Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1903-03-19
she said suddenly. raising her head


he was tickle as the wind. You must
falseness. Are you going to talk of
! him any more, Rachel?"
But surely it cannot be any worse
to talk of him than to think of him all
the time. Let me talk, Vance. Whe,,
you are away from me | just eat my
heart out with thinking"
IF you feel any relief. then" he said
| in despair. talk all you wish. shall
not forbid you"
AS if the permission had made her
| silent. Rachel did not speak for some
| time. and during that time Rothesay
| busted himself in producing some
i bread and butter from shelf. Then
from his pocket he drew a small flask
| of wine.
| Il suppose you have not thought to
| eat since morning" he said. when he
! had put the articles on a chair neal
| her.
In truth l did forget" languidly
| looking at the food.
Then how do you expect to gain
strength SO that we may leave this
place." he asked.
"Forgive me-" she replied, humbly.
and took some of the bread, which she
found very difficult to swallow. But
the wine she drank thirstily.
Vance looked at her in silence, not
eating himself.
They could not be anything but
glomy thoughts as he looked at this
wreck of his sister. He recalled the
time when she had been gay and beau
tiful and trusting. That time was
three years before, when she was hard
ly eighteen.
Then Ralph Caryl had met her The
man had been struck with her face
and her grace of manner, and at the
same time he thought she was pos
sessed of fortune, and he had wooed
her with an ardor that was felt at the
time. for Caryl had that dangerous
power of throwing himself with his
whole energy into the pursuit OF the
moment.
He had become engaged to Rachel
Rothesay; then a few weeks after he
had discovered that he had been mis-
taken as to her fortune-that she only
had few thousand. He had really
been somewhat attached to the girl,
who he saw. had layished the whole
treasure of her affection upon him.
But he had no real hesitation in de-
sorting her; and about that time, also,
he got into trouble with the firm for
whom he was pretending to work, and
he escaped to Europe.
The 'dif1iculty,' as he called it, was
in reality the fact of his forging the
signature of the senior of the firm.
Fortunately for him the gentleman had
been attracted to and interested by
Caryl, and took no proceedings against
him, hushed up the affair, but turned
off Caryl and advised him to leave the
country.
So it happened that Rachael Rothe.
says life was Swallowed when perfect
happiness appeared about to be hers
Though young iii years, she had
more deep capacity both for enjoy
ment and suffering than most women,
and the blow was more terrible to her
than words can tell.
She did not apparently droop so
much under it as her brother Vance
had expected. But her whole nature
seemed changing into something hard
and reckless.
Perhaps never had Vance Rothesay
so missed his mother as he did when
watching helplessly the wreck of his
sisters life. The girl had no mother
nor sister, no one but Vance, who did
all a brother could do.
In his heart there grew up most
bitter hatred toward Ralph Caryl, and
! it was not to be wondered at.
When he saw how Rachel encour-
aged her admirers-and she had many
how she led them on to loving her,
and then with q cruel pleasure tossed
them f"nn4 her: when he read how ter
ribly unhappy she was, and it was easy
to tell that when he saw her alone, he
grew really alarmed as to her eventual
fate.
He thought Of her when Kate Pur-
cell had said the voice he had heard
below his sick chamber was the voice
OF Ralph Caryl. He remembered all
Caryl had done, and the curse in his
Heart sprang to his lips.
Now, though Caryl was dead. as
Vance stood and looked at his sister,
the hatred sprang up again as fiercely
as ever. Ralph Caryl had made that
girl what she was. He had blasted
both theil lives. How had Rothesay
ever dared 10 think of love, bound, as
he was, to one who was stained with
crime-to one whom he must always
protect and serve to the uttermost.
Oh, what had love to do with such as
he? Was he not even now in danger
of apprehension for the deed his sister
had done? Was it not for her sake, to
shelter and save her, that he had con-
cealed himself? And, SO far as he
could see, he could never come out and
avow his innocence, for who would be-
lieve him:
In his sisters hands was the vindi.
cation of his innocence. and she could
only clear him by confessing her own
guilt