The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, February 25, 1906, Page 5

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. 1 never spare Incle Page may as wel r al- v him con- Page inter- th 1 can ever care for any one else, but I couldn’t defy you, mother.” ‘I suppose he was angry over my let- ter,” Mrs. Briggs said tentatively. 2 n' gry, but he felt that - in not giving him a w what was in him. He you had forbidden me to have known nothing of said wisttully. sudden contempt for » had obeved her man- without a struggle. Iy proved him a poor thing, . prize as Mary, and the oung. she would get over 5y in the love of some man Such a one was at hand, considered him so de- 1w that already ich, prospectively I am glad, 2 against nephew, Brown isiting her, several nice s. Our lit- mmer, and can do’ your and I who was a nd Briggs scn-in 1 him “Oh mother, home with you're mop- Mrs. Brigsgs ! It's no for me, Then with a wan behaving very well, mind it, and let's just what what sa me at the dded, mentally. sked the nephew and Flora - Mrs. Briggs sald, pres- can send John to tell them i are > tired John? Judge's new hand,” Mary com- he's a Mrs. they wonderful manager. Briges pointed with rounded the home Yes rhere he: coiner. Mary indifferently the glanced at [ovTTrvTes S OSSO SESS S SSS ® SI0000L e like me, yvou had nearest lamppost cheeks flaming. He 3 hen she her own. said, “and She stepped o upon the deck, her hining. He met her moodily. “Shall the bow?” he asked. She nodded. “This is our last evenin she said “We will make it long. ‘Howeve~ long we make it, there is. weys to-morrow.” Her face clouded. ‘Yes, morrow,” she admitted. 8 fell into step with him, and they ength of the deck. Once she nce, and he laid” his hand When she recovered her- remove it. far up,” she sald. “We ght out to sea and forget . rget 17 thers is to- he asked gloomil “I will make your hands watch the boat Ts it not like a stars are coming e salt spray dashed into thelr faces a ove wet wind ts were wrapped er figure seemed ; fog that rose ) quality in her earance was emphasized v away from her. rough hands,’ laughed softly swelled in her be broken by any other m ned. “Don’t sa *“You are too he said then a oice: “I to you to at,” it is true?”’ n was mounting into the , and it lit the sea with a path The pearl-colored mist floated teamer, fluttering like the | filmy garments of a water sprite. A dozen head she answered Her with a triumphant time he 4id not speak. In the half moon she saw tue urrows upon his face. His hed time yet” thdraw & false play back.” he trembled and her lips parted. T n he replied, “and I would not.” ie stretched out his arms as if to draw him, and she faltered before sion in his glance. Then he fell “What a mess you are making of he said ming eves had reassured is already made,” she re- he sald at last, ¢ is not,” he returned. Then he Take your \ 4 4 BETW . mmoned his flagging force. *“And it hall not be." : iow will it 4 n— She lau Vhat love ruled by reason?” “By proofs.” She laughed again. faith? " he retorted passionately. k a moment! Look things f u know of me you."” you prevent was ever “What proof ever not believe back to America, man you meet."” Why should I res Because it is the opinion spectable public— “Then I don't public.” “You ought to.” “I don’t agree with you.” Again he was silent, and again he faced ber. *““What is it that you love in me?” he demanded. *It is not my face.” you.” and ask the ect his opinion?” of the re- respect the respectable “Nor my manners?” “Hardl ' “Is there anything about me that is es- peclally attractive?” “I have not observed it.” “Then I'll be hanged if I know what it 18! “So will L” BY EDITH M. DOANE. LUNGE—a jolt—and the elevated train halted reluctantly beside the station platform; through the ) goftly whirling snowflakes out- (side the electric lights blinked fitfully. “Ninth street!” yelled the conductor, ) jerking open the door. (" A young man sprang to the platform, losely followed by a girl mufiled to :r ears In soft, warm furs. Burying r face in her big, fluffty muff she re- sed his gulding arm and walked (briskly down the snow-drifted steps, yout into the white, whirling world in the street below. “Isn't it & lark?” she sald gayly. Her eves were dancing. She turned & | lovely face flushed with cold and ex- (citement toward the six feet of mas- )culine appreciation beside her. “Ism't it glorious?" ( ‘“Beautiful ) face. “Don't you love it? < “With all my heart, ) don Huston, ferventl ) The street lamps flared in ghostly succession, and her furs were white with snow as they pushed through the #oft, smothering storm. lell me'—in spite of himself his voice was unsteady—“you really did care about coming?” “Oh, ves,” lightly. “I have always wanted to see the Cafe Bellard.” “There was no other reason?” She looked at him In apparent sur- prise, though her eyes danced with mi chief. “Other reason? she echoed. Suddenly her mood changed. With a quick little gesture she laid her hand on his arm “Don’t, Gordon,” she ly. “We have only a few hours to- gether. Don't—nervousiy—"say things ( to =poil our evening, Gordon. His eyes were on her hummed Gor- 1d, beseeching- THaA~™ POOR CHILD RUNMNING HEADLONG, PERFEC TLY WiLD b He sighed impatiently. “No woman ever discovered it before,” he said. ‘“‘though I've known all sorts and conditions. But then I never knew'a woman llke you.” “lI am glad of that,” she responded. “I would give two-thirds of my future— such as it is—if I had not known you.” ‘“‘And yet you love me,” He made a step toward her, his face quivering. But his words were harsh. “My lovd is a rotten reed,”” he sald. Then he turned from her, gaving gloomily out to sea. Across the water the path of moonlight lay unrolled. Small, brisk waves were playing around the flying steamer. Suddenly he faced her. “ias- ten!” he said, She bent her head “From the beginning I have lied to you —lied, do you hear? I singled you out for my own selfish ends. All my kind- ness, as you call it, was because of its usefulness to me. While you looked on In innocence I made you a tool in my hands for the furtherance of my own pur- poses. Bven those confounded prunes were sent to you from any other motive than sympathy for you—'" She shivered, supporting herself against the rafling. “I—I don’t understand,” she stammered. i ‘“Then listen again; I needed you, and I used you. There is not a soul in this boat but believes me to be your husband. I have created the impression because I was a .esperate man, and it alded me. A A A e A A A A “As you wish.” His tone was cour- teous but full of coldness. So his great love for her was but a thing that would “spoil” her evening. They had reached the corner now and in silence they crossed the street to the great cafe whose lights flared out invitingly through the whirling snow. “I am’ 8o glad you thought of bring- ing me here,” sald Molly shyly, abashed by his studied silence. “It is like the places on the Continent. There is one in Paris—in the Rue de Rivoll, that I wish you could see. “I will look it up next month.” She gave a perceptihle start, which was balm to his wounded feelings. “Next month!"” she repeated, with a EEN TW e My name is not even Lawrence Smith—’ “Stop!” she said faintly. For an in- stant she staggered toward him; then her grasp upon the: ralling tightened. “Go on,” she added. Hiy face was as gray as the fog which shrouded it. *“I left America a hunted /man. When I reach the other side, [ shall find them still upon my tracks. It is for an act which they call by an ugly name; and yet I would do it over again. It was justice. She was shivering as from a strong wing. “I—I don’t think I understand yet,” she sald. “I have led a ruined life,”” he went on hurriedly. “My past record is not a pret- ty one—and yet there is no act of my life which I regret so little as the one for which they are ruoning me down. It was a deed of honor, though ft left blood upon my hands—" Her quivering face was turned from him, “I reached New York with the assist- ance of a friend—the only man on earth who knows and believes in me.. He se- cured a stateroom from an L. Smith, who was delayed. I took his name as a safeguard and when I saw yours beside me at table, I concluded he was your husband, and I played his part in the eyes of the passengers. It succeeded well.” e laughed bitterly. ‘“Lawrence was a guess,’” he added. i Then before her stricken eyes his reck- A A A little pale in his turn and regarded her ruefully, “Why is it impossible?” His jnind rushed backward with a lightning stroke to the rumors that had come from Bar Harbor in the summer time. In one quick flash he understood. “It {s Morton!" he sald, bitterly. “I have promised to marry him,’ she returned, in a low tone—so low that he had to bend to hear it. “Do not be angry with me; I thought—I did not know—" A light broke over his dism: “You mean—you could care—you do care—a 1ittle?” he yuestioned eagerly. She picked up & spoon and twisted it nervously in her fingers. “That does WITH ALL MY HEART. mournful attempt at unconcern. “I daldn’t know you were going abroad.” “The firm has offered me the manage- ment of a branch house it {8 opening in Parls."” “Of course you will go? It You will be very happy ther “Is that what you think?’' he sald earnestly, dropping his voice and leaning across the table. “Then for once you are wrong. I shall never be happy anywhere without you'—determinedly—‘"‘as my wife.” “That is it,” he sald simply, ** ‘With all my heart;’ that Is how I love you—"With all. my heart.” " = “Don’'t say anything more,” said the girl almost passionately. “Don’t. The more you say now the worse it will be for me by and by when I have to think. 2Ana—and—Iit is all quite impossible. “But why, dear?’ He had grown a 3 3 natural. ) . not matter,” she sald gravely, “because —1 have given my word.’ “But you wlill break that wretched promise?”’ He looked steadily at her and she r turped the gaze as steadlly. ‘“No.” she sald, very sweetly and gravely, “I can- not hreak my word. He depends on.me utterly. He has no thought except for my happiness. He Is so good. He has never cared for any other woman. If T should desert him it 'would break his heart.” Gordon leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his face between his hands, and regarded her with hurt, miserable eyves, “And you prefer to break mine,” he sald gloomily. “I have promisi repeated Molly, :ulloiuy. with a little wan attempt at a mile. LOULVE JACKJS' ON figure beyond the grove, then with a low cry, leaned forward, gazing In- tently. “John?” she repeated, turning a be- wildered face to her astonished mother. “Why, Molly! What Is it?" Mrs. Briggs cried, somewhat alarmed. The young man took off his hat and tosded back his hair with a pecullar gesture, and with a shriek Mary jerked up Dobbin, plunged out over the wheel, darted to the barbed wire fence, dropped flat, rolled smoothly under it and flew, still shrieking, across the meadow. Paralyzed with dreadful fear, Mrs. Briggs gazed helplessly. There could be but one hideous explanation of the astounding scene—Mary /was suddenly seized with mental derangement—she had taken that miserable affalr to heart; she had brooded over her trouble; her whole expression showed that, and now, having it all brought up agian— oh, horrible! it was her own mother who had— “Oh, lordys lordy!” Mrs. Briggs moaned, backing clumsily out of the buggy and fluttering along the fence like a hen at the garden pickets; but she could not roll her plump figurs underneath, She would have to go around, and that poor child' running headlong, perfectly wild. She was now disappearing in the gvove. In her frenzy she would rush on down the hill beyond, and the creek was high. “John! John!" Mrs. Briggs screamed frantically. “Catch her, John! John apparently understood and dis- appeared in the trees, while Mrs. Briggs, shaking with sobs, scrambled into the buggy and slashed Dobbin into a run with a suddenness that flung his heels to the top of the dashboard. She slid to her knees in the box and plied the whip, wailing aloud at every jump of the horse. At the pasture lane she turned so sharply that the buggy tilted against a post, nearly tipping her out, but she only urged the astonished Dob- bin on, her imagination picturing her darling already at the bottom of the lessness fell from him. “Oh, it I could undo this,” he said, “I would go back gladly to stand my chances of the gal- lows—" A sob broke from her. said wildly. ‘“‘Have you none?”’ *You must believe this” he went on passionately, “that at the last I loved you. You must belfeve.” 2 She shook her head almost deliriousiy. “You must belleve it,”’ he repeated sav- agely. “If 1 could make you believe it, 1 would lie down to let you walk over me. You must belleve that I have loved you as I have loved no other woman in my life—as I could love no other woman but you. You must believe that.” He put out his hands as if to touch her. but she shrank away. “No—no!” she cried. And she fled from him into the obscurity of the deck. All that night she sat up on the edge of her berth. Her eyes were strained, and she stared blankly at the foam break- ing against the porthole. Thought hung suspended, and she felt herself rocking mentdlly like a ship In open sea. She saw her future brought to bay before the threatening present, and she glanced fur- tively around In search of some byway of escape. The walls of the little state- room seemed closing upon her, and ghe felt the upper berth bearing down. She sobbed convulsively. “It was so short,” she sald. “Hush,” she no mercy— lowed to have you for even. these few hours?” he went on moodily. “He {s away on business,” Molly an- swered, her eyes intent upon the adjoin- ing room. “I told him you were coming over from Philadelphla and he sald he was sorry not to see you—that he must be away.” Gordon sat buried in unhappy reverie. ‘Do look at that girl just sitting down at the table by the door,” exclaimed Molly suddenly. *“Did you ever see such a hat! There must be a special kind of a bird to grow such stupendous plumes.” Gordon turned. “She completely over- shadows her companion,” he sald with forced interest. The newcomer settled herseif in her chair and moved the amazing hat to one slde. “By Jove!" exclaimed Gordon, with a low whistle. He glanced quickly at Molly, Two red spots like danger signals burned on either cheek; her wrathful eyes were fastened gn the girl's companion. He looked up, their eyes met, and Molly stared at him with no hint of recognition. He half rose to his feet, then a hot wave of color suffused his face as he turned sullenly to his companion. Amazement, indignation, rellef, chased themselves » in quick succession over Molly's face. She met Gordon's ey@ and her own fell before their message. The strains of the violins died softly away, the crowd thrilled with enthusiasm. “Encore—encore,” they cried and again gay little French song echoed “With all my heart,” Gordon leaned over the table. “Say it,” he whispered. The delicate color dyed her cheeks crimson; he bent nearer— “With all my heart,”” she whispered. (Copyright, 196, by E C. Parcells " N S e s ' “How does it hnp’!n that I am al- = swirling stream. She dashed through the open gate of the potato fleld. She could not wait to take down the bars of the small oat patch that Intervened. but squeezed through and ran, panting breathlessly, too exhausted to call. Soon she caught sight of John. He had Mary safe. Her abused knees weakened at that, but she struggled to them. John clasped Mary close in his arms and she was laughing shrill erying I 1- cally, “Oh, 1t is Allen! It is Allen “Yes, honey, yes,” Mrs. Briggs quav- ered. “Oh, lordy, lordy! Come to the house with mother, dea don’t let go of her for your life, John!—I've been wicked cruel to her—yes, honey, yes, it's Allen!” “It’s Allen! Allen!” Mary reiterated, her face on the young man’s breast. “Oh, lordy! lordy!" moaned Mrs. Briges, the tears streaming. ‘“Humor her, John Help me get her to the house; then bring the doctor. Yes, ho-honey, it—it's—Al- Allen!” ““Mrs. Briggs"’—John patted her shoulder comfortingly—“you needn't be frightened. Mary is all right. It is Allen—John Allen Smithers—instead of John Smith. I want- ed to prove to you that I wasn't a mere good-for-nothing”’—Mrs. Briggs sat down suddenly—"and T hope you have changed your opinfon of me and will accept me as your son-in-law.” “For I'll never, never have anything to do with the Judge's nephew!” Mary de- clared aggressively. Mrs. Briggs started, then burst into peals of tearful, choking laughter. “I guess we'd better stop and see where we're at,”’ she gasped. “I'm the only one that's ecrazy, it seems. Who wants you to have anything to do with the Judge's nephew, missie? So, you young scamp. you're Allen, are you?—and youw've worked a slick game on me—but I'm suited. Why, it’s the very thing I've been planning for weeks!™ Then, with *fresh shrieks, Mary fell upon her mother and they kissed and cried and laughed together, while John Allen looked on, grinning foolishly. (Copyright, 1%6, by McClure, Phillips & Co.) SOSSSNNSSNSNNO00GES00000000000000) SHORES. b b | ‘When she came upon the deck next day it was high tide, and the steamer was drawing into Liverpool. She wore a close- ly fitting jacket, and carried a small bag in ber hand. Through her lowered veil her eyes showed with scarlet lids, as It she. had been weeping. The crowd of passengers, leaning eagerly over the rail- ing, parted siightly, and she caught a glimpse of the English landing, peopled by strange English faces. A sob stuck in her throat, and she fell hastily into a corner. She dreaded foot upon a strange shore. She hy the excited volces vaguely, as she I seven days ago upon salling. They grated upon her ears with the harsh insistence of un- shared gayety, and made her own unhap- piness the more poignant. there is Jack!" rang out the voice of a woman in front of her. “Lend mae, the glasses. Yes, it is Jack! And he came up from London to meet me.” Then the steamer drifted slowly to the landing and the voyage was over. Bhe saw the gangways swung across, and she saw a dozen men stroll leisurely aboard. Yes: the end had come. “Thers ip no harm in good-by,” sald a voice at her side. She turned hastily. He was looking down upon her, his eyes fil.ed with the old haunung gloom. ‘Good-by,” she an- swered. He held out his hand. “And you will go home llke a sensible woman and for- o “And forget?” 8he looked up at him, her eyes wet with tears. “Oh, how could you?" she cried brokenly. “How could you? He shook his head. “Don’t think of me,” he responded; “it is not worth the trouble.” The hand that held her bag shook nerv- ously. “I wish I had never seen you, she sald, Then a voice startled them. “So you have got your wife safely across, worse for the voyage. May I have the pleasure?” It was the ship’s surgeon, & large man with a jovial face. ™1 am afraid it wi not the brightest of honeymoons,™ added with attempted facetiousness. She looked up, her face paling, a sudden ter- ror in her eyes. A man with a telegram In his hand passed them, glancing from right to left. He stopped suddenly, wheeled around, and came toward them. All at once her voise rang clear. She laid her hand upoen the arm of the man beside her. “It was a honeymoon,” she sald, and she smiled into the su: n's face, “so bright that even seasickness couldn’t dim it. You Enow it has lasted eight years—" The surgeon smiled and the strange man passed on. Some one took her hand, and they de- scended the gangway together. As she stepped upon the landing, he looked down at her, his eyes aflame. “For God's sake!” he sald, what it means?" Her glance did not waver. “It means, ered, “that I am on your side “tell me His hand closed over the one he held. “I ought to send you back,” he sald, “but I canmot.” “You cannot,” she repeated resolutely. Then her voice softened. .“God bless that detective,” she added fervenily. Across the passion in his eyes shot a gleam of his old reckless humeor “It was Cook’s man after a tourist,” he said, “but God bless him.'" ’