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Elbert County tribune and Elbert County banner. (Elizabeth, Colo.) 1920-1921, May 28, 1920, Image 2

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(Copyright. 1019, by George n. Doran Co.)
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
“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
•'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,
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,
“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
“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
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
“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
“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
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
“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
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
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
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
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
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-
“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
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
“Enough!” cried Rosny. “It is all
“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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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.”
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.

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