Warren sheaf. [volume] (Warren, Marshall County, Minn.) 1880-current, 1900-05-03

Il /.
1 jewels-she's dying. She won't miss
them. Where are they? Are they in
the secret closet off the dressing
at the head Of the private staircase?
That is where my wife kept He
broke off abruptly. where are they?"
The grip on her throat relaxed.
II know where you mean,'' she
cried, in her surprise-her bewilder-
ment. 81 know
Why should she not know-she to
whom this house had been wedding
gift! She, who had once placed her
own jewels in that same receptacle.
She who had come back as paid
servitor to the scene of her only full,
real, transcendent happiness!
Quick, then! Quisk!"
An encouraging oath from outside
the window reached them. Again the
mans fingers closed around the
smooth throat. "You know. Bring
them, then-or, wait-I'll 60 with you
But no noise, you understand. Not u
sound, or His right hand slid
backward. He shook before her eyes
the little toy of metal and wood he
'fAsdrew forth. II can find the place
alone" he said. And then, to him
without: Bring the cord, Marty!"
In that instant of diverted attention
she wrested herself free.
'Listen!" she gasped. "The woman
is dying. Any commotion will kill her
+, at once. And cannot-O!"
Once more the fingers, fierce in 4
convolution born of rage, were at her
throat, and the masked face bent
lower.
'You must! You shall-or, by
The fingers tangled in chain. a
mere thread of gold. Something fell,
with a mellow clatter to the floor. The
man stopped hastily. He picked up
the fallen bauble.
Don't take that!" entreated the
nurse. She had fallen back once more.
1T is of no value. That is of no in
trinsic value. 1t is mine-only mine.
Give it to mel"
She was white as death. and SILVER
ing, when she held out piteous, en-
treating hands. She forgot fear in
desire.
But the man was staring stupidity
down upon the medallion in his palm
AN ivory medallion upon which was
painted a girls face. How sweet that
face was-how near, reproachful, ten
der, familiar! A lifted young face,
full of love, loyalty, half-fedged cour-
age. And the shyness that was saint
liness-he knew all these.
'Give it to mel" the nurse entreat-
ed. "Give me my little girls picture.
Give it to me. IL is all have of value
-Bessie's picture
The man hesitated. He still looked
down on the trifle in his great hand
-motionless, entranced. From with
out sounded a crackle of curses.
81 will CO." the man said, IF you
will answer these questions: Where
is this child? Where is her father?
Why are you here?'
She put out both hands and felt
blindly for the table behind her
'She is at the Sacred Heart convent.
She is good. She is beautiful. Her
father left his home long ago in a mis-
taken-a jealous-rage." She paused.
Something in the pose of the great
bulk confronting her-in the echo of
the voice that had interrogated-made
her nostrils rigid lips blue. II
am here because I must support my
child and myself. That is all"
"Your child" he repeated. He was
gazing down on the bright thing in
the hollow of his hand. That face!
The broad brow; the eyes, long-lidded
and long-lashed; the serious sweep of
hair about the temples-these were
his own. And the mouth-those
square-cut, sensitive lips, with the be-
quilting diffdence that was half au-
dacity-those were hers.
"Nora," he began. 1t was his old
name for her. Nora
%'Git to work." advised husky voice
from the outer darkness. "Git to
work, you bloomin' fool"
The ''bloomin' fool' moved nearer to
the nurse. He had cast aside his dis
guising hat and 'kerchief.
"Nora. you remember how we came
down here to cook a post-opera supper
one spring night, after we had come
back from New Orleans? I did not
recognize you at first. Dress-time
change-many things. All these have
caused natural alterations" It was
no longer the intruder who was speak
ing. It was the gentleman-the schol-
ar. eve were so afraid of the cook,
you recollect? And that COMPOUNDED
omelette des herbes! We tried to make
it as it was served to us in dim, dark,
dear New Orleans. What dinners we
had in that little, gloomy restaurant
on the Rue Chartres! What prowling
in the French quarter! How you hated
the lazy old mules on Tchoupitoulas
street! Then there were mornings in
Jackson square! And the strolls
through the French market, and
There was no installing the fervor
of the curse which came through the
opened window. But the man fingered
although he had handed back the
bauble.
"Do you remember?" he insisted.
could 7 forget? % She counter