The Red Cloud chief., 1906-05-04

SS mail; tnat Is to say, about 1O
O'Clock, and returned with the letters
for the firm of Gray & Vanrevel. both
personal and official. Crailey and he
shared everything, even a box at the
pOstOtfice, and in front Of this box one
morning, after a night of rain, Tom
stood staring at a white envelope bear
ing a small black seal. The address
was in a writing he had never seen be-
fore, but the instant it fell under his
eye he was struck with a distinctly
plelsurable 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 ut his own
door to listen. Deep breathing from
across the hall indicated that Mr..
Gray's soul was still incased in slum-
Der.
Vlnrevel went to his w room. lock-
ed the door and took the letter from
his pocket. At last, after examining all
the blades of his pocketknife, he select
Ell 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 l did not understand. But
1 understand now-everything-and, bitter
to me as the truth is. l must show you
plainly that I know all of 1t. nor can I
rest until l do show you. / want you to
answer this etter-though l must not see
you again for a long time-and In your
answer you must set me right II l am
anywhere mistaken in what l have learn
ed.
AT first. and until after the second time
we met, / did not believe In your heart.
though | did in your mind and humor.
Even since then there have come strange,
small, ~incXplicable m~iStrustingS of you.
but row | throw them all away and trust
you wholly. Monsieur Citizen Georges
Mc!,hlc.-I shall always think of you In
those impossible garnishments of my poor
grclt-uncle, and | persuade myself that
he must have been a little Ike you.
l trust you because l 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-
lions and batteries q laugh at themD that
speak for you, but your career itself and
the brave things you have done! My IA
theirs 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 a man whom / do not know
strange as that seems as / write It. 1t
is only to you, who have taught me so
much. hat 1 could write 1t. l have tried
to know him and to realize that 1 am his
daughter, but we are the coolest acquaint-
ances. that Is all. and l cannot see how a
change could come. l do not understand
him: least of all do I understand why he
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 me: He has al
ways played heavily and skillfully, adding
much to his estate In that way, and In
Rouen always with a certain %coterie.
which was Joined several years ago by
the man you came to save last night.
Your devotion to Mr.. Gray has been
the most beautiful thing in your life. j
know all that the town knows of that, ex-
cept the thousand hidden sacrifices you
have made for him, those things which
no one will over know. (And yet. you see
l know them after alb For your sake
because you love him, l will not even cal
him unworthy.
nave heard-from one who told unwill'
ingly-the story of the night two years
ago when the play ran so terribly high
and how in the morning when they wen
away all were poorer except one-theil
host; how Mr.. Gray had nothing left II
the world and owed my father a grea'
sum-, which was to be paid in twenty-foui
hours; how you took everything you hat
saved In the years of hard work at YOU
profession and borrowed the rest on YOU
word and brought 1t to my father tina
afternoon; how, when you had paid you
friends debt, you asked my father not t
play with Mr.. Gray again, and my fathe
made that his excuse to send you a chal
Ienge. You laughed at the challenge
and you could afford to laugh at 1t.
But this is all shame, shame for Rober
Carewe's daughter. 1t seems to me that
should hide and not lift my head that ]
being of my fathers blood, could neve
look you in the face again. 1t Is so un
speakably painful and ugly. l think o
my fathers stiff pride and his look OF tn
e~agle-and he still plays with your friend
almost always successfully And you
friend still comes to play! But l Will no
speak of that side of 1t.
Mr.. Gray has made you poor, but
know 1t was not that which made 20
come seeking him last night, when
found you there in the hall. 1t was TO
his sake you came-and you went ava
for mine. Now that / know, at last-noV
that have heard what your life has bee
land, oh, 1 heard so much more than
have w~rittenD-now that my eyes hav
been opened to see you as you are, l ar
proud and glad and humble that 1 ca
believe that you felt a friendship for m
strong enough to have made you go 10
my sake You will write to me Just ono
won't you?-and tell me IL there was an