Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 120, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 May 1912 — Page 3

SYNOPSIS.

Enid Maitland, a frank, free and unspoiled young Phalladelphla girl. Is taken to the Colorado mountains by her uncle, Robert Maitland. James Armstrong, Maitland's protege, falls in love with her. His persistent wooing thrills the girl, but she hesitates, and Armstrong goes east on business without a definite answer. Enid hears the story of a mining engineer, Newbold, whose wife fell off! a cliff and was so seriously hurt that he was compelled to shoot her to prevent her being eaten by wolves while he went for help. Kirkby, the old guide who tells the story, gives Enid a package of letters which he says were found_ on the dead woman’s body. She reads the l et te™nnd at Klrkby's request keeps them. While bathing in mountain stream Enid is attacked by a bear, which Is mysteriously shot. A storm adds to the girl s terror. A sudden deluge transforms brook into raging torrent, which sweeps Enid Into gorge, where she Is rescued- by a tain hermit after a thrilling experience. Campers in great confusion upon dlscoving Enid’s absence when the stprro breaks. Maitland and Old Kirkby go in search of the girl. Enid discovers that her ankle is sprained and that she ls unable to walk. Her mysterious rescuer carries her to his camp. Enid goes to Bleep in the strange man* b unk. Miner cooks breakfast for Enid, after which they go on tour of inspection. The hermit tells Enid of his unsuccessful attempt to find the Maitland campers. He admits that he Is also from hermit falls In love with Enid. The man comes to a realization of his love for her, but naturally In that strange solitude the relations of the girl and her rescuer become unnatural and strained.

CHAPTER XV—(Continued). He did not know that. Women have rlearned through centuries of weakness that fine art of concealment which man has never mastered. She never let him see what she thought of him. Yet he was not without suspicion; if that suspicion grew to certainty, would he control himself then? At first he had sought to keep out of her way, but she ljad compelled him to come in. The room that was kitchen And. bed room and store room for him was- cheerless and somewhat cold. Save at night or when he was busy with other tasks outside they lived togethed in the great room. It was always warm, it was always bright, It was always cheerful, there. The little piles of manuscript she had noted were books that he had written. He made no efTort to conpeal such things from her. He talked frankly enough about his life in the hills, indeed there was no possibility of avoiding the discussion of such topics. On but two subjects was he inexorably silent. One was the present state of his affections and the other was the why and wherefore of his lonely life. Shb knew beyond peradvehture that he loved her, but she had no faint suspicion even as to the reason why he had become a recluse! He had' never given her the slightest clew to his past save that admission that he had known Kirkby which was In Itself nothing definitive and which abo never connected with that pack* ago of letters which she still kept with her.

The man’s mind was too active and fertile to be satisfied with manual labor alone, the b'ooks that he , had written, were scientific treatises in the main. One was a learned discussion of the fauna and flora of the-’moun-tains. Another was an exhaustive account of the mineral resources and geological formations of the range. He had only to allow a whisper, a suspicion of his discovery of gold and silver in the mountains to escape him, and the canons and crests alike would be filled with eager prospectors. Still a third work was a scientific analyst of the water powers in the canons. He had willingly allowed her to read them all. Much of them she found technical and, aside from the fact that he had written them, uninteresting. But there was one book remaining in which he simply discussed the mountains in the various seasons of the year;'when the snows covered them, when the grass and the moss came again, when the flowers bloomed, when autumn touched the trees. There was the soul of the man, poetry expressed in prose, manlike but none the less poetry for that This book pored over, she questioned him about it; they discussed 1t as they discussed Keats and the other poets. Those wire happy evenings. She on one side of the fire sewing, her finger wound with cloth to hold his giant thimble, fashioning for herself - pome winter garments out of a gay colored, red, white and black ancient and exquisitely woven Navajo blanket, soft and pliable almost as an oldfashioned piece of satin—priceless if she had but known it—which he put at her disposal. While oa the other side of the same homely blase he made for her out of the skins of some of the animals that he had killed, a shapeless foot covering, half moccasin and wholly leggin, which she could wear over her shoes in her short excursions around the plateau and which would keep her feet warm and comfortable. By her permission ha smoked as he worked, enjoying the hour, putting aside the past and the future and for a few moments blissfully content

Sometimes he laid 'aside his pipe and whatever work he was engaged upon and read to her from some immortal noble number. Sometimes the entertainment fell to her and she sang to him in her glorious contralto voice 'music that made him sad- Once he could stand it no longer. At the end of a burst of song which filled the little room—he had risen to his feet while she sang, compelled to the erect position by the magnificent melody—as the last noteß died away and she smiled at him triumphant and expectant of his praise and his approval, he hurled himself out of the room and into the night, wrestling for hours with the storm which after all was but a trifle to that which raged In his bosom. While she, left alone and deserted, quailed within the silent room till she heard him come back. . Often and often when she slept quietly on one side the thin partition; he lay awake on the other, and sometimes his passion drove him forth to cool the fever, the fire in his soul in the icy, wintry air. The struggle within him preyed upon him, the keen loving eye of the woman searched his face, scrutinised him, looked Into his heart, saw what was there. She determined to end It, deciding that he must confess his affections. She had no premonition of the truth and no consideration of any evil consequences held her back. She could give free range to her love and her devotion. She had the ordering of their lives and she had the power to end the situation growing more and more impossible. She fancied the matter easily terminable. She#thought she had only to let him see her heart In such ways as a maiden may, to bring Joy to his own to make him speak. She did not dream of the* reality. One night, therefore, a month or more after she had come, she resolved to end the uncertainty. She believed the easiest and the quickest way would be to get him to tell her why he was there. She naturally surmised that the woman of the picture, which she had never seen .since the first day of her arrival, was in some measure the cause of it; and the only pain she had in the situation was the keen jealousy that would obtrude Itself at the thought of that woman.

She remembered everything that be had said to her, and she recalled that he had once made the remark teat be would treat her as he would have his wife treated If he had one, thefefore whoever and whatever the picture of this woman was, she was not bis wife She might have been some one be had loved, but who had not loved him. She might have died. She was jealous of her, but she did not fear her. After a long and painful effort the woman had completed tee winter suit she had made for herself. He had M-

The Chalice of Courage

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By Cyrus Twonsend Brand Brady

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vised her and had helped her. It was a belted tunic that feU to hdt knees; the red and black stipes ran around it, edged the broad collar, cuffed the warm sleeves and marked the graceful waißt line. It was excessively becoming to her. He had been down into the valley, or the pocket, for a final inspection of the burros before the night, Which promised' to be severe, fell, and she bad taken advantage of the opportunity to put it on. She knew that she was beautiful; her determination to make this evening count had brought an unusual color to her cheeks, an unwonted sparkle to her eye. She stood up as she heard him enter the other room, she was standing erect as he came through the door and faced her. He had only seen her in the now somewhat shabby blue, of her ordinary camp dress before, and her beauty fairly smote him' in his face. He stood before her, wrapped in his fur great coat, snow and ice clinging to it, entranced. The woman smiled at the effect she produced. “Take off your coat,” she said gently approaching 7 him. “Here, let me help you. Do you realize that I have been here over a month now? I want to have a little talk with you, I want you to tell me something.

CHAPTER XVI.

.The Kiss on the Hand. “Did it ever, occur to you,” began Enid Maitland gravely enough, for she quite realized the serious naturfe of the impending conversation, “did it ever occur to you that you know practically all about me, while I know practically nothing about you?” The man bowed his head. “You may have fancied that I was not aware of it, but in one way ,or another you have possessed yourself of pretty all of my short and, until I, met you, most uneventful life,” she continued. Newbold might have answered that there was one subject which had been casually introduced by her upon one occasion and to which she had never again referred, but which was to him the most important of all subjects connected with her; and that was the nar ture of her relationship to one James Armstrong whose name, although

he had heard it bnt once, he had not forgotten. The girl had been frankness itself in following kis deft leads when be talked with her about herself, but she bad shown the same reticence In recurring to Armstrong that he -had displayed In questioning her about him. ' The statement she had just made as to bis acquaintance with her history was therefore Sufficiently near the truth to paw unchallenged, and once again he gravely “I have"withheld nothing from you,” went on tie girl, -whotoror goo rut

ed to know, I have told you. I had nothing to conceal, as you have found out. Why you wanted to know about me, I am not quite sure.” ~ "It was because —* burst out the man impetuously, and then he stopped abruptly and just In time. Enid Maitland smiled at him a way that Indicated she knew what was behind the sudden check he had imposed upon himself. . . “Whatever your reason, your curiosity—” “Don’t call it.that, please.” “Your desire 'then has been gratified. Now it Is my turn. I am not even sure about your name. I have seen it in these books and naturally I have Imagined that it is yours." "It is mine.” “Well, that is really all that I know 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 Bolve the problem you present, to find the solution of the mystery of your life.” "Perhaps," said the man, “you didn’t care enough about it to take the trouble to inquire.” “You know,” answered the girl, “that Is not true. I have been consumed 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 absolutely blind.

“Come,” said the girl, extending her hand to him, “we are alone here together. We mufi 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— ’’ “Only that?” VBut that is all that you have ever asked or. expected,” answered the young woman in a low voice whose gentle tones did not at all accord with the boldness and courage of the speech. ■ “You mean?” asked the man, staring at her, his face aflame. "I mean," answered the girl swiftly, wilfully misinterpreting and turning his 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 to do so, yet I should like to enjoy it; can't you give it to me? 1 want to help you, I want to do my best to make some return for what you have been to me and have done for me.** "1 ask but one thifig,” he Bald quick-

ly- . v ... “And what is that?" ’ But again ho 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 confronting 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 back 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 |ils remark. The man not help her, he could not help her. ’ He just stood and looked at her. She fought valiantly for self-control a moment or two and then, utterly oblivious to the betrayal of her feelings involved in the question —the moments were too great for consideration of such trivial matters —she faltered^ l “You mean there is some other woman?” ... He shook his head in negation. “I don’t understand. There was some other woman?" “Yes.”- ■ Tr. ' : - ■ "Where is she now?" "Dead.” : “But you said you were not free." He nodded. - “Did ybu care so much for her that now —that now—” "Enid,” he cried desperately. “Believe me, I never knew what love was until 1 met you.” The secret was out now; it had been known to her long since, but now it was publicly proclaimed. Even a man as blind, as obsessed, as he could not mistake the joy that illuminated her face at this announcement That very joy and satisfaction produced upon him, however, a very different effect than might have been anticipated. Had he been free, indeed, he would have swept her to his breast and covered her sWeet face with kisses broken by whispered words of passionate endearment instead of that he shrank bach from her and it was she who was forced to take up the burden of the conversa-

“You say that she is dead,” Bhe began in sweet appealing “and that you "care so much for me and yet you—” ”1 am a murderer,"' he broke out harshly. “There is blood upon my haiidß, 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 instinctively went to the bosom of her dress where she x kept that soiled, water stained packet of letters, “are you that man?” “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 Maitland, told me your story; they said that you had disappeared from the haunts of men—” "Ahd they were right. 'VYhat else was there for me to do? Although Innocent of crime, I was blood guilty. I was mad. No punishment could be visited upon me like that imposed by the stern, awful, appalling fact I swore to prison myself, to have nothing more forever to do with mankind or womankind with whom I was unworthy .to so associate, to live alone until God took me. To cherish my memories, to make such expiation as I could, to pray dally 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 the better part I had work, I - could read, write, remember and dream. But you came and since that time life has been beaven and hslL Heaven because I love you, hell because to love you means disloyalty to the part, to a woman who loved me. Heaven because you are here; I can bear 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 vow, to the love of tbe past.” “And did you love her so mud, then?” asked the girl, now fiercely jealous and forgetful of other things for the moment "It’s not test." said the man. “X 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 in a mining camp, she was a fresh, clean hgaithy girl, her father died and the whole camp fathered her, looked after her, and all the young men in the range for miles on either slde were in love with her. I supposed that I was too and —well. I won her from tee rest We had been married but a few months and a part of the time my business as a mining oa-

She Seized His Hand and Kissed it

....... *for me. I don’t deserve it, and ft started on the last journey. I waa going alone again, but she was so unhappy over my departure; she clung to me, pleaded with me, Implored me to take her with me, insisted on going wherever I went, would not be left behind. She couldn’t hear me out of her sight, it seemed. I don’t know what there was in me to have inspired such devotion, but I speak the truth, however it may sound. She seemed wild, crazy about me. I didn’t understand it, frankly I didn’t know %hat such love waa—the* —but I took her along. Bhall I not be honest wlthypu? In spite of the attraction physical, I had begun to fed even then that she- was not the mate • • .. . . .

shames me to say it of course, but I wanted a better mind, a higher souL That made it harder—what I bad to do, you know.” "Yes, I know.” “The only thing I could do when I came to my senses was to sacrifice myself to her memory because she had loved me so; a» it was she gave up her life for me; I could do no less than be true and loyal to the remembrance It wasn’t a sacrifice either until you came, bite* as soon as yon opened your eyes and looked into mine in the rain and thw storm upon the rock to which I had ' carried iron after 1 had fought for you, I knew that I loved you. I knew that the love that had come into mr heartwas the love of which I had dreamed, teat everything that had gone before was nothing, that I had found the one woman whose soul should mete witev mine." f T “And this before I bad said a word to you?" “What are words? The heart speaks,to the heart, the soul whispers to*tbe soul. And so it was with us. I had fought far you, you were mine, mine. My heart sang It as I panted and struggled over the rocks carrying you. It said tbs words again and again aa I laid you down here in this cabin. It repeated them over and over: 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 conscience no. I should despise myself if I were false to the love which my wife bore me, and how could I offer you a blood stained hand!” He had drawn very near her while he spoke; she had risen again the two confronted each other. He stretched out his hand as he asked that last question, almost as if be had offered it to her. She made the bed ' fore be could divine what she would be at, she "bad seised his hud and , . totowto wow Ha sank