Evening capital. (Annapolis, Md.) 1884-1910, 1884-10-03

ing and stumbled 80 Car into les depth
that I cannot now turn about They say
there IS = better path than this. ! can
not tell, have not tried. but / would
set your feet that way before they know
the devils highroad that i al. "
There is m unusual stir among tho
well-bred club members. A cold air
blows IN upon and scatters the fumes Of
the Turkish tobacco in little hazy clouds,
and through this Indian summer like
mist there comes eight chosen ones-the
mortal angels Of the present century.
Some OF the men shrink peTceptibly.
Others brave it out under the eight pairs
of gentle, loving eyes, while one man,
Roy Dennl, lifts his hat with Unborn
knight ness and listens with listless
air 20 the services going on about him.
But the boy at his side kneels
down, and, leaning above chair
cushion, he presses the little purse
to his lips and weeps great tears Of re-
! morse. And when he lifts his head
again the women have gone away, and
Denzil stands, his eyes fixed upon vacancy,
his cigar out, and little of something
long buried warming his heart with q
different warmth from that of vino. The
! youth catches at Roy's hand which hangs
nervelessly near him--a beieweled hand
as white and shapely as wOman's--
| and kisses it raptuously.
Little fool!'' says Roy, snatching it
from him angrily.
Fools speak the truth sometimes, Mr..
Denzil; listen to me. The devil and
the angel are battling within you. Oh,
let the angel have the masteryp
s'That depends, " is all the answer he
gets.
The clock above the mantle rings out
four hasty peals. Outside the snow
comes dashing against the pane and
/ pile up Write rift IN every corner. 1t
will be dark soon, and the chandelier
will be abIaze with lights. Mean
while
''How is it my friendar comes tim
idly up into Roy's ears.
Tho devil has won, he answered,
with sneer. Wrong is so much strong
er than right, nowadays. Goodnight,
my boy, !" and he leaves him to dash
out into the darkening streets.
Along grand avenue walks Roy Den
eel, full of bitter thoughts and pitiful
fancies. All, what might have beenl
Along the avenue, out on the country
road he walks, through the deep snow,
keeping in the little path unwittingly;
walking on and on, though pair of fine
horses are champing and stamping impa-
tiently in their stables at home for dash
over these same country roads with their
masters hand upon the ribbons. On and
on; and at last, after crossing crazy old
bridge thrown over narrow rocky chasm
of sixty feet or more, he gains cross
road. He does not comprehend that he
has turned to the right and found bride
path near the fence; but he does so. and
at last, after another quarter of an hour,
he stands before the door of brilliantly
lit mansion.
Great Heaven! What have I come
here forl las the devil won, after all9''
Tap, tap, tap.
Good cyenin'. Massa Roy! Gracious,
but Use glad to see yah! Come in, come
in. Misses am in de pahlah. and Missy
Marjorie am in de iibraree, !" says the old
ebony familiar Rows nurse when he
needed one; but now promoted to be his
mothers halI-servant.
THANK you, Uncle Ned; I'll go to the
library. Miss Marjorie is there, you
say2"
sIss, massa. Done come visiting a
fortni't agone, says the garr.hous old
negro.
Roy passes through the long, richly
carpeted hall, where he used to run riot
in the DAYS of early boyhood, bat which
of Iate years knows him no more; and,
reaching at last a certain door, he pushes
it softly open and enters the quiet. I'M
lighted room. The flame Of the freight
fiickeTs about as the door opens and
closes. disclosing the face OF a girl
whose eyes gaze almost mournfully into
the fiery chasms between the bars of the
CRATE.
sMarlorierD and tenderness thrills
in the voice that calls her name.
She rises, with quick cry, and stands
before him.
Good evening, Mr.. DenziI, > she says,
after q moments pause, cool and calm as
the marble bust behind her and showing
IS little feeling.
Excuse me, he says, turning to
leave her presence. it Is not the Mar
lorie expected. Good evening"
Stay, Royal Why do you live 50
wicked life2u the troubled voice seem
ing full Of pain.
Wicked9 Who told you that2u
Every one knows It, Roy EVERY ono
but your mother
And she does notf'
She does not know Il. They came
to tell her, but sent them away"
Why did you interfere9" he asks,
not resentIulIy, but as # he enjoyed It