The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, April 8, 1906, Page 3

clared, placing himself at once on the de- fensive. “To be sure you are. It is your privi- lege to barter with Mr. Burrows for this mortgage, which, as a matter of fact, is not worth the paper despoiled in its mekiug, which you knpw as well as he. It is also your privilege togtire of your bergain and seek to exchange this same worthless, mortgage for the certificates you deemed equally worthless, but which have suddenly scquired value unknown to the woman from whom you would now secure them by misrepresentation—ali of which, as you say, is legitimate. You sre to be congratulated upon your busi- ness perspicacity—your conception is en- tirely correct. The stock will become ex- ceedingly valuable—is valuable now while your mortgage will depreciate very materlally. The weak point in your cal- culations is the time of your coming. You are early by several hours. You ehould have come in through the back window, and—" “Sir!” “Possibly you might have possessed yourself of the certificates and the mortgage,” sald Waldron, paying no heed to the indignant outburst of the other. “What do you mean, sir? Do you mean to insinuate that I would commit & theft? Frave a care. you are tread- ing on dangerous ground!” he admon- ished, with increasing anger, and & cer- tain assumption of bravado. “Not necessarily,” replied Waldron, with exasperating cooluess. . “I merely suggested two methods of accomplish- ing the same object. You have shown your fine discretion by adopting legiti-. mate business methods, ‘which entitle vou to the fine protection of, the law. Had T come upon you as suddenly while employing the other method, which Is only enother way of accomplishing the same result, the same law would pro- tect ms In administering the punish- ment you so richly deserve. In other words, the fine distinction of the law saves from yourself, and makes you an honest man entitled to the re- spect of the community in which you dwel Mr. Chadeller, you are deeply indebted to the wise and beneficent laws of your country.” Confronted by a weaker man physi- rentally, Mr. Chadeller would ve resented such unquali- upon his character I more vigorously than he deemed sdvisable under existing conditions. rhere was that about the man who had placed him so completely on the de- fensive by laying bare motives he had sought to hide even from himself, which tended to exert a restraining in- fluence over his own weaker and ill poised mentality, although evidenee was not wanting of an inner tumult of you doubtless fied aspersions passion Yo the w ght go further and say that affair is node of yours, and you w e more justification for the assertion than any vou have yet made,” he declared, very warmly. “I am cap- able of menaging my own affairs with- out your assistance, as is Mrs. Winston, I dare say. If she does not choose to aceept my offer, well and good, and no harm done. I may then decide that T want the money on the mortgage. In any event T have no further dealings with you in connection with this or any other matter, and we will consider this interview—which I dare say you So kindly arranged, thinking to intimidate me—concluded, young man. I warn you, no more of your nonsense With me—no more of it—do you under- stand? “Perfectly, Mr. Chadeller—you evi- dently do not. I will enlighten you. We have only arrived at the real ob- ject of this interview—I will detain you but a moment longer. You have not settled that little matter of today, I believe?” “Practically ®0, yes. The details have been arranged, and the matter will be formally closed in the morn- ing.” “The offer is withdrawn, Mr. Chadel- ler,” he was informed with startling abruptness, *“ haven't much faith in that particular mortgage, but papers with signatures attached in unscrupu- lous hands sometimes become more or less annoying, and no harm can come from clipping its wings. I exact that mortgage, Mr. Chadeller, as a bonus on the settlement that I offered you to- day, and I will see you at my office at ten o'clock tomorrow morning and conclude our business relations— finally, I trust.” “What do you mean, outrageous—outrageous, sir!” fairly howled the surprised and infuriated Mr. Chadeller. “Is this business ac- cording to your 8ine ideas—agree upon one settlement, and ayail yourself of a technlcality to demand another? I won't stand {t—you hear me, sir—I won't stand such nonsense. It's not business!” “You are fl* It is not business ac- cording to my ideas. The methods, how- ever, are yours—not mine. I am prop- erly ashamed to employ them, and my sole justification is the fact that I am compelled to adopt the same weapons as my adversaries. Mr. Chadeller, I was wiliing to deal with you as a man, and I showed my sincerity by making the first advances when you were in my power. Now I am dealing with you the only way you are capable of appreciating—I am biting.” And if T refuse?” You will settle on the same basis as Mr. Burrows and his followers, which still leaves a comfortable margin to make the settlement I now offer you rather more desirable, if T mistake not. How- ever, it is for you to decide, and I shall consider your failure to meet me at the appointed time as equivalent to a refusal of my proposition. Now, sir, the inter- view is concluded.” ! hav sir? This is CHAPTER XXXL “You Love Me?” Que after another the characters in the great drama of life make their entrances and their exits. Some are applauded— some are condemned; each plays the part for which he is cast—it is a law none may transgress. Mr. Chadeller had no sooner taken his departure than Waldron was favored with another presence vastly more agree- able. Sald agreeable presence appeared in the form of a very brisk young woman clad in a most becoming tailor-made gown, topped by an equally fetching cre- ation of the milliner’s art, and swinging a very elongated umbrella. “Well, I'm 2 bear! I may not look the part, but 1 am!” was the surprising dec- jaration of this interesting creature as she planted the aforesaid umbrella f!— rectly before her and contemplated ‘the _man with mingled seriousness and amuse- ment, the former, however, seeming to predominate. “From all I am able to un- derstand,” she further declared, “the bulls turned the tables on the bears and drove them into the woods helter-skelter, and—well, really, T don’'t know—why do they do such things?” she asked, quite helplessly. “Beastly shabby of the bulls!” he told her, not very sympathetically, it is to be feared. “I am one of the unfortunates, it seems,” she continued, not much en- lightened by his reply. “Lost all my money—or most of it. Mr. Lowe sent me a sort of preparatory warning this after- noon, and was to have seen ‘me this evening to give me full particulars, which T did not wait to hear. If he has lost my money—that ends it. I cannot be of any assistance to him. To be sure, I might worry him a good bit, but that would only make the poor man more miserable, and not give me any satisfaction. Jack told me you were here, so I came to tell you my troubies—I must conflde in some one. How are you? Troubles first— greetings afterward,” she laughed, forcing herself with evident effort to make light of her misfortune. “Perhaps, after all, the affair has been grossly exaggerated,” he suggested, the conversation again reverting' to her troubles. ““Ah, ves, to be sure—vou could not well miss it! The occasion distinctly calls for one of two repiles—any variation would have stamped you a genius. have brutally suggested that the worst was yet to come.” “I was consclous of the extremely com- monplace character of my remark. How- ever, as I falled to achleve greatness, T may, perhaps, congratulate myself that I also failed to transgress precedent.” “Of course I must dispose of my house, horses, and all accessories, which I do not so much mind on my own account, bhut my mother will take quite another view,” she told him, more seriously. “I have not as yet informed her—I was not up to it. The disposition of the property involves certain complications, which I do not in the least understand, except that the proceeds do not all revert to me —in fact, but a small portion. I was sup- posed to have sufficient to squander aside from the property, and everything was carefully arranged so tHat I might not, in a2 mad moment, do away with my worldly possessions in one wHd swoop. I was beautifully protected against myself, and left to-the mercy of my guardian, as events have proved. Whether I-satil possess a place to lay my blessed head, or am a subject for my own asylum, is beyond me just at present.” “Allow me to relieve you of your um- brella; and will you remove your hat?” he considerately suggested, at the con- clusion of her remarks to which he had listened very intently. Don’t you like my hat?” she inquired, seemingly surprised at his apparent lack of appreciation, “I think It perfectly lovely.” “The hat as you say, is perfectly lovely —no aspersions intended, I assure you. T desire a few moments’ very serious con- versation with you, and the hat and um- brella would be sure to get on my nerves, “Nerves, indeed! You never had one. The lack of them is far more likely to up- set you. I am at once suspiclous when you confess to a weakness. What devil- iry are you up to now, sir?” “Will you sit here?” he sald, arranging a pillow at one end of the small sofa. “Now I am convinced that something is about to happen. However, I am pre- pared for the worst—I believe I have reached a state of recklessness,” she laughed, as she accepted the place made for her. “You see I am taking complete posses. sion of you. I am quite convinced that you are in sad need of a protector,” he told her, as he took possession of the other half of the sofa. 3 “I am sure of it. If I received my just deserts I should }»e reduced to short strings, given my ‘doll rags, and, relegat- ed to first principles generally.” “Is not that rather an extreme view of your immediate requirements?” “Mine Is an extreme case. Heroic treat- ment only would be efficacious.” “Will you permit me to prescribe for you?”’ he inquired, more serlously than he had yet spoken. “I fear that your prescription would avail me %tle." she sald, regarding him rather doubtfully. “However, you may prescribe, but understand, sir, I unequiv- ocally reserve the privilege of rejection—" “That Is ever the prerogative of your sex—to accept or reject,” he gently in- terposed. “Because I don't like bitter things, and besides, your motives are not altogether clear to me. They have not at all times been above suspicion, I am compelled to remind you, and I do not intend to bar- gain for any more bricks of whatsoever kind or character—I shall look before I leap hereafter. Now, then, if you have any definite proposition to make, please to state it plainly. Well, sir—what have you to offer?” “Only the love of a man—only his love and protection—" ’ “What!” she exclaimed incredulously. “Do you mean to say that you love me? a tiny finger unconsciously emphasizing the surprise of its owner. “Ah, yes! That is just what T mean to sa: he boldly declared, taking two unresisting hands in his. “Is it really so difficult to understand that a big awk- ward fellow—" Man! Man! What mean those painful and inarticulate efforts at speech—that desperate clutching at You might’ THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. throat, at this, of all unfortunate mo- ments? “Shall T call for help? Can I do any- thing to relieve you?” she inquired with prettily feigned solicitude. ‘Please, sir, do not distress yourself because I abso- lutely refuse to be responsible for the final result if the mere beginning is so painful “Jack’s collar,”” he managed to articu- late. “I sacrificed comfort and freedom of speech for an unsullied plece of linen. 1 was fearful that even though you were inclined to accept the manu the collar might hang him.” “And so you preferred choking to tak- ing any chances?” “Times over.” “Poor man! Now that you have proved the sacrifice of which you are capable you may remove your collar if you like, or I will get the sclssors and amputate it, because whatever I do I shall not ac- cept the collar.” “Is it so difficult to believe that he can possess a deep and abiding love—a love as deep and wide and strong as his Dbig awkward self?” he contlnued, resum- ing the thread of his declaration and possession of the little hands. “Do you fear to trust your happiness—your life to his keeping? Do you know him too little—s it too much to ask?’ “Oh, no, no! Not that! I trust you in eyerything! I would belifeve any- thing you told me. I would go with you anywhere. I belleve I would make any sacrifice for you—only—" “Only what?” he €ently asked, smiling at her contusion. “Only what, dear?” “Only it'is all so very sudden, and— there, I have said it after all! I have vowed and declared come what might, 1 should never be gulilty of stercotyping myself into that form. But you have never by word or look given me any idea that you cared for me, which, of coyrse, makes it all very sudden.” “I plead guilty to the charge, dear— Yyou are exonerated.” . I could not understand you. You al- most never. said nice things to me, and when I made pretty speeches to you they just seemed to strike a brick wall and bound back to me. You never seemed to hear, or to care, or to under- stand, and-sometimes I wondered if you were actually stupid in some re- spects, or just an animated piece of ice, And my! but you were hold at times. Why did you treat me so badly if you really cared for me?” “T will tell you why, dear,” drawing her nearer to him, ‘“but you must not be angry. To be perfectly plain—" *“And brutal!” she interjected. on “And brutal,” he acquiesced.” “I early convinced the idea that the much ma- ligned Wizard and his mistress pos- sessed several characteristics in com- mon. Of course I had not at that time made the acquaintance of the noble ani- mal--this - is merely an Impromptu simile inspired by after events. I was also warned to beware of you, as you will perhaps remember—" 2 “Remember! That wretch of a Jack!" she indignantly exclaimed, = “I should say I did! And yet, on the whi I think 1 shall have to: foi fancy I am under OhMg: raseal! But just t have given one som: ettached, and then. S away—need he? Go on—you were wal against' me.” y “No, dear, Jack did very wrong—very wrong indeed. I belieye I should pen- sion the rascal for his misdemeanor. However, his timely warning agreed with his own ideas perfectly. I was “Go convinced that ordinary methods would_ never avail with this particular young woman, and hers was a case requiring heroic treatment. 1 immediately de- cided, all or nothing, and if nothing, at least the satisfaction of being worsted in a sharp encounter rather than to suffer the suspense of a long campaign and possible defeat in the end.” “And so. you just pulled my head around like—so—and so—a—nd so!” she quickly responded, emphasizing the summary treatment.he had applied to the unruly Wizard. ‘“‘And-then I trotted along very meekly—didn't I? Oh, yes you did—and yes I did! I can see it all now—I saw it even then. And yet— 1 think I rather liked it, at least I did not seem to mind so very much, did I— Mis-ter Bill?" glancing up at him with pretty consciousness, as she voiced a name to which she had never before given expression. ‘‘And when did you first begin to really care whether I be- haved well, or—balked?” “Ah, dear, as I look back I think you have never been long absent from my thoughts since first we met that night in the mountains. You had hardly zone your way before I realized such a sense of loneliness as I had never known be- fore. Your sweet face was ever before me and your voice seemed repeating over and over again the words you spoke to me. Even the moon seemed to hold your likeness, and many long, weary hours have you been my companion on lonesome rides and midnight watches. And sleep many times brought sweet ams of your companionship; and sometimes—Ah, yes, sometimes!—] wished life might be the one long, sweet dream of happjness that came to me when my own consciousness took wWings and another sweeter and dear- er came in its stead.” “And you really thought of me so much —and you knew me so little?” “Out in that lonesome country one is permitted so much time for thought— thinking, thinking, ever thinking. Thoughts . are companions, ~and one chooses as he will.” “And so you chose me for your com- panion?” e . “Yes, dear, I chose you—every fiber of my being chose you. You have been more o me than you can ever know. You have been the sweet inspiration of my better self—a self I never knew until you made me consclous of the wonderful wealth of my possessions.” “And so did I regenerate you after all,” she said, laughing softly. ‘‘And so you Jjust thought and thought those lonely nights out there in the mountains; just thought of the girl you might never see again—a careless, frivolous girl, who per- haps had never a thought for you?"’ ““Yes, dear, and those were some Of the happlest hours I have ever known. In the silence of the night come thoughts we never know by day. Strange moods hold us-in their grasp, and beautiful, en- thralling thoughts flood fast upon us, do we but give them jeave to come. So alonc, so at one do we seem with nature that we are privileged, with scarce voli- tion of cur own, to quaff at her wondrous fount of life and love from Wwhich the poor chap off in the mountains may drink his fill, . even though he must find his sweetheart in the moon and confine his lovemaking to the communion of spirit— .vet ali strangely in accord with that vast, wild, weird, wonderful solitude.” ‘How beautiful are such thoughts! And what - happiness you must derive from your: knowledge of things of which so many of us have little or no conception. And ‘what in others might be mere ef- feminacy, in you, who seem so much a part of that wild and rugged country, is the very breath of truth and life.” “And did the careless, frivolous girl mever give cven one stray little thought to the man away out there in the moun- talns in return for the many he gave her?” “Ah, dear, how strangely are some things ordered. And what will you eay when 1, too, confess that you have been much in my thoughts since that eventful night. Yes, dear, my tnoughts have un- consciously turned to you—Oh, so many, many times! And perhaps some of those nights an answering thought has gone back to you and, after all, it was a very real girl with whom you held such swee communion.” “1 am sure of it. Omne could not give %0 much without recelving something in return.” *“I have imagined all sorts of strange and wonderful things about you. You inter- ested me not a little in the short time we were thrown together. My curiosity was aroused as well—that insatiable curiosity of mine!” she laughed. “I think I was Just the least little bit afraid of you—you seemed such a terribly dangerous man. My! but you fairly bristled with guns— they were strapped all about you. I was mortally afraid one of them might pop off accidentally and set them all going like a bunch of firecrackers. Where were you going? And what were you going to do? Or were you simply at your regular fight- ing weight? 1s that the.proper term?” *“It is as good as another,” he laughed. “That you were not one of the rough fellows of that wild country was plainly apparent, Your rough clothes failed to hide the evidences of your. earlier life and training. Some time when we become bet- ter acquainted—perhaps when I have been glven legal Permission, so that T may be well within my rights and privileges—I shall want to know much more about you. Oh! I shall want to know heaps and heaps of things—I give you fair warning.” “Very well, dear; when you are prop- erly privileged you shall know all” “And those times when I was so'much in your thoughts, did you really expect to see me again?”’ she asked him, gra- ciously ignoring a very mean speech. ““At times 1 would take myself severely to task and declare that such nonsense had gone far enough, that such thoughts were worse than useless—but all to no lasting purpose. —Yet another thought, nourished without volition of my own— even against my better judgment—told me that we should meet again, and had 1 followed my first impulse when you en- tered this roomon the night of our second meeéting I should have taken you in my arms and told you that I had found you at last in the joy and gladness that surged Into my heart. And times since, when perhaps you have thought me cold- est, 1 have been obliged to exert all my self-control to refrain from telling you what was in my heart, but I feared that 1 should only amuse you for the moment and in the end be cast out of your life.” “I cannot recall reciprocating just such a wild desire on the occasion of our sec- ond meeting, yet you seemed mot in the Jeast a stranger to me, an@ 1 could no more help trotting down those stairs and talking to you than I can heip loving you 1 2 L now, ang I guess if the truth: were known h"‘i ‘fi&”* was not greater to refrain from + thau the other, s egin to think it aln from one or the other—the other, far e P* | “When_ you coolly—and I think rather impudently, sir—informed me, that I was all right in my way—such condescension— but gave me to understand—no; you told me just that—you did not even permit. yourself the civility of leaving the infer- ence to me—that the particular wa;éhwu none of yours, I think—well, I think I loved you from that moment. My desire, however, to take your head off was con- siderably: greater at that particular time, and perhaps you think I would not have taken fiendish delight in doing just that, even though I knew my heart would pay the reckoning.” “And all the while I was blissfully un- conscious of the fate I had so narrowly escaped.’” “You were wise, sir, to keep out of my clutches for a time—you reckoned well. You shall pay dearly for your bad behavior! Just think of the years and years you will be compelled to do pen- ance, because you are too mean to die, and I won't, just for spite. Moreover, T'll take solemn oath mnever to give you cause for divorce, but just make you endure to the bitter end. , Now, sir, do you realize the punishment in store for you?” “\What a terribly vindictive little creat- ure you are, to be sure, when all the while your welfare was my chief concern —simply protecting you against yourself, and providing you with a husband most expeditiously. Had you been permitted to make the pace, I should even now be trailing along somewhere—perhaps in ..e next county—a creature of circumstances and woman's wiles.” “Oh, yes, to be sure! It is very com- forting to know after it is all over that a man had very considerately selected himself for one's husband, and if one was so foolish as to be miserable the while, there was really no necessity be- cause the man knew all about it and what wag best for the woman. But just the same, I have missed something. You might have let me k)l;mw you cared just littlest bit, and then—" tl’f‘e“:‘(’ kntow tx‘xgw. dear, all about it, and we haye .years and years in which fto make amends for the few short days—" “But don’t you see—it's not quite the same. There's the delicious uncertainty of something ‘quite certain. .ou Know, vet you don’t know, and you just live on those days and minutes—there just' can't be anything to take their place. It's like the first kiss—when it's gone, it's gone. There may be others, and perhaps very much better, mind you, but none quite the same.” = “Yes, dear—the first kiss. —_— CHAPTER XXXIIL The Law That Rules the Universe. «And so vou waited until T had been despoiled of my possessions, and then of- fered yourself as my protector? - Ah dear but that was good of you!™ “Yes—yes!” he mecquiesced, somewhat doubtfully. “You see—" 2 “Yes, c‘l{ar. I know,” she gently inter- posed. *You are rich in yourself, and that to me, is greater than all else “What optimists love makes of us—how generous we e under ' its magic spell,” he said, with fond approv. - “And how we trust our better hen love is th That al the world dear, as we be wish the world & greater s - jyhen did you “might es} %o‘ “Yes, in my power to happiness.” “And now, about the would you like a modes down here by the sea?" J. tuture. How Httle \cottage and Maude . selves Rulding power! - Would will be getting married one of these days. and then we shall all be here together.” “That will be lovely! I shall be glad to get away from the tumult of the city and enjoy a little rest and quiet. I am content to share your life as you make it. Without you, life would be but a passive existence. You have spoiled me for anything of which you are not a part— the greater part.” “Excuse me for living!” exclaimed Jack, turning abruptly to quit the room into which he had rushed with his usual impetuosity. “Come back., Jack!” said Waldron. “You may as well be made aware of the complications for which you are in no small measure responsible.” “Beg pardon, sir!” offering a mock _salute. “I forgot to ring my bell, and my light was out. 1 came in to tell Cathy that Mr. Lowe Is here and wishes to see her on very important business. “And her troubles still pursue her!” she sighed. *I fancied I had evaded them for a time—I believe I had quite forgotten them. Tell the gentleman that I am engaged—doubly engaged,” she laughed, glancing shyly up at the man by her side. “Say that 1 will see him tomorrow—next week—any time but the present. I have lost all my money, Jack, but misfortune has brought me a fairly commendable sub- stitute. It is a very ill wind that blows no good—even if it be only a man. We are going to live down here, and per- haps have a cottage beside you and Maude. We shall be very modest as becomes sensible people—" Her confidence was rudely inter- rupted by an outburst of merriment on the part of the young man who was quick to grasp the true state of affairs. “What . do _you mean. Jack Winston?” she indignantly demanded. “What do you mean by such—" “All right, Cathy, I'll tell the gentle- man that this {s your busy day. Love in a cottage—Oh, me! That's too good!” he laughed, "discreetly taking himself away from the displeasure he had incurred. . “What does he mean?’ she demanded of the man of her choice. “You are certainly entitled to an ex- planation,” he gravely assured her. “That ' young man evidently looks on something as a huge joke. 1 am sure I don't see anything so remark- ably strange, or so excruclatingly funny as to occasion such unseemly mirth, do you?” “I see no cause for undue hilarity. “Because if there ie, I am missing something, and I object to things being passed over my head.” “Perhaps he was overcome by the prospective happiness of your sugges- tion,” said the same unscrupulous man. “He impressed me as only a little less than hysterical. I hope he is not contemplating another attack. because everything seems to point td me as the one responsible—whatever: it is I am responsible for.” . “Pardon me again,” said Jack, re- turning to the room, with difficulty composing his features. “The gentle- man insists that his business is far too important to be deferred, and bids me make another and more urgent appeai to your ladyship to grant him but a moment of your precious time. I trust I am happy in my efforts.” But his ef- forts were suddenly directed along en- tirely different lines as a feminine hand laid hold of a convenient book, and he sought refuge behind the nearest ob- stacle, which chaneed to be the other an. “Ple.se note the tender object in front betore hutling anything care- jessly in this direction,” he admon- {shed, with-exasperating coolness. + “Very well, I will see the gentleman— and I will see you later, young man!” he was very positively informed, as she passed out of the room. 5 Jack congratulated Waldron with char- acteristic frankness upon what he was pleased to term his good fortune, and in- sisted that he had hoped for this same result from thé first. ““There is only one Cathy and one Maude,” he declared, with great satisfaction, “and we have cornered them both. All we require now are the cottages—side by side,” which he seemed to regard as a huge joke. “Well, T am only a little more con- fused then hefore, as the resuit of my interview with the gentleman,” Cathalee announced, upon her return a few minutes later. “Everybody seems to radiate mysteries, and so far as I am able to discover I am the bright and particular luminary around which they revolve. I am really at a loss to understand whether I am an object of pity, a joke or just what part I am supposed to be playing.” “What light did this particular gentle- man throw upon the situation?” Waldron inquired. “To begin and end with, sir. he said that you are a scoundrel—a particular bad kind. Hlis expression seemed to me a trifle informal—rather more expressive than polite. Oh, he said it she ln- sisted. “‘He sald, furthermore, that y were the cause of all the trouble; that you have practically all my money, consid- erable of his, and a lot of Mr. Burrows’ and- Mr. Morrison’s. All in all, you have behaved very badly, I am led to infer. He said, too—and if you please bear wit- ness, this to me is the touching part- that I had better look out for you: that no good could come from harboring such a rafcal.” +CHeerful . ictelligence concerning the man to whom gne has but just linked her destiny,” he told her, with commendable commiseration. “However, in justice to you because you were not there, and to myself because I was, 1 informed the gentleman that he was gpeaking of my affianced husband. The poor man nearly collapsed: but whether from embarrassment or- sym- pathv ‘for me I was not able to deter- mine.” “He was in duty bound to warn you— your worldly interests had been commit- ted to his keeping,” he felt compelled to remind her. & “I also informed the gentleman that you were even then in the house,” she continued, ignoring a very questionable remark, ‘“and suggested that he would do well to express his sentiments to you. personally, as I was sure that you could appreciate their particular application far better than I could possibly manage. He said that he had had one interview with you today, and [ fancied he seemed rather fearful that another might be forced upon him, as he immedfately de- clded that my business could wait until tomorrow, and "hastily took his de- parture.” + “] fear my efforts went for naught, after all,”” sighed Jack. “Now, do you mind telling me what it is all about?” gaid Cathalee, curiously re- garding first one and then the other of the men. *“What sort of a man have I really bargained for? TIs he rich man, poor man, beggar man, or—what Mr. eald? Not that it makes any aif- e to me whatever—a mere matter not. 1 ~prove an alibi, and I am willing to put up with N n in either 1 can stagger under a load of - while my talents in the begging line amount to little short of genius. What do you: mcan, sir, by such g b e carryings on?" she indignantly demanded, turning suddenly upon Jack. who was no less amused by her piquant comments than by the general situation. “You have more joy than ypu can“properly manage, Jack Winston, and 1 advise you to dis- pense a small portion and permit others a slight indulgence—you will surely do vourself harm.” ““What do I mean?” he cried. with difi- culty controlling his mirth. “I mean—it means—that you have drawn the capital prize in the matrimenial lottery! Love in a cottage! Ha! Ha! Why, Catby, your prospective husband owns a gold mine that requires a whole railroad to carry off the gold; and I own part of the rail- road—don’t 1. Mister Biil?" - Exter!” piped a shrill small voice. “Latest 'dition evenin’ pipers!” and a young miss arrayed in her brother's coat, his cap drawn recklessly over one eye and his collection of papers under her arm, romped upon the scene, “Exter! Exter! Full ‘count of de terryble corner in bears—tousands of lives lost—no, dollars —tousands of dollars made and lost! Piper; miss?” handing Cathalee a paper. “Piper, sir?” handing Waldron another. ‘Piper, sonny?"" “Get out of that coat, kid!" indignantly ordered big brother, starting tn hot pur- suit of the fleeing “kid,” who required no second admonition to place a safe dis- tance between herself and the lordly own- er of that new coat, which was assuredly :\o! designed as a plaything for little sis- ers. “I could manage the scoundrel part, and even Mr. Lowe's qualifying phrase, but the picture is simply trampling one’s good nature under foot,” said Cathalee, shak- ing her pretty head in disapproval of the supposed likeness of her prospective lord and master as she rapidly scanned the large headlines, which told her more of the man to whom she had given herself than she had known before. ‘““Ah, dear!™ she said, looking up into his eyes watch- ing her with amused interest. “shall U ever know you? I wonder If I ever shall? You will always be to me like some great and wonderful book, one may read over and over, ever finding something new.” “I hope go, dear.” ““And shall I ever feel that I have cut all the pages and read each line—or, hav- ing read, that I understand?” “I hope you may never find the story old, and when you have committed it all to heart may it still be the sweetest story ever told.” “‘Ah, dear! I know you so Jittlet-and yet so well,” she softly sighed, looking up at him with eyes of love. “You certainly took the man for better or for worse—the accessories were merely de issues,” he was compelled to admit. '‘And to think that I insisted upon ur being a poor man despite yourself—and ou permitted me to have my own she laughed, just a little reproach- ““That I cannot say—but very likel. “What an unscrupulous man you are, to be sure! And did you think by depriving me of my means of sustenance to make me perfectly helpless and simply compel me to accept the first man who chanced to offer himself? To think had you not happened to be the man! However, I am glad it is all in the family, because now I can go on with the work that I had planned, and with your assistance my poor efforts will no longer be make-be- Heve.” “Yes, dear—we will work out our re- generation together.” “I want you to do something for me this very minute—Oh, you will find me very terrible! There are no end of things I shall want. Jack and Maude—1L want you to do something for Jack.” “I have already ged for thal young man’s future, my dear. Who else would you like to provide for? What about yourself?” “Oh, you will provide for me! You cannot well do less, you know, after tak- ing away my worldly pessessions.” “True. I must not fail in my duty now that I have you so completely in my power. “Even were we entirely dependent upon the work those big, strong hands could do I would trust myself ‘to their keeping and to the great big heart that beats in there,” a little hand indicating the loca- tion of that organ, “and consider myself privileged beyond my just deserts. And 1 fear—yes, dear, I fear—I would make any sacrifice—" “Ah, little one!” he gently interposed, folding her in his big, strong arms, and looking into eyes suffused with tears of love and happiness, “I would not, in jus- tice to you, ask you to make even one little sdcrificé of which your woman's heart did not approve. No lasting hap- piness could come through sacrifices that silenced even so much as one little pro- testing voice of your true and honest self. Some time I would be compelled to an- swer that same little accusing voice that had only been lulled to quiet for a little while, and in just the provortion that vou were made to suffer, would you—all unconsciously, perhaps—hold me respon- sible, and your love wanme. That would be but the beginning of the end, finally ving us destitute of the love we now think we possess for all time, and of which we fondly imagine no power can deprive us.” “Yes, dear, you are right—you would even protect me from myself. And yet, knowing you are right, I would make the sacrifices just the same. Women do not reason like men, which perhaps is well ‘We cannot reason agalnst the dictates of our hearts. We love—we trust—we give our all in the simple faith that though all the world be false one man will be true to his trust. We live in the present, content with what each day holds for us. We cannot understand that our love today may be scorned tomor- row, our very sacrifices our own undo- ing, which may return to us in bitter- ness of scorn and reproach. Then comes the day of reckoning with our inner selves. Then do our souls demand ex- plation. Then do we drink such bitter dregs of misery as man can never know, for even so much as we are willinz to sacrifice more than he, is he uncon- sclous and careless of the weight of woe he casts upon her whom he has pledged himself to love, honor and protect—yet knowing, we are not proof against our- selves. What #s it? Why is 1t “It is the violation of the law of love— the law that rules the universe,” he said, with stmple faith. “Ah, yes!” she softly sighed, “the law that rules the universe! How we trans- gress it! How little we understand and appreciate the most precious of our pes- sessions. The shallowness, the emptiness of the great worid, If no fond heart an- swers to the yearnings of your own! How cold, how callous, if it holds not one dearer than all others! Nothing can take its place—no substitute ever known. Riches and station are but hollow mock- eries, intoxicating for the moment and leaving only the amomaly of a man or woman who thinks to find the consum- mation of life's purpose in the artificiali- ties of the great world. Ah, dear, it is all well lost if one but gains the love that is true.”