The Portland daily press., 1895-08-03

~-O'~NAN~ON@Os f|iAO
the next day, and there were dark hol-
lows under her eyes.
"We shall have to get out of town if |
you continue to feel SO badly he said,
"but have rich patron who is COM
ing back from Europe the middle of
June, and rather wanted to wait for
him. / think he will take two or three
paintings for me-"
81 shall be all right in few days."
Suzanne said. ''This first spring wealth
er taxes my strength. But Philip, de-
spite his preoccupied mind, noted her
continued pallor and lassitude as days
went by and felt anxious to get away
from the city. At the same time, SO
long as Mildred Montrose was in town,
he felt as if chains of burning gold
bound him there. Oh, the hunger and
thirst for the sight of her face again
And when he least expected it they met
He had gone out with Suzanne for
promenade. She looked SO pale and i'll
that he urged her to walk in the open
air with him. On their return she had
complained of thirst, and they entered
pharmacy to obtain an iced lemonade.
Standing before the counter was Mildred
and her aunt. Mrs. Montrose was the
first to speak, and Suzanne bit her lip
till the blood came to restrain cry of
terror and surprise at the sound Of the
voice which had spoken such terrible
words only week previous.
mildred and I have been shopping,
and she grew faint, andwe came in here
for some refreshing drink, +" Mrs Mont
rose said as Philip lifted his hat, and
then he turned and looked in Mildred's
eyes for one second before he presented
Suzanne. In that one second Suzanne
saw such TRANSPORTATION of her hus-
bands face that she scarcely recognized
him. The brooding eyes grew luminous,
the stern mouth tender, the jaded, worn
expression gave place to one in which
love unspeakable, joy, hope and peace
were all mingled.
Then he presented the ladies to his
wife as they passed out with only bow
of recognition. Suzanne remembered
nothing of Mildred's face, only that it
was pale, delicate and sad. She had not
| looked at the owner of the terrible voice.
She had not dared. But the memory of
| Philips face as it had looked, as it
might look, was burned indelibly upon
her heart
The next day Suzanne told Philip she
was going out to walk and begged him
not to disturb himself. She would only
walk in the quiet streets, and she would
| feturn in an hour or so.
| That night certain attorney -at-law,
who lived in quiet street not many
blocks from Philips studio, said to hia
wife at the dinner table:
| 81 had the strangest caller today-a
lady-who puzzled me more than any
one ever met in all my practice. She
was young and rather handsome, but
looked i'll and unhappy. She came to
ask me what getting a divorce on statu
tory grounds meant. When explained,
she seemed very much agitated and
left the office abruptly without seeming
to realize that she should offer me
Zee for my advice / felt toe sorry for
| her to mention it, SO l allowed her tt
| go. Evidently she is in some sort Of
marital trouble But | am willing to
| swear that she is the innocent party
1t might have been week later whe.
Dick Dunning stood in the postoffice Oh
the Maine fishing coast curiously regard
ing letter which had just been handed
to him by the postmistress. A lette
was an event in Dicks life. He did not
remember to have received but one be-
| fore in his life, and that one told him
that his father and mother had both
died of smallpox away up in the Maine
woods. This second letter was written
on creamy thick paper in a cramped,
childish hand, and it ran as follows:
DEAR DIoK-You sed wAen we parted if
ever needed friend to call on you You sed
you'd die for me. don't want you to die,
| Dick, but need friend. Maybe when you
| know all want you'll think it's bad as dy
ing but don't ask you to harm living soul
| Only come to New Yorl1-come to the Union
! Square hotel, corner of Fourth avenue and
| Fourteenth street-and send me line here in
your own hand saying you'll come. Then I'll
| see you there and tell you ALL It's life and
| death to me, Dick. You must come! Tell no.
| body. SrrzANNE
Over Dicks face a strange look had
| passed. His nostrils dilated, and his
eyelids twitohed as he walked out of
the postoffice and toward the house he
called home now that Claiming Jack
was no more his host.
If he's treated her ill, I'll beat his
body to jelly" he muttered. "Poor
little girl, poor Suzanne Yes, Diok'll
be your friend while he's leg to walk
| on.''
With all the odd looking people who
came to the Union Square hotel-that
rendezvous OF theatrical eccentricities-
the office clerk noticed particularly the
country youth who registered from
somewhere in Maine that May night. A
fisherman from the coast, he felt sure,
because when he took up the penholder
with which the young man had scrawl-
ed his name it exhaled strong odor of
fish-that insistent odor which seems to
saturate the very blood of those who
have daily contact with the finny tribe
| Even the note which he wrote few mo-
ments later and sealed by rubbing his
| closed fist over its surface gave forth