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


entine Fairlie. A younger face this, mus
tached and alert with intense vitality, but
it wore the self-same look OF triumph, and
"a shrek burst from his paling lips.
my Godl You are John Rayner" he
said.
$50 you know it at last "
A short contemptuouS laugh came with
the words. Still holding the light above
them, and with the other bonv hand still
gripping at the bedclothes above the mans
breast, the priest looked long and steadily
at his enc ny and thea drew hard breath.
"Do you know why l saved your lfem he
asked. did you never wonder why l
nursed you night and DAY and lost my very
food and sleep in my anxiety to listen to
every pulsing Of your heart and to win you
back from death! Your life Is niue. 1t
belongs to me-
The tones were low and equable Had
Jeanne-Marie been listening at the door il
stead of sleeping placidly over the forgot
ten broth, she could have guessed ut moth
ing wrong from the sound of her masters
voice.
You have robbed me of all that made
my life. In place of that other, as l might
have been now, powerful, successful,
beloved, that dream-self of NINE that died
fifteen years ago, you have made me
desolats man, with au awful hidden past
between me and the living world. You
have made me- Pshawi you won't under
stand. But even you will understand this
much. You never spoke of me or Of Paris
at all in your delirium. / chose you should
condemn yourself out of your own mouth,
that was all. have been in your hands all
these years, and now you are in mine. l
shall kin you"
His blue eyes widely distended with fear
his damp, limp hands resting open upon
the coverlet, Val Fairlie lay as motionless
as though he were paralyzsd, his dry
tongue clacking against his teeth. It was
a full minute before he could form the ques-
ton, and then it was gasped rather than
spoken.
you, priest, will do this thing2'
mo. /, a man" said Monsieur lie Cure,
grimly.
In the long silence that followed he rose
to his feet, and, setting the candle back in
Its former place, he began pacing the little
room, his shoulders more erect his step
more decisive. 1t were as though with his
final words he had cast off the last rem
nant of the hampering priesthood, and had
grown young again in his claim to his old
name and his old vengeance. When the
solitary word "Howa" broke tho sudden
stiffness his reply was heralded by MOCK
ing laugh
why, man" he asked, "has the world
proved so enchanting TO you that you
tremble at the idea of quitting it. Have
you visions of bloody knives and bowls of
poison! You needn't be alarmed, for | as
sure you that dying under my roof will be
the most natural thing in the world. Let
ting you worry yourself back III the fever
"a slipped bandage-a lit6le less care, and
then while my faithful flock condole with
me on the los of my patient, shall bury
you. If / knew whers-old Lucas was-I
would ask him to the funeral"
The last words were spoken hesitatiugly,
and perplexed look came into his face
Since the moment when he had been fas-
| cinated by the shadow on the wall, Val
Fairlie had lain almost in state of coma,
conscious of nothing but an overwhelming
sense of terror, but now there came a relief
to the tension which had been binding him.
Dick Lucas had been a gay, rackety young
fellow, of whom Reyner had seen some
thing in the old Paris days, but the two
men had never been more than acquain-
tances, and Fairlie felt sure that, ordinarily
speaking, his would be the very last name
to recur to the others memory. Was he
losing his memory, then, and becoming in
| sane! Suffering as he had suffered, and
living the life that he had lived, was quite
enough to make the man a monomaniac. 1t
was strange that this thought should be the
one to recall FairlIe from the state Of i'm
| passiveness into which he had fallen, but it
certainly acted as spur. If he were per
| fectly sane, there was something 50 diaboli-
cal, so CHASTITY in the idea Of nursing dying
man back to life for the sake Of torturing
before killing him, that his brain had re-
fused to face the truth and had grown tor
pid with the effort. but with this second
theory, hope sprang to life again. He
might outwit him, or he might persuade
him to relinquish his purpose by counter
feiting a courage he could not feel He
- = all
ligious man, and probably he had not said
prayer during the last dozen years, but in
the extremity of his need the image of his
lost wife came forcibly before him, and,
not knowing that he did SO, he murmured
her name, Isabel"
That unconscious appeal to the dead
woman whom both these men had loved
was succeeded by another Of those long and
terrible silences, and then the priest spoke
again.
He had come to a standstill at the foot of
the bed, and now confronted its occupant
with his arms fold I'd across his breast.
Isabel is dead" he said, speaking slowly
and sadly and without trace of his former
airy tones. II thought could do it, but
was wrong. Had she been alive | must
have let you go. would not break her
heart, although she helped to break mine"
mo, don't suppose my death would
affect any one very much, y returned Fair
lie, surprising himself by the tranquil way
in which he spoke, and watching mis- listener
very intently, except, of course, my little
girl-Isabel's child"
"Isabel's childs' the hoarse, eager echo
followed instantly on his words, and the
still figure sprang into sudden life. "What
did you says" his face flushing his hand
outstretched, "Isabel's child. Did Isabel
leave child|
Yes, a girl Another Isabel"
With the double discovery of John Roy
ner's identity in this Belgian priest, and
that his own hours were virtually mum
bered, Val Fairlie seemed to have passed
through the bitterness of death, and all
fear had now left him. 1t even struck him,
in the curious analytical fashion in which
the sub-current of this mans thoughts
were won't to run, as a pathetic touch of
unwritten poetry that now his wife was no
longer able to shield this worthless, unlova
bic husband Of hers, il should be her little
daughter on whom the task devolved.
didn't you look at my knapsackW he
continued. 1.-The heavier luggage was
sent on to Dinant, but i suppose the KNAPP
sack was found with me, wasn't it! Isa's
photograph Is in It,"
Monsieur le Cure went to the cupboard,
aud, taking out a knapsack, brought it to
the bed.
81 knew who you were, SO there was no
occasion to look over your property" he
said, briefly.