Evening Republican, Volume 22, Number 159, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 July 1919 — The Legacy [ARTICLE]

The Legacy

By S. B. HACKLEY

{Copyright. 1»1», by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) The maid brought in the evening’s mall, a single letter, on a silver tray. Old Hester Anne Wallace read the letter twice over, then laid her glistening white head wearily back on her pillow. After a half-hour’s perplexed thought she rang the belt “Telephone Richard Benton to come to me," she bade the girl, “immediately !” In fewer than thirty minutes the * brisk little lawyer appeared. Mrs. Wallace spread the letter before him'. “Aunt Hester Dear," It read, “I will not be married to Francis Arledge In October, or at all, ever. He —I broke the engagement finally a month ago. j I trust you will not be displeased. Your affectionate niece, “RUTH LOREN.” The childless old lady had been happy when the favorites of her rugged old heart had come blithely to her, four months before, to tell her of their engagement. The girl had clung to her with shining eyes when she had asked her when the marriage was to be. “In October, if Francis can be ready fbr me !” " , ’ “And I will be ready then if putting the best that’s in me in the business counts for anything!” Francis had said. “Oh, yes, Aunt Hester, I’ll be ready.” “I had set my heart on Mary McAllister’s boy marrying my girl,” the old lady told her lawyer, “but the silly things have quarreled. They are both stubborn, and if something isn’t done they’ll never willingly see each other again, that’s certain. I thought at first I’d tell her what I meant to do before I sent for you, then I remembered Doctor Baird’s tale that this heart of mine Is likely to quit work at any time. “You remember how that will you wrote for me reads, of course. Onefifth of my property to be divided among my nephews, Mortimer, Harvey, Burrus and Otwell Hammel, and four-fifths to go to my niece, Ruth Loren.

“I wish to you rewrite that will, so that Ruth’s share of my property will come to her conditionally. I desire her marriage to Francis Arledge of Langdon, Va., to take place not later than six months from this date. If she has not married Mr. Arledge by October 13 then I wish toy four nephews to be the sole heirs to my entire estate.” When the lawyer had revised the will, two of the servants witnessing it, the old lady bade them a smiling goodnight. —s — her maid went to awaken her next morning the stern lines of the old face were softened into a wonderful gentleness. “Aunt Hester’s” heart had “stopped work” forever. “I killed Aunt Hester!” Ruth sobbed. “I wrote her Francis and I had broken our engagement, and the worry killed her. •! know it did! Oh, auntie, auntie!” Pallid In her mourning garments,, with the going of summer Ruth drooped liked a stprm-beaten lily. “She may be a-grievln’ for old Hester some,” was her cousin’s inward ’comment, “but It’s not all grief for that cranky old woman that’s makln’ her lose all Interest in life !” “You ought to make up with that Francis Arledge, Ruthie, like your aunt wanted you to, and get that money,” she said to the girl for the hundredth time one day In the early autumn. “You’ve got enough to live on your father left you, but you’d just as well have more. To think of all that money going to those four Hammel brothers, and every one of ’em well to do_and not needin’ it at all!” Ruth’s bloodless face crimsoned. “I —I couldn’t make up with Francis Arledge just fbr the sake of money!” she faltered, “and he —he’d die firstl” In spite of Ruth’s demurs the next week found her In the little town among the hills where for.two weeks the fox hunters of the state'Were to hold high carnival. Evelyn Forsyth gave her a glad welcome. “I’ve got Beatrice Cline —she’s from Louisiana, Ruth—the sweetest, prettiest thing you ever saw —staying with me, and Kenneth Marion and Junius Craft, from Knoxville —you-know them —and Mildred Lee, and" Nllan Omer, from Maryland, and —and Francis Arledge !” she added a little uneasily. At dinner that evening Ruth, led out to the dining room by the. handsome Marylander, Nllan 'Omer, held her brown head high and her soft laugh rang out. Omer, fascinated, never took his black eyes from her animated face. And Francis Arledge sat out the evening hours with Beatrice CHne, evidently a willing -captive to the lovely Louisianan’s languorous charm. And each day, in the runs with the hounds, his black horse kept close beside Beatrice’s bay. The young Marylander rode with Ruth Loren. “Arledge Is up to his eyes In love with Miss Louisiana. Junius," Kenneth Marlon remarked at the end of the week. Craft laughed. “Sure, he’s not giving me any show !* “And that Maryland fellow keeps everybody else away from the little Loren!" Marion went on regretfully. • « • • • • It was the end of the second week,

and the last run and a long one into the more rugged Country around the little town. About ten o’clock Ruth Loren, her cheeks crimson in the crisp air, found herself waiting alone at the foot of a low brush-topped Cliffy while Nilan Omer had ridden back the road a quarter of a mile to search for an important notebook that had slipped from his pocket. ' Suddenly above her she heard a running horse’s hoofs slip, and a big black horse crashed over the cliff not a dozen feet from her. He made no effort to rise, but his rider wrenched himself free of him, then fell over by him. . y - —_ Ruth sprang from her saddle and ran to the fallen man. In an agony she thrust her fingers under the folds of his hunting shirt. He opened fiis eyes and raised himself on his elbow. “It’s my ankle, Ruth," he said, “broken, I think, the way it pains. Poor old Nigel!” He looked at the prostrate horse. “It’s all up with him.” Ruth sobbed aloud. “Oh, Francis, I thought you were dead!” His damp fingers held hers tight. “My heart is I” The words came slowly. “It’s been dead for more than six months 1" “But Beatrice Cline!” she cried. “I —Miss Cline —there’s nothing—” he managed to say. “I thought you knew there was never anybody—for—me—but —you, Ruthie! Nllan Omer —” . She made an impatient gesture. “Why didn’t you come back, Francis, long ago?” “I was afraid you’d think —I—wanted to profit—by your he confessed.' “Why didn’t you come to me, sweetheart?” J .. _ . “I couldn't !” she cried. “Wouldn’t you have thought it was just so I could get auntie’s money?” “No,” he labored out, “I wouldn’t! I you’ll marry me won’t you, Ruthie?” “Today!” she sobbed. Then, “Oh, Francis, forgive me! You are suffering—l must go for help!” He smiled at her out of his drawn face. “Nothing hurts me now,” he assured her. “My heart has come back to life, Ruthie!”