By Esther Searle Proudfoot
"That's your decision, is it?"
"It has to be." - .
"Then I can tell you that you are
selling Milly into heartbreak and mis
ery! Man, reflect you are doing a
Kirk Howard, bachelor, aged 35,
spoke with fervor and indignation.
Rarely had he been so wrought up.
Clean-hearted, humanely sympathet
ic, his soul was stirred to its depths,
and the note of appeal, of direct
prophecy in his voice, would have
commanded more than ordinary at
tention from a person les sordid than
old John Davenal.
"There is something under this I
do not understand," resumed How
ard. "I have been your neighbor for
two years, my nephew Walter and
your daughter Milly have been like
brother and sister. Neighbor, don't
you think I am entitled to your con
fidence in this matter?"
It was then that old Davenal blurt
ed out the truth. It shocked Howard.
Davenal had gotten into the clutches
of Daniel Wegg, the village lawyer.
He had been led into unwise invest
ments until he owed the attorney a
large amount of money.
"As it is," declared Davenal, and
his tones were fairly desperate,
"Wegg can seize everything I own
and leave Milly a pauper when I am
gone. He says he really likes Milly
and he offers to cancel the debt and
settle the estate on her if she will
marry him. He's given me two days
"Can you think of bestowing that
lovely wildflower child upon a man
twice married, once divorced, a self
ish, hard-minded skinflint? Oh,
neighbor, neighbor, this mustn't be!"
"Then it's ruin for me and for her."
"Better that than that she should
pine and fade like a blighted flower.
No, no, there is some way out of it
Can I see Milly ?"
"She has agreed to the "'
"Sacrifice! Perhaps in her filial de
votion, but she must never wed Dan
iel Wegg. Ah, there she is in the
garden. I must speak to her," and
although Davenal evidently feared
an upset of his selfish plans, Howard
walked toward a form he made out
on a bush-sheltered seat It was
Milly. She sat in a sad, wearied pose.
Her eyes were closed and there were
sr'c. o"" S S& ill
What Did It Mean?
traces of dried tears upon her wan
"Poor, poor child!" murmured
Howard, and she started and looked
up like a frightened fawn at the
sound of his approaohing footsteps.
"Oh, it is you, Mr. Howard," she
stammered in confusion, and then, as
he sat down beside her, despite his
grave manner, she nestled toward
him, the shadows on her face light
ing as if he infused her with a sense
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