The times dispatch. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1903-1914, 1903-06-27

| full strain of care.
She listened for moment to the steady
/ fall of the feet above. She felt sure she
would note any cessation OF that monot-
/ onous tread and as surely evade possible
| discovery. She rose impulsively and came
to Walton's chair, dropping to one knee
beside 1t, and with frank minging Of
| gratitude and fondness. laying one hand
| and arm across his broad chest.
when wo are alone don't like to
| hear you cnl me-A1ss Somers!' she
| exclaimed softly, taking up his words.
| you are SO grand q friend to me that
| I-ah, you were to call me-Emily!
| He smiled at her. starting slightly, then
| glanced apprehenslvely about; and the
| sirl beside him raised her brows slgnih-
cantly toward the deck
clio is therel" she said softly. THAT
| Is his walk! We learn the tread OF those
we fear. as well as that OF those es-
TENED. can tell when either of you
| cross the deck Surely, we are safe for
| the moment"
II think So" faltcred Archie: yet the
price Of discovery will be SO terrible
| that"
But will listen all the while! so
wish to say something TO you-to say 1T
without this dreadful reserve which dis
erection constantly Imposes! Do please
| let me say It to you now!'
SAY something--to me?"
ITO you-yes! For to whom in all the
world am ] so Indebted as to you? II i
! only could express"
| "Ah, but 1 beg"
"Hush!"
Half smiling, yet with an infinite pa
thos in the lovely eyes that We're bent
on his. with maidenly glow stealing
over her velvety cheeks, she laid her
| dainty hand on his lips and compelled
| his silence.
Let me talk and you llsten!" she
| pleaded softly, with exquisite fondness.
II am not going to thank you for what
| you are doing. Words alone would be
| too poor a offering to bring to the shrine
Of such magnificent devotion as yours.
But see 1t all, appreciate 1t all. and
| know how for my sake you are carry
ing your life in your hand"
Walton smiled family, yet was thrilled
through and through by her unaffected
fervor.
y fear" said he that you are mag,
and happy to do you.
"No. no, do not!" she feelingly pro-
| tested. drawing closer. The care you
over the desperate prospect, the strain
to which you night and day are suotect-
| ing yourself-all these arc apparent In
your pale face and tired eyes. This
wound" and with gentle tenderness her
| hand caressed his brow; this wound
was received in c deed done for my sake.
moro than in the hope of saving" .
"Ah. mol hoped to save all Indeed.
| did,
did you not once think OF me alonc7"
she inquired archly.
well, If l."
'If your lips said no, your dear eyes
! would give the denial the lle!" she inter-
posed, whispering the words with the
glow Of eevr-growng affection warm In
| her tender gaze Other men stood by
/ E,,t q nj
are doing all. for my sake, for my sake!
O. Mr.. walton-Archie! may not hope
to give you something in return"
Trembling. with heart wildly ttrobhng.
| with soul itself stirred by such a love
as man can know but once In all his life.
II should be less then man. Emily.
were to do less than am doing. Your
| gratitude repays ME. dear girl.
THAT may suffice for YOU to receive.
softly.
1t was said with mingling OF mod
! esty and sadness that could not escape
| him. He looked at her dropping eyes,
the glow in her partly averted face. Her
| lips were trembling and tear was els :
| tening under her lowered lashes. He took
| her hand in his and said slowly. with a
responsive fervor In his mellow voice:
what may long with heart and soul
to receive, Emily. 1t may be impossible
4 ~
ment for such duty as this have ac-
| oepted and am striving to perform. Sure
| " you see In me only common sea-
man, What more than gratitude would
| you wish to give. Emily?
She looked UP at him with eyes radi-
| ant with light that never shone on land
or sea.
Don't abuse me-" she whispered. low
| ingly II suspect you are not what you
are I see In you at times man who
10 not a-common seaman. It is when
| you are rough and coarse that you are
| affected. see In you a man whose
bravery and strength command even
mems admiration. Then why not mine.
| indeed? And ! see In you one whose
voluntary service done helpless girl
! should inspire desire to give. not in
payment-nu. not lin ,nayment-but in
glad and grateful offering all that lies
| within the power OF true woman TO
| bestow on such man."
There rose over his refined. forceful
| face an expression she never yet had
seen there-that of man who, startled
by her dsccrnment and conscious of his
own worth, dares openly respond to the
wealth of sentiment betrayed In her gl!s-
| tening eyes, her tremulous lips, her every
nlurmured word. He bent till he could
! fold his arm about her, and, unresisted.
drew her nearer.
"Do you mean--do you mean, Emily"
he cried in low. impassloned whispers;
! do you m ean that you would dare cast
your fortunes with mine?"
"Iow can you ask it--you who are so
! brave and faithful In mlsfortune?"
"And would you--would you give to me
| the dearest treasure man on earth could
1 possessP' a.
| What is that?'
"Your love! Your dear. dear love!'
She fell to trembling through and
through, bnt her agitation was that Of
gladness. She looked at him with eyes
i swimming with love no mortal man
could have doubted, yet smiled and wiis-
| pered.
any love! 1t Is not mine to give''
mot yours?"
The pain that swept to his face brought
| her answer quickly.
ut Is nlready-more yours than mine"
The assurance was murmur only,
tremulous and timid; but its truth, the
depth of the affection his galantry had
won. the response her gentle heart was
giving to all his solicitude and care. cried
| out with 1nita and touching elonience