Decatur Daily Democrat, Volume 28, Number 159, Decatur, Adams County, 7 July 1930 — Page 3

|HIS SACRED FAMILY - by Helen R. Hull

ITH little swirls l ' MH X >of sound released ■ ■ t front durance ■ ■ /■ f t>o die. pushing I upward, feet ■r HF thudding decorously, hymn-book Kskiw fluttering—the congregation K£. forth. l«t hymn. Cowtance K’nl ahead. ,hc corner of her Knuth lifting in * faint curve as ■er only recogn.tion that ■ thumb pressed h ‘‘ ra under ■b,. eo<er of the hymnal ‘Sun of ■ , 5 ,,-ul Thou sa a-vlour dear--” K ( onstance did not sing She Ken id above the grav din of K? ~., near h-r the voleea of her K,th.-r and 'hn B~*. Hear of coloi over the ruck, her ■ .ther’s voice green. water-clear ■’hr. I‘arH*’- I-'Pl*. like deep She could not see John M - the shining pink baldKaa of Lynn's uncle, two seats ■hrad of her. roundly obscured Khn That was Ike I.ynn Holt’s she thought, to shut from ■ight whatever they did not like » hey were disturbed by John, for ■ll he was Lvnn's cousin and part ! them e ■ Her niwner whs s'nging well ■onlKht Constance's thoughts es ■.pci the slow rhythm of the “That’s because she la deKam at what 1 said " What was M,. r mother seeing from the choir ■ ~ ■ Constance wondered wheth | K r t hose neat proper backs had I ■tying hostile eyes. Everyone is K.lkmg “bout It. I-ynn had told Ker YOU should speak to your Knother' .My mother thinks so Khe is terribly Indiscreet, at least. so much of John Can t Kou drop her a hint’ Constance She I ad dropped the hint. K'umsily just before her mother for church. Her mother Ka.l laughed, and started down the Kitslrs to where John Barse stood ■waiting for her Then, haltway ■aven she bad called back. “I told if i sang In church there ■ « uM be trouble. Cocnic. Be sure ■vou prow fat! That's the real Ku use of their disapproval, oil ■those good women! Don't stay ■young when you are nearing ■forty' film hips are a deadly sin. ■aren't they, John’ And you're ■marrying into the Holts Connie! ■crow fat and respectable. That's ■your mother's advice." I.ynn drew the took trim her ■ band The voices had ceased, and ■ the church was full of subdued ■movement and murmuring. Shall we wait for your mother, ■ Constance?" I.ynn held her coat ■ for her without the fleeting touch ■es fingers on her shoulder. I '.,n>un' e shook her head Wlth- ■ eut dancing at him she knew ■ just how he looked—his blue eyes' ■ warrli-d, his sandy brows pulled ■ together O.aking one deep, ahrupi ■ wrinkle at the bridge of his nose, ■ ev<n hi 9 sandy hair somehow I more erect and agitated Constance wanted to run, to ■ thrust ter wav violently among ■ the sb-ek fur-draped figures, and ■ escape Her impulse edged her to ■ the door In advance of Lynn, so ■ that she had to stand for a mo ■ ment on the etspe, waiting for ■ him Her heart ot» beating dully , ■ could feel it under her chin 'You were In a hurry!" I.jrnri ■ took her arm. and they went ■ rtlently along the illage street. B the shrill sque-A of dry snow I under their feet. "Iswr 1 ynn." thought ConB stance os the pulse tn her throat ■ slackened to the steady rhythm ■ of their walk, "he's so honest it’s as f he lived In a glass shell, and B 1 oul.l see Into his very self." BPh glanced up at his square ■ should r. his profile faint tn the I fa ’ light of the street. and sudI 1 nly she hugged his arm. His B sac- swung around above her. "You're not cross, then?" She laughed "At you? Oh. Lynn!" ‘Wow"' He let Out an ex I ilosive breath. 'That's good." T know your mo’her made you | I >r mise to say that " "Well He hesitated. "I think I -here's some basis—" “Don't let's argu-i about it ,? ln ‘ Constance pressed her ■ • '-odder against his arm "Such I * i-ttle way home! I'd rather just ■T I love you." "Anyway—" They were nt a I corner, where the fttr»e t light I made crisscrosses of shadows from I the lare trees, like a net Into I which they walked “Anyway I John is leaving town ton ght That I ought to stop the talk." »_ Sometl I- g i n _ynn’s square ■W| chin shu” ng on nig words filed jgfiSß the girl "Why d esn't y< U" mother blnme I ami' Why is my mother to ,1 nlatne? We ju»t were kind to • I kirn a strauger, your coi s'n " “1 wish he'd never shown his | I face here! Your mother’s a w<>I tian, and older, that’s why—•' Oh| Oh!" Constance drew away, rigid, from his arm "Th-y lust walled till they had a chanc - lo jump on her, all the o'd women *n this town; Because she was I I pretty and d'fferent— and hadn’t I srown up here—and—'' Constance that isn’t fair'" "They’ve never liked her any , niore than your mother lik' d me! I Oh, 1 know! She sent you away I lo college to forget me' You are' * Holt— and I? Nobodv"See here, that’s ail done w;th! I d dn't forget you d'd I?” I.ynn , »t«>i»ped, and with a qu 4 ck move”"nt swung Cunstancp ,ntn the circle of hlg a rm ••V.’e’.-e K >lng to IP't married next molt:,, aren't *' l? ’ And mother do-s like you kn<j I—Connie !■' „^ or m Instant they stood there ■onstance felt his word, blown ‘■arm on her forehead, she peered «P ut his familiar, substantial S'upe tnasred darkly again, t the a ‘slant light. She shivered. ' es . Hy-.n." They went on Walckly. '’Soioetlmc. I'm scared.

► l'm *o happy, Scared of yoari' mother a» I ucvl to be when I was little. Reared to be so happy— Maybe that's why . . Rhe laid her cheek briefly on tho rough sleeve “Let’, not talk about It any more!" The house was dark. Lynn unlocked the door, turned on the light In the narrow hall, and kissed her soberly. "Good night. You're tired. I'll call you up tomorrow" He lifted her hand, and laid his Ups on her wrist, a soft, -devouring kiss, under which Constance felt her pulse singing for n moment of delicate, tender happiness. He moved reluctantly to the door. "Good night, dear." "Good night!” nd Constance heard him crunch briskly along the walk. She heard other foot steps, and turned to run up the stairs, her softness gone into a hard thought, "I.ynn wanted to hurry away! He was afraid they would come In. IN the upper hnll sho waited, her toe rubbing over the worn place in the runner, catching the coarse threads of the warp. Everything was shabby! Yes, John Barse had come tn She retreated toward her door at her mother's “Ah. Constance must have sent her young man straight home. [ That’s good. Come in. John.” i Constance closed h*r door softly. "Tm going to bed." she thought. "Mother's wound up She'll only make fun of Lynn if I am watting for her. As she does when she Is —upset. Tomorrow John Harse will be gone. And in a few days father will be home." She was slipping her dress down from her shoulders, and stopped, as if her thought had brought her father visibly to the door. A little rnan. with bright, restless eyes, a nervous high voice, a constant, artificial manner of cheerfulness. He was on the road most of the time, salesman for retail-store supplies. Clearly she could see him, running a hasty tongue over his lip, rubbing his bends —that awful, deprecating good humor; Poor father! “She's so much cleverer than we are," thought Constance, "and unhappier, too. Brrr, I’m cold." She hurried Into her bathrobe, and sat in front of the chintz-covered dressing table, brushing out her soft dark hair. "I look like mother, a little— ’’ Gray eyes under long lids, short, wistful upper lip—lt wag a serious face except for the whimsical upward fling of the fine, dark brows. Impatiently she roee, her fingers moving quickly down the braid. | “But I don’t feel like her!" When she had turned off the ' lights she hesitated a moment at the window before she let the shade spring up. Sometimes she was afraid of the pines outside! There they stood, the long, pointed black row, the nearest rising past her window. Lynn’s pine trees. The corner of the Holt estate toothed her father’s lot—no, was divided from it by the wall of pines Par years Constance had looked oot at them each night, and sometimes through their dark classes had caught golden flickers of light from the windows of the Holt house. Tonight they were very black and still, except for patches of old ; snow caught in the boughs. Constance could see no lights. "Lynn is sitting in the library." she thought, “talking with hts mother He is telling her that he did as she asked Told me that my I mother wa« making herself cor- I splcuous with John Barse, his cousin, a man years younger” Siushivered. "I won’t think that' I U think —how surprised the pines will be to see me living on the other side of them in that great j house.” With a little rush she ; pushed the w ndow high and flew into bed. the frosty air sweeping 1 I after her with the fold, clean, d irk | smell of the pine needles ’ "Dc ir i Lynn!” She curled a h ind under I tier cheek and slept A sound, f.il’t an rnioke. drew her abruptly out of gl' ep. Like u. j cry! she fumbled for her bathrobe. Still drowsy, she pushed her . door open and clung to the balus- ' trade, peering down, brushing a I uno across her eyes. At the end of the hall. Indistinct in the light which blurred through the portieres from the living room, stood her mother and John Burse. "He's ' noing thoug! t Constance. "I juut ; heard them talking.” 'You will come with mo. Amy. < |So easy! Just walk out of this door with me tonight The boat i sails at nine. Tomorrow there’ I I I e ocean between you and all this iy ou hate so. Europe a'icud of uu. , love —'' "Ji hn: 1 can't 1 would only ; I make you unhappy. And her®— ; i thete is Constance." " ou've giv n your life to her |' ow sh- has her Lynn. That's all I h wants. She’s not like you! I : What l.ave you if you stay?" "No. 1 won't go. I’m old!” She I ! flung her arms wide, swaying ! backward, as if she fought against i a vortex which was drawing her I down. "Old! You?" Constance, straining wildly forI ward, saw him move between those wide-flung arms, saw his dark head swoop downward, and could look no more. Her breath hoarse, she closed her d->or softly —as if they would hear her! —and stumbling on the cord of her bathrobe, felt her way toward her bed. She heard a thin wail creeping under the door and th n expanding, filling the darkness. her mother’s, "NO! No! 1 <an't!" She crept Into bed and hid her face. She pressed her palms over her ears until the blood pounded like slow drums. Her mother! And she had

DECATUR DAILY DEMOCRAT MONDAY, JULY 7, 1930.

!■ —— i - — it ' 'A Jm| Sk* P 7 ' t ‘ raster

Constance fell back as he released her.

laughed at Lynn. She had said.* "My mother is fine. You don’t . understand her. She is generous i Ind rec kless about —silly things People don't like her here. But ■ -lie is all fine., my mother." And John Ban e! She had been i afraid of him. when he had first i come, last fall. He was like .Mrs ' Holt, Lynn’s mother, more like her i than her own son. Dark, lean, a ‘kind of fierceness' —his hooked - r ose and dark sharp eyes seemed wrought by his own spirit. Just ; as Lynn's mother made her feel. ! All her life she had stood out ■ against Lynn's mother because she I had loved Lynn. Now when that fight was won—Lynn had won through his steadfastness, and I Mis. Ho t had given in thi a man had come. Constance sat up. trembling She heard the door close with a sharp whine. She flung herself up on her knees. Slow heavy, her rrother's feet climbed the stairs dragged past her dpor to the end iOf the hall. Constance pressed the I blanket against her lips, stifling the choking cry Her mother had I not gone' OVER her breakfast Constance heard her mother's voice, light. unemotional. giving 'directions to Hulda. With a faint resentment she felt that; | she had been dragged off a ; peak of intensity down on to the level of commonplace daily | | Ilf:-. She never knew just what i | lay beneath the surface with her | mother. Well —Constance stretched ) ; a little, into comfort Good rolls Her mother couldn't have cared i seriously and be so ordinary this morning. Everything was all right. She could think about Lynn —or read the .norning paper. She propped it against the percolator. The clock on the mantel began to strike, its sweet, hurried notes tinkling nine o’clock. Then the hall clock sounded, deliberate and harsh. Constance lifted her eyes. Through the doorway she could see her mother sta ding in the hall, her face turned away. Something rigid in the straigh., slender green figure caught at Constances throat. She saw one hand waver out and elose about the edge of a step; she saw the cords of the white throut tauten into harsh.

F ugly lines. Nine o’clock! John! Barse sailed at nine. Constance shut her eyes until that clock had dragged to its ninth stroke. When she looked again, her mother had moved beyond the line of the door. The girl sat for a long time, motionless, her young mouth growing stubborn under her wide, pitying eyes. "There’s nothing else she couU have d ine," she thought, at last. “And there is nothing I can say to her.” She heard the postman’s shrill whistle, and immediately after, the opening of the front door. Her mothed had been here in the hall all this time. The door swung open. ’A note for you, Connie.” Her mother flicked it to the table 'And a letter from Aunt Paul. She wants me to come for a few days “ "Why don’t you go?" If she goes to Springfield she can get used to his being gone—the girl's thoughts darted t the relief —and I can get us'-d to knowing! ’Yes, it wou'd ” ITnder the sudden Intent gaze Constance's eyes filled with tears. Another instant and she would have cried out. "I know all about it Don't hate me because you gave him up! You cou'dn't have gone." But her mother added quietly, “Well ! then, if you are sure you don't mind, i think I'll go this after- [ noon Just after luncheon, as they j waited for the taxi. Lynn telephoned. Did Constance want to I go to a movie after dinner? ■’ don’t know I want to see I you." You al] right, Constance? You sound tired." The clamor of the doorbell broke in on the whir at her ear. "Oh, Lynn! I'm sorry—got to go—the taxi's here.” "Where you going?" Constance smiled That was one of Lynn's silly and ..dorable jokes, that dominant air of possession. "Just to the station. Mister. With mother." “Your mother Is oing away?" How blank and heavy his voice sounded. "Yes. Just to Springfield. I’ll tell you tonight. Goodbye—" As she stepped into the taxi beside her mother she felt her face grow warm, and she stared uncomfortably througi the dusty

if. window. He hadn't liked it! Suspicious—of what? She twisted 1 her gloves between her fingers, i Site had not thought of that He . meant that it looked queer, her 5 mother’s departure. As if she r- were running away, Not with ; John! He had gone. Just to hide — "Your young man all right?" ’ She felt an undertone of excitement in her mother’s light words. - Then just a moment on the station platform. 1 “Shall I wire Aunt Paul you axe • coming?” “Heavens, no! A telegram is I the yellow peril itself to her, old dear. I’ll ’phone her from the station.” She smiled at Constance, a hesitant, wistful smile, and the girl bent toward her, half breathless, r expectant But the porter shouted, “All ’bod.” and with a faint shrug » Mrs Sprague set her foot on the i ! step i “Goodbye, dear.” Constance liftI ed her face, and her mother's lips trembled briefly agiinst hers. Then > with a rush the woman vanished i into the car. Constance had a last ■ glimpse of her moving along the I a sle, a blurred Impression of the white curve of her cheek against i the long, droopipg feather. I LYNN came in rather late and a polo etic. 'Mother got to talking—but you said you did nt want to go , out, anyway, didn't you?" “I don’t care Brrr! You're > cold." Constance slipped out of his arms back to her seat under • the lamp "Shall I get that curtain stuff i tomorrow? I’m going into Boston, I think," shs asked. » I "Oh, yes. I meant to speak of that.” Lynn pulled his fingers > along the arm of his chair, stopping to snap a loose end of wicker. “1 meant to speak of it." > "Doesn't your mother like the samples?” Constance asked. "She thinks they are pretty. . very pretty. But —’’ He gave his upper lip an extra twist over the • words, a grimace of embarrassi ment. "She wonders whether it is wise to change the color scheme. 1 For temporary quarters, you know. It would look startling from the . outside. Right next her parlor ■ windows. Sort of bright, don't . you think? If we were going to r live there always—”

!* Constance’s white lids dropped j over shining hostility. ’■ “If you care about them—l e mean, if they make murh differr once—l thought just curtains, you e know—” Lynn stammered. h "Just curtains, of course." „ "Another year, in our own house—” , “Sometimes —” Constance tried B vaguely to stop the words, but out they pushed— "sometimes I think e next year can never come. 1 think I am trying to marry your mother, a not you at all! I think—” j “Now, Connie." Lynn’s grasp e was warm and flrm about her quivering fingers. "You know I - just want her to be happy. But 1 1 love you!” i, Constance was sombre. I, “Suppose that some day—her 5 being happy meant that she didn’t e want me to marry you. What then ?” "Stuff and nonsense.” Lynn » shifted uneasily, and Constance i saw his eyebrows bulge over his I brown. ‘Now, take these curtains, t I gave in easy because she was B worried. That's all. She’s not so B young, you know, and she has set t ideas.” "What was she worried about?’ Constance felt a shiver contract 1 her skin like a cold breath. “No, tell me! I think I know." "She didn't like your mother y go'ng away. Not today.’ "What busine«ss is it of hers?” e Constance pulled her hands vtof lently from Lynn's grasp. r “She didn't like the looks o f it” “How does it look?" Constance f was on her feet, her own anxiety - running as fuel to her anger. ‘How does it look for mother to f go to Springfield to se e Aunt s Paul?" Lynn rose slowly, hi 8 face flush- '. ing. “You see!” she cried, softly, e They don't matter to us, but they make me say things to you. Oh. Lynn! We’ve waited so long, s We'll wait too long!” She was b dinging to him. her face on his - shoulder. t Constance sighed and looked up t. at him. She could see him strug- '. gilhg for words, comforting. b un al, e easy words. r “I’ve got to go off for a few t days, too.' Hts hand touched her o hair gently. "When I come back you'll feel better, wbat?'

<’ “Where, Lynn?” her hand* clutched at his sleeve. “Connecticut, Philadelphia. Factory bustnens. Got to see some ot the director#." “Lynn!'' Constance stretched up, her arms about his nock. "Lynn, take me with you!" "How couM we, Connie?” “I don’t know! Any wayl The town hall - where do people get married In a hurry They do!" "We couldn’t” His voice was ! stern, as If his own brief flame had aJarmed him. "It would tv* ? foolish, with everything planned." “Tea. Foolish." Constance moved away from him. her arms limp at her sides. "It would look queer “ Rhe laughed. "But it's only two weeks now, Connie. Good Lord! do you suppose I don’t want you?” He seized her shoulders; Constance felt tils cheek on her hair. Suddenly she was laughing, softly. •There!" She choked a little. "Poor Lynn! I’m bad to teaao you when I know —It wouldn't do.” "Is there aemething back of this —you’re worried aLvut?" “Wo. No sense in it” Con- i stance sighed with laughter. “Kiss , me, Lynn, and run home before I 1 disgrace myself—anymore.” When he had gone she stood for a time where he had left her. The ' reading lamp threw softened light ; on her thee making a strange j mask, catching In relief on all the . oblique, downward planes of chin, cheekbones, eyelids. And the mask of fear. TWO days late: Constance unlocked the door and I t herself into the dark, empty house. It was Hulda's afternoon and eve- ■ ning out. Cimstance let her packages slip to the flo’r as she reached for the letters on tho hall table, Mrs. Henry Sprague. That was from fitlier Miss Cun tniiee Sprague, from I.ynn Not very thick! And a third, in the black, abrupt writing of her mother Lynn's first. Just a note He had decided to leave the Pennsylvania trip till later Part of their wedding tour They could stop 'at Philadelphia on their way j I South. So he would be home earlier than he had expected, perhaps as soon as his note. With, haste and much love, 1 ynn Constance lot her finger tips rest against his name, and her eyes dreamed a little. Dour Lynn' How foolish slie had been, that evening both ¥<ne him As she ran Anger under the I flap of her mother's letter, she noticed the post mark. New York Hastily She drew out and unfolded the sheets. Dear Constance: Whether or not I deserve a hearing, I mean to ask for one, 1 didn't intend this Not new I meant to wait until yu were j safe from any effect of my ac- ! tions. I shou'l have known that the Holt tribe was so numerous ’hat nowhere could I ■ escape them. And n»w that I have been seen, I might as well I go on. You yourself will admit I am done for. , I honestly thought John had sailed that mo"’lng I fought | all night, minute by minute. | until it should be nine o’clock j If I had known in time I might have fought a little longer But how would you act if you went to your execution, and found your hea<i still on' His letter came too quickly after I thought j I was through. He had cancelled his sailing and come on to New York. I could reach him until Wednesday, when he would leave. What I planned In all sincerity was juat to see him once more. It seemed so plausible, with Aunt Haul’s letter right there. I thought no one would . know and I could then grow old and die with one golden day in , my life. I thought it couldn’t harm you. And then to see old Mamie Barse and her dried-up daughter staring at us! | No way to shut their mouths So you see I might as well go on with John. I can't be sorry. Not for that. lam sorry it happened this way I'll write your father. It won’t make much difference to him. I know he’ll divorce me decently. And when you have married i Lynn, you may forgive me ; for loving. I meant to go away - as soon as you married I have ; [ tried, Connie, to stay respect- I able aii long as it would touch you. Don't let them bully you about me. D sown me! I want you to be happy, too— At a sound in the hall Con- i stance lifted her head slowly She j stared through the doorway. Lynn, hatloss, his sanily hair bristling, his upper lip twisting grotesquely ■ about his words. "Gixid God! What a mess! "I Not her mother. I.ynn, hatless. ! his sandy hair bristling, his upper lip twisting grotesquely about his words. "Good God!" What a mess!" He strode toward the table, opposite Constance. "What a frightful mess!’; “You’ve heard »o Boon," Constance’s words were distant, wondering. “Heard! All the relatives in town are at the house pow wowing! Worst scandal the family ever faced.” He dropped Into a chair, his hands clapping vl>' -ntly on the table. ’How could you. Constance! Telling me-- why, you said they were just fools, the women, talking about her You meant my mother, too! And all the time—you even helped her get away.” "Oh!” Constance stared, her fingers rubhtnj over the pages of the latter, ' You think that?" <

PAGE THREE

’ "If you had only told me!" Lynn ground one fist Into his other palm. T could have stopped them. Your mother! My cousin! Why, the town will never be through talking about IJ." "What affair Is It of theirsT Ov ours?" Constance pushed unsteadily to her feet, and retreated slowly until* she had backed against the window. “You think It’s all right, then! Fine!" He strode around the table | toward her so abruptly that Constance moved her iiands to her breast, fialms outward, in a faint gesture of protection. “That’s what you meant the other night! About going with me —you knew ■ this would come out. You wanted to be safe.” e “Yes, I knew this would happen.” Her white eyelids folded down, shutting out his angry, bulging eyes “I didn’t know just how. That doesn't make any difference. You don't have to marry me. You're quite free. I couldn't marry you! Live In the house , with that old woman, your mother. Hear her thinking! Like a hawk. I circling, waiting for a chance tv - pounce. She would say to you What can you expect of the I daughter of such a woman? B!o<>d will tell!’ oh, she has alreadj I said that to you! I can s' * *• ' I Constance had seen; ~st a fl.cke' I of admission in the midst of hl ; fumbling, confused anger *1 ou think I shou d be ashan I You'd like me to cry mid b - hum ble and ~," Constance turned 1 away; the winter n t ht. bev -ml the window, seemed to lay chill lingers on her cheek and throat, she heard the sl-sl p of the melt-’ ing snow beneath the p row [ “You'd better go Lynn." she said quietly "<; 0 tell them, youi mother and the rest, the town that you aren't going to bring that woman's daughter into the sacred ; family." I haven t asked you to break the engagement." Lynn retreated a step; his truculence l ad a note of bewilderment. "] felt you hadn't played fair” “You didn’t even have a doubt, d'd you Constance was motionless, only her voice reached I out. living. wth the leap ng . i hythm of a flame. “You didn’t Wonder what 1 felt. You were sure. Listen, aid I will tell you i how 1 feel Not ashamed. I havr i done nothing My mother—for ! years I have se n her made wretched by talk; bv what people ■said of her. Because she was different. Gossip' Before she married she sang o n the stage, and so sh-- must bi?—-well, you know what they have said in this little, cruel town. And—of this 1 am ashamed—l have been on the side of the town, critical, trying to make her over, until 1 built a wall betwe--n us. I might have helped her 1 didn't I think she has gone now as much because of things that people said as because she loved John Barse. "Your mother! The Holts are important, aren't they? It was . such a pity you should take a j fancy to me! But perhaps I | wasn't like my mother! That was what they said, wasn’t it? | And I wanted people to think that of me. | wanted to be circumspect and conventional and respectable But 1 loved you. I thought you were just and fair and fine. Th n I began to be afraid 1 was growing up and 1 did not know it My fear was truth, and 1 have seen it for ths first time tonight. The town has made you like itself. You don't know what 1 mean, do you?” Constance faced him. "You came tonight, believing all they said of me. All the worst. In spite of love. Your mother has won out." "It isn’t what slo- said! It's you. Constance! You must see that I was justified. Do you think I wanted to believe you had j tricked me That you could he? Suggesting that we run off! Maybe you thought that would sidetrack attention from your mother What else can I think?" "Nothing else.” Constance’s hands drifted down, empty of desire Her eyes strained with queer wonder; could this be Lynn! This harsh, flushed face. with ih" twisting cruel mouth’ "1 don’ believe you ever loved ma! Act ing like this!" i Lynn seized her wrists, swunt ; her arms out in a wide arc "Let me go! Bejieve that too, l l I you can!” She fell back a ainst I the window frame as he released j her. “There's no use talking. Go ; tell them you are free You don’t | have to marry me. Let them say —of course he wouldn't marry i her! Taking her into his family after what happened!” "I haven't asked to te released.' "You want that, too! That I little sop—to your pride." Con- ; stance laughed, her soft, wistful I upper lip a thin line of crimson. ■ ‘You may have it! I won't marry you. Now go home'" He wheeled and started across the room His coat brushed u letter from the table. He stooped mechanically for it. Constance’s hand pushed against the cry which quivered at her lips. Was it her mother's letter? If he should read it! But with an abrupt motion he tore the sheet across and the pieces fluttered behind him. One whirled to Constances feet 'With love, Lynn.” His own note. Then she heard his steps scrunch, ing into the soft Ice as he hurried past the house. She slipped to her knees, head against the window stli Outside the slip—si—slop cams more infrequently, as the night grew colder. Suddenly the clock on the mantel whirred and hurried its tinkling strokes. Hin« o’clock. * ‘ © McClure Newpav undlealk