By Cyrus Townsend Brady
Illustrations by Ray Walters
(Copyright. lîW.bjr W. G. Chapman.)
(Copyright I» ttreat Iirltaia.)
She had time to think how singular
ly like the language of convention
was the language of nature. It was
"Yes," She Said, "It Passes By."
what any other man who loved would
have said, and in the same way.
"That ship is passing by," he went
on. "When I saw it as I woke this j
morning, it was there. It goes rap
"Yes," she said, "it passes by."
"I care not," he Interrupted. "I don't
want anything else or anybody else. '
Now that 1 have you, I am content
"But we shall summon it and bring
It back," she went on, resolutely.
"How?" he asked curiously.
"By lighting the beacon yonder."
"By lighting the beacon yonder."
"I had forgot that."
"But 1 did nol. Go back to the cave
and bring the flint and steel. You will
find them in the silver box on the
Ehelf by the Bible, and make haste."
"I will go the quicker," he said,
turning to her, "that I may be the
sooner back with you."
He turned and bounded away like
a young deer. She watched hint
through the trees, and then sat down
upon the summit of the hill and stared
toward the ship. She was glad, of
course, that they were to be rescued,
but as in the joy of their love there
was sorrow', so in her gladness there
was apprehension. That test of which
she had dreamed the night before
was now to be complete. She would
postpone the telling of her story un
til he could hear in comment upon it
the voice of the world.
They had lived in Eden, Eden with
out a serpent. They had plucked the
tree of knowledge at will and no
consequences evil had ensued, yet
nevertheless, they must go oat into
the world now, the world with its
pains, its toils and frets, the world
with its mockeries and scorns, nul
take up the a; oinred life of men. He
loved her ne., — here could not be
any doubt abo t that—but what would
he do when it ■ knew and when he
knew that the world knew as well
what she had thought, what she had
been, and what she had done. Alas, :
when that ship's boat touched the
shores of their island, the angel o!
the filming swotd would always guard
their entrance and prevent their re
turning to it.
Sh>' was a brave woman. She could
face lie inevitable with courage, with
a philosophy which now at last was
Chri'tian. She had had three peace
ful y- irs and a day of such happiness
as i: lis to the lot of few of the chil
dren ot sort ow.. Perhaps that was
all that .-he v as destined to look back
upon ot joy. Perhaps the future held
for her only expiation. Perhaps she
ought not to rebel against that possi
bility. .'In ought to be glad of such
an opportunity, indeed. But she was
a woman, and by and by she hid her
face in her lit.ads and wept.
In all their intercourse he had never
seen her weep. Tears were entirely
foreign to hi-, experience. He knew
what sorrow was, what sadness was,
what sympathy w as, for his heart had
been torn when she had read to him
the story of the Man of Sorrows and
his sufferings. A child of nature, the
pathetic in the Old Covenant and the
New had appeal'd to him profoundly,
but his were not easy tears. He had
never shed any. He had never seen
any. lie was appalled, therefore,
when approaching noiselessly he laid
his hand upon 1 or shoulder and saw
and hoard the evidence of her grlaf.
I CarlN.lhomp son
Attorney at Law
Band Otltce Practieeland
liraetiee In all State and U. 8. Courts
Roundup * Montana
He dropped the box to the sod and
knelt beside her.
"Has the sight of the ship made you
weep?" he said, softly. "I wish that
I had never come to tell you it was
"We have been so happy together,
you and I," said the woman. "This
island has been my world, my haven,
my heaven, rather, and you have been
humanity to me, but now the earth
opens before you. You will have oth
er hopes, other ambitions, perhaps—"
"Don't say it," protested the man,
vehemently. "I shall have nothing,
nothing but you anywhere, every
where, and, besides, nothing is
changed. See, the smoke grows faint
er; the ship more dim. She .passes
beyond. Things shall be as they
were! We shall live on, and love
Her desolation, her sorrow appealed
to him profoundly. He took her in
his arms. He laid her head gently
upon his shoulder. There was protec
tion and tenderness as well as pas
sion in his touch.
"Together," he whispered, patting
her hair softly, "alone, you and I!"
For one delicious moment with
closed eyes she let herself be so
soothed and comforted. But her bet
ter nature woke on the instant, as it
"No," she said, drawing away from
him gently, "it would not be right.
We belong in the world of men. Men
and women are not men and women
until they have lived among their fel
lows, until they have fought down the
temptations of which we know noth
ing here, and have conquered them—
out there. Give me the flint and steel.
I must call back the ship!"
lie stooped as she spoke and picked
up the little silver box. He extended
his band toward her, and then sud
denly drew it back.
"You cannot light the beacon," he
"Cannot!" she cried.
"No, for I will not give you the flint
"You must give it to me."
"I will not. I am the stronger, and
you cannot take it from me," he re
turned, with growing firmness.
It was the first time in all their in
tercourse that ho had disobeyed a
i command. She looked at him amazed,
her heart, nevertheless throbbing at
the mastery in his tone, at tlie thought
that ho was willing to throw away the
world for lier, it is true he had had
no experience of that he was giving
up, but lie was not entirely ignorant of
what lay beyond the horizon, and
she had presented it in such a
way that it glowed with color and life
and charm. The evil, the sordid and
the wretched had been lightly al
luded to, just, definitely enough to
shade the picture and bring out the
higher lights of civilization. His w'as
not the decision, therefore, of an un
tutored, inexperienced savage, npt the
abandonment of a toy by a child;
there was some reality
reality measured his affection. Her
heart leaped in her breast at that
thought. For one fleeting moment she
acquiesced. Things would go on in
the old way. But tilings could not go
on in the old way. For a day and a
night, in spite of the great change
that had come to their feelings, life
had flow'ed on as usual, but there was
a limit to human powe«. It was bet
ter, whatever bPtide, that they should
go back to civilization. The woman
stared at him long and earnestly, her
lip trembling, her face pale, her eyes
shining. They stood speechless at
gaze for a moment, and then she
"You are right," she said, "my pow
in'ït and" thé
"You are right," she said, "my pow
er over you has gone. I can no longer
command. Mine has ceased to be the
supreme will, but I beg you, I entrât
you, I pray you, give me the flint and
steel. See, on my knees I ask you!"
She sank dow n before him in an at
titude which he knew to be that of
prayer. They had often read the
sacred Scriptures and had said tlieir
prayers together on the sand or be
neath the trees since she, too, in the
solitude had seen God and believed.
"I cannot, I will not," he answered,
hoarsely, stepping nearer to her.
"No," she said, "you must not toucL
me, you shall not touch me. I shall be
to you as a stranger, unless you take
me by force, if you will not let me
light that hi aeon."
"No," said the man, doggedly.
"AYhen the world touches our shores it
brings you unhappiness. Bet it pass."
"Liston!" she said. "I have tried to
tell you something about honor and
duty. My honor says that that ship
must be called. My duty bids me call
her. You said that you love me."
"Said!" exclaimed the man.
"You do love me, then," returned
the woman, "and I you, but that love
must be tested, tried in the world. 1
can never believe in it, In you, until
the trial has been made. We must
call back the ship!"
"But I can believe in you without
"I am different. I have been out
there. I know what it is. I have
seen other men."
She looked fixedly at him. He bent
closer to her and laid his hand upon
her shoulder, not this time In caress.
She winced from the tightness of his
grasp, the fierce Intensity of his
clutch, yet she did not draw away,
and he was not conscious of the force
"You have seen other men.
bave loved you?"
"Yes," she forced herself to reply.
*T have loved no man but you."
«You had something to tell me. You
were to tell me to-day."
"Was it about some other man?"
! 'What was it?"
"I will tell you when we have gone
i took where men and women lire,* _
"Why not now?'
"You must hear the voice ot the
world in comment upon what I say."
But if we do not go back?'
"There will be a secret between ua
which I will carry to my grave. It
would be fatal to our happiness. You
see we must call back the ship. Give
me the flint and steel, for God's sake,
if ybu love me, man!"
She had never adjured him in that
fashion before. He stood irresolute
a moment and dropped the box at her
feet. She had conquered, conquered
by appealing to his love for her. Noth
ing else, she felt, would have moved
Eagerly she opened the silver box
and took thence the tiny implements.
Fortunately they were in the heart of
the dry season. To strike a spark
was easy, to communicate it to the tin
der-like brushwood was easier still. In
a ipoinent, catching the inflammable
wood dried out by the tropic sun, the
flames roared through the great mass.
The cliff or peak at the top of the is
land made a background for the flame,
and soon a pillar of Are 20 or 30 feet
high leaped and curled up into the
still air of the morning.
The woman beckoned. The two ran
around the peak of the rock until
they were sheltered from the fierce
heat of the Are. From where they
stood they could see the ship.
"Do you think," asked the man,
"tlikt the people on the ship will see
J the] flame?"
"They cannot fail to see it."
"And how will they regard it?"
"\\.s a signal."
"|\nd what will they do?"
"Turn about and head for the is
"And how can we tell what they are
"When the smoke ceases to elon
gate," she replied, "it will show us
that they have turned and are heading
There was no breeze, apparently,
and th° smoke would follow the wake
of the ship. They watched the little
1 speck on the horizon with strained in
! tensity for a few moment«.
"How 1f she passes on?" asked the
mah, at last.
"I shall take it as a sign," said the
wojnan, slowly, "that—Look!" she
cried, in sudden gladness.
The ship had turned and the dead
of smoke now rose straight above her
In the still air.
"They have seen the signal," went
on the woman. "They will come here.
Wç shall be taken away!"
'lit is, your fault," said the man,
grimly. "I wanted nothing but to be
alone with you."
The Long Sea;ch.
Mr. Valentine Arthur Langford was
Wearily pacing the quarter deck of his
magnificent yacht, the Southern Cross.
Mr. Langford was an Intensely dls
pointed and embittered man. He
had made two ventures which, by a
stretch of language in one case at least,
could be called matrimonial, and both
of them had resulted in disaster. Deatli
opportunely had relieved him of one
wife; tlie other who had stood in the
place of the former without the legal
ceremony or the spiritual benediction
had vanished under circumstances so
mysterious that he had no idea wheth
er she was alive or dead. On a certain
night some three years ago he had a
dim remembrance that lie had be
haved like a brute to a woman. His
remembrance was only dim as to de
tails. It was entirely clear as to the
What had happened as a result of
his conduct he could not clearly state.
The next morning the crew had found
him lying insensible on (he cabin floor
with a fractured skull. The woman
was gone, also the power boat which
had trailed astern of the yacht in the
pleasant weather. Such was his physi
cal condition that when he was not
unconscious, he was delirious. 1 le had
been able to give no coherent account
of affairs and equally unable to give
any directions as to the future move
ments of the yacht, which had been
hound nowhere In particular upon a
The old sailing-master and captain,
much distressed by (he situation and
the emergency in which he found him
self suddenly plunged, decided that
hts best course, in fact, his only
course, was to get back to civilization
and a doctor as soon as possible. He
had instantly put the yacht about and
headed for the nearest land where he
might hope to get suitable care for his
terribly 111 young employer. He
pushed the yacht to the utmost speed,
and in three weeks dropped anchor In
Honolulu, just In time to save the
yOung man's life. Indeed, for a long
time It was touch and go as to wheth
er his life could be saved at all, and
It, was not until nearly a year had
elapsed before the Southern Cross.
sailed for San Francisco with a weak
and shaky, but. convalescent owner, on
her quarter deck.
The departure of Katharine Brenton
with Valentine Langford had made a
great sensation, but it was nothing to
the sensation which raged when it be
came known that Valentine Langford
had returned without her. She was
a woman of too much importance, she
had played too large a part in tlie af
fairs of the world, civilization had
manifested too much Interest in her,
t© allow her to drop out of its sight
without at least making an effort to
find her. The position of Mr. Valen
tine Langford became interestingly
difficult in the face of a storm of In
quiry. Mr. Langford's previous mar
riage was, fortunately for him, un
known, but the world had had a com
plete and adequate idea of the terms
ot the union which had been entered
upon so blithely between Langford and
Miss Brenton that the first question
that met him when he came back alone
qru M to which one had repented.
Had the woman come to her senses,
had the man grown tired of her, had
they parted, and where was the wom
an? These were queries which were
put to him with the direct simplicity oi
the American public through its Impe
rious representatives, the reporters.
And to these questions Mr. Langford
could return no adequate answer what
ever except the truth, which he could
not bring himself to tell. He de
clared that she had left the yacht in
the South seas, that he did not know
her present whereabouts, and refused
to say anything further privately or
In public. Miss Brenton had no near
relations; what was everybody's busi
ness was nobody's, and presently pub
lic interest in her declined. She and
her philosophy were practically for
gotten by all but Langford himself.
Fortune, which had done him some
evil turns, here, however, interposed to
his advantage. The lady who legally
bore his name departed this life and
left him a free man. Brute though he
had been, Langford was not without
some strong idea of honor and de
cency. Indeed, he had enjoyed long
and undistributed Lours of meditation
upon his sins of omission and commis
sion during his period of convales
cence, and the calm consideration of
character and career had done him
good. At heart, in spite of his brutal
conduct, for which djink had largely
been responsible, lie was a gentleman,
and capable of things line and high
under the stimulus of some really
great emotion. He had come to real
ize, to put it mildly, what an awful
fool he had been to say nothing of his
villainy. What had led him to this
realization had been tlie remembrance
of the hours he had passed with Kath
arine Brenton before the clouds had
arisen which had culminated in that
awful storm, tlie recollection of which
fairly made him shudder. However,
he had deceived her by professed ad- j
lierenee to he' - wild theories and im
possible philosophies, he had honestly
loved her, and association with her
had been of benefit to him. If he
only had not given away to his tem
per and his appetite! If it had not
been for his former obligation!
He bad married his wife in a mo
ment of boyish infatuation. The union
had been impossible almost from the
first. Hhe was little more than an
adventuress, much older than lie, who
had entrapped him for his money.
There had keen a : operation on a lib
eral financial basis, to which tlie wom
an had readily, even cheerfully,
agreed, and he had no lingering re
mains of affection to hold him back.
Her death was only a relief to him.
He felt that he owed reparation to
Katherine Brenton, and lie was more
willing to pay tlie debt because he was
honestly and genuinely in love with
her so far as a man of his tempera
ment could be in love with a woman.
He wanted to make amends for his
treatment. He would have given any
thing he possessed to have been able
Mr. Langford Was an Intense^ Dis
appointed and Embittered Man.
to say how ashamed he was of all that
he had done, and to bog her to forgive
him and marry him.
The death of bis father and the ne
cessity for the administration of the
vast interests of the bonanza king's
estate prevented him from at once
engaging upon the search which he
promised himself he would make, but
he expedited matters, sometimes to
his own loss, as rapidly as be could,
and after nearly a year's stay in San
Francisco, he found himself in posi
tion to undertake bis quest. For a
year thereafter he and the Southern
Gross traversed the unexplored, unvi«
ited waters of the South seas. He
had landed upon island after island
which he had examined with minute
particularity. Some he had found in
habited by natives, whom, through In
terpreters he had procured, he ques
tioned unavailingly. He ran across
stray vessels trading among the is
lands, and through them with con
stantly increasing, ever widening me
diums, he parried on his search, but
without result. In thus sweeping the
Facific, he visited everything that was
charted, and all that he could find
that was not, and was now homeward
bound, convinced that the launch must
have foundered and that he would
never solve the mystery of her disap
So assiduously had he prosecuted
bis search that the crew of the South
er» Cross, who knew nothing as to the
cause of the eagerness, with the ex
ception of the ship master, looked
upon him as a harmless visionary.
They had been away so long and had
visited so many islands with so much
hardship, oftentimes with so much
danger from uncharted reefs in the un
known seas that they were one and all
wildly anxious to return from the, to
them, aimless wandering. If he had
communicated to them at the first hi»
quest, they would have shared his
eagerness, but be kept it to himself, j
as he had kept his own counsel in
Ban Francisco, and he straitly charged ;
hit sailing master to say nothing of it
Consequently the lookout on the !
fore-topmast cross-tree on a certain j
summer morning, catching sight of a ,
dim, blue haze on the horizon far off
to starboard, made no report of it
What was the use? It would only de
lay matters and they were within a
few weeks of Honolulu now, and an
other fortnight beyond Hawaii would
bring them back to the United States,
for which they all longed with the de
sire of men who had been away from
home and confined to the narrow
decks of a cruising ship for over a
Something—as to whether it was
Providence or not he was somewhat
doubtful in his mind afterward
brought Langford on deck before his
usual time for rising. The watch was
in charge of a rather sleepy, stupid
second officer, unimaginative and un
observant. He bad not noticed the
land which It was difficult to see from
the deck at any rate, especially as It
did not lie between the yacht and the
sun, and as it had not been reported
from the masthead, he knew nothing
(To be eontinu H. »
CHAPTER I.—A young woman cnM
ashore on a lonely island, finds a soli
tary inhabitant, a young white man,
dressed like a savage, and not able to
speak In any known language.
CHAPTER IT.—She decides to educate
him. She finds him in an attitude of
prayer, babbling an Incoherent Jargon.
CHAPTER III.—Site finds a human
skeleton and the skeleton of a dog. She
finds a Bible and a silver box bearing the
name of John Revell Charnoek, with a
date 25 years before her landing.
CHAPTER IV.—She concludes that her
companion Is an American and that he
was cast ashore on the Island when a
child. Near the skeletons she finds two
woman's rings and a dog collar.
CHAPTER V.—One of the rings bears
an inscription "J. It. C. to II. P. T. Sept.
CHAPTER VI.—Katharine Brenton was
s highly specialized product of one of
the greatest universities. Her writings
on the sex problem had attracted wide at
tention. The son of a multi-millionaire
becomes infatuated with her, and she ac
cedes to his proposition to put her the
ories In practice. With no other cere
mony than a hand-clasp they go away to
gether. A few days on his yacht reveals
to her that tlie man only professed lofty
Ideals to possess her.
CHAPTER VII.—Katharine discovers
that tlie man is married. While drunk
he attempts to kiss her. She knocks him
down and leaves him unconscious on the
cabin floor. She escapes In the darkness.
In a gasoline launch.
CHAPTER VIII.—The gasoline gives
out and the sixth day finds her without
provisions. She is cast ashore on an
Island during a storm.
CHAPTER IX.—Tlie three years on the
Island made a vast change In the rela
tions between the man and woman. He
had acquired a good education. She had
become a Christian.
CHAPTER X.—Their love for each oth
er Is revealed when lie rescues her from
her cave where she had been Imprisoned
by an earthquake.
CHAPTER XI.—He declares nothing
can change his love, when she aays aha
haa something to tell him.
CHAPTER XII.—A ship
They light a beacon to
>uit yi ai, at Swanson';
Billy Buster so! an
Marshall s store.
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