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Newspaper Page Text
He thrilled anil lie knew not why.
The uncanny sensation that over
came him was past analysis. Why the
half-hidden tablet in the shadow of
the towering shaft? Why "hush"?
It was a warning, an appeal, a piti
ful call for human charity. Why?
Involuntarily Wdyne Blatchford
removed his hat and stood with head
bowed. His impressive nature re
f . sponded to this fairly emotional pre-
sentiment. The stone hid what?
a secret? a 'mystery? a direful
taint? And what might it not have
to do with the bereaved daughter of
"Williston! Ah! a clue, a vital sugr
, gestion. The names in conjunction
stirred up memory to a new effort.
Now he knew where he had seen that
name before. His thought went
groping to rest upon a clear 'central
fact Then a rustling sound In the
grass behind him caused him to turn
quickly, and he could not restrain a
quick gasp, for viewing him wonder
ingly, was Miss Barnabetta Bur
goyne. ' In the near distance was her auto
mobile, in her hands she bore some
flowers. Evidently her mission was
to do homage to the dead. Blatch
ford drew aside almost guiltily, as
though he were committing a dese
cration, for fear she might construe
his presence here into callous seek
ing into the mystery of the secret
that hallowed grave njight conceal.
A fine bitter scorn came into that
lovely face he had not believed it ca
pable of expressing as he said sim
ply: "Pardon me," and started respectfully-
to move on.
"Oh, I understand!" she said
"they even enlighten strangers as to
the wretched calumny that killed my
'. poor father."
1$ "You-mistake," spoke Blatchford,
speedily. "It was reverence, it was
sympathy, it was a solemn pity at
the presence of that strange word
She fixed a look upon him as if in
teut upon reading his very souL ,
Then her eyes softened. She turned
her face away. He caught the faint
echo of a sob. .
"If I dared to believe that I could
be of service to you!" he was con
trained to speak,' "not to intrude on
your sorrow, only to lighten your
burden, if that were possible. Believe
me, all I see, all I surmise, appeals
to the depths of my very soul."
Again those translucent eyes fixed;
his own. She put out her hand. She
did not release it until she had led
him to a rustic bench at the edge of
'"Hush!" she said. "Do you un
derstand what that means? Go ask
any . gossip of the town, look back
in the public prints a year agone.
learn all the tragic story as others
tell It Then, if your soul does not
shrink from the hideous present
ment, come to me, as friend, as coun
selor of a broken-hearted woman
with but one thought in life-to clear .
the memory of a noble father un
justly accused, driven to his death by
the uncharitableness of a cruel per
secution." It was a strange soul communion.
He welcomed it, he cherished It. And
all the time his mind was repeating
that name, "Williston Burgoyne."
The single name had simply awak
ened his memory, the two together
it all came back to him now! He
did not tell his impassioned compan
ion what was In his mind. He lis
tened to her story and a new flood of
She told of her father, rich, hon
ored, respected, accused by a busi
ness rival who hated him of faithless
ness in the sacred trust of a widow
and orphan. Long since the just di
vision of an estate had been con
cluded. When Mr. Burgoyne went
to get the papers proving every step
he had takeif in the trust they were
"The house had been burglarized
a month before," narrated Miss Bur
goyne. "Whoever took jewelry and
money also carried away a portfolio