The herald., 1894-03-17
long as l live! Are you his sisterY'

long US uVel Arc you ul5 blSDcEE
! shake my head.
'Oh, not his-wife?"
] fancy CONSERVATION in the sweet,
shrin, girAsh voice. Evidently the fact
of better half" would forever obscure
the fame of the popular writer.
Again shake my head.
We're st. Albans is not married" ]
return, and the violet eyes dance with
delight. She is pleased and does not at
tempt to conceal it.
81 am his nearest friend" added ex-
planatorily, "nearer to him than any ono
else"
And then I bow her out and go back
to my work. But all day long am Wis
tied by thoughts Of the pretty college
girl, and fall to wondering if Brother
Tom paid his wager like man Of honor.
The next day "Vere st. Albans" re-
ceives cards of invitation to several af-
fairs. The envelopes are all addressed
to Mr.. We're st. Albans, and gradually it
dawns upon me that / am universally
believed to be of the masculine gender.
It is amusing and provoking, but the
situation has its compensations. de-
clins every invitation in We're ST. Albans'
name and feel almost like an impostor
as / do so.
Day after day am besieged by callers
who demand to look upon the face Of the
mysterious st. Albans. OF course I re-
fuse everybody. double Abby's wages
and station her in the small entrance
hall, with orders to admit no one. re-
ceive letters from my publishers re-
proaching me with my seclusion.
Don't be hermit, my dear fellow"
says one Of the letters from the august
head of the house; "a little society will
freshen you up, and besides you have
really made hit in that last article, and
people are desirous of meeting you. My
AN, whom we have just admitted to the
fem, is very anxious to meet you"
And SO on until feel the blood grow
cold within my veins at thought of pos
sible complications.
Can l always preserve my incognita?
Will they not besiege my den and ferret
tho truth and me-out of it together? It
comes at last. One bright winter morn
ing Abby ushers into my presence a port
ly looking old gentleman, and with him
a man Of some 80 years, tall, dark, hand
some-just such a face as love to por-
tray as the faces of my heroes.
Il beg your pardonp
Mr.. Atherton falls back, overcome
with surprise.
"The servant showed us in here. We
are desirous of meeting Mr.. We're st.
Albans. We are Of the publishing firm
of Atherton g. Sons. wish to see Mr..
st. Albans in regard to some especial
work. VIII you kindly request him to
give us audience2
feel my face growing red-redder-
reddest. / rise from my chair and mo-
ton them to be seated near. open my
mouth to blurt forth the whole truth,
but some perverse imp seizes my tongue,
and instead l falter:
"You cannot see We're st. A1bans to-
day, gentlemen. He--is indisposed."
So he is, indeed, indisposed to receive
visitors.
"You are Mrs. We're st. Albans, pre-
sume," he observes. And I-oh, depths
of infamyl l am SO embarrassed, so
overwhelmed with embarrassment un-
der the cool, steady gaze Of the younger
man that bow and mutter something
which sounds strangely like Eyes"
At that moment there is O curious bus
tie within the fat where my little home
is situated. An uproar all at once, and
in rushes Abby, wild and disheveled,
and clings to my arm like mad crea-
ture.
"Oh, Miss Verel Miss VereY' she
shrieks, 'the house is on frel Come, let
us get away, or we shall be burned
alive!'
1t is all true. The fire has been burn
ing so long unsuspected that now it
breaks out with irresistible force. and
soon the whole building is in flames,
But long before then we are quite safe.
My two visitors bear my desk down
stairs between them, and while the elder
man keeps watch and ward over it out
side upon the street the younger returns
to me.
"We must get your husband out" he
says eagerly. "Show me his room, and
will do my best to save him!"
''My husbandp' falter feebly. "Why,
l have no husbandw
''Then who is We're st. Albans?"
II ami
So the truth is told, and somehow l
feel better.
When we are all safe on terra firma,
my new friend turns to me and says in
low tone:
'My name is Tom Atherton. NY
young sister called to obtain We're. st.
Adams autograph. She is more than
half in love with the unknown and mys-
terious We're. shall take pleasure in
undeceiving her"
Then after long pause, during which
he studies my shsmed face attentively,
he adds:
"And l am quite in love with We're st.
Albans. l have known that writer for
months through her manuscripts. Tell
me, is there any hope for me9'
What can say but murmur some
thing about short acquaintance and all
the rest of the conventional excuses that
flock through my brain. But time does
away with the first excuse, since he pro-
ceeds henceforth to devote himself to
4.