Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1901-04-25


sank down on a chair in the hall.
Leaving her sitting there. the ma,
disal Eea1ed. to return in moment fol.
lowed by his mistress. The latter gave
one quick glance at the motionless fig
with little cry, sprang forward.
"Eeatrice-my dearest Beatrice! is i,
you? All! mon enfant, ma chere en-
FAINT! what has happened?"
The retreating servant, conscious by
his mistress effusion that. spite of the
fact that the young lady had come Oh
foot and carrying her own luggage, he
had made an error of calculation con-
cernlng her. jealousy stepped forward
to officicusly lift the small bag and ask
madame's orders concerning it.
To my own apartment. Eugene" she
commanded, throwing her arm about
Beatrice's trembling figure and assist
ing her into the reception room, the
door of which she carefully closed
What rare fortune, she thought, hao
brought the young mistress of Grey
Oaks to her: Her father, she knew,
was dead. Perhaps his daughter had
come to ask her to preside over her
home. and act as guide and chaperone
W ACA !ouSAlul IICNESllCllC0. WE'LL H0I
love for Beatrice-her pure, disinterest-
ed love-might prompt her to accept
such a post. 1t would be far less ardu-
GUS thar her school, and, of course, her
future would be properly provisioned
against any emergency.
But her speculations We're cut shorl
as Beatrice wearily threw back her
veil, and the young, haggard face, all
colorless save for the great gray eyes.
burst upon her as revelation, that no
such errand had brought the girl hith-
er.
My POOR child, you are ILL.," she ex-
claimed. Tit is nothing contagious??"
the latter question inspired by a sud-
den fear.
A mere ghost of a smile touched Be-
atriceS lips.
II am not ILL.," She answered, but i
have been very, very i'll. Poor papa!
You knew, madame?"
"Ah, yes; 1 knew-so noble so gen
erous, SO handsome a man! All, my
dear how we'll 1 remember the first
time I saw him! I could not believe
when 1 heard that he was dead. But
you came alone to-day, my dear Be-
atrice! All, you impulsive American
girls-you do such strange things!"
II came to you for protection, ma.
dame. II am homeless! Grey Oaks
is my home no longer!"
Homeless, my child? But with your
wealth, you can make a home where
you Will"
This is my wealth, madame-all that
have in the world. Will it buy me a
home?'
IL do not understand" STAN.
mered the Frenchwoman, thinking re-
gretfully of the effusiveness of her well
come.
MY father died. madame, without a
will, or at least, we have been able to
discover none. Therefore my cousin,
as the next heir. succeeds to the prop
erty. | am disinherited.
your cousin is the next heir? My
child, you do not know the law. There
is some strange mistake!'
ga mistake, indeed, madame, but not
such a one as by any stretch of mag
ination you could guess. From you I
must conceal nothing. You shall know
all, and you will understand then my
unhappy position. All, madame, it is
not alone of my money that they would
rob me, but of my name! They are
wicked enough to say that my mother
never was, in reality, my fathers wife!
That THAT I am but the heritage of
their dishonored shame!'
Madame Clair's grasp of the ittle |
cold, gloved hand relaxed.
She threw up her own in horror. while
visions of this story getting af1oat, and
the effect produced upon the public by
the knowledge that such a spot should
have blemished the reputation of her
school, fairly chilled her blood.
"My DEAR" she demonstrated, "your
illness has affected your brain. Young
girls should not even dream of the ex-
istence Of such wickedness. yet you
calmly confess yourself to be a child of
shame!"
Gam I calm, mademe?" asked the
girl, YEARLY. when heaven launches |
it's thurderbolts with stunning force,
and they fell to the earth their unhap-
py victim, do you call him calm be,
cause he lies where he has fallen, care
less where the next bolt may strike? |
If so. then am I calm. But you knew
my father. You like myself, can know
that this story is a liza false, foul lie!
as false, as FOUL as he whose brain
gave it it's hideous birth. It remains
for me, madame, to prove it so and so
I have come to you, to ask you. for
little WHILE to give me home and pro-
lection, until I can expose the truth"
Madame Clair hesitated. If there
should be mistake-if Beatrice's faith
should not be misplaced-it would serve
her we'll to befriend her; but If, on the
other hand. she had no right or title
even to her name. how could she allow
her to breathe the same atmosphere
with those young, tender lambs, con-
signed to her special care and guild
ance? For a little while longer she |
must rest neutral and CLEAN all the
truth.
"Does your cousin in no way sub
stantiate his assertion, Beatrice?" she
asked.
only by his story. He says that
papa met mamma abroad; that-that
she had just gone on the operate stage.
He fell in love with her. and wished to
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