Kansas agitator. [volume] (Garnett, Kan.) 1890-1905, 1896-08-14

ward, have been credited with longing
after. These questions. and the only
answer could give them, did not i'm
prove the state Of my mind.
1t was now growing dusk. walked
back to the little inn, went to my room,
and asked for lights and coffee. A
broad-faced, broad-shOuldered Breton
lass ministered to my wants. en-
tered into conversation with her, and
in spite of her patois managed to under
stand her.
asked about the place and the peo-
pie. She shrugged her shoulders. All!
but the place was decaying-going
down-going down. Once she had heard
that people could live there and make
money; but that was hundreds of years
ago. Now, every one was poor as
poor could be. Parents could not save
their daughters dots-girls could not
save them. Besides many Of the young
men weat away. They went to
L'Orient and became sailors. 1t was a
rare thing for girl to get married in
st. Seurin.
Were there no visitors-no English,
for misunderstanding in the neighbor-
hood? Moves. There was one mon
sieur-he was English. He lived at
Pierre Boulays farm-the farm just
over the sea cliff yonder the house
nearest the sea.
His name? All! she forgot those
strange names. He was tall and hand
some. He had been here, off and on,
many months. He was hereto, but
kind to the poor people. What did he
do with himself in this desolate place?
All! she knew not. True, young Jean,
old Pierre's son, said that the gentle
man shut himself for hours and hours,
writing, and the cure, who knew him,
said he was learned man.
1t was he! My journey had not been
in vain. longed to ask the girl If a
lady lived with him, but l forced the
question back. When l had finished
with Eustace Grant, l could then think
of Viola.
Where was he to be found? Was he
at the farm now? She thought not.
She had not seen him for some days.
Most days he came down the hill, and
walked along the coast-far, far along
the coast. If monsieur wished to meet
with him, he would surely find him
there.
Yes; the coast was very fine. Some
times artists came to paint it. Per-
haps monsieur was an artist?
She glanced at me. No doubt my
coming had created curiosity. The
question suggested an excuse for my
staying at such a place as st. Seurin.
Yes; she had guessed right. I was
an artist. had come to draw pic
lures of the coast. She seemed pleased
at having guessed the nature of my oc-
cupation, and quickly left me, no doubt
to make her discovery known to all
who were interested in the matter. I
needed her no longer. l had learned
enough.
Fate seemed shaping everything to
my hand. l had learned that Grant
was almost within stones throw; that
nearly every day he took a solitary
walk along the coast. 1t was on the
coast, far away from fear or Interrupt
ton, that would arrange for our meet
ing to take place. All now wished to
guard against was premature discov-
cry Of my presence.
The next morning stepped out and
surveyed the scene Of action. Far, far
away as eye could see was the stretch
of smooth yellow sand running from the
edge of the glorious sea to the tall,
rugged cliffs, in break Of which the
tiny village nestled.
l climbed the hill, and from the top,
looking across the valley, could see the
small farm house in which the object of
my hatred lived. dared not go near
it. l turned and regained the sea-
coast, and walked along under the
cliff, picturing with savage rapture the
moment when, utterly unsuspecting of
our contiguity, Eustace Grant would
find himself confronted by me, and
called upon to reckon up the cost Of his
foul treachery.
ITO ne CONTINUEDl