The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1895-08-02

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
return in an hour or so.
That night certain attorney -at-law,
who lived in quiet street not many
blocks from Philips studio, said to his
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 ill and unhappy. She came to
ask me what getting divorce on statu-
| tory grounds meant. When l explained,
she seemed very much agitated and
left the Office abruptly without seeming
to realize that she should offer me a
be for my advice. I felt too sorry for
her to mention it, SO allowed her to
go. Evidently she is in some sort of
marital trouble But I am willing to
swear that she is the innocent party"
1t might have been week later when
Dick Dunning stood in the postoffice on
the Maine fishing coast curiously regard
ing letter which had just been handed
to him by the postnistress. A letter
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 DICK--You sed when we parted if
ever needed friend to call on you You sed
| you'd die for me. I don't want you to die;
| Dick, but I 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 York-come to the Union
| Square hotel, corner of Fourth avenue and
| Fourteenth street-and send me a 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 comel Tell no.
| body. SUZANNE
Over Dicks face strange look had
passed. His nostrils dilated, and his
eyelids twitched as he walked out of
the postoffice and toward the house he
called home now that Claiming Jack
was no more his host.
eff he's treated her i'll, I'll beat his
body to a jelly" he muttered. "Poor
little girl, poor Snzanne! Yes, Dick II
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
the same suggestive odor when it reach
ed its destination the next morning. 1t
was Philip who took the letters from
the hallboy hand, and he glanced Curl
ously at this odd looking and i'll smell
ing missive which bore his wife's name,
Mrs. Suzanne Hughes, upon a Union
Square hotel envelope. "a letter for
you, Suzanne" he said as he held it
toward her across the breakfast table.
1t was the only letter she had received
to his knowledge since she became his
wife. Suzanne grew pale to the lips,
and her hand shook so that she was
obliged to hastily set down the coffee
cup which she was lifting to her lips.
She toyed with her breakfast moment
and then asked 10 be excused.
"Are you not going to read your let
ter?" Philip asked suddenly, a strange
annoyance at his heart. Suzanne had
looked and acted unlike herself of late.
He could not understand her. She stood
with her head dropped, her hand rest
ing Oh the back of her chair, silent for
a moment. Then she looked him full in
the eyes. "You shall know about the
letter tomorrow, she said. Until then
please ask me no questions.
81 shall never refer to it again until
you do, most certainly" Philip replied
as he resumed his breakfast. So his wife
had secrets? Well, that was new phase
for her to develop. 1t was some chari-
table scheme perhaps. She was full of
benevolent impulses, or it might be
some surprise which she was preparing
for him. Then he ceased to think about
it or her until he heard her voice at the
studio door an hour later. ST am going
out Philip" she said. 81 have some er-
rands to attend to- Do not feel anxious
} if am not back in time for lunch. I"
Before he could speak or ask question
she had gone. Yes, surely Suzanne was
preparing some surprise for him, he
thought. A dressing gown or slippers,
which she was having made for him,
and the letter was about that, asking
her to come and see the work no doubt.
Well, he must practice his most sur
prised look, so to please the poor little
thing when the denouement came
He lunched alone, and then he went
out for a long walk in the park. 1t was
, dark nearly when he returned. He was
, surprised to find no light in Suzanne's s
room. He entered calling her name, but
, there was no response. He lighted the
, gas and looked in the studio and in the
sleeping apartment, but there was no