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(Copyright. 1019, by George n. Doran Co.) ”MY FATHER WOULD NEVER CONSENT—NEVER, HILARY.” Hynopul*.—Hilary Askew, s young American, Inherits from an uncle a hundred sqiisre miles of forest In Quebec. Upon taking possession he dis covers all sorts of queer, tilings his uncle's lawyer, tells hla the property Is comparatively worthless and tries to Induce him to sell. Laf« Connell, the mil! foreman, tells him his uncle has been systematically robbed. Morris, his manager, la associated w»‘J» the Ste. Marie company, a rival con cern owned by Brouaseau. the "bo**” of the region. Madeleine, the beau tiful du tighter of Seigneur Koany. otlglnal owner of'Askew’s land. Is pursued by Brouaseau. who has her father In his power. The hero decides to stay and manage his property. He discharges Morris and makes Connell manager He whips ’•Hlack” Pierre, foreman of a gang of Broueseau’a men cutting on hie land. He defies Brouaseau. Eeblanr, his boss Jobber, deserts to the enemy. From Father Luclen Askew learns the story of Marie Dupont, daughter of the captain of a lumber schooner. The girl’s mother, now dead, had been betrayed and she herself I* looked on askance and has few friends Marie knows the name of her mother s betrayer, but has never revealed It to her father. Askew finds Madeleine Hosny hostile to him. Askew and Connell vl.lt Himeon Duval's dance hall In Ste. Marie Hevenue officers raid It and Askew Is blamed for the raid He and Connell rescue Marie Dupont. Askew saves Madeleine Itosny when her horse runs away. She gives the warning. 'Look to your boom”' and then the mill boom breaks and Askew's logs are carried away to the St Uwrrnrs. Who sawed the boom? Baptiste, the Jealous lover of Marie deserts Askew Brouaseau brings about a strike of Askew’s mill hands Askew and Connell part In anger over U.e strike Askew "tarts to stop Louis Duval from opening a saloon In St. Boniface Madeleine asks him not tn go. Askew breaks up the liquor selling and runs Into a trap, where he Aghta four of his enemies. He Is stabbed and left to die. Father Lucie*. Madeleine and Connell find him near death. Madeleine takea him to the cha teau, where he recovers. CHAPTER Xl.—Continued She broke clown. “What must you think of me!" she cried. “T think—” began Hilary She sprang to her feet, faring him. “That I knew of the plan to cut your boom! Yes. I did know, hut only a Mill** while before it happened. And — listen ! —I was on my way to you, to wi.rn you, when the horse bolted. And the shock of the fall made me forget ; for n few moments afterward. But then It watt too late!” Her word* Hung a great burden from Hilary’s mind. He had rever been able to reconcile the thought of her guilt In the conspiracy with his know h dge of her. his conception which was almost knowledge. “1 was sure you could not have known- -I tried, at least, to make my- Hdf believe vt.u did not know, in split! of your words.” he said. “Mademoi selle Hosny. I ask only one thing; It was not Baptiste?” “.lean Baptiste? He Is incapable of soch a crime! Monsieur Askew. I do not know who It was. save thut It was some man employed by—by him. probably from Ste. Marie. And be cause 1 had known—that was why 1 told von that It was too late forthe — the good-will. That was why I was unhappy, and seemed in trouble, on the tiny when you met me riding, aft erward.” She raised her head ami met bis eyes at last. “And I went to you ibat night and asked you to leave Sr Boniface because I knew that l.douard Brotisseau" —she hesitated at the name—“meant to kill you. He had hinted os much to rae." ' I presumed once,” began Hilary quietly, though his heart had sudden ly begun to hammer, “to ask you a (pii'sHon aboqt Monsieur Brousseau which angered you. Whether he meant so much to you. I dare”—he took her hand In his —“to ask it •gain.” “No.” she said In a whisper, looking down. “He never meant so much —I know It now—and since that day when he let me see the evil In ms heart he has meant less than nothing." Her breath came and went quickly .8 she spoke; she was afraid; slie tried to withdraw her hand, hut he was standing beside her, holding it “I Love You, Hilary,** She Answered. fast- She knew that If she looked op •he would be unable to resist him; hut already he hud drawn her Into his arms. •'I love you, Madeleine.” She did not try to disengage her self ; she was trembling, and he could not see her face. “Madeleine! Tell me—“ He was conscious of a stupendous foar; all the future hung upon that (Detain, and still she guve no sign. "Won't yon look at me. Madeleine? Won’t you speak to me?" At thnt she raised her head, and dung It hack with a proud gesture, find looked into his eyes. “I love you. Hilar*." she answered, with pride, By VICTOR ROUSSEAU ILLUSTRATIONS BY IRWIN MYERS that forbade denial or coquetry. And Ililnry feared no longer. Everything was changed to Joy that seemed to blaze about him, lighting up the day. For a long time that morning they forgot everything except their happi ness. It was not for an hour, per haps. not until Hilary begun to speak of his hopes for the future that she remembered what she had to say. “I should have told you," she said. “The walling must be so long. My fa l her would never consent —never, Hilary." “Wliat has your futher against me.” he asked, “except my cutting down Ills trees? And. ns for that, a man who sells Ids property, or rights over It. surely can never Justify himself In bearing 111-will to those who purchase from him.” “It is not that, Hilary. It Is be cause—well, tlrst, because you are an American. He does not love the Eng lish. but he hates Americans. He thinks that they betruyed Canada In 1783. And because the people are sat isfied under English rule, and loyal, he regents It and broods over It.” "But that Is all uucient history.” said Hilary, laughing at the absurdity of the idea. As a key to conduct, the Seigneur's antiquarian motives ap peared Impossible. She smiled. “He Is very good and very Just.” slie said tenderly, "hut he has let Ills dreams take hold of him too much. And they are bound up with his craze for the land. He wants the seigniory to remain undivided for ever, he wants the feudal tenure back, with the serfs of his boyhood days; he loves his land far better than he loves me—at least. I believe he looks on rae as an accessory of It.” She hesitated. “Hilary,” she con tinued presently, "that Is how It was arranged that I was to marry—him.” Hilary noticed her unwillingness to pronounce Brousseau’s name. “It was because he has a hold on the seign iory. and if my futher lost It the shock would kill him. “When—he—was a boy. working f«»r my father here, he had ambitious dreams, like so many young Cana dians. My father became interested in him. gave Sdm an education, and helped him. He repaid It by schem ing to get bold of the Hosny inherit ance. He set to work, won my fa ther’s confidence, and got him to put his money in worthless companies. Then In* became his creditor. I knew nothing of all this, because l was at school in Paris. But when l came home, nfter my mother’s death, my father-was in his power. “He tried to free himself by selling your uncle the timber rights. He could only bring himself to do this be cause he knew that some day the trees would be cut down, and the mill would go. and we should have our ancient solitude again. But he needed more money to help a relative In Quebec who had lost his fortune through tak ing his advice to Invest lu one of the companies. My father felt obligated to lilm. So—he —got the mortgage, and it expires in December, and —that’s all, Hilary, dear, except to say that, al though It was expected I was to marry him, I never In my heart expected to And I wouldn’t let him—kiss me. Only ray cheek —once or twice. It used to make him so angry. He hates you so much, Hilary, and once he was Jealous —he seemed to divine —and he accused me of caring for you. That was what made me angry with you. I tried to hate you more, und all the time lusedI — used to think about you, dear—l was ashamed—l am stlil ashamed —” “I think we raui* both have known that we were meant to love each other, us soou us we met,” Hilary said. “I think I did know.” s*** answered softly. “Does he know your decision?’’ asked Hilary. She nodded. “I told him when he gave me to understand his wicked de sign against you that I could never be anything to him. I had not gauged him before—or, ruther. I had been hypno tised by my sense of duty toward my father. But. Hilary, remember this” — tier cheeks glowed and she looked very earnestly at him — “If your lova U as ELBERT COUNTY TRIBUNE: ELBERT COUNTY BANNER true as mine, and as unswerving as mine, you can remain happy In the knowledge that we love each other. And as long as your love Is unswerv ing you can know that I love you. Nothing can alter ray love except the knowledge that yours Is not true. And although the waiting may be long I shall never become his wife to save my father’s lands —never. Hilary." She was crying softly, her cheek against his shoulder. Hilary took her In his arms. “Dear, 1 am going to tell your father,” he said. She started out of his arms. “Hil ary ! You must not. It would kill him to know.” “But he most know, Madeleine. Don’t you see. nothing Is to be gained by delay. It Is right that he should know." “He will be your enemy, Hilary. He will fight you to the bitter end." “But I shall not he his. What harm can he do me?” * Listen, first.” she said, as they be gan walking slowly back toward the Chateau. “The other day. as soon ns your recovery was assured, father went down to the mill and talked with your hands. He gave them a terrible scolding. He told them that they owed as much duty toward their employer as toward him. It was not because he loved you, Hilary, hut because of bis sense of duty. He thinks it is my duty to sacrifice myself for the seigniory. There will be no more trouble with your workmen, now thnt they know you are our friend. But. Hilary. I *-.in’t bear to have the old, bad feeling back again. Give me up, dear!” He laughed and put bis arm about her. "I can’t believe he will hate me forevermore. Just because I want to take you away from him. No, dear, 1 shall tell him, but not today perhaps. You see, with less than three mouths before us. we can’t drift any longer.** She sighed. “I suppose you ure right. Hilary," she said. “But then — what will happen to us?” "Is the Interest very much?” “It is not the interest. Hilary. It Is the principal. Hilary, It Is a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” Hilary looked glum. There was no chance of raising that amount any where. And it was his turn to de spair. “Are you sure." he asked. tA** sacrifice is worth your while? I feel like a thief, to rob your father and you. unless you are sure And it was her turn to be hopeful. “I am sure that 1 love you, dear,” she answered, “and that the sacrifice my father expects of me Is an unjust oue." So they resolved to speak no more about it. to tell Hosny as soon as an opportunity occurred, and to wait, though the waiting for something to eventuate which would resolve the dif ficulty seemed useless. Only a miracle could save the seigniory from Brous seau’s grasping hands. There was one thing that had puz zled Hilary tor a long time, and now it stayed Lu Ids thoughts and would not leave him. Why was Brousseau willing to spend unlimited money to oust him from his timber rights? Why did lie not hulk at murder? He broached this subject with Mu deleine, who looked at him in wonder. "I never thought of it in that way.” she answered slowly. “I thought It was Just —Just because he sensed that we were going to care for euch other, und so wanted you away.” “It may be so.” mused Hilary. “But somehow I fancy there must be a deeper reason.” As lie concluded Madeleine stopped suddenly and clutched his arm in agi tation. They had reached the side of the Chateau. From when* they stood the front of the building was visible. A buggy was at the door, and Hilary recognized the horse as Brousseau’s. He was standing In the living-room when they went in, facing the Seign eur across the table. His rage, which be made little effort to hide, was pat ent. It was pitifully clear that be was the dominating force there, and that Hosny had been endeavoring to pla cate him without avail. “Come in, Madeleine,” said the selgn neur, turning to her. “You will ex cuse us, I am sure. Monsieur Askew," he added to Hilary. “No!” shouted Brousseau. “It will be Just as well thnt your frleud the American shall understand the situa tion. I am a plain man. and 1 speak without concealment to any oue who cares to listen. So you have been im plicating me In your troubles with vour men, eh. Monsieur Askew? Be cause one of the workmen whom you have assaulted at various times draws a knife on you and cuts you slightly, while half unconscious from your blows, you allege a plot on my part to murder you?” Without answering him. Hilary turned to the Seigneur. “If Monsieur Broueseau’s business Is with me. qo doubt you and Mademoiselle Hosny will excuse us,” he said. “It ain’t with you,” retorted Brous seau. scowling. “I was Just telling you my opinion of you. the same as I’d tell any man. no matter who he was. It’s with you, Rosny," he continued, addressing the Seigneur again. “And It ain’t private. Private? lMnhle, It’* too public! It’ll made me the laughing stock of St. Boniface, and Ste. Marie too. Every one’s seen Mademoiselle Hosny riding and driving with roe. Now she says she won’t have any more to do with me. Why? Have I changed? Ain’t I the man I always was? When I make a bargain I stick to It.” “Monsieur Brousseau,” protested the Seigneur, “we Itosoys do not break our pledges. Whatever my daughter has contracted to do will be done. But this Is hardly the occasion, or the man ner ” “I know It ain't." said Brousseau. subsiding; and Hilary felt Madeleine’s Itund. which had gripped his arm tight ly to restrain him. relax Its tension. "Maybe I forgot myself. I don’t want to be anything but a gentleman In the presence of ladies, but it’s hard. Monsieur Hosny. when everything’s as good as settled, to have It put back In the melting-pot. Mennlng you. Mon sieur Askew I” he continued, sneering Into Hilary’s face. “That’s where you come into this business. When people in St. Boniface began to talk about Mademoiselle here having thrown me over for him’’ —he was addressing the Seigneur again—“lt’s more than flesh and blood ran stand.” The Seigneur looker] pitifully dis tressed. His face, flushed with resent ment at Brousseau’s insolence, was molded Into impotence by conflicting impulses. He stepped forward. “I am sure, gentlemen, that there exists no cause for disagreement,” he said. “Monsieur Askew la entirely guiltless at what you suggest Please Madeleine Was as Pale as Death', 6Ut She Stood Forward Bravely. remember. Monsieur Brousseau, that lie is my guest. Madeleine, my dear. I suggest that you and Edouard have a quiet talk together. I know that you hold your word as sacred ns we Ros nys have always held our word.” Madeleine was as pale as death*b’lt she stood forward bravely. "I never pledged my word to you. Monsieur Brousseau.” she said in a low tone. "You know It. You asked me to be your wife and I refused. You took u good deal for granted. You took me for grunted. You made a mistake. When you treacherously conspired to cut Monsieur Askew’s boom, when you planned his death, you lost whatever chance you had ever had. I shall never marry you." Brousseau staggered backward, came up against the table, and stood star ing at her in incredulity, in fear, in fury. h!s own face whiter than hers. The Seigneur sat down in his chair heavily, seeming to collapse there. Then Brousseau flung his fear aside and laughed, and it was the most evil laugh mat Hilary had ever heard. He addressed Hosny; and as he spoke he continued to advance toward him, un til he was shaking his fist in the old Seigneur’s face. “I understand now." he sneered. "This fine American has been at work in this nutter. It is he who lias been spreading these lying stories about me. I don’t blame your daughter. Hosny. A woman is easily influenced by a new face. So’s a man. for that matter. “I don’t blame her. I expect my wife to be true to me after we’re mar ried—no more and no less. I’ll take cure of the love. I ain’t a hard man. I can make allowances for human na ture. I expect to mold her and to keep watch over her. Maybe she’d do the same with me. “But this Is different, Rosny." he shouted furiously. “He’s been telling her lies about tne. He came, up here und started In to crush me. He wants to drive me out of Ste. Marie. I’m not the man to allow that. Rosny! You know what I mean. I’ll deal with him when the times comes. I’ll speak to him again presently. I’m speaking to you now. Is she going to marry me or ain’t she? You know what it’s going to cost you If she goes back on her word.” Rosny groped her way to his feet. The old duelist, who In his younger duys would fight at the drop of the hat, had been brought pitiably low. but not so low as Brousseau thought. His face was aflame. He opened his mouth, stuttered, and pointed toward the door. “You can go. You can go. Monsieur Brousseau." he stammered. "Custom —custom and courtesy forbid —insult a guest—go before I forget myself." "I’ll go. then," shouted Brousseau. und moved toward the door. “You’ve had your chance. Once more. Is she willing to he reasonable? I keep iny word. In friendship or enmity. Will slir- keep hem? If so I’ll forgeL I’ll call It a whim. I—" “No. I shall never be your wife,” said Madeleine quietly. Brousseau swung upon Hilary. “Some day I’ll get you, you lying dog!” he swore, and raised his hand threateningly. Madeleine darted between them. "You coward!” she cried. "You cow ard. to threaten a wounded man. whom you do dare uot look In the face In anger when he Is well 1” Brousseau shrugged his shoulders and turned toward the door. The ma lignant smile upon his face seemed frozen there, giving him the aspect of a satyr's mask. Hilary came forward and tried to draw Madeleine aside, but she still confronted Brousseau with blazing eyes. But It was the Seigneur’s look of agony and shame that was the most vivid part of the picture. Hosny stood like a statue beside the door, watching Brousseau make his way along the corridor toward the en trance. Hilary put his arms about Madeleine, supporting her. Her cour age was gone, and she was weeping uncontrollably. The front door slammed and Rosny turned back Into the room. He burst out In passionate words. “It Is all gone!” he cried. “Every thing—home, lands, inheritance. And It Is well gone. The Rosny seigniory Is nearly everything to me, but you are more, Madeleine. Our name means little enough now, but it shall never become allied with that of the scoun drel who has robbed me of everything els**.” He raised his clenched first and shook It in the air with a passionately dramatic gesture, as if to register his vow. His face was strangely mottled with red and white, and he seemed to have aged ten years within ten mln- Dtea “I offer you my humblest regrets for what has occurred this morning, mon sieur.” he said to Hilary. “There was a time when I should have exacted personal requital. Now. alas, I cun not! I can only bear the blame. But as for you. monsieur, you who came here in an evil day to cut my trees, you who are my guest, what have you to say who have brought this ruin upon me?” Madeleine sturted forward as if to protest, but he silenced her with n ges ture of his open hand. “I ask you what you have to say. monsieur.” he repeated. “I ask you how you justify yourself, you who are a guest in my home and have pre sumed upon that fact to turn my duughter from me?" “I love her," answered Hilary sira ply. The words seemed to sting Rosny to the quick. “You are presumptuous, monsieur!” he cried. “Perhaps you. too. thought that the heiress went with the trees?” Madeleine cried out nnd laid her hands appealingly upon her father’s arm; ho did not repulse her, but con tinued speaking as If be were not con scious of her presence. “She shall never be your wife. You have done harm enough here, mon sieur. When you are well my caleche Is at your disposition, to take you back to your mill. And henceforward, un less you claim the last Inch of your legal rights to cut about the Chateau — which I do not think you will” he add ed with reluctant justice—“let us see you no more.” "You are unjust!" cried Madeleine. “We love each other. There exists no reason why we should not love. Mon sieur Askew Is as good as any man.” "An American!” cried Rosny hot Ty. "This is not his country, nnd our ways are not his. He Is not one of us.” “Yet you were not too proud to pledge tne to that other man. who is not one of us either, except by remote race. Against my will. Without my knowledge.” “Enough!” cried Rosny. “It is all past!” “The memory is not past. Yes, you pledged me to him and placed the first links of the chain about my neck, hop ing that the understanding, to which I was no party, would gradually en mesh me, capture me, that I should be come liis wife and save your land for yon.” The Seigneur turned on her a look In which humiliation struggled with anger. He seemed stupefied by her outburst. Hilary Interposed. “Monsieur Hosny, I love Madeleine, and I intend to marry her.” he said calmly. "But I realize your feelings, and I understand how great a shock this has been. You invited me to de part when I am well. I am well enough to depart now. But I shall return, to see her and to plead our cause frunk- Iy with you. There exists no\v no reason, no valid reason—” “You shall never come here!” thun dered the Seigneur, losing all self-con trol. “The day when 1 sold your uncle the timber rights over my land was the most evil day of my life. Go—lf you are well, go! My caleche is ready for you. Go, monsieur, in God’s name, und trouble me no longer!" He rulsed his voice and shouted, “Hobltoille! Robltallle!” From some place In the recesses of the Chatueau u feeble, quavering cry answered him. And through the door way Hilarj* saw the ancient serving man come shuttling to obey his master. And. as he looked at him, his re sentment died. The two old men— Rosny in his brown swallow-tails and the tight trousers strapped under his boots. Robltallle. In the faded butler’s uniform, seemed playing u part, acting in some scene laid In the long past. Or, rather, they were the past. They had no place In the modern world, those ancient figures In their ancient dress, and with their ancient ways. They cumbered the stage of life, lin gering there when their exits were long overdue. They were unreal ns phantom figures glimpsed In a wild dream. Pity for the two futile old men choked Hilary’s throat. He could feel nothing but that as he watched Hohltallle come, to the door, bobbing and shuffling, with stiffened Joints that made hlin more JUce a marionette. But he felt, too, the urgency of tak ing Madeleine away, into a world of reality, before the same dream In fected her. She caine up to Hilary softly and placed her fingers on his arm, looking Into his face wistfully. “You must go, dear, and not try to convince him now.” she said. “It has been a terrible blow to him. He looks so ill. I am afraid for him. I shall come to you tomorrow arid tell you—” “Robitaille,” said the Seigneur. "Monsieur Askew has decided, much to my grief, to leave this afternoon. You will have the goodness to pock his things and to prepare the caleche for him. You will drive him to the mil!.” The old man muttered acquiescence and shuffled away. Hilary turned to ward Rosny. Frankly he held out his hand. The action might have been Ill timed. but it responded to his deep seated feeling. But Rosny did not seem to see the gesture. He stood staring across the room, one hand clutching his spreading collar, and his face, which had been white and red. was purple. Hilary turned away. He had reached the door when lie heard a sound as if Rosny was clearing his throat. Then Madeleine cried out In feur. Hilary turned, to see Rosny sit heavily down in his chair. His eyes closed, his arms drooped over the sides; his head fell on his breast. Hilary ran to him. He was uncon scious, and breathing heavily. Hilary tried to raise him, to carry him to the sofa, but the man seemed made of iron as he lay. a dead weight, in Hilary’s iinns. At Madeleine’s cry old Robltaille had turned, too. and he came shuffling hack. As he perceived his muster ly ing in the chair he began to utter wild, whimpering cries. “His father went that way." he mumbled. “I always knew he’d go like that. Forty-five years I’ve served him. Forty-five years. I always knew—” “Help me to get him into the next room, to bed.” said Hilary. Robltaille did not understand, but he aided Hilary to raise his master, and together they half dragged and half curried him into the drawing room and laid him on Hilary's bed. Madeleine kneeled beside him in despair, her hands clasped, her eyes strained on his face. Hilary was loosening his collar and the upj»er part of ids clothing. Robltaille had shuf fled out. "I have killed him !" cried the girl. In pathetic grief. “I have killed him!” Hiiury could do nothing. She seemed distraught, and the Seigneur lay like a fallen tree. His rattling breaths blended with the girl’s sobs; and there was no other sound in the room. But soon Robltaille came shuffling hark. In one hand he cnrriod a basin. In the other a little rusty knife. A rowel was on his arm. He muttered something to Madeleine, who rose from her knees and looked at Hiiury with a brave effort at self-composure. “He w’ants to bleed him,” she said. “He says that when he was a young man they used to bleed such cases and they got well. He says it Is the only chance." Hilary, feeling helpless, took the lancet from the old servant’s fingers and looked at the rusty edge. "I’ve heard of bleeding In such cases," he said. “Well—perhaps It won’t hurt him. But we must boll the instrument. Can you get some hot water?” The girl hurried to obey. She left the room and came back with a little alcohol stove and a pan of water. Hil ary. having scraped the rust from the blade, watched her In admiration at her self-possession as she went to and fro, intent upon her task. While the water was boiling the two men man aged to get Rosny to bed. When the water was boiled Hilary sterilized the lancet, Robltaille looking on without comprehension. But his shaking fingers grew firm as he per formed the little operation. When it was over and the arm bandaged a slight improvement in Rosny’s condi tion seemed already manifest. They sat beside him ull through the day, while the heavy breathing gra lu ally grew lighter, and the stupor seemed to be passing Into sleep. To ward evening Rosny opened his eyes for a moment and looked nhout him. “I should like to stay, if I can be of help,” said Hilary. “I think you had better go, dear. If you are strong enough," said Made leine. “You will be very careful of yourself, and make your friend, Mr. Connell, take cure of you? And not go to work in the woods till you are strong?” She put her arms about his neck. “And I love you with all my heart,” she whispered, as she kissed him. ■‘The course of true love never runs smooth.” (TO BE CONTINUED.) Debt World Is Apt to Forget. The growing good of the world Is partly dependent on unhlstorlc sets; ami that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, la half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in uu visited tombs. —Oeorge hiliot.