Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, August 1, 1896, Page 2

© REAL IHEL HII SS ISSIR @ | atari ¥ Professor’s Seeret. : OHAPTER XXIII. Mysterious Betsey, Having reported to his mother con- 2erning Amelia’s condition, the doctor ‘withdrew to another part of the room. For a few minutes he busied his mind with consideration in regard to the treatment of the case. With any other patient in view he would have pro- seeded almost mechanically, for as the ease stood now it presented mo espe- gial difficulties. Dr. Williams, how- aver, was so anxious that every step 3hould be exactly right, that he seri- usly contemplated sending to Mar- shall for Dr. Morse. “It would be possible,” he thought, “to get him here by to-morrow noon. There is no wail to Marshall until evening. I will send them if it seems advisable.” Meantime there was little to de. Na- ture could be counted on ta do most of the work, and such medicines as were pelbtal could as well be administered vy nis mother as by himself. He fooked ass the room to the alevve acd saw his mother sitting on the edge of the bed holding Amelia’s hand. Holding Amelia’s Hand. “I wonder,’ ’he reflected, “if mother @nows?” And then he thought how strange it was that two weeks ago he should ave been burning with love for Lou- ise, and now his whole life was cen- tered upon this invalid. It puzzled him sadly, for it reawakened doubts as to bis own loyalty. Was it possible that his nature was so fickle that it miglt be stirred by any passing wo- man, until, like a shallow pond, dis- turbed by a light breeze, he should ap- pear to be moved profuundly. “A pond,’ so his thoughts ran, “might conceitedly imagive itself to be an ecean when its surface ripples. Is it right, then, for me to foster a love for this girl and lead her to believe in me, when I am so liable to change?” Monuy aud diverse were the consider- ations suggested by this honest query, @racug them, ef course, a aparison of the two girls who had affected him. Ge felt that he could vely safely on what reason told him row with respect to Louise; that, without prejudice to her good qvalities, she was utterly un- fitted to be his companion. quaintance h: tics in her which were not in ac with his own nature. He recalled how, even when he had no doubt of his love, she had said and done things that gorre d upon him. That love must have een a mistake. one of natare’s freaks, in which, haps, his senses nad been attracted by beauty along, and haviag been aroused to a consciousness of at- traction, the emotion had been called leve by himself. when others more ex- perien d might have found the term “attraction” quite sufficient. ‘The doctor found the problem present- ec by his own character a hard one 10 sclye, as every.man does who is given to rigid self-analysis. He nad, bowev- er, touched upon the right greund in the supposition that his seutiment for Louise had been ar att an rather than love. It is a remarkably casy thing for a straightforward, honorable man to idealize the emotions within him, and set himself to act according to what he concieves they are or ought to be, whether it be in matters of love or the more commonplace affairs of life, but it ie most easy in love. Lou- fse and Amelia were the first young ‘women with whom the doctor had come in tam r contact outside the admit- tedily good and admirable, but uneulti- vated girls of his native village. It is bardly to be wondered, therefore, that he should have been influenced by the more vivacious and beautiful of the two and should have believed the zen- eral emotion she aroused was centered rself as an individual. is not to say that the doctor was e with Anelia while he thought s ia love with Louise; the «ttrac- then for the second had to wait for events to develop it, and as he sat in the sick room cogitating the matter, the oue thing upon which he ~uld lean with assurance was his present unmis- takable love for Amelia. Later in the day, when she roused from sleep and seemed brighter and stronger, he permitted her to talk more frcely, and one or two things she said were belpful in stilling the doubts that be permitted to torture him. He went to her side the instant he saw she was awake. “How sow?" he asked, cheerfully. He observed tke impulsive move- mert under the coverlet that showed tow her baué bad started toward his. She did not put it out, fer, with grow- 4cz strength, seli-consciousness was ke- ginving to manifest itself. The -loctor, with a frank smile, reached under the eoverlet and grasped her hand. “I wish I were not yenr physician, my dear girl” he said, “though I should be miserable if anyone clse were privilegad to care fer you.” “Why do you wish you were not ny physician?” she asked. “Pecanse I am so tempted to depart, as Iam departing now, froin & profess- fonal attitude.’ “T didn’t know.” she responded, “but that you thought this was the best thing for me,” and she smiled rognish- ly. “Perbaps I hepe $6, and even era pl E rT find it hard to think ALat carnest love can be surtful to! yon; for while you have been uncon- scious, Amelia, I have found that IT do love you with all the strength of which I am capable.” The doctor watched with not a little trepidation for the effect of nis words upon the patient. Her color height- ened perceptibly. and her eyes glowed more warwly, but there was ho indica; tien of urdue excitement. “That means so much,” she said. “I never dreamed there could be so loyal and true a man.” “Please don’t!” he exclaimed under his breath, “you hurt me.” “Why?’ she asked wonderingly. “Don’t you like to be told what I think of you?” “It is very sweet, there is no denying that, but I cannot forget how recently I” He halted, finding it difficult to ex- press that which he believed degraded him. “I know!” she interrupted, a little sadly, “but think of me. I, too, was dreaming dreams.” ‘There was a moment of silence. The doctor could not well have said any- thing, for he knew of Amelia’s love for Starkweather only by inference, and in his cogitations with characteris- tie sternness he had refused to con- sider her as affected by circumstances in much the same way that he was.’ “TI must tell you about myself,’ she said presently. “Not too much now,” he responded, gravely, “there will be many oppor- tunities in the future.” “) know; that is, I hope 20, but just this little, so that we may understand one another better. I think, perhaps, that a woman is slower to love than a man. I never loved anybody that I can remember. I had affection for my teachers when they were good to me, and I have a sincere affection for Lou- ise. A few weeks ago 1 would have said that I loved my uncle.” “Think of him as little as you can,” said the doctor, soothingly. ‘There is no reason why he should again play a part in your life.” “And yet he is my nearest relative! Well, I'd rather not think of him, but of course I cannot forget him or what he has done. In a way he was good tome. He never spoke of me as a bur- den, although I was one. I wanted to earn my own living, but he wouldn’t hage it. He said he had plenty, though we never lived so much like rich peo- ple until we came here. I think he must have succeeded with one of his inventions.” She paused and fell to thinking. “Better talk than think,” suggested the doctor, gently. “Thinking is some- times bad for convalescents. You are progressing remarkably well, but if you will think I shall give you a dose of something on the table yonder that will make you ¢lose your eyes.” “Oh, don’t!” she exclaimed. “That would make me think of my uncle al the more. Let me sleep naturally. Really, I do mt feel the least fatigue or excitement. I am just resting, and She turned her eyes wistfully upon him. “Do you mean,” he asked with pal- pitating heart, “that it is more restful to have me neer?” She nodded her head as if words could not express her perfect content. The doctor smiled in return, and after a moment she went on: “T can see now that I had really led a very lonely life. When Mr. Stark- weather told me that he loved me it was like a vision of an impossible heaven! It was a profound surprise, for he had manifested no #pecial liking for either of ws, and if I had thougnt of him as in leve I should have taken it for granted that it was Louise he favored. Really, no thought of myself would have entered my head; not be- cause I am not selfish—I have shown you that I am exceedingly 80.” “You misjudgze me and yourself, too, Amelia,” said the doctor. “Did I not tell you that < should have acted as you did, if not even mere determin- edly?” “Yes; and I will not try to think now whether I was justified or not, but I want you to know the facts. I knew not what to say to Mr. Starkweather, for while I was certain that I did not‘ love him then, it seemed as if my grat- itude would speedily grow to love. It was such a beon to find that some one Met the Professor at the Head of the Stairs, really cared for me, and ke must have been sincere, for he knew perfectly well that I had no fortune; that I was a mere dependent.” The doctor’s conscience smote him a bit for permitting Amelia to talk so long, and yet her pulse was steady and normal, and ft seemed to relieve her. “I don’t wender,” he said, “love un- der such cireumstances would invaria- bly beget love.” “I’m not sure that it did,” she re- sponded gravely. “I hedn’t had time to find out when the end came.” “What had you told Mr. Starkweath- er?’ asked the doctor, after a pause, during which his own thoughts threat- ened to come to a high state of tension that could not but be injurious to his patient. He began to see a vague sug- gestion of a\possible purpose back of Prof. Drummond's crime. “I told him the facts as well as I could,” answered Amelia.” “I did not reject him: how could I? He went on to tell me that his material prospects I inferred that he was associated with my uncle in perfecting an invention that would make all our fortunes, but I asked him no questions, for to me the one great fact of importance was his love for me. I couldn't understand it.” “Love is the hardest thing in the world to understand,” remarked the doctor wisely. “I think it is. We left it this way, Mr. Starkweather and I. We were to say nothing about it for a week, not a word on either side. I wanted time to think and to study myself. He was perfectly willing, he seemed to be so confident of the result. So we sep- arated, we had been talking on the ledge back of the house, and next day—” She turned her eyes pitifully upon the doctor. “I know,” he said, “we mustn’t talk about it longer.” 5 “Just one word more,” pleaded Ame- lia. “‘You can, perhaps, understand my meaning now, when I assured you that Mr. Starkweather, to my own knowledge, could not have reason for He Passed Cautiously Around the Door Jamb suicide. He believed in his business prospects, and he had every reason for believing that he had won,, or would soon win, my love. In the first shock of the disappearance I knew not what I felt. I knew that I resented the fate that had robbed me of the one being who had ever manifested any especial liking for me. As I suffered I grew to feel that my love had already been awakened, and when I tried to com- prehend his taking off, I was so fren- zied that I could think of nothing but revenge. I suppose it was that.’ Amelia spoke with perfect calmness, not only to the surprise but admiration of the doctor. He couldn’t have viewed the circumstances more coolly himself. “If it had been possible for me,” con- tinued Amelia, musingly, “to go to anybody for sympathy, it might have been better, and I might have acted differently; but there was no one. There was little genuine sympathy be- tween me and Louise, and I never could have told her such a secret. She would have—but never mind. Louise is not heartless. She simply looks at things differently. Besides, I was called on to comfort her, as, at the start, she was much alarmed. How selfish of me! I haven’t asked about her!” “Louise is well enough, for aught I know,” said the doctor. “I see little of the household. My attention has been taken wholly up by you.” Amelia smiled gratefully. “It doesn’t seem so strange to be loved now,” she said, after a moment, “and, you know, I feel as if, somehow, that other feeling, terrible as it was broken upon, served a purpose in pre- paring me for this. Is that an un- worthy thought?” “No, my dear girl,” responded the doctor, profoundly moved. “I think it is a wiser thought than any I could find in my own poor head. It may be the explanation of my case, though how I could ever have loved anybody but you, I cannot see now.” Amelia pressed his hand gently and closed her e The doctor watched her with a sense of adoration, as na- ture peacefully called her back to health-restoring sleep. Suddenly a thought of his mother occurred to the doctor. Had she been present during this intimate conversation? He turned his head. She was not in the room. Mrs. Williams had stolen out silently as soon as the patient began to speak. She met the professor at the head of the stairs. “Mrs. Williams,” he said, anxiously, “my daughter would not come down to luncheon, and refuses to pen the door to receive anything. I’m afraid she’s ill. I hate to disturb the doctor. Would you mind seeing if you cannot bring her to her senses?” “I will speak to her at once,” replied Mrs. Williams. She went to Louise’s room; and, after a few words, the door was opened. She entereq’and remained witk the un- happy girl for more than an hour. While she was gone Mrs. Appleton knocked at Amelia’s door. The patient was then asleep. “Somebody to see you, doctor,” said Mrs. Appleton. “He says it is urgent.” “Send my mother in,” returned the doctor. They went down the corridor to- gether to the stairs. The doctor de- scended, while Mrs. Appleton went on to Louise’s room. Dr. Willams found a man at the door whose wife was ill. She was a patient of the doctor's, and, like others, had been somewhat neg- ; lected recently. The doctor heard the man’s story, wrote a_ prescription, promised to call during the afternoon or evening, and hastened back up the stairs. As he turned into the upper corridor he saw Betsey gliding into Amelia’s room. She left the door open. Greatly startled, for any happening at Fairview was suspicious, the doctor went forward rapidly, but. on tip-toe. If any villainy was afoot he not only wanted to prevent it, but to arrive in time to see, unmistakably, what was intended. As he came near the door he could see the alcove. Betsey was. not near the bed. What, then, was she up to? He peered cautiously around the door jamb. The woman was at the center table with her back to him. Three bot- tles of medicine were there. She took them up, one after another, and aeerie to be regarding them attentive- yy. Presently she selected one, glided with it noiselessly to the window, and poured its contents out. The doctor Grew back as she turn- ed around. He heard her at the table again, and again he lookéd in, more the bottle with something she had brought with her, but no; after a momentary hesitation she took the other two bottles, carried them to the window, and their contents, too, fell into the Miniski. CHAPTER XXIV. The Professor's New Terrov. The doctor stepped quietly into the room, but Betsey heard him and turn- ed nervously with the last bottle held upside down at arm’s length. She started to scream, and the doctor held up one hand commandingly, pointing with the other to the bed. He then closed the Goor, and while he was do- ing so Betsey glided up to the table and replaced the empty bottles. Her ree was ashen and her hands trembl- ed. “What are you doing, Mrs. Hub- bard?’ asked the doctor, in a low tone. He placed himself squarely in front of her, for she showed a disposition to glide out. Betsey glanced helplessly at the bed, crossed her wrists and clutched at her dress. “I wanted to make sure,” she falt- ered, “and I couldn’t be exactly cer- tain which bottle ’twas in.” “What do you mean?” whispered the doctor, sternly, “what was in the bot- tle that you were throwing away?” She stared at him silently sa a choking sigh. “Why did you throw away my medi- cines?” asked the doctor, more cally. “You must tell me, Mrs. Hubbard.” “I thought you could easily get more,” she replied. “So I could, but why put me to the trouble? Don’t you want Miss Willis to get well?” “¥es, indeed I do! Isn’t one enough? That’s why I threw away the stuff. Betsey raised her apron to her eyes and began to cry. ’ “Mrs. Hubbard,” said the doctor, laying one hand on her shoulder and speaking gently but very gravely, “you ought to know that you can trust me. Was something put into one of these bottles while I was down stairs?” Betsey nodded her head, and _be- tween her sobs murmured something about not being sure which bottle it was. “TI don’t need to ask who did it, I suppose,” continued the doctor, as if speaking to himself, “or what it was, or why it was put into the bottle.” “No, no! don’t ask me,” returned Betsey, with a shudder, “she’d tell him and he'd kill me!” “He won't do any thing of the kind, Mrs. Hubbard.” The doctor spoke emphatically, and having said so much he stopped to reflect. He was particularly struck by Betsey’s reference to Mrs. Apple- ton. It was a question whether he should try to get enough information from Betsey on the spot to serve as evidence in the event of a legal in- quiry or whether he should continue the plan of watching and waiting. The latter course was intolerable. Something ought to be done now. “You don’t know him, Doctor Will- iams,” said Betsey, letting down her apron and speaking hurriedly. “He knows everything and he has all kinds of ways for doing away with people. You know what I told in court?” “Yes, Mrs. Hubbard, what of it?” ‘e for “What Are You Doing Mrs, Hub- bard?” The doctor was keenly anxious for the revelation that he expected her | to make. “Tt was a lie, Dr. Williams, an awful lie, and he forced me to it.” “T am not surprised, Mrs. Hubbard. I neyer could believe that part of the story about putting Starkweather in the little chamber——” “But that’s true, sir, every word of att” Dr. Williams frowned in displeasure and disappointment. “Then what part of your story was a lie?” he asked. “About Mr. Starkweather’s trouble, sir. He never gave me any hint such as I told the judge, and it’s my firm belief that he never i»tended to make away with himself.” “Then you believe that Prof. Drum- mond killed him.” Betsey uttered a frightened “oh!” and looked at the doctor aghast. “Now,” said he almost roughly, “Jet’s understand just what you mean. If Starkweather didn’t kill himself, I, as a physician, know that somebody must have killed him.” It seemed go awful to hear you say so in so many words,” responded Bet- sey. “htrs. Hubbard, did you see Prof. Drummond kill Mr. Starkweather?” “Lor’, no, sir,”» she replied, begin- ning to cry again. “I don’t know how *twas done. I only know the professor worked over the floor by the door to his shop late the night before Mr. Starkweather fell dead there. I saw him, and when the dreadful thing hap- pened I suspicioned. That was all.” The doctor felt the old exasperating puzzle twino its meshes about his mind again. He had never believed for an instant that Betsey told the truth in any essential particular et the inquest, and he had elung to the conviction that if she should tell the truth much that was mysterlous about the Fairview tragedy would be cleared away. Now she insisted that the original version of the chamber incident with its mar- velous disappearance was correct. What was be to think? In the brief instant white he was pondering the whole affair with a visw to pressing further questions, Betsey again tried to glide pas® him to the door. He checked her. “One moment, Mrs. Hrbbard,” he said, “tell me more abort this bottle matter. I wif) protect yes. What do you know?” “Don't ask me, Dr. WiSiams,” she | than half expecting to see her refilling | pleaded, all of a trembts: “they'll know soon enough that something went wrong with it, and it would be dread- ful if they knew I touched it.” “They shan’t know. You may stay here, if you like.” 4 The doctor was revolving a plan for precipitating a final crisis by facing the professor and compelling him if possible to quit the neighborhood, or ‘by going to the village and swearing to a warrant, charging him with mur- der. There was no longer any thought “Hello, Doctor, What's Up?” of the fact that he had committed him- self by inference to the theory of sui- cide. “Oh, I couldn’t stay here!” she an- swered, with fresh f “They'd find me out. Oh! what will happen? I thought I could just spill the stuff out of the window and you'd get fresh medicines, and you’d know they were right.” “It amounts to this, then,” said the doctor, eyeing Betsey sharply, “that the professor mixed a poison to kill Appleton brought it here and you threw it away.” Betsey’s startled look made the doc- tor think that he had guessed right, and so, it seemed, he had, in part, for she responded: “It wasn’t to kill her, sir. It was to make her sleep so that they could take her ithout waking her up. But I was afraid it might do more, that we might give her too much or some- thing.” “Dr. Williams,” said a faint voice from the bed. The doctor turned about with a start of a ty. Amelia was awake and was trying to sit up. He hurried to her side, and as he went she smiled and added: “Why, it’s Betsey. Betsey?” “You mustn’t, my darling girl,” ex- claimed the doctor softly. “Lie right down again. Why, you'll go back- ward soon if you don’t look out.” “I thought you were talking with your mother,” responded Amelia, “but I waked with a dreadful start of fear. It must have been a bad dream. I thought my nerves were strong, but I’m afraid I shall never sleep well in this house.” “You shan’t sleep here a single hour longer than is necessary,” said the doc- tor. “Just as soon as it is safe to move you, we will take you to my home.” “How good you are. I shall be glad to go. Does your mother know?’ “Not yet. I shall tell her to-day. You need have no fear but that she will welcome you.” “No; I don’t fear her. I should like a glass of water, if I may?’ and she looked up at him in content and trust- fulness. The doctor turned and asked Betsey to fetch a glass. She had seized her opportunity and slipped away. “Tl get it,” said the doctor. He went to the table where was a pitcher of water drawn fresh but a few minutes before his mother had left the room. The doctor raised it and started to pour some into a glass when suddenly his hand took on such a trembling that he set the pitcher down so abruptly that it broke in pieces. “Dear me!” exclaimed Amelia, “what have you done?” “I think I’ve spilled the water,” an- swered the doctor, trying to speak jo- cosely, while his voice skook as if he had an ague. It was weak enough joke, but the pa- tient accepted it at more than its value and laughed, even in ther illness, more heartily than he had supposed she could in health. “T think myself,’ she said, “that there must be a drop on the floor. I think I heard it fall.” Again she chuckled with merriment, and the doctor smiled in sympathy. It did his heart good to see how peace- fully happy she was after all the stress and strain she had undergone, but he did not at once recover from the shock of fear which had come upon him when he recalled Betsey’s action and words, and reflected that the poison might have been put in the water. What more likely? And what if he had carelessly allowed her to drink it! “I'm afraid, you’re a clumsy!” re- marked Amelia, good-humoredly. “You mustn’t stand there as if you were a stupid servant and didn’t know what to do. Get towels at once and sop it up.” “You're getting well, my dear!” re- torted the doctor, as he obeyed her command, “I mean to. When may I leave Fair- view?” “If you progress as fast as you have to-day I think you can be moved to- morrow.” “Oh, I do hope so.” The water sopped up aad the general litter cleared away, the doctor ap- proached the bed and asked doubt- fully: “Are you very thirsty, dear?” “Not very. Just a mouthful of wa- ter would do.” The doctor felt distressed. He dared not leave her alone in the ehamber, and there was no one whom he could send for water. It was a trifle in one sense, but lovers habitually fret at tri- fles, and in this instance he could not give the loved one true explanation of his unwillingness to supply her needs. “I expect mother in every minute,” he said hesitatingly. “Do you think you can wait until then?’ “Of course I-can. How worried you look! Has ahything dreadful been hap- pening?” “Fairview {s full of herrors to those of us who have to stay kere,” respond- ed the doctor, “but there is no occasion for alarm. We Shall soon be out of it.” Mrs, Willizms came in hurriedly at this moment. Her face exyressed keen anxiety that she tried to conceal when she saw that Amelia was awake. . “Are you feeling better, my deat?” she asked, and then in a low voice to the doctor. “May I speak to you a mo- How do you do, ment, Mason?” “Certainly,” he replie@, “We shan’ leave the door, Amelia.” He went to the door apd opened it ‘As he stepped on. the threshold he heard the professor's voica from below somewhere in tones of violent anger, a Mrs. Williams stepped to his side ani pulled the door to. i “They're having a dreadful time,’ ske whispered. “I don’t supp you can do anything, but if the professol is really afraid of you perhaps he wou'd stop if you were to go down. “Who is with him?’ “Mrs. Appleton, and I think I heard Betsey’s voice once. The professor cried at one time ‘I’ll kill you!’ an there was a scuffle. That was just be fore I came in.” The doctor shuddered. Could it be that that madman was committing violent murder, and was there no way to prevent him? If Philbrick weré once fore in reach! He could be sent to the village and be made of some use in bringing about the professor's arrest. There was nothing now but te stop the present scene, if possible, and then send Mrs. Williams to ’Squire Taylor's with the information neces sary to start summary proceedings. “I will go down,” said the doctor quietly. “Have no fear for me, but on no account watever leave the room before I return, not even for a half minute, mother. Remember.” *“T'll lock myself in—’ “No, that would alarm Amelia. Ge in and talk with her about her to our house to-morrow. Mrs. Williams gave her son a signifi cant glance and went into the chamber The doctor hurried down stairs to the dining room. Prof. Drummond, ex ceedingly flushed and panting heavily, t coming, in from the basement stairway. “Hello, doctor,” he said abruptly “What's up?” “I came down to ask that, sir,” rev sponded the doctor. “It needs mW apology under any circumstances whet your violent threats are to be hear¢ all over the house.” “Nothing wrong with dear Amelia, hope,” inquired the professor, ignorins the doctor’s implied question. “What have you been doing belov there?” asked the doctor. “Oh, I see you are still disturbed by my nervous temper. It’s nothing, dog? tor; nothing, I assure you. My ser vants irritated me, that was all. / should have thought of Amelia and moderated my voice. I am sorry disturbed her.” 4 The doctor looked contemptuously af .*& the professor and made for the bas¢ ment door. “Where are you going?” asked thr professor, getting in his way. “T am going down stairs to see if anf mischief has been done. Stand aside. “I'd rather not.” The professor’s face assumeé itt most savage expression. Footsteps were heard on the stairs. “Oh,” he said, “the objects of yout solicitude are evidently coming up t¢ show you what has happened. Well! let them come.” door and stepped aside. Mrs. Appleton and Betsey came 4 The former’s eyes were discolored a both women were crying. They stop ped abruptly when they saw the doe tor. “Nothing especially wrong, you see,” sneered the professor. The doctor’s heart boiled with indig nation. “Prof. Drummond,” he cried, “you'r mad!” To his intense surprise, the profess: or started back, rarised his hand t¢ his brow, and stared at the doctor iv abject terror. “Martha, Betsey,” he said, hoarsely. after a moment, “go down = stairg again, or to your rooms, anywhere out of my sight. I shan’t trouble you again.” The women went out of the room to the broad hall, and the doctot heard them going upstairs. Prof Drummond sank upon a chair. “Doctor Williams,” he said, um steadily, “you are not a man, with all your quick temper, to say a thing like that hastily. I’ve felt it coming on Do you think I’m mad?” He shuddered and groaned at the thought of it. “I can explain your conduct on no other hypothesis,” replied the doctor, firmly. He would have added something ta the effect that the professor should sub mit to special treatment, for a hope occurred suddenly that by this means he might bring the Fairview troubles to some sort of conclusion, but Prof, Drummond jumped up abruptly and exclaimed: “Then I shall follow Starkweather!” ently the doctor, who, followed ps, way, heard the door of the “shop’ close upon him. Somewhat awed by this termination of the scene, the doctor returned te the sick room. Amelia, apparently, had not been disturbed by his failure to return with his mother, who was sitting upon the edge of the bed talk ing to her pleasantly. “Mother,” said the doctor, “will you please get a pitcher of water?” She arose at once to comply. The doctor had cressed to the window for the purpose of more completely get- ting his thoughts im order so as not He hurried from the room, and > > Ca Stared at the Doctor in to betr anxiety OF cit "ay or excitement in speaking to Amelia. On the further side of the Mimiski he saw Philbrick setting up a surveyor’s tripod. “A mo- ment later that irrepressible was peering through a spy glass at Fairview, as if he were engaged in settling a d‘sputed boundary line. (To be continued.) a Japan now ranks fifth in ula sae ah nations of the a ae , India, Russia a: erma, ing ahea4 of by ns as He threw open th’ y t )