Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 40, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 October 1907 — A SMILING VILLAIN. [ARTICLE]

A SMILING VILLAIN.

By VIOLET M. FLINN.

CHAPTER XX.- ' In the alcove that waj occupied by Mr*. Fenton's couch Bride and Prof. Lewisson were sitting. She was engaged for that dance, she had told him, starttag op eagerly when the first strains of «nuaic reached the Supper room, and he had taken her back for her partner. But the music rose and fell, there was an •▼er-snoving whirl of dancers, and still Bride sat expectant, until at length the music ceased and the dancers surged out, laughing and talking, into the cool hall with its many lounges. "Shall we follow them?" the professor asked, sorry for the girl’s piteous eyes and whitening face. “It is growing so hat here.” He felt he should like to knock Chatteris down. Never before had he felt in such an aggressive mood as he did when he pushed open the door leading into the conservatory. They sauntered along under the huge flowering palms. Bride's hand lying listlessly on his arm. They reached the end of the path, and turned mechanically to retrace their steps, when Bride's hand tightened its grasp, the light came back to her face. Charter is was standing at the end of the crass path, his face pressed against the glass as if he were trying to pierce the gloom outside. He started violently aa Lewisson uttered his name, and then came forward with his own sweet smile. “Dear Bride, will you ever forgive ■M-?" he ashed gently, as she looked at. him, her great eyes filled with reproach. “I was so sorry to miss that dance; but you will give me another, won’t you?” “Oh, yes!” Bride, poor,'simple Bride, ■aid breathlessly. She turned to Lewisson with a frank ■mile which, while her words thanked him for his escort, told him still more plainly he was no longer wanted. lie felt ▼ery unhappy as he moved away, but his unhappiness was, with the exception of a trifling sense of loss, entirely for Bride. He was afraid she was building on very ■hallow foundations. He roamed about aimlessly, feeling very much at variance with the gay, pjeasure■eeking crowd. He had nothing in common with these light-hearted young folks. 1 he felt pitifully old and lonely. Life had always been so serious, so grave a matter to him; he had been weighed with responsibilities at so early an age thktit had made him an old man before his time. “And yet I ain not really old," he mused. “I am not bald, my eyesight is keen, and I am snore vigorous now than I was as an undergraduate. I am an older man now at thirty-seven than young Fenton will be at fifty. It is my manner, my loss of all those affections and ties which complete and augment a man’s life. I am a horribly lonely man.” A little later he wandered again into the conservatory, now almost deserted. He paced up and down, his hands clasped behind his back, his head bowed, deep in thought—thoughts that brought a frown to his face.

Passing down one of the side walks he noticed casually that' the door of a ■nail orchid house had been left open, revealing glimpses of its exquisite treasures. Lewisson revelled in flowers, and, preoccupied as he was, remembered that Mr. Fenton had said something about a new and rare acquisition lately procured. He entered the small house, that possessed no other door save the one by which he had entered. He found the new treasure and examined it critically, sauntering slowly round until he had reached the door again, and then the sound of familiar voices attracted his attention. He peered through the leafy screen and took * cautious survey. Billy Fenton and Aileen Beresford were sitting on a lounge directly opposite to the door, and there was' something in their attitudes that made Ix>wisson, unversed as he was in such matters, realize •lat to make bis entrance at that moment would be exceedingly unwise. He looked at the young couple dispassionately, admiring the pretty picture they made, and thoughtfully criticising the play of the subdued light on Aileen’s downcast face and Billy's handsome features. Aileen was really quite a pretty girl! he thought reflectively. For the first time he seemed to look at her simply as a woman and not as the product of modern progress. He had .al ways been vaguely •onscious that she was pleasanter to the •ye chan the majority of her fellow students, but on that point he had never before appealed to him. It had been by her intellect, her extraordinary capability, Che renown as a pupil that she would give her master that had been first in his thoughts concerning her. He had proposed to her, it was true, but it had been simply in deference to an absurd modern convention that would not permit even an Intellectual partnership between a man and a woman, a master and pupil, without unpleasant rumor and scandal. To be, sure Aileen bad been something sf a shock to him since his arrival in Caterham West. She had not manifested her usual avidity for information, her •untomary concentration of energies in her reading, but be had excused her waywardness on the score of youth and the holiday influence. Until that moment, when he saw her cheeks flushing and paltng, when he saw Billy Fenton’s eyas fixed adoringly on her face and heard his law, earnest voice, tt had not really occurred to Eric Lewisson that Aileen was “a woman, therefore to be won.” Aileen and Billy had long deserted the lounge when he emerged once more into ' the brilliantly lighted hall- A set of lancers was in progress, and the various resting places were almost deserted. He stood irresolute for a moment, when some •os seized his arm. It was Bride, but aa astounding change had passed over her. Her face was white and drawn, and in her eyes there was an anguish that wrung his heart. “Bride, dear child, what has happened? Are yon ill?" “If I were only at home!” she moaned. Lewisson rose at once to the occasion. Be glanced round, seized a Shawl tying •a • chair, wrapped it round ths girl.

who was shaking from bead to foot, and drew her arm within his. "Come,” be said gently. "We will go home." / They traversed the\jw*th l>etween the two houses in silence. ' The darkness outside was intensified'by the brilliancy they had left; there was a in tlie air that betokened more rain. Now and again strains of music reached them, and then Bride shuddered, and clung involun- . tarily to the strong arm thrit guided her. It was not until they had reached the hall door that Bride spoke, in a strained voice, very different from her usuaLtones. "Don't tell any one 1” she gasped. “Not If you do not wish it,” he answered, as gravely and protectingly as her father would have done. “But it would be wiser to tell your sister Moyra what your trouble is.” “ “Oh, no ; not Moyra 1 She—she—and I did not believe her.” Her words, were so broken that he could hardly understand what she was saying. “And I have deceived her. She will never loye me again Love, love!” she repeated slowly, anfithen laughed bitterly. “Oh, I wish I could die!” she cried passionately. “My heart is broken, and I am young,” "So young, dear child, that time will be your best consoler,” he answered gently. “The day may—no, will—come when you will look back on to-night and smile at the'recollection that now seems too cruel, too bitter to be. But that4s not yet, and now the “pain is hard and heavy, my poor child.” “Oh, it-is awful!" Bride sobbed. “How can I live? I must die when I am so miserable. It would be impossible to live with such agony—it will never go away. How could I ever forget?’’ The professor consoled her gently, tenderly—even as her mother might have done, and gradually Bride’s agitation lessened, and be ventured to ring the bell. “You have been so,, kind,” she said, gratefully, ar they waited for sleepy Hammond to open the door. “I shall never forget how kind. When —when- I thought of you at once. 1 knew you would help me.” “Always, always, dear child,” he answered quickly, as Hammond opened the door; “remember in all circumstances I am your friend." It happened that when he returned to the big house Moyra was standing in the hall with her last partner. He informed her where he had been, and said he thought. Bride had a headache. Moyra received the news without displaying any’ great concern. Bride was very subject to headaches, and she was not surprised that the excitement and strain of the occasion had brought on one of her attacks. They were still standing in the hall when Aileen joined them, looking very tired. “I am going for my eloak, Moyra,” she said. “I can’t dance any more. Let us go away quietly. I sha’n’t be long.” "It is evidently the end of the evening,” Moyra laughed. “Here is Billy, looking tired too” —as young Fenton approached, looking quite worn but. His eyes had lost their merry light and wore a strained. tired expression that made Moyra decide that he had a headache as well as Bride. Aileen’s return was delayed, and Moyra grew tired of waiting. "I think I shall go,” she said, drawing her lace scarf round her head. “She can easily run across alone. If you see her, Billy, tell her I have gone, please”— and she and Lewisson went out. Aileen stopped abruptly, the color rising in her face when she made her tardy appearance, and saw Billy standing alone in the doorway. Billy plunged into the vortex and she followed him blindly, while carriage lamps cast confusing circles of light, and an incessant babel of voices went on. They walked without speaking to the door, as if they were total strangers. The hall door was open. On the step Aileen paused. "Thank you very much,” she faltered meekly. "Good night!” Billy did not answer; he stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the girl’s graceful form. She seemed to move, and there was a sound as if a sob had escaped her. Then Billy made a step forward and caught the trembling figure in his arms. "Aileen,” he whispered hoarsely, his face pressed against hers, so that he felt that her cheeks were wet with tears. “Is it quite impossible?” She seemed to draw nearer to him, to nestle closer within his arms, yet she answered : "Yes.” For a moment they stood motionless and in silence. Then suddenly Billy bowed his head and kissed her passionately, covering her face with fierce caresses, and paying no heed to her resistance. Ter* haps it was not until then, when she was weak and powerless as a child in his grasp, that she realized how great was the strength that had first drawn her to him. Suddenly he released her. “Therehe cried savagely. “I shall never ask you again, but marry Lewisson if you dare!”

CHAPTER XXL The clock on the staircase was chiming nine when Moyra cautiously opened the door of Aileen's room and peeped in. Aileen started up. “I’m bo sorry to wake you, dear,” Moyra said, ‘but this not has come for you, and the boy is waiting for an anoarer.” She lighted the candles and brought them to the bedside while Aileen tore open the envelope, her cheeks flushing as she read the contents. The letter was from Professor Lewisson. very brief and very formal, and to the effect that he was leaving for town that morning and should be very glad to see Aileen, alone at any hour convenient to her. “It’s from the Professor, isn’t it?” Moyra said, and as she gave Aileen her writing pad she remarked, with apparent irrelevance, “Bride’s head is awfully bad this morning; she seems quite feverish. I told her to stay in bed for an hour or two. • If she is not better she must not go to-msrrovr.”

“No," Aileen murmured idly, as she signed her short n-rtei It is doubtful ts she knew of what Moyra was, talking, so engrossed was she in her owp concerns. "I suppose you have had breakfast? Send Hammond up with some tea for me; wilt you, Moyra? - I don’t want anything to eat. X —l have got a headache." "You don't look as bright as you did twelve hours ago,” Moyra replied “ ‘Merry nights make sorrowful mornings,’ as old nurse used to tell us.” . “I never sleep and efeitement,” Aileen answered, almost apologetically. Her head was aching frantically, sh» felt bruised and hurt mentally and’physically, but after her bath and the hot, strong tea that Moyra had'sent up she began to recover herself. She had spent the brief night in bitter, unavailing tears for»the decision at which she had arrived; she felt that noth!tig that fame might have in store for her could atone or com-_ pensate for this sacrifice of her natural desires and Affections, that the. greenest laurel "crown was as dust in comparison with the look in Billy’s eyes when they meTbers. But with the morning the real sense of conviction, the true strength of purpose, that had already stood her in stead, began to reassert themselves, and even as she brushed away the tears, that would rise each time she caught a glimpse of the big house through the bare trees, and tied on a heavy veil to hide theJr traces, she told herself that she had chosen the Letter path, “It is only his-masculinity that appeals to me so strongly,” she said as she went downstairs. "I have chosen wisely. I could never be really happy without a true intellectual atmosphere.” Th“re was no one in the hall, but she went out by the back door. Confident as she was of her own right doing, she felt that the associations of the, porch were too fresh to be again recalled With equanimity. It was xold, cheerless morning, with a heavy fog shnm.ling trees and sandhills, and making w.alking across the heavy sand very tedious. It took her longer than ■ ■ usua 1 to reaeh-the—shore- in - eon sequence, and the hour she had fixed for their meeting had passed by some minutes when she arrived on the firmer sand. The shore was very desolate —river, sky, - and sand were all-.of one monotonous gray, and, to make matters worse, a fine drizzle began to fall. Ajleen shivered and drew the collar of her coat closer about her throat. Her heart sank in ah unaccountable way as she recognized the Professor walking towards her. “•I wish 1 did not feel so like a victim prepared for a sacrifice, a feminine "Marcus Curtins!” she thought, with dismal humor, as she put her hand into his and answered his inquiries as to her wellbeing. “I am afraid you will think I suggested a disagreeable place for our meeting," she said, as they turned their faces towards the pier, now shrouded in mist, “but the house is so/W§§t this morning. It is Moyra’s day? and every room seems occupied at suchAjmes. '-d'thought too as youxhad topatCn a train we could walk towaras'TEe Jerry.” “Yes, yes,” he assented, consulting his watch. “The half-past eleven boat will suit me admirably. I have already made my farewells to your family. It—it only remained to see you!” “Yes,” Aileen answered faintly. She shivered again and clasped her hands in her muff for warmth. How cold and miserable it was! And those, wretched seagulls, wheeling with outstretched wings just overhead —what a weird pathetic cry was theirs! No wonder that there was an old superstition that each bird was the soul of a drowned sailor unconfessed and unshriven at death. For some minutes they walked on in silence. Had Aileen noticed her companion more closely she might have seen that he w’as betraying marked nervousness and hesitation. But just as she began to wonder at his pre-occupation he straightened himself and began to talk, going straight to the point. “Miss Beresford, do you remember that some few months'ago I asked you to do me the honor of becomming my wife?” “Yes,” said Aileen, restraining a sudden wild desire to run away. “I was very _HUl£h honored by your proposals, although at the time I could not entertain them.” “But later you were again kind enough to listen to me, this time more farourably. You will remember, no doubt, the suggestion, or rather, the admirable compromise you made on that occasion?” “Yes,” Aileen said faintly, nerving herself with an effort. (To be continued.)