The evening world. Newspaper, May 25, 1916, Page 14

cee RR EO OTE SO EIT Story No. 4 THE SILENT SHAME The fourth of a series of separate stories ‘dealing with the commission of crimes inviting judgment upon both actual guilt and real responsibility. Hard, she was fifteen and W HEN Euntce Mayne eloped from the convent to marry Duncan Hil- he was twenty-five. It was the old, dreary tale of “Marry in haste and repent at leisure.” For Eunice the repentance set in almost at once; for Hillard athwart his nervously twitching lips. it began when he first grew tired of his child-wife' sweet inno- ence and longed for more mature-minded companionship, He had wooed and won the convent-bred girl in whirlwind fashion. To her he seemed the ideal hero of her dream. Then, when it was too late, THE EVENING WORLD, THURSDAY, MAY 26, 1916. ends. One side of his collar had be- come unbuttoned, On the sume aay Kunice Hilliard was installed as a member of the His face was pasty pleasant little household presided over and flabby. His hair was tumbled by Bruce Kingston's sweet-faced and his eyes were swollen and blood- moth Her life there was ideally shot, His evening clothes were wrin- happ: Every day the peace of her kled and awry. new surroundings smoothed away A newly summoned servant was holding out a bow! of cracked ice to him, With fumbling hands Duncan was shoving bits of ice into his dry mouth and rubbing more of it on bis throbbing forehead, Bunice had advanced a few steps into the room, Bruce Kingston halting on the threshold. The wife's whole attitude, as well as her blanching face, betokened stark horror and amazed disgust. “Duncan!” whe cried. Hilliard, at sound of his name, looked up and saw her standing be- fore him, He blinked stupidly for an instant. Then a wild-beast snarl crept “Get the blazes out of here!” he croaked, forcing the words with dim- culty through his dry throat, “What are you doing here, anyhow? You eloped with Kingston, didn't you? ohe realized that she had bound herself for life to a violent tempered, heavy Stay eloped, I'm done with you, for Grinking brute whose wealth alone made society accept him, rd She was a gallant-hearted girl, however, and a thoroughbred. 80 #h@ gounded. made the very best of a wretchedly bad bargain, and kept a brave face to the world. Nor, through years of neglect, had she evor quite lost hope of “Don't try any of your ‘holler-than- winning back her worthless husband's love. She tried to shut her eyes to his failings and her ears to the stories of his debauches. They bad but one child—a daughter, Ardath—and on this little girl Bunice centred all her hopes. But, even here, Duncan did his best to ty interposed Bruc thwart her. For, when Ardath was ecarcely more than a baby, he an- to Eunice’s side, nounced that her noisy presence in the house annoyed him and he packed roing to tell Mrs the child off to a distant boarding school. Left alone in the big house with the husband who daily neglected her drunken cur of a husband ever had more and more, Eunice tried to find amusement tn society, And thus it was —why, I'm going to tell you you lie. tht she met Bruce Kingston. Bruce was a rising young play- wright—a good-looking, manly fellow and a social favorite, yet nevertheless, mentally and emotionally alone in the world's crowd. He was attracted firet to the beautiful, unhappy woman through bearing her pitiful story— a story which every one knew—and presently also because of her own cbarm. y saw much of each other, these two lonely young people. And each turned instinctively to the other for companionship. Yet, in their ac- quaintance there was only the fra- grance of innocent attraction; no hint ef anything to which the world could take exception. Eunice Hilliard was as good as ehe was unhappy. A! Bruce respected her goodness. Then came invitation to Ade- lalde Hooper’s house party at @ ram- Dling country place twenty miles from town. Eunice wae fond of Mrs. Hooper and ehe begged her husband to accept. “There's enough Goredom in every- day life without my motering twenty miles to look for it,” he grunted. “Go eut there yourself, if you like. I'll keep bachelor’s hall till you get back.” ‘And eo it was settled, Bunice ao- eapted the invitation, for herself. And Duncan planned to improve the shin- iag hours of her absence by giving a Ifttle party on his own account to half a doren boon companions of both eoxes. Among the score or eo of guesta at te Hooper's the first to greet Eu- nice aftes her arrival was Bruce ‘Mingston. His dark young face light- 4 ened with genuine pleasure at sight ef her and he welcomed her eagerly. As ehe passed on into the house, a fellow-guest, Regsie Cadleigh, strolled up to Bruce, who stood on the veranda looking after her. Cad- Jeigh was a youth with much money apd with a soul that would have been visible on the head of a pin. Bruce detested him—partly on his own account and partly because Cad- Jeigh bad made various attempts to Buntos, She had snubbed and 0 severely after the Cadleigh, now catching the look in Bruce's eyes, as Hunice vanished in- @oors, faughed nastily and said: “From the way you and she looked at each other, you must be luckier than I was, Mr. Kin Bruce reddened with anger. But, outwardly, he was calm, ae he made answer: “You are quite right, Mr. Cadleigh. Tam luckier than you. My parents endowed me with clean brains, in- stead of tainted money.” He walked away, leaving Cadlelgh glowering vindictively after him. Bruce thought no more of the episode. Cadleigh thought of nothing else, and he itched to repay the slight. His chance came late that evening. In the drawing room there were sev- era) bridge tables. Bruce and Eunice were partners at one of them. At an adjoining table, his back close to Bruce's, Cadleigh was playing. Dur- ing a lull in the game, he glanced back over his shoulder at Eunice and Bruce, and said rather loudly to his partner: “Tt looks as if Hilliard will be able to get rid of his unwelcome wife, af- ter all—with Kingston's kind help." Bruce, his eyes ablaz glanced overtly across the table to aee if Eunice had heard the beastly speech Her face was scarlet, her eyes were suffused with un aot ie and that held her cards trembled This was too much for Bruce Kingston. Impetuously, he pushed back his chair, leaped to his feet and wheeled about on Cadleigh. The late ter, frightened by the fierce menace in Bruce's look and action, also rose ‘The two men ch other, In @ hot whisper, to Cadleigh alone, Bruce sald “You have your choles, You Jeave this house within five nutes, or you will take a public thrashing.” To put on a bold front, Cadleigh nned, a though in absolute in- will erence. Then, as Kingwton took @ quick slop forward, the other ra elt — — turned on his heel and walked over to hostess. ‘I'm sorry, Mrs. Hoo; he said, ‘but I've just had a phone message that calls me back to town. Forgive me for hurrying away like this.” On bia way to the train, writhing over his humiliation, Cadleigh stopped at the local te! ‘aph office and acrib- bled a dispatch. Smirking with satis- faction, he read what he had written: “Duncan Hilliard, “1177 Blank Avenue, “New York City. “Your wife eloped to-night with Kingston. Congratulations. “A FRIEND.” “Rush this, please,” he eaid to the operator. ‘The telegram reached Duncan Hil- ard at midnight. Hilliard was spending the evening at home—a thing he rarely did nowadays. And, to keep him from utter loneliness, a decidedly gay party had assembled about him—a party consisting of sev- eral dissolute men-about-town and as many pseudo chorus girls. “How'll the missus like this?” asked a club crony of Hilliard, as ey touched glasses for their tenth “What Feaglfyeentl berorpye ibid keep her awake,” hiccoug! uncan mer- Tily, ‘She's gone out o’ town for the might. Won't get home till break- fast time. The place'll all be cleaned up before that. Till then,” with a wave of the hand at his women Guests, “while the cat's away, the other cats will play. Lord, but 1 wish she'd forget to come back at all! No such luck though. Watch me while T join myself in another drink’ The fun grew more furious. The party was romping merrily through the downstairs rooms which Funice had furntshed with such tasteful care, ‘Two servants were kept eternally on the run bringing bottles. Bolsterous laughter and snatches of song rat- the chandeliers. Into this bediam came a footman with the telegram. Hilliard tore open the envelope and read, at first dazed- ly and then with @ chuckle of tipsy delight. “Listen here!” he roared to his guests, waving the yellow slip of paper above his head. “Just listen to Tide: A dear old friend of mine ne me the good news that m eloped with a beggardly writ named Kingston! Hurroo! No more wedding bells for mine! He can charge up the expenses of the clope- ment trip to me. I'd be glad to pay them to be free. Open up some of the vintage stuff, Perkins, in honor of my divoree party!” He snatched the hands of those nearest him. The whole crowd formed @ ring around the centre of the room 11) and began @ wild dance which grew faster and faster until the revolving circle was broken by Hilliard's breathless collapse into a chair, “Don't mind me!" he guffawed, “nit up the racket, and I'll get my breath back in 4 minute, We've got the night before us—and to-morrow, too, it we want it. Because Mrs. Spoilsport won't butt in on us, after all.” But he was, of course, mistaken as to lis wife's non-veturn, After the un- pleasant interruption to the party at Mrs, Hooper's, Eunice started for home in her motor car, As Bruce was also returning to the city, she offered him @ lift, which he gladly accepted “IL wish 1 could have thrashed Cad- leigh, as he deserved," Kingston was saying, as the car drew up at the Hill- ery time I i'm 80 ¢! answered behaved fidly, ‘There is no way I can k you for defending me as you “I'm thanked a million times over,” he exclaimed, “if 1 was any help to you at all, Oh, I wish I could pro- tect you from all the worry and sor- row you're going through!" “Your sympathy makes {it ever so much easter to bear,” she said grate- fully, "And I—why, look!” she broke off, pointing at the hous wonder tis the matter, All the fir: loor Jes are drawn, And the lights are ring in every room!" She was plainly troubled at the un- ed aspect of her home, Bruce » more ue, nd,” he volunteered. “If any- is amisy, perhaps I can be of She thanked him eagerly for the offer, and together they mounted the front steps, With her latehkey Bunice opened the door and they passed through the outer hall into the dining room, ‘There the rank odor of tobacco and of stale liquor fumes in the hot and unuired apartment smote thelr nos- trils even before they could glance at H 1 cigarette pal broken glas and scores of empty bottles st i the rugs. One or two men were awake, yawn- ing and grumbling. On the edge of a sofa sprawled Duncan Hilliard. . of t “Bloped?” echoed his wife, dum- “Oh, I'm on, all right,” he growled, thou’ ways on me, It's too late for that. I know what you are. And I'm going to tell you. You'r “One moment, Mr. Hilliard,” quiet- stepping forward you say you Hilliard what she If you teil here she is anything the best and truest wife a but And then I'm going to smash the words down your fat throat, along with your teeth. Duncan Hilliard lurched to his feet in @ gust of drunken anger and con- fronted the siighter and shorter man. aren't “You're young Kingston, you?" he gro’ I met you once. You're the man that's stolen my wife from mo, eh? Well, take her. Good riddance!" “YOU LIE!” RAGED K “Keep her?" repeated Kingston, “no one but a drunken swine would ever have let her go. I'd give my soul for the privilege of having her ny Wife, But she ts so lo that I've never even dared breatho such a hope to her.” “Loyal to me, hey?" biccoughed Duncan, his anger swelling the for Bruce's contemptuous calm. “Loy- alto me? She isn’t loyal to any one She'll be leaving you, next, for’— “I've warned you once,” cut im Bruce with a deadly quiet, “that lito y He got no further, Duncan's ner- vously groping fingers closed about the neck of a bottle. With no word of warning he burled it full at King- ston's face, Bruce instinctively dodged the mia- sile and sprang at his assailant. As the two grappled, Eunice's sharp cry of terror aroused the half-dazed rev- ellers to a sense of what was going on, One or two of the men ghambled Uncertainly forward, with @ vague idea helping their host, Others sat up and stared In foolish surprise, None were sober enough to rally their nerves to the fighting point. So they contented themselves with gaping vacuously at the battle. Duncan Hilliard was a big man and powerful, And he was fighting In a drink-fired rage. Up and down the ed drawing room he and wrestled; upsetting chairs, smashing overturned tables, beating at each other with their fists, clinch- ing, breaking free and returning madly to the attack But presently youth and clean liv- ing began to tell against bulk and drunken fury. Kingston evaded an awkward swing, ran in and grappled, He «lipped his hip behind his foe's, and with one hand at the latter's throat exerted all his wiry strength in a ain tremendous heave, Hilliard flew backward and landed in a panting heap acros the end of the sofa, his head striking @ table edge, There he lay, dizzy, helpless, halt- stunned, while’ his victor lowered above him, "Listen!" com tng down at th me, you wor nded Bruce, glar- inert body, “listen to pas hulk! Mrs, Hillard {8 going away with me, She is going to my mother's home. She will live with my mother until she can get a divorcee from you. T . please God, Tam going to marry her. If you try to prevent us, the consequences are on your own head Eunice,” he the sobbing the room sald gently, woman and and out to her » house. Neither reared hy b from ok bellowed th You'll both pay for find it's the blackest, work you've ever don 1 happy, more and more of her bitter mem- ories, And fo time went on, happily un- eventfully, A legacy of $50,000 from her long-dead mother gave Bunice sufficient income for all her simple needs. Duncan Hilliard troubled her not at all, She neither saw him nor heard from him. And she began to Plan the divorce proceedings which should leave her free to marry the man she had learned to love so dearly, Then, one di came @ brief letter from Hilliard, junice read an@ re- read it, with @ great rapture in her heart. Hurrying to the room where Hruce and his mother were aitting, she read it aloud to them, It ran: Dear Eunice—As we both want- ed our freedom, I have just s cured a decree of divorce, from you of grounds of desertion: You are free to marry Kingstom, or any one else you care to, The court awards me the custody of our daughter. I wish I had been @ better husband to you. Not that that does any great good to either of us. NCAN HILLIARD DU Md it wonderful?” cried Eunice ys Glorious!” declared Bruce, But 1 didn't know desertion was a cause ‘® for divorce in New York. But I don't know anything about the law.” “Neither do 1,” chimed in Funtce, “except that It leaves me free to she refused, with sud. “To me, divorce ts a . A widow would not marry for a year after her husband’s death. And I don't think a divorced woman should.” “A year?" he repeated in dismay. ut darling’ —— “A year is so Httle in a Mfetime, she said tenderly. “Humor m Bruce, It isn't much to as! IN Nor could all his pleas move her to change her decision. Si himself to wait wit he might. Eunice was ‘The enforced separation from r adored little daughter was the only cloud in her sky. But Bruce promised that as soon as they should ‘be married he would take legal steps to try to restore the ohild to her, From time to time, during the twelve month, they heard, indireotly, of Duncan Hilliard. Through chance rumors, they learned that his busi- ness affairs were going badly and that Ais fortune was dwindling. He was reported to be in sore straits tor money and to be drinking hard, At last, after what seemed to Bruce Kingston a century of waiting, the year passed by, And on the morning of the first anniversary of the divorce, he and Eunice were married. As soon as they left the church, Bruco was obliged to go to his lawyer's to attend a matter of business that must be settied before they should start on their honeymoon, Eunice returned to his mother's house to walt for him. There, to her amaze, she found @ let- ter that had just been delivered b; hand. The envelope was in Hill A writing and was addressed to Bruce Kingston.” Eunice read, on the single sheet of notepaper, this feebily traced scrawl: Punice: I am very sick, The doc- y 1 can't last much longer, I'll appler, at the finish of the race, to know you had forgiven me, Won't you spare just a minute to come and kay goodby? I don't deserve tt, But most of us don't deserve the things we got. D.H. A thrill of pity surged through Eu- nice. She waa so happy, and the man who once had been her husband was dying tn misery! At once her mind was made up. Bruce would not bo back for nearly an hour, She would have time to go to the dying man's bedside for a word of farewell and forgiveness before starting on her wedding trip. An hour later she entered the she had quitted more than a year earlier the house where for years she had led so wretched a life. A man servant admitted her and ush- ered her into the brary, Duncan Hilliard rose from @ chair to greet her, Except where twelve months of dissipation and worry had marred his once handsome face he showed no sign of sickness. "Why!" exclaimed Euntce tn amaze- ment, “you told me you were very any ‘If Vd said T was very broke, 4 ‘9 “Mrs. stead, " he answered, focosely, “you wouldn't have come here. And I had t » you There is nothing either of us can h to say to the other,” replied unice, turning to go, here by a trick, And” “And I'll keep you here by force, if “you got me |GSTON, AS HE CAUGHT HILLIARD BY THE THROAT, i have to,’ he snapped, heard w I want to « She paused in her progress to the door as he barred the way. “I'm broke," he said, before she could speak, “I'm cleaned out. I'll have to skip the country inside of to dodge jail—unless I can raise the money that will square me." “That Is no affair of mino,” she broke in, coldly. “Let me go, please. ntil you've — “But I'm going to make it an affair of yours,” he corrected her. “That's why I got you here. You have about fifty thousand dollare—the money you inherited from your mother. That will tide me over nicely. it itt’ “I think,” she satd, wonderingly, “I think you must lost your mind." “No,” he denied. “Only my money. That's worse, But your legacy will put me on my feet again. Will you give it to me?” “No!” sho declared, impatient at his absurd questie . course not, WwW hould 1? ll come to that presently,” he adding with seeming irrele- “You're married to Bruce Kingston, I suppose.” “Yes,” she answered, a note of pride in her voice. “I supposed you would be,” he emiied. “I figured you and he would marry the very minute you found you were divorced from me,” “But we didn't. We'—— “Well, well, a day or two later, then,” he said, irritably. “The exact date isn't important. I knew you two unworldly youngsters would take it for granted the divorce was O. K., and wouldn't bother to investigate. My dear, I don't like to call you names. But you're a very charming bigamist!” She started, shudderingly, at the ugiy word, Then, with a iaugh of contempt, @he recovered her com- posure, “Laugh!” he mocked savagely. ‘Laugh till you're sick! You'll be sicker presently. Any one but a fool knows a divorce can't be secured in New York State on grounds of deser- tion. You're my wife, by law of God and man. And You can be sent to LETH Prison for bigamy. You and your ous near-husband, Kingston. al, you shall be sent t the two of you, unless 1 get that cash, She was gazing at him in wonder, She had not lived with him for ten miserable years without learning when he was lying and when he was the truth. And she recognized with in a-reol, that what he had dust told her was true, A queer faint- nese swept over her, “I told you two I'a get even with you!" he was exulting. “And that's why I wrote you that you were free. T planned to set the law after you in @ few months—just when you'd had enough of married life together to make both hearts break if you were ever parted, Then my money affairs began to go wrong, And I thought of a better plan—a way to save inyself from bankruptcy and jail at your ex- pense, Write me a check for fifty thousand dollars, and I'll keep mum. If not"—— With a@ strangled, wordless ory she slipped past him, before he could stop her, and fled from the house. An hour later, Bruce Kingston, nervously wondering whither hi bride had gone, received this not from the hand of a messenger bo; Bruce, Dearest: I fina I have not been legally divorced from my husband. I am not your wife, Dunean holds us both in his power. He will send us to prison if we are together, But if T . he can't prove anything, ou will be safe, Forgive me for the grief this must cause you, But there is no other way, I love you. EUNICE, Nor could money or skill or months of tireless search bring Bruce any further trace of the woman he adored, She had disappeared as utterly ea if the earth had yawned to recelve her. Bruce's youth and his hope and all that. made life worth living were crushed by the bitter tragedy. ‘The bereaved man turned at last to his work for consolation, AS @ play- wright, he had hitherto made scant progress. But, because success now meant nothing to him, success pre- sently sought him out, His plays won him increasing fortune and fame, oe ee ee ee It was eight years since Bunice had gone out of Bruce Kingston’ life, The years for all their glitter- ing suc , had been dreartly lonely and miserable for him, For a long time he had refu 11 the invitations and honors showered upon him by a hero-worshipping public, and had lived solely for his work, But no griet’s first horrible anguish ia eternal, And. with the passing of the years, Hunic ime at last a sweet-sad iuerory to Kingston; rather thin v realty, He began to fo about more, And, at last, at the end of he onee again met a woman whose look and voice could make his long-empty heart stir with love. He met her, first when a company was called together for a reading of Bruce's new play, “Ropes of Sand,” which the manager and all his friends Predicted would be the crowning hit of Kingston's brilliant career. The manager had “discovered” in the person of a young girl hitherto unheard of as an actress of marvel- lous promise and beauty, whose soul experience had been gained in one season of stock. Her name was Evelyn Eden. The manager had chanced to see a per- formance of the stock company and had at once been struck by Miss Eden's girlish charm and undoubted talent. He had engaged her on the spot, for sho was precisely the type he had been secking for the forthcoming Kingston play. From that moment Kingston real- ized, to his dismay, that he had fallen victim to the hopeless and mysterious malady known as “love at first sight.” He hi little trouble tn cultivating Evelyn's acquaintance. At first she Was flattered that she should be sin- gled out for attention by the fore- most playwright of the day. But soon she began to feel a much warmer per- sonal interest in the man on his own account. The hint of sorrow tn his dark eyes appealed to Evelyn. So did the elu- sive alr of melancholy, bred from his long years of suffering. There was also a gentle deference in his manner toward her that she was wise enough to recognize as masking a great strength of oharacter and will. He was clever, too, this famous middle- aged adorer of hers, and there were @ thousand things about him to win a wornan’s favor, . In short, Evelyn Eden presently di covered she was tremendously in Jo’ with Bruce. Before they had known each other &@ month they were engaged, They kept the engagement a secret. They resolved on an early marriage and decided to keep that a secret, too. For the public feels much more interest in a young actress if it does not know she is also a wife. And Bruce was not minded to rid his sweetheart any day of her dawning popularity, Rehearsals were drawing to an end. Bruce and Evelyn planned to marry on the morning of the day scheduled for the pla: first performance. To- wether, the afternoon before, they went to select the wedding ring. Eve- ly an errand of her own which she was explaining to Kingston as they walked thither, side by side, through the sunlit morning streets, In the play's last act, the heroine, cast off by the man she loved, was supposed to kill herself by sucking poison from an antique ring she wore. It was a gruesome but effective bit of stagecraft. And it had to do with Evelyn's visit to the jewelry shop. ‘You see,” sho was saying to Bruce, “the property man has dug up a £ for me that would be an insult to the intelligence of a blind kindergarten child. It looka no more like an an- tique poison ring than I look like Julia Marlowe. I hate it.” “The audience won't know the dift- ference Bruce assured her. “No,” she assented, “but I will. How ean 1 throw myself into the spirit of the thing when aring thai tin- sel hoop? N When L yesterday to mended 1 saw have the collection of antiques, And what do brooch wonderful my most you suppose was among then? A kenuine poison-ring, dating trom the sixteenth century! Think of that! By pressing @ bit of the gold tracery around the base of the stone—it's a topaz—the stone lifts on a hinge. In- side the hollow under the topaz ts a place for the poison, And—here is the queerest part of the whole story—the “Bp- joking with you,” No,” she declared, “I saw it my- It's a dark, greenish paste, Eb- a ‘sterious The painless poison that t kind that death, He says a chemist examined it in the ring and told him it is ag potent to-day as it was four hundred years ago. isn’t that interesting?” “It's a grisly curio, I shouldn't care to have it.” “But I Shout she protested. “And Tm going to. i’ the grand idea I spoke of just now. I'm going to buy the polsop ring. And I'm going to wear it in the lest aot. It will give @ touch of realism and I'll act more reallatically, too, if [ know the ring I'm pressing to my lips ie full of dead- ly poison, “But—good Lord, sweetheart!” he objected, “suppose you should touch poison itself to your lips by mis- ©? Don't buy the gruesome thing, Please don't!" “But I want {t so!" she pleaded. ‘And, as for the poison touching my Ups, why, it can’t, It’s locked up safe, under the stone, until the spring is pressed, And I'm certainly not going 10 be foolish enough to press it, Don't you eee,” her voice softening, “I have too much to live for, beloved, to take any risks, I didn’t know any one could be as happy as I am!” And the upshot of their brief argu- ment was that Bruce not only bought a wedding ring, but purchased for her also the poison ring she coveted. As they came out of the shop, @ man in the passing crowd halted in amaze at sight of them, He was florid of face, gray of hair, and his clothes had @ touch of roughness about them that seemed to bespeak life on prairie or mountain, rather than in cittes. Long and bewildered he stared after the happy couple. Then a strange pression crept into his heavy fea- tures, and slowly he moved on. “I've @ surprise for you,” Evelyn was saying, as she and Bruce turned homeward. “I had a letter from my father yesterd He is coming to New York. He may get here to-day or to-morrow, he says. I haven't told him a thing about the play. I wanted that to be @ surprise, too, When I got his letter I sent a telegram to the hotel he wrote he was going to stay at in New York, I told him if he got here in time to come to my apart- ment; and if ho couldn't reach town ‘hi until to-morrow evening te come straight to the theatre. I'm going to leave word to have him brought to my dressing room there, Won't he be thunderstruck, though, to find me playing the lead tn a Broadway pro- duction? Dear old dad! I do hope he can get here in time for the wedding, fan) tow long did you say it is since you've seen him?” asked Bruce, to whom ihis sweetheart had told him. Nttle about her family. “Not for nearly nine years," she replied, “He came to the boarding school for me just after my mother died, He said he had lost all his money am Wall Street and that he'd " Novelization By Mrs. Wilson Woodrow SESTESTOCEECT TE “Yesterday, I saw a genuine poison-ring, dating from the sixteenth century. I want it, and I am going to wear it in the last act. It will give a touch of realism, and I'll act more realistically, too, if I know the ring I’m pressing to my lips is full of deadly poison.”’ have to go West and start life all over again, He couldn't afford to keep me at such an expensive school any longer. That's why he sent me to live with mother’s cousin, Mrs, Eden, She was just like a mother to me, till she died, last year, She ft no money. And father had none, That's why I went on the stage.” “L wish I could have met your own mother,” said Bruce, touched at the tale of her forlorn girlhood. “I wish you could,” she answered, wistfully, “I remember her so weil, even though I was such a little child when she died. She was very beauti- ful. And—here we are at the theatre,” she broke off, “with three whole minutes to spare, before rehearsal is called, Sometimes I think it’s a vice to be as foolishly prompt as I am, I'd save so much precious time in the course of the year, by letting other people do the waiting.” “Don't make me do it, to-morrow morning,” he warned her playfully, “L should be terribly angry if | was kept ‘waiting at the church,” “Don't worry!" she reassured him, fou couldn't lose me, my sweet- heart, if you tried. You'll probably find me sitting forlornly on the church steps when you get there.” They were married, with but two witnesses early the following day, at the Little Church Around the Corner, After which they started in a taxi tod Bruc bachelor rooms for the little tete-; ete wedding breakfast that Bruce's man was to have ready for them on their arrival, While Kingston's servant was set- ting the table for Bruce and the bride there was a ring at the apartment's front door. A_ slender, sad-faced woman Stood on the threshold as the servant answered the summons. She was well dressed, evidently well bred, and had once been beautiful, ‘Is Mr. Kingston at home?” she eked ‘No, madam,” replied the man. “I expect him back any minute, but”— “I will come in and wait,” she de- cided, entering the apartment as she spoke. “But, madam,” expostulated the servant. “I don’t think Mr. Kingston will be able to receive callers to-day. In fact I'm sure he won't.” “I think he will receive m the quiet answer that cut s] further discussion, The woman went, uninvited, into the living room and seated herself there. ‘The man scratched his head in Derplexity. Kingston had given him strict orders that the marriage was to be kept secret. He could not tell this stranger that the bride and bride- groom would soon arrive at the apart- ment. Nor could he order her out He compromised by leaving her where she was, and going back to his own task of arranging the dining-room table, As soon as she was along the woman rose quickly from her seat and crossed the room to the mantel where stood a large photograph in a silver frame—a photograph of Evelyn Eden, She gazed on it in bewildered terror racking her brains to imagine how it [ came rooms. And thus, Eunice Hilliard, for the first time in eight years, looked at the Pictured face of her little daughter, Eight years of restless and heart- broken wandering had sadd to in Bruce Kingston's e. And all throu had battied the craving to come back to Bruce, it only for an hour, Lately, a long iliness had left her with an incurable cardiac malady. Knowing she might die at any time, she had no longer resisted the yearning. Surely it could do no * harm for her to meet him again now; ghe on whom death had eet its seal! Bo she had returned to New York. And trom the train, after learning bis address in the directory, she had come directly to Kingston's rooma. jazing at the plo- door, She outer breathless with eagerness for a sight looked around, of Bruce. She saw him enter the apartment with a woman clinging to his arm. The woman of the photo- graph—her own little girl of other days, “Woleome home, dearest!" she heard him say as he stooped to kiss his bride. Eunice tn panic looked about for a way of escape. ‘There was none would have time to reach unseen. She slipped into a clothes closet that stood directly behind her and softly closed its door to a crack. sbe heard Evelyn say in mock anger. "Just see, sir, what you did to my hair when you kissed me! It's a wreck. Where can I fix it?’ “Tt looks all right.” she contradicted. “It's . Oh, dear! And I spent such a lot of time arranging It. Now it will take me another ten min- utes,” “If you simply must waste per- fectly good time in hair dressing,” he told her, in the same vein, “you can go into my dressing room, where there's a glass. It's right there,” She fled to repair the damage. And Bruce, coming back into the living room, confronted Eunice, who had stepped from the closet. “Eunice!” he babbled in stark un- belief, staring at a ghost. “Yes, dear,” she answered gently, as if to a frightened child, “It Is 1. And--I am too late. But how could I know? And ‘how could I know it would be my little girl, Ardath, of all women In tho world?" rdath?" he repeated dully. Then: “That is Evelyn Eden, the actress. married her, This morning.’ “Married? she echoed, aghast, one hand clutching her heart. “Married Ardath?" “No, no," ho explained, miserably. rd a key turn in the @ i: THE FIFTH EPISODE IN THE SERIAL ““WHO’S GUILTY” Will Be Published THURSDAY, June 1. “Evelyn Eden. Oh, Eunice, why did you never let me know where you were? I hunted so long! I was 60 heartbroken! I'-— “Your heart is healed; as men's hearts have a happy way of healing, dear,” she said, sadly, ‘But that it should be by Ardath”-— “You are mistaken, It*"——~ A mother is never mistaken in euch things, Bruce, It is my baby you have married.” t vad her mother is dead. She ‘old — “Her father told her #0, I eu vd explained Eunice, “He wou! be Ukely to. ‘Evelyn’ is her first name. We called her by her middle name— Ardath, As for the name ‘Eden,’ my cousin" — The dressing-room door opened. Evelyn came In, singl r her breath. At sight of the strange woman, she halted, surprised. But only for a moment. After one searching, incredulous look, she ran forward; and with @ rapturous ory of “Mother!” flung herself into e inice's Gutstretctied arms. Bruce Kingston looked on; dumb, etarkl; bewildered, helpless. id Oh, mother; my own beautiful mother!" Evelyn was exclaiming hys- terically. ‘ather said you bad died. He said"— “I know, baby; I know,” whispered Eunice, lovingly caressing the head that | so bilssfully on her breast. “He was mistaken. ‘There ts much to tell you. But it must wait. And you are married? To this gentleman, too? Mr.—- Kingston, I think he said bis name was. I was told I you here, little daughter. So I came. 1 told Mr. Kingston who I was. And he was just telling me about your marriage when you broke in on us.” She shot a iieaning glance at Bruce, over her daughter's head, He under- stood, Evelyn was not to know. She must never know what Eunice had been to him. In silence, he bowed assent to her unspoken dictum, ‘8 (ee ie ee “Ropes of Sand” was nearing the end of its first performance. or that Broadway would most en- thusiastically welcome the new lead- ing woman, Evelyn Eden, to its fel- lowship. The brief last act had begun. In this act Evelyn did not come on unttl five minutes before the fall of the curtain. Bruce and she had been sitting in her dressing-room. He had just stepped out in response to a mes- sage from the manager, when Dun- Hilliard’s card was brought to Evelyn, A moment later Hilliard strode into the room. She ran to greet him, and he caught her jovially in his big arms, His breath recked of cheap liquor. "Daddy!" she cried, “Oh, it's 0 good to see you! 1 wag afraid you wouldn't get to New York on time, I got here yesterday,” he said. “I was on my way to your rooms when I saw you walking with"—— “You saw me—and you didn’t epeak she asked, hurt to the quick. cause you were with"— Daddy!" broke in Evelyn, in joy® ous excitement, as Bruce entered, “This is my husband!” The two men stood face to face. It was Hilliard who spoke first 1 know him,” he said, curtly, What?" asked, nized, “You met him when he stole my wife from me, nine years ago." “Dad!" she gasped. “When he stole her from me and cast her off like a"— “You Hel" raged Brace, his ablaze, his fists hard clenched. “Dad! Bruce!" walled the girl @um- founded with horor, ining. Then in @ flash she recalled lame excuse for her presence aton's rooms that day. And ber heart d within her. © opened her Ips, as though speak. But before the words Coula take form the callboy hurried in to summon her to the stage. To an actor or actress there is one unpardonable sin: namely, to cause the stage to walt. [Evelyn bowed her head and ran from the room, in pursuit Bruce took a hasty step hoping to catch up with her of her, before she should reach the stage, he hoping to be able to say sometht anything—which might drive look of mortal horror from her dear eyes, Hilliard barred his way. Kingsten wheeled about lke a wild animal at bay and drove his fist against the other's sneering face, Hilliard dropped senacless to the oor ruce ran at top speed to inter: his bride, But he was too late “ate ready she was on the stage beginning her great final scene, Kingston could but Wait, miserably, in the wings until the curtain should fail, Never had he seen her act with such an abandon of tragic Intensity as at this moment. Her husband and the thronged house followed her every word, look and gesture with breath. Jens oagerness, hen at last she pressed the pol: ring to her lips and sank slowly to the floor a wave of unchecked emotion audience, caine the curtain, Before it could rise again to the thunder of ap- Hause Bruce Kingston had dashed on the stage and was kneeling at Evelyn's side. Something in her att!- tude had filled him with a sudden hideous suspicion, Frantically he bent above her, call- ing her name, ‘Then his eyes reated upon the poison ring on the white Nttle hand that rested 90 close to her Mfeless face, The stone was awin, back on tts hiy The poison hollow wan empty, (END OF FOURTH STORY.)