Jasper County Democrat, Volume 16, Number 81, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 January 1914 — WITHIN THE LAW [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

WITHIN THE LAW

By MARVIN DANA

FROM THE PLAY OF BAYARD VEILLER Copyright, 1913, by the H. K. Fly company.

CHAPTER XI. Gilder ( Meets Bride. THERE entered the erect, heavj figure of the man whom Mary had hated through the years. He stopped abruptly just within the room, gave a glance at the two men. then his eyes went to Mary, sitting at her desk, with her face lifted inquiringly. He did not pause to take in the beauty of that face, only its strength. He stared at her silently for a moment Then he spoke, a little tremulous from anxiety. “Are you the woman?” he said. There was something simple and primitive, something of dignity beyond the usual conventions, in his direct address. Mary’s acknowledgment was as plain as his own question. “I am the woman. What do you want?” “My son.” Mary guessed that his coming was altogether of his own volition, and not the result of his son’s information, as at first she had supposed. “Have you seen him recently?” “No.” “Then, why did you come?” “Because I intend to save my boy from a great folly. 1 am informed that he is infatuated with you, and Inspector Burke tells me—why—he tells me—why—he tells me”— He paused, unable for a moment to continue from an excess of emotion. Inspector Burke filled the halting sentence. “I told you she had been an ex-con-vict.” ’ “Yes,” Gilder said, after he had regained his self control. He stared at her pleadingly. “Tell me, is this true?” Here, then, was the moment for Which she had longed through weary days, through weary years. Here was the man whom she hated, suppliant before her to know the truth. Her heart quickened. Truly, vengeance is sweet to one who has suffered uiijustly. “Is this true?” the man repeated, with something of horror in his voice. “It is,” Mary said quietly. For a little, there was silence in the room. At last. Gilder spoke with the

sureness of a man of wealth, confident that money will salve any wound. “How much?” he asked, Baldly. I Mary smiled an Inscrutable smile. “Oh, I don’t need money,” she said, carelessly. “Inspector Burke will tell you how easy it is for me to get it.” “Do you w’ant my son to learn what you are?” he said. “Why not? I’m ready to tell him myself." Then Gilder showed his tfue heart in which love for his boy was before all else. “But I don’t want him to know.” he stammered, “Why. I’ve spared the boy all his life. If lie really loves you—it will”— \ At that moment, the .son himself entered hurriedly. In his eagerness he saw no one save the woman be loved. At his entrance; Mary rose and moved backward a step involuntarily, in sheer surprise over ids coming. The young man went swiftly to her, while the other three men stood silent. Hick —took —Mary's hand —in -a av;i rm clasp, pressed it tenderly. “I didn't see father.” he said happily, "but I left a note on his' desk at the office.” Then, somehow, the surcharged atmosphere penetrated his consciousness, and he looked around? to see his father standing grimly opposite him But there was no change in ids expression beyond a more radiant smile, “Hello, dad!” he cried, joyously.' Then you got my note?” “No, Dick, I haven’t had any note." The young man spoke with simple pride.

"Dad we’re married. Mary and I were married this morning.” Mary kept her eyes steadfast on the father. There was triumph in her gaze. This was the vengeance for which she had longed, for which she had plotted, the vengeance she had at last achieved. Here her fruition, the period of her supremacy. Gilder seemed dazed by the brief sentence. “Say that again.” be commanded. “Dad, Mary and I were married this morning.” “I married your son this morning,” Mary said in a matter of fact tone. “I married him. Do you quite understand. Mr. Gilder? I married him.” In that insistence lay her ultimate compensation for untold misery. The father stood there wordless, unable to find speech against this calamity that had befallen him “It’s a frameup!” Burke roared. He glared at the young man. “Tell your father it ain’t true. Why. do you know what she is? She’s done time.” He paused for an instant, then spoke in a voice jhat was brutally menacing. “And she’ll do it again!” The young man turned toward his bride. There was disbelief, hope, despair, in his face. “It’s a lie, Mary,” he said. “Say it’s a lie!” He seized her hand passionately. “It is the truth,” Mary said firmly. “I have served three years in prison.” There was a silence of a minute that was like years. Dick turned his tortured face to his

bride of a day. R Then he spoke again more beseechingly. “Say there’s a mistake.” Mary spoke with a simplicity that admitted no denial. “It’s all quite true.” The man who had so loved her, trusted her, stood trembling for a moment, tottered and sank into a chair. The father looked at Mary with a reproach that was pathetic. “See,” he said, and his heavy voice was for once thin with passion—“see what you’ve done to my boy!” “What is that compared to what you have done to me?” “What have I done to you?” he questioned. uncomprehending. “Do you remember what I said to you the day you had me sent away?" “I don’t remember you at all.” “Perhaps you remember Mary Turner, who was arrested four years ago for robbing your store, and perhaps you remember that she asked to speak to you before they took her to prison.” The heavy jowled man gave a start. “Oh, you begin to remember! Yes! There was a girl who swore she was innocent—yes, she swore that she was innocent. And she would have got. off —only you asked the judge to make an example of her.” “You are that girl?" “I am that girl." There was a little interval of silence. Then Mary spoke again remorselessly. 1 “You took away my good name: you smashed my life: you put me behind

the bars. You owe for all that. Well, I’ve begun to collect.” “And that is why you married mj| boy?” “It is.” Mary gave the answer coldly, convincingly. Convincingly, save to one—her husband. Dick suddenly aroused and spoke with the violence of one sure. “It is not!” He stood up and went to Mary, and took her two hands in his, very gently, yet very firmly. “Mary,” he said softly, yet with a strength of conviction, “you married me because you love me.” “No,” she said gravely, “no. I did not!” “And you love me now!” be went on inslstingly. “No, no!” Mary’s denial came like a cry for escape. “You love me now!” There was a masterful quality in his declaration, which seemed to ignore her negation. “I don’t.” she repeated bitterly. “Look me in the face and say that” There was a silence that seemed long, though It was measured in the passing of seconds. At last Mary, who had planned so long for this hour, gathered her forces and spoke valiantly. Her voice was low, but without any weakness of doubt “I do not love you.” “Just the same you are my wife, and I’m going to keep you and make you love me. ’

“She’s a crook!” Burke said. “1 don’t care what you’ve been!” Dick exclaimed. “From now on you’ll go straight You’ll walk the stralghtest line a woman ever walked. You’ll put all thoughts of vengeance out of your heart because I’ll fill It with something bigger—l’m going to make you love me.” Burke spoke again: “I tell you she’s a crook.” Mary moved a little, and then turned her face toward Gilder. “And, if I am, who made me one? You can’t send a girl to prison and have her come out anything else.” Burke swung himself around in a movement of complete disgust. “She didn’t get her time for good behavior.”' “And I’m proud of it!” came her Instant retort. “Do you know what goes on there behind those stone walls? Do you, Mr. District Attorney, whose business it is to send girls there? Do you know what a girl is expected to do to get time off for good behavior? If you don’t, ask the keepers. “I served every minute of my time—every minute of it, three full, whole years. Do you wonder that 1 want to get even, that some one has got to pay? Four years ago, you took away my name—and gave me a number. Now, I’ve given up the number—and I’ve got your name.” (To be continued.)

"Are you the woman?”

“Dad, Mary and I were married this morning.”

“Say, there’s a mistake.”