Twice-a-week plain dealer. (Cresco, Howard County, Iowa) 1895-1913, 1906-03-16

for the firm of Gray & Vanrevel, both
personal and official Crailey and he
shared everything, even box at tho
postoftice, and in front of this box one
morning, after night Of rain, Tom
stood staring at white envelope bear
Ing a small black seal. The address
was in writing he had never seen be-
fore, but the instant it fell under his
eye he was struck with a distinctly
pleasurable excitement.
Suddenly and without reason he
knew that it came from Elizabeth Ca
| rewe.
He walked back quickly to his Office
with the letter in the left pocket of his
coat, threw the bundle Of general cor
respondence upon his desk, went up to
the floor above and paused at his own
door to listen. Deep breathing from
across the hall indicated that Mr..
Gray's soul was still incased in slum-
Der.
| Vanrevel went to his own room, lock-
ed the door and took the letter from
his pocket. At last, after examining all
the blades of his pocketknife, he select
ed one brighter than the others and
loosened the flap Of the envelope as
gently and carefully as If it had been
the petal Of a rosebud that he was
opening
Dear Mr.. Vanrevel-I believed you last
| night though I did not understand. But
understand ow-everything-and, bitter
| to me as the truth Is, must show you
/ hQt oil 10
rest until do show you. want you to
answer this letter-though must not sec
you again for q long time-and In your
answer you must set me right II am
| anywhere mistaken in what have learn
| ed.
AT first, and until after the second time
| we met, did not believe in your heart,
though I did in your mind and humor.
Even since then there have come strange,
| small, ineXplicable mistrustings Of you,
but now throw them all away and trust
| you wholly. Monsieur Citizen Georges
Meilhac!-I shall always think of you In
those impossible garnishments of my poor
| great-uncle, and I persuade myself that
| he must have been little like you.
| trust you because have heard the
story OF your profound goodness. The
first reason for my fathers dislike was
| your belief in freedom as the right Of all
men. All. 1t is not your pretty exaggera-
l
1 speak for you, but your career itself and
| the brave things you have done! My IA
TIERS dislike fared into hatred because
| you worsted him when he discovered that
he could not successfully defend the
| wrong against you and fell back upon
| sheer insult.
He is man whom I do not know
strange as that seems as write It, 1t
| Is only to you, who have taught me so
| much, that could write 1t. have tried
to know him and to realize that am his
| daughter, but we are the coolest acquaint-
ances. that is all. and I cannot see how a
change could come I do not understand
Is a gambler. 1t has been explained to me
that 1t is his great passion. but all COM
| prehend in these words Is that they are
full of shame for his daughter.
This is what was told met He has al
ways played heavily and skillfully, adding
| Rouen always with q certain coterie,
which was Joined several years ago by
tho man you came to save last night
| Your devotion to Mr.. Gray has been
the most beautiful thing In your life.
know all that the town knows Of that. az
oept the thousand hidden sacrifices ysu
have made for him, those things which
no one viii ever know. (And yet, you see,
I know them after all) For your sake.
because you love him, will not even call
| him unworthy.
I have heard-from one who told unwill-
tngly-the story Of the night two years
ago when the play ran SO terribly high,
! and how in the morning when they went
| away all We're poorer except one-their
| host; how Mr.. Gray had nothing left in
the world and owed my father a great
| sum, which was to be paid in twenty-four
hours; how you took everything you had
saved in the years Of hard work at your
| profession and borrowed the rest on your
| word and brought 1t to my father that
afternoon; how. when you had paid your
friends debt, you asked my father not to
play with Mr.. Gray again, and my father
l made that his excuse to send you q chal-
lenge. You laughed at the challenge
| and you could afford to laugh at 1t.
But this Is all shame, shame for Robert
Carewe's daughter. 1t seems to me that
should hide and not lift my head; that I.
being Of my fathers blood. could never
look you in the face again. It Is SO I'M
my fathers stiff pride and his look of the
eagle-and he still plays with your friend,
almost always successfully" And your
friend still comes to playi But will not
speak of that side Of 1t.
Mr.. Gray has made you poor, but J
know 1t was not that which made yor
come seeking him last night, when
found you there in the hall. It was for
his sake you came-and you went away
for mine. Now that know, at last-now
that have heard what your life has been
(and. oh. I heard SO much more than
| have written)-n that my eyes have
been opened to see you as you are, am
| proud and glad and humble that can
believe that you felt friendship for me
| strong enough to have made you 60 "fol
my sake" You will write to me Just once
won't you?-and tell me IL there was any
error in what listened to. but you must
| not come to the garden. Now that ]
know you I cannot meet you clandestine-
ly again. 1t would hurt the dignity which
| feel In you now and my own poor dig
nity-such as 1t is! I have been earnestly
warned of the danger to you. Besides,
you must let me test myself. I am all
fiuttering and frightened and excited.
| You will obey me- won't you? Do not
| come until send for you.
ELIZABETH CAREWE.
Mr.. Gray, occupied with his toilet
about noon, heard his partner descend
Ing to the Office with heavy step, and
issued from his room to call hearty
greeting. Tom looked back over his
shoulder and replied cheerily, though
with certain embarrassment, but
Crailey, catching sight Of his face ut
tered q sharp ejaculation and came
down to him.
"Why, what's the matter, Tom ?
You're not going to be sick?"
"I'm all right, never fear!' Tom
laughed, eyading the others eye. "I'm
going out in the country on some bust
ness, and 1 dare say shall not be back
for couple of days. 1t will be all up
II and down the cOuntyn