The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 27, 1902, Page 11

s the mc extraordin And for th was always so! when she raised & trembling han erevice, where Tantau each left so many tender bu +'s chum and confidante never another letter from him—never a Bt fregbrogei st vad SIS SE forstéeniis’sia nding at her bedr window They were all b letters—every e Pl reie s iy one she had ever mpled Park. which spre and frayed at the . if he before her, and more “than once she Y i her enter the house in the early worn them, as he had said he g hours, lock herself in_her room mext to his heart, until the time > fhere for fays - Wetia’'s al- come to return theém—if she o 1te moods of deep Cejection and wild ation were becoming altogether inex- them returned. He had asked only plicable she would be honest with him—that would tell him at once if t time ever | ADG then Alma's worder had Shange to Indignation when, on the eve of the bi A nd he would give her ba & - st e would give her back farewell “bachelorj’ dinner to_tk 1 promises and her freedom thout a her set ecla 1sed point bl to g0 word of rer And she had not been on with i honest witk he had never told him “Why not?” demanded Alma, who, hav- and he had on working—hoping. imec of all the ar- 8 never dreamed ome novel sur- the pre of which t with- 1d ¥, you ca now. The- z sery girl on the list gown. What is the letters returned left them fc ometh: most rol n town, but = I haven't you used (o laugh. Any- each were written r of your with the if occurred to her, s been long only possible solu- aughed in a way that - blind 3 BTOW denly grave again. blind, unreas will your aunt say?’ she & took pos an awkward pause whate she _pleases,” st fier ‘If she wan return home This the dinner and give it unt's titled lin- in this democr b n Aima could 1 nswer. Mrs. lerson’s from tery t Alice ¥ in following her almost as much of 7 8 own vagaries. AL LS -3 e gos rumorg to account bridal gown? for ner continued absence, bdt none kne drove her into @ the truth. Alma heaved a sigh of relief, s d_mot She felt that she had at las BRDS &0, Wenr he real cause of Tecla’s per- . d lightly Well, suppose your New York until a fore th mony. What does a that matter? The glory of the dinner will cla the Roman- D€ all you Besides, some one must buy e of several whom YOUr trousseau, while you are tramping adowed in affairs d’amour. 2bout in the park at all sorts of unearthly approval, and < ok Do unconscious hours, or locking yourself in your room b 5 wild beauty th until you look like your own ghost. I do < SAThE Kbl Svbn o declare you secm afraid to be happy.” At the last words Tccla whirled upon like a fury, struggled to speak, and as suddenly turned and left the that had come over her. G The entertainments, the dinners and re- _ Alma was amazed. She feared her tone ceptions she had planned on such a lav- had offended, and so running to the door ous and repressed. It was the picture that burst upon their eager sight tion of the scene they had jus ing upon. With the exception of a nar- row rim for the dishes of the guests the whole table had been converted into a miniature imita the center of servatory, windows now gleamed in the soft light of the room, just as they had seen the great observatory glinting in the moonlight a moment ago. Alma was jubilant. Tecla s TTANTORD Ao T e called after Tecla’s fa.. receding fig- the st “Oh, don’t be angry, dearie. But you girls are just dying to see your Besides,” she added E hly, ant to Ir own lip: But Tecla was alre r all about the C nt p dy in her room with the door securely lovked behind her and @iG not show herself again until the fol- lewing evening at the dinner which she bad finally realized she was werless to Alma had feared for the outcome of the evening. The girls themselves were seri- nirst time Tecla had entertained in months and af- ter all the gossip they hardly knew what to expect, but Tecla’s old magnetic charm scon had its effect and when she found kerself surrounded by a group of eager, laughing, chattering, nofsily exuberant girls became, to all outward appear- ances at least, the most noisily exuberant of them a But her mood changed to an unccount- atle uneasiness, and later to alarm, when in the midst of the merriment Alma sud- denly drew the girls to the bedroom win- dow, bade them take a good look at the bright moonlight scene spread out before them and then hurried them down to the dining-room, wondering and expectant. A great shout of delight went up at the The decorations were an exact reprodu been gaz- lon of Stow Lake, from _Which rose Strawberry Hill, b its trussed and turreted ob- whose perfect circle of tiny sted ed upon It dazed, stupefied, speech- There were the same two little bridges, one on each side, connecting the island with the mainland; there was ihe same little boathouse set at one end of the table, with its flotilla of tiny rowboats; there were the ducks and the swans, the shrubbery and the winding paths and SUNDAY CALL. 11 N rEE | REDDE pi3vd DEVWA, 242 & G- ER LFLASHED i fi('-’/"'i'/[[flh P she flea wiiaiy from tne room v, headlong up the stai nation seized upon the assembled They followed excitedly after her, but Alma Kept them from her room and in a few minutes the whole party hurried- ly departed in awestruck disorder. sank upon the floor whimpering like months burst upon her with full force. Her marvelous was broken—gon succeeding thought. nature had changed to antly haunting superstition. would only send her some word— his whereabouts e might know from what quarter this dreaded something greatest happi- ness”’—what? over again asked herself the ques epening terror. the, window, d at the great circie on Strawberry Hiil v, now looied = must be sor another letter—anwthing but ad his letter until Groping miser: She had read and re knew it by heart. some new clue TEXXOR S ERITC I .. TARSCGINATED HE Y S TED STRAXING =7 TIE SPo+ THE Szmr T S dozen of them. screamed with a sudden new fear. thirteen—be Eagerly she read to see if there was anything she had missed. said his prayer, NXERE LLGH e and a hank of hair. We called. her the ¢ who didn’t care a dream, sometimes grave, some- :imes laughing—harshly— the last she controlled herself with an effort and rose unsteadlly to aer feet with the others in response to Alma’s This was to be the st se of all surprises which Alma ha Ll At a signal all the lights went out, leaving the room in total darkness, while the orchestra, behind a screen of palms, soft and creamy air. a distani corner of the room a miniature searchligat flashed a broad ray of iight full upon the island in the center of the table, bringing the observatory, the falls ard the tiny srotto into bold relief, but leaving everything else In semi-darkness. Alma’s volce rose above the exclamations of surprise. “A toast, girls, a toast! to-be—to the wedding day—to the hour of high noon—to the happiest moment- “Stop,” almost screamed Tecla. Don’t say it!” Terror-stricken, fascinated, staring at the spot where the searchlight shone, her face drawn and tense, her whole body quivering until the wine in her upraised glass danced and splashed about her. She gulped and trled to speak, gulped again, and then bringing her glass down on the table with a terrible crash But the fool he called her his lady fair, Even as you and I. “T should have been ashamed to quote two years ago; but now it is with a of deeper shame that I realize that the- author must have been thinking of you and me, or some one just like us. heavenly romance was nothing to you but a cheap tawdry flirtation after all. And I believed you really cared, when ur promise to be my told me you loved me, here, on the bridge where I am standing now, where we first met and where we said our last tender farewell when I lcft you tc struggle and work and wih suc- You have been false—false everything. name I have been cherishing is not your own, but something as fictitious and as- sumed as your great show of affection. ““Oh, I can see now why. ent from all for what you are. ysterically. cry for a toast. changed the m Then suddenly from wife—when you cess—for this. drives, and there was Huntington Falls, as hell<in flowing from a miniature pond at the top of (he hill, bubbling under the same lit- bridge where they had their last farewell before it went splash- ing and tinkling in the lake below, and, fearfully her sought it out—there was the same little artiiicial grotto—their trysting place in the long ago—where she had found the letters which had placed their blight upon her. “In the hour of your greatest happi- ness—" The words were throbbing in her until they shut out all conscious- gayety and laughter about through the To the bride- I was differ- They knew you I didn’t, and so I went she stood away off there in the African Jungle leav- you free for—for this. “‘Oh, I can quite understand now why I must win fame and fortune and secial prominence—why your aunt; would never consent to our marriage—why our love must be secret—you were ashamed of it- Whv T conld not wan ond win van ananie ness of the honestly—as a decent girl would be wooed and won—why you told me the truth about your hom sur fami! or your friends—why we must always meet here—skulkingly. “Well, I've won fame and fortune far greater than even you demanded then, only to learn never meant any of it. While I have been wait- ing—waiting ng— whole world has been ringing with the prurient gossip of your e ement to Count Brabrant, the wors re-hunting roue In France. nd I, of all others, have been the last o hear of it. I should never have knowmn it, had I not seen your picture, side by side with his in the papers, for I never dreamed that the girl I have loved so long as Paula Edwardes was really Tecla Bernardine Sanderson, the sensational beauty of San 0 and Paris. He is oniy marrying you for your money— were it not for your aunt's wealth he would not want you as I do—for yourself . You have soid yourself. “Well, you played the game cleverly and it ended for you two years ago. My God, I wish it had ended for me then, too, “In the hour of my greatest happiness you have er hing I have f. You have and_tossed b even a thought. As made me suffer, fo shall you the hour of your greatest hap~ piness There it was—the whole miserable story 4 ad never taken se- absohitely nothing she might expect. realized long ere have been his— s only carrying out the plans en ordained for her since dhood. hope began to grow with the he would relent at the last. ps he had already relented. Pe he had left her Some word. She had not been out re in many days She must know something defl- e threw open the stealthily to the stairs. a light from the open door of the dining room fixed her atten- She stopped for a moment, hesitat- g, doubtful. It was the broad beam of light from the searchlight still shining oh the mini- ature hill with its tiny grotto, its rustie bridge and the splashing tinkling falls. Then she sped on swiftly, out through the open door, out into the panhandle, out into the open park—hurrying, pant- ing, almost running now—out past the museum, flanked on each side by an inky black sphinx—guardians of the greatest mysteries of all the ages—symbaqlic now of her own fears—out @ast the Japanese tea garden— and on up the steps to tha la )? on to the bridge and up—up »ugh the deepening shadows of the winding path to_the artificial grotto—to the pond that fed the tumbling falls. Suddenly she stopped, a terrible fear overcoming her. What if he should have committed suicide. She would find hi body floating in the water—there below that rise in the path—his eyes staring at her accusingl forever haunting. For many minutes she could not move, then with a mighty effort of will she crept on. Ah, what relief! There was nothin And the other— Perhaps there would be nothing there either. .But she could not i She must know. Slowly, almost ngly, dreading she knew not what— she stole into the grotto and, trembling, raised the stone. How fast her heart wa® beating. Even at this preme moment she hesitated to thrust he: d into the crevice lest it should clu omething— that had now become r over- wrought imagination as horrible as & snake. But it must be done. She closed her ey and reached in. Then with a scream, rose and staggered out, clutch- ing the dreaded paper in her hand. In the reddening dawn the dagger flashed and scintilated. Then she fled homeward befor e had reached her room. There she nervously opened the letter. It contained nothing but a clipping from an Eastern society paper. It read: ‘“Here is a sensation in high life. The many ends of that eccentric widow, Mrs. Alice Sanderson, the California mul- ti-millionairess, will be surprised to learn of her secret marriage to Donald H. Travis, a young man, who though many vears her junior, has been winning fame in Africa. They met for the first time only a few months ago, but the young man's wooing was of the impetuous cr- der, and his wealthy wife has demon- strated how completely he has won her aftections by giving him entire control of her vast fortune. * * * Mrs. Sadder- son that was, or rather Mrs. Travis that is. is perhaps best known as the aunt of that stunning beauty, Tecla Bernadine Sanderson, whose approaching marriage to Count Charles Louls Brabrant is the social sensation of the hour. It is freely rumored that Mr. Travis does not look with favor on the Count, who it Is as freely rumored is only marrying the Call- fornia beauty for the money he thinks she may get from her aunt, but as Mr. Travis now controls the purse strings in- teresting developments are looked for. Tecla could read no more. The blow had fallen. And so he had revenged himself upon her by marrying her aunt. The interest- ing developments did Bappen. The Count fuming angrily at Travis’ triumph re tremad to Dovia e iu «til) = hekalen fearful to read he seclusion of