The San Francisco call., 1904-12-04

Z Monsieur Beaucaire." <
ss>ss>>ss>ssssssss%zSsSSS>>s1SssSSS&.
Copyright by Mcclure. Phillips & Coz
tt|T ND viii You live the sort of
life that man has made wo-
men live? Is that fit for you?
1 You can see what it would
do to you. You would get like what
he's like. You would come down to his
level First you'd share his lies and
his intrisues, perforce. while you hated
them. Gradually you'd get TO hate
them less and less: they'd become nor
NAL. habitual. easy; they'd become
natural At last you'd see little harm
In them. The only harm or hurt at last
would be discovery, and you'd get cum
ming in avoiding that. Think of you
and me living that life-aye, till each
Of us loathed the other as well as
loathing ourselves. Is that what you
mean?"
Not that anyhow not that" she
said in a low voice. her eyes wide open
and fixed Questioningly on him.
If not that and not the other, what
then? Am I 10 go away?" But he put
p 1
He put il to her only that she might
thrust it away. II she did not. he
would snurn il himself. And where
should I go? Back to where came
from-back TO that life?"
She could not tell him to go away,
nor TO 90 back to that life. She sat
silent Dicturing what his life and what
her own would be through all the
years, the livelong years, when even
the boys love would be bitterness. and
she could have friend in nobody be-
cause of the great sad secret which
would govern all her life.
I can't tell you. l can't decide to-
day"
Again and again she had told him
that. fighting against the final and the
irrevocable.
But Blake was urgent now. wrought
Up TO an effort, very full Of his theories
and his aspirations. full too Of a rude
natural impatience which he called by
many alien names. deceiving his very
soul that he might have his hearts
desire. and have it without let or
hindrance He launched his last argu-
ment, a last cruel argument. whose
cruelty seemed justice 70 a mind alb
sorbed in its own selfishness. But she
had eyes for no form of selfishness
save Grantley's. To ask all did not
seem selfshness TO her: il was asking
nothing OF TOO little that she banned.
You've gone too far" he told her.
You can't turn back now. Look what
you've done TO me since you came into
my life. Think what you've taught
me 10 hope and believe-how you've let
rio
think OF the difficulties or the distress
now. You ought 70 have thought of all
that long ago"
II was true, terribly true that she
ought TO have thought Of all that be-
fore. Was il true that she had lost
the right 10 arrest her steps and the
power 70 turn back2
You're committed TO it. You're
bound by more than honor, by more
than love. You'll be untrue to every
body in turn if you falter now"
1t was a clever plea to urge on a
distracted mind. Where decision is too
difficult, there lies desperate comfort
in being convinced that il is already
taken, that facts have shaped it, and
previous actions irreVOcably commit
ted the harassed heart.
You've made my love for you my
whole life. You knew you were doing
it. You did it with full knowledge
I. i
draw back now"
He had worked himself UP TO a pitch
OF high excitement. There was moth
ing wanting in his manner TO enforce
his words. His case was very excep-
tional indeed 10 him; and so il seemed
10 her-believing in his love because of
the love she had herself to give, yearn-
ing 10 satisfy the hunger she had
caused, to make happy the life which
depended utterly on her for Joy
The long fight, first against Grantley
latterly against herself. had worn and
almost broken her She had no power
left FOR a great struggle against her
lover now. Her weariness served his
argument well II cried out to her 10
throw herself into the arms which
were so eagerly ready for her. One
way or the other anyhow the battle
must be ended. or surely it would make
an end OF her.
But where was an end if she stayed
with Grantley2 That life was all
struggle, and must be so long as IL en-
dured. Who could find rest on a finty
wall?
She was between that monstrous
image she had made Of her husband
and the shape which. Blake presented
TO her as himself-far more aIlurine
not a whit less false. But for the
falseness Of either she had no eyes.
i want your promise to-day" he
said Your promise l know you will
keep"
He had become quiet now. There
was an air Of grave purpose about him.
His Excitement and ardor had done
their work with her; this succeeding
mood, or manner (for he had lost all
distinction between what he felt and
what he made himself seem to feed,
had its place, and was well calculated
TO complete his victory.
I VIII send you my answer to-
night" she said.
TT means all that I ann-everything
IN the world to me. Remember that.
And he urged her no more, leaving
With her these simple sincere sounding
words 10 plead for him.
That ~