Jasper County Democrat, Volume 17, Number 38, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 August 1914 — The Hollow of Her Hand [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Hollow of Her Hand

by George Barr McCutcheon

Author of “Grau star k_T “THDctonKin&etc. k COPYRIGHT-191» -BY GEORGE BARR M C CUTCHEBB COPYRIaMT.I9II.BY DOW, MEAD cm-rpayf

SYNOPSIS. I CHAPTER I—ChalHs Wrandall la foun4 ?iurdered in a road house near New Mrs. Wrandall Is summoned from xne city and identifies the body. A young Woman who accompanied Wrandall to the Inn and subsequently disappeared Is mutWrandall, it appears, had led a <ay life and neglected his wife. Mrs. Wrandall starts back for New York In an auto during a blinding snow storm. CHAPTER ll—On the way she meets a. young woman In the road who proves to be the woman who killed Wrandall. Feelthat the girl had done her a service her of the man who, though she loved him deeply, had caused her * Tea £, sorr ow, Mrs. Wrandall determines "to shield her and takes her to her own home. CHAPTER ITT —Mrs. Wrandall been the story of Hetty Castleton’s life, exeept that portion that relates to Wranstory of the tragedy she forbids the girl ever to tell her. She offers Hetty a home, friendship and security from peril on account of the tragedy. J i i V’TER IV—Mrs. Sara Wrandall and J . '■ it< rid the funeral of Challis Wran- ’’ p! the home of his parents. Sara ’ ■■• i ways been treated as an interloper I" rhe snobbish Wrandall family, but the tragedy seems to draw them closer together.' CHAPTER V—Sara Wrandall and Hetty return to New York after an absence of a year in Europe. Leslie Wrandall, brother of Challis, makes himself useful to Sara and becomes greatly Interested In Hetty. i CHAPTER Vl—Hetty is greatly pained at Sara’s evident desire to encourage Leslie’s attentions. Sara sees In Leslie’s infatuation possibility for revenge on the Wrandalls and reparation for the wrongs she suffered at the hands of Challis Wrandall by marrying his murderess into the family. Vll—Leslie, in company Vhlt^S^ra^'b 51 ’ 8 '"' 30 " Booth - an artist, visits Sara at her country place I P =l|fi Hetty ra that he * s nlad >y ln ’o"e CHAPTER Vlll—Sara arranges with Booth to paint a picture of Hetty. Booth has a haunting feeling that he has seen Hetty before. Looking through a portfolio of pictures by an unknown English artist he finds one of Hetty. He speaks to her about IL Hetty declares It must oe a picture of Hetty Glynn, an English actress, who resembles her very much. T -® s He Wrandall be- £?£ e ~< m ?, at ' ent an ’ l over the picture painting and declares he is going' to Expose to , t the first and have It over with. CHAPTER X—Much to his chagrin ■Leslie is refused by Hetty. Sara, between whom and Hetty a strong mutual affection has grown up, tries to persuade the girl that she should not let the tragedy prevent her from marrying. CHAPTER XT—Booth and Hetty confess their love for each other, but the .latter declares that she can never marry as there Is an Insurmountable barrier In the way. She promises that some day «he will tell her secret and that then Booth will not want to marry her. CHAPTER XH—Hettv admits to Sara that she loves Booth Sara declares that Hetty must marry Leslie, who must be made to pay his brother’s debt to the girl. Hetty again attempts' to tell the real story of the tragedy and Sara threatens to strangle her if she says a word. Sara insults Hetty bv revealing that all this time she has believed Hetty to have sinned In her relations with Challis Wrandall. In the end she realizes that Hetty is entirely Innocent. (Continuation of Chapter XIII.) “No, I am sorry if you have thought that I might come to—” “Think, for heaven’s sake, think what you are doing,” he cried, feeling for the edge of the table with a sup-port-seeking hand. “I—l had Sara’s word that you were not—” “Unfortunately Sara cannot speak for me in a matter of this kind. Thank you for the honor you would—” “Honor be hanged!” he blurted out, losing his temper. “I love you! It’s h purely selfish thing with me, and I’m biowed if I consider it an honor io be refused by any woman. I—” “Mr. Wrandall!” she cried, fixing him with her flashing, indignant eyes. “You are forgetting yourself.” She was standing very straight and slim and Imperious before him. He quailed. “I —I beg your pardon. I—I—” “There is nothing more to be said,” she went on icily. “Goodby.” “Would you mind telling me whether there is anyone else?” he asked, aa he turned toward the door. “Do you really feel that you have the right to ask that question, Mr. Wrandall ?” He wet his lips with his tongue. "Then, there is some one!” he cried, rapping the table with his knucklee. He didn’t realize till afterward how vigorously he rapped. “Some com founded English nobody, I suppose.” She smiled, not unkindly. “There Is no English nobody, if that answers your question.” “Then, will you be kind enough to offer a reason for not giving me a fair chance in a clear field? I think it’s due—»” “Can’t you see how you are distressing me? Must I again go through that horrid scene in the garden? Can’t you take a plain no for an answer?” “Good Lord!” he gasped, and in those two words he revealed the complete overturning of a lifelong estimate of himself. It seemed to take more than his breath away. “Goodby,” she said with finality. He stared at the door through which she disappeared, his hopes, his conceit, his self-regard trailing after her with shameless dislpyalty to the standards he had set for them, and then, with ft rather ghastly smile of

seir-commiseratlon on his lips, he slipped out of the house, jumped into the motor car, and gave a brief but explicit command to the chauffeur, who lost no time in assisting his mas-

ter to turn tail in ignominious flight Hetty was gloomily but resolutely employed in laying but certain of her personal belongings, preparatory to packing them for departure, when Sara eptered her room. They regarded each other steadily, questionlngly for a short space of time. “Leslie has just called up to ask ‘what the devil’ I meant by letting him make a fool of himself,” said Sara, with a peculiar little twisted smile on her lips. Hetty offered no comment, but after a moment gravely and rather wistfully called attention to her present occupation by a significant flaunt of her hand and a saddened smile. “I see,” said Sara, without emotion. “If you choose to go, Hetty, I shall not oppose you.” “My position here is a false one, Sara. I prefer to go.” “This morning I should have held a sword over your head.” “It is very difficult for me to realize all that has happened.” “You are free to depart You are free in , every sense of the word. Your future rests with yourself, my dear.” “It hurts me more than I can tell to feel that you have been hating me all these months.” “It hurts me—now.” Hetty walked to the window and looked out. “What are your plans?” Sara inquired, after an interval. “I shall seek employment—and wait for you to act.” “I? You mean?” “I shall not run away, Sara. Nor do I intend to reveal myself to the authorities. I am not morally guilty of crime. A year ago I feared the consequences of my deed, but I have learned much since then. I was a stranger in a new world. In England we have been led to believe that you lynch women here as readily as ybu lynch men. I now know better than that. From you alone I learned my greatest leseon. You revealed to me the true meaning of human kindness. You shielded me who should not. Even now I believe that your first impulse was a tender one. I shall not forget it, Sara. You will live to regret the baser thought that came later on. I have loved you—yes, almost as a good dog loves his master. It is not for me to tell the story of that night and all these months to the world. I would not be betraying myself, but you. You would be called upon to explain, not I. And you would be the one to suffer. When you met me on the road that night I was on my way back to the inn to give myself into custody. You have made it Impossible for me to do so now. My lips are sealed. It rests with you, Sara.” Sara joined her in the broad window. There was a strangely exalted look in her face. A gilded birdcage hung suspended in the casement Without a word, she threw open the window screen. The gay little canary in the gilded cage cocked his head and watched her with alert eyes. Then she reached up and gently removed the cage from its fastenings. Putting it down upon the window sill, she opened the tiny door. The bird hopped about his prison in a state of great excitement. Hetty looked on, fascinated. At last a yellow streak shot out through the open door and an Instant later resolved Itself into the bobbing, fluttering dicky-bird that had lived in a cage all its life without an hour of freedom. For a few seconds it circled over the tree tops and then alighted on one of the branches. One might well have imagined that ha

could hear its tiny heart beating with terror. Its wings were half-raised and fluttering, its head jerking from side to side in wild perturbation. Taking courage. Master Dicky hopped timorously to a nearby twig, and then ventured a flight to a tree top nearer the window casement. Perched in its topmost branches he cheeped shrilly, as if there was fear in his little breast. In silence the two women in the window watched the agitated movements of the bird. The same thought was in the mind of each, the same the same intense wish. A brown thrush sped through the air, close by the timid canary. Like a flash it dropped to the twigs lower down, its wings palpitating in violent alarm. “Dicky!” called Sara Wrandall, and then cheeped between her teeth. A moment later Dicky was fluttering about the eaves; his circles grew smaller, his winging less rhythmical, till at last with a nervous little flutter he perched on the top of the window shutter, so near that they might have reached to him with their hands. He sat there with his head cocked to one side. "Dicky!" called Sara again. This time she held out her finger. For some time he regarded it with indifference, not to say disfavor. Then he took one more flight, but much shorter than the first, bringing up again at the shuttertop. A second later he hopped down and his little talons gripped Sara’s finger with an earnestness that left no room for doubt She lowered her hand until it was even with the open door of the gilded cage. He shot inside with a whir that suggested a scramble. With hie wings folded, he sat on his little trapeze and cheeped. She closed and fastened the door, and then turned to Hetty. “My symbol,” she said softly. There were tears in Hetty’s eyes. * * * * * • * Leslie did not turn up at his father’s place in the High street that night until Booth was safely out of the way. He spent a dismal evening at the boat club. His father and mother were in the library when he came home at halfpast ten. From a dark corner of the garden he had witnessed Booth’s early departure. Vivian had gone down to the gate in the low-lying hedge with her visitor. She came in a moment after Leslie's entrance. “Hello, Les,” she said, bending an inquiring eye upon him. “Isn’t this early for you?” Her brother was standing near the fireplace. “There’s a heavy dew falling, Mater,” he said gruffly. “Shan’t I touch a match to the kindling?” His mother came over to him quickly, and laid her hand on his arm. “Your coat is damp,” she said anxiously. “Yes, light the fire.” “It’s very warm in this room,” said Mr. Wrandall, looking up from his book. They were always doing something for Leslie’s comfort. No one seemed to notice him. Leslie knelt and struck a match. “Well?” said Vivian. “Well what?” he demanded without looking up. His sister took a moment for thought “Is Hetty coming to stay with us in July ?’’ He stood erejit, first rubbing hie knee to dislodge the dust —then his palms. "No, she isn’t coming,” he said. He drew a very long breath—the first in several hours—and then expelled it vocally. “She has refused to marry me.” Mr. Wrandall turned a leaf in his book; it sounded like the crack of doom, so still had the room become. Vivian had the forethought to push a chair toward her mother. It was a most timely act on her part, for Mrs. Wrandall sat down very abruptly and very limply. “She what?” gasped Leslie's mother. “Turned me down—cold,” said Leslie briefly. Mr. Wrandall laid his book on the table without thinking to put the bookmark in place. Then he arose and removed his glasses, fumbling for the case. “She—she—what?” he demanded. “Sacked me,” replied his son. "Please do not jest with me, Leslie,” said his mother, trying to smile. "He isn’t Joking, mother," said Vivian, with a shrug of her fine shoulders . "He—he must be,” cried Mrs. Wrandall impatiently. "What did ehe really say, Leslie?” The ohly thing I remember was goodby, ” said he, and then blew his nose violently. “Poor old Les!” said Vivian, with real feeling. It was Sara Gooch’s doing!” exclaimed Mrs. Wrandall, getting her breath at last “Nonsense,” said Mr. Wrandall, picking up his book once r more and turning to the place where the bookmark lay, after which he proceeded to re-read four or five pages before discovering his error. No one spoke for a matter of five minutes or more. Then Mrs. Wrandall got up, went over to the library table and closed with a snap the bulky blue book with the limp leather cover, saying as she held it up to let him see that it was the privately printed history of the Murgatroyd family: It came by post this evening from London. She Is merely a fourth cousin, my son.” He looked up with a gleam of Im terest In his eye. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

Leslie Sat Bolt Upright and Glared at Him.