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Chattanooga, Rome & Columbus Railroad.
Eugene E. Jones, Receiver.
Passenger Schedule in effect Oct. 30th, 1895.
SOUTH BOVNI
Passenger No. 2. a. m. Accommodation No ]0 a.in
I,v < lull ta nooga 725 ... ...509
“ .('hicka manga . sol 625
•*. . I aib’il,volte S3l 730
*• *<ii minui’vilie. . .... Oil 92'
•■.... ilorno 10 26 ...» .12 25 p. m
“ .(’ad a clown .. II 13 311 “ No. J?
“ Hu lianan 12 02 p. in. 5 10 ........ ..
“ .. Atlanta 645a. m 540
*• . 12 20 p. m. 610
Ar., al < larrol Iton . ..... 12 50 700
“ .. Now nan 305
“...(• rillin 715 -... .
NORTH ROUND.
Lv. < Irillin 6 15am
Newnan 9 40..... Accommodation .No. 11 ,
Carrollton .... lisp.ni., 3 25 a. m
Ar„ at \i I anta ... 350 ~s 60
Lv Bremen .1 15 .. 630
Buchanan 2 03 7 oo
Cedartown . 252 No. 9. ..9 50
Homo 339 11 20 p. m
Summerville. 151 2 oo
i'hiek alnauga . 604 .. ..5 10
Ar. at Chattanooga. 6 10 6 15.
Noh 1 and 2 arrive a! and depart from Central Station at Chattanooga Nos.
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“Well, perhaps yen are right,” ad
mitted Mrs. Ellery reluctantly, as though
■ yielding to the inevitable with what
g.*aee she might. “But with so much
happening at once—oh, dear, what will
i come next?’ ’
“Oh, don’t make it a serial story, to
be c.iiitinued in our next,” cried Edith,
laughing rather crazily as she gathered
up her hat and gloves, moving toward
her room. “It will be like the core of
the little boy’s apple, Nelsiue. There
won’t be any next. ”
CHAPTER XII.
Mrs. Hallet, widow of the late Rich
ard Hallet, lawyer and politician, pos
sessed one of the most beautiful hemes
in that most beautiful of residence quar
ters, the Capitol hill of Denver, but it
i had come to be remarked by her friends,
with good humored smiles, that she was
) seldom to be found there save when her
| journeyings elsewhere had so clogged
I her footsteps with accumulations cf
brie a-brac that she was fairly driven
back to this delightful dumping ground
to disembarrass herself. Certain it was
that since the death of iter husband, fob
lowing soon after the birtli of their only
child, some three years before, the wood
bine climbing the walls had had the
handsome graystone structure very
much to itself, the fair mistress of the
mansion, as often as she returned, seem
ing ever seized with a new restlessness
impelling her toward another departure.
There were those to remark that Bar
bara Hallet’s evident lack of love for
her home might be due to the fact that
for her perhaps tlio place was peopled
| with a company of ghosts she would
' fain escape. It was generally under
stood that her married life had been
unhappy, her husband having been no- i
toriously untrue to her, but for what- i
ever sins of omission or commission
Dick Hallet might have been guilty of
toward his wife he had made what
atonement he might by opportunely dy
ing, and now it appeared that the lady
must be unreasonable indeed if she im
agined any just cause for complaint in
it lot so fair. She was young, charming
in person and manner, and, as might
have been expected, greatly admired
and sought after, with wealth sufficient
to gratify every reasonable desire, while
she had her beautiful boy to give breadth
and purpose to her life.
“But wo were perishing with ennui,
baby and I,” she gayly declared when
she was making Edith Ellery welcome
in tile prettiest guest chamber, one
Whose windows looked across a vexed
sea of roofs ruffled with waves cf sway
ing tree tops, across the vast sea of
blalhs beyond, bare and brown as a
beach at low tide, on to the royal moun
tain range lost in the blue mists of the
horizon line at north and south, that
' ruffli <1 line of shadowy pinks and grays
and purples flecked with eternal snows
—to Mrs. Hallet, as to most Denverites,
one of the grandest views which earth
might offer. “If there is any place
duller than Denver in July, it must bo
Denver in August. So far as appear
ances go, the city has its best foot for
ward in summer, but socially we are I
simply dead. ’ ’
“Ah, the luxury of being dead for a
little while!’’ returned her guest, with ,
something in her laugh which called a ;
keen light of inquiry into the soft blue
eyes which had a certain trick of seeing !
most where they assumed to notice
least. “You could promise me nothing
better. ’ ’
Although they had known each other
but a short time, a warm affection had
grown up between these two. It had !
happened a few mouths before this time
that Barbara Hallet, returning with her
boy from a winter in Egypt, had loiter
ed in New York for a few weeks, when
Edith, opportunely visiting in that city,
had received a peremptory demand from
the Wyoming ranch that she go forth
with to call upon Nelsiue’sdearest friend
from Denver. From a matter of duty
this call had developed into a delight.
Edith had fallen in love with the
charming widow at first sight, and find
ing her planning a visit to her old home
in a Massachusetts village had urged
that the journey be extended to include
a visit with her in Boston. This, duly
occurring, had afforded opportunity to
develop the impulsive affection each had
conceived for the other, leading even
tually to their journey west together
and 11 Edith's visit in Denver now.
She could not have come to a better
place to recover from the severe mental
as well as physical strain to which she
had been subjected. Barbara Hallet
was that rare type of woman who can
entertain without overentertaining her
guests. Full of gracious thoughtfulness
for the stranger within her gates, she
was yet too unselfishly equipped with
tact and womanly intuition to make
her attentii ns intrusive or burdensome.
To follow a guest about all day long
with pestering sociability, as fussy, tact
less worn, ii are ever doing, was a night
mare of duty which could not enter her
mind. And Edith Ellery found herself
in a gracious calm for which she was
duly grateful. So fast events had trip
ped <>n ' tie another's heels that now, in
surpassing weariness of body as well as
mind, the memory of the days just
passed was as but the blurred outlines
cf a dream. It was as though she had
awakened in another world, to woo for
getfulness in a languorous repose in
which no note of discord could ever
sound. With all the love which had
grown up between them there had not
been time in their brief acquaintance
for anything like a real intimacy. Their
lives had but touched -on the surface.
But Barbara Hallet had missed little
that came within the range of her bright
eyes during her two and thirty years of
looking upon life, and she had been
quick to perceive the change which this
slu irt month had wrought in her friend.
“I am afraid Wyoming did not agree
with you,' ’ she observed tentatively one
day while Edith was lying on a couch
Bear by iu that inert listlessuess which
now seemed habitual- “I don't wonder.
The dullness of that ranch life must be
nearly insupportable 1 am surprised
that Nelsinecan endure it as she does. ”
1 “She has Hugh, you and he is i
so perfectly devoted to her, ” Edith sug
gested perfunctorily, as if finding an ef
fort in speaking at all. “They are very
happy together. ”
“I know,” a light of smiling enthu
siasm on her face. “It is beautiful—
their devotion —as beautiful as it is un
usual. Their happiness in each other
should be a lesson for you. ”
“For me! And why for me?” looking
up surprisedly, a faint flush showing on
her cheeks.
‘‘Because someday you will marry
I yourself. ”
“And you think 1 should”—
“Marry some good fellow whom you
Can lovo just as Nelsine does Hugh. ”
“Oh!” the girl exclaimed in a curi
ous tone, turning away her face. But
after a moment she added, not looking
up: “But what if it is not one’s nature
to feci or to simulate great passion? Nel*
sine says she thinks it is not in mo to
make a goose of myself that way. ”
“Then you would better not presume
; to ge t married, ” Mrs. Hallet declared,
with a dry laugh, “for a married old
inaid is a hopeless case. ”
“But do you not think that there can
bo such a thing as rational friendship
between a man and wife, giving happi
ness, even though sentiment is left out
of the bargain?” asked the girl eager
ly after a short silence.
“No, 1 don’t,” returned the other,
very decidedly, her blue eyes quietly
studying the flushed face that seemed
trying to hide Itself behind the sofa pil
lows. “No woman’s heart could ever be
satisfied for more than a moment with
i Such a paltry makeshift, while, what
ever the quality of a man’s love, ho
never fails to demand full measure of
passion in his wife and to feed defraud
ied of his right if it is denied him. If
you are ever tempted to try such an ex
periment as that, dear, my advice to
you is—don’t.” She laughed playfully,
but there was a certain something in
the depths of her eyes which reminded
Edith of all Nelsine had told her about
Mrs. Hallet’s own married life.
“Why, thank you. I will at least
remember your good counsel,” but the
ansv.x ring playfulness was rather forced.
There was a silence of many moments
between the two women. Little Paul
had brought his plump pug to play on
the bearskin at his mother’s feet, filling
the pause with a merry monologue.
“Cough, Tommy, cough!” he would
gayly command as his plump fists pat
ted the wrinkled little back, and the
small bit of solemnity, grown so fat it
could scarce do more than kick in the
fullness of exceeding content, would
obediently give vent to a lazy growling
which seemed curiously to delight the
child’s sense of humor. “Oh, mamma,
isn’t Tommy a joke?” he cried in a
gurgle of childish laughter, throwing
himself upon the floor. Both women
laughed in sympathy with his abandon.
“What a darling he is!” Edith ex
claimed, watching him with tender
eyes.
“Is he not?” murmured the mother
in a glow of happy pride. “And he is
so much like my brother Paul, for whom
: be is named, when he laughs like that
I —as Paul was at his age. I have a pic
ture of us both taken together wb.cn we
were little tots, and the resemblance is
very striking. I must show it to you •
some time. ’ ’
“I did not know that you had a broth
er, ” Edith observed, sinking back upon
the cushions once more. “A brother
Paul. It is a pretty name,” the last
Words curiously faltering.
“Poor fellow! Ido not often men
tion him,” Mrs. Hallet returned, sigh
ing heavily. “He was the dearest fel
low.”
“He is—dead?”
“Yes, he was killed in a railway acci
dent years ago. It was a dreadful shock.
I adored him. ”
“How sad it must have been!” trying
to speak with feeling, yet conscious of
a certain hollowness in the sound of her
own voice. It seemed as if her heart
were so completely filled with its own
heaviness as to have no real emotion
left for others’ sorrows.
“It is sad. We never escape it, ’’ Mrs.
Hallet went on absently, “for it is the
one point on which poor father’s mind
is not quite right. Paul was his only
sob, and there were circumstances which
made it very sad, his dying so. Father
never recovered from the shock. He in
sists that Paul is not dead; that some
day he will come back. He has his
room always ready for him. He men
tions him always at family prayers. He
is continually referring to him in con
nection with the property after he, fa
ther, shall be gone. He has never even
had a monument placed over the grave,
although he brought the body home. ”
“He was dead, then, really?” Edith
faltered, drawing a long breath, her
thoughts reverting to that other Paul
for whom an empty home place like
this might somewhere be waiting.
“Oh, yes. There was no smallest
doubt about that. Poor dear boy! It is
such a comfort to me that Paul is like
him. I was so fond of him. ”
“Yes,” Edith listlessly assented.
Why should it hurt her so merely to
think of him, this other Paul who was
alive? But he, too, was dead, dead to his
people, dead to her! Why should she
think of him? What good could it do?
He was dead—dead—dead! She sprang
up restlessly, beginning to pace the
floor.
Mrs. Hallet caught hold of her gown
as she passed. “What is it, dear? 1
have been selfishly prattling of my trou
bles. It is your turn now. Tell me and
let me help. ”
“Why should you imagine that there
is anything to tell?” the girl demanded,
half defiantly. Y’et, her mood changing
in an instant, she sank to a hassock at
her friend’s feet “But of course there
is—why should I deny it?—though I am
afraid it may seem to you such a trifling I
matter that you will but laugh at me.”
“Try me and see,” answered her
friend, stroking the flushed cheek ca
ressingly.
“It is only that somebody asked me
to marry him, and I didn’t know what
to say, ” Edith confessed, with a hyster
j ical burst of laughter, “But you have
helped me, dear; your words hare been
as apples of gold. ”
“But what did I say?’’looking pus-
Bled.
“You said if I were tempted to try
the experiment—don’t!” She laughed
again, a queer, mirthless little laugh.
“I said 1 would remember your good
counsel. ”
“Then you don’t—love him?”
“No. ”
Mrs. Ballet bent down and kissed her
tenderly. “I suppose I know who he
is,” she murmured tentatively. “I met
him at your house. ”
“Yes, and I had taken a month to
' consider my answer, which I am afraid
1 i "' j I
i i ;■'■■■"• I
“Then yon don't—love him ’”
| I gave him reason to think might bo
I yes. Oh, Barbara, how could I, do you
I think?” the girl moaned in a voice of
j anguish, burying her face in the other’s
lap.
“Ho is very nice,” Mrs. Hallet mur
; mured undecidedly.
“Ho asked mo to wire him when 1
j got here, ” tho girl went on breathlessly,
| not heeding the interruption. “He is
| going through to California, and ho
wanted to be sure of seeing me here,
and all this morning I have been wild
with tho thought that I must wire him
I today if he is to have the message be
j fore leaving Boston, and yet—what to
' say?”
“But you know’ now?” surveying the
; flushed face anxiously. “Don’t be hasty,
j dear. ’ ’
“Do you call it hasty to take a month
to say no? I think he will rather be dis
posed to complain that I have been so
slow. ’ ’
“You are sure you do not caro for
him?” urged tho other very tenderly.
“Oh, I know it! I have known it for
a month, only I would not admit it,”
she said, with such curious repressed
feeling in the tone that Mrs. Hallet
started.
“Is it that there is somebody else,
darling?” she murmured in the small
I pink ear, her arms around the girl,
j “Why should there be? Why should
you think it?” angrily drawing back
from the embrace, but on the instant
her bravado had failed her, and with a
pitiful, inarticulate cry she buried her
burning face in Barbara Ballet’s neck.
“Forgive me, darling. I understand, ”
murmured the older woman, triumph
and tenderness mingled in her soft
j smile as she bent to kiss a bit of the
white neck revealed below the disordered
■ knot of hair. “Some day you must tell
I me all about it. ”
CHAPTER XIII.
The tall clock in the corner of the
| hall, in five slow, clanging strokes, was
ringing a knell for another dead hour
as Edith Ellery, dressed for a drive,
came gingerly tripping down that great
oak staircase whose exquisite polish was
of a sort to almost audibly cry a warn
ing to unwary feet. Never could the
girl have looked more lovely than now,
as she settled herself in a corner of the
high backed seat in the shadow of the
stairway, her cheeks Hushed as though
they burned to rival the smiling, red
lipped mouth, her brown eyes shining
! with a sort of scintillant glow, like bits
jof polished gold stone. It was in nat
• ural reaction from the gloom which had
! lately so heavily oppressed her that
now, for the moment, she was almost
riotously happy. She had forgotten to
reproach herself for her weak and vacil
lating attitude toward Marshall Wood
bury. She did not care to think what
the future might hold in store. She only
exulted in the thought that within the
hour, when once her fateful message
was flashing over the wires, she could
feel that she had finally severed the last
knot of that foolish tangle into which
she had blundered. She could have
shouted for gladness in the mad sense
of freedom that was hers once more.
She idly picked up a newspaper, but
she was too excited to read. The strik
ing of the clock had suggested a new
idea, reminding her of the difference in
time between Denver and Boston. Mar
shall Woodbury by this time must have
left his office for the day, and her mes
sage, if directed there, could not reach
him before the next morning. In her
impatience to have the matter settled
beyond question she debated if it would
not be better to have it follow him to
his house, and yet, hesitating, with a
whimsical smile—it seemed that she
could scarcely take any question serious
ly just now—she reminded herself that
he might perhaps prefer not to have his
good night’s sleep haunted by such
words, fidgeting uneasily as she saw
herself confronted again with the vexed
question of just how much this man
really cared for her. In truth, it had
been a certain jealous distrust of the
real depths of his love which had held
her back in the first instance, when she
had been most disposed in his favor, a
I haunting conviction that there had been
i more of cool reason than of passion in
. his choice, and there was a touch of sar
casm in her smile now as, with a shrug,
j she decided that the telegram should
i follow him to his pillow if perchance
;it might go rough directly. There was
j satisfaction of a sort in her belief that
I she was not, after all, to hurt him over- !
I much, but her woman’s heart was still j
capable of a touch of unreasoning soro
! ness that, since he had presumed to call
i himself her lover, he had riot loved her
( a little more.
It was this slight, unacknowledged
pique perhaps which lent a flavor of al- I
most vengeful zest to the feeling with
which she repeated over to herself the
words she planned to send him, check
ing off the number carefully with her
small gloved fingers, for, like most
women of little acquaintance with that
time and labor saving device of modern
communication, she was impressed with
a vague conviction that to send more
I than ten words by telegraph was some- '
hew forbidden by law, while to send
less would have been an impossible af
front to that passion for getting the
worth of her money innate in every I
woman’s heart. But to convey her
meaning clearly in such meager phrase j
and in such terms that its sentimental |
oumort should not be patent to every I
callow operator who listened to the
Clicking of the words between that point
and Boston seemed a matter deserving
of all serious consideration.
“Cannot see you here. Useless and
painful. Will write. ” The words came
within the prescribed limit certainly,
but there was room for one more, re
garding with a puzzled frown the little
finger of her left hand, sticking stiffly
away from its fellows, as though bound
to call attention to the fact that it had
been left out in the brief scale. And
then, had any one been watching, he
would have seen a strange light flash
into the eyes which had been absently
regarding that paper upon her lap, while
all tho bloom as suddenly faded from
her face as if the hand of death had
fallen upon her. She was staring dizzily
at a column whose flaring head lines
her rigid fingers seemed to be pointing
out, as though moved by the fates to
compel her attention:
“Discovery of an Organized Band of
Horse Thieves In Wyoming. Startling
Developments. Arrest of the Ringleader
of the Gang, Paul Brown, a Man Hith
erto Held In High Esteem Among the
Cattle Men. Fears That He May Be
Lynched. ”
So far she read uncomprehendingly,
dully going over the lines a second time
before the full meaning of the words
| seemed clear to her, but then, with a
smothered cry, she caught the sheet
I closer to her blanched face, hurriedly de
vouring the finer print which followed:
CIIEYKXNE, July 8, IS--.
For some time past the cattlemen of this sec
tion have suffered severely from the depreda
tions of rustlers, who seemed to be working
in a regularly organized band, scattered in
■ different parts of the state, passing the stock
i from hand to hand, altering brands and clev
erly hiding their tracks until detection seemed
! Well nigh impossible. All attempts nt unearth
i ing the gang have proved unavailing until
j now, when the man who has undoubtedly been
tho ringleader in the nefarious work is safely
lodged in the custody of the sheriff at Chey
enne. It happened on the night of July 4 that
two valuable horses were stolen from the K 6
ranch on big Cow creek, one of them, evident
ly as a elever ruse to ward off suspicion, a fine
animal belonging to Paul Brown himself, the
man under arrest, who was employed on tho
place as a horse breaker. A trusted agent of
the Wyoming Stock association at once repaired
to the place upon learning the circumstances
and with his accustomed skill quickly succeed
ed in unearthing one of the most brazen
schemes of rascality which this region has ever
developed. It appears that on the night in
question there was a dance at Cottonwood, a
small hamlet a dozen miles on the other sice
of K G ranch, to which all the boys belonging
on the place, with the exception of Brown, had
gone. It was remarked at the time as rather
singular that he so determinedly resisted all
importunities to make one of the party, but
business before pleasure was evidently the rul
ing principle with this young man.
A young lady residing at the place now tes
tifies that she was awakened about midnight
by mysterious sounds, and, going to the win
dow of her room, which faces the barns and
corrals, distinctly saw in the moonlight this
fellow Brown making for the stables. Curious
as to what had taken him forth at such an
hour, she sat waiting at the window to see him
return and thinks she must have fallen asleep,
as the clock was striking 3 when she found her
self rousing up, while at the same time she saw
Brown loitering under the trees, having evi
dently just returned from his strange errand.
Tracks loading through the corral indicate
that the horses were taken off that way, while
all the signs point toward a course in the di
rection of the Lost river country, where Brown
has a range of his own. The girl’s evidence,
though given with reluctance, is positive and
direct, while Brown admits the truth of her
statement as to the time of his going toward
the barns, although he stoutly denies his
guilt, offering the remarkable explanation
that, though he started for that point, he, for
some caprice yet unexplained, turned aside to
gaze at the moon through the long hours other
wise unaccounted for. There seems little ques
tion but that this peculiar sentimentalist was
gazing at the moon on this particular occasion
from the buck of his own horse, which was
taken merely as a blind, while he rode out to
hand over to a confederate one of the most
valuable little fillies in that section of Wyo
ming. Great excitement prevails over the ar
rest in Cheyenne, where the young man has
hitherto borne a good reputation, and star
tling developments are expected. The sheriff
announces his determination to protect the
prisoner at all hazards, but the stockmen are
aroused over their losses, and it is rumored
upon the streets that a necktie social is among
the possibilities.
Edith seemed fairly paralyzed with
the growing sense of amazement and
horror as she read. It was a morning
paper, and that communication from
Cheyenne was dated the day before,
dully turning the paper over to look.
“Perhaps even now—O God! O God!”
she gasped and choked with the whis
pered cry. All the air seemed suddenly
exhausted in the room. She had an odd
difficulty in breathing, and everything
showed blurred in a dull monochrome.
She knew too well the temper of the
cattlemen as to their losses to doubt
that there might be short shrift for one
proved guilty as a rustler, whoever he
might be. She could even believe that
their indignation, turned toward Paul
Brown, might burn the more fiercely
from the feeling that they had so long
been hoodwinked by a clever rogue.
And he—ah, he—had sworn to her—she
had demanded the vow—that he would
never betray the silly secret of that
night, come what would, and she knew
that he would go down to his death, if
need w’ere, keeping his w'ord.
Against the dark background of con
fused thought his face was clear before
her—that strong, resolute face betray
ing in every line the firmness of charac
ter which, nursed as a virtue, had de
veloped toward an unyielding obstinacy
bordering on a vice. Once a resolution
had assumed shape in that man’s mind,
were it but the outgrowth of a whim,
his impulse would be to hold to it at
any cost. And now it was she who had
bound him to silence; she whose light-
I est wish, she well knew, would be to
him a law; she, to preserve whose fan-
I cied honor his lips would be sealed as
to that night’s doings, even thougli she
had never asked it. Ah, the pity of it,
the madness of it! Iler honor against
his! To sacrifice his own good name, to
let the world point at him as a horse
thief, perchance to lay down life itself,
that nobody might guess that she, Edith
Ellery, had been with him alone at an
hour to which, from the vileness of
their own minds, men were so ready to
| impute evil. To pay such a price as this
for that bauble thing, her reputation!
How could he dream that she could ask
it, could permit it? “O God! O God!
Have pity! To be here, tongue tied and
helpless, when a word might save him!”
The soft froufrou of silk in the hall
above called a poor, strained mask of
composure to her face, and though her
fingers fumbled clumsily over the task
they were yet quick to roll that fatal
paper into the smallest compass, thrust
ing it under the pile of cushions at one
side. She could not talk to Barbara
about this awful thing.
“Have I worn your patience to tat
ters?” cried her hostess laughingly,
peeping over the balustrade as she hur
ried down the stairs. “But, child, what
makes you look so queer? Is it the light
from the stained glass, or are you really
ill?” coming to her full of tender anx
' jety-
“Oh, it must be the stained glass.”
I The nale lips bravely essayed a smile
• • - - -w —.- -w ■■ ■- -w __
which after all amounted to scarce
more than a grimace. “I have a slight
headache, but it is nothing.”
“The drive will do you good,” Mrs.
Hallet returned, with a caressing smile,
her tene quite reassured. She fancied
that she had fathomed tho difficulty at
a glance. The girl's sympathies were
doubtless wrought up to the highest
tension at the thought of the pain she
was about to inflict upon her lover.
Doubtless she trembled in innocent,
girlish vanity with the fancy that she
might be about to wreck his life at one
foil swoop, and Mrs. Hallet, who had
lived to see many a life drift a wreck,
but never one for love alone, laughed
in her soul in good humored cynicism.
“And shall we drive directly to the tel
egraph office?” she asked when they
were in the carriage, a gleam of mis
chief in her smile. “Do you still want
to send that fatal message?”
“Yes, tho telegraph office. And won’t
you ask him to drive fast, please?” Her
' breath came hurriedly, while a fever
’ spot of red of a sudden flamed on either
White cheek. A telegram! Ah, why had
She not thought, of that before? It
might not bo too late to save him yet.
i “ ‘lf ’twere done, ’twere well ’twere
done quickly,’ ” she murmured, with a
■ strained, excited laugh in answer to the
i other’s curious glance.
“I believe you arc repenting already,
i Edith,” hazarded Mrs. Hallet teasing
ly. “Your expression is quite tragic.
Don’t let yourself make a mistake,
, dear. ’ ’
■‘No, I shall not make a mistake, ”
the girl exclaimed, with another sharp
outburst of that strained, hysterical
laughter. Her companion looked at her
I with a baffled sense of being somehow
outside tho situation, but, with tho ex
quisite tact which always distinguished
her, cleverly changed the subject She
was curiously interested in tho. girl’s
strange mood, which she meant should
bo explained to her, but it was one of
her theories that success in small things,
no less than in great, is worth the price
of infinite patience. She idly chatted
on of indifferent topics, occasionally
calling attention to some building es
pecially fine, while Edith, mechanic
ally responsive, in an undercurrent of
thought was eagerly framing this sec
ond telegram she had to semi, this
time with no niggardly counting of
words. Fortunately tho drive was rather
long, and there had been time for tho
girl to grow quite composed before the
Carriage drew up before the.Western
Union office. “Don’t come, Barbara.
It is not worth while,” she hastily pro
tested as she eagerly sprang to the
ground, and Mrs. Hallet, although she
might have been a little piqued at tho
evident desire to bo spared her surveil
lance, was yet sufficiently gracious to
smile as she settled acquiescently back
against the cushions.
“And now tho deed is done, I sup
pose,” she observed laughingly when,
after a very short absence, the girl re
turned. “Tho die is cast. ”
“Ah, never say die!” A note of
strange triumph was in that wild, hys
terical laugh. What would Barbara
Hallet say could she know that at that
moment a message was flashing across
the wires to Tom Tregent of Cheyenne,
saying: “Paul Brown is innocent of
charges against him. I will be in Chey
enne by night train prepared to prove
it,” and signed with her name? And
now the next thing to do, “Would you
mind telling tho man to drive to tho
Union station?” she asked, trying to
speak with matter of fact carelessness,
but. faltering somewhat, her eyes fall
ing. “I want”—moistening her dry
lips nervously—“l want to ask about a
train. ”
“The trains from Boston? To find out
if your message will reach him before
he loaves, you sharp little puss? Can’t
you leave it all to Providence? But, of
course, if you wish,” amiably giving
the order. “How the poor ticket man
will swear in his heart when you pin
him down to his book of time tables
with such an unconscionable demand!
But I dare say he deserves it for his
sins. ”
“I will try not to bo too hard on
him,” returned tho girl, conscious
that, the other did not half believe in
the pretext she had so ingeniously con
structed and was waiting for a fuller
explanation. All tho way to the station
she sat in a listless silence, her mind
wrestling impatiently with the problem
which now confronted her. She was re
solved to go to Cheyenne by the first
train, which she knew would leave
Denver at some hour in the evening.
Yet how’ could she escape from her
friend without full explanation of her
purpose, which, upon reflection, she
felt but the more determined to with
hold? She knew too W’cll the character
or Barbara Hallet to question that. Were
all made clear, she must have the com
pany of that friend on this journey.
With her generous, impulsive sympa
thy Barbara would count it shame to
herself to let tho girl go upon that
weary night expedition alone. But
Edith, with a sickened heart, remem
bered that there might be the publicity
of a courtroom to face, reporters and
the horrors of newspaper notoriety,
j There might even be—ah, that “special
. correspondence” was dated yesterday,
i She could never forget that. Even now
it might bo too late. She shut her pale
lips together with a sort of fierceness to
keep from crying out. Dearly would she
have liked the support of that stanch
friend in tho unknown trials which lay
I before her, but Barbara must be spared.
It was for her, Edith Ellery, to do this
errand alone, and should she weakly
shrink and falter where he, for lovo of
her, had faced all so bravely?
Continued next week.
Mrs. Anna Gage, wife of Ex-
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Columbus, Kan., says:
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less than 20 min
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after using only
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Attorneys-at-Law.
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Attorney at Law.
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