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The Princeton union. (Princeton, Minn.) 1876-1976, December 21, 1899, Image 6

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Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83016758/1899-12-21/ed-1/seq-6/

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Following- this advice, Esther cut
from the next morning's papers all
the obnoxious advertisements she
could find. She lead them over with a
shudder of horror that men and women
could be so base and depraved. One
in particular, signed "Malcolm," fas
tened itself upon her mind. Thus
armed, she started, early, to consult
that prodigy of genius and brilliant
leader in philanthropy, charity and
morality, John Olmstead's nephew.
She knew him well enoug-h by sight,
and doubtless Stanton had frequently
heard her name and even seen her dur
ing the brief period when he was most
in society. He might almost haTe seen
her vestcidav. and forgotten. There
was a strong similarity among women
as he saw them. He never tried to re
member unless they were in the wit
ness-stand.
As Miss 1 addon stepped into the ele
vator the operator was showing another
boy an item in the Morning Herald
which intensely amused them both.
Always mteiested in what mteiested
the oung, she glanced over their shoul
ders, to find them absorbed the ad
ertisement signed "Malcolm." She re
membered it well, and a new horror
Allied her to find that even boys found
entertainment in the pernicious matter
and from it formed their notions of
what leal life would be for them too,
when they were old enough to enter in.
As she crossed the hall to Stanton's
-door, she whispered, indignantly:
"Malcolm Herald. Up-town."
She paused timidly upon the thresh
old, fullj avvaie of the importance of
the man she was about to approach,
when the office boy came forward, le
marking
"Good mornin urn. Yer lookin' fur
de Mr Malcolm as addetised in de
Mornin' Herald, am? He's right in
here, urn.'
Before she could collect her thoughts,
the door of the pnvate office had been
opened, she had entered, and it had
closed again behind her. It was all in
an instant, and Esther Thomdike Brad
don was face to face with John Olm
stead's immaculate nephewotherwise
Malcolm
Her first thought as to get herself
instantly away The next suggested
that she be very sure, first, that she
was light, then fly to her father with
news of the clay feet of his idol. Tlicn
a vein of amusement crept into the
situation, and when she found that she
was mistaken for an applicant hei
woman's wit suggested that she had
a glorious opportunity to investigate,
draw him out, preach him a seimon
that fchould wither him with shame,
then tell him who she was, why she
tame to him, and what eveiv true wom
an would think of him
Upon this plan she began operations,
and she can ted out the planalmost to
the end The end itself was not quite
what she had planned She went di
rectly to her father. She told him
about the will, with its time-limit and
forfeiture, of which he already knew,
about the mistake in dates, ot which
he did not know, about Richard Kay
mond, which did not greatly surprise
him about Stanton's determination to
retatn the property, of which lie high
ly approved about the matrimonial ad
vertisement and the plan tor a limited
alliance, which ceitainly did not affect
him as i:&thti had feared it might
aboutlast ol all &he pulled together
all her coinage, dievva long, quivering
breath, and vvitn fear and trembling
as she though* of what she had done,
beganabout what her angry, indig
nant, sympathetic heart had prompted
her to sa\ and do to help .John Olm
stead's nephew and punish liichard
Raymond ith wet cheeks she looked
up to her fathci for his veidict
If Thaddeus Braddon could have been
left alone for the next five minutes, he
would have given half his lortune but
he was not left alone. Esthei's anxious,
troubled face was right before him. Hi
saved the half of his lortune, but Tic
ran a great risk of internal combustion
of some kind, which might have been
much worse
He did his best to look seiious and
giave while she eontimied:
"You know, papa, I didn ically want
to marry Mi. Raymond at an\ tuna.
never wanted to marry anyone, and I
never shall want to. It will not matter
at all if 1 am bound this way so that
I oan't. Don't you think 1 did right,
papa?"
"Perfectly right, Esthei," Jiraddon
said, solemnly. "J will look into this
matter of Raymond at once, and if the
half is true 1 will have a word with
him. He will not annoy you after that.
Any arrangement you have made with
John Olmstead's nephew will be per
fectly safe and honorable, rest assured.
Now do you go right home and rest
till the time comes. Marrying is a
tough pull on the nerves, however you
3o it, and you'll need all your strength.
I'll tell you what we'll do, Esther. You
go through this thing like a major.
The chances are he'll offer to give Up ft
dozen times before you see the end,
for he'll, think it's hard on you but
don't you let him do it. Don't let any
thing slip so that the boy will drop
his fortune into Raymond's hands after
[Copyright, 1898. by J. Llpplncott Co
all and when it's settled you and I will
take that trip to Europe we've been
talking: about. We'll start one week
froinHo-day, if 3*011 see this thing
througn. all right. Now run home
that'Js a good girl."
At last he was able to lock the door
of his private office and be alone. It
was none too soon. Thaddeus Brad
don, the white-haired head of Braddon
fc Burridge, sank into the nearest arm
chair, helplessly convulsed.
Clasping his own bands, lacking the
visible hand of his old friend to clasp,
he shook them with cordial energy,
gasping, between the uncontrollable
paroxisms:
"Oh, Jack, dear old boy, Jack, did 3 ou
ever hear of such luck in all your life?
Mary's boy, Jack, and my Esther!
Why, it's almost as good as if Mary
was to come back herself and marry
me. Oh, Jack, Jack, Jack! And jUst
to think! the two little fools don't
know what they're doing, or they'd
both of them kick over the traces and
balk like a pair of mules."
CHAPTER VIII.
Thaddeus Braddon's best developed
faculty was that of holding his peace
and letting matters take their course,
especially where women were con
cerned. It was enough for him that the
two who represented all the world to
him were well married. He started for
Europe with his daughter, and Stanton
reached San Francisco none the wiser
for what the old banker knew.
The young lawyer had almost a week
to dispose of before the sailing of the
steamer. The thought of it was hor
rible. He knew no one. He did not
wish to know anyone. If he had seen
a familiar face approaching he would
have fled from it.
He was unknown ^California, and
the common civilities accorded to a
stranger were responded to by him so
coldly that they were rarely repeated.
Very soon he found himself in has ideal
condition of being let alone. And yet
it was not his ideal.
He called in vain on common sense
to help him. He upbraided himself.
He denounced himself. "I'm making
an idiotic fool of myself," he gioaned.
But between fact and philosophy the
unfortunate shuttlecock was merciless
ly battledoored, while a very common
disease developed, in accordance with
verj- well known laws.
If he could only have realized that
he was desperately in love, the case
would have promised much more satis
factoiv recovery. He insisted upon
considering his symptoms the upheav
als of lemorse for having cruelly
wronged a woman. He felt that she
must despise him.
He knew that she was his wife.
A few business telegrams arrived and
were quickly answered. A few friend
ly inquiries were forwarded, and were
utterly ignored. A letter came from
Dr. Borden, requiring a reply, and
Stanton struggled with it.
The good doctor wrote:
"My Dear Boy:I trusted you that
night, and I trust you still, but I am
greatly troubled by reports and lack of
facts If 3 ou led me into marrying you
to a blank, simply that 30U might se
cure 3 our uncle's fortune (however
wise that step might be), you betrayed
my love for you. It was a crime. If
she was a woman whom you are
ashamed to acknowledge, I have still
done 3011 an injury rather than which
I would willingly have sacrificed both
my handfe."
"I shall land in the insane asylum be
fore the steamer starts," Stanton
groaned, as he walked the room with
Dr. Borden's lettei in' his hand.
Passing a mirroi lie paused, folded
his aims, and stood, foi a time, calmly
looking into it.
"Robert Stanton, 30a are a disgrace
to humanity," he muttered. Throwing
himself down at the table, he wrote
to Dr. Borden:
"I am leaving for Japan, and must
answer 3 ou briefly. You did not marry
me to a blank or to a woman I am
ashamed to acknowledge. She was pre
cisely what I represented, a true wom
an, and I would that I were as worthy
of my wife as she is of me."
With a thrill of supreme delight
Stanton hailed the first motion of the
wheels as the steamer started, but it
was of very short duration.
He looked about the deck with a
shudder. It was crowded with the
promiscuous company always to be
found on the Pacific.
Before the land had disappeared
Stanton discovered that it had been all
a mistake to imagine that the starting
of the steamer would better his condi
tion. It had only changed it for the
worse.
As the dark fringe sank into the
eastern horizon he clutched the rail,
by pure muscular leslstance to prevent
himself from leaping into the water
not to suicide, but in an overwhelming
desire to get back again to that fading
fragment of America.
The thought of imprisonment in that
steamer while sbe crept over the thou
sands of miles of blank ocean was more
horrible than anything he had suffered
on the land.
"Oh, Stanton, you fool!" he
gasped.
Turning his back upon the east, he
walked deliberately up to a company of
passengers and began conversation
with one of them.
Before the sun had set the second day
the passengers generally had discov
ered that there was entertainment
wherever Stanton changed to be, and
that he was always the center of it.
There is a wide diversity of taste and
sentiment upon those steamers, yet
no one seemed to take exception to the
New York lawyer.
"He's the jolliest fellow I ever met,"
said a somewhat wayward government
clerk to two or three near him, when a
week from shore.
"Don't often find a jovial chap like
him on board, that's a fact," replied a
purchasing agent.
"He is a great addition to our com
pany .said a venerable returning mis
sionary, whose only objection to Stan
ton was that such men spoke well of
him.
"Jolly? Jovial?" the captain of the
steamer repeated, as his gray eyes
wandered down the deck to where Stan
ton, as usual, was the center of a merry,
laughing company. "Either I don't
know what those words mean or I don't
agree with 3011. We've been out for a
week, but that man hasn't smiled since
he came on board."
It was difficult to believe, but the
three watched and waited, only to dis
cover that the captain's eyes were
sharper than their senses.
He was the source of many a mejiy
peal of laughter, but he never smiled,
-F
He thought of the imprisonment on that
steamer.
and the fact sank into the missionary's
heart. He knew that there was some
thing wrong with a man who never
smiled. He set himself to investigate,
in the hope that he might render some
assistance, and came, very correctly-, to
his preliminar3 conclusions. Then he
tried to secuie an interview, but Stan
ton was never alone.
In reality the 3 oung lawy er had sim
ply discovered that of all disagreeable
things which he would instinctively
put away he was himself the most dis
agreeable, and in a choice of evils he
was putting himself away by keeping
others about him. Many a troubled
soul had done the same before, but he
knew nothing of such sentiments, either
in himself or in others.
At last the missionary succeeded in
finding Stanton alone on deck early one
morning. He made a few preliminary
remarks concerning the human duty of
bearing one anothei's burdens, and
said:
"You have more friends on board
than any of us, yet you seem to me to
be in need of a real friend and to lack
one. I wish that you could accept my
sacred office, rather than its unworthy
holder, and give me your confidence."
"Do I act like one depressed?" Stan
ton asked, absently.
"You do, sir, and you are," replied
the missionary. "You are the life of the
steamer, but youi own heart is not in
it. Do not be angry, sir. Remember
that my only desire is to serve you.
Let me even say frankly that you have
seemed to me like one struggling with
an unfortunate love-affair. Am I not
correct?"
"You are correct," said Stanton.
"I am sorry, very sorry," the mission
ary replied, with a look and voice say
ing plainly that he too had suffered,
long ago. "Was she unworthy?" he
asked, gently.
"She was exceptionally worthy,"
Stanton said.
"That is something to be thankful
for," the missionary exclaimed, glad to
find something consoling. "It is well
that you do not repent having cast your
pearls to swine."
"I am thankful," Stanton replied,
with more energy than had been in his
voice for many a day. He was looking
backward.
"Does she love another?" the mission
ary asked.
"No." "There again you are fortunate.
Surely you must still have hope."
"I have."
"Good. Keep it. Hope deferred
makes the heart sick, and your heart is
sick. I knew it. But hope is the anchor
to the soul, after alL Don't let the
anchor go. Was there opposition?"
"No."
"Sometimes a little opposition is real
ly a necessary stimulus. Why did she
refuse you?"
"She did not refuse me."
"Can it be that you are so sensitive as
to suffer all this simply for some fan
cied lack of reciprocation in her face?"
"I never saw her face."
"My friend, you astonish me. I've
heard of matches made by correspon
dence 01 by mutual friends, but I nevei
believed much in them. Tell me of this
one. Was it by writing?"
"I never wrote to her. I never saw
her handwriting but twice."
"We hav.e no mutual friends," said
Stanton.
"Sir, you amaze me. Who and what
can, this woman be?"
"She is my wife," said Stanton.
"Sir, you are jesting."
"Sir, lam not jesting. You appealed
to your position for the right to ask me
such questions as you chose. I have
answered eaeh truly, so help me God."
"Sir, you bewilder me. You astound
me."
"Sir, the same conditions have per
plexed, amazed, bewildered and as
tounded me too, quite enough to ac
count for any slight depression which
may have attracted your attention. It
must be obvious to you that little bene
fit can be derived through conversation,
where the immediate effect upon you
is the same as the more deliberate effect
on me. 1 trust that you will respect
what to mc Is a very painful subject, and
never refer to it again."
Whatever the conclusions at which
the missionary arrived they were sure
ly not unkind, for during the last din
ner on board he rose at the table and
cordially thanked Robert Stanton,
Esquire, on behalf of the passengers,
the officers, and the crew, for his un
failing cheerfulness and his untiring
good offices to all, making the voyage so
much pleasanter and making them all
better for his being among them.
The sentiments were incomprehen
sible and intensely disagreeable to
Stanton, and yet there was something
in them which set him thinking and
gradually opened his eyes.
"It was small thanks to me," he said
to himself, as he thought the matter
over on shore. "I never exerted myself
in that way before, bimply because I
never had a right good selfish incen
tive. Misery drove me to it, but it
surely did make others happier. I be
liev it was the first time in my life that
I ever attempted to make others happy,
and it surely made me less miserable,
too. There's an idea there that is good
straight philosophy. If I think con
tinually of myself, I've no time to think
of others. If I think sometimes of
others, I've less time to think of my
self. I brought myself into a fine con
dition, thinking only of myself. It is
high time I took the hint. I don't
wonder Esther Thorndyke didn't want
me, but it may be, if I make myself
different man, that I may yet be worthy
of her as a real wife. I will try."
Instantly the world about him began
to assume an attractiveness which only
his office and profession had ever pos
sessed for him before.
He found humanity an intensely in
teresting study the moment he looked
upon it as anything but a means to pro
fessional comfort. More than that, he
was astonished to find it instantly re
ciprocative. Giving, it was given unto
him, till he had more abundance of pre
cisely the same commodity which he en
deavored to impart.
His enthusiasm for the new idea con
stantly increased as he went on through
the orient, following the itinerary,
date for date, with careful precision.
Increasingly the new theory worked
wonders with the world as he saw it and
it saw him.
He was passed along from friend to
friend, by letters and telegrams in ad
vance of him, till it soon became evident
to him that there was no possibility of
taking the initiative, and that at the
best he was only reciprocating. Strang
est of all to him, he found himself en
joying the condition, especially each op
portunity to reciprocate.
He was conversing with a Brahmin
scholar, in Delhi, when the argument
turned upon the value of men.
"Surely we are all but atoms," said
the pundit. "We are aiding to the ulti
mate if we make men happier and bet
ter, and we retard the progress of
things when we wrong ourselves or
others. An atom is of value to the ulti
mate, and to itself, only as it is of value
to others. The men who built these
walls, thousands of years ago, aided to
the ultimate. Do not you?"
"I hardly know," said Stanton. "Of
late I have been trying to follow vague
hints, at least, in that direction and
I confess if I had known, long ago,
what I was losing by not following them
before, I should not have lost so much."
"Happiness is the highest state at
tainable," said the pundit. "It is the
highest conception of which the mind is
capable, and the time to be happy is
surely now. There is but one way to
be happy and that is in makine others
so."
Stanton grasped his companion's
hand as he replied:
"That is neither pagan nor Christian.
It is simply Truth."
Even in the heart of Persiaeven in
Bagdadhe found himself making
friends, appreciating them, and pained
at parting. They were new and de
lightful sensations. Even the pain was
a counter-irritant that served a good
purpose.
In Bagdad he found a young Persian,
Shiekali, educated in Europe, who met
him when the steamer arrived, warned
of his coming by friends in India. He
proved not only a most agreeable host,
but a profound antiquary, who was just
pushing forward to completion his dis
covery that the base of the great river
wall on the old Bagdad side of the Ti
gris river was laid of Babylonish brick.
One of these bricks was discovered
while Stanton was in Bagdad, bearing
the imprint of Nebuchadnezzar, prov
ing the city to be of far greater antiquity
than modern historians had been ready
to admit, and identifying it as the site
of the Bagdad mentioned in the Assy
rian geographical catalogues of the
days of Sardanapalus.
At first it seemed of little consequence
or interest to Stanton but Shiekali had
a faculty of enriching a subject the mo
ment he touched it, and before he left
Bagdad Stanton was not only an en
thusiastic admirer of the Persian and
his theories, but an ardent participant
in his researches.
"What fabulous resources for enjoy-
Then the mutual friends who have meAt are within our reach in every di-
brought about this suffering must have rection, if our eyes are Only open vto
a weight of responsibility." them!" he *^cla?ed.
"And yet I came
within a hair's breadth of living my life
out *nnd dying in the theory that the
only interesting thing in the world was
a question of law."
At last he reached Jerusalempoor
Jerusalem!when she was staggering
un*der the Christian orgies of Passion
Week.
It is a pity to see Jerusalem then, and
Stanton sat in silent disgust in the gal
lery of the Church of the Holy Sepul
chre, looking down upon the mob of
fanatics, and wishing himself back in
heathendom, when suddenly his
thoughts flew far away to his office in
New York on that morning of Decem
ber 6.
He heard the voice of his first caller,
speaking. He saw her eyes, bright,
flashing, beautiful.
He had thought about that day as
little as possibly of late. It was by no
means forgotten, noi was his strug'gle
to become worthy of the end in view one
whit abated, but thoughts of the past
still roused only thei morbid sentiments
he was struggling to dispel.
Again and again he tried to put the
memory out of his mind, but he saw
only those eyes. He moved restly, and
involuntarily looked across to the op
posite gallery.
She was there.
Her arm rested on the tail, her cheek
on her hand. Her head was bent forward
as though she had been watching the
rioters, but her eyesas plainly as
though they two had been alone, he saw
that those beautiful eyes were fixed on
him. For the moment he could not
move. Then, either because she saw
that he was looking or because she did
not see him at all, her eyes turned
slowly to the crowd below.
Instantly he rose, and as quickly as
possible made his way to the opposite
gallery
She was no longer there.
CHAPTER IX.
"If she recognized me at all, she sure
ly saw that I was coming, and left to
avoid me," Stanton said to himself as
he looked in vain along the gallery.
"And really, now, I don't blame her
for not running to meet th^e fellow for
whom she found a wife. I hope I shall
be able to show her some slight im
provement if ever we do chance to
meet."
With that he dropped the subject and
went on with his itinerary but the in
cident had roused in him an intense
longing for home, which grew strong
er and strongei the more he tried to
shake it off. He faithfully obeyed his
mute director, following its commands
through North Africa and Europe, till
months later he was strolling through
the Place la Concorde with a prom
inent Parisian, congratulating himself
that only Spam and Italy remained be
fore him.
The obelisk attracted his attention,
and he paused as a hieroglyphic car
ried him awa3 to his friend in Bagdad.
Sudden^ her face shut out the obe
lisk. Hei voice drowned all other
sounds Her eyes flashed in his
thoughts
With the quickness of reflex action
he turned, as a pair of fiery cobs dashed
past him towards the Bois de Boulogne
She was driving them. Beside her eat
a white-haired man, and even in the
first shock Stanton realized that he had
seen his face before. Behind them sat
the footman.
Her eyes met his in one flash of recog
nition, but before he could move she
was gone. He stood silently watching
while the carriage disappeared between
the marble groups. Only vaguely he
realized that the Frenchman was say
ing:
"So you know hei. Happy man! But
you cannot win her, nor can anyone
else. They say she has the wealth to
purchase a prince, but she is always
beside her father. She has beauty to
capture anything, but she will look at
nothing There are noblemen without
number who would give their titles for
such a glance as you received. Happy
man! How I envy you!"
Stanton winced as he thought how he
had questioned that woman, in his of
fice, less than a year before.
"How she must have laughed at me,
even if she did pity me and provide me
with a wife!" he thought, as they
walked away. The idea grew and de
veloped, till he said to himself: "I'm
unde* no obligations not to see this
woman She came to me without an
apology, when she had business. I
will go to her. I'll tell her I am deter
mined to be a different man and make
myself wot thy of a leal wife. She
helped me to win Esther Thorndike's
assistance. She may be willing to help
me to win her love."
He finally recalled the father's face
as that of Thaddeus Braddon, of Brad
don & Burridge. One of the last vic
tories he had won at the bar was an
almost hopeless case against Braddon
& Burridge. Stanton had noticed only
the junior partner in the court room,
but Braddon was there, and chuckled
in a most unaccountable way as John
Olmstead's nephew twisted his wit
nesses about till they said precisely
what they did not mean and the case
went against him in spite of glaring
facts to the contrary.
Stanton easily learned the location
of their lodgings. He found the place
the next afternoon, and learned from
a servant that Mr. Braddon and his
daughter had left Paris quite suddenly
and unexpectedly that morning, even
forgetting to tell him where they were
going or when they would return.
The tips of his teeth showed under
his mustache as Stanton walked slowly
away, saying to himself:
"So she did know me, and there's no
doubt she intends to avoid me. Well,
I'll not keep her away from Paris, right
in the height of the season. I'll leave
myself in the morning. But we shall
meet sometime, my beauty, on this side
of the ocean or the other and when we
dq, have a word to say to you. Pm
shamed of the man you knew me, but
I'm noi ashamed to look you in the face
and tell you so. You are my only po#
sible means of reaching Esther Thorn*^
dike, and you must help me. You must*
That's all there is to it."
Stanton took pains to have definite
statements appear, in the two journals
which all Americans read, that he had
left Paris for Spain and Italy, whence
he should sail for America late in No
vember, without returning to the cap
ital.
"If we meet again it will be your own
fault now, and you will have to listen
to me. See?" he observed but the
weeks slipped away without such an
incident, and he found himself in Na
ples upon the eve of sailing home.
Home? How he had longed for that time to
come!
Now it suddenly appeared to him that
he had no home.
The stately, old-fashioned mansion
that he loved would be well aired and
warmed to receive him on the 6th of
December, for he had already sent the
order to Sam and hisj wife. But wa
that all there was of home?
The good old couple would welcome
him backback to sleep and bath and
breakfast. But even that would in
crease their cares, and necessitate more
servants in the house to annoy them.
It could not prove any real pleausre to
them.
"What is there, after all, in this going
home that I've been longing for?" he
asked himself, and the loneliness in
him answered: "Nothing."
He was sitting at one of the little
tables, smoking, in that wondrously
picturesque garden stretching between
the broad and beautiful Chiaja and the
incomparable Bay of Naples.
San Martino looked down from the
hill behind Capri lay a bright dot on
the blue water, and flashed, as the sun
went down, like a diamond set in a
mirror of ruby and sapphire. The black
murderer of Pompeii and Herculaneum
drew a royal Tyrian mantle about his
rugged sides and shrank away in the
deepening gloom till only his grim,
lava shadow stood in the gloaming
against the sky, under the eternal pil
lar of smoke, and down the long garden
10,000 lamps flashed out, enhancing its
marvelous beauty.
Even the waiters seemed happy as
they dispensed the delicious creams
and fragrant coffee to those sitting at
the tables. From the grand pavilion
one of the finest of Italian orchestras
rendered such music as might almost
have thrilled the frozen souls of the
marble gods and goddesses.
In the extravaganza of dreams Rob
ert Stanton dreamed, not of the home
that would be, but of the home that
might be. He dreamed of Esther
Thomdike there, his wifehis real
wife.
Suddenly the banker's daughter
usurped the place, and the home
changed to his office He heard her
voice. He saw her eyes.
"She is here." he muttered, and, turn
ing as though some one had spoken, he
looked, as he knew that he should look,
directly into her eyes. And yet it
caught his breath, and for a moment
he could not move.
Her father was beside her, at one of
the little tables. He was listening to
the music
She seemed unconscious, almost as
though asleep and dreaming, dream
ing some delightful dream from which
it would be cruelty to rouse her.
For a moment Stanton's very life
seemed to stand stillas a boat at the
vortex of the Norwegian pool stops
for an instant, shudders, draws back
a handbreadth. then plunges and is en
gulfed. Vnd the whirling pool was
those flashing eyes.
It would have been eay to make the
plunge. It required a superhuman
struggle to drag himself back from the
spell.
"This is not asking her to help me
win my wife," he muttered Grinding
Her fathtr was beside her.
his teeth, he deliberately lifted his hat
Then she woke with a start. For a
moment she looked at him irresolutely.
Her head inclined just perceptibly, and
she looked away.
That alone would not have caused
Stanton to hesitate, but his heart was
throbbing. His muscles were quiver
ing. He did not dare to trust them.
"Not here. It is too public," he said.
"But to-nightto-ni^ht, before I sleep,
I must see her."
It was impossible to sit there, yet he
would not have her think that she drove
him too easily. Slowly he settled his .j
bill, and very slowly made the usual
preparations for departure but when,
at the last moment, he glanced towards
her again, the face was still turned
away from him. She was talking with
her father.
With a troubled sigh he walked slow
lyaway. It was not encouraging. f^
A hand was laid upon his shoulder|
and a voice said:
"Beg pardon, sir my name's Brad-1||
donThaddeus Braddon, of Braddon
& Burridge, bankers, New York.
You know the firm. You won a
case against us a year ago. We
were right, and you knew It, but you
twisted our witnesse*. about till every
"5
*sJ,
s?
**& *&
i]

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