The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1902-09-24

Her ladyship had eyes like the most
velvety brown pansy.
His lordship was the proudest state
lest, noblest gentleman imaginable.
She was proud, indeed, by right, be-
ing the granddaughter of old lady
Warrender, the haughtiest and most
exclusive woman in England, who had
driven her son, poor Archie, away from
her, said the middle-aged men who
had been at Elton with Archie Warren
der, the countess father, and remem-
bered his winning ways, his sunny
curls, his frank and gentle eyes.
Archie was dead, and had left her
his little girl to bring up-a soft, pale
child with frightened brown eyes. He
had married the daughter of Devon
shire parson. The old lady had not
approved the marriage, and she and
her son had parted. Now that the
childs father and mother were dead,
she was resolved to do her duty by
Archie's daughter.
The child always wore white, thick,
creamy white, that made her eyes
browner, her head more russet, her
skin fairer, her soft lips redder.
When her ladyship was seventeen,
love sent his lordship, by accident, to
the somewhat forbidding lodge amid
gloomy woods where Lady Warrender
was hiding away her pearl.
You have done very creditab1y,"
she said to the shrinking girl. Anyone
who saw those brown eyes at that mo-
ment would have discovered fear in
them. But, remember, he is inn
mensely proud"
All that was now over and done with.
Lady Warrender was dead. Lord and
Lady st. Austell had been married
more than half a dozen years. They
were more in love with each other than
ever. Yet still her 1adyship uncon-
scious of betrayal, revealed to the SYM
pathetic gaze some trouble pushed out
Of sight.
His lordship was too good a lover not
to be aware of that intangible some
thing. Probably he, too, ascribed 1t to
the loss of the heir. Anyhow, he never
| spoke Of it; but, when the loneliness
| of the brown eyes became more than
| he could bear, he would take her lady
! ships face between his two hands and
| look down into those shrinking depths
and then, with a little sigh, would bid
| her ladyship pack up and take Phyllis,
| her maid, with her, and be off to the
| quiet place in the West Country, which
| seemed to have a balm for her cares.
1t was the middle of the season, be-
| ing June weather, with hardly a breath
| of air, when her ladyship had a long
| ing to be gone to her little refuge I'M
| der the cliffs Of Porthoe. She had
| been looking white and exhausted
| with purple rings about her eyes, and
| 1t was his lordship himself who sug-
| gested that she should go, and made
| light of the difficulties. He, too
| would leave the gayeties behind, and
| take the yacht across to France. The
| desire for the sea which besets the
Londoner when hot weather comes in
| was upon him, and he imagined what
it was with her.
The blinds were down in st. Austel
House The yacht was getting UP
| steam at Southampton. In few hours
| more his lordship would be on board
| He came In to find shabby-looking
| letter on his table marked Important
He opened 1t, expecting to find a
| begging letter. The thing smelt rankly
| Of impudence and imposture. When he
| had read it, he smiled CONTEMPORARY
before setting light to it in the CRATE.
What is the secret between your
wife and your wife's maid?" it ran.
"She is not at No. Z, The Beach, Port
hoe, though her letters are received
there. She is at Greenhurst Farm, Ire
madoc, and passes for single wom-
an
AS he would have placed it on the
Goals it f1uttered from his hand and lay
on the floor. He set his heel on it, as
| though it lived, before restoring 1t to
| the CRATE. 1t had no power to trouble
| his mind, this thing of lies and evil
suggestions. Still, he was angry that
| 1t should be possible for some creeping,
writhing thing Of the darkness to
strike at his wife. 1t shocked and
stung his pride.
Perhaps he had been wrong in al
| lowing Lady ST. Austel to lay down
| her rank so entirely when she made
those excursions. It gave q chance to
| such creatures as The writer Of the
| letter. Anyhow, the thing had spoiit
| the pleasure with which he was look
| tng forward to the run before the wind
| to Cherbourg. Stay! Why not take the
| yacht round to Porthoe2 Alice would
| be Glad to see him by this time, She
/ had had nearly week of her solitude
| He would tell her about the letter, and
try to discover, between them, who the
face as she passed out Of his doors fol
the last time, he would not have hat
much doubt,
The wind veered to the southeast il
time to give them q good run to tn