The Mason County journal. [volume] (Shelton, W.T.) 1886-1927, 1899-01-27

Uut VIC uCdIl AAlSAS0 AAJ ac0O~A' "
these sheets Of paper are rather valu-
able"
Agatha threw the balls onto the
| table.
"And this book is to make you ia
mous?" she asked, with bitter con-
tempt 81 suppose, when its published
everyone will come and envy me be-
cause I'm the wife Of the genius
George Arbuthnot."
Her scornful emphasis only brought
a smile to Arbuthnot's face.
81 don't know about that" he said,
contemporary, "but it's the best
work I've done yet. And if it's sue
cessful, Agatha, shall be able to buy
you that diamond bangle you coveted
/ the other day."
But even the reference to the dia-
mond bangle failed to move Agatha.
SLOW long will it take you to finish
it?" she asked, slowly, looking down
at the untidy desk.
II hope to finish it by next week.,
said Arbuthrot, triumphantly. i've
allowed Lcrrimer, the Weekly Review
man, to see some parts of it, and he's
expressed very favorable opinion and
| thinks it's bound to be a success"
Agatha's eyes narrowed at the cor
| ners.
"Lorrimer's a fool" she said, an
grily.
It was one cold afternoon, ten days
LOT hut cfnn6 n his
doorstep in the act of inserting his
latchkey, smiling at some pleasing
"reminiscences of his recent talk with
his publisher.
Suddenly a wild, terrified cry broke
from the house, followed by. scream
after scream, reiterated with such in
tensity of anguish that Arbuthnot him
. self caught the infection of terror, and
fumblcd with trembling hands at the
latchkey.
At last he managed TO open the door
and run into the hall. A fearful sight
met his eye. From his study door flew
something-an object enveloped in
writing flames, and from it there
came piercing, agonized shrieks. AS
the draught from the open door flew
fiercely down the corridor the flames
leaped higher and higher round their
living prey, until Arbuthnot's sick
ened gaze saw nothing but a brilliant
ball of fire.
God! it was Agatha! Mad with tor
ture, the flaming figure rushed toward
him and threw out it's arms in agony.
Arbuthnot caught it in a tight en-
brace, and with all his strength hurled
himself and the shrieking figure onto
the carpeted floor and rolled over and
over until at last the flames were
beaten out and he knew the fire was
conquered.
Three hours later the doctor came
softly downstairs. He had used all his
skill to bring life back to the disfig-
ured body that now lay motionless on
the bed. 1t was all in vain. Agatha's
injuries were beyond all help, and she
bad lived only three hours after Ar
buthnot had carried her upstairs.
Her husband had never left her side,
and, though badly burned about the
hands and face, had scarcely realized
his own injuries. AS he looked at that
cruelty difigured face, now swathed IN
bandages, a rush of tears blinded his
eyes, and he knew that all past differ
ences were swept away, and that
Agatha would live hencefcrth in his
memory only as the woman whom he
had once loved with all his heart. Be-
fore life flickered out in that suffering
body Agatha opened her eyes once
and met her husbands gaze fixed with
intense pity and love upon her face
To Arbuthnot it seemed that she plead
ed dumbly for forgiveness, but even as
he looked the lids closed again, and
in few moments Agatha's spirit had
slipped into the great silence.
When all was over, Arbuthnot
stopped and kissed the cold, pale lips.
Later in the evening he went down.
stairs to his study. AS he entered the
room shudder ran through his body;
he remembered the figure of fame that
had leaped into his arms but a few
hours ago, and his heart was torn at
the thought of Agatha's sufferings.
And yet it was a mystery how she
had caught fire. Presumably she had
been warming herself in his study, and
her thin grenadine dinner dress had
swept too near the flames. A few dull
red embers still burned in the CRATE.
Arbuthnots lit the lamp and sat down
mechanically to his desk.
'sThank God for work." he said, with
y deep sigh. cat least I can forget for
a time"
He opened the deep drawer wherein
his pile of manuscript laid ready for
the printers hand One or two omis-
s;ons could easily be rectifed now, and
the work would soothe his weary heart
and brain. But-the drawer stood
empty. Hastily he pulled out its coun-
terpart. No; that, too, held nothing.
With feverish hands he rummaged each
pigeonhole, turned everything out of
his bureau, sought on the chairs, the
tables. The manuscript had disap-
peared!
A fearful thought darted into his
brain. He ran to the fireplace-his eye
fell on some charred ashes in the fen
der-Black and White.
The Parson and the Prince.