Newspaper Page Text
THE ROCK ISCAND ARGUS. FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 1912.
1- Hr "WnAte Story CctJfrrserrS
The KIm on the Hand.
It ever occur to you," begaa
r- Enid Maitland gravel? enough, for lb
- cult re&lized the aeriona naturit nf
the Impending conversation, "did It
ever occur to yon that you know prac
tically all about me, while I know
! practically nothing about you?
The man bowed hi head.
"You may have fancied that I was
y not aware of it, but ia od way or
V another yon have possessed yourself
T" of pretty all of my short and, until
I' ,1 met you, most uneventful life,' she
Newbold might bare answered that
there was one subject which had been
'' casually Introduced by her upon on
again referred, but which was to him
- the most Important of all subjects con
nected with her; and that was the na-
' turn nf hr rxlafiocshln to one Jamas
Armstrong whose name, although
no una uearu 11 nui ddcc, uo ma uut
forgotten. The girl had been fraok
. ness itself In following his deft leads
when he talked with her about her
' self, but she had shown the same re
- ticence In recurring to Armstrong
that he had displayed In questioning
her about him. The statement she
had Just made as to his acquaintance
with her history was therefore suffi
ciently near the truth to pass un
challenged, and once again he gravely
r bowed in acquiescence.
"I have withheld nothing from you,"
went on the girl, "whatever you want
ed to know, I have told you. I had
I what you have been to me and Iliva
done for me."
1 ask but one thing." he said quick
"And what Is thatr
But again he checked himself.
"No," he said, "I am not free to ask
anything of you."
And that answer to Enid Maitland
was like a knife thrust in the heart.
The two had been standing confront
ing each other. Her heart grew
faint within her. She stretched out
her hand vaguely as if for support.
He stepped toward her, but before he
reached her, she caught the hack of
the chair and sank down weakly.
That he should be bound and not free
had never once occurred to her; she
had quite misinterpreted the meaning
of his remark.
The man did not help her, he could
not help her. He just stood and
looked at ber. She fought valiantly
for self-control a moment or two and
then, utterly oblivious to the betrayal
of her feelings Involved In the ques
tion the moments were too great for
consideration of such trivial matters
"You mean there is some other wo
man?" He shook his head in negation.
1 don't und-rstand. There was
some other woman?"
"Where is she now?"
"But you said you were not free."
"Did you care so much for her that
row that now "
"Enid," he cried desperately. "Be
lieve me, I never knew what lovo
happy over my departure; she clung
to me, pleaded with, me, implored me
to take her with me, insisted on go
ing wherever I went, would not be
left behind. She couldnt bear me out
of her sight, it seemed. I don't know
what there was in me to have in
spired such devotion, but I must
speak the truth, however it may
sound. She seemed wild, crazy about
me. I didn't understand it, frankly I
didn't know what such love was then
but I took her along. Shall I not be
honest with you? In spite of the at
traction physical, I had begun to feel
even then that she was not the mate
for me. I don't deserve it, and it
shames me to say it of course, but I
wanted a better mind, a higher souL
That made it harder what I had to
do, you know."
Tea, I know."
"The only thing I could do
when I came to my senses was
to sacrifice ncyself to her mem
ory because she had loved me so; as
it was she gave up her life for me;
I could do no lees than be true and
loyal to the remembrance. It wasn't
a sacrifice either until you came, but
as soon as you opened your eyes and
looked into mine in the rain and the
storm upon the rock to which I had
carried you after I had fought for you
I knew that I loved you. I knew that
the love that had come into my heart
was the love of which I had dreamed,
that everything that had gone before
was nothing, that I had found the one
woman whose soul should mate with
"And this before) I had said a word
"What are words? The heart
speaks to the heart, the soul whis
pers to the soul. And so it was with
us. I had fought for you, you were
mine, mine. My heart sang it as I
panted and struggled over the rocks
carrying you. It said the words again
and again as I laid you down here in
this cabin. It repeated them over and
5ver: mine, mine! It says that every
day and hour. And yet honor and
fidelity bid me stay. I am free, yet
bound; free to love you, but not to
take you. My heart says yes, my con
science no. I should despise myself
if I were false to the love which
my wife bore me, and how could
offer you a blood stained hand!"
He had drawn very near her while
he spoke; she had risen again and the
'"I never dreamed, I never hoped
oh," he exclaimed as if he got his
death wound, "this cannot be borne."
He turned away but in two swift
steps she caught him.
"Where do you go?"
"Out, out into the night."
"You cannot go now, it is dark;
hark to the storm, you would miss
your footing you would fall, you would
freeze, you would die."
"What matters that?"
"I cannot have it."
"It would be better so."
He strove again to wrench himself
away, but she would not he denied.
She clung to him tenaciously.
"I will not let you go unless yon
give me your word of honor that you
will not leave the plateau, and that
you will come back to me."
"1 tell you that the quicker and
more surely I go out of life, the hap
pier and better it will be for you."
'And I tell tou." said the woman.
resolutely, "tnat you can never go out
of my Uf again, iiving or dead." Sh
released him with one hand and laic
it upon her heart. "You are here."
"Enid," cried the man.
"No," she thrust him gently away
with one hand yet detained him with
the other that was emblematic of
the situation between them. "Not
now, not yet, let me think, but prom
ise me you will do yourself no harm,
you will let nothing imperil your life."
"As you will," said the man regret
fully. "I had purposed to end it now
and forever, hut I promise."
"Your word of honor?"
"My word of honor."
"And you won't break it"
"I never broke it to a human being,
much less will I do so to you!".
She released him, he went into the
other room and she heard him cross
the floor and open the door and go
out into the night, into the storm
nothing to conceal, as you have found
out. Why you wanted to know about i was until I met you."
me, I am not quite sure." I The secret was out now;
"It was because " burst out the
man impetuously, and then he stopped
abruptly and just in time.
been known to her long since, but
now it was publicly proclaimed.
Even a man as blind, as obsessed, as
Enid Maitland smiled at him in a i he could not mistake the joy that 11
way that indicated ehe knew what luminated her face at this announce
was behind the sudden check he had j ment That very joy and satisfaction
Imposed upon himself. i produced upen him, however, a very
"Whatever your reason, your curi-1 different effect than might have been
oelty " I anticipated. Had he been free, in-
' Don't call it that, please." j deed," he would have swept her to his
"Your df sire then has been rrat-1 breast and covered her sweet face
Hied. Now it Is my turn. I am not
von sure about your came. I have
sct-a it in these books end naturally
I have itnaRined that It is jours."
"It Is mine."
"Well, that Is really all that I know t
about you. And now I shall be quite
frank. I want to know more. You
evidently have something to conceal
or you would not be living here in
this way. I have never asked, you
about yourself, or manifested the
least curiosity to solve the problem
you present, to find the solution of the
myr.tery of your life."
"Perhaps," raid the man. "you
didn't rare enough about it to take
the trouble to inquire."
"You know," answered the girl,
"that is not true. I have been con
sumed with desire to know."
"A woman's curiosity?"
"Not that," was the soft answer
that turned away his wrath.
She was indeed frank. There was
that in her way of uttering those two
simple words that set his pulses
bounding. He was not altogether and
"Come." said the girl, extending her
band to him, "we are alone here to
gether. We must help each other.
You have helped me, you have been
of the greatest service to me. I can't
begin to count all that you have done
for me; my gratitude "
"But that Is all that you have ever
asked or expected," answered the
young woman in a low voice whose
f 1 1
He Stood Entranced.
gentle tones did not at all accord
with the bwldness and courage of the
"Tou mean?" asked the man, tar
ing at her, his face aflame.
"I saeaa." answered the gtrl swift
ly, wilfully misinterpreting and turn
ing kls half spoken question another
way. "I mean that I am sure that
trouble has brought you here. I do
not wish to force your confidence, I
have no right te da so, yet I should
Ilk to eajoy it; cant you give It to
fee? I waat to help you, I want to
o my bwt to make some rttura for
with kisses broken by whispered
words of passionate endearment. In
stead of that he shrank back from her
and It was she who was forced to
take up the burden of the conversa
"You say that she. is dead." she be
gan in sweet appealing bewilderment,
"and that you cere so much for me
and yet you "
"I am a murderer." he broke out
harshly. "There is blood upon my
hands, the blood of a woman who
loved me and whom, boy as I was, I
thought that I loved. She was my
wife. I killed her."
"Great God," cried the girl amazed
beyond measure or expectation by
this sudden avowal which she ' had
once suspected, and her hand instinct
ively went to the bosom of her dress
where she kept that soiled, water
stained packet of letters, "are you
"I am the man that did that thing,
but what do you know?" he asked
quickly, amazed in his turn.
"Old Kirkby. my uncle Robert Mait
land, told me your story; they said
that you had disappeared from the
haunts of men "
"And they were right What else
was there for me to do? Although ln
nocent of crime, I was blood guilty.
I was mad. No punishment could be
visited upon me like that imposed by
the stem, awful, appalling fact 1
swore to prison myself, to have noth
ing more forever to do with mankind
or womankind with whom I was un
worthy to so associate, to live alone
until God took me. To cherish my
memories, to make such expiation as
I could, to pray daily for forgiveness,
I came here to the wildest, the most
Inaccessible, the loneliest, spot in the
range. No one ever would come here
I fancied, no one ever did come but
you. I was happy after a fashion, or
at least content I had chosen th
better part I had work, I could read
write, remember and dream. But you
came and since that time life has
been heaven and hell. Heaven be
cause I love you, hell because to love
you means disloyalty to the past, to
a woman who loved me. Heaven be
cause you are here; I can hear your
voice, I can see you, your soul is
spread out before me in its sweetness,
in its purity; hell because I am false
to my determination, to my tow, to
the love of the past."
"And did you love her bo much,
then?" asked the girl, now fiercely
jealous and forgetful of other things
for the moment
"It's not that," said the man. "I
was not much more than a boy, a year
or two out of college. I had been in
the mountains a year, this woman
lived ia a mining camp, she was a
fresh, clean healthy girl, her father
died and the whole camp fathered her,
looked after ber, and all the young
men in the range for miles on either
side were in love with her. I sup
posed that I was too and well, I on
her from the rest. We had been mar
ried but a few months and a part of
the time my business as a mining en
gineer had called me away from her.
I can remember the day before we
started on the last Journey. I was
coing alone again, but she was so ua-
She Seized His Hand and Kissed It
two confronted each other. He
stretched out his hand as he asked
that last question, almost as if he bad
offered it to her. She made the best
answer possible to his demand, for be
fore he could divine what she would
be at ehe had seized his hand and
kissed it and this time it was the man
whose knees gave way. He sank
down in the chair and buried his face
in his bands.
"Oh. God! Oh. God!" he cried in
his humiliation and shame, "if I had
only met you first, or if my wife bad
died as others die, and not by my
hand in that awful hour. I can see
her now, broken, bruised, bleeding,
torn. I can hear the report of that
weapon; her last glance at me in the
midst of her indescribable agony was
one of thankfulness and gratitude. I
can't stand it I am unworthy even of
"But you could not help it, it was
not your fault And you can't help
caring for me "
"I ought to help it I ought not love
you, I ought to have known that I
was not fit to love any woman, that
I bad no right that I was pledged
like a monk to the past I have been
weak, a fool. I love you and my hon
or goes, I love you and my self-respect
goes, I love you and my pride goes.
Would to God I could say I love you
and my life goes and end it all." He
stared at her a little space. "There
Is only one way of satisfaction in it
all. one gleam of comfort," be added.
"And what is thatr
"Tou don't know what the suffering
is, you don't understand, you don't
"And why not?"
"Because you do not love me."
"But I do," said the woman quite
simply as if it were a matter of
course not only that she should love
him, but that she should also tell him
The man stared at her amazed.
Such fierce surges of Joy throbbed
through him as he had not thought
the human frame could sustain. This
woman loved him, in some strange
way he had gained her affection. It
was impossible, yet she had said so!
He had been a blind fool. He could
see that now. She stood before him
and smiled up at him, looking at him
through eyes misted with tears, with
lips parted, with color coming and go
ing in her cheek and with her bosom
rising and falling. She loved him, be
had but to step nearer to her to take
her ia his arms. There was a trust,
devotion, surrender, everything, in her
attitude, and between them like that
great gulf which lay between the rich
man and the beggar, that separated
heaven and hell, was that be could
The Face in the Locket
Left alone in the room she sat down
again before the fire and drew from
her pocket the packet of letters. She
knew them by heart bdc had read and
reread them often when she had been
alone. They had fascinated her.
They were letters from some other
man to this man's wife. They were
signed by an initial only and the iden
tity of the writer was quite unknown
to her. The woman's replies were
not with the others, but it was easy
enough to see what those replies had
been. All the passion of which the
woman had been capable had evi
dently been bestowed upon the writer
of the letters she had treasured.
Her story was quite plain. She
had married Newbold in a fit of
pique. He was an eastern man, the
best educated, the most fascinating
and interesting of the men who fre
quented the camp. There had been a
quarrel between the letter writer and
the woman; there were always quar
rels, apparently, but this had been a
serious one and the man had savagely
flung away and left her. He had not
come back as he usually did. She had
1 waited for him and then he had come
back too late!
He had wanted to kill the other, but
she had prevented, and while Newbold
was away he had made desperate love
to her. He had besought her to
leave her husband to go away with
him. He had used every argument
that he could to that end and the wo
man had hesitated and wavered, but
she had not consented; she had not
denied her love for him any more than
she had denied her respect and a
certain admiration for her gallant,
trusting husband. She had refused
again and again the requests of her
lover. She could not control her
heart nevertheless she had kept to
her marriage vows. But the force of
her resistance had grown weaker and
she had realized that alone she would
perhaps Inevitably succumb.
Her lover had been away when her
husband returned prior to the last
fateful journey. Enid Maitland saw
now why she had besought him to
take her with him, she was afraid to
be left alone! She did not dare de
pend upon her own powers any more;
her only salvation was to go with this
man whom she did not love, whom at
times she almost hated, to keep from
falling Into the arms of the man she
did love. She had been more or less
afraid of Newbold. She had soon
realized, because she was not blinded
by any passion as be, that they had
been utterly mlsmated. She had come
to understand that when the same
knowledge of the truth came to him.
as it inevitably must some day, noth
In but unhaDDiness would be their
Every kind of an argument in ad'
dition to those so passionately ad
duced in these letters urging ber to
break away from her husband and to
seek happiness for herself while yet
there was time, besieged her heart,
seconded her lover's plea and assailed
her will, and yet she had not given
Now Enid Maitland hated the wo
man who had enjoyed the first young
love of the man she herself loved.
She hated her because of her priority
of possession, because her memory
yet came between her and that man
She hated her because Newbold was
still true to her memory, because
Newbold, believing in the greatness of
her passion for him, thought it shame
and dishonor to his manhood to be
false to her, no matter what love and
longing drew him on.
Yet there was a stern sense of Jus
tice in the bosom of this young wo
man. She exulted in the successful
battle the poor woman had made for
the preservation of her honor and her
good name, against such odds. It was
a sex triumph for which she was glad
She was proud of her for the stern
rigor with which she had refused to
take the easiest way and the desper
ation with which she had clung to
him she did not love, but to whom
she was bound by the laws of God and
man, in order that she might not fall
into the arms of the man she did love.
In defiance of right
.vvmoa itrj uj ueeq babu, ?snm eS
-Sons eq pmrtsjspun pmoo eg
uaods pwj eq eou;g j jq 0
Suttrroa w ojca ejojeq )noqa peareeap
pan peousjadxe pas pnq eqs Tstrj
IVs JQJ eojoj bxi ua pun jejtod sji
put ntL oaoi eax etrs
u aon iOJetn WO. "Jeqjo etr ui pe
-)oodxeun eq 0 pu "sdvqjed' rejnu
nn !po)oedxe q eq o ptrs suo eqj
HJ sdvqied 'raranN -XrrBJom ijjoi
jo 'pooTprHtaoM. snonvrfa jo euo tpua
uj Xwrsnb nouratoo ia sbm. ejotr)
)nq trXB9 u J aiod ejisoddo eqi eu
jatrjo uoua mojj paAcma-t jsj sa
ojaa. uatnojk pn pas punpjK PPm
heart. She could honor her, rever
ence her, pity her.
Sne could understand the feeling of
the man too; she could think much
more clearly than he. He was dis
tracted by two passions, for his pride
and his honor and for her; she had as
yet but one. for him. And as there
was less turmoil and confusion in her
mind, she was better capable of look
ing the facts in the face and making
the right deduction from them.
She could understand how in the
first frightful rush of his grief and re
morse and love the very fact that
Newbold had been compelled to kill
his wife, of whom he was beginning to
grow a little weary under such circum
stances, had added immensely to his
remorse and quickened his determin
ation to expiate his guilt and cherish
her memory. She could understand
why he would do just as he had done,
go into the wilderness to be alone In
horror of himself and In horror of his
fellow men to think only, mistakenly,
Now he was paying the penalty of
that isolation. Men were made to
live with one another, and no one
could violate the law natural, or by
so long an inheritance as to have so
become, without paying that penalty.
His ideas of loyalty and fidelity were
warped, his conceptions of his duty
were narrow. There was something
noble in his determination, it is
true, but there was something also
very foolish. The dividing line be
tween wisdom and folly Is some
times as indefinite as that between
comedy and tragedy, between laughter
and tears. If the woman he had
married and killed had only hated
him and he had known it would have
been different, but since he believed
so in ber love he could do nothing
At that period in her reflections
Enid Maitland saw a great light.
The woman had not loved her hus
band after all, she had loved anoth
er. That passion of which he had
dreamed had not been for him. By &
strange chain of circumstances Enid
Maitland held in her hand the solu
tion of the problem. She had but
to give him these letters ' to show
him that his golden image had stood
upon feet of clay, that rhe love up
on which he had dwelt was not his.
Once convinced of that he would
come quick to her arms. She cried
a prayer of blessing on old Kirkby
and started to ber feet, the letters
in hand, to call Newbold back to her
and tell him, and then she stopped.
Woman as she was she had re
spect for the binding conditions and
laws of honor as well as he. Chance,
nay Providence, had put the honor
of this woman, her rival, in her
hands. The world had long since
forgotten this poor unfortunate; in
no heart was her memory cherished
save in that of her husband. His
idea of her was a false one to be
sure, but not even to procure her
own happiness could Enid Maitland
overthrow that ideal, shatter that
She sat down again with the let
ters In her hand. It had been very
simple a moment since, but it was
not so now. She had but to show
him those letters to remove the great
barrier between them. She could not
do It. It was clearly Impossible. The
reputation of her dead sister who
had struggled so bravely to the end
was in her hands, she could not sac
rifice her even for her own happi
'Quixotic," you say? I do not think
so. She had blundered unwittingly,
unwillingly, upon the heart secret of
the other woman; she could not be
tray it' Even if the other woman
had been really unfaithful In deed as
well as in thought to ber husband
but to Show
Enid could hardly have destroyed his
recollection of ber. How much more
Impossible it was since the other wo
man had fought so heroically and so
tuccessfully for her honor. Woman
hood demanded her silence. Loyal
ty, honor, compelled her silence.
A dead hand grasped his heart and
the same dead hand ' grasped hers.
She could see no way out of the dif
ficulty. So far as she knew no hu
man soul except old Kirkby and her-.
self knew this woman's story. She
could not tell Newbold and she
would have to Impose upon Kirkby
the same silence as she herself
exercised. There was absolutely
no way in which the man could
find out He must cherish his dream
as he would. She would not enlight
en him, she would not disabuse his
mind, she could not shatter his ideal.
she could not betnty his wife. They
might love as the angels of heaven
and yet be kept forever apart by
a scruple, an idea, a principle, an ab
straction, honor, a name.
Her mind told ber these things
were idle and foolish, but her soul
would4not bear of it And In spite of
her resolutions she felt that even
tually there would be some way. She
would not have been a human wo
man If she bad not hoped and prayed
that She believed that God had cre
ated them for each other, that he
had thrown them together. She was
enough of a fatalist in this instance
at least to accept their intimacy as
the result of His ordination. There
must be some way out of the dilemma.
Yet she knew that he would be
true to his belief and she felt that
she would not be false to her obli
gation. What of that? There would
be some way. Perhaps somebody
else knew, and then there flashed
into her mind the writer of the let
ters. Who was he? Was he yet
alive? Had he any part to play in
this strange tragedy aside from that
he had already assayed?
Sometimes an answer to a secret
query is made openly. At this Junc
ture Newbold came back. He
stopped before her unsteadily, his face
now marked not only by the fierce
ness of the storm outside, but by
the fiercer grapple, of the storm in
"You have a right," he began, "to
know everything now. I can with
hold nothing from you."
He had in his hand a picture and
something yellow that gleamed in
the light "There," he continued ex
tending them toward her, "is the pic
ture of the poor woman who loved
me and whom I killed, you saw it
"Yes," she nodded, taking it from
him carefully and looking again in
a strange commixture of pride, re
sentment and pity at the bold, some
what coarse, entirely uncultured, yet
handsome face which gave no evi
dence of the moral purpose which
she had displayed.
"And here," said the man offering
the other article, "is something that
no human eye but mine has ever
Been since that day. It is a locket
I took from her neck. Until you
came I wore it next to my heart"
"And since then?"
"Since then I have been unworthy
her as I am unworthy you, and I
have put it aside."
"Does it contain another picture?"
"A man's face."
He shook his head.
"Look and see," he answered.
"Press the spring."
Suiting action to word, the next
second Enid Maitland found herself
gazing upon the pictured semblance
of Mr. James Armstrong! She was
utterly unable to suppress an excla
mation and a start of surprise at the
astonishing revelation. The man
looked at her curiously; he opened
his mouth to question her but she
recovered herself in part at least and
BWiftly interrupted him in a panic
of terror lest she should betray her'
"And what Is the picture of anoth
er man doing in your wife's locket?"
she asked to gain time, for she very
well knew the reply; knew it, In
deed, better than Newbold himself!
Who as It happened, was equally in
the dark both as to the man and the
"I dont know," answered the oth
"Do you know this man?"
"I never saw him In my life that
"And have you did you "
"Did I suspect my wife?" he asked.
'Never. I had too many evidences
that she loved me and me alone for a
ghost of suspicion to enter my mind.
It may have been a brother, or her
father In his youth."
"And why did you wear it?"
"Because I took it from her dead
heart Some day I shall find out who
the man is and when I shall I know
there will he nothing to her discredit
In the knowledge."
Enid Maitland nodded her bead.
She closed the locket, laid It on the
table and pushed it away from her.
So this was the man the woman had
loved, who had begged her to go
away with him, this handsome Arm
strong -who had come wit,hin an ace
of winning her own affection, to
whom she was In some measure
How strangely does fate work out
its purposes. Enid had come from
the Atlantic seaboard to be the sec
ond woman that both these two men
If she ever saw Mr. James Arm
strong again, and she had no doubt
that she would, she would have some
strange things to say to him. She
held In her hands now all the threads
of the mystery, she was master of
all the solutions, and each thread
was a chain that bound her.
"My friend," she said at last with
a deep sigh, "you must forget this
night and go on as before. You love
me, thank God for that but honor
and respect interpose between us.
And I love you, and I thank God for
that, too, but for me as well the
same Darner rises. w nether we
shall ever surmount these barriers
iiou aione Knows. tie Drought us
logetner, ne put inai love m our
hearts, we will have to leave It to
him to do as he will with us both.
Meanwhile we must go on as be
No, cried the man, "you impose
upon me tasks beyond my strength
juu aon 1 snow wnat love Is, you
con t know the heart hunger, the aw
ful madness I feel. Think. I have been
alone witi a recollection for all these
rears, a man in the dark, in the night
ana the light comes, you sre here.
The first night I brought you here I
walked that room on the other side of
that narrow door like a lion pent up
In bars of steeL I had only my own
tore, my own passionate adoration to
move me then, but now that I know
you love me, that I see it in your eyes,
that I hear it from your lips, that I
mark It in the beat of your heart, can
I keep silent? Can I live on and on?
Can I see you, touch you, breathe the
same air with you, be pent up in the
Bame room with you hour after hour,
day after day, and go on as before? I
can't do it it is an impossibility.
What keeps me now from taking you
In my arms and from kissing the color
into your cheeks, from making your
lips my own, from drinking the light
from your eyes?" He swayed near to
her, his voice rose. "What restrains
mer he demanded.
"Nothing," said the woman, never
shrinking back an Inch, facing him
She Was Utterly Unable to Suppress
with all the courage and daring with,
which a Goddess might look upon a
man. "Nothing but my weakness and:
"Yes, that's it but do not count too
much upon the one or the others
Great God, how can I keep away frouM
you; life on the old terms is i&sup-
portable. I must go." -
"And where r -"Anywhere,
so it -be away.",;
"It would be death in the snow and
in the mountains tonight No, no,
you cannot go."
Well, tomorrow then. It will be
fair, I can't take you with me. but I
must go alone to the settlements, I
must tell your friends you are here.,
alive, welL I shall find men to come
back and get you. What I cannot do
alone numbers together may effect
They can carry you over the worst of
the trails, you shall be restored to
your people, to your world again, you
can forget me."
"And do you think." asked the wo
man, "that I could ever forget you?"
"I don't know."
"And will you forget me?"
"Not so long as life throbs In my
reins, and beyond."
"And I too," was the return.
"So be it You won't he afraid to
stay here alone, now."
'No, not since you love me," was
the noble answer. "I suppose I must:
there is no other way, we could not
go on as before. And you will come
back to me as quickly as you can with,
I shall not come back; I will give
them the direction, they can find yon
without me. When I say goodbye to
you tomorrow It shall be forever."
"And I swear to you," asserted the
woman in quick desperation, "if you
do not come back they shall have
nothing to carry from here but my
dead body. You do not alone know
what love Is," she cried resolutely.
and 1 will not let you go unless I
have your word to return."
'And how will you prevent my go
"I can't But I will follow you on
my hands and knees In the snow until
I freeze and die unless I have your
"You have beaten me," said the man
hopelessly. "You always do. Honor,
what is it? Pride, what Is it? Self-
respect, what Is it? Say the word and
I am at your feet I put the past be
"I don't say the word," answered the
woman bravely, white faced, pale
lipped, but resolute. "To be yours, to
have you mine, is the greatest desire
of my hearU but not in the coward's
way, not at the expense of honor, of
self-respect no not that way. Cour
age, my friend, God will show us the
way, and meantime good night."
"I shall start in the morning."
"Yes," she nodded reluctantly but
knowing it had to be, "but you won't
go without bidding me good bye."
"Good night then," she said extend
ing her hand."
"Good night," he whispered boars-
ley and refused It, backing away. "I
don t dare to take it I don't dare to
touch you again. I love you so, my
only salvation ia to keep away."
(To be Continued.)
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