The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1893-11-24


Come UP these stairs into my den.
keep a loaded revolver there. Well get
that, and then we can make a start"
''All right; I'm your man. Find weap-
on for me- No, don't take light; that
is, if yoa can find it in the dark
Up the private staircase they went to-
gether into Mr.. Burne's sanctum. The
blinds had not been pulled down. Chew
enix went forward and looked out of the
window.
''Great Scott, there is some one moving
yonderl What on earth are they doing?
If the moon were only up we could see"
.sI'll up them, moon or no moon," said
they have not had this many day."
"Don't fire, man, till you know"
But he was too late.
Mr.. Burne had thrown the window open,
and the shot went ringing through the air
before the words had died on Alan's lips.
Before either man could breathe it was
answered by piercing shrek.
"My God, that's Katie's voicel Can she
be at the gate3' criedsthe father, white
with terror.
The revolver was tossed aside, to the
danger of another life, for it went off as it
fell, and Mr.. Chevenix only moved in time
to escape a severe wound.
But Mr.. Burne needed naught.
He ran down stairs like a mailman, fol-
lowed by his guest, who was scarcely less
frightened than himself, though in his
sporting slang he muttered, IA lover for
pony" as he approached the spot where
he could now distinctly see that there were
two figures clinging to each other.
Which was wounded? That was the aw-
full question. If it were the lover, so much
the better; if it were Katie, would either
of them ever forgive themselves?
1t was Katie.
The white dress, but half an hour ago
so fresh and trim, was saturated with
blood, which flowed from wound in her
head, as she lay back in Kenneth Moore's
arms.
Gruff, however, even in his despair, Mr..
Burne asked him savagely who he was
and by what right he had his arms about
his daughter.
Kenneth did not answer, except indirect
ly.
"My love-my love-my beautiful" he
walled, would not have given my life to
save yours, and yet you die for me?''
The pathos of these words failed to touch
Mr.. Burne, who pushed him to one side.
Support her, Chevenix, " he said. sHelp
me to carry her into the house."
But Chevenix had more pity.
"Let this man lift her. It will hurt her
more to move her,"
So it was Kenneth Moore who carried
her in and laid her on sofa in the draw
ing room, unconscious, though clinging to
him SO tightly that it was difficult to free
him from her embrace.
And the three men, all unhurt, stood for
second or two speechless and gazed at
the girls PROSTATE, bleeding form
1t was Haines, hastily summoned, who
tried to stanch the blood; Jenkins, the
butler, who went for the DOCTOR
Mr.. Burne was the first to recover him.
self, and once more turned furiously on
Kenneth Moore.
How dare you come after my daugh-
ter? How dare you bring this dreadful
thing upon us? You blackguardl Get
out of this house at once, and never let
me see your face inside my doors, or will
send for the police and have you locked
upP' Again it was Alan Chevenix who
soothed.
sHush, hushl She is moving restlessly.
She is half conscious" Then to Kenneth
Moore: "Go, my good fellow. 1 will let
you know what the doctor says. 1t is best
not to irritate Mr.. Burne'l
And, with one wistful, lingering look at
the recumbent girl, Kenneth Moore took
this advice, given in all good faith, and
departed.
Alan Chevenix, he had been told, was
an aspirant for Katie's hand. Still, in Alan
Chevenix he felt he had friend.
When the doctor came, Katie was carried
up to bed, and for days "What will be the
end?" was the question.
She was never wholly conscious, and
when occasionally she spoke in her half
dellrlous mutterings it was always of Ken
meth.
And Kenneth waited about her window
for Alan Chevenix's constant bulletins
with the faithfulness of trusty dog.
Aye, what would the end be?
Atlast skill and science prevailed. Katie
was better, but the prostration and shock
to the nervous system were intense. Her
danger was still great, since day after day
she lay there and made no effort to live.
You would rather see her die than
married to Kenneth Mcore?" asked that
good fellow Chevenix of her father "For
my part, though love her very dearly,
would rather see her his wife than follow
her to her grave"
But Mr.. Burne always shook his head
and would not answer.
At last the crisis came.
There was no hope for Kate
"Surely Kenneth Moore might bid his
love goodby forever.''
This concession was made by her wrath
ful sire, softened somewhat by the knowl-
edge that through his own rash act he was
about to lose his child
He sat in corner of her room, into
which the sun was shining brightly, when
Kenneth entered. Life, not death, did
this entrance bring.
My own-my KennethI''
1t was the first heart cry Katie had ut
tered since the shot was fired.
No use for protracted opposition, the
father felt. Herose from his seat, solemnly
placed her thin hand in Kenneth's brown
strong palm, and returned to his corner
to watch the happiness in which he and
Alan Chevenix were alike forgotten.-New
York Commercial Advertiser.
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