Willmar tribune. [volume] (Willmar, Minn.) 1895-1931, 1904-08-10

From the clearness Of some part of
the room he believed the fire had not
been long burning.
Quickly lifting the girl from beside
the bed. he bore her into his own
room, where, placing her on a couch
near tho open window, he douched her
head and throat with cold water. He
was on the point Of running for help,
when her bosom 1luttered, the lips
twitched, and the eyelids slowly
opened.
She gazed into his tender eyes for
moment as If she did not recognize
him; then, turning, she burst into pas
sionate tears. As her hands leaped to
cover her face he noticed a wedding
ring upon her finger. It had never
been there before.
When he had helped her into her
room, which was now cleared of smoke,
he said, little brusquely: "Mademoi-
selle, you will promise to do nothing
rash again."
II will promise you, yes" she said,
almost humbly, her eyes dropping be-
fore his.
"Whatever may be troubling you,"
he went on. ''you can always depend
on me to help you"
AS they sat at tea, he tried by cheer
full talk to bring her mind away from
brooding, and after the meal she was
betrayed into some brightness on see
ing him wash up the tea-things, and
wished, against his laughing protesta-
tons. to do it for him.
Suddenly, in the midst of their al
most gay talk, she became silent, the
face clouded, and shining drops started
from her eyes.
Il never dreamed you were so kind"
falling down her face. II always
thought you were so stern and cold.
called you in my mind the man with
the hard eyes,
20, but you mustn't trust to ap-
pearances!" he replied, cheerfully.
i've often thought you were in trouble
-and-and hadn't many friends, per-
haps."
II have no friends since my poor
father died, year ago." she said,
sadly, when she had wiped her eyes
and could speak quietly. HE had a
concession which he thought some
rich men here would pay him for,
but they took it and gave him worth
less papers. When he died, disap-
pointed, tried to keep myself. All
our friends seemed to have hidden
themselves. have suffered many
things, but cannot starve. 1t is SO
base. Oh, monsieur, I know you de-
spise me for being a coward today,
but"
Don't say that" replied Stephen.
''None of us know how weak we may
be when the time comes. But now,
listen! You must begin again. You
must let me lend you some money to
go on with, and we must look about
and see what work you can get. Will
you do that?"
She shook her head, putting his offer
from her with a quick forward ges-
ture OF her hands, which seemed to him
both pretty and pitiable.
II almost wish you had not-not found
me to-day!" Then, with sudden
quickness in look and tone, she said,
How, monsieur, did you come to sus-
pect so soon what I was doing? I
thought you had gone out"
Never mind that now" he said
brusQuely. "You must take my offer.
1t will only be loan which you can
repay when you have work"
THANK you, monsieur" she replied.
in cold tones. Il will take the money
as loan.'
He passed some gold to her across
the table and her face went proud and
pallid as she murmured thanks. Then,
hot at the thought of what might be
in her mind, he tore leaf from his
note book, made out an II. O. L." and
handed it to her, with his pen.
She signed the paper in silence. To
him the flimsy page seemed wall of
ice between them that, for his part,
he swore to himself he would never
break down.
Next evening she came to tell him
of the efforts she had made that day
to obtain work. Her manner was some
what distant, with, at the end Of
their talk, checked fash of warmth.
He noticed there was now no ring
upon her finger, and wondered what
was her story.
Three weeks passed. He could not
but confess the quiet perseverance
with which she tramped London
to get work. She had procured one OF
two pupils, but her ambition was to
obtain some clerical berth. In this,
however, her lack of business exper-
fence seemed to be the great hindrance,
but several Of her compatriots had
promised to aid her.
One evening she met him on the
stairs, her eyes eager, her manner
agitated. She told him she had at
length obtained small berth in a
commercial Office. She was to work
at the London branch for six months,
and then be transferred to Paris. In
spite of his quick cheerfulness, her
brightness dulled at the sadness that
came into his eyes as she told her
news.
He knew what he must do; he must
leave her at once. To feel the time
shorten to the day when he should see
her for the last time would gradually
undermine resolution. BY one strong
action he could save himself from his
own disesteem, and, perhaps, her
ScOrn