The Montgomery advertiser., 1907-10-18

In Araeric.. An, yes; she has just Laura sprang on her seat and faced
 him with cienched hands and blazing
 stirred up all her hatred of Leonore Do you want to know the name of the man? she cried.
 1 Yes. yes, Laura, If you like to tell l me" he replied He spoke soothingly,
 as If to fractions child. He thought
 that she had taken leave of her senses. 1 Well will tell you" she said, mak-
 ing an effort to speak calmly. Two months ago Leonore was the wife of I Sir William Tankerlane."
 | The news might well have staggered l the intellect of strong -minded man..
 But John shil merely frowned. and his | eyes were full of pity, as he looked at | Lauras white face. He was now 1 firmly convinced that the death of her child had affected her brain. Laurie" he said gently. my dear i Laurie. What do you mean? Why, you are the wife of Sir William Tam kerlane"
 T am now,@ she replied. hut two months ago was--well. you can guess | what was.r She tried to speak calm | ly. but her whole body trembled with excitement She knew that she must | speak calmly to convince him. and yet l the Knowledge that he believed her to
 be mad nearly drove her out of her senses.
 Laurie. the man cried pitifully, "my dearest Laurie Let us talk of some ! thing else. We will talk of this aa- other day. when you have had a rest. Let us walk back to the house now. or go on round the island"
 She looked at him for moment in l horror. and then, as she realized the full meaning of his words. she lost control of herself.
 Do you think me mad7" she cried. T am as sane as you" but the look on her face and the fierce light in her eyes were almost contradiction to her words. John Shil might well be forgiven for thinking that she had ta- ave of her senses.
 'Mad?" he said quietly. NO. Of course not, Laurie. How absurd you arel But I'd rather hear your story another day, say tomorrow. I really ought to be getting of now I will come tomorrow, Laurie, and we'll have long talk together"
 Don't you believe what say?" she cried. T swear to you that two months ago Leonore was the wife of Sir William Tankeriane, and that I-- oh, God that I should have to plead and swear like this in order to be be lieved by you--by you, Jack, for whom | sacrificed my whole ,ifes for whom ! sold myself, for whom I have gone down into the very depths of hell" Laurie" he cried tenderiy, aa he took her in his arms "oh. Laurie, my dearest" His agony was pitiful to witness. for he believed that suffering had driven her mad, and her talk of sacrifice con- veyed nothing to his mind. He only wished to soothe her. to comfort her, and persuade her to return to Dow sett's house. His heart ached for her. and yet he did not know how to reply to her ravlngs without offence. He merely held her in his arms in the hope
 that she would realize how much he ionged to help her and protect her from herself.
 But the agony of the woman was more terrible than his own. All that she had suffered. all the misery of her life, all the grief for the loss of her child,
 all the fury at the treachery of Leo- nore, all the bodily pain and exhaus- ton of the last twenty-four hours had culminated in this one moment when the man, to whom she had looked Tor love and sympathy, had insuited her
 with such kindness as one offers to lunatic or drunkard. With cry of anguish she tore herself from his
 grasp. struck wildly at his face with her clenched hands. and then, falling to the ground, she laughed and sobbed like a maniac.
 And then, as she lay huddled in
 heau. with Ioosened hair and closed
 eyes, and hands that were thrust into the mud. wild. incoherent words oroke from her lips. She babbled of Ben Holland, of the quarry in the Round Plantation, of William Tankerlane, of I,eororN of Paris of her dead child, or her father, of the grinding poverty or
 Widley Street Her brain was trying to piece together the story of her life. In her darkness she was trying 70 grope for the light. She imagined that she was telling John Shfl all that she wished him to know. and that he would understand how she had sacrificed her self for him, and how she had suffered, I and how she had come back to him to give him all her love.
 But John Shil, as he listened to her disconnected rawlings, did not under stand In fact he hardly heard the words, and certainly did not try to
 make sense of them. All his thoughts were occupied with the terrible and embarrassing position in which he found himself, and he was more con ,cerned about Laura's present condition than about anything else she might have to tell him.
 He knelt down by her side and tried to comfort her; but she shrank and shuddered at his touch, and the tor rent of words still came from her lips broken. incoherent words inter- spersed with fits of weeping ana laughter.
 Then at last the words grew fainter, and the sobbing less violent, and at last both died away into silence.
 Laurie" said John Shil ltenderiy' laying his hand on her shoulder. She did not move or answer him. Laurie, he repeated. 'Iet me carry you back 70 the cottage"
 She made no reply, and he shook her gently.
 dearest"
 Then he picked her up from the ground and looked at her face. Her | eves were closed and her skin was | white as paper She lay limp and helnless in his arms. He laid her down again on the grass, and. run uing quickly to small pool, filled his can with muddy water and dashed the dirty nquid in her face. He did tnis again and again, but she did not open | her eyes. He placed his hand against | her heart; 1t ruttered foebly and irreg- ularly.
 "Oh GodT he cried aloud in his an euish, If she should die" And for the | moment the awful thought came to him | that God had intervened in this man mar to save them both from sin. "Give | her back to me-" he cried again. ana l I will not take her till she i5 Tree
 And then. as if in answer to ms
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