The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1903-05-24


and
"Oh. hush," exclaimed Violet. alarmed by
the mans terrible earnestness and impas-
stoned pleading. You must not talk TO me
like this. You do not know all. you cannot
know, or-or you would not say all this
TO me-
And still you repulse me-for this Eng
lishman?"
"Yes-yes. l.
Then hsten.'' There was a marked
change in Antonios voice. His words came
Kissing through clenched teeth, and the for
eign accent grew more pronounced. "An-
tonic Sanzio truly loves but once: His pas
sion is deathless as his soul. love you
you only, do you hear me? 1 am an Italian,
and our race know we'll how to avenge
treachery towards the women of their
choice. 1 will seek out Cyril Henshaw, and
1 will kill him. Kill him. do you under
stand? Kill him as ruthlessly as 1 would
dog or rat, or the snake that strikes
from its hiding place. BY all hold sacred.
I swear that the scoundrel shall die. 1t is
now the 18th of December. There are yet
thirteen days to Christmas. Thirteen days
Of life for Cyril Henshaw. What do you
say to a Christmas eve tragedy? Look at
this; look at it, do you hear me?"
Violet caught a glimpse Of cold glittering
STEEL mo, no." she cried out; you do not
understand. You
Yes, 1 understand too WELL" he retorted,
savagely; land 1 swear that this shall bury
itself in his treacherous heart, and avenge
your wrongs"
"But believe me-" she implored, "he has
- fnta 1nd oil
ing you, but, indeed. before heaven and
earth, in the sight of God and man, 1 am
his lawful wife,
"Ah! to save him you lie; and you lie
in vain. have spoken, and I will fulfill
my VOW"
mo, no! Come back, Antonio! Oh, come
backv'
The words might as well have been hurled
at the unheeding ocean. Already the 1tal-
ians form was receding into the gathering
shadows; and the moan of the sea an
swered the pitifulness of her weary heart.
cyril, my love-" she gasped. my sacri-
fee shall not be vain. You are in danger;
he is SO fierce, so wild, so unforgiving. You
shall be warned. will save you from him,
even though it be for another woman
III
The Hon. Cyril Henshaw, eldest son of
the Earl Of Linden, and heir prospective
to the title. was engaged in anxious con-
ference with George d. France, the Yankee
timber king. The two men were - the
library Of Belmont House. London. The
subject they were discussing was momen-
tous enough in all conscience. The Hon.
Cyril was sore in need of money; the pie
beian, France, was every bit as DESTROYS
of obtaining the title for his daughter. 1t
was a matter Of mutual advantage. and the
arrangement was now being definitely set
tied. There was not even a semblance of
romance. Maria France was perfectly will
ing to become Lady Linden. and her father
was just as ready to hand over the dollars
that would pay off the heavy mortgage
which encountered the estates.
Its now Dec g." said France, with a
Yankee drawl. ION the 18th we'll have a
splash-up wedding. and, as the moneys
all safe and sound, you can spend your
Christmas day in peace
us there any peace for the wicked? said
Cyril, with a tinge of sadness that was lost
upon the man of millions
"wen. I'm inclined to think that the
wickedness doesn't so much matter so long
as there's brass enough TO cover it. 1t
isn't what a man is, but what a man has
that makes him go through the world smil-
ing. Now. the Hon. Cyril Henshaw can
boast a long and honorable line of ances-
tors, but unfortunately ones forefathers
can't hand down bank notes from their
collins. and without bank notes it's not
very much use being the son Of a belted
earl"
True enough" returned the young aris-
tocrat, and he very nearly added, las
know to my cost" only it suddenly struck
him that even in an affair of hard cash like
this such a sentiment must appear ungal-
liant and ill-advised
Now to business" said France. ION the
day that Maria becomes your wife, the
future Countess of Underline fingered
affectionately on the title--"I shall hand
you a check for 10000 pounds, with a IA
theirs blessing"
Bother the blessingr muttered Hen
shaw, in aside, as the image of Maria
France seemed to rise before him. He had
not seen much of her. but quite sufficient.
She was tall, coarse. unshapely. and, what
the Hon. Cyril detested most of all. had red
Gus voice, and he knew we'll enough that,
when the ceremony was over. Maria France
was not likely to forget the part her IA
theirs money had played in the transac-
ton. Then, too, there was a memory of
the past which haunted him, a face ex-
quisitely tender and beautiful that was in
delibly pictured in the tablets of his heart
the gentle, self-sacrificing. noble-hearted
Violet Carpenter, whom he was ruthlessly
sacrificing for gold. ALI this, and much
more of similar kind, flashed through
his mind with the speed that belongs to
thought, when the cold. matter-of-fact voice
of the American reminded him of the bust
ness they were discussing.
Listen here, Henshaw," he said, 1T don't
know why you want to drop down into
these gloomy fits. One. would think that we