South Bend News-Times, Volume 30, Number 192, South Bend, St. Joseph County, 8 July 1913 — Page 2

WAY

V7 P3' HI BEARD ii

11 IniiL

By

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IGOURNEY R0TIiT:3 smiled as te gai-d about tie room n which he stood. And yet the place was not one that would seen likely to evoke any slus of merriment, inwas extremely de

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deed, the prospect pressing. From wall to wall the spae-i was the narrowest. Tne floor was bare sad large stains showed In the low ceiling. The one small-panci window gavs a glimpse over dark, dismal roofs, and. through a tangle of telegraph wire3, of t small patch of gray sky. Still Rothes smiltd. Then, going to the door to seithat it was securely fastened, he Look .a gold-banded ilgarette from a, gold case which he drew from a po:ket of hi3 habby coat and. vesting him3elf in fche one stiff chair that the room conUlnd. he began to smoke. And yet very little had occurred. At the foot of the stairs he met her. The event had not been dramatic. Still, he looked upon It as an adventure. Sho had Just entered the building and, hurrying around a corner, the basket which she carried had been knocked from her hands. The contents were scattered 0:1 the floor before her. The objects that met his gaze were simple and commonplace enough. The brown paper parcel had contained meat, a loaf of bread, and some potatoes which hr.1 rolled into the farthest corner. Clearly she wa3 br'nglng home dinner breakfast perhaps both, and had mot with this accident. Rothes thought of the heroine of the Broken Jug as he saw her suddenly standing still amid the disaster. Oniy she was rot at all mournful. On the contrary, she appeared extremely angry. "Oh!" she exclaimed Indignantly. "May I help you?" asked Rothes, hurrying forward. She did not answer at once, and he picked up the loaf of 'broadband pursued particularly nlmblo potato behind a distant door. "Thank you." she said ns he stool bpfore her with his hands filled with the useful tub3rs. He had noticed how charming she was, and he gave a sigh of relief as he realized that her vAice was soft and low. "Let me carry tho basket up3tairs," he said. "Perhaps you think I nm not to be trustee! with it. I am so careless," she replied, examining him. "It's hevy much too heavy for you," he said decidedly. "You should not give yourself such a load." "But If 1 have to," she answered, no: sadly, but even laughing a little. The piteouaness of poverty, thought Rothes Here was this pretty young creature compelled to bear such burdens while her more foriunate sisters had all care taken f-onr. them. He felt newly Indignant at the social anomaly. And shi laughed pleasantly about It. Here was independence self-dependence. Here was simple contentment. Here was refreshing naturalness. Here was the charm of nature Itself. Rothes felt newly glad that he had made this departure and entered into the life where such things and such beings were to be found. "You don't If I am to carry It," he replied, taking the burden from her slightly resisting hands. "Oh. well," she said, as If excusing net elf to herself, "we are neighbors." Are he exclaimed delightedly. "Then I like tho neighborhood." Sho smiled on him gravely and for some reason ho felt rebuked for his speech. "What a manner, he reflected, this daughter of the tenements had, to be sure. No great lady In her drawing room could have Imposed her will morJ easily and more purely. "You have Just come here?" she said. In a way that made the remark a question. "Yes." he replied lightly. "I I'm out of a Job. Just now, and walling for work." "What Is your trade?" she asked, with A kindly interest. Rothes almost laughed. "I I " he began. "Oh, I'm a gas fitter." he answered," as the single gas Jet In the hall caught his eye. 'And you lost your place?" "There was a strike," he went on more glibly. "I went out and wasn't taken back. And you?" He felt .hat It must be In accordance with the situation to ask tho question eplte as In a country houso he might have asked a strange young woman what form of sport she affected. "I." she said easily. "I'm in a book bindery." "And you llko the occupation?" ho asked politely. "The hours are good," she said, with the simo little puzzling laugh; "and the work Is 1?M. but there's not much chance for citing on." Rothes wa3 enchanted. It was not the iime old thing the same talk about the sam subjects. There was not only surprising novelty In the theme but In th? surroundings. "Thank you." she said, as she pau3fd before a door In one of the upper halls. "I lire here." and she held ou: her hand for the basket. Reluctantly Rothes gaves It Into her keeping. "I thai! see you again," he sail tentatively. "I i m very busy." Then she added, laughing, as if amused by her own thoughts: "My cousin, with whom I llv, wouldn't like to have mo talking to young men " "But we're neighbors," urged Rothes. And you know all about me. ' "Do I?" he asked pointedly. "WYH. you kno.v that I am a neighbor and a gas fitter. That I'm Just now out of a Job. that I'm called Jamc3 Walker." ' I didn't know that." she said. That's what I'm called," he said with meaning. "Oh." she exclaimed. "You ccaa that

you don't know my name. You may call me Nettle Collins." "Miss Collins.", said Rothes, "you aro now aware of my occupation and my name, and my place of abode and manner of living, and, when one comes to think of it, isn't that about all that ons knows about anybody?" "Really that's true," said Miss Collins, thoughtfully. "Ob, it's such a strange world." "Yes," said Rothes, discontentedly. "Here were yu and I so close together, and not knowing it." "I don't see anything strange in that," cbjected Miss Collins. "Well, perhaps there isn't." Rothes admltted. doubtfully. "One can't tell." "I think that you are very strange," she said, decidedly. "Do you?" he asked. "Feople have thought that before. Dut when you kr.w me better you'll find that It isn't anything. Really, Miss ColIin3. you'll have to know me to find out." "Do you think that it would be worth while Just for that?" she demanded. "There might be other things," he responded. The door opened and a stout, elderly woman stood upon the threshold. She scowled upon Rothes, and looked reproachfully upon Miss Collins. "Good morning, Mr. Walker," cried the girl. "I am so much obilced to you." She entered the room, and the door was Immediately and abruptly closed by the elderly woman who had opened it. "May a hlppogriff seize the old party," muttered Rothes. "Even in the simplicity of the slums there seem to be dragons of duennas." And then, ns he sat in his small room, he thought of her. Nettl Collins! The daughter of the people. What if she were? No one could be prettier than she. and he felt no one could be dearer and sweeter aud truer. How charming she appeared In the ugly place! How simply and with what merry dignity she had carried herself! The thing had happened before, and will happen again, and it was happening to Rothes even then. He knew that he loved her. Such a mingling of reverence and longing he had never known before, and he understood that a new existence was beginning for him. Who that knew him would believe it? He couid hardly believe it himself, but still there was the all-compelling feeling. There was the wish to see her again the determination that he would see her, the conviction - that It was necessary to his happiness that he should see her many times always. This was the first of numerous meetings. In the beginnings she sought to avoid him, but gradually, as he persisted with respectful determination 'In putting himself In her way, she appeared to yield to circumstance and let him talk to her, walk with her and accompany her to the door, and, on one great occasion, pass beyond the threshold. The room was bare and dull. Still he recognized a refinement in its neatness and simplicity. Nor was It without a bit of color from a simple rug in one place. And on the walls hung a photograph or two in slight wood frames. Rothes gazed about him. delighted. The place was exactly such as he should have desired it tc be. in which he should have liked to find her living. "My cousin is in the next room," she explained, primly, "and she is just going to bring me some tea. Can't I give you some?" Rothes stared. He could almost imagine himself in a drawing-room in quite a different part of the town. Here was this pretty girl offering him the usual tea at the usual hour. To be sure, she was dressed in the roughest, simplest manner. As he glanced down, he saw the tracked board3 In the floor, the cheap paper on the walls, the stove. But wnat did dress matter? How much could the bare floor count? Had he not dropped hopefully Into this unknown world, and had he not been Justified? Was there not standing before him the prettiest, dearc-t maiden that he had ever beheld? What did it matter if her shoes were old? Tney were the smallest. What did anything matter but she she. and again she? "Thank you," he said, dropping on to a hard chair. "Do you know," she continued, as she brought the cups and saucers and busied herself with the teapot, "I have never known a gas-fitter exactly like you?" "Have you known many?" he demanded, as he watched her smai! hands deal easily with the coarse crockery. "Not many," she replied. "Indeed. I believe that you are the very first. Still, you ore not what my idea of a gas-fitter would be." "And you have an idea an ideal, perhaps?" "Hardly," sho laughed. "But if I were going to have one . Honestly, you puzzle me. You speak differently and you behave differently and better." "Because a man Is a laborer he does not have to be a lout," answered Rothes, with a manner to bring the applause from the upper gallery. "That's what I've always said." she eagerly assented. "If people only knew.

j I am sure that they would find that in the poorest surroundings there were intelligence and taste and niceness." "But you " he went on; "frankly. 1 never supposed a young woman in a booktindery was like you." "Why not?" she demanded, promptly and peremptorily. "Your voice." he began, "and your hands and all." "Might I ask why you thought that book-binders were any more unfortunate than other young women who work for their living?" "I didn't." he exclaimed, hurriedly. "I thought that they were all different." "Didn't you know?" sho insisted. "Sureyou must have seen lots of working girls only those, indeed." "No," he answered, quickly. "I've seen others, when I'm there for jots going about in the big houses uptown. And now 'I see you and you are Just like them, only

a thousand times prettier, and with prettier manners " "You think that I am like the young ladles uptown that you see in the great houses?" "Yes." he answered, decidedly. "Only prettier, as I say, and nicer, and it's ail so much more attractive because of the surroundings and your working In a bookbindery." "Do you know," she interrupted, "that is what surprised me. You are like the men in the play at the theater." "Which?" he asked. "The kind," she said, "who always have a valec and a club. That Is the kind that you are like." "And it's the sort you admire?" "No! No!" she answered, readily. "I think that a man should do something be something If if " "Only.a gas-fitter," he laughed. "But If he is a good gas-fitter, that is being something, Isn't it?" she asked, seriously? "And I can respect him." "It seem3 to me," he answered, "that

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"Do You we are a couple of Socialists, Insisting that we are as good as v-. betters." "But there aren't any betters," 6he maintained. "That 13 Just it. All are good, and people arc only worse because they are ignorant. And so It is the duty of every one to do everything posib'3 to overcome ignorance and make people better, and bring them together tho rich and the poor." "So that gas-fitters will be talking to millionairesses, and young women in book-binderies to young men who have i valets and clubs." "And why not?" she said, boldly. "I am sure that If a man were a nice gasfitter, with good manners and Intelligence and education, he could very well talk to millionairesses nowadays. Indeed. capable gas-fitter is more, and makes m;re money, and gets it In a more honorable way, than a good many men who do talk to millionairesses, and marry them, too." m "What a terrible little democrat you are!" "But didn't you say th:.t you believed that people could be pretty and nice, though they were poor?" "I am absolutely and perfectly convinced of It," said Rothes, with decision and meaning. Rothes left the room knowing that all the happlneis the world held for him was shut up ia Ii. He was more and more assured of this at every repetition of the ceremony .of tea-taking, for that cup was not the last that he received, but rather the first of many. Each time that he departed he went to pace the streets in perplexity. Not that he cared what the world would say; but could ho be made happy in the new life to which he would take hr or remain only bewildered and helpless? And would she let hlai lead her thither? He was by no means sure of this. Though he had seen her glances of kindly interest, he had noticed, too. a rather frightened look at times caught a tone of dismay in her voice. Cut

j must come. What a life for such a one to lead a life of work and privation!

He watched, and as he did this he thought that he learned much. Her eyes grew less bright, she was thinner. He observed, too, that she often appeared very thoughtful and sad. One evening, a3 he was returning from one of his long perambulatory conflicts of mind, he passed a corner well known In the neighborhood. There was, to be sure, nothing to be seen but a low, dingy shop with a dirty window in which was en incongruous collection of objects. Opening on a small side street or alley was a half-hidden side door, and as Rothee passed he saw Miss Collins slip through it and dart down the step3, advancing with such speed that she almost ran into him as he etood still. "You!" she exclaimed, looking up. "Yes," he said gravely. "And very glad to see you, as It i3 rather late for you to be out." "There was some thing that I had to do," she murmured. Know, I Have Never Known a "At a pawnshop?' he asked. "Yes." she faltered. "If you wanted anything," he continued almost sternly, "why didn't you tell me?" "Why ghould I?" she replied, almo3t defiantly. "Haven't we known each other for a long time?" and it seemed to him that really they had "aren't we neighbors and friends?" "Ye3." she replied, In a low tone. "And shouldn't friends help each other?" "But I couldn't take anything from you." "Why not?" he esked Impatiently. "In this real world, where women and men work together, they should share together and help each offer like good comrades." "But It Is different." she pleaded. "Why?" he demanded. "Why can't I help you If I can?" They stood in the dark hall of the tenement house now. and the notee of the street came shrilly to them through the opening where co door closed them out. "I couldn't let you." "And why couldn't you," he said authoritatively, as he captured her hands, "when you need it?" "Oh, you are so good," she exclaimed. "And you are out of work yourself. I have watched you. And you want to give to me out of the little that you must have." "Nonsense," he answered brusquely. "I am a man and can take care of myself. But you are a woman of whom a man should be taking care." "Women can take care of themselves nowadays," the said with a momentary smile. "They can't, and they shouldn't If they could," he replied stoutly. "Yov? see that you can't and you shouldn't. You shall aot be allowed to go on like this. You are getting thinner and paler. I can see It. And I won't have it. You must let me help you. and you oust give me the chance and the right to do it." "How can that bo?" she almost whispered. "You must marry me," he said quickly, "and then " "Oh," she cried, es If la fright, as she

wrenched her hand away from ate strong grasp. "You mustn't say such a thing Ycu do not know what you are eaylng. I must not listen to you." She turned and -an rapidly up the stairs. "Oh, believe me, she cried, she paused on an upper step. "Don't think I am ungrateful. I never was so grateful to anyone. Never! Never! I never thought that anyone could be so good and kind. I am so thankful that I must not see you. . I should have sent you away " "I wouldn't have gone," he answered briefly. "or gone myself." ihe panted on. "Oh. It Is Impossible Impossible. And still" she hid her face in her hands "I love to think that you might have helped me. I shall love to dream of It often. I shall always." Then she turned, and la an Irs'ant was lost in the darkness above. He thundered up after her, but she was too ewift in her flight, and when he reached her door it was shut. He stood for a moment irresolute. After a moment's thought he concluded that he could see h?r in the morning, when she might be less determined, and wnt elowly away.

Gas-Jitter Like You." On the following day. at the earliest hour that he thought that he could make such a visit and the hours of the quarter were not the ho zrs of a less occupied society he, once more stood before her door. All doubt had vanished. His natural obstinacy had come to aid his determination. He would have her now. He reviewed the arguments that he would use. He considered how he would appeal to her. The hinges creaked and the figure of the elderly woman was before hlni. "Miss Collins?"- ho asked propitlatIngly. "She's gone," said the voman, shortly, cs she stood squarely In front of him. "I want to see her." "Ye can't." "When will ehe be back?" "I can't tell ye." "But it's moat important," he said, resolutely. "I saw where she was last night. I want to do scmethlng. She r ed not know." "We're no beggars," snapped the woman. "No," replied Rothes gently. "But you will help me to help her." "Young man," announced the woman, "I think ye've been too much about here already. If she's gone, lfu a good thing at la3t. An it'll be a goc-d thing for ye to go. too.". The door was shut sharply la his face and Rothes stood staring disconsolately at the cracked paint of tho panels. He waited all that day and the next. No: a glimpse could he catoh of the figure flitting through the halls not a sound of that light footfall that he knew so well. He grew more and more restless. From one place he fidgeted to another. He could learn nothing. No one anywhere seemed to know anything tibout the fugitive. Sho had not been long ia the house. No-v she had gone. She as a mystery and appeared likely to remain one. While the "cousin" did not go, Rothes could not help believing that she would return that, by staying there himself, he should la some way receive information of her. At least, that was the point of departure the one place where it seemed to him that there would be any chance of hearing from her. He did not wait patiently. Again he roamed the streets and the darkness knew him for oae of Its many watchers. -

Lato one night at about th!e time Rothes found himself "waiting In the luxurious library of his uncle Horace Bilsoa's luxurious apartments. The confidential valet had some difficulty in recognizing him, but, being satisfied at length, admitted him with respectful protest in every glance and shocked remonstrance in every gesture., Aa Rothes watched the cheerful blaze la tho fireplace he reflected how horrified his uncle would be. He remembered his Indignation when he had disclosed his project to him In the club window. "Hide yourself in the slums!" gasped that scandalized elderly gentleman. "See what life is really like! Have a chance to do something for some one!" Uncle Horace clung to the arms of Ms comfortable chair, as If clinging to the crumbling realties of lite. "You see," said Rothes airily. "I'm tired to death of all this." And he waved his hand to indicate the glittering afternoon avenue to be seen through tho window of the pleasant room la which they sat. "But I never heard of such a thing." Uncle Horace objected confidently. "I want to get out and discover something real. The box seat of my coach Is

pretty high, but one can't sea all the world from It after all." "This Is rank socialism!" remonstrated Uncle Horace. "And if it is," Rothes replied. "Beside," he went on, "Aunt Marcla is at it again." "In what "way?" asked the elderly gentleman apprehensively. "She's found another girl that she wants me to marry. Such a pearl! Such an angel! And I won't have It. She made my life miserable with tho way that she forced the last one on me. and I am going to escape Miss Rosamond Langdale or perish in the attempt." "What!" Uncle Horace asked eagerly. "Tho girl who has all old Stephen Langdale's millions and has been making such a stir in England?" "All of that and more," responded Rothes. "Who's been talked about and written about until she is a public character. I know the kind; with no thought but for this life from which I want to get away." "I've always understood that she 'was very unconventional." "Worse and worse," exclaimed Rothes. "That's sure to mean that she will run with the fast lot. No, there's only one way to escape Aunt Marcla and her machinations, and that is to hide myself where I can't be found, and the only way to do that is just here in New York." Rothes thought of this as he sat g?zing into the fire, waiting for Uncle, Horace to return. He was a rough-looking figure, and when that amiable diner-out opened the door and entered ho drew back in some alarm. "I saw In the newspapers that you were In town and stopped for a moment," said Rothes, turning. Somewhat reassured by the voice, Uncle Horace advanced slowly and cautiously. "Haven't you given up this folly yet?" asked the startled elderly gentleman, his indignation increased by his momentary fright. "Haven't, you lost enough of your time with it already?" "Not a bit," replied Rothes promptly. "Not when I've found what I have." "What's that?" asked the other anxiously. 'She! She!" cried Rothes. "You've fallen in love with some one there?" exclaimed Uncle Horace in consternation. "She works in a bookbindery," Rothes replied maliciously. "Oh!" groaned the uncle. "This is a j case for a conseil de famille only there 'isn't any family. This is the time for. a lettre-de-cachet only we haven't such blessed things nowadays." "I thought that I'd come and tell you, so that you could wish me joy." "Is it all settled?" wailed the other. "No," answered Rothes. "In fact it's as far from settled as possible. Indeed, I feel quite sure that she does not want me. and the strict truth is that she has disappeared and that I can't find her." "If only you can't," said Uncle Horace fervidly. "But I will," Rothes replied firmly. "I'll search the earth lor her." Uncle Horace groaned. "And I've seen Mi33 Rosamond Langdale," he went on, "and she is charming charming." In the "slums" the gas was lit earlier in the afternoon, and the shop doors shut to keep out the colder wind. The winter was coming. Where was she, Rotne3 kept asking himself. If she were in want if she were suffering! The though; drove him to desperation in his powerlessness. And then, when he had almost! given up aU hope, he thought that 1. saw her. In tho dusk of a late autumn after noon, driven by his restlessness, he had ventured farther than usual from the lisfiC 3 fL!d quent. Trusting to his disguise and the growing darkness, he had wandered aa far as the region of the theaters, tho picture exhibitions, and the flower shops. There, standing in the obscurity of a doorway, he saw a brougham drive up to the curb. A footman, who had been waiting, sprang forward and openad tho door as an elderly lady slowly came forward. He knew her well. Oid Mrs. Frobsher, one of the stanchest and firmest old conservatives of the towa. Then a young woiaei, who had been delayed, darted forward. She passed in a moment. But Rothes started. Hia heart stood still. Tor a moment ho did not breathe. It was she. And even a.3 he thougat this, he told himself horr Impossible it was. How could sh-i te there in all the finery of a great iady, entering that perfectly appointed equipage accompanying the strict and exacting eld Mrs. Frobsher. It was the darkness, he argued, aided by his constant thought of her, that had wrought the vlaion. Clearly he must have been mistaken. Some slight elmilurlty of fsature, some sinjle likeness of movement had misled him. But the sudden belief for an instant that he &lw her before him, strengthentd him in his determination to find her. There were ways of discovering lost personspeople who made it a business to do it. Why had he not tried them before? As te returned late to cis room ne decided j that the first thing that he would do oa ' the following cay would be to make use of some such means of discovering her. Again he started. He sprang to his fett. He heard a slight sound. It was a veryi light footfall, but he could not beliere that he was mistaken In it. as she really agala coming up the stairs? Going to the door he tore it open. Ia the darkness he could see nothing. He knew that he could not bo mistaken. Still he wished for greater certainty the certainty of absolute knowledge of sight of her. There as but one way. To go directly to her door. Two step3 at a time he sprang up the stairs. As he knocked he realized, with a great wave of despair, what a bitter disappointment It would be to him if she had not come after all. And then the door opened and she stood before hln. She Tras dreased u she had

h? wbtu he picked up the potatoes fcr her. In an instant vision that he thought thr.t he had seen was dissipate.. She stood before him. Ntt!s Collins tb girl of tha people, tut dearer to aim than ever. "Oh!" she pacpefi. "Yes," he said. Joyfully. "And you ar tack. I am glad, lad terrifically glad. You don't kno.r what it has teen " "X should not have coma back," sht cried. "And wLy?" h9 fa!d, forcing his way past her. "I must speak to you." "I am all alone." "So much the better." he Bald. "I kne how I needed you before you went, but your going has shown more. You siall not escapo anadru" "I rzxisl to. I sheJl go." she cried. "I camot l'tfcn to you. Thero aro reasons. ' "Thro are no reasons that cannot be overcome." he replied. "If you like rae. if you care izr mo a little k-ve me M "I I do.' "Which?" he aked agrlr. "Like you." sh? murmured. "And care fcr me a little?" "And cre for you a little, she repeated with docility. "And." ho urged, "the rest?" Then she turned suddenly, listening.

"Uuss." she sal 1. frightened. From th street came confused shouts the mingled tumult of a sudden commotion. "Answer me." he fold impatiently. "Something Is happening." she insitel. And they hoard above the rague dull rumors dhtant shouts. "Fire!" Almost at th snmo moment he caught the smell of brrnir.g wcol and saw th hall grow dim with smoke. "It's here." sh? said. "Answer me," he commanded "The house is on fire," she cried, an! ran to the door. He followed her and. as he pdvancrl. he saw thick smoke clouds rolling up from 1. I a .... tua ueiung 01 me siairs. "We must gn up." he shouted. C" - - wmw Ma AmA p A V I l V U (11 i I i her to the upper hallway. At the end wm a window. Stepping to it. ho glanced dnwa at the street, a dizzy dpth l-lmv tV:n A considerable crowd was alrealy objected and was gazing at the f! rn;s V;r: -Ing from the lower part of the builltr.;:. As the people saw him, thoy rai.-t 1 a sudden shout. "There must be some way to th? roof." he called to her. "Here is a door," she answrrel q ;:klv He grasped the handle and sh , k i-. The lock was fast and tbero wa n From the stairs up which they hi I escaped the smoke followed them in ;- creaslng volume. We're lost!" she exclaimed. 'But ycu havent told me," he sail, turning from tho door. "What?" she asked wildly. "The rest." he answered. "Yes yea. The rest ton." ?he rriM. "I was going to tell vou when the a!ar:r came. I do. I do. I love." He held her In his arras. "I know It now." 5h sobbed. "I kn?w it then. I have really known It always. I came back really to tell you." "And you love me?" he repeatel. "I do." she answered slowly. "Thrr is nothing but you." She put her ban I in his and repeated: "Whither thou por-t I will go; and where thou lodces I sh.Vl lodge; thy people shall be my prop!" a v. 1 thy God my God! What Is all th rc rt ol the world?" "It's a good deal to m now," he firmly. 'And the first thing is to pet out of this. He saw her only dlmlv In tho thickening smoke. Hp turned to the door again, but it would not yield. Thn he drew back and., with a rush and heav. fell against the panels. Tho woo brok: before him, and the door fell, torn frorr its hinges. Up the dark, narrow stairs she ran, after he had thrust her forward, only to be stopped by the c!oed scuttle at the top. Outside they heard mn calling. "All right," hp shouted to her. "Thj know that we are here." But, impatient with the dc'ay. he put his shoulders against tho obstruction rr.1 bore up agaln?t it. The boards yiIdM. and they sprang out upon tho roof as the firemen hurried up. "All right." Rothes cried. "Go on Wi can take care of ourselves." He carried her to a dark place behind a stack of chimneys, holding her motionless and silent in his arms. At last she opened her eyes. The air was doileiouiOy clear and pure about them. Above. th stairs shone brilliantly. The tumult oj th street seemed afar off and almost lulllnsr In !t& effect. "We are safe." she said. "Safe. Yes. perfectly saf. Dojbly safe," hi answered. "For w have !!.' ana 1 nave you. Dearest," he sail, and ,ia t iU " " , , 1 a.aVv,. i V no't h,t ,W.v I am. I am what the world ral! rt.-b. very rich. I never was so glad of it before. I came here to see if I could net e?a something for somebody else, and I harj I the beet th!ng in the world for myseir. I have founi you. But I body else. "You may even hav am someav heard 0! me. I am Slgoumey Rothe." She gazed at him. rubbing ber eys, still smarting with the stroke. Then "she laughed. "Oh." sh cried. "I am sa -!ad. B :t !. Is too funny. The man from htve ber:n runnlne away." w m I "Of course. I know." fc somewhat puzzlfd. "I thought that you wort lost." "I don't mean that." she said. "Bur by coming here at all. Oh, I'm so plad. not that you are Slgourr.fy Rcthcs that you are co rich but that I am rot the only imposter. I am not Nettle Colllm; I a.a Rosamond Largdale." And she saii mockingly: "Perhaps you may even heve heard of me?" "You?" he crlel. "Rut I iras ruanirf away from you too." "1 came as you dH." sfc saM. "tescape from the life cf which I wn tired, and to try to do some good. I brought my ell rune Sarah Ith v.. Oh. I know that I loved you from the first., but it seemed as if it would not dr. I went awny to try In my other life to forget. But this afternoon, as I w?.s ratting into the carriage. I saw you stasdlr. In a doorway. You looked so poor anl miserable my hear: give a gret fcoun ! an! wr.t cut to you. Oh. you carried it away with you and I followed it dowa here." "kzl you were never la want?" "Of course not." sh laughed. "ad tbc pawnshop?" ht askd. i tad ben getting a r4.n that a poor girl had pawned to take it back to ttr." Again In the darkcesi tt tock hr in his &rm ar.l k!scd hr. Th dror.e ct the working fire-er.? Ines came up to them. The shouts of the Cremrn as they made their way over the roefs of the hnuift fell upon their ears, hut they dli nt r ar them. They did not know where they were. Unconscious of place, alone on the roof among the chimneys, he held htr against his heart. "I'm g!M it's so." h, said. And I"m glad." she answered. "to any know that It wouldn't hare made difference if it hadn't been." (Cc?yrt;bt. 1311. by S. S- SXstture C )