National Baptist world., 1894-09-28

covered her face with her hands.
Barry Villier's face lightened INV
dear young lady, have wronged you.
Pray, make some allowance for a
fathers affection. Let me reward YOU
for this act of self-sacrifice. He pulled
out his cheque book and stood beside
her, apparently considering the sum,
when the door that led to the back
opened and Stern walked in He
looked first at his daughter, then at
Nilliers. As their eyes met, something
like an electric spark seemed to pass
! from one to the other.
Fielding Clark!'' cried Stern.
Kate gave a start. Barry Villiers
was Fielding Clark. the dramatist.
Talbot's father was the author of the
play for which they had received the
| tickets. She turned an amazed look
upon her father. His face frightened
her. 1t was exultant and denunciat tory.
For moment, Stern's face seemed to
have the same effect upon Barry Viii
liers. He seemed disconcerted i'll at
ease. In Sterns hand were the press
notices crumpled in a ball. Villiers
| " Uo Ll1C LII 81 w GILL LIS COul pOSuIS.
Sinclair" he cried. John Sinclair.
This is a surprise"
Stern turned to his daughter. Leave
us a moment, Kate" he said. II have
a few words to say to this-this gen
tleman."
| Kate rose, and with a wondering
look at her father quilted the room.
When she was gone, he fixed scorch-
ing look upon Barry Villiers. That
gentleman promptly held out his
| hand. Stern contemptuously regard
ed it.
Il don't know why you are in my
house," he said slowly. But no doubt
you can explain it. l should say you
are a man who could explain any
thing. Perhaps you can explain this"
He held up the crumpled ball of paper.
''These are press notices of play pro-
duced last night. That play was mine.
You stole it. You are liar and viii
lian.'
Villiers put down his hat. Sin
clair" he said, and his tones were al
most plaintive, you will regret these
words. Yet they were spoken in the
heat of the moment, and | forgive
you"
NO doubt" pursued Villiers, you
think the worst of me. 1t is not un-
natural. But there are exteruating
circumstances | own the play was
was yours. | own | used it. But at
lost. | had mislaid it. ! had no
knowledge of your real name-I take
it that the agreeable young lady who
had just left us is your daughter-I
had no means of reaching you.
sought for you. | advertised for you,
under the name of Sinclair; but in the
tide of London life you were swept
away. Then Sinclair-I mean Stern
l was tempted There came to me the
great temptation of my life. | was
worked out: a manager stood at my
elbow, and | took your play. 1t was
culpa ble-very culpable- but the ques-
tion is what are you going to do in it?''
He paused. and looked, not altogether
without anxiety, at the man he had
wronged.
Stern stood before him detected. To
third party he might easily have been
mistaken for the one who was most to
blame. What was he going to do in
it? The hot fire of vengeance had died
from him. He stood now only with
the cold ashes of lost hopes.
''Of course" said Villiers, you could
harm me. perhaps prosecute me; but
it would be unchristian." Stern
thought of the sandwich boards and
glared at him. ''Give me the oppor-
tunity,'' he went on hastily ''of MAX
inc atonement. We are both middle
should we cloud the happiness of
others?"
''The happiness of others? What do
you mean?"
''Tll explain" said Villiers "You
know me as Clark. Villiers is my
name, and Talbot Villiers is my son.
You may not have noticed the like
ness. He takes after his mother"
THANK Goor' cried Stern, fervently;
but the relationship troubled him.
''Ee loves your daughter. The match |
seemed to me an undesirable one, and |
! came here to-day to break it off Now
it is the dearest wish Of my heart. |
Why should we blight their lives?"
Stern gazed at him amazed Here
was a fresh sophistry. Villiers had
robbed him and now held out net
for him. Stern's brain grew hot.
Il say 'we;' but of course | mean
you. / have no power to do anything.
You have the power. If you are SO un-
christian as to expose me, you do so at
the price of their happiness, at the
price of youth and innocence. You
shall have all the money took for the
play. l may be a villain" said Vii.
liers with virtuous burst, "but /
have a conscience. This is a feeble
atonement, Stern; call it, if you like,
the beginning of one; but do you ac-
cept it?''
Stern could make no reply. The de.
sire for vengeance had fed; but in its
place was dull longing for justice.
Then he thought of Talbot, of the af.
ternoon in the Strand. go now" he
crled hoarsely. Il want to think this
over. I'll send you my answer" He
as if he was carrying the sand
wicn boards, into the shadow of the
room and sat down on chair.
Barry Villiers stood in the sunlight.
He gazed anxio usly at Stern, and was
about to open his mouth, when his
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