Waterbury evening Democrat., 1904-10-22

| after letter to somebody there. 1t l isn't possible he would fight for the l people who broke his fathers heart" It had never occurred to Ladue. It
 was high time he interposed. Paul 1 was barely 20, and, therefore, still
 subject to his fathers will. It was soft, warm evening at the verge of June as the trio came silently back
 from their up-river row. Fred propped
 his souls against the tree box, and let | himself in at the gate for few minutes | of earnest talk It was indeed time l somebody in authority sought to dis | suade the young man if 1t should prove ] that he was seeking service with the | Alabama troops.
 ] Meantime the two young people had 1 gone on toward the Benton homestead. 1 Away down town there came the sound of distant cheering, for another mass ! meeting was being held in Market Square and gifted orator from Chica- ! go was being presented to the throng. Up here near the bluffs overlooking the great inland sea, all was still. Elfnor Benton looked warily within as they reached the gate in front of the quaint colonial house that had been 1 her home since babyhood. Voices, in low-toned chat, foated out to her from l the broad veranda, and with hardly | shadow of hesitation the girl turned and followed when her partner said. t'Let us go back to the bluff little while" When they reached the edge ! of the bluff Ladue turned to her and his voice trembled as he asked, You heard Fred's question:" An almost inaudible "Yes," was the
 sole response.
 "What-do you think fought to do?" he wistfully, slowly asked. For 8 moment she could not reply. When 1 the words came-for she was only six
 teen, and the position most trying-her
 clear young voice had pathetic, trem- 1 ulous undertone.
 How can I judge? Almost any one would say your duty was here-yet- I know-ypur heart-is there." And
 as she spoke the heart in her own pure l young bosom was throbbing hard. Fol
 another little while there was silence,
 broken only by the sound of distant 1 cheering from the center of the town by the rhythmical, soothing plash of
 the wavelets on the pebbly beach be- heath them. Then Elinor, uplifting
 her face, looked upon the clear-cut
 features of the slender youth at her side and saw that the dark eyes were filled with sadness and trouble. She i impulsively bent forward, and with slender, tapering fingers touched his | shoulder as though to turn him toward l her, while with almost sob in her voice she murmured-
 What is it, Paul? Tell me!''
 And then the lad, throwing himself on his face, seized in both his the 1 trembling little hand. My heart is not there!" he sobbed. You know we'll
 where it is, but-nay duty" Alright
 ed now, she sought to draw away her hand, but he chung to it. NO, Nell,
 mol" he cried. sIt's the first time I
 ever dared! It's the last time ever
 may! I'm going, Nell; I've got to go,
 but remember, my heart isn't there. 1 It's here-it's here with you!"
 And then on sudden he sprang to
 his feet, for voices, close at hand, broke
 the silence. Some one was climbing
 the pathway up the height An in I stant of listening and Elinor, too, 1 sprang to her feet.
 eff you know he's going to join the l rebel army and can prove it, why, that's enough panted the first speak ] CT. "The trouble is to prove it. Other
 wise there's no law to hold him."
 Prove it! By heaven, Curtis, you
 make me swear!" was the vehement
 answer. If our postmaster would only
 do his duty we could prove far more. 1 that he's in the rebel service at Jnls
 minute-that he's here spy in our
 understanding notes of all our prep
 arations and forces and numbers, and, l just as Andre was hung on the Hudson I 80 years ago, so should that young
 scoundrel hang here now. The laws
 of war the world over will tell you 1 so."
 And then scrambling to the crest,
 full in the light of the unclouded
 moon, the two climbers straightened up and stood face to face with the man of whom they were speaking, Elinor
 Benton clinging, trembling, in speech
 less indignation at his side.
 For moment there was awkward
 silence. Paul Ladue, with gleaming
 eyes stood squarely confronting the
 foremost, a. portly man of 30 years,
 who was still breathing hard as the
 result of his climb His companion,
 tall and spare and few years older,
 slowly ranged himself alongside his friend and looked to him to speak. The 1 stout man stared for few seconds at
 the silent twain, partly to recover
 breath, partly to recover wits. Finally
 he lamely said, "Oho!"
 Then finding the steadfast gaze of
 Ladue's burning brown eyes hard to
 bear, he turned to his companion.
 Rather a-coincidence, isn't it." said 1 he. This remark, too, fell flat, for no
 response followed. It became neces-
 sary to say something more to relieve
 the situation, and obviously the gentle l man knew not what to say. If there l lived in this western community a
 man Paul Ladue held i'll especial dis 1 favor, it was George McKinnon, junior 1 partner in the firm of Benton, Gray &