The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1900-09-30

In the stalls. Till then, .sau revoir.'' That
is a signal that / am wanted And making
me a low. mocking bow. which I did not
return, she hurried away"
He leant heavily against the rail of the
balcony and looked at Aim as though ex-
pecting her TO speak But she remained
silent. her eyes downcast. her sweet face
full of deep. unutterable woe. Cunning
drew his hand across his brow, and a sob
escaped him.
II dashed out OF the theater." he con-
tinued after a time, into the night. care
less of where I went or what I did-despair-
ing. Then I thought of you, of your good
ness. your purity, your love. And / vowed
to do nothing unworthy. nothing that would
make you blush or feel ashamed that YOU
had known me-. In all the world I said.
what is there to equal the love Of a good
woman? II surpasses everything. I have
injured Alma-made her suffer. But she
will forgive. 1 will place my future life
and actions in her hands. What she bids
me do I will do"
He went back to her side and looked
sadly down upon the pretty bowed head.
Have I hoped too much. Alma? Have L"
"Ohi No, no." She caught his hand and
held 1t for a moment between her trem-
bling palms. "You are not to blame" she
said, white to the lips. There is nothing
to forgive. This blow which has fallen
upon US was as unexpected by you as by
me. God bless you and keep you. Whilst
your wife lives, our lives must be divided.
But let me hear good of yo~u-always.
Work hard at your professionalism will
save you-and keep a brave heart. And
now goodbye. / see my aunt coming to
look for me-. G~ood-byei"
She dropped his hand and went quickly
along the balcony. Meeting her aunt at
enc of the windows, she took her arm and
drew back into the house.
In a few moments the call for Mrs. OAR
mer's carriage rang up the street, and
very soon Cunning saw Alma, as white
as the swansdown round her throat. fol-
low her aunt and cousins down the hall
doorsteps, and enter the landau.
80 vanishes hope and joy and love from
my life and hers" he moaned, as the car
riage disappeared. But how brave the
child is! How brave and true. God help
her." And he left the house and went sad
ly home through the deserted streets.
Two years passed, and Charles Cunning
and Alma Malcolm did not meet again.
He followed her advice to the letter. and
threw himself body and soul into his work.
The Malcolms, he knew, spent most Of
their time abroad, coming but seldom to
! London. Alma's health was not what 1t
had been, and very little tired her. She
did not complain, was sweet and gentle
to all around her, but her spirits dropped.
From the night of the Montrevor's ball she
was a changed being. She was silent and
subdued, and in spite of care Of every kind,
she grew pale and thin. She shrank from
amusement, and became weary and de-
jected in any place of entertainment.
''She is not fit for society,"" the doctor
said. take her abroad. and give her
plenty of change of air and scene. But do
not to allow her to exert herself unduly."
Her mother sighed heavily. A rowing life
was not what she cared for. But her
daughters health and happiness were a
matter of vital Importance TO her, and so
she followed the Doctors advice with low
ing and unselfsh exactitudc.
Meanwhile. all London was ringing with
the name of the great actress Nine. De
Lara. She had left the Variety" for the
Wellington" and was playing Cleopatra.
4 ODHtlid anu LdUS Aldtbctn DCAOlC SAOWNOo
and enthusiastic houses. She was all the
fashion,; the rage of the moment. Everyone
talked about her; everyone went TO see
her. She was well known to be Charles
Cummings wife, and many and frequent
were the congratulations he received upon
her marvellous. Unprecedented success.
Cunning thanked those who spoke so
warmly, but their praise of Lara, her
beauty and her acting, gave him no pleas
ure. and he longed to fly TO some distant
land. where he should never see her face,
or hear her name again.
But Alma's wish that he should work
hard at his profession kept him in London.
and although he never went anywhere
where he was likely TO meet the beautiful
actress. he found it impossible to escape
from or forget her. Her photograph was
in every window, her name in every paper.
and In every mouth. On all sides the
thought of her haunted and pursued him.
That Lara was anxious to forget and
avoid him he never doubted for a moment.
and 1t was, therefore, with feelings of sur
prise and establishment that he one day
received a note from her. begging him to
come and see her at the theater that night.
"T am in grave difficulties she wrote.
and want your advice. You are a law
yer. and my husband. and in spite OF
everything I feel that 1 can trust you"
Wants money" he said, struggling his
shoulders and crushing the scented note
between his fingers. 1.-The biggest fortune
in Europe wouldn't keep Lara out of debt.
Well, it's little 1 can do for her. Still, ]
can't refuse to go and see what is wrong
Cunning reached the theater about seven,
but was told that Nine. De Lara never ar
rived before s o'clock, as she did not go
or the stage till a quarter to 9.
"She will come earlier tonight, to talk
over her affairs" he decided. and stationed
himself at the little side door, by which
he was told the actors and actresses en-
tered the theater.
Quite a crowd soon gathered in the mar
row street, and pressed up to the entrance,
all eager to get a good place from which
to see the ~reigning favorite. as she stepped
out of her carriage. One dark-looking
man, his hands hidden in the folds of a
long, black cloak, which he wore draped
about his shoulders, kept we'll to the front,
and glared fiercely at any one who pushed
or jostled him.
"a Notwithstanding ruffian,' thought