Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1907-01-28

| women and the lights and felt the warmth
OF the silent girl at his side. he wondered
how he had ever endured those old. color
| less days. He marveied at the hold which
| the mere spectacular side of life could get
on one. He tried to tell himself that he
| mated the ill-gotten wealth that lay
| heavy and huge In his pocket at that mo-
| ment; and he smothered his last warmth Of
satisfaction with the phrase which she had
used a few days before: Their diseased
| lust for gain without toll" Then he tried
to think Of the life he was leading with
| one figure eliminated; and the darkness Of
| the prospect appalled, him.
| With sudden impetuous motion he
caught up her hand. where It lay idly i'm her
| lap, and held II close. She tried to draw il
| away, but could not.
Everything seems so different, Frank.
| since I've known your he said, little
| huskily.
| IT'S different with me. toor' she all but
whispered looking away: Her face. in the
| green-ined hanson, looked pale. and, as
he had so often felt. almost fiowerlike
| Frank he cried. softly. in a voice that
| started her breathing quickly Frank,
| won't you-won't you marry me?'
She looked at him out of what seemed
| frightened eyes, with an unnatural and
half-startled light on her pale face.
| Il love you, Frank, more than I could
ever tell your he went on. impetuously.
| You could walk over me- you could break
me- and do what you like with me, and I'd
| "Oh. you don't know me- you don't know
me!' she cried. You don't know what I've
been!' And some agony of mind seemed to
| wrench her whole body.
II don't care what you've been-1 know
what you are! You're the woman I'd give
my life for-Td lay it down. without 9
| thought, for you! And, good Lord, look at
me! Don't you think I'm bad enough my
selfmand hundred times more weak and
vacillating than you! l love You, Frank;
| isn't that enoughf
| Nor she mourned, tits not enoughw'
But you've got to be loved. you want to
be loved, or you wouldn't have eyes and q
mouth like that! It's the only thing. now,
| that can make life worth whiler'
| She let him catch her up to his shoulder
! and hold her there, with her wet cheek
against his: she even said nothing when he
| bent and kissed her the lips though her
face grew colorless at his touch.
| Il do love you." she sighed weakly. Il
do love you! / do: and she chung to him,
| childishly, shaken with a sob or two, happy.
| yet vaguely troubled.
| Then why can't We get away from here,
| somewhere. and be happyr'
| "Where?' she asked.
| Anywhere, where there's daylight and
honesty and fair playr'
There's MacNutt!' she cried. remember.
ing, opening her dropping eyes to grim life
whats he to usT' Durkn demanded.
| HE hasn't bought our souls!'
| mo. but we have to live-we have to work
and pay as we go. And he could stop
Let him Interfere cried the other.
| fercely. i've never been afraid of him!
I'm as good cd fighter as he is, by d heaven!
| filthy money isn't everything!'
The woman at his side was silent Z
only wish l had few of his thousands"
| added Durkin, more humbly.
| She looked up quickly, with the flash OF
some new thought Swallowed on her white
| face.
''Why shouldn't WEI" she cried, half bit
terly. I'VE have gone through enough for
| him.!
"And IFS all rottenness. anyway" as
| suaged Durkin. THE Postal Union direct
| ors themselves, who feed MacNutt and all
| his fry-they make over four million year
out OF their pool-room service! And one
of them is pillar lar Of that church we passed.
mo, it's not that" she hesitated. She
had long since grown afraid of that ancient
| sophistry.
Then We might go away somewhere"
| she was saying dreamily, away to Eng
| land. event 1 wonder II you would like
| England? 1t always seems so much of yes
| terday there, to me. It's always tomorrow
| over here. But at home everything doesn't
| seem to live in the future, as we do now. I
| wonder if you would like England?"
| I'd like any place, where you were,''
Hes always been a wecher with the
4 people he uses He will be a welcher with
you-yes, and with me- some day. I sup
She turned to Durkin with a sudden de-
| termination. Would you risk it, with me?'
I'd FISK anything for your he said, taxi
| ing her hand once more.
I'VE have a right to our happiness she
argued. passionately. I'VE have our life,
all our life almost-before u.s. And I've
| loved you, Jim," she confessed. her gloved
| fingers toying with a button on his sleeve,
from the FIRST day MacNutt brought you
up!''
Then a silence fell over her, and he could
see the reflection of some strange conflict
going on in her mind Although he could
perceive the unhappiness 1t brought to her.
he could in no wise surmise the source OF it.
SO that when she spoke again, the sudden
ness of her cry almost startled him.
"Oh, why didn't know you and love you
when / was a young and heart-free girl.
singing and laughing about my quiet home?
Why couldn't love have come to me then,
when all my heart and life were as white as
the plain little cambria gown 1 wore-when
1 was worthy of it, and could have received
it openly, and been glad of itP'
He could not follow her, but, lover-like,
he tried to kiss away her vague fears and
scruples In this effort, though he found
her lips so cold and lifeess that he drew
away from her, and looked at her in won-
der.
us it too late 2u-he implored, persstently.
(To be Continued Tomorrow