Audubon Republican. [volume] (Audubon, Iowa) 1894-1925, 1900-08-16
LII (1xS n the Horrors
of War
IL SOS4 N66G BY H. B. WELSH...
CHAPTER III.

were to be forever hidden. And Mar
garet heard the stern command which
all mourners have to hear sooner or
later-"Turn thee, and try to work"
Word had come to her on the second
day after her fathers death that she
had passed her 'final' with honors.
She was free to enter on her lifework
that life which she felt must now be
devoted to one end, that Of making
restitution. so far as she was able, to
John Cleland's son.
It was work which could only end
with her life-she was sure Of that
However successful she might be, it
seemed extremely improbable that she
should ever be able to pay back any
thing like the sum of money which her
father had stolen from Paul Cleland's
dead father.
She did not think it necessary to
publish her fathers crime and dis
grace by confessing to Paul Cleland
what he had done. 1t seemed that
Cleland himself was against Of the
sin that he had vicariously borne, and
therefore it would be cruel to him,
as we'll as the dead, to expose the
wrong.
But she felt that never again should
she dare to look on Cleland's face.
She, who for one brief moment had
been inside paradise, and had seen
the beauty and Joy Of it, had been
fnrth could hnna IN
return again, because the angel with
the flaming sword on which was writ
ten in letters of fire, Thou shalt not"
barred the way.
She could not go back to Edinburgh.
She felt that her only safety lay in
putting a distance between herself and
Paul Cleland. 1t seemed as II 1t was in
answer to her prayers that at that
very time, before she even wound up
her fathers affairs. an offer should
come to her from the professor whom
she was relying upon to help her OF an
assistantship In a small private hos
pital in a northern town. In few
weeks Margaret found herself sta
toned there under the newly-bestowed
title of Margaret Crawford, M. B.,
G. NJ"
=, She wrote Paul Cleland a brief. cold
little note. which wrung her heart to
write, merely stating that she had re-
ceived an appointment in a country
town-she did not say where-and
would not likely be back in Edin-
burgh. thanking him for his past kind
ness and help, and adding that, since
her fathers death. she had made up
her mind to devote herself entirely to
her career as lifework.
: No answer was possible, for she gave
no address: and none came.
+. She was busy at st. Fillan's. and
the time passed quickly. When au-
tumn came she had fortnight Of holt
days; and, while she was hesitating as
to where to spend them, a little
scented note came from an old school
friend, whom she had occasionally
correspondent with since school days:
81 have heard where you are from
Mrs. Douglas of the Bughts, St. Fill
lan's, who is an old friend of the mas
ter's. II you have holidays, won't you
come and spend them with us-part
of them. at least? We are staying
near Pen-y-Gant. and it is a mag
nificent place for holidays. Do come!
Yours ever, FLO WINTER"
: She was little butterfly of a crea-
ture, surrounded by luxury and all
that she could desire; but Margaret
felt somehow inclined to go. She was
strangely lonely and friendless in st.
Fillan's, and longed for a little hui
man companionship. And she could
not think it was necessary that she
should quite cut herself off from that
because of that terrible phantom of
the past that must walk beside her for
ever.
So she went to Greystoke. Florence
Wynter herself drove to the station to
meet her, looking very fresh and
charming in her dainty fawn-colored
driving coat, and hat with dropping
feathers. She was a pretty little
creature. golden-haired and blue-eyed.
I'm so glad to see you'll" she said,
embracing Margaret with effusion.
And you don't look bit like lady
doctor. declare! You don't wear
spectacles! And that style OF wear
ing your hair is certainly very becom-
ing to fectively-"though
don't think it would suit me. You've
kind of grotesque appearance, you
know, Margaret"
She chartered gaily as she held the
ribbons and her greys pranced along
the high road. through fine country
of woodland and void, with the peak
of Pen-y-Grant forever facing them.
you know. did want You so much
to come! There are only a few peo-
pie staying with us just now-two
married couples. and two men who are
unmarried. One of them is rather a
bore. He will attach himself to me.
and "-blushing a little-"the truth is
well. very much prefer the other.
So hope. dear Margaret, you'll act
true friends part to me. and allow
me to have little pleasure some
times"
Margaret smiled a little at the mai
vete OF the way in which the young
lady showed her purpose of inviting
her old schoolmate to Greystoke; but
1t would have taken more than Flor
ence's little selfishness to have an
noyed her then. A great sorrow makes
one almost Indifferent to the pinpricks
of petty annoyances.
They were at Greystoke presently,
and Margaret found herself In due