The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, March 27, 1904, Page 2

HIS, is the Fifth In- | stallment of “To- | | Morrow’s Tangle,” ; The Sunday Call’s $1000 (alifornia novel by a fa- l mous California Author-/} ess, which has created a 1‘ hig literary furor all | over the West sinee it } was begun in The Sun- day Call of February 28, more especially as it can- not be secured elsewhere in any other form for five times what it will eost vou in these pages. “To-Morrow’s Tangle” | + will be concluded next Sunday. | | right the Bobbs-Merrill Company.) HE vast lower fioor was loftier r spacious than any- she had ever seen before were glimpses through the rtifict elongations of by means of mirrors. The touched with parquet flooring, re- ¥y surfaces of mir- porcelain vases, the 2w bosses 1 frames. Over all ung the scent of flowers, that were ssed here and there in Chinese bowls. Bessie’s step, e accompanying ks, brought the i and cold. The i room h ex- She was richly and cor- garbed in lusteriess black, that the nervous whisperings of ks and exhaled a faint per- It was impossible to ignore the and Mariposa touched it with own for a moment. She had seen only once before, on the even- g of the opera. The change wrought n her by grief and iliness was notice- b Her' fine, healthy color had her eves were darkened, and were many deep *lines on her ad and about her mouth. Nev- ertheless, a ual eye would have still ed he woman of vigor, men- hysical. It was easy to un- how she had stood shoulder shoulder with her husband in his for fortune. 1otioned Mariposa to a chair window, and studied her as accomplished the common- ings. Her heart drew to- with a renewed spasm of jeal- sy as she noted the girl's superiority er own daughter. What subtly salities had Lucy had, that her ould be thus distinguished other children of Jake on? The indignation working s woman gave a last touch eliness to poor Mariposa's nat- dignity of demeanor. She seemed ng, by nature and birth, to princely surroundings, which dwarfed Maud, and even adaptive Bessie look com- gre husband,” saild the elder when the beginnings of the n were disposed of, “was much interested in you. He vour father, Dan Moreau, very was becoming used to this ould listen to it without stare of surprise, or the blush of Mr. Shackleton told me,” iswered Your father”—Bessie looked down the deeply bordered handkerchief and—"“was a man of great and generosity. Mr. Shackleton knew him in the Sierras, 1 a long time ago, when he"— used, not from embarrassment, order to choose her words care- s very kind to my husband s of our party. It was an r. Shackleton never for- she rosa could make no answer. on had never spoken to her round, pale and slightly She wanted to sweep away ble suspicion from the girl's making her understand that ude of the family toward her gratitude for a past benefit. she went on, “of- r ckleton talked to me about his plans for He wanted to have you study in some teacher Lepine about. I understand remarkable voice. I 4, several times, to hear you, but dn’t seem to be managed, living and always so busy. In ssing away, all these ¢ end.. He hadn't reg- r nything. There were such ot of delays.” nodded, then feeling that somet g, she mur- 1 was not well, e him.” derstand just how it en’t fair that simply you didn’t happen to be able the office at that time you g6 1« § and all that might have come out of it. Now, Miss Moregu. its » intention to carry out my hus- wishes. d at Mariposa, not smiling. nding, but with a hard The girl raised her eyes the two glances met. “His wishes witl regard to me?” Mariposa, with a questioning in- earnestness a ct hat's it. I want you to go to Paris, as he wanted you to go. I want you to study to be a singer. I'll pay it education, masters, and a month- for living besides. I don’t 1at I hear, that it would for you to study more three years. Then you your appearance as a grand opera prima donna, or concert singer, as your teachers thought fit. I know much about it, but I be- they can't always tell about a e right off at the start. Anyway, 1'4 see to it that yours got every nee for the best development.” She paused. “I—I'm-—afraid it will be impossi- ble,” said Mariposa, in a low voice. “Impossible!” exclaimed the elder woman, sitting upright in her sur. prise. “Why?” . Mariposa hed come to the house of Mrs. Shackleton burning with a sense sum Iy voic ¥ ch THE of the wrongs her mother had suf- fered at the hands of this woman and her dead husband. She had thought little of what the interview would be like, and now, with the keen, hard, and astonished eyes of Bessie upon her, she felt that something more than pride and indignation must help her through. The world’s diplomacy of tongue and brain was an unsus- pected ‘art to her. “I—I—" she stammered irresolute- ly, “have changed my mind since I talked with Mr. Shackleton.” “Changed your mind! But why? What's made you change your mind in so short a tim “Many things,” said the girl, with her face flushing deeply under Bes- sie’s unflinching stare. “There have been ghanges—in—in—ecircumstances ~——and in me. My mother was anxious for my advancement. Now she is dead and—it doesn’t matter. It was certainly not a brilliant way out of the difficulty. A faint smile wrinkled the loose skin round Mrs. Shackleton's eyes. “Oh, my dear,” she said, with a slight touch of impatience in her voice. “If that's all, I guess we needn’t werry about it. People die and we lose our energies and ambi- tion, so we just want to lie round and mourn. But at your age that don't last long. You've got to make your future yourself, and now's your chance. It just comes once or twice in a lifetime, and the people who get there are the people who know enough to snatch it as it comes by. Mariposa’s irresolution had passed. She realized that she had not merely to state her intentions, but to fight a will unused to 8efeat. “I can’t go,” she said quietly; “I un- derstand that all you say is perfectly true. You probably think I am silly and ungrateful. I don't think I am either, but that'’s because I know what I feel. 1 thank you very much, but I can’t accept {t.” She rose to her feet. Bessie saw that she was pale—evidently agitated. “8it down,” she said, indicating the chair again. “Now let me hear your reasons, my dear girl. People don't throw up the chance of a lifetime for M nothing. What's behind all this?” There was a pause. Mariposa said slowly: “I don’t want to aecept it. I don't want to take the money or be under any obligation.” “You were willing to be under the obligation, as you call it, a few weeks ago?” Bessie's voice was as cold as steel. From the moment she had entered the room she had felt an instinctive antag- onism between herself and her hus- band’s eldest child. It would become a hatred in time. The girl's slow and reluctant way of speaking seemed to indicate that she expressed herself with difficulty, like one who, 'under pressure, tells the truth. “My mother wanted me to accept anything that was for my own ‘benefit. Now she is dead. I am my own mis- tress. 1 grieve or hurt no one but my- self if I refuse vour offer. And, as things are now, it is better for me to refuse it.” “What do you mean by ‘as things are now’? Has anything happened to change your ideas since my husband first made the suggestion to you?” Mariposa told her lie as a womdn does, with reservations. It was cred- itably done, for it was the first lie she: had ever told in her life. “Nothing has actually but—I—I—have changed.” “And are you going to let a girl's whims stand in the v of your suc- cess in life?” I can't believe that. My dear, you're handsome and you've a fine voice, but do you think those two things, without a cent behind them, are going to put you on top of the heap? You're not the woman to get there without a lot of boosting.” hy should I want to get on top of the hegn?” “Oh, if you want to stay at the bot- tom—"" Mrs. Shackleton gave a shrug and rose to her feet. The girl was incom- prehensible. She was either very subtile and deep, or she was extraor- dinarily dull and shallow. Shackle- ton had said to her once that she seemed to him childish and undevel- oped for her age. The woman's keen eye saw deeper. If Mariposa was not disingenuous, she would always, on the side of shrewdness and worldly wisdom, be undeveloned. ‘Well, my dear,” she said coldly, “it all rests with yourself. But I can’'t, consaientiously, let you throw your best chances away. We won't speak of this any more to-day. But go home and think about it, and in a week or two let me know what con- clusion you'v2 come to. *Don’t ever throw a chance away, even if you don’t happen to like the person who offers it,” She gave Mariposa a shrewd and good-natured smile. The girl, her face crimsoning, was about to answer when the hall door opened, and, with a sound of laughter and a whiff of vio- lets, Maud and the Count de Lamolle entered the room. In Her heavy mourning, Maud looked more nearly pretty than she had ever done before. It was not the dress that beautified her, but the hap- piness of her engagement to Latimer, with whom she was deeply in love, which had lent her the fleeting grace and charm that only love, well be- stowed, can give. She carried a large bunch of violets in her hand, and her face was slightly flushed. The Count, who had attentively read the will of Jake Shackleton in the pa- pers, was staying on in San Francisco. His attentions to Maud were not mare assiduoue, but they were more “seri- ous,” to use the technical phrase, than heretofore. She would make him an ideal wife, he thought. Even her lack of beauty was an advantage. ‘When an American girl was both rich and_ pretty, she was more than even the most tactful and sophisticated Frenchman could manage. Maud, ugly, gentle, and not clever, would be a delightful wife, ready to love hum- bly, unexacting, easy to make happy. The Count, a handsome, polished Pa- risian, speaking excellent English, bowed over Mrs. Shackleton’s hand, and then, in answer to her words of in- troduction, shot an exploring look, warmed by a glimmer of discreet ad- miration, at Mariposa. He wondered who she was, for his practiced eye took in at a glance that she was shabbily happened, IRCIOGAES on THE ol of BULL - dressed dnd evidently not of the world of bonanza millions. He wished that he knew her, now that he had made up his mind to spend some months in San Francisco, paying court to the heiress who would make him such an admirable wife, and in whose society time hugg so heavily on his hands. Mariposa excused herself and hur- ried away. She was angry and con- fused. It seemed to her she had done nothing but be rude and obstinately stupid, while the cpld and composed older woman had eyed her with wary attentiveness. What did Mrs. Shackle- ton think she had meant? She felt that the widow had not, for a moment, abandoned the scheme of sending her away. Descending the wide steps in the early dark, the girl realized that the woman she had just left was not going to be beaten from her purpose by what appeared a girl’'s unreasona- ble caprice. A man coming up the steps brushed by her, paused for a moment, and then mechanically raised his hat. In the gleam of the lamps, held aloft at the top of the flight, she recognized the thin face and eye glasses of Win Shackleton. She did not return the sa- lute, agf it was completely unexpected, and .from - the fogt of the stairg she heard 4! } door bang behind him. "Whu%hat glrl 1 r.et on the steps just now,/Eeing out?” Win askéd his mcther, hey went upstairs together. “Fhat Migs' Moreau your father was interested -in. He, was ;oing to send her to Pari§ to learn singin L “What %as she doing here?” . “I sent for her. I Wwanted to talk over . things with her. .I intended sending her.” 1 “And didyou fix it?” “Noy, with a little laugh, “she's a very changegble young woman. She says ghe doesn’t want to go now; that she’s ecme to the conclusion she doesn’t want: to be under the obligation.” “That's funny,” said Win. “She must bersort of original. Mommer, why did the governor/want to send her to Paris? What wzs it made him so interested in her?"” “He knew her father long ago, min- ing, in the Sjerra, and Moreau did him a good tury up there. Your father had never forgotten it.and was anxious to repky by helping the daughter. She don’t-§eemn to be easy to help.” ‘Wit ds he dressed for dinney, medi- tatedion”his mother’s explanation, It soun reasonable enough, only a thirst to pepay past obligations was not—accordfg to his experience and memories—a’ peculiarity that had trou- bled his father. Both he and Maud knew that all the generosities and char- ities of the household had been inspired by their mother. His childish memory was stocked by recollections of her urging the advantage of the bestowal of pecuniary aid to this and that per- son, association and charity. It was she who had -aved Jake Shackleton from the accusation of meanness, which Cal- ifornia society invariably makes against its rich men, CHAPTER XIV. VAIN PLEADINGS. Are there not, * * ® Two points in the adventure ‘of the diver: One—when a beggar he prepares to plunge; One—when a prince he rises with his pear]? ~—Browning. To the astonishment of his "world, ‘Win Shackleton announced His inten- tion of retaining The Trumpet, and conducting it, himself, on the lines laid down by his father. There was a slight shifting of positions, in which some were advanced and one or two heads were unexpectedly lopped off and thrown in the basket. The new ruler took control with a decision that startled those who had regarded him' as a typical millionaire’s son. The men on the paper, who had seen the time of their lives coming ‘1 the managership of a feeble and inexperienced boy, were awakened from their dreams by feeling a hand on the reins as tight as that of Jake Shackleton himself. Win had ideas. Mrs. Willers was advanced to the managership of the Woman's page, into which she swept triumphant, with Miss Peebles, the young woman of the “Folbles and Fancies” column, in her have to demand things of her. He !elt\, wake. Barry Essex was lifted to a staff position, at a high salary, and had to himself one of the little cells that branch off the main passage. Here he worked hard, for Win per- mitted no drones in his hive. The luck was with Issex, as it had been often before in his varied career. Things had fallen together exactly as they shou'l for the furthering of his designs. It would take a long wooing to win over she might be like Miguel, who could’ Mariposa. Now, he could save money against the day when he and she would leave together for the Europe SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY where they were to conquer fame and fortune. : He had had other talks with Harney since the evening of his revelation. He was convinced that the man was telling the truth. He had known men before of Harney’s type and wondered why the drunkard had not made -use of his knowledge for his own advancement. He had evidently kept his eye on both Shackleton and Moreau, and it was strange, that, as the two men rose to affluence, he had not used the ugly se- cret he held. The only explanation of it was that they held an even greater power over him. He had undoubtedly had reason to fear both men. Shackle- ton, once arfived at the pinnacle of his success, would have crushed like a beetl in his path this drunken threat- ener of his peace. Moreau, whose every movement he seemed to have followed, had evidently had a held over him. Held or no hold, Shackleton would have swept him aside by the power of his money and his position, into the obli- vion that awaits the enemies of rich and unscrupulous men. Now both were déad, But the day of \ Harney's power was over. Enfeebled in mipd and bedy by drink and disease, he had neither thg force nor the brain te be dangerous. His uses were merely those of gn inst ent in daring hands. . -Audghoge hm kd found himi There were long tal i Essex’s room in the evenings, durlng which the story was threshed out. Ggofge Harney, drunk or ‘sober, neithercontradicted himseli nor varied in hig details. His mind, confused and addled on other matters, retained this memory with unblurred clearness. S Essex deliberated, carefully and without haste, for there was plenty of time. The bright days continued. On a ra- diant ‘Saturday afternoon, Mariposa, tired with a morning's tgaching, started forth to spend an hour or two in the park. She had'done this several times before, finding the green peace and solitude of that beautiful spot scothing to her harassed spirit. It was & long ride in those days, and this had its charm, the steam dummy cresting the tops of sandy hills, clothed with lupins and tiny frightened oaks, crouching before the sea winds. On this occasion she had invited the escort of Benito, who had been hanging drearily about the house, thinking with mingled triumph and envy of Miguel, who had gone with his mother to have a tooth pulled out. “Pulling the tooth’s bad, of course,” Benito had said to Macriposa, as he trotted by her side to the car, “but then afterward there's candy. I dunno but’ what it's wortj while. .And then you have the tooth.” “Have the tcoth!” eaid Mariposa. “What do you want the tooth for? “You can show it to the boys in school, and you can generally trade it. 1 traded mine for a knife with two ‘blades, but both of 'em was broke.” Benito was becomiing very friendly with Mariposa. He was a cheerful and expansive soul. Could they have heard him, Uncle Gam and his mother might have suffered some embarrassment on the score of his revelations as to their quarrels concerning his upbringing. Benito had thoroughly gauged the ca- CALL. small nut between thumb and finger. This she nibbled gingerly as they passed under the odorous, dgrk shade of the cypresses. Benito spread a trail of shells behind him, dragging his feet in silent happiness, his eyes fixed on the brilliant prespect of sunlit green that filled in the end of the vista like a drop-curtain. As they emerged from the cypress shadows the lawns and shrubberies of the park lay before them - radiantly vivid in their variegated greens. The scene suggested a picture in its mo- tionless beauty, the sunlight sleeping on stretches of shaven turf where the peacock strutted, the red dust of the drive unstirred by wind or wheel. Rich earth scents mingled with the perfume of the winter blossoms, delicate breaths of viclets from beneath the trees, spices exhaled by belated roses still bravely blogsoming in November, and now and then a whijff of the acrid, animal odor of the eucalyptus. Following pathways, now damp be- neath the shade of melancholy spruce and pine, now hard and dry between velvety lawns, they came out on a large circular cpening. Here Mariposa sat down on a bench, with her back to a sheitering mass of fir and hemlock, the eplendid sunshine pouring on her. Benito, with his bag in his hand, trotted off to the grassy slope opposite where custom has’ ordained that little boys may roll about'and play. He hat hardly settled himself there to the fur- ther enjoyment of his nuts when an- other boy appeared and made friendly overtures, with his eves on the bag. Mariposa could not hear them, but she could see the first advance and Benito's somewhat wary eyings of the stranger. pacity of each of them in resisting his\In a few moments the formalities of ‘charms and urging him to higher and better things. He was already at the stage when his mother appealed slight- 1y to his commiseration and largely to his sense of humor. Mariposa saw that while he had grasped the great fact that his Uncle Gam had an unfortu- nately soft heart, he also knew there was a stage when it was resolutely hardened and his mogt practiced wiles fell baffled from the surface. They alighted from the car at what was then the main entrance, and, side by side, Benito fluently talking, made toward the gate. Heré a peanut ven- der had artfully placed his stall, and the fumes from the roasted nuts rcse gratefully to the nostrils of the small boy. He said nothing, but sniffed with an ostentatious noise, and then looked sidewise at Mariposa. One of the sources of his respsct for her was that she was so quick in reading the lan- guage of the eye. One did not vulgarly the nickel in his hand and galloped off to.the stand, to return slowlr, hll}{? on one side, an eye investigatin e contents of the opened paper bag he carried. x < Being a gentleman of gallant for- bears, he offered this to Mariposa, lis- tening with some uneasiness to the scraping her fingers among its con- tents. .He had an awful thought that “never bé trusted to withdraw his hand until it was full to bursting. But Mar- iposa's eventually emerged with one introduction were over, and they were both lying on their stomachs on the grass, kicking gently with their toes, while the bag stood between them. Mariposa had intended to read, but her book lay unopened in her lap. The sun in California is something more than warming and cheerful. It is me- dicinal. There is some unnamed balm in its light that soothes the tormented spirit and rests and revivifies the body. It is at once.a stimulant and a sedative. It seems to have sucked up healing breaths from the resinous for- ests inlapd and to be exhaling them again upon those who cannot seek their aid. As the soothing rays enveloped her, Mariposa felt the strain of mind and body relax and a sense of rest suffuse her. She stretched herself into a more reposeful attitude, one arm thrown along the back of the bench. Her book lay beside her on the seat. To keep the blinding light from her eyes she tilted her hat forward till the shade of its brim cut cleanly across the middle of her face. Her mouth, which was plainly in view,. had the expression of suffering that Is acquired by the mouths of those who have been forced to endure sud- denly aud silently. Her thoughts re- verted to Essex and the scene In the cottage. She wondered if the smart and shame of it would ever lessenif, she would ever see him again, and what he would say. She conld not imagine him as anything but master of himself. BY SORRE But he was no longer master of her. The subtlie spell he had once exercised was forever broken. She heard a foot on the gravel, but did not look up; several‘people had passed close to her crossing to the main drive. The new-comer advanced to- ward her idly, noting the grace of her attitude, the ridhi@nd vet elegant pro- portions of .her X pe:” Her face was turned from the saw the roll of rust-colored i th her hat, started, and qui hpis pace. He had come to%a 8 fle her before she looked- up rushed into Ner faee. He. for his part, stood suave apd@mififig, holding hi hat in one hand, mo expression on his face but one of frank pleasure. Even in his eyes there was not a shade of consciousness. “What a plece of luck!" he said. “Who'd have thought of meeting you here?” Mariposa had nothing to respond. In a desperate desire for flight and pro- tection she looked for Benito, but he was at the top of the slope, well out of earshot of anything but a scream. Essex surveyed her face with fond at- tention. 3 “You're looking better than you did before you moved,” he said; “you were just a little too pale then. You know, I didn’t know It was you at all. I was logking at you as I came across the drive, and I hadn’t the least idea it was you till I saw your hair"—his eye lighted on it caressingly—"I knew"there was only one woman in San Francisco with hair like that.” His voice seemed to mesmerize her at A quick red first. Now her volition came back and she rose. “Benito!” she cried; “con.e at once.” The two little boys had their heads close together and nelither turned. “What are you going to go for?” sald Essex in surprise. “What a question!” she sald, picking up her book with a trembling hand, and thinking in her i{gnorance that he spoke honestly; “what an insulting question!” “Insulting! mean by that?" coaxingly. me why you are going?” “Because I don't want ever to see you or speak to you. again,” she sald in a voice shaken with anger. “I couldn’t have believed any man could be so lacking in decency as—as—to do this.” “Do what?" he asked with an air of blank surprise. ‘“What am I doing “Thrusting yourself on me this way when—when—you know that the sight of you is humiliating and hateful to me.” “Oh, Mariposa!” he said softly. He looked into her face with eyes brim- ming with teasing tenderness. ‘“How can you say that to me when my great- est fault has been to love you?” “Love me!” she ejaculated with breathless scorn; “love me! Oh, Beni- to"—calling with all her force— “come; do come. I want you!” Benito, who undoubtedly must have heard, was too pleasantly engaged with the companionship of his new friend to make any response. Early “in life he had learned the value of an occasional attack of deafness. Mariposa made a motion to go to him, but Essex gently moved in front of her. She drew away from him, knitting her brows in helpless, heated rage. “You know you're treating me badly,” he said. “Treating you very badly,” she now fairly gasped, once more a bewildered fly in the net of this subtile spider, “how elge should I treat you?" “Kindly,” he said, softly bending his compelling glance on her, “as a woman treats a man who loves her.” “Mr. Essex,” she said, turning on him with all the dignity she had at her com- mand, “we don't seem to understand each other. The last time I saw you, you insulted and humiliated me. I don’t know how it can be, but you seem to have forgotten all about ft. I haven't. I never can, and I don’t want to see you or speak to you or think of you ever again in this world.” “What makes you think I've forgot- ten?” he said, suddenly dropping his voice to a key that thrilled with mean- ing. He saw the remark shake her into startled half-comprehension. That she still took his words at their face value proved to him again how strangely simple she was. “What makes you think I've forgot- ten?” he repeated. She raised her eyes in arrested as- tenishment and met his, now seeming suddenly to have become charged with memories of the scene in the cottage. “How could I forget?” he murmured. “Do you really think I could ever for- get that evening?” She turned away speechless with em- barrassment and anger, recollections of the kisses of that ill-omened interview burning in her face. * “When a man wounds the one wo- man in the world he cares for, can he ever forget, do you think?” He again had the gratification of seeing her flash a look of artless sur- prise at him. “Then—then—" she stammered, com- pletely bewildered, “if you know that you wounded me so, why do you come back? Why do you speak to me now? There is nothing more to be said be- tween us.” “Yes, there is; much more.” She drew back, frowning, on the alert to go. For a second he thought he was to lose this precious and unlooked-for chance of righting himself with her. “Sit down,” he said entreatingly; “sit down; I must speak to you." She turned from him and sent a quick glance toward Benito. She was going. “Mariposa,” he said, desperately catching at her arm, “please—a mo- ment. Give me one moment. You must listen to me.” She tried to draw her arm away, but he held it, and pleaded, genuine feel- ing flushing his face and roughening his voice. “I beg—I implore—of you to listen to me. I only ask a moment. Don't con- demn me without hearing what I have to say. I behaved like a blackguard. I know it. It's haunted me ever since. Sit down and listen to me while I try to explain and make you forgive me.” He was really stirred; the sincerity of his appeal touched the heart, once so ‘warm, now grown so cold toward him. She sat down on the bench, at the end farthest from him, her whole bearing suggesting self-contdined aloofness. “I know I shocked and hurt you. I What on earth do you “Please tell know it's just and natural for you to - treat me this way. I was mad. I didn’t know what I was saying. If you knew how I have suffered since you would at least have some pity for me. Can you guess what it means to give 2 blow to the being who is more to you than all the rest of the world? 1 was mad for that one evening.” He paused, looking at her. Her pro- file was toward him, palé and imimova- ble. She neither turned nor spoke. He continued, with a slight diminution of confidence: “T've been a wild sort of fellow, con- sorting with all sorts of riffraff and thinking lightly of women. I've met lots of all kinds. It was all right to talk to them that way. You were dif- ferent. I knew it from the first that night in the cottage I lest head. You looked so pale and sad love broke the ds I had put upon Can’t you unde and and forgive me?"” He leaned toward her, his face tense and pale. As he became agitated and fell the positicn of pleader, she m and regamed her hold on There was a chill poise about her that frightened him. He felt that if he attempted to touch.her she would draw away with quick, instinétive re- pugnance. She turned and looked into his face with cold ey “No, I ¢ou't think I understand. I should think those very things menticn w 1d ap | to the chiv of a man even if he didn't care for a woman." “Do you doubt that I love you?" “Yes,” she sald, turning away; “T don’t think that you ever could love me or any other woman.” _ “Why do say that?” She locked out over the grassy slope in front of them “Because you don’t understand the first principles of it. When you're fond of -people you don’t want to hurt and humiliate them. You don't want to drag them down to shame and misery d die to save them from those You want to protect them, help them, take care of them, be proud of them and say to all the world: "Here, look; this is the person I love!' ™ Her simplicity, that once would have amused him, now had something in it that at once touched and alarmed him. There was a downright convietion in it, that argument, eloquence, passion even, would not be able to shake. “And that, Mariposa,” he said ardent- 1y, “is the way I love you.” “That the way!” she echoed scorn- fully. “No—your way is to ask me to destroy myself, body and soul. You ask me to give you everything, while you glve nothing. You say you love me, and yet you're so ashamed of me and your love that it would have to be a hateful secret thing, that you told lles about, and would expect me to tell lies about, too. I can’t understand -how you dare to call it love. I can’t under- stand. Oh, don’t talk about it any more. It's all too horrible and ecruel and false! Her words still further alarmed the man. He knew they were not those of a woman swayed by sentiment, far less by passion. “That's all true,” he said hastily, “that’s all true of what I said to you that night in the cottage. Now it's different. Aren’t you large-hearted enough to forgive a man whose great- est weakness has been his infatuation for you? I was a rufflan and you an un- suspecting angel. Now I want to offer you the only kind of love that should be offered you. Will you be = wife?"” Mariposa started perceptibly. Sho turned and locked with amazed eyes into his face. He seemed another man from the one who had so bitterly hu- miliated her at their last Interview. He was pale and in earnest. “Will you?" he repeated. “No,” she sald with slow decisiveness, “I will not.” “No?" he exclaimed, in loud-voiced incredulity and bending his head to look into her face. “No?" “No,” she refterated; “I said no.” She felt with every mioment that their positions were changing more and more. She was gradually ascending to the command, while he was slowly coming under her will “Why do you say no?’ he demanded. “Because I want to say no.” “But—but—why? Are you still an- * \ “I want to say no,” she repeated. “I couldn’t say anything else.” “But you love me?” with angry per- sistence. “No, I don’t love you.” “You do,” he sald in a low voica “You're not telling the truth. You do love me. You know you do."” She looked at him with cold deflance, and said steadily: “I do not.™ He drew nearer her along the bench and sald with his eyes hard upon her: “I didn’t think you were the kind of ‘woman to kiss a man you didn’t care for.” He knew when he spoke the words they were foolish and jeopardized his cause, but his fury at her disdalnful attitude forced them from him. She turned pale and her nostrils quiv- ered. He had given her a body blow. For a moment they sat side by side looking at each other like two enraged animals animated by equally violent if different passions. “Thank you for saying that,™ she said, when she could command her voice; “pow I understand what your love for nfe means.” She rose from the bench. “He seized her hand and attempted to draw her back, saying: “Mariposa, listen to me. You drive me distracted. You forcé me to say things like that to you, when you know that I'm mad with love for you. Lis- ten—"" She trre her hand out of his grasp and ran across the space to thé slope, calling wildly to Benito. The ..y at last could feign deafness no longer and sat up on his heels in vell-simulated surprise. “Come, come,” she cried “Come at once. I want you.” He rose, dusting his nether parts and shouting: “Why? why? we’re havin' an awful nice time up here.” “Come,” she reiterated; “it's late and we must go.” He trotted down the slope, extremely reluctant, and inclined to be rebellious. Mariposa caught him by the hand and -swept him back toward the path between the spruces. Essex was still standing near the beneh, an elegant figure with a darkly :;nister face. As they passed him he 1ised his hat. Mar- iposa, whose face was bent down, did not return the salute; 86 Benito did, as he was hauled by. She continued to drag the unwilling little boy along, while he hung loosely from her hand, staring backward fof a last look at his angrily. playmate. “What's your name?” he roared as be was dragged toward the wy