Jasper County Democrat, Volume 11, Number 33, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 August 1908 — The REAL AGATHA [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The REAL AGATHA

BY EDITH HUNTINGTON MASON

picrmis by wen, WALTERS fr£y ' AixsnmE WILSON

BYNOPBIB. CHAPTER I.—Lord Wilfred Vincent and Archibald Terhune are Introduced at the opening of the story, In England, the latter relating the tale. The pair on an anting miss their train and seeking recreation meet “the Honorable Agatha Wyckhoff," whose hand is much sought after, because of her wealth. On visiting the Wyckhoff castle they are Introduced to two other girls, both known as Agatha Wyckhoff. CHAPTER ll.—At dinner three other Agatha Wyckhoffs are introduced and the plot revealed. The deceased stepfather, in an eccentric moment, made bls -will so that the real Agatha, heiress to his fortune and the castle at Wye, England, might wed her affinity. Thus Mrs. Annistesd, chaperon, was In duty bound to keep the real Agatha’s identity unknown and suitors were invited to tryoat for the hand of the heiress. An attempt by Terhune to gather a clew from the chaperon fails. CHAPTER lll.—Terhune finds old books containing picture of a former Baroness Wyckhoff, which is exactly like Agatha Sixth, whom ho is courting. Vincent entertains them all and while riding with Agatha Fifth she confesses her love for him and also that she is the real heiress. Ho spurns her proposal CHAPTER IV.—Many clows to identity of the real Agatha prove fruitless. Agatha Fifth later confessing she is not •he heiress. CHAPTER V.—More apparently unfailing clews materialize. Vincent confesses love for Mrs. Armistead's secretary, Miss Marsh, who told Terhune she is married. CHAPTER Vl.—Miss Marsh then discloses startling information that Agatha Sixth is the real heiress. However, Vincent,, determined to marry Miss Marsh, is partly persuaded by Terhune to desist in his courtship because of difference in their stations. The next morning, nevertheless, both Vincent and the secretary are missing and a note to Terhune discloses their elopement. At the train, where Terhune meets them, "Mias Marsh” uncovers her secret and proves she is the "Honorable Agatha Wyckhoff.”

Vincent sighed pathetically and 1 delivered one more blow. “Think,'’ I ■aid; "your brother Edmund is over 40, unmarried, and a sufferer from rheumatism of the heart, as you know. Suppose he should d+e —wouldn’t you make a more creditable heir to the title if you hadn’t tied yourself up to a wife of. obscure origin— a penniless American girl? And if you don’t come into the title you’re only a younger ■pn, and you know yourself your propensity for getting into debt, and the foreign office for a boy of your age la not a paying business. No, Vincent, you’re not cut out for making money, ■nd it’s certain you can’t depend on your father forever. Can’t you see how rash and foolish you are to consider such a thing?” I leaned over and put my hand on Vincent’s shoulder. He turned his head, and when I felt his smooth cheek against my hand I knew that the battle was won. “I’m awfully sorry, Arch,” he said, "that I was such a beast last night. I’ll never forgive myself for trying to ■trike you. Only, you see, 1 lost my head, and I didn't know' quite what I was doing.” “Of course,” I said, “I understand—” But he would not let me stem the tide of his remorse. “And then, you know, what you said was very hard to bear, and you see, after ■ll, it wasn’t true. She told me it wasn’t. Did you hear her?” “Yes,” I assented, “and I believe she told you the truth.” “Of course; but then you’re alw'ays right, Archibald, always right. When I go away from here and never see her any more”—his lips quivered uncontrollably— may be able to forget her.” “Of course you will." I ‘assured v him, cheerily, though there was a lump in my throat. Men have died, but not for love. Many have been as hard hit as yt<t and have recovered.” “Oh, yes,” agreed my patient, but without enthusiasm; but at any rate 1 had gained my point, and Vincent had agreed with me that marriage with the secretary' was too rash and foolish for him to contemplate. “By-the-by. Arch,” he said, carelessly, as we still sat before the fire trying to make believe that the incident of the secretary was closed, “1 have something to tell you. The secretary told me outright which one of the six girls really is the daughter of Fletcher Boyd.” I looked at him in utter astonishmept. “What!” T said, excitedly; “do you mean to say' she deliberately gave away the secret? Which one is it, for Heaven’s sake? And why did she do it?"

“It’s Agatha Sixth. You were right all a|ong. As for the reason, I don’t know what she did it for, unless—unless—" he hesitated. “She's, such an honorable little thing I think she felt that the marriage would displease my family, so she wanted to turn me from what she saw was coming and used the disclosure of the Honorable Agatha’s Identity for bait. Come on to bed,” he added, with a little return of his old spirit; “you’d better get rested for your last try for the twenty millions. If you make up for past aeglrtjt you ought to win Agatha Sixth hands down." “Then you don’t mean to try ?” His face clouded again. “I don’t ■bcso to try,” he said, and we went up to our rooms in silence. And so we came to the last four days of our stay at Castle Wyckhoff, and I began subtly and by degrees to '■’tn back my former place in the reof Agatha Sixth, and with

I ;ocu ui ground 1 galhed in my pursuit I of the Honorable Agatha I thought of , Vincent with a fresh pity, ‘ The evenl-'g before the last day of | our stay we all spent together in the music room. We were very jolly, and I yet underneath it all I think the girls l were a little saddened by our apI proaching departure, and Wilfred and I felt a certain regret that the end of our delightful visit had cope, though of course I had fully determined to propose to Agatha Sixth on the morrow. I was rather surprised, therefore, when Vincent suddenly complained of hoadache qnd, excusing himself, went up to his room. When ] went up to my own room I rapped on his door, but he made no answer and I concluded that, he must be asleep. The next morning, much to my astonishment, he did not saunter in and out of my room as he was accustomed to do of a morning, but as it was late I did not stop to investigate. But when ten o’clock came, and still no Vincent, I went up to hi# room, for I thought he should be up and doing on this, his last day at Castle Wyckhoff, when he was to leave for London on the 4:15 train that afternoon. I say "he” not “we," for I felt more confident of my success with Agatha Sixth that day than I had done the evening before, and although I had not yet had the opportunity to put the great question, I felt that it was very possible that in the guise of accepted lover I might not have to take the 4:15 that afternoon. When I reached Vincent’s room I knocked twice, and, receiving no answer, entered, and was somewhat alarmed to find that he was not there, though his bed had been slept in. Anxious, without knowing why, I tore downstairs and called for Mrs. Armistead. That good lady met me at the foot of the stairs in answer to my summons, with an air as anxious as my own. 7

"Have you see Lord Vincent?” I asked her. “Have you seen my secretary?” she replied, without answering my question. “She’s not room, though her bed has been slept in. But she hasn’t had her breakfast, and I can’t find her anywhere.” “You don’t mean it!” I ejaculated, and a sickening fear turned me cold. “Perhaps this has something to do with it,” said Mrs. Armistead? “I found it on the front hall table underneath the mail bag.” Her anxiety was apparently sincere, and yet somehow it rang false tri me. With impatient fingers I seized the folded paper she drew from her reticule. It read as follows: "Dear Old Arch: Sorry to deceive you so. but I’ve gone and done it—.that rash, foolish thing you told me not to do; at least, by the time you get this note the deed will be done. And 1 so dreaded your reproaches that I never so much ns asked you to be the best man. Rut I couldn’t help it. Arch, honest I couldn't. Not to save rriy soul. She shouldn't have had eyes like stars and hair like autumn leaves. As for the money, hang the stuffy old millions, I say! Every pound of it is so many glass beads to me in comparison to what I have this day gained. I wish you joy Of them and of the Honorable Agatha. Dear offl boy, forgive me if you can; and If you want to do me one last favor come down to the station in time to meet the eleven-seventeen for London and hear my last injunctions. VINCENT.” "When did you find this?” I gasped. But I didn't wait to hear her reply, for a glance at the hall clock told me that it was five minutes of eleven. Bareheaded 1 rushed around to the stables and fortunately found Christopher just putting the mare into the dogcart. "Get in,” I yelled, “and drive like sin!” “Sin, sir? Where, sir?” asked Christopher. “The station!” I cried, jumping up beside him: and we flew down the winding drive at a pace that I would not think of attempting in cold blood. Through Mrs. Armistead’s criminal delay in handing me the note many valuable minutes had been wasted, yet I thought I should still be in time perhaps to save Vincent from carrying out the last fatal step of his incredible folly. It might not be too late to part them, for In spite of what he had said in his note I could not believe that the worst had actually happened. As we approached the last strip of woods before we reached the station I caught sight of a puff of white smoke down the track. A moment later, when we drew up at the platform, the great locomotive thundered into the station, and there, at the other end of the platform, I saw them. There was Vincent, clad in the things he had worn on the train when we had first come through the fields of Wye, and with him was a remarkably pretty girl with beautiful wavy red hair. In a gray tailor suit and a smart black hat. Of course it was the secretary. I waved at them frantically and they waved in return, and I could see Vincent smiling happily at me as they entered one of the carriages. As I came up with their carriage Vincent opened the window wide: and thrust his head out. “Oh, Vincent!’* was all I said; “am I too late?” “Not at all,” he said, genially; “you're Just in time to congratulate me. But what I wanted of you, Arch” —and he leaned toward me and lowered his voice—“was to ask you to break it to my father.”

Tnen it’s true?” I said, not quite able to believe it, even yet. "Yes, it’s true,” he said aloud, and with a radiant smile he drew back a little so that I could see the erstwhile Miss Marsh. "It’s true that I’ve married the secretary." “But it’s not,” said that lady, much to my surprise, and thrusting out her pretty head. "It’s not bit. He hasn’t married the secretary at all. I was only ‘playing’ secretary. He’s njarried no one but the Honorable Agatha, the first, last, and only honorable!” And for proof of her astonishing words she snatched off her glove and displayed.to my marveling gate the* big emerald cross of the Wyckhoff ring, winking in the sunshine. At this moment the train began to move, and I was filled with a sudden and justifiable rage that Vincent ghould have so deceived me. To think that he had been in the secret all. the time and had helped to make a fool of me! But one look at his face proved to me that I had done him an Injustice. He was as stricken with amazement as I was, and I- knew that then, and not until then, had he become acquainted with the truth. Gathering my wits quickly, for the train was moving faster, I ran after their carriage till I caught up with the window again. “Good-by!” I shouted, anti “God bless you!” And Vincent, reaching out his big hand, had just timer to catch mine in his strong grasp before I dropped back, outstripped, and he had withdrawn his raalant face from my view. Afterward I learned many thinga.

First, that they had been married very early that morning, before the rest of us were up, in the little chapel at Wye, with Mrs. Armistead, who was In the secret, as witness. That explained her delay in giving me the note. Dreading my interference, they had not wished me to know until the whole thing was well over and Mrs. Armistead back at Castle Wyckhoff. Second, that it had been the Honorable Agatha’s own idea to play the part of secretary to her aunt, thus improving upon her father’s plan, and making it still more difficult for the competing suitors to discover her identity. Third, that her reason for telling Vincent that Agatha Sixth was the real Honorable Agatha was only to prove him once more and to the uttermost. And Vincent had stood the trial without faltering and had even proved himself equal to disregarding my wishes. Yet I really think that on that night when he had agreed with me that it was best to give her up he meant to do so, but his love for the girl proved stronger than his love for gold or his feeling for his friend. And it was thus that the boy won—because he had loved truly and faithfully. And I also learned afterward that the six Agathas, shortly after the elopement of Vincent and the secre-tary-that-was, had all gone to their homes in America. Later some of them Rjarried certain suitors who had once been guests at Castle Wyckhoff. Among these were Agatha First and young Brancepeth, who, I am happy to say, has led a reformed life since his marriage. And it also came to pass that Vincent and his bride took possession of Castle Wyckhoff as their country seat when they came back from their honeymoon. And there I often visited them. But on that eventful day when the train had pulled out of the station none of these things was known to me, and I stood on the platform dizzy with the unexpected turn events had taken. And so it was that Vincent got ahead of me, just as he has always done. And so it was, also, that I returned to London, still an eligible bachelor, still the prey of match-ma-king mammas and smiling debutantes. There was but one comforting thought in the mixture of disappointment and chagrin that made the sum of my feelings as I drove slowly back to the castle. This much had been Siveu me: At least I had not made the fatal mistake of proposing to the wrong Agatha, and I hugged myself as I thought how near I had come to putting the question to Agatha Sixth that vary morning. That, at least, I had managed to avoid. From that folly the innate caution and unerring in.stinct of Archibald Terhune had preserved him. Thank Heaven! THE END.