The evening world. Newspaper, February 28, 1916, Page 13

es iaealidiiaibieasmiaiaibidieaidieia nee ds ae 7 The Evening World Daily Magazine, Monday, February 28. 1916 The Day of Rest Beyond the Frontier A Romance of the Western Wilderness and of Two Eighteenth Century Lovers By Randall Parrish (Coppright, 1016, by A. ©, MoClum @ Oo) CHAPTER I. A Strange Journe AM—or was—Adele la Chosnaye, daughter of « chevaiter of Franses, false charge of treason, Tiago. I loathed him, H+ che enough when he came to our me, De Artigny had learned that Chevat and Cassion were about make a diplomatic visit to St, Lout and he had come to offer his services as their guide on the long wilderness Journ: Though neither of them liked him, they knew he was familiar with the forests. And, grudgingly, they a0- cepted his offer, On the eve of their departure they went to Quebec for supplies. Hugo Ghevat went with them, taking me adong. And there M. Cassion and 1 were bidden to a great bali at Gov- ernment House, De Artigny, too, had @ card to the ball, but at Cassions request it was revoked by M. La Barre. Yet, at a brief interview whioh the Mother Superior granted to Rene and me at the Ursuline Con- vent, De Artigny told me he would see me at the ball. And he kept his word. He entered the butding unobaerved through an window. As he and I talked tu ¢ window alcove behind a curtain whith shut off the room beyond we overheard a strange conversation be- een La Barre and one of his offi- cere. The gist of this talk was that thy father’s estates had been restored the King, but that the records of restoration had not been made « mown. Cassion, however, knew of it 4 And for that reason he wooed me. « ‘The Governor learned of my pres- @nce behind the curtain—althongh de Artigny escaped, unseen, as he had come. La Barre, in rage at my eaves- ™ @ropping, commanded me to wed Cas- * gon at once and to accompany him * om his journey to St. Louls. I had no recourse save to obey the Govern- ws: or's mandate; for he was supreme in New Franc Yet I made it clear to him and to Cassion too that the marriage should * be but nominal, and that Casston $ should never be permitted by me to { daim go much as the right to kiss my | { hand. My fortune would be his, since «the Governor so decreed. But not myself. And so we were married; by { Ua Barre's own chaplain;—T and this “ T loathed and distrusted. None of our party on tho voyage Rnew of the wedding except my uncle. * De Artigny, for the most part, was tm one of the foremost canoes. And T was in the rear boat © Yet once, when we had halted for @ rest, I climbed a river bluff for the “view. And there Rene joined me. eo» Qurs was but a brief interview. But ~ im it I told him of my marriag Scarce had he left me, when I turne to see Cassion watching me. I had fot heard him climb the bluff. He } long he had been there I coult not guess. I tried to hide the consterna- don I felt at his presence there. “You thought ine long in returning, monsieur?” I asked, carelessly, and taking a step toward him, “It was . gooler up here, and the view from the bluff beautiful.” ~ "Ay! no doubt,” he sald, harshly, é td hardly think it the view th held you here so long. Whose beat print is this, Madame? not yours, werely.” en erat where he pointed, my leaping, yet not altogether with The young Sieur de Artigny left his trail behind, and it would @ me whether by his will or no. wrertainiy not mine,” and I laughed. "SB trust, monsieur, your powers of ob- tion are better than that—'us ly @ Compliment.” jor is this time for any lightness @@ apeech, my lady,” he retorted, his famned by my indifferenc ifncee i it, then, I dwk you? What Ong Das been your companion here?” fou jump at conclusions, mon- .“ I returned, coldly. “The stray of @ man’s boot on the turf ry pearocty evidence that I have had @ompanion, Kindly stand aside and Dermil me to deecen “Mon Dieu! I will not!" and he Blocked my passage. “I have stood q@mough of your tantrums already in the boat, Now we are alone, and I will have my say, You 1 remain bere until I learn the truth,’ “Very well, monsieur, | await your fmvestigation with pleasure,” I sald, eweetly, “No doubt it will prove in- teresting. You honor me with the nuspicion that I had an appointment here with one of your men?" “No matter what I suspect.” .“Of course not; you treat me with marked consideration Porohance others have cainped here and explored there bluff: “The print is fresh, not anctent, and mone of the men from my camp have conte this way. ‘Tis the fellow I thought, and he went down the face of the bluff yonder, So you dared to have tryst with him?” Vith whoin, Monsiour?" "De Artigny, the young fool! Do you think me blind? Did t not know you were together in Quebec? What are you laughing at?" was not laughing, Monsieur. Your ridiculous charge does not amuse me, I am a woman: you In- @ with indiscretion + win me with such cowardly Insinua- tons you know little of my nature. I will not talk with you, nor dis the matter, I return to the camp. Hie hands clinched as though he haa tre throat of an enemy between them, but angry as he was some vague doubt restrained him, “Mon Dieu! I'll fight the do, "De Artigny, you mean? ‘Tis hig I hear, and he {a good at 1 “Bah! A bungler of the woods, [ AMoubt if ho ever crossed blades with @ awordsman, But mark you this, » madamé, the led feole my steel if ever < FOU 80 Much ae speak to him again,” 4 There was contempt in my eyes, te NOT did T otrive to disguise it, “Am I your wife, Monsleur, or your © meve?" The other man was the young Sieur Reno de Artigny, a Meutenant of the s@teat explorer La Salle. Provincial political schemes had brought La Salle Amto disfavor and he had sailed to France recently to set himself aright with the King. Meantime, bis followers were in bad odor tn the. colony, I bad met Rene de Artigny years before, when I was a mere child. And aiwaye 1 had treasured his memory. But my uncle and Cassion treated him “My wife and I know how to hold to you! Mon Dieu! but you shall learn that lesson, I was a@ fool to ever give the brat place in the boats. La Barre warned me that he would make trouble, Now I tell you what will| occur if you, play false with me.” ou may spare your threa.s—they | weigh nothing. The Sieur de Artigny is my friend, and 1 shall address him when it pleases me. With whatever quarrel may arise between you L have no interest. Let that suffice, and now I bid you good night, Monsieur.” | He made no effort to halt me, nor! to follow, and 1 made my way down the path, without so much as turning oy, head to observe his movements, weeks Cassion treated me with con- sideration and outward respect. Not that he failed to talk freely, and to boast of his exploits and adventures, yet he refrained from laying hand on me, nor did he once refer to the incident of the biuff. I knew not what to make of the man in this new rolo of gallant, yet suspected that he but bided his time and a better opportunity for exhibiting his true purpose, There were times, when he thought I was not observing him, when the expression of his eyes brought me uneasiness, and I was soon aware that, in spite of his genial manner, and friendly expression his surveil- lance was in no degree relaxed. Not for @ moment was IL alone. When be wes not beside me in the canoe, Pere Allouez, the expedition’s chaplain, became my companion, and at night a guard kept vigilant eye upon my tent. Twice I ventured to test this fact, only to be halted, and turned back within three yards of the entrance. Very polite the soldier was, with ox- planation of danger from’ prowling beasts, and the strictness of his or- der. At first such restraint angered me, but on gecond thought I did not greatly care, humillating though it was; yet the protection thus afforded was hot altogether unwelcome, and was in Itself evidence ‘of Cassion’s| determination to conquer me. Nor was the journey lacking tn in- terest or adventure. Never shall I forget the charm of those days and nights, amid which we made slow and tollsome passage through the desolate wilderness, ever gaining new lengues to the westward. Only twice in weeks did we encounter human veings—once a camp of Indians on the voyageur, as companion, One de a mighty lake. It was scarcely more than daybreak when we broke camp, and headed our canoes out into the lake, With the dawn, and the glint of sunlight over the waters, much of my dread de- parted, and I could appreciate the wild song of delight with which our Indian paddlers bent to thelr work. ‘The sharp-prov d canoes swept through the waters swiftly, no longer battling against a current, and tho ore l'ne ever in view was fascinat- fre 'in ite green follage, We kept close to the northern shore anc pn fi assage amid numerous isi- ‘dust forest covered, iat with high rocky outlines. For four days we coasted thus never out of sight of shore, and u: ually with islan between u distant rifle. About us extended lone- lineas and desolation, great waters never still, vast forests grim and sombre, tail, menacing rocks, bright- colored in the sun, * ‘Once it rained, drenching ua to the akin, and driving us to s.elter in an {sland cove. Once a sudden storm swept the lake, and we barely made from wreck, land in time to save Chevet's canoe smashing an ugly hole iis ‘vow, and 4 soldier dislocating 's shoulder tn the struggle, The ac- eee Nold us for some hours, and later, when once more afloat, retarded progress, This misfortune served also to re- store M. Cassion to his natural tit temper, and’ ied to a quarrel between \imself Chevet which might have nded seriously hed I not intervened The incident, however, left the Com- miseaire in ugly mood and eaused him to play the bully over his men. To me he was sullen, after an attempt at Insolence, and #at glowering across the water, meditating revenge. At last we left the chain of islands behind and one morning struck out from the shore {nto the waste of waters, the prows of the canocs turned westward, the steersmen guid- ing our course by the sun, For when it was St. Ignace. CHAPTER II. At St. Ignace, much had been sald of St, Ignace, and so long had the | name been familiar through- } out New France, that my first view of the place brought me bitter disappointment. Tho foces of the others in the party Plotured the same dis!llusion, Hugo Chevet had baen in these Parts before on fur-trading expedi- tions, and ‘twas probable that De Are tigny had stopped there on one of his voyages with La Salle But to all whose rich estates were confiscated just before his death on a | My girlhood—after I left the Quebeo convent—was passed at the fur trading post of my unole, Hugo Chevat. Thither in the same month came two men who were to have much to do with my destiny. Ono of them was Francois Cassion, the Colonial Commissaire, a politician who stood clove to La Barre, the new | French Governor at Quebec, He also seemed to have a hold of some sort | Over my uncle, On the strength of this hold he demanded my hand in mar- shore of a lake, and once a uuchin monk, alone but for @ single at twilight we left the river and came out on the shores of nd the main bo ~ of water, In all that time we had no sign of man—not even a wisp uf smoke, nor heard the crack of we were beyond the with naught to rest the the gray sea, and then, arly night, we reached the shore and beached our canoes at HELLO Bit! YES THis (5 JOHN, IT WAS, ILL TO SAY THEY THEY ARE INA HURRY the others the place had been merely @ name, and our imagination had tn- vested It with an Importance scarcely justified by what we saw as our canoes drew in toward the beach, The miserable Uttle village was upon a point of land originally cov- ered with heavy growth of forest. A bit of this had been rudely cut, the rotting stumps still standing, and from the timber a dozen rough log houses had been constructed facing the lake, A few rods backs, on slightly higher land, was a log chap da house somewhat more pretentious than the others, in which the priests lodged. The whole aspect of the place was peculiarly desolate and depri ing facing that vast waste of water, the black forest shadows behind, and those rotting stumps in the fore- ground, Nor was our welcome one to make the heart rejoice, Scarce a doz- en persons gathered at the beach to aid us in making landing, and not among them all a face familiar, It was only later, when two priests from the mission came hurrying forward, that we were greeted by cordiai speech. These invited @ few of us to become guests at the mission house, and assigned the remainder of our Casston, Chevet and Pere Allouez accompanied me as | walked beside a young Jesuit priest up the beaten path to the mission house, but De Ar. tigny was left behind with the men. I overheard Cassion order him to re- main, but he added some word in low- er voice, which brought a flush of an- ger into the younger man's face, al- though he merely turned on his i without reply, The young Jesuit produced a newly drawn map of the great lake we were to traverse, and the men studied it anxiously when we reached the mis- sion, while the two priest@ and the “engage” prepared a simple meal. For the moment I was forgotten, and left alone on a rude bench beside the great fireplace, to listen to their discussion, and think my own thoughts, nained at St, Ignace three days, busily din repairing our canoes, and dering them fit for the long voyage yet before us. From this potnt we were to venture on treacherous waters, as yet scarcely explored, the shores inhabited by sav- age, unknown tribes, with not a white man tn all the long distance from Green Bay to the Chicago portage, Once I got out the map, and traced the distance, feeling sick at heart as I thus realized more clearly the weary journey, I was glad enough when the canoes were ready, and all prepa- rations made for departure, Yet wo were not destined to ea- cape thus easily from St. Ignace, Of what occurred I must write aa it hap- pened to me then, and not as its full significance became later clear to my understandin, It was after night- fail when Cassion returned to the mission house. The lights were burn- ing on the table, and the three priests were rather impatiently waiting thelr evening meal, occasionally exchang- ing brief sentences, or peering out through the open window toward the dark water, As long as daylight lasted this had been my post of observation, while watohing the distant fiqures busily engaged in relonding the canoes for the morrow's journey, They were like eo many ants, running across the brown sands, both soldie: diane stripped to the walst, ay ontly eager enough to complete their task, Occasionally the echo of @ song reached my en and the dis. tance was not so great but that I ood Atetinguish individuals Cas. \ ater gee, By Maurice Ketten WiFey, IT WAS BIL PHONING To INVITE US FoR AN AUTO TRIP ~ THEY WILL BE HERE SOON HELLO Bitt | HELLO Joun! AREN'T YOu READY YET > WE ARE WAITING, TELL MRS JOHN TO HURRY _ YES BILL WE Witt BE EADY AS SOON AS OUR ALLER LEAVES TusT INVITED HIMSELF For DINNER. sion eat upon @ log directing tions, not even rising to lend # hand, but Chevet gave his great etrength Moonlight, and detect the darker rim There was fire on the point below the huts, and its red glare afforded giimpaes of the cances—mere blurred outlines—and occasionally the Ogure of a man, only recognizable as T wan still staring at this dim pic- ture when some nolse other than the wind startled me, and I drew ailent- great stump to jonger ‘aid, longer shrank from contact with the corpse. I confess I Tow, no deep regret at the fate which had overtaken him. Although he was my mother’s brother, yet his treat- ment of me had never been kind, and there remained no memories to touch Sull his death was from treachery, murder, and every inatinot urged me'to learn’ tts cause, and who bad been gullty of the crime. I nerved myself to the effort and turned the body sufficiently to enable to discover the wound—he had been pierced by a knife from behind; had fallen, no doubt, without uttertn, @ cry, dead ere he struck the groun ‘Then it was murder, foul murder, a blow in the back. Why had the a been done? What spirit of reven of hatred, of fear, could have led to I got again to my feet, staring about the weird moonlight, every nerve throbbing, a I thought to grip the fact and find its cause. rinking in growing ter- corpse, until | was safely in the priost's garden, There I irresolute, my dazed, benumbe beginnig to grasp the situation and assert itecif, CHAPTER II. The Murder of Chevet. HO had Killed him? What should I do? These were the two questions haunting my mind, and becoming more and more Inalstent. ‘The Nght still burned tn the mission house, and I could pleture the scene within—the three prieste reading, or talking softly to each other, and Cas- sion asieep on bis bench in the oor- wearied with th 1 could not under imagine @ cause, and yet the assasgia of the land. it no spectal sor- De Artigny was back among the huts in charge of that end of the line, no doubt, and it was only occasional- ly | gained glimpse of his presence, An Indian cance came ashore just before sundown and our men knocked off work to cluster about and ex- amine its cargo of furs, Angered by the delay Cassion strode in among them, and with bitter words and a blow or two drove them back to their task. The loss of time was not great, yet they were busily engaged when darkness shut about the scene, Cassion came in alone, served nothing strange about his ap- pearance, except that he failed to greet me with the usual attempt at although bis sharp eyes thi swept our faces, as he closed the door, and stared about the room. ly back behind avold discovery. t some one had left the mission house—Cassion perbaps with final orders to those on the beach—but moment later I realized my mistake, only crouched shadow—a man was advancing from the black concealment of the woods and crossing the open space. He moved cautiously, enough, and his movements were not of an Indian, although the low “I anticipated my fate to for the rascals worked like snails, and I would not leave them rest until all was finished, Faith, the odor ts appetizing, and I am hungry as a bear.” The younger priest waved bis hand to the “engage,” yet asked softly: A Chevet—he is delayed gleam of light and took hasty survey window of the ecene within that I recognized the face of lonely meal, De Artigny. He lingered satisfied with what he saw, and then drew ailently back, hesitating a brief space as though debating bis next movement. waited breathless, wondering what his purpose could be, half in- clined to intercept and qu Was he seeking to serve my cause truth of my relationship with Cassion, or did he bi other object, some personal feud tn which he sought revenge? The first warm blood leaping through my veins; the second left me if with sudden chill. itating, uncer- retraced bis “He will sup with his men to- seating himself on the bench. sergeant keeps guard of the canoes, and Chevet will be useful with those ‘The man ate as though nearly fam- ished, his ready tongue unuaually ai- and at the conclusion of the meal appeared so fatigued that I made early excuse to withdraw so he might rest {n comfort, climbing the ladder in one corner to my own bed beneath the eaves, This apartment, whose only advant was no more than a narrow spac between the sloping rafters of the roof, unfurnished, but with a amall window In the end, closed by a wood- A partition of axe-hewn planks divided compartments, priests’ sleeping chambers was there they both occupled the one Chevet and Pere Alloues resting !n the main room thought sent t even as I stood, tain, be turned, and steps along the same path of his ap- essing me not vanishing into the wood, thought he paused at the edge, and bent down, yet before I found % or determination to stop him, he ha My courage ri spurred by curtosity, Why should take so roundabout @ way to reach day. pd, could not was privacy, else could | account for hia presence there in the night, his efforts at con- cealment, his bending over the dead body, and then burrying away with- out sounding an alarm? The evidence emed conclustys, condemn. There reasons for his si- lenes, for bie secret presence, and !f I rushed into the house, proclaiming confessing what | had geen, he would be left without disappeared, shapeless thing he had paused to ex amine? I could see something there, dark and motionless, eyes no more than a shadow. ventured toward it, creeping be hind the bushes bordering the path, conscious of an odd fear as I drew not until | emerged of shrubbery that even the faintest conception of what the object I saw was occurred to mar Then I stopped, frozen by horror, for J confronted a dead body, For an instant I could not utter a sound or move a muscle of my body. My hands clung oonvulstvely branch, thus supporting me spite of trembling limba, and at the grewsome obj: jue and almost shapeless in the moon- Only part of the trunk waa re- rtion concealed id no longer doubt it was a man's body—a large, heavily built man, bis hat still crushed on bis head, but with face turned away, What courage overcame my horror and urged me forward I cannot tell; I asemod impelled by some power not own, a vague fear of recognition my-heart, I crept nearer, almost inch by inoh, trembling at every noise, dreading to 4! At last I could perceive the eatly foaturee—the dead ‘uso Chevet, roely know why this discovery of his identity brought back eo sud- jen; wtrength and and yet I would ne though to my As I lowered the trap in the floor, shutting out the murmur of voices, I was conscious of 1 my mind busily occupied with posai- bilities of the morrow window and seated floor, gazing out at the night, extended the prissts’ garden and be- yond the dark gloom of forest depths. A quarter moon peeped through cloud rifta and revealed the familiar objects. Peaceful scene, yet ghostly tn the ail- very gleam and #lence—the stumps of half-burned trees assuming grotesq forma, and the wind tossing branches as though by some demon hand, Yet in my restless mood that outside world called me and | leaned forth to see if it was possible to descend. "The way of exross was easy—@ mere step to the flat roof of the kitchen, the dove-tatied logs of which afforded a ladder to the ground, I had no object in such adventure, but a restieas im- pulse urged mo, and, almost before I realised my action, I waa upon the Avoiding the gleam of light whioh streamed from the open win- dow of the room below, I crossed the garden and reached the downward to the shore, could perosive the wide sweep is silvery in the dim desire to sleep, Perhaps tt might be the very pur- I opened the cast suspicion on myself on the and I would be the instrument. who els could be an innocent man, the murderer? nover asriously occurred to ma, in spectral light the soldiers, some of them quarrelsome enough, and the Indians to whom was never unnatural been the way men of our party treacherous blow This must have happened—Chevot had made some bitter enemy, for he rodigal of angry word and the fellow had followed him through the night to strike hiro down from behind. But why did De Artigny fail to sound an alarm when body? Why was he hiding about the mission house, and peering in through the window? I sank my face in my hands, «0 dared and bewildered as to be in 16 of thought—yet I could no: I would not believe he found the im gullty of so nor should he be accused through apy testimony from my explain, he must explain to me his art in thie dreadful affair, but, un- he confessed himselt path leading From this flow would YOU answer the “THE GREEN CLOAK" ts one unceasing. Read it! never believe him guilty. There was but one thing for me to do—return silently to my room and walt. Per- baps he had already descended to camp to alarm the men; if not, th body would be early discovered in | morning, and a few hours’ delay |could make no difference to Hugo Chevet. The very decision was a relief, and yet It frightened me. I felt almost like an accomplice, as though I also was guilty of a crime by thus coi ceallng my knowledge and leaving that body to remain alone th the dark. Yet there was nothii to do. Sbrinking, shuddering every shadow, at every sound, my nerves throbbing with agony, I ‘man- aged to drag my body up the logs and in through the window. I was safe there, but there was no banish- ing from memory what I had seen— what 1 knew lay yonder in the wood shadow. I sank to the floor, clutching the sill, my eyes staring ugh the moonlight. Once I thought I saw a man’s indistinct figure move across an open space, and once I heard voices far away. The priests entered the room op- posite mine, and I could distinguish the murmur of their voloes through the thin ition. These became silent, I prayed, with head bowed on the window afll. I could not leave that position, could not withdraw my from the scene without. The mn disappeared, t! night darkening; I could no longer perceive the line of forest trees, and aitting thus, 1 fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, men I do not know that I was called, ye! when I awoke a faint light prociaim- ing the dawn was in the sky, and sounds of activity reached my ears from the room below. [ felt tired and |cramped from my unnatural position, ‘but hamtened to Join the others, The morning meal was already on th jtabl and we SS usual, eS bs tioning Cheve! jus proving the Body had Bot been discovered. I could wcarcely choke the food down, antici- pating every Instant the sounding of ‘an alarm. Cassion hurried, excited, * no doubt, by tee Legend Seve away on our journey, excellent humor. Lge my | back the box on which he sat, he buckled his Istol belt, selsed hie hat and strode to the door, “We depart at once,” he proclaimed lpridas, Ne As will leave you here to bring the lady.” | Pore Alloues, still busily engaged, indistinet reply, and met mine. ‘You jeary thi morning,” he \ “Not fear of the voyage, I hope?” “No, monsieur,” I managed to an- ewer quietly, “I slept il, but shall be better present: I bear my blankets to the boate?” “The engage will see to that, only let there be as little delay as possible. Ah! here comes messenger from below—what ts It, my man?” The fellow, one of the soldiers whose face I did not recall, halted in the open door, gasping for breath, his ry 1s about the room. ‘He ts dead—the big man,” hy tammered. “He is there by the woods.” “The big man—dead!” Cassion drew back as Pouge struck a blow. “What Dig man? ‘ho do you mean?” "The one in the second canoe, Mon- sieur; the one who roared.” “Chevet? Hugo Chevet? What has happened to him? Come, speak up, or I'll elit your tongue! The man gulped, gripping the door with one hand, the other pointing out- ward. ‘He 1s there, Monsieur, beyons ho trail, at the edge of the wood. | saw him with his face turned up-Mon Dieu! so white; I dare not touch him, but there was blood, where a knife had entered his back. All were on thelr feet, their faces picturing the sudden horror, yet Cas- sion was firat to recover his wits, and lead the way without. Grasping the soldier's arm, and bidding him show where the body lay, he thrust him through the door. I lingered be- hind, shrinking from being again com. pelled to view the sight of the dead man, yet unable to keep entirely awa: Cassion stopped, — lovking down at the object on the grass, but made no effort to touch it wich his hands, The soldier bent and rolled the body over, and one of the priests felt in the pockets of the jacket, bringing forth @ paper or two. Cas- sion took these, gripping them in bis fingers, his face appearing gray in the early light, ! the man has been mur- claimed, “a dastard ck. Look about and if you find knife. Had he quarrel with any o Moulin?” The soldier straightened up. No, Monsieur; I heard of none, though he was often rough and harsh of tongue to the men. Ah! now I recall, he had words with Sieur de Artigny on the beach at dusk. know not the cauae, yet the younger man left him angrily, and passed by where I atood, with his hands clinched.” “be Artigny, hey!" Casston’s voice had @ ring of pleasure in it. "Ay! he ts a hoth Know you where the young cock is now?" “He, with the Chief, left an hour ago. Was it not your omer, Mon- wieur?” Caasion made @ swift gesture, but what it might signify I could not de~ termine, as his face was turned away. A moment there was silence, as he shaded his eyes, and peered out across the water, “True, #0 I did,” he sald at last, “They were to depart before dawn, ‘The villain tf# yonder—seo; well off that farthest point, and ‘tls too late to overtake him now, Sacre! there is naught for us to do, that I see, but to bury Bye Chevet, and go our ing’s business cannot wa They brought the body Into the mission house and laid it upon the bench. I did not look upon the aatly face, which the young priest 4 covered, but sank to my Taees ] were set to solving this problem! The problem in THE GREEN CLOAK By Yorke Davis Next Week’s Complete Novel in The Evening World detective stories of the decade, Its mystery is baffling, its suspense question “Who ix gallty! if you of the strangest and most stirring and prayed earnestly for the of his soul. For a moment I felt in my heart a tenderness for this rough, hard man who in the past had caused He sued suffering. © ‘erchance he was not altogether blame; his had been a rough, hard life, and | had only brought him care aad trouble, So there were tears ip eyes as I knelt beside him, all im secret my heart rejoiced that Artigny had gone and would not be confronted with his victim; for there was no longer doubt in my ming of hia guilt, for surely, had the man been innocent, he would have sounded ap alarm. It was Cassion'’s hand which aroused me, and I glanced up at his & through the tears clinging te my laimed, tn @pparent surprise. “I never thought the man of such value to you as to Cause tears at his death.” “He was of my blood,” I answered soberly, rising to my feet, “and his asf most a “Ay! true enough, girl, and we will bring to book the villain who did the deed. Yet we cannot remain here to mourn, for I am on the King’s ser- vice, Come, we have lost time al- rong, and ew canoes wait.” “You would go at once?” I asked, startidd at his haste, “without even bi eg until he ls buried? “And why not? To wait will cost us @ day; nor, 0 fi ras I can would At be of th test value to Hugo Chevet. The priests here will attend the ceremony, and this handful ot Iver will buy “im prayers. Pouf! he is dead, and that is ail there ts to 1t; 80 come along, for I will walt here ‘no longe! actions, his manner and eartless. For an instant I stood in revolt, ready to defy openly, an angry retort on my lips; yet be- fore I found speech, Pere Alloues rest- ed his band on my shoulder. “Tis beat, my child,” he sald softly. “We can no longer serv: dead by and thet are ues before us. In the boat te re will reach the good God just ae, as though you knelt here is poor body. ‘Tis best we for departure, and it was evident. enough that" Moulin had spread the news of Chevet’s murder ever, permitted the fello time for discussion, for at his sharp or- ders they took their Fe inthe canoes, and pushed off. The priest was obliged to assume Chevet’s former position, and I would gladly have accompanied him, but Cassion suddenly gripped me in his arms, and without s0 much as a word, waded out through the surf and put me down in his boat, clambering in himself and shouting his orders to the pad- diers, I think we wi all of us glad enough to get away. I know I sat silent and motionless, just where he plas id stared back across the widening water at the desolate, dismal scene, The picture slowly faded as we ad- Vanoed, until finally the last glimpse of the log chapel disappeared in the haze, and we were ieee on the mys- tery of the great lake, gliding along a Bars, uninhabited shore, I was aroused by the touch of Cassion’s hand on iny own as It grasped the side of the canor My eyes met his in surp: “Friends, Monsiour! Are we not? Why do you address me like that? “Because you treat me as though I were @ criminal,” he said earnestly, “Ag if I had done you an dvil in mak- ing you my wife. “Twas not I who hastened the matter, but La Rarre ‘Tis not just to condemn me unheard, yet I have been patient and kind, f thought it might be that you loved another—in truth, I imagined that De Artigny had cast his spell upon you; yet you surely cannot continue to trust that villain—the murderer of your uncle.” “How know you that to be true?” T asked. “Because there is no other account- tng for it," ho explained sternly, “The quarrel last evening, the early de- parture before dawn" —— ‘At your orders, Monsieur.” “Ay, but the sergeant tells me the fellow was absent from the camp for two hours during the night: that in the moonlight he saw hin come down the hill. Even if he did aot do the deed himself, he must have discovered the body—yet he voiced no alarm.” I was silent, and my eyes fell from Bis face to the green water “Twill be hard to explain,” he went on, “But he shall have a chance.” “A chance! You will question him; and then"~— He hesitated whether to answer me but there was 4 cruel smile on his thin Ups, “Faith, [ do not know. ‘Tis like to be a court martial at St, Louls, it ever we get him there, though the nances are the fellow will take to the woods when he finds himself sus pected, No doubt the best thing { ean do will be to say nothing until we hold him safe, though ‘ti pretend with such a villain, He paused as if hoping T might speak, and my silence angered him, “Bah, if | had my way the younb cockerel would face a file at our first camp. Ay! and % will be for you to decide if he does not.” hard to “What is your meaning Monsieur?’ "That I am tired of your play-a@te , of your making eyes at this faa eet’ dandy behind my back, Sang Dieu! I am done with all this—de you hear?—and I have a grip now which will make you think twice, my dear, before you work any more @ly tricks on me, Sacre, you think me easy, hey? I have in my hand a0," and he opened and closed his fin: wuggestively, “the life of the tad.’ (To Be Continued.) \ i 4 j