The Hood River glacier. (Hood River, Or.) 1889-1933, 1902-02-21
CHAPTER <.


sounded on the air.
Vera, rising cautiously from beside Grl-
selda, who is, as usual. sleeping the sleep
OF the Just, slips gently on to the pare
white across which the moonbeams are
travelling delicately.
Sleep has deserted her. Weary at last
of her efforts to lose herself and her hate
ful thoughts in Inconsistencies, she de-
termines to rise and try what study may
do for her. She steps kghtly across the
room, opens the door and speeds with an
haste over the corridor, gaunt and ghost-
" in the dim light, down the grand OLD
staircase. and enters room on the ieit
of the library, where one day she mace
the discovery that comfort was TO De
found.
Striking match, she lights lamp
upon a side table and proceeds to exam
inc the book shelves. Taking down one
that she thinks will please her, Vera
kneels upon one Of the deep window
seats, looks outward, trying to pierce the
soft and scented gloom
The opening of the door rouses her. IL
Is quite an hour later-an hour forgotten
by her as she read. With sudden start
she looks up. turning her face over ner
shoulder to the door, to see who can De
coming in at this unholy hour. Her
heart grows cold within her as she sees
--Seaton Dysart!
In silence they stare at each other.
Vera, indeed, so great is her astonish-
ment, forgets to rise, but sits there curl
ed up among her furs, with little frozen
look of fear aud detestation on her per-
feet face.
II have disturbed you,' says Seaton
at last, breaking the spell, and speaking
in a distinctly unnatural tone.
II did hope | should have found pri-
yacy somewhere, at some hour" says
she, coldly.
II came for a book" says he, contrite-
ly. Now that am here, will you per-
nit me to say a few words in my own
defenseW
"oh, defensev' says she, with undis-
guised scorn.
Certainly. | would prove to you how
entirely you have wronged me-" says he,
firmly. II acknowledge that once my
father expressed a wish that should
marry you" coloring darkly, always
provided you were willing to accept me;
and I'-slowly-'' 'acceded to that wish"
"But why, why?" demands she, fash
Ing round at him.
81 do not wonder at your question. 1t
seems impossible there should be rea-
son." replies he, coldly; 'for ever since
the first hour we met you have treated
me with uniform unfriendllness, | mad
almost said discourtesy."
"There is q reason, nevertheless" says
she, hotly. She has come step or two
nearer to him, and her large, lustrous
eyes, uplifted, seem to look defiance into
his. "Your reason l can fathom-but
your father's-that, confess, puzzles
me. Why should he, whose god is money,
choose the penniless daughter of the
brother he defrauded to be"
"Defraudedf' interrupts Seaton, with
frown.
"Call it what you WILL" with an ex'
pressive gesture OF her hand-''undertake
his defense, too; but the fact remains
that the niquitous deed that gave to
your father what should have been ours
was undoubtedly drawn up by my uncle.
/ have heard all about 1t hundred times.
Your father hardly denied II to mine
when last writing to him. His taking
us home to live with him was, | sup
pose, sort of reparation. To marry me
to you, and thus give me back the prop
erty he stole-is that a reparation, tooP'
She is as pale as DEATH and the hands
that cling to the back of the chair near
her are trembling. But her lips are firm
and her eyes flashing. 1t occurs to Sea-
ton, gazing at her in breathless silence,
that if she could have exterminated him
then and there by look she would have
done 1t.
"You degrade yourself and me when
you talk like that" says Seaton, who is
now as pale as she Is. "For heavens
sake try to remember how abominably
you misrepresent the whole thing. If my
father had freak Of this kind in his
head-a desire to see you married to his
only son-surely there was no discourtesy
to you contained in such desire. 1t was
rather-you must see that-a well-meant
arrangement on his part. 1t was more, "
boldly. HE loves me; In wishing to see
you my wife he paid you the highest
compliment he could. | defy you to re-
gard it in any other light"
"You plead his cause well-it Is your
own" says she, tapping the back of the
chair with taper, angry fingers. why
take the trouble2 Do you think you can
bring me to view the case in Ienient
light? Am | likely to forget that you
you aided and abetted your father in try,
ing to force me into this detested mar
riageY
pray put that marriage out Of your
head" says he, slowly. You have taken
II too seriously. assure you | would
not marry you now II you were as will
ing as you are unwilling. can hardly
put it stronger"
when my grandfather left this prop
erty to your father" she says, slowly,
'he left Il purposely unentailed. Your
father then, were you to cross his
wishes. could leave you, as | have been
left, penniless. To avoid that, you would
fall in with any of his views. You would
even 50 far sacrifice yourself as to-mar.
ry me-" Oh, the contempt In her tonel
There is a long pause. Then Seaton
striding forward. seizes her by both arms
and turns her more directly to the light
The grasp Of his hands is as a wise, and
-afterward-it seemed to her that hC
had, involuntarily, as 1t were, shaker
her slightly.
How dare your he says. in a low
concentrated tone. She can see that bis
face is very white, and that il is with
difficulty he restrains himself; she is con
scious, too, perhaps, Of feeling a littl'
frightened.
Then he puts her quickly from him an(
turns away.
"Pshaw. you are not worth itF' h'
says, his manner full Of the most intens,
self-contempt