The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1889-12-15


shadow, he glanced leisurely round the
room before replying. Is was mean, mis- =
able. poyerty-stricKen, like everything else
ABOUT nls home. The walls were white
washed, the boards were bare, and the very
oed linen was Of the coarses5 Of its kind.
Again that rare smile crossed his lips as he
looked ba k at his listener.
Il am sorry l could not put YOU in
larger room, he said, almost apologetically,
but my old servant is getting too ancient
to give up her bed.n
Then l have taken your rooml Where
do you sleeps'
20, anywhere; Pm not particular, A" said
Monsieur lie Cure, hastily. And now tell
me about yourself. Ought not your friends
be written tos They must be very IN
easy.
80, no, it is all right" said the other, con-
fidently.
He had SOFT melodious voice, and the
words rang unsteady
IN tell you all about it. l am sure it is
quite time l told you of myself, for even
after all your goodness to me you haven't
the remotest idea who am. My name is
Valentine Fairlie."
"Yesw
To judge by the tone OF that quiet eyes"
1t might almost have been thought that
the priest knew the name before 1t was
spoken.
81 am q novelist, so there is no especial
work waiting for me, and am supposed to
be on the tramp, and am not expected to
turn up at home until October There, now,
what Is your namen
lie Pere Houricks. That's how 1 am
registered, but the people round here call
me Monsieur le Cure"
Have you been here longm
The priest took no heed of the question.
rNva1k 8 L
sisted.
my wife9 How did you know | had one?
Did l talk of her when l was Off my head.
No she won't be uneasy, poor souls She
died last year,
Monsieur le Cure drew a quick, hard
breath, which, echoing through the dismal
room sounded like a stiied sob; but he did
not speak, aud the other continued:
What else did l talk about then"
There was pause, and the sick man
shifted uneasily in his bed.
Il suppose you parsons daren't repeat
anything you may chance to hearln he de-
manded, abruptly.
mo; we, as you say, dare not repeat.
1t always appears a vast gratiication to
layman to remember that the secrets you
yourselves can't keep it would damn priest
to betray.p
Fairlie laughed.
well, honestly, do you know, think it
is" he said frankly ave like to get all the
satisfaction we can out of relieving our
minds. But what else did | talk about when
| was ravlngg Come now"
about John Reyner," said Monsieur le
Cure.
AS the quiet answer fell from his lips the
other started violently forward, and then
fell back with a groan.
Don't, confound your he cried, raising
his thin hands to his baudaged head, aud
then he added: Don't be offended am
sure | beg your pardon, but leaping up like
that starts my wretched head, and it feels
on fire."
you should lie still, said the priest i'm
place him more comfortably. 'Shall go
away and leave you to get asleep"
mo, no." cried Fairlie, eagerly. "Stay
and tell me what | said about Rsyner."
He shut his eyes few minutes until the
paroxysm of pain had passed, and then he
went on half whimsically:
so | could think of nothing better to
rake up than that old skeleton of mine /
[ thought it was buried fourteen years
ago. "
Fifteen years ago." corrected his
listener "I,think I know as much of that
story as you do, for | have-I have met
John Reyner since he came out of prison. I"
you've met himw Fairlie's voice was
one of incredulous amaZement. "What on
earth was he doing here's? he asked.
st WASN'T here. The story of his life
was told in Brussels. Don't look so startled,
or that head of yours will be troubling you
again. Stranger condolences than this
happen sometimes, and when you talked
about 'Reyner' and Isabel and the papers
in the drawer it was not very difficult to
piece your story together as the first chapter
of his"
The explanation given, Monsieur le Cure
moved to the window, and, pushing aside
the white dimity blind, he stood looking
out into the night.
The rain which had been falling through
out the September day was still coming
down as steadily as ever; the night was
pitch dark, without a star to be seen; the
wind was bowling round the house. He
was reused from his absorption by his COM
panion's next words.
81 suppose you think Pm an utter scamp"
he said.
The words were spoken almost wistfully,
for it was characteristic of the man both to
demand and obtain good deal of sym
patty, and 1T was also ir6Some to abate one
iota of the popularity to which ne chung so
fast and which he priced so highly. He
would have liked this grUn-faced host of his
sented this idea being frustrated.
Receiving no answer to his half question,
he spoke again:
LET me give you my version of that
affair, and then you'll admit the provoca-
tom
"WellW
Monsieur lie Cure moved from the window
and seated himself again in the rush-bot-
toned chair. He had pushed it even father
back than before, and was now well out out
of Fairies sight. Seated as he was now,
his shadow, enlarged aud grotesque, but in
full profile. was flung blackly on the bare
whitewashed wall, and the sick man lay for
a moment idly watching it, The narrow,
bowed shoulders, the lean frame, from
which the straight coat fell away in loose
folds. the nervous hands clasping and IN
clasping on his crossed knee, the sad, mo-
tionless face-Val Falrlie shivered a little as
he noted these details, and then resolutely
turned away his eyes. 1t had been bad
stroke of luck for him, he pondered, coming
to grief on that particular day. Any other
man would 80 have arranged matters that
he was tended by rosy-cheeked girl or
soft-voiced woman instead of this poor
wretch. When was it that Reyner had told
him the story of his disgrace! He knew the
fellow had beel a Romanist, so was 1T IN the
confessional, he wondereds
That curt "Well" mad piqued him, and
with the whimsical notion of making tb 1t
stern. Swallowed facs relax, and the hard
voice warm into sympathy, che novelist be-
gan speaking again.
"Did Reyner tell you that we had always