The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 4, 1904, Page 4

Dora, Eva and Anna passed through house, and was, she thought, to stay mind, each bringing her own in- there all night. Grantley nodded, and that all his talk of what he would do Mumple’'s servant girl came to the door, & should not come to naught. In turn and said her mistress was up at his fluence to bear, giving him a new pic- began to trudge up the hill. He had - ture of the future. And why refuse? no thought but to seek and find Sibyl- If ever a gift had been freely, grandly la. It was now between 7 and 8, and offered, this was. Would it not be even dusk had fallen. A churlish to refuse? Reasons or no He saw a light in the dining-room ¥ reasons, his heart and his hands went windows. He walked into the hall and fac His attention was caught and “You come home, Mr. Imason!"” she arrested by it. There was something exclaimed. ibylla didn’t expect you, strange there. The cheeks were rather did she?” out ipstipctively; he could not refuse took off his hat. A servant saw him 2 the beginning of all things. and ran to help him. Saying briefly \ Giving his head a restless little jerk that he would want some dinner, he as at last he accepted this decision, he went into the dining-room. Mrs. Mum- \ chanced to turn his eves on Grantley's ple sat there alone over a chop. ? ‘ pale, the jaw set rigidly. Grantley read o, 1 didn't sexpect to come. I & letter with a curious engrossment— didn’t think I could get away, and it ka not hurriedly nor offhand, as a man wasn’t worth wiring. Where is Si- - generally reads when other business is bylla?" N2 at a standstill till he reaches the end. “How unlucky! She's gone away—to | d He turned back, it seemed, once or Fajrhaven. She didn’'t expect you. twic, to look at another sentence again. She's to sleep the night there.” 3 Even Tho! 2 he was be n awoke to the fact that He came to the table and poured ng kept waiting a long while, himself out & glass of sherry. He was and that the groom would probably calm and quiet in his manner. ( finish the beer and go away, leaving “To sleep at Fairhaven? Why, who's ortant discussion unfinished ghe going to stay with?” e proper odds unascertained. rs. Valentine. You know her? She ntley had recognized Christine jives by the church—a red house with haw's large irregular handwriting, creepers.” nothing more serious Nrs. Valentine was, as he knew, an ion to dinner. But he old, but not an intimate, acquaintarnce. tion to dinner He shot a keen glance at Mrs. Mum- now. Ple’s simple broad face. T have just heard from Sibylla— ° “I'm here to look after baby. But, of from Milldean. She incloses a letter course, since you've come——=> ch she says I am to send “No, no, you stay here; and go on norrow. She insists that with your dinner. They'll bring some- send it before; and if I thing for me directly.” won’t do as she asks, I am to burn it. He pulled up a chair and sat down. ou are not to have It to-day. I can- “To sleep at Mrs. Valentine's? Has t dicobey her in this, but she says ghe often done that before when I've hing about my telllng you she has peen away?” ent a letter; the only thing is that I _ “She used to as a girl- sometimes, Mr, st not deliver it to you till to-mor- ‘Imason; but no, never lately, I think— h idea you had let her ngt since she married.” dean alone. How tould There were no signs of disturbance ? ere is one other or distress about Mrs. Mumple. Grant- t : 3 Walter Blake ley sat silent while the servant laid a was to have dined here to-night. This place for him and promised some din- ning he wired excuses, saying he ner in ten minutes. s golng for a crulse in his yacht Sibylla been all right?” st consider what that means. I A little fretful the last not to wait for the letter, but day o, I think. But Mr. Blake Milldean s afternoon. Say came over from Fairhaven yesterday, heard from me. and she had a nice walk with him; and she was with baby all the morn- ing. 1 t say to ¥ like, but go. the morning? When did she go all your life iIf to Falirhaven?” go. Let nothing stop you, “I think it was about 3 o’clock. It's wn sake, and still more for a terrible evening, Mr. Imason.”y B “Very rough, indeed.” the letter; the sentence he. “The wind rose quite suddenly this ned back to reread was the one morning, and it's getting worse every movements minute.” Grantley made no answer. After a oked across to Jeremy. pause the old woman went on: heard from Sibylla since ‘ve got some news.” News have you? What news?” ANNOUNCEMENT. For the purpose of encouraging California and Western writers, by offering a consideration for short stories equal to that paid by the best magazines, and for the purpose of bringing young and unknown writers to the front, the Sunday Call announces a weekly fiction con- test in which a cash prize of $50 will be paid each week for the best story submitted. There is no section of America more fertile in ma- terial for fiction or more prolific in pens gifted to give spirit to the material at_ hand than is California and the West. Therefore the Sun- day Call offers $50 for the best story submitted each week by a West- ern writer. Stories of Western life and Western characters will, as a rule, be given the preference, but all strong stories, and especially strong stories by new writers, will receive careful consideration. Each story will be judged strictly upon its literary merit” Type- written copy is the easiest to read and will receive the first consider- ation from the editor. but do not hesitate to send a story in hand- writing if you cannot afford to have it typewritten. Fifty dollars in cash for a story of not less than 2500 words and not more than 3500 words is approximately $17 per thousand words, or 1.7 cents per word. The highest price paid by the leading magazines for the work of any but the very best writers is rarely more than two cents 2 word, more often one cent and a half, and generally one cent. With the majority of magazines the writer, after his story is ac- cepted, is compelled to wait until the publication of his story before he is paid, a period of seldom less than six months. and usually from nine months to 2 year. The stories accepted in this contest will be paid for immediately upon publication, and will be published on the first Sunday following the judeing of the week’s manuscripts. 060 [ e s [ s [£] [ 2 L idenly on the alert. to make sure thin _hearing. to me. Again Grantley looked at the paper. Thén he laid it down and took up his * me, Mr. Ima- peh son. . My dear husband’s to come three ow for the deed,” he said, and months sooner than I thought. I got a it to him. letter to say so just after Sibylia He signed. Thompson fulfilled the started.’ A formality for which he was required, “Oh, reaily! Capital, Mrs. Mumple!” n left them alone. Jeremy did “It's y matter of six months ak out into new thanks. That now. You can’t think what I feel " ed something in Grantley’s about it—now it's as near as that. I b ce forbade him. haven’t seen him for hard on ten years. & I can only say that I'll try to jus- What will it be like? I'm full of joy, ’PP tify your extraordinary kindness,” he Mr. Imason: but somehow I'm afraid aid soberly. too—terribly afraid. The thought of rantley nodded absently, as he rose it seems to upset me, and yvet I can't d put Christine’s letter into the fire. think of anything else.” ) m was better there—and there was no Grantley rubbed his hand across his [7 J danger that he would forget the con- brow. Old Mrs. Mumple's talk reached tents. him dimly. He was thinking hard. wfl “1 say, there's no bad news, is. This sleeping at Mrs. Valentine’'s % there?” Jeremy could not help asking. sounded an unlikely story. a J “No news at all, good or bad,” an- Mrs. Mumple, in her turn, forgot her swered Grantley, as he held out his chop. She leaned badk in her chair, h er “Good-by and good luck, Jer- clasping her fat hands in front of her. “We shall have to pick up the old Jeremy took his hand and gripped it life.” She went on. ‘“After seventeen pard, emotion finding a vent that way. years! 1 was 35 when he left me, and Grantley returned the pressure more nearly as slight as Sibyvlla herself. I'm moderately. past 50 now, Mr. Imason, and it’s ten “Remember, under no circumstances years since I saw him; and he’s above a word about it to Sibylla!" he said. 60, and—and they grow old soon in you my honor.” P there. It'll be very different, very dif- ferent. And—and I'm half afraid of He released Jeremy's hand and it, Mr. Imason. It's terribly hard to turned away. He had much self-con- Pick up a life that's once been broken.” trol, but he could ndt be sure of what _The servant brought in Grantley's was showing on his face. dinner and Mrs. Mumple pretended to Jeremy had his great good fortune, £0 on with her chop. but his joy was dashed. Grantley “Nurse said I was to tell you Mas- looked like 2 man whom heavy calam- ter Frank is sleeping nicely,” the ser- ity finds unprepared. vant gaid to Mrs. Mumple, as he placed “All the finer of him to sign the deed & chair for Grantley. then and there,” Jeremy muttered as _ That was a strange story about Mrs. he left the house. “Whatever has hap- Valentine. pened, he didn't forget his word to “We must have patience and love, me.” on,” said Mrs. Mumple. “He’s had a But it was not of Jeremy or of his &rievous trial and so have I. But I word that Grantley had been thinking don’t lose hope. All's ready for him— when he signed. His signature was a his socks and his shirts and all. I'm defiance of his wife and of his fate: ahead of the time. I've nothing to do but wait. These last months’ll seem CHAPTER XV. very long, Mr. Imason.” Grantley came to the table. In the Teeth of the Storm. “You're a good woman, Mrs. Mum- An instinct of furtiveness, newly Ple” he said. 5 She shook her head mournfully. He awakened by the suggestion of Chris- y,1eq a¢ the food, pushed it away and tine Fanshaw’s letter, had led Grant- grank another glass of sherry. ley Imason to send no word of his “Don’t think I've no sympathy with coming. He hired a fly at the station, you, but—but I'm worried.” and drove over the downs to Mill- ‘“Nothing gone wrong in town, I hope, dean. It was a wild evening. A gale Mr. Imason?” had been blowing from the southwest *“No.” all day, and seemed to be increasing in He stood there frowning. He did violence. A thick rain was driven in not believe the story about Mrs. Val- sharp spats against the closed win- entine. He walked quickly to the bell dowg. The old horse toiled slowly and rank it loudly. along, while the impatient man chafed “Tell them to saddle Rollo, and bring helplessly inside. him round directly.” At last he stopped at Old Mill Housé “You're never going out on such a and dismissed the carriage. Mrs. night?” she cried. THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. “I must;” and he added to the sur- Could he endure this fate for all his prised servant: “Do as I tell you di- life? It would last all his life; peo- rectly.” ple have long memories and the tradi- “Where are vou going? she asked tion does not die. It would not die wonderingly. even with his life. No, by heaven, it “I'm going to Mrs. Valentine's.” weuld not! A new thought seized him. “But you've no cause to be anxious There was the boy to whom he had about Sibylia, Mr. Imason; and she'll given life. What had he given to the be back to-morrow." boy now? What a father would the Qrantley was convinced that she, at boy have to own? And what of the least, was innocent of any plot. Sim- boy's mother? The story would last ple sincerity spoke on her face, and all the boy’s life, too. It would always be her thoughts ‘were for herself and her petween him and the boy. And the dearly cherished fearful hopes. boy would never dare speak of his “I must see Sibylla on a matter of mother. The boy would be kept in urgent business to-night,” he said. ignorance till ignorance ylelded, per- It ll“ be hardly safe up on the force, to shame. His son's life would downs,” she expostulated. £ be bitterness to him, if it meant that— It'll be safe ex:z.ougla for me,” he an- ang bitterness surely to the boy, too. swered grimly. “Don't sit up for me; As he brooded on this his face set into and look after the baby.” ‘He smiled at stiffness. He declared that it was not her kindly, then came and patted her to be endured. hand for a moment. ‘“Yes, it would be He came to where Milldean road hard to plck up a life that's once joined the main road by the red villa broken, 1 expect,” he said. and turned to the right toward Fair- She looked up at him with a sudden haven. Here he met the full force of apprehension in her eyes. His manner the gale. The wind was like a moving, was strangely quiet; he seemed to her rushing wall; the rain seemed to hit gentler. Lim viclously 'with whips; there was a valere, I mean nothing but what I great confused roar from the sea be- #ay,” he told her soothingly. “I must low the cliffs. He could hardly make go“and get ready for my'rlde headway or induce his horse to breast But, Mr. lml~1”m you'll take some- the angry tempest. But his face was thing to eat first? firm, his hehd steady and his air reso- T can’t eat.” He laughed a little. lute as he rode down to Fairhaven, I should like to drink, th I won't. sore in the eyes, dripping wet, cold to Good night, Mrs, Mumple.” the very bone. His purp was form- Ten minutes later he was walking his ed. Fool he might be, but he was no horse down the hill to ‘Milldean, on coward. He had been deluded, he was his way to Falrhaven. But he had lit- not beaten. His old persistence came tle thought of Mrs. Valentine; he had to his rescus. All through, though he . no belief in that story at'all. It served might have lost everything else, he 2 purpose, but not the purpose for had never lost courage. And now, which it had been meant. What it did when his pride fell from him, and his was to remove the last of his doubts. spirit tasted a bitterness as though of Now he knew that Christine’s sugges- death, his courage rose high in him—a tion was true. He was going to Fair- desperate courage which feared noth- haven not to find Sibylla at,Mrs. Val- ing save ridicule and shame. These he entine's, but to seek Sibylla and Blake would not have, neither for himself he knew not where. nor for his boy. His purpose was He thoughf not much of Sibylla. He taken and he rode on. His pride was had taught himself to consider his broken, but no man was to behold its wife incalculable—a prey to disordered fall. In this hour he asked one thing whims, swept on by erratic Impulses. from himself—courage unfearing, un- This whim was more extraordinary, flinching. It was his, and he rode for- more disorderly, more erratic than any ward to the proof of it. And there of the others; but it was of the same came in him a better pride. In place nature with them, the same kind of of self-complacency there was forti- thing that she had done when she de- tude; yet it was the fortitude of de- termined to hold herself aloof from flance, not of self-knowledge. him. This blow had fallen entirely and He rode through the gale into Fair- utterly unforeseen, but he acknowl- haven, thinking nothing of Mrs. Val- edged grimly that it had not been un- entine's house, waiting on fate to show foreseeable. He thought even less of him the way. Just where the town young Blake, and thought of him begins, the road comes down to the without much consclous anger. The sea and runs along by the harbor, case there was a very plain one. He where a seawall skirts deep water. A $50 Each Week for the Best,————— SHORT STORY $ 50 § Submitted to SUNDAY CALL had known young Blake in the days man enveloped in oilskins stood here, when aspirations did not exist, and glistening through the darkness in the when the desire to be good was not part light of a gas lamp. He was looking of his life. He took him as he had out to sea, out on the tumble of angry known him then, and the case was very waves, stamping his feet and blowing simple. Whatever an attractive woman on his wet fingers now and then. It will give, men like Blake will take, was no night for an idle man to be recking of nothing, forecasting nothing, abroad, he who was out to-night had careless of themselves, merciless t¢ her business. » whom they are by way of loving. In “Rough weather!” called Grantley, regard to Blake the thing had nothing bringing his horse to a stand. strange in it. Here, too, it was unex- The man answered, not in the ac- pected, but again by no means unfore- cents of the neighborhood, but with a seeable. Cockney twang and a turn of speech No, nothing had been unforeseedble; learned from board schools and news- and in what light did that fact leave Papers.’ He was probably a seaman him? What flaver should that give to then, and from London. ¢ his meditatins? For though he rode -Terribly, severe”! he said. as quickly as he co nig 0 SPERD W HiSh 9B thE J00) e s e omia against the £ale "He looked at Grantley, evidently not scorched his eyes, his mind moved K7OWIng him. G more quickly still. Why, it set him , A bad night for a ride, too, sir. down as a fool intolerable—as the very Ne added; “but it's better to be mov- thing he had always laughed at and N8 than standing here, lo0king for a despised, as a dullard, a simpleton, a P¢At that's as likely to come as the dupe. He could hear the mocking channel squadron! He spat scorn- laughter and unashamed chuckling, he (Ul as he ended. - could see the winking eves. He knew ,l00king for a boat? well enough what men thought of him. For the moment Grantley was glad to They had. attributed to him success (8lK; it was a relief. Besides he did with women; they had joked when he ROt Know what he was going, to do, and married, saying many husbands would ¢3Ught a brief respite from decision. feel safer; they had liked hi i and ad- ~AYe' the man grumbled, “a boat to mired him, but they had been of opin- CO™€ from Portsmouth. Best luck for ion that he wanted taking down a peg. her if she's never started and next best How they would laugh to think that he 1f She’s puy In for sheiter on the way. of all men had made such a mess of it, Sh¢'¥ never make Fairhaven to-night. that he had let young Blake take away , Lhen what's the good of looking for his wife—young Blake, whom he had her’ 3 often chaffed for their amusement or _ “‘Because I get five shillings for it. instructed for their entertainment! IThe owner's waiting foy her—waiting Imason had got a pretty wife, but he @t the Sailors’ Rest there.” He pointed couldn’t keep her, poor old boy! That to the inn a hundred yards away. “She would be the comment—an ounce of Was to have been here by midday, and pity to a hundredwelght of contempt, he's in a hurry. Best for him if she and—yes, a pound of satisfaction. And 90oesn’t come, if he means to sail to- it would be all true. Somehow—even Night, as he says he does.” He paused allowing for Sibylla’s vagaries and un- and spat again. “Pretty weather for accountable whims, he could not tell & lady to go to sea, ain’t it?" he added how—something he had been a gross Sarcarstically. dupe, a blockhead blindly self-satisfied, _The fates were with Grantley Imason. a dullard, easily deluded, a fool readily They sent guidance. adandoned and left, so intolerable that ‘““What boat is it?" he asked quietly. not all his money, mnor his “The Ariadne” (Hairy Adny, he pro- houses, nor his carriages could make nounced the name). it worth while even to go on with the ‘‘Ah, yes, Mr. Blake's yacht?" easy task of deceiving him. He was “You ow him, sir? Well, you'll not worth decelving any more; it was find him and his lady at the ‘Rest’ s!mpler to be rid of him. In the eyes there, and if you're a friend of theirs of the world that fact would be very you tell ’em not to expect her to-night, slgnificant of what he was, And that and not to go on board her if she same thing he was in his own eyes comes.” now. The stroke of this sharp sword ‘“Here's another shilling for you, and had cloven in two the armor of his good-night.” pride; it fell off him and left him Grantley strode on to the inn, thank- naked. . ing fate, realizing now how narrow the P50 L et el Erer e chance had been. But for the storm, He came elowly back :‘1'“‘651 s but for the wind that had buffeted and speaking in a low restrained volee: almost beaten him, no pride, no reso- “It’s really no use waiting for i lution, Would have been of any avail. boat. She wom't come’ With fair weather the yacht would Sibylla stood very s s it 3 X have come and gone. He saw why were fixed on his face. ,_"l‘ S e Christine Fanshaw was not to deliver gaze for a moment, lry]en t\:jrnr\ L g »eh his letter till the morrow. Without the sat down by the table and lit a! c;)x. storm, no pride, no resolution, no cour- arette—doing it just by habit AP Ve age would have availed him. The cause he was so restless, not because Ariadne would have put to sea, and he wanted to smoke. Sibylla would have been gone forever. She stood there In silence for two Now, thanks to fate, she was not gone. or three minutes. Once she shuddered Towdh S0 s s Soeet pucis TSt PP Shi' S euting o has narrowly passed by. The plan had Yield, to do what he asked 1o five ub been laid well, but the storm had Lo Per Bospel of glving everything thwarted it. There was time yet B e T Y e i Was there? That question Jogid not ©he had chosen to receive her fl,flmn— ? g , en- but rise in his mind. He faced it fairly ;’,‘fgh;,’,’g’fisn’;’b'}‘e',’jff,’;; E?j ;‘;rn. She E.r.nidlo:.q\g::tly, and jogged on to the 1.4’ not thought there would )be ha. o » i struggle; that had got left out In the withe oo this fine storm!” he cried yicions—the visions which were full of beat and raged, which had felgned to L1g Snan Of e WInd Ao o worlds hinder his coming, but was his ally and L, : What struggled? friend. Good luck to it! It had served Lo and beautiful tWha - his turn as nothing else could. And O1d teachings, old habits, '"“'ij'cixii'; how it was attuned to his mood—to the Srincd. She was acung it ObelRnte &e‘r::' “,;.‘:l'! conflh;‘(o :El?t’ ;:_ ::gu;" alone has power to blot such things out & s - of being. ness. There were nights when nature's ° 2 gentleness mocked the strife to which n.{::’ct_;r;,r,?::.;'nhd,mln':’e.::.:z::s, her °'g d:"“" c:n\iehmn;d “:; race of ‘4,4 forced herself to bend to them as men. But to-night she herself was in . g b the fight. he Incited, she cheered, she oy n' oy, W hat (hey asked must P2 18 ield of battle. Ei was sorased foy Stuggle, the repulsion. That o the fight. He drank In the violent salt Thior o ieoy re B o as Tet air as though it were a potion magic in 14 , o« i1 His bel tingled f he Rature did not love. On that congdition power. s Deing -tingled for the 3jone would they deal with her, and struggle. now these ideas, with all their exacting do’g":; P gt dg‘:} 3o« b relentless claims, had found embodi- ‘ ment in Walter Blake. were not drawn. No, the pair In that Biaje turned his head and looked at B5 10 host Wil i ok G M 1, s ceche quidily Sul B and 2 = o v ; s hand rest- ing in vain over the tumbling rlot of oa on the table, and she laid hers waves. But stay! Perhaps they looked lightly on it. i no more now; perhaps they had aban- “Walter, it's har doned that hope for the night. Chris- «If you love me —" he murmured. tine was not to deliver his letter till She knew by now that !ove can be the morrow; they would think that ypmerciful. With a little sigh she they had to-night. The thought rajsed his hand and kissed it. She brought back his pain and his was half reconciled to her surrender flerceness. They “o‘uld think that pecause she hated it. Had any one they had to-night! They Were heen there to interpose and forbid, her bbeon | ,_t,xt}:;ec:',c‘ bgffl hlt b oS reluctant acceptance would have been B ock! e muttered, as s rd dest com- he drew rein at the door of the Sallors ;‘i‘::‘eedhpl:":q:’r!l‘fl:e_ i lflu;‘ and cast his eyes up to the light Young Blake flung away his cigarette nv:mehr"nd_ow over his head. and sprang to his feet. He was not thin, young Blake was turning thinking of his aspirations now. Want- s . - mind, nor the leading of a new e. ‘};{“!eugxa)gs: 3\1:3' s’trahrted. or-t 'h should He was full of triumph. He forgot the v 3 ey must have put yacht that had not come, and any- l;ac;(,i;)r :utdlir:! for shelter somewhere. thing there mi;zhz’ be uncongenial in n she come I couldn't take the oundings. He caught Sibyl- You to sea to-night.” He came across la's hands. She looked at him with a to where Sibylla sat over the fire. “It's smile half of wonder, half of Sh no use expecting her to-night. We had put away her shrinking—thot must get away fio-morrow morning. rmight come ba: but it was RULES. I No story will be considered that is less than 2500 nor more than 3500 words in length. The length of the story must be marked in plain figures. = In the selection of stories names will not count. The unknown writer will have the same standing as the popular author. i As one of the obiects of the Sunday Call is to develop a new corps of Western writers no stories under noms de plume will be considered. If a story earns publication it will be well worth the writer’s name. v Stories not accepted will be returned at once. Those selected will be published one each week. This fiction contest will be continued indefinitely. Vi An_author may submit as many manuscripts as he desires, but no one writer will be permitted to win more than three prizes during the contest., Jrik Always inclose return postage. No manuscripts will be returned unless accompanied by return postage. v Write on one side of paper only; put name and address legibly on last page, and address to the SUNDAY EDITOR OF THE CALL, SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. Therg's plenty of time.” He meant strange that good could be done only time before Grantley Imason would re- on conditions. ceive Sikylla's letter and come to Falr- They were standing thus when they haven, séeking his wife. heard a voice, the loud gruff voice be- “It's too perverse,” Sibylla mur- loning to the retired merchant-skipper mured forlornly. who kept the inn. He was rather a Her vision of their flight was gone. rough customer, as indeed the quality The rush through the waves, the whis- of his patrons rendered necessary; he tling wind, the headlong course, the did not hesitate to throw a man out recklessness, the remoteness from all or (as Falrhaven report averred) to the world, the stir, the movement, the lay a stick across the back of the excitement—all were gone. On the saucy buxom daughter who served the yacht, out in mid-sea, no land in bar for him if her sauciness became too sight, making for a new world, they pronounced. On the whol® he was the two alone, with all that belonged to sort of character popular in the nau- the old life out of view and out of tical quarter of Fairhaven. thought—the picture had caught and The loud voice came from a distance filled her fancy. In hér dream the sea —from the bdttom of the stairs ap- had been as Lethe, the stretch of wa- parently. The landlord was talking to ters a flood submerging all the past himself, for all that appeared—no other and burying the homes' of memory. voice made itself heard. He was say- She had stood arm In arm with him, ing that he had made a promise, and reveling in the riot of the open seas. that he was a man of his word. He No further had the visiomy gone. The said this several times. Blake and Si- room In the inh was very different. It bylla stood hand in hand, their eyes was small, stuffy and not too clean. turned in the direction of the door. The smell of stale tobacco and of dregs Then the landlord observed that “times of liquor hung about it. The fire were hard, and that he was a poor smoked, sending out every now and man.” Blake and Sibylla heard that, then a thick dirty cloud that settled too. Then the landlord’s heavy step on her hands and hair. Her dainty came halfway up the stairs. “A poor cleanliness rose in revolt. It was a man,” they heard him say with strong sordid little room. It was odious then; emphasis. Still they could hear no it would never be pleasant in retro- other voice and no other step. But Somehew it carried a taint with they had dropped one another’s hands brought into prominence all that by now, and stood quite still a couple thoughts had forgotten; its four of paces apart. dingy walls shut out the glowing pic- “‘Oh, he’s bargaining with some- ture which her fancy had painted. body for the price of a bed!” said Blake came and stopd behind her young Blake with an attempt at light- chair, laying his hand on her shoulder. ness. She looked up at him with a sad smile, The landlord’s steps were heard de- “Nothing’s quite what you expect,” scending the stalrs again. And now she said. “I wanted my voyage! I another step drew near. suppose I didn't want—reality! But Suddenly young Blake darted to- I'm not a child, Walter. I have cour- ward the door and locked ®. He turn- age. This makes no difference really.” eq a scared face round to Sibyila. The 'Of course it doesn’t — 80 long as steps sounded along the passage. His we're together. eyes met hers. He did not know the T didn’'t come to you to make the step, but he knew the one thing that- good times better, but to make the bad he feared and his uneasy mind flew times good—to do away with the bad to the apprehension of it. times. That's what you wanted me “Can it be—anybody?” he whis- for; that's what I wanted to do.” She perea rose and faced him. “So I'll always “It's Grantley,” she answered quiet- welcome trouble—because then I'm Jy. “Unlock the door. I'm not afraid rm:ted then ¥ can do what I've come to meet him. In the end I believe I'm 0 do. oy i glad. "Pont talk about trouble, Sibylla. *“No, no! You're mad! You mustn't ‘We're going to be very happy.” see him. I'll see him. You go into Yes, I think s0,” she said, looking the other room.” There was a com- at him with thoughtful eyes. “I think municating door which led to a be"d‘. we shall be. room. “T'll not let him come near “By God, I love you so!" he burst you. I'll stand between - you and out syddenly, and then walked off to him.” the window again. “I must see him. I'm not atraia, She spread out her hands in an in- ‘Walter. Unlock the door.” stinctive gesture of deprecation, but “Oh, but I shan't let him come in. her smile was happy. I shall ' 2 “That's how I can do what I want “If it's Grantley he'll come in. Un- to do for you,” she said. 's how lock the door. At any rate we can't 1 can change your life, and—and find have the door broken in.” something to do with mine.” She smiled a little as she said this