Reporter and farmer. [volume] (Webster, Day County, Dakota [S.D.]) 188?-1946, 1893-08-03

did you get that name-Marston? Who
told you? Speak! Have they guessed
his hiding place again?" the maj half
muttered to himself.
Il got the name from q letter-a let
ter from Mr.. Marston himself" ex.
planned Beatrice.
'Oh." muttered the man. .ITl guar
antee he never told you To use that
name hereabouts. all the same. Rails
ton, girl! Do you understand! Never
whisper Marston again, if you're friends
of ours"
Can / see him.
Can you see who?"
for me-"
He did,
Yes. Take me to him. He will tell
you IL Is all right"
The man studied a biz. He relocked
the gate and made sure that TO che
was lurking about the place. Then tax
ing an enormou bunch of keys from
his pocket, he led the way TO the
house.
A massive, gloomy structure. the care
he manifested in penetrating the doubly
locked portals. indicated n Jail or a
castle of defense. lit was richly fur
nished within, but the closed and barred
windows and chill pervading each apart
ment made the antiquated mansion
seem somber, gloomy and uninviting in
the extreme.
You wait here"
Beatrice's guide pointed surlily TO n
chair in a small waiting-room. and dis
appeared through a door ut its other
end.
There was n low hum of ~conyersa-
ton in the adjoining apartment. Her
eyes glowing like two sinister stars of
light. Beatrice glided noiselessly 10 the
threshold of the door that had just
closed noiselessly on her companion.
Hex ear bent, she stroye TO translate
the gruff, explanatory accents of the
man. the sharp. querulous, excited ones
of his companion.
When the door again opened, how
ever. "ith the grace and agility of a
panther she had regained the chair.
Go in" nodded the keeper, and the
door opened and closed after her, usher
ing her into a roomy apartment, and
leaving her face TO face with ner fate.
Half reclining in an invalid chair was
a thin, white-haired man. She studied
his working face from beneath her veil;
she noted the nervous tension of brain
with excitement, his eyes We're heenly
alive with u~nconcealed suspense.
My steward tells me you come here
with a letter" spoke the master Of the
mansion. in tones scarcely audible from
emotion.
Yes" murmured Beatrice.
Il have written but one letter-in was
to one / have not seen for years"
"Iour daughter. Alice Edna R~alston?
/ am she. Father
The plot, the fraud. the false assump,
ton of the fair schemer was revealed
at last. She had determined to per
senate her dead friend and s~choolmate;
and the stolen letter had Well equipped
her for the cruel imposture.
MY child.'
She had sprung forward at that wild.
yearning cry. Not a heart-throb Of
pity for the fond. deluded old man,
~soul-hungry for the love and sympathy
of his long absent child stirred h1r-heart
only fierce, covetous joy and triumph.
His real daughter was dead, n knowl-
edge of that fact, in his evident critical
condition of health. might kill him.
Surely it was mercy TO step into her
place, to solace the last days of a dying
man. to benefit by a fortune that, else,
would go to strangers or sordid com.
panions in his inexplicable exile.
She knew she was safe in telling the
story she had framed, and that eircum-
stances would carry out her claims.
She showed the letter she had stolen
from Edna; she told how she and her
guide had been overtaken by the storm
at the broken bridge. He had narished,
she had escaped, and she showed the
newspaper containing the account of
the double tragedy, ANONYMOUSLY por-
traying what had really t~ranspi-ed.
little dreaming that Edna Deane of
the past. the real Alice Edna Marston,
or Ralston, had not one down in the
weird swirl of waters.
But there was much TO learn. Her
path was yet of pitfalls, and she
must be secretiye, and yet draw out
the secrets of the unsuspecting old man
who accepted her unreseryedly as his
own child. blinded by clever falsehoods,
the changes of years, and her circum-
stantial narration of events he knew To
have happened as she related them.
Go Re Continued.)