alone. But you will have me now, and I shall have you, and I will try and make up a little, If I can, for your loss. It will be a poor try, because no one oan ever make up for IL But 1 will help you keep your mother’s grave green, and you shall help me with my father's. Will you, little girl.” She put her hands against his shoulder* and leaned back and looked into his face. "Yes, Master John," she said. Then she flung her arms round his neck and pressed her fresh, sw'eet lips on his cheek. Young Ashley stood up and went over to the window with the little girl’s hand in his. A new moon hung shyly in the sky. “Who knows,” he thought, “who knows?” , THE l‘IXD. Copyright by th« E*s Kss Publishing Co. and BrtnUno’a. “The Plot for the Pennant” By HUGH S. FULLERTON, The Pioneer of Baseball Fiction Writers, Will be one of the many new features in Next Sunday’s American Better order at once and take no chance of missing the first inning of this great story