Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1900-02-10

Philip Stansiield walked briskly eastward.
Before HIN pale bar of uncolored light
lay across the horizon, outlining the hills
higher up the Firth and fading into the
dark blue in which the thinly sown stars
of morning tWinkled. This was the yet far
off promise of the day. Capt Stansfield
had need Of haste. Yet upon the streets of
Abcrca!Tn he walked with more careless
assurance than Gregory Partan himself
He stopped before that little house at the
corner of the Neune,. ct is a changed
house now, and l had a glass of very de-
cent Hollands there Ike last time l was in
Abercairp.) He seemed well enough ac-
quainted with the locality. for, after stand
ing while in the shade, contemplating
the house from the other side of the way,
Philip StanSiield stepped across and tossed
a handful Of pebbles up at a window be-
hind which dim night light burned. My
poor mother had been back and forth all
night long to look for me. and perchance
also to watch for the return of Umphray
Spurway. And now, rising gladly from
the bed upon which, all sleepless, she had
cast herself down, she approached the win
dow.
The lattice was ajar that she might the
better hear the clatter of our returning
footsteps She could hear voice calling
her in whisper. 1t made her heart beat
not as young Will Lucy had done in Great
NARROW, but still it beat.
Mary"
Now, if you have been much about the
world and in perilous places, of course 1t is
no news 10 you tflat lnOuSn voices d1Ier as
much as faces. whispers are all alike and
cannot be distinguished in the dark, diff
fering only as lower louder, harsher and
softer.
So when, for the second time, my poor
mother, who knew no harm and thought
none, heard the whisper coming from be-
low-"Mary who can blame her for doing
what she did, that is, rising hastily and
throwing her little Powered petticoat over
her night gear She ran to the window,
and there, in the dim filtered light of stars
ard the lucent reflection from the sea, she
saw the long cloak and steeple-crowned
old-fashioned hat of Umphray Spurway at
the door. Me, whom doubtless she also
looked for, she could not see. but she ran
gladly enough down stairs to open the door,
for she doubted not but that the English
man had gotten some good news to cheer
her heart Withal
Thus at the door of the sheepfold stood
the wolf, and the lamb within ran quickly
and jOyfuily to open to him.
Capt. Stansfield, by the whitewashed side
of the house. bent his head a little down
listening. He knew that foot. He had
listened to 1t before till he was weary, but
his ear caught a giadness and youth in it
now that had never been there when he
knew it.
"Umphray!" - the answering whisper
came now from just behind the panel
''Gmphray, is that your
Mary Still in a whisper.
The chain ratified down. and there in the
black of the doorway my mother stood. the
NIGHT Wlnu blowing neT white gear ABOUT
ard the pretty giriish tangie of her hair.
The dark figure wrapped in Umphray
Spurway's cloak went past her, and the
door was shut. The chain was lifted into
place.
Wait only httle-there in the sitting
chamber and 1 will bring down the light.
You can tell me all your good news then!
am sure you have found hini-that he is on
his way home."
For, at the sight of Umphray In her
house in the dark morning hours, my
mother had grown conscious Of her bare
| feet and disarray.
But she sped her toilet, and came down
the stairs anon with a candle in her hand.
dimpling and smiling like the girl she hath
remained to the last. When she came to
| the door, and saw it yawn black before
| her she felt the heart beat within her
again-yet not as one afraid, but rather
| pleasurably.
Then she entered, crying, after her fash
| ion: Tell me of the boy-you have found
| him-you bring me news of him"
| And then all sudden her speech was cut
| off as the light of the candle fell on the
| tall, dark figure which stood resting an ell
| bow upon the little mantel board where
| the foreign shells were. The steeple-
| crowned hat was thrown upon the table,
l upon her was not the kind Englishman's.
| but that Of Philip Stansfield, her husband
that face which most of all things In the
world she feared.
| 'What-what-whatw she gasped. And
/ she clutched at a pretty neckerchief Of q
cherry hue which, with pardonabie CO.
| ouetry, she had fastened about her neck
| with q little gold brooch wrought in pat
tern like bracken leaf. and with bezil