The Leon reporter. (Leon, Iowa) 1887-1930, 1901-01-17


CHAPTER -(Continued.)
Cecil had cut herself off from him,
q few months after she had married
dissipated young nobleman, whose
character was anything but above sus-
picion; and the two had finally left
england. having arrived on the brink
Of ruin, and, it was reported, were fire.
duenting the gambling tables Of Mo-
1acO and Hamburg.
Cecil's treatment Of her father had
killed any lingering feeling Of senti-
nent Enderby had for her. He was
able to thank Providence profoundly
That he had discovered her true nature
before 1t was too late.
Dundas Lyndon had been found
guilty, and sentenced to lifelong i'm
prisonment. The morning after his
sentence he was found dead in his cell;
be had managed to secrete a small
Quantity Of deadly poison about his
person, and cut short his doomed ca
Aeer with 1t.
And Jasmine?
Jasmine is just now with Paul's sis
Ter, the Hon. Mrs. Fraser, who is mar
sied to Scottish laird in the South Of
Scotland. Paul had laid the whole
story before his sister, and asked her
advice. Jasmine was his ward, he de-
tlared, and as such he meant to look
after her.
Mrs. Fraser-a good-hearted little
woman, with no children, and living
IN rather a lonely country district
had come up to London, seen Jasmine,
taken a sudden fancy for her, and de-
elared nothing would suit her better
than to have Jasmine as a companion.
30 Jasmine had gone to Calders
Knowe, and Mrs. Fraser had never re-
gretted her choice.
Paul had been several times at Cal
der's Knowe, and, as he is able to take
few days holiday in May, he decides
to run down" to Scotland, taking his
bicycle with him.
He rides from the station-he has
sent no word to- his sister, having a
masculine fondness, a fondness never
shared by the recipients, for giving sur
prises- leaving word for his luggage to
be sent after him.
Calder's Knowe is about six miles
from the sleepy little village and sta
ton known as Calderhead, and the
road Is a bad one, from a cyclists
point of view. being composed of a
series Of very steep "houghs and
howes," as the villagers call them, and
surface Of mingled loose clay and
stones.
However, it is a lovely evening, and
Paul Enderby is wonderfully happy
and light-hearted as he speeds along
the lonely road bounded on both sides
BY silent, melancholy moors.
What is the real cause of his happi-
ness? Is it that things are going very
we'll with him, and that he is consid-
ered by his fellow barristers as on the
tair way to the top of his profession?
Or can 1t be that the prospect of
seeing his sister-"Best little woman
in the world!" has anything to do
with it?
However that may be, Paul's
Paul,s thoughts are wandering very
far afeld as he coasts down steep
hill, whose gradient is at least one
On eleven, his "free wheel stationary,
and his mind as easy as that Of a
scorcher on an utterly desolate road
can be.
Alas! even scorchers are sometimes
out in their reckoning, or Paul would
have remembered the sudden, sharp
curve at the foot of the hill.
He does not, and moving along
with velocity strikes across the road
instead of round it, and the next mo-
ment he is sent flying over ditch
into the moorland beyond, and his
machine-twisted and curved into all
manner Of crooked shapes-lies
spreading across the ditch.
For moment or two the shock of
his sudden impact with the ground
stuns Enderby; faintness, such as
he has never known in all his life,
comes over him, and his eyes close.
The next moment he dimly hears a
cry Of horror: then-is it long after?
some one is bending over him, gen
tie hands touch his face, and suddenly
another cry-this time Of agonized
and startled surprise-falls on his ear.
Paul! Paul! Oh. God! is he dead?-
is he dead?"
He would have spoken, would have
opened his eyes, but something, he
knew not what, keeps him from doing
30. The soft hands-how soft, how
tender they are!-wander over his
face. touch his cheek, gently lift his
hand, and he feels them clasped round
his wrist. A sobbing cry breaks from
tho owner of the hands.
Thank God! Thank God! Oh, what
am to do for him? My dear-my
dear!"
The words are only breath-a soft
breath breathed above him. But 1t is
more than Paul can stand. Suddenly
the warm color rushes back into his
face. his eyes open. and with an ef-
fort he raises himself on his elbow.
his eyes devouring the fair young face
bent, first with pale agony, then with
sudden surprised and warm shyness,
over him.
Fair 1t is indeed; for Jasmine Ge-
rard has grown to be like her name
. white flower, with just a slight
warm coloring to show there are life
and warmth behind the whiteness:
sweet, graceful such blossom as a
man might give all his worldly bliss"
ITO possess.