The evening world. Newspaper, November 7, 1914, Page 9

~ \ f RY I Fasten a Bracelet A New. Yorker's Odd Adventures With « “Badge of Slavery” wee we ve CHAPTER XVII. > (Ceaatinned) Eavesdropping. rT} ND then all at once, his voice began to sound Pon fierce and tender at “en same time, I suppose he was very close to her, for her answers were muffied, and _, Stew weaker and weaker. She was trying to tell him that he must leave the house—that she would never let him kiss her—but she was giving way. “Schuyler, I couldn't stand it any longer—I sat up suddenly—the whole Jounge creaked like the very devil! I just had one glimpse of Norah's wu White dress, then she slipped out of eight. Your Frenchman and I were within two feet of each other, he standing outside the window, and I kneeling inside on the lounge, ready to Wap out. “ “I'a’meant to knock the man down, ® @© thrash him within an inch of his “Mge—it I could. But when he looked me, I couldn’t move. It wasn't fupk, Schuyler—I'm sure of that. No, there was something about that look of bis that seemed to say he had a right there. Not the least bit threat- g or sullen—not that at all, thor- hly self-possessed and indifferent, as cool as ice. “He waited for me to move or speak end I couldn't. Then he walked q@uletly Gown the steps and—and the next I eaw of him he was here with ie a the latter part of young > Westbrook’s story I had sat alent, busy. Now as he so: arm of bis cbair, y that. What do you Schuyler? Who is what is he?—or is it caly a cer” rned eagerly. “What- you aay I'll do, Schuyler. I know you won't stand for anything raceful pening to Norah.” ‘o any of you—nor to myself, tee, It would be a disgrace to me I allowed a man in my employ to misbehave. But he isn't misbehaving : most leaped from bis seat. Misbehavior is @ matter of intention. “At midnight—on the front porch— with my sister!” “It's t! gary, Hance and place be er.” 1G bad to “But good Lord! Schuyler, you're meestag | the. Point altogether. He's uffeur—@ common servant.” fe! here, Aleck, this ie my advice “his isn’t the time for a row with DuBois, “You can go back home and * =. elasp on that. You won't be com- 4 your honor—or anyone’s— iting—by letting matters take P course. oi eabecately. You. aay you can *erust me? Then don't follow this thing eray further—for the present, at any sin spite of himself he let go a tong Svrenthg relief, “I'll do whatever you *” We-rose and ehook hands,” “ keep you up any longer, then, Tm mucb obit to you, t of blind moles er.” t'g.to be forgotten.” % the curtain and schoolboy’s as he moved a to mynelf, I closed and sa the tone window. _. CHAPTER XVIII. ‘I Demand . TEN I entered the breakfast reom the next morning Bien was standing by a ‘window looking out over the valley, She turned et "Good morning, little Nell. . Here ‘weoderately good humor, though, 60 ee needn't run—yet.” Yow Mfor simile seemed to thank me for She Nghtness of my greeting. Pos- etio. attitude in delivering me p.lettere the night bore, Or again, hi been relieved that I P tha subject of Carlos uchamp's antice—it is not pleas- -keppe-to think.of a lover, even though a led ane, in so pitiab! light, buserYeu don't look as if you would teent and.pinch me this morning,” she ¥. Seuc'We. shall sce. Besides, it wasn't Yaluatie Nell. Quilp pinched, was it? It Cwme-als. wife. rue, sho: invited me to the view the ‘valley. ‘sa glorious day. Just see how those clouds pile T glanced at her stealth! With a wave of her g Bat? Fas i 5 3 i! see gra, 2 53 te i ~& E faced again. i. you waiting for your moth- err’ She turned to thi laughing up at her ir. “Oh, I was mother won't be down. of me to keep a man waiting for something to eat. I might easily have had my head bitten off.” “y¥ ‘ing. No, low naughty my coffee. “I hope you aren't any the worse for wear yesterday, Nell— the wetting and the bound, and all I didn’t when S into that stream that you are @ it or two shorter than I am.” “Tm not small, sir! No, I didn't feel col: ‘ter Mary Finney’s.” She handed me the cup, and gras 4 there. “Craig, I think I'm only just “Dee-lighted—if I did.” “You're forgetting ibe eise aa 4 jhe spoke through teeth that Bad obligation—to yot returned, only half in jest. bart a queer May Moe a itiee “But I think “The sound we heard 1n the woods 1 think—Im elmost sure—it was at" control him much better than any on perhaps he had —when he heard the why?” he's certainly a big enough scoundrel him his conge, and he knew from and two together and added up face was & Esticate pink. ducked him once.’ didn’t kick him. a great healer of old wounds.” I the handle of the coffee-pot as pour for herself, but the notion died beginning to realize you saved my ife—from that dreadful dog.” “You saved me from being fright- fully bitten, at any rate.” ur breakfast.” She drew a long hazel lights began to sparkle in her eyes. 8 were almost clenched. “Its—an_ intolerable— obligation. u—is intoler- “I'm glad to hear you say eo—TI shall ut you under every obligation I can,” As she filled her cup at last, she le. ‘Gomes,’ wal aa dog has had his “The dog has A th I eave wey Be at- tacked us.” “That's int —you remember, we both heard it— the other side of the ravine?” Carlos Beauchamp’s voice.’ I stared. “By Jove! you don’t mean “Yes. ‘Gomez’ used to belong to him, you know. He could always else. Aleck thought ‘Gomez’ hadn't been trained to attack people, but right signal.” By Jove!" Texclaimedagain. “But She was silent and I was forced to answer my own question. “Hum-m! for anything—a crafty devil, too. He'd just received your note giving Aleck I was here and would be with you yesterday morning. He put two ht I was le for » I suppose. crafty je “You aren't v resen: “I knocked bin down—twice—and “I wonder—you had bim at your mercy—such a beast—I wonder you “[ believe Dirck did attend to that fm a casual way. Besides, time is y as I apoke— fy the pink in her chee deep red that was lon; ying out “You'll go for the ride?” I when we had finished breakfast. ‘Yes, of course. I'll put on my hat and be down in five minutes.’ ‘When she had gone I sent Theresa out with instructions to Dirck. By the tne F dor the porte-sochere. waiting under the ‘ Tn 5 drive, Dirck. You needn't He. whipped out his monkey- ‘wrench Kk mone! step nearer and epoke 1 an undertone, “Last night I learned from Theresa fhe lame word of @ matter that has troul us. I knew that the shrewd fellow was not easily misled. ‘What is it now?’ T heard the front door open behind me as Dirck pretended to test the steering wheel, “There is mademois- elle. 0 not look round, Theresa told me—last night—Ah, Mademol- selle ie coming! Another time.” He removed his cap and atepped back as Ellen ran down the steps, “All ready?” I asked. “All ready. Where are we going? I hope it's to be a good long ride. “‘Over the hills aud far away,’ chanted. I helped her in while Dirck took a turn. ol Expect us when All ady, Nell? Away we 0. Ls we slid smoothly off, a messen- ger boy turned his bicycle into the way. I slowed down. . boy He touched his cap to his wheel barely turning. “For ay Ripe t ety a World Monseer Somebody — some dago name.” He was passing us with skilful slowness. “He stayin’ here?” “Monsieur is,” fuses “that man''sy ‘the ‘porte: : man by cochere there.” “ Tain’ ‘t DuBois!” cried the iad, a of resentment jin his tone, juess I can read all right, all right.” Guiding his bicycle with one hand, ‘he snatched off his cap with the Into its recesses, the telegram other, and re pounding up the billat a leisurely pace. “Where would you Uke to go, Nell?" “Anywhere—it's such a glorious day anywhere in the world! I shoved throttle and spark to a thirty-mile speed, and away we flew. For a long time neither of us spoke. The wind rushed against our faces, tugging in vain at Ellen's trim veil and shining hair. On the perfect New England road hardly any dust was disturbed by our flight. Trees, stone walls, and houses flitted by like images in @ dream. ‘A rock-crowned hill I well remem- bered loomed on our left. It was there Nell and I had abandoned our search for the golden ball that lies beneath the evening star. A further on wo flashed past the fa- millar white-painted meeting house. Beyond, a quaint hamlet straggled down an elm-shaded street. I slow down to the legal ten miles. “We don't want the village ‘con- atabule’ to stretch a chain across at the other end of the etreet.” “No,' agreed. “This ie Tarns- dale, isn't it?” “You saw the old Unitarian Church? Do you remember that Sunday night when we eang ‘Softly now the light of day’—in the gallery ‘with the village boys and girls?” “Yos. Are we going anywhere in ParReht ry er 4, if he lown to the Sound, you Uke. We can cross Connecticut in short order, you know.” “Good! The seashore and the air will be perfect to-day.” ‘We were almost clear of Tarnsdale man, wearing @ sort of unt- form, ran out from an official-looking building and held up his band per- emptorily. “Hey, there, mister! Hey, stop!” Protesting energetically, I obeyed. “Look here, officer! ‘This is an out- rage! My wheels were barely turn- ing over. If you arrest us, it'll be sheer robbery. You can walk faster than we were going. Now, I'll be banged if I'll stand” “Hold on, hold on!" he interrupted, “T ain't an officer, I'm grinning. the operator. “Oh, you a For the first time T noticed the yellow paper in bis hand. “What is it?” I asked. “Party o’ the name of Schuyler?” he demanded. Schuyler—Craig “Yes. I'm Mr, Schuyler. “You're the one. I got a call from Bannocke not five minutes ago—said you was heading thia way and to stop you. Telegram for you.” He handed me the yellow slip which he had not even had time to inclose in the usual envelope. I took in its contents at a glance, thanked the man,: then—to bis evi- dent disappointment—started the car. “No answer, eh?” he asked. “No—thank you. ‘When we were again rolling slowly along in the open country I handed the telogram to Ellen. She read it ud: “Bannocks, Massachusetts, Octo! 3, 1910, ‘To Graig Schuster “Hace, tn en bovoucblie wear A - SH, de T,) "* “What does it mean?” sho asked. “I don't understand a word of 1 aps that Henri de Trouville has fallen heir to a title and estate by the unexpected death of bis uncle and that he is ‘this instant’ on his way to ask Norah Westbrook to become uttle 4 ed KEP UD the farce sometimes, cy 94) AUR arta Sra foo ed aily Magaz nay @ Os, New York Bening World), ever t—it isn't Fg rd ‘Ite true, Exit ik DuBols, En- ter, no, re-enter Henri de Trouville, cadet of his house recently with- out expectations, but just now made Cages de Luisne.” teat e clasped her bands excitedly. “Tell me, tell m@, Craig! Don't be mean. Tell me everything. Oh, you must be joking!” “St isn't #0 very wonderful. Henri bre 5 ae a bet—that's about all there 0 Ate “What do you mean?” “He and I have been chume for perth ine, Sat ® my attention to a soaring eagle, I brought the car to a halt under the oak, rather jerkily. I looked about. The downs stretc! us and twice that in either direc tee : without a break. sea, the surf beat s of the oak shiek the . en yh 4 Kd foree of the trong sea w eoul, than ourselves, wes visible on land or sea. I sprang to the ground. Ellen lift- ed her veil and pinned it clear of her years—in Sumatra and everywhere. face. But he'd never been in America, and he had some those confounded Continental notions about our Ameri- can girls—the worst of it is they're true often, although I'd never admit it to him.” “You mean"—— “He thought all our girle were mer. had a chance with one of our sort—at any rate, he pretended to believe that. We argued over it so much that finally I badgered him into coming over here disguised as my chauffeur —Just to see if he could find an Amer- girl who would consider him on erits. 1t was part of the bargain 1 should treat him as a servant in every way—it hasn't been easy to low he did ‘monsieuy’ me until all was blue, didn't he? Of course, it was only a lark. Now that he's ‘resigned’ I want to get at him and find out how he's been enjoying life in the servanta’ quarters. Anybody but Henri would have found it rather difficult to con- uct a campaign from there—but he's Dothing if not resou x “It wasn't a fair test at all.” “No, so it wasn't, But I see now the sly dog had some particular one in mind all along.” “Norah?” “Yes—I think he was captivated from the start.” “But how did he meet, her, Craig? Do you think she’s in love with him? She wouldn't allow herself to be, sure- ly. Ghe didn't know he waen't really @ servant?” “I think she'd begun to suspect it.” I related the story I had heard from Aleck the night before. “Any youn; woman mi jump at the chance o! becoming Countess de Luisne,” I ended. “I suppose so." She gave me a side- long glance. “But what do you say about it?" There was the slightest Possible accent on the personal pro- noun, “I gay, ‘God bless you, my chil- Gren,’ of course.” Bhe wi llent. Dirck’s—I begged his pard Henrt's affairs seemed disposed of, I put speed on the car—thirty, forty, fifty miles an hour! Too fast for safety, but I was reckless, The ex- hilaration of it got into my blood, and 1 shouted and sang like a madman. Ellen, too, caught the contagion of the motion—she sang in broken snatches or uttered Uttle cries as wild as my own, So we flew steadily southward. Like Ellen, I had a craving for the salt air and the far stretches of the sea—we had been too long in the hills. When I next glanced at the clock dancing at my feet it was 1 o'clock. The speedometer showed we had cov- ered nearly ninety miles, F Y rm ‘Wé ran up a long hill and all at once the ocean shimmered before us. I marked a noble oak on a cliff, and turning the car off the unfenced road drove slowly across the downs toward it. The salt grass crunched ortsp!: under the wheels, The air blow tres! bug not keen. Here and there the aail of @ swordfish hunter shone al- most white against the blue. It was day in @ thousand, “Glorious!” said Ellen, I echoed the word. She regarded me with clear eyes trom which all trouble had and “shall I-get out? “Not . I watched hor fingers playing over her hair with light touches—now and then the ‘red bracelet showed below her ouff—the pathetic face of the Nu- bian looked dumbly out at me. “The grass looks very inviting,” suggested. ‘If you don’t ‘mind keeping your seat a while, I want to talk to you. I’ve @ good deal to say—and I think it'll be easier to eay it if 1 can look up to you.” She gave me her curious sidelong glance, I thrust my hands in the pockets of my short coat—I did noi hi care that she should see how they trembled—and began to walk up and down the length of the car, Her eyes followed me, wistful and perplexed. big] red Bias, crept into her. cheek as I began to “Are you getting used to that bracelet, Nell?” “I ahall never get used to it.” “You can’t expect to get rid of it #0 long as you let things go on as you do—so long ag you persuade people to burglarize my room.” burglarise—I don't under- ed at me with a blankness that, if assumed, was a masterpiece of acting. I met her eyes an instant, then continued nvy slow pacing. “You don't? Come, Nell—didn't you persuade Ned's wife to search my papers night bef jJast when she thought I was asleep?” “What! Certainly not!” “Didn't you get Theresa to have @ try for the same thing only a few minutes later?” “N Indignation and astonish- ment vied in her tones, “I never heard of it. She didn’t dare!” “Oh, yes, she did—I caught her in the act, And I caught Mary Finney a wire trap!” I gave @ short laugh. ‘ou ner ‘, Be ard of it? I know you jell. don't 1k “T'm glad you believe that, Did you think for a moment I would stoop as low as that—to rob your room? I haven't lost all self-respect, Craig.” “I didn't suppose you had,” “Mary must have done it because she's Ned's wife, They told me they'd told you about their being married but they didn’t tell me that, A: Theresa! I'll have a talk he Her indignant ton: Nghed, hopelessly, “She's soul—I think she really lov she only did it help me,” I had come to her side of the car and planted myself square in front of her, my hands gripping the top of the closed door, ‘I looked up—she shrank visibly before my burning itters last night—No- ‘are that some crisis was “Yes,” she said almost in a “You know you have isjudged me all these years, don't your" “I know it now—but, Cratg, I was only nineteen.” “You were old enough to pretend to love me, You ought never to have belleved it. You ought to have given me @ chance to explain.” I struck the top af the door with my clenched fist in a sudden rage. “You didn't even tell. me your reasons—I never dreamed until yesterday!” he nodded + 0; me. thought would at hand, whisper. ue d Novem ay. By Robert Minor &@ mile behind poor that ‘ou owe me repara\ se can make a man—isn't aor" "¥e-08." . mber, I've the check, too— Tl use it if you make me. Whatever I ask of you, you're bound to do— you admit that?” My eyes frightened her, telling her more than my words. She buried her face in her hands, aH fas For a moment I loo! up at ir exultant—exultant of the tips of ¢ @are and the neck that burned like fire—exultant of the tears that slipped between her close pressed fingers. @napped within me, T extended a king arm toward her. “Nell,” I cried, “I want you to marry me!" “I can't—believe*—— “Yes. Will you marry me, Neti?” Bhe stared at me a long time—so Jong that I heard the roar of the eurf at the cliff foot and the very wind sighing through the oak leaves over- ead, The tears slipped unnoticed down her burning checks. “I love you, Nell,” I wala. “I've loved you every minute since you broke our engagement. eruc!! You've haunted me years, wherever I’ bee: matra, and everywhere. brutal to you the last because I love you. Do you think "dd @ threatened you over that check business tf I bedn’t cared for you? I don't way I came bome—to your home—with any idea of winning you back again. “I admit I only meant to get re- venge. But I wouldn't have cared about revenge tf I hadn't loved you. Can't you see that? You yourself had smashed my ideal of you—an ideal I cherished above everything else in the world. I’ve been trying to make you feel ao T've felt ever since I learned you weren't what I had thought you were for ao long—the loveliest and best in the world. Dear, when I saw yo again the other day, I knew I you more than ever, Will you marry me, Nell?” “Are you aware that you are ask ing thief to become your wife “Oh, don't! Let all that go. the check to me! It's nothing co! ‘you."" pared to you. She made an imperious gesture for silence, “A forger could never your wife.” “Why not?” “A wife must have reapect.” “I don't understand what you're driving at,” I said doggedly. She gave me a little Whimatce} ra “Yea, with “You think you do, perhaps—now. But on your honor—do you respect me?" T suppose miOb, come! Lot all that go! What's ¢ all this got to do with”—— Again she made her imperious ges- ture. “Do you respect me?” I met her gaze stubbornly—only for | iy moment; then my eyes fell before ers. “Of course not,” sho sald softly. “How could you? No, Craig, I'll never marry you without respect.” She gavo little laugh. “Besidee—tI don't love you.” CHAPTER XIX. The Church at Tarnsdale. LEFT ber sitting in the car, her eyes veiled by their in- ecrutable lashes, the hait- whimsical smile on her lips, The shadow of the oak fell behind me Mike @ curtain, ‘When I returaed to the car the oak of the pain I ber 7; 1918 PAPO RS ATTAIN ART iy Be Next Weeh’s Complete Novel in THE EVENING WORLD, What Will - People Say? By Rupert Hughes # ‘Tete Book on the Stands Will Cost You 01.35, You Oot tt ter@Canta, threw ite heavy shadow over it. Com- ing into ite circle from the briliiaat sunshine without, I saw Ellen with aiMeulty—e figure mysterious and dim. When at last our eyes met it would have been hard to tell whose were the more defiant. She faced me with the same tantalizing half smile, I epoke abruptly. “Hold out your me aijlently, “! “That et. Don i, os, sleeve, falli back from the cuttrete hed wrist, let the perplexed, eubmissive face of the Nubian ap- pear, “Herea the key to roduced it as I epoks in the look. “I'll un lightness began to return ti I was able to smile up a an indifference equal to her own. can’t control your eoul—you've just made that plain to me—#o ‘bod: em akiock trinket and let key otared 0 me her wit “T I unlocked t! and all fall into ber lap. She Irom it to me. : “What shall I do with it?” “Do with it? I don’t care. Throw it away if you like. I fancy it hasn't jeasant memories connected any pitas it? You might give it SUlP! for a dog collar, You roher 10 Pe suppose Til lot you put It on me that I was in becoming ridiculous. I drummed o the tonmeat with my fingertips as oye rarapien i I could muster. jell,” wan front of ua—we can't go in this direction.” my meaning. Dut @ sea in Ht further took thts ney te travel the backroad, by “Yea, Itt be all the harder on you a —after the Ee rr to move. To eck to the period of submission 4 Toe yearn for OF not wale tt Bosition. For & moment was gased straight m. eh go back I eha’n't have any on you,” you intend to abuse us indefl- aitely?” “l YJon't see why I shouldn'e—4f there isn't any other way.’ T looked at her boldly, Her eyes fall before mine and her lip trembled. “You're eure you can't agree to the ether way, Nell? eure. “On your own head be it, then.” ‘With a half articulate curse at my folly I started the car. I had put on at least three-quarters baci by Bly | absorbed in my chagrin, out toward the cliff, The car was unpleasantly near the brink when I brought it about with a ‘oop, and held @ co! r the sea, Thi acted on me like @ heady wine—I was suddenly able to take @ cheerful view of life. “Another two seconds and our troubles might have been over,” I Jaughed, slowing down to half speed, dreadful way to die.” “Oh, I don't know. I never could agree with the prayer-book: ‘From battle, murder and sudden death, good Lord! deliver us.’ A sudden death is the kind I pray for.” “Yea—but to die without explana- tions? Wouldn't that be horrible?” a mercy “Do imagine anything more fact, I'm all for to apply it to you and moe?” Bhe lifted @ palr of eyes #0 dewy, so mysteriously tender, that I fairly caught my breath. “There is something in particular,” began, but got no further. We bean moving at of speed—nlready we were down a slope that ended in thirty-foot drop, I threw off the power, stamped down the foot brake and, knowing this would not check our impetus in tim If turned in my seat and with both hands dragged at the emergency brake. It refused to wor! I gave a cry—half curse and halt groan—and threw one arm about Fllen—my other hand clutched de- aspairingly at the accursed brake handle, But I knew we would be in mid-air in @ breath, I leaned far forward tn @ frantic effort to break her fall with my own body. Then with a heavy ott, the car atopped at the very brink of the oliif. An are of the wheels was actually suspended over th aD. rake had acted at the Possible frac- tion of time, and the tragedy had become a comedy. We stared at each other, both a Mt. 10 » A slow shiver ran through her from head to foot, “I think you'd better get out,” I said gently, “Well, well—it wa '~ h lute for explanations that im She slipped from her seat to the kround. ‘There she stood swaying, She tried to steady herself by a hand against the side of the car, but even as I sprang down to help her she sank on the running-board, I bent angiously over her. “Are you faint?” “No, no. Oh, Craigi* 1 contrary, I won't read. “there's nothing 7O% to do but go back. It's Dither though, “M . gave ile and to open it. She paused te 4 tears. ‘ ¢ “So this te it?” She stared at, if she had never seen it before. "Ob, don't,” ta tat 1 go, Nell. What's the use?” Bhe read an ii ajteay gabges* ach i 3 # i i g i i hi H 4 r F i 4 i Ee? ih A a ip 44 i 2 ° i E : i H jel to ped of ‘Well, why zee “Well, wi = see ney? * eset you burt me es by belie: for & minute’ ——— " 1 But you me by beliqving (hae, 7 8 ve @ little sob. when fou i) me—a little ( ot a , oan ago—w! asked ms to you, you ad itted you | apect me, and so-so I love ba ta ‘3 I turned my face ognions of the car, “Nell,” I said “You're right—how oan yeu love I'ma bones by F At to with anybody ay back where I belong. om heart, you ever forgive me wear that?” I pointed to the in the grass at her 8 @ave me @ dowy and bewildering. With motion she picked up the locked it on her wrist. She the key into a wave that broke just below us. Her eyes were deep and her lips were very hal you wish—we'll never unlock 19 whispered. “Nell!” I oried. “Do you had I put both hands on her eh: and drew her to me, Our lips with @ passion that shook us and thr After a little she held me from her, “Oh, how cruel I've been to you, Craig —all these years.” 8 “You're making up for it low. Aekl f can alusost @ay, poor champ: Q a4 To my amazement she put her arms against ths curve of the mud-dasher buried her face tn their hollow and broke into pitiful weeping. “Nell! Nell, did it frighten you so? T ought to have been more careful.” “Nomno. It isn't ¢ Tm not frightened—not for myself.” “What is tt, Nell? ‘Tell me." “If—lf we had gone over—without to explaini” The shrimps swam in: pools, And Nell and I rested tentedly against the car, the whispering about us," * ” (The Baa.) $, i is by a ahh. ot