Newspaper Page Text
By Virginia T Van De Water.
CHAPTER XXVITI
S UMMER slipped into autumn,
autumn faded Into winter,
the life In the Middlebrook
tag* continued on I
nous way.
One Woman s
Story
tl r \' [ ] | ' TUNNEL GREATEST STORY OF ITS KIND SINCE JULES VERNE go
The Engaged
Girl
„ . _ . . ... . ■ ■ — ■ ■ i.mm... you cou id always find time for m*—
the German nt B«rr\n«rd K<v.*rmani»— p- " ■ if
and
anr~
cot-
rhat monoto-
Fletcher knew few of
for, alth
h several of
her. she did
her neigh b
the village]
not return their visit, She found th»m | likely to t?< t t
to be kind Kood-natured people, but | the meantime
those with whom she was brought Into
contact had tastes and manners entire
ly different from fiers.
It was now that she appreciated for
the first time that In marrying a man
on a lower plane of education, breeding
and refinement from herself, she was
cutting herself *>ff from the class to
which she belonged. There were in
Middlebrok families of culture, but none
these came to see her. The men of
such families, meeting Bert Fletcher on
the train, found him coarse and common
and took it for granted that his wife
(Cup>ri4bt«d I 1913. by International
TO-DAY’S INSTALLMENT.
“No; hut sometimes our benefits are
so much like impositIons that a near
sighted and quick-tempered man is
• two mixed up. in
ill we can do Is go
ahead. But don «. mistake th<* motives
I of your investors. You’ve simpiy
given them a new <'ff>ericn< a new
song, a song In keeping with the age.
You’re digging a hole and you're go-
■ ing to make them rich. It’s like the
i roar of the subway they can under
stand it. Bur that doesn’t make them
| like paying for rides to pay Interest
Ion watered subway stock.”
“Let’s go In and get one little
| drink,” suggested Allan, rising with
laugh. “I think you need U. Your
i mental vision is obscured.”
was like him, therefore never suggested “No,” returned Hives, as he. too,
that their wives and daughters should , r0 se, “my mental vision Is again busy
call on her and her mother. The pen- | regarding the ruins of the Tower of
pie of whom Bert Fletcher would have r»JvLi »•
made friends considered his wife "stiff
and haughty." Mary went out little, for
her household duties kept her at home
much of the time and she did not 1 ke
to leave her mother alone. Moreover
she herself was not well and shrank
from making new acquaintance*.
Early Breakfast.
So one day was much like another to
the young wife Each morning she pre
pared her husband’s early breakfast,
then cooked her mother’s breakfast, tak
ing her own morning repast after Bert
had started for his train. He was a
h«avy sleeper, and awakening him at 6
o’clock on a winter’s morning was not
an easy task He usually lay abed so
late that he had time to gulp down only
a hasty breakfast before leaving the
'house. Under these conditions the wife
could not cat w.th him. and he did not
cgoBt that she do so, but seemed very
willing to have her wait upon him,
bringing him his cereal, egg bread and
coffee as he was ready for them.
When the furnace fire was started at
the beginning of the cold weather. Bert
bad attended to it morning and night
Boon, however, he detailed the morning
shaking Mown of the furnace to his
wif« , and, as she did not demur, he got
Into tiie habit of letting her perform
this work. Several times lately he had
come home at night with his breath
smelling of liquor, and on these oc
casions Mary had advised him timidly
t. go to bod early,’’ and she had
bunked the fires for the night and. when
necessary, pumped the water into the
tank for use in kitchen and bathroom.
In the hours between her husband's
leaving and returning home. Mary toiled,
Hut only because in a country house
there is much actual toil to bo per
formed. but to keep herself from think
ing Sometimes Bert remained in town
all night, and she was conscious of a
sense of relief when he did this, even
while siie was afraid to wonder what he
was doing and if h»« breath smelt again
of whisky. Her father had never cared
for liquor in any form and she had the
horror of drunkenness felt by women
who have known only temperate men.
It seemed to her as if a dark shadow
were creeping stealthily into her life,
but she feared to face it.
There were days when Burt would ap
pear as his good natured, clear-headed
pelf, and then his wife tried to love him.
Hhe made herself consider his good
traits, and to talk of them witli her
m< tlier When her mother-in-law came
out at Christmas to make a visit, Mary
played her part so well that the preju
diced matron remarked to Bert that
pe'haps. after all, he had "picked a bet
ter wife" than she had at first feared
“But she ain't very strong. Bert.” she
warned him ”if you don't want a sick
ly woman on your hands, make her take
care of herself "
Herbert Fletcher laughed comforta
bly
“Oh, don’t you bother about her, ma,"
he said. “She never complains, and she
would if she was sick. Besides, she
don't work near as hard as she did be
fore I married her. Then she was In
Pearson’s all day, and doing housework
at home morning and night a^» well.”
She Did Not Answer.
<4nly once did Mary venture to speak
to h*r husband of the fear that gnawed
at her heart. It was the day after New
Year’s Mrs Fletcher. Senior, returned
to town on January 1, declaring that
she bad "Blood the lonesomeness of the
country” as long as she could. Bert
had esei rted her back to New York,
stating his intention of staying in town
that night Mary took it for granted
that he would dine with his mother,
but when, the next day Sunday he
came out on the morning train, she saw
by his heavt eyes that ne bad been up
late the night before, and noted that
them n* re still 11 e fumes <*t' stale to
bacco on hit. breath. Bhe said nothing
about the matter, however, until, the
noon meal dispatched, he threw himself
on the parlor sofa to read the Sunday
papers. Then he held out his hand to
her
“Sit here by me. why don’t you, Ma
mie? Perhaps the smell of my pipe
nkes you sick, does it?” he
T
A Crisis.
">HAT same afternoon Maud Allon
had a somewhat casual visitor,
an occurrence that might have
hgd strange results if Destiny had not
at once begun to move in the great
tunnel drama with inconceivable sud
denness.
The visitor was Ethel Lloyd. There
no reason why she should not
called on M s. Allan at the Tun-
!ty. excepting that she had not
ao for several
was
hav<
nel <
done
>ars A>*o, there
was no reason why she should have
two several and distinct ex uses. And,
furthermore, there was no occasion
; for her to blush when she gave either
une of th« rn -but she did all of these
:hings.
Mrs. Allan was somewhat flustered
j at first herself w hen the caller was
I announced, but she received the girl
with sweet cordiality. Hhe had Just
J been talking to her husband over the
telephone, and possibly this had some
thing to do with it. He told her Rives
was on his way down to Tunnel City
and that lie. Allan, had just been
(ailed to Montreal
“It has been a long time since I
have seen you," site said, as she
pressed the girl’s face and looked Into
the lovely face.
"Yes,” said Miss Lloyd, “I have
never been so busy. Papa gives me
more and more to do all the time, and
It seems to me I have hardly breathed
for a year."
"Mr. Allan tells me he sees you
occasionally.”
Their glances flickered and crossed
for an instant, and Maud felt a long-
formed aub-conscious suspicion leap
into a conscious certainty.
"Yes." the girl was saying, cajmly,
"papa has given me most of tHe de- I
tail of the tunnel work to handle.
But ” she smiled like a child, “I
didn’t come to talk about my work
I want to see yours."
"Mine7’’ Mrs. Allen smiled a little
vaguely.
"Yes. I've heard so much about
your model hospital and kindergarten
and all the rp-t of it for the working
people here. You know. I’m greatly
interested in that sort of work, too,
In my leisure time.”
A Peculiar Tone.
Mrs. Allan felt that the tone some
what belittled the great humanitarian
work she had carried on in the Tun
nel City, and resented It; but she
smiled as little Edith trotted out onto
the veranda where they were sitting.
“I can give it only my leisure time,
too." she said. “This is my real work.’
Miss Lloyd cooed over the child in
the most approved fashion, and then
suggested that she would love to sec'
j the hospital ami recreation building If
Mrs Allan could spare the time to
guide her. This was safe ground, and
the two women passed an interesting
hour on an inspection tour, in the
course of which Miss Lloyd insisted
that she be allowed to complete the
somewhat Inadequate Library.
“Mr. Allan is not here?” she In
quired, with just faint suggestion of
an effort to be natural. They had re
turned to the house and she was pre
paring to make her adieu.
Maud Allan and Jack Rives, tw<o human beings to whom what was, perhaps, the inevitable, had happened.
WHAT HAS GONE BEFORE
“N
, unfortunately," replied Mrs.
Allan, with regret. “He te
Solicitude for her welfare was not fre- 1 ephoned just at
court with him these* days, and his that he had been suddenly called to
kindly inquiry touched the unhappy Montr» r. 1. I w as expecting him this
woman. Hi e came to him swiftly, and, evening.”
hair up to the edge of the “That’s too bn<
>-«« ernhurrasacd'y, | i.loycl. sympatli.nl
you canto | " f
n ame up
he greetc
hand lightly with
drawing
sofa. spoke eager
touching i'is hug
trembling fingers.
“Bert. she began gently. “I don’t
mind the smell of tobacco. But lately
- i have worried Bert worried, dear
be
v. h
like
mio
frit
Tv.
pre * ■
Hi
on:
breath smells often of |
iky. and 1 h..ve been afraid
■v husband threw back his head with
•isterous laugh. "Little goose!" he
dined. "Have you let a silly thing'
that worry you? Look her, Ma- :
I do take a glass of liquor w ith & I
id sometimes, but it don't hurt me.
been doing it for years, and I don't
icse to stop it now. see**’’
wife did not answ er, and he went
don't know life, and you don't
*e. If you did you would under
hat business demands that I treat
now and then, and drink with
>, if I would rot seem like a
ate And, child,” becoming se
rious as he saw her anxious fare, "1
never take a drop too much, so don’t
let’s talk about the matter I'm
knew
rtaii
him, tr
free, white find a got
and 1 don't need mam
you Moreover," sett it
.»tubbornlyr “I don't t
from anv woman I>< i
won’t be bosseu!”
There
wavs past 21.
pment, even by
his square Jaw
an to stand it
forget that. I
«»f her forget-
th
fact, the wile mused bitterly.
’ exclaimed Miss
Uy. "How is he?"
Very well, 1 think, but badly over
worked. Sometimes he is unable tc
come home for even a few hours for
weeks together. My only fear is that
he will break down under it. He ha*
kept this up for years, but he thinks
that the work will be lighter from
now on."
Miss Lloyd shook her head as nnt
who longs to be optimistic, but can
not conscientiously. Her wonderful
eyes were filled w ith concern and Mrs.
Allan resented this, too.
"And now he has this new worry,”
said the girl.
Another Lie.
4>
Why Don’t You Get Rid
of That Corn To=night?
Where is the reason in paring, peel
ing, picking and gouging at that corr
when you have been at it for month.-
and it hurts more than ever" V l
can’t remove the whole corn that way,
but you can and do endanger yourseH
to blood poisoning. Yes. many deaths
have resulted from a careless slip of
the blade and an irritated, bleeding corn.
Jacobs’ Magic Corn Liquid is a scien
tific- formula from our <»wn laboratory
which we have thorough!> tested and
guarantee to be successful. There Is
positively no pain anti no danger in
method, and it will bring out an>
hard or soft, completely, root and
all. no matter how deep the growth. It is
surest and safest corn remedy that
nave ever sold. Use It to night and
rid of that painful, torturing corn,
c, by m«Md 22c.—(Advt.)
Mrs. Allan eyed her. questioning.
"I mean the financial one. You
know It was understood that we
would not try to raise the second
$3,000,000,000 until the work was
practically half completed. The ser
pentine tunneling at Bermuda ate up
such an awful lot mor* than was ex
pected that it won’t be possible it
finish more than a quarter of the on I
tire work on the first subscription I
and Mr. Allan is trying to figure out)
how he can make the showing s i
good as possible. But, of course, yj i
know about it.” she broke off.
“I knew something of It,” lied Mrs.
Allan, and she was angry because she
knew that Miss Lloyd could tell she
was lying.
There was no reason for her re
sentment, she told herself, on tins
particular count when her visitor was
gone. It was natural that Mac shoul 1 j
talk over many business things with j
Lloyd’s daughter, matters that he had !
no time for In the few softer mo- |
ments of h!s visits home. But w/iile
the intimacy between her husbanl
and Miss Lloyd might have been, and
might still be, all business on his side, I
Maud Allan knew that there was t
something beside business in Miss j
Lloyd's attitude toward her husbanl. >
Was this also true of him?
She asked the question with a calm- j
ness that startled her. Was this the j
reason that he did not find or make j
time for more frequent trips to Tun- '
nel City? Something gripped her
tight—something at her heart—when j
the thought came; but she was
shocked to find that It did not bring j
the desolation she would have been |
sure would have followed. She had j
leaped to arms instinctively when she
divined Mis< Lloyd’«s attachment for'
her husband but how much of h“r
readiness to do battle was prompted
by pride and the right of possession?
Was it true that he had grown a wav
from her and toward this wonderful
and masterful young woman in those
years 0 And, more amazing, was it
possible that she had ceased to re
gard him as the mainspring of her
life?
Possibly it wAs Iri nil that long
afternoon in which she struggled
with new and strange thoughts she
did not once consciously recall to
herself the fact that Mac was the
Edith, and when Rives
the steps In the twilight
1 him in a sudden warmth
of feeling she had never known be
fore.
It had not been a very pleasant
afternoon for Rives. He had hur
ried to his office where he had sat
for an hour gazing at the piles of
work before him, and bis thoughts
were far a wav from it His thoughts
were not altogether unpleasant, but
he, too. was undergoing a cu ss ex
amination at the hands of himself.
He came out of it well, he t< Id
himself, but Conscience still kept step
with him. He had a sternly re
pressed feeling of joy. a feeling that
a man forbids himself to recognize.
It arises from the knowledge that
what we have secretly desired to hap
pen Is happening, though we have
striven our hardest in our duty to
prevent It.
Bad News.
fused and groping. Then the sense
of his position came over him with a
rush.
"But, Maud! Maud! Mac is my best
j friend in life and—look! I’ve broken
every line of decency, of honor.
of ” He filled the hiatus with a.
groan.
A Woman’s Story.
"I understand, dear,” said the wom-
| an. Why is it that at a time like
this a woman Is so much the older
and surer of the two? She took his
limp hand and pressed It to her cheek.
“But you couldn’t help It, could
you?”
“No.” he groaned. 'T couldn’t he'p
loving you, dearest—God knows! But
I could help the—your knowing It—
this way.”
She laughed a. little low. tremulous
laugh. “Haven’t I told you, my big
honest boy, that I’ve know It for
ever so long?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know’ that you
knew—and that is where the hell of
It lies. And there is no hell quite as
hot as the one that waits for rhe
man who violates the home of his
friend.”
She pressed his fingers hard. ‘T
know, Jack, dear. I’ve thought about
this—I know how you feel. But this
is different. I wonder if that cooe
was invented by men so that they
might neglect their wives with im
punity? A man's wife ought to be the
biggest thing in his life, and no one
has a right to tamper with the big
gest thing in anyone’s life. But I
am not the biggest thing tn Mac’s life.
He would feel less the wrecking of
his home than the wrecking of his
tunnel. If I loved him in spite of It.
this would be all wronr. but I have
not loved him for a long time.”
“But, Maud,V he protested, aghast,
as the future opened before him.
"What can we do? I can’t go to
Mac and tell hint ill this. Ah—I
don’t see what else I can do and
hold any semblance of honor.**
“The trouble about ‘honor,’ Jack,”
she said, gently, “is that it admits
of too many definitions—all of them
made by men. Do you think It ?s
honorable—or even moral—for a
woman to hold the place and position
| of a wife when she no longer has for
a man the attachment that should
accompany that position?”
Rives shook his head and groaned
again.
“I can’t think—I can’t think about
It fo-night, dearest,’ he said patheti
cally, and he rosie to go. “I’ve got to
go down to the end of the workings
to-night—should have gone there
earlier. I’ll see you to-morrow, and
by that time we’ll have it thrashed
out. Good-bye—and God bless you!"
He took both of her hands in his
and, stooping, kissed them. She
watched, with that soft light in her
eyes, the bowed head, with its w’avy
hair, and she suddenly took it In her
hands and kissed It.
“Good-bye—till to-morrow’,” she
w’hispered, "and take good care of
( yourself."
me and—I let you stay. If I had been She stood at the head of the steps
as clever with myself as I was with and watched him until his white fig-
W
The story opens with Rives, who Is in charge of the technical work
ings of the great tunnel from America to Germany, on one of the tunnel
trains, with Bacrmann, an engineer. In charge of Main Station No. 4. They
are traveling at the rate of 118 miles an hour. Rives is in love wfith
Maude Allan, wife of Mackendrlck Allan, whose mind first conceived the
great tunnel scheme. After going about 250 miles under the Atlantic Ocean
Hives gets out of the train. Suddenly the tunnel seems to burst. There
is a frightful explosion. Men are flung to death and Rives is badly wounded.
He staggers thn tig!* the blinding sm/)ke, realizing that about 3,000 men
have probably perished. He and oher survivors get to Station No. 4.
Hives finds Baermann holding at bay a wild mob of frantic men who want
to climb on a work train, .somebody shoots Baermann, and the train slides out.
Tht scene is then changed to the roof of the Hotel Atlantic. The greatest
financiers of the country are gathered there at a summons from C. H.
LInvd, "The Money King " John Rives addresses them, and introduces Al
lan Mrs Allan and Maude Lloyd, daughter of the financier, are also pres
ent Allan tells the»company of his project for a tunnel 3.100 miles long.
'Hie financiers ague to hack him. Allan and Rives want him to take charge
of the actual work. Rives accepts. Rives goes to the Park Club to meet \\ it-
tersteiner, a financier. At Columbus CU< le news of the great project is being
flashed «>n a screen. Thousands are watching it. Mrs Allan becomes a lonely
and neglected woman and is much thrown in the company of Rives. Sydney
Wolf, the money power of two continents, plots against Allan and Rives.
Now Go On With the Story.
you I would have known why. But I
didn’t know—really—until to-day.”
Her voice was very, very low. “Now
—both of us know!”
He rose and stood before her, look
ing down. “And I never dreamed that
you guessed I—oh, Maud! I believed
that you never thought of anyone but
Mac—that you never loved any
one ”
Cast Aside.
"I wonder," she said, slowly, “if I
| ever loved him. I know f could have.
Jack—I know\ that! But I was so
ure was lost in the white background
of the road.
To Be Continued To-morrow.
THAT shall a girl say when she
receives an engagement ring?
Well, now, what dot you
think of a question like that?
Who gave you the ring, little sis
ter, and what did you think when r,%
gave it to you? Do you love hmv.
were you so happy you could scarce
ly breathe?
Well, then, why didn’t you say so,
and be done with It?
What shall you say. how shall you
act; is this proper; is that right?
The heart is the best judge when
it comes to things like this.
Is Your Heart Frozen?
What have you done to your heart
—frozen it up solid, reading a lot of
stuff about what is “the proper
thing” and "what isn’t done,” and who
ought to speak first and who must
never, never say a word though the
whole world be hanging in the bal
ance?
Etiquette—what etiquette Is there
about being engaged?
What do you think you'll do when
you come to die—ask some one to
read an etiquette book to tell you
how to shut your eyes and bid fare
well to this vain world?
When they put your first baby in
your arms, how In the world will you
know’ how to act unless some Mrs.
Grundy is there to tell you?
What! Shocking! Oh, yes, of
course, babies are dreadfully shock
ing, aren’t they, and so is life and so
is death and so is love and so are
lots and lots of things, but they are
real Just the same. And so, why
don’t you meet them like a real wo
man and not like some little, painted,
jointed doll that has to wait till you
pinch her even to say "Mamma” or
“Papa” in her squeaky little artificial
voice.
Wfiat must you say when he gives
you the ring, dear heart, what must
you say when he’s sick and wants
you to hold his hand and make him
something good to eat and pull down
the shade and make the room comfy
and read him something to send him
to sleep.
What Must You Say?
What must you say when you and
he stay up all night watching for tha
dawn to tell you whether she's going
to live or not?—the little girl you
both love so dearly.
What must you do when somebody
tries to take him away from you and
vour heart Is breaking and you don’t
really know whether he cares or not ?
What are you, little sister, any
how; a girl—a real live girl—or just
a make believe, cut-out of some
fashion paper with bits of feet that
couldn’t walk an honest step to save
anybody's life and tiny hands that
couldn’t put a biscuit into shape if
the fate of a nation depended on it?
What must you say?—why, say
what you think, say what you feel,
say what you mean—and stop think
ing about It, that’s all.
Before the decisive battle aTTshtlb an
, Ingenious method of signaling on the
I part of the enemy was discovered by
the Servians. A cowherd was taking
young when w\ were married. I had j five cows out to pasture on a hill half-
qever seen any other men, and Mac way between the two camps. He drove
was SO masterful and sure of himself ! them about, sometimes two together,
“I have had news for you. Maud. ’
he said, as he came up the steps.
She smiled at him—easy-moving,
sun-blackened and handsome, and
! dressed in white from collar to shoes.
“Have you?” Her tone was light
and lu iv eyet? soft. "Do you know
what you look like?"
H was a trill * taken aback, but
ho laughed joyously to find her in a
u sly
ed mood.
-tell me. I guess I can stand
a
c
To Women
Do Not Delay
If you ure convinced that
your sickness is because of
some derangement or dis
ease distinctly feminine,
you ought at once bring
to your aid
light
“N<
It."
"You look like a photograph nega
tive when you hold It up to the
fight,” she bubbled.
He threw his hat on a table and
slumped into a seat with an affecU.-
tion of affront.
he reproached her.
playing tennis to
frace and gone hat
athletic color—and*
fresh from a bath
pected at least that
"That’s nice.”
“Her** I’ve been
keep my pristine
less to g< t a fine
even now I am
and a shave. I e
Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescription
say I looked
ing before a mo
It acts directly on the T*
organs affected and tones yj
the entire system.
Ask Your Druggist 2
!
you were going to
young god alight
damsel. Insten
told I look like a dolled-up nigger,"
"Tin reward of foppishness." .*-d *
iold him. But what is the bat!
"Mac can’t get down to-nicht.”
She nodded. "I knew it, ’ she In
formed hiui gravely. "He telephoned
this afternoon. He has been called
to Montreal.”
"To Montreal?”
"That’s what he said.”
"Hm! Oh, yes. -that Canadian steel.
Well, that won’t take him long."
"I hope not. In the meantime, we
needn’t wait dinner until he gets
back.”
Rives smiled hack at her as they
went into the dining room, but his
smile was a little puzzled. He had
never shn her in quite this mood bo-
•fore. It was not her custom to take
disappointment in the matter of Mac’s
visit in this seeming'off-handed way.
But his heart leaped as he told him
self he had never seen her so lovely,
so alluring.
A Ead Meal.
It was a mad sort of meal. Maud,
in some filmy white dress, sat across
the table from him and laughed and
talked in light-hearted abandon.
There was softness in her eyes as she
looked at him. a softness in her sil
ver voice as she lq^iglied at him and
softness in her fine-spun hair in the
mellow’ light- and all of it went to
his head like wine. And through all
of it there w’as a barely sensed tense
ness as of expectancy.
At last she rose and held out her
hand to him w’ith a bewildering smile.
‘Tome out on the piazza,” she said.
“We can have our coffee and your j
cigarette out there.”
Looking back and laughing like a
child she led him out to the piazza
| where the coffee and cigarettes were j
| served. It was a wonderful night, and |
• the magic of it came upon them so |
that they sat long in dreamy silence, i
I Out ,beyond in the white moonlight
j the great white horses of the Atlantic j
were racing shoreward and the swish !
of their manes and the thunder of I
their charge came up to them from j
the strand. The fresh salt air was j
scented with perfume of sweetpeas j
I that grew in the thick tangle along |
| the rail. The beat and clamor x>f i
the tunnel working far inland were J
j only a faint murmur.
Rives’ gaze was out to sea. His
cigarette burned down to his fingers; |
until, at last, he tossed it over the {
railing and turned to her with a sup- j
pressed sigh. There was only a small
low stand betw en them and their
chairs faced the sea. Maud was
loaning her elbows on the arm of her
chair, watching him. Her lips were
parted in a wonderful little smile. The
Piazza was in shade, but there was a
light in her eyes that shone through
the darkness.
He was conscious of no will to
move, but as if drawn by the witchery
ed his face and—their lips met.
"Maud! Maud! Maud!” he whisper
ed brokenly and her head rested
lightly on his shoulder.
Then suddenly he almost pushed
her from him and sprang up.
“My God!” he exclaimed.
The Reaction.
Maud sat with her head bowed and
he could not see her face. His head
was whirling and there was singing
in his ears. He could not seem to
grasp that that which had happened
had happened, and when realization
came it brought with it a stab of an
guish.
"Now—I’ve done it!" he exclaimed
in a low voice. "Maud—Maud—can
you ever forgive me?"
The pain in his voice rather than
the question made her look up at
him Her own voice was low’ and
steady.
“There is nothing to forgive on your
side."
-just the sort of a man to take a girl
then one at a time, then three, thus
H
E stood for a moment in rigid
silence and then suddenly sat
beside her again and took her
hand.
"Maud—Maud,” he began. "I can’t
—I don’t ■”
“Don’t try. Jack,” she interrupted
gravely. ' “It wasn’t your fault.”
“But it was—It was!” he cried,
dropping her fingers and clutching his
hair with both hands. His “code”—
his system of honorable living—had
been shattered from end to end.
“If there was any fault," she said,
slowly and distinctly, “it was mine,
Jack.”
conveving Information to the Bulgarians
by storm. When he proposed to me as tQ the poalt1on an<1 strength of the
and 1 put him off I got a note the ; Servian battalions.
next day—like a business letter—glv-
ing me 24 hours to decide. That took Th « Mountaineering Club of Baber-
me. But theAvoman in me never truly hauser. In the Harz Mountains, has pre
loved him—it was onlv the girl's ado- I sented a diploma to Frau von Hansteln,
He could only groan miserably.
“You see. (dear boy," she went on
softly, stroking his hand with her fin
gers. “I’ve known that you loved me
for ever so long.”
At this he straightened with a sort
of gasp and stared at her. She smiled
gently upon him.
"Didn't you suppose that I knew?
Why, Jack, you are so open and frank
and honest that I am glad that there
have not been other women around
here much. They would have seen it
as easily as I have.”
“But why—why did you let me ”
Her eyes fell. “I knew you loved
loved him—it was only the girl’s ado
ration for a strong man, He won the
girl and he never thought it neces
sary to win the woman."
“Do you mean ” he began won-
aeringly.
"I mean, my dear boy, that the
love of the woman was cast aside for
the honor of digging a bigger hole
than anyone had ever dug before,”
she said, without bitterness. “Please-
don’t think I am spiteful or small or
ungenerous. I glory in Mac’s achieve- I
ments and am proud of his greatness, i
I told you that one night when we
rode up the Lakewood road. But a j
man doesn’t win and hold the love of
a woman by digging remote holes in
the ground.”
“You don’t think Mac doesn’t love
you!” he exclaimed. “You know that
everything he does is for you.”
“Sit down. Jack," she gently ordered
him. And when he had mechanically
obeyed: “That is a very beautiful
thought. It is what young girls be
lieve of the man they love; but grown
women know better. A man’s love |
doesn’t find expression in steam shov- i
els. Y r ou know and I know that Mac !
would have built this tunnel no mat
ter whether he had ever seen me or j
not. When a man says that every
thing he has done Is due to his wife,
It is merely \ beautiful compliment.
The wife, if she has any sense, knows
that it isn’t true. Can you imagine
yourself building a skyscraper at Rio
Janeiro as a proof of your love for
me?”
"Not that, exactly,” he conceded,
feebly, “but ’*
“Let me finish,” she interrupted.
"You have been nearly as busy as
Mac. You have been called awav :
from here when it would have be n
easier for you to stay a week—but
you have come back. sometimes j
every night, at the cost of sleep an 1 !
rest and comfort to have an hour
with me. Your work Is just as im
portant to you as Mac’s to him—bit
a 75-year-old lady, who last month
made her sixtieth ascent of the loftiest
peak of the range, a snow-clad crest
4,000 feet high.
TTiree nuns have Just left Montreal to
spend the remainder of their lives in the
leper colony at Sheeklung Island, near
Canton All three are only a little more
i than twenty years of age. For a time,
i at all events, they will be the only nuns
i to care and tend for four hundred Chi
nese women suffering from the awful
i disease of leprosy, and a separate hos-
1 pital has been erected for them by
i Father CoYirardy and his few assistanta
Who Was?
L/lttle Biffins—Jolly party that at
the Highflyers last night. Is It true
you were the only sober man In the
room after I left?
His Reverence (shocked)—No, cer
tainly not!
Little Biffins (Innocently) — By
Jove, you don’t mean that? Who was
then?
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