The Salt Lake tribune. [volume] (Salt Lake City, Utah) 1890-current, 1908-11-15

ness, he had been as sensitive as pho
tograPhic plate.
Halleluiah Jones knew the melodro-
matte value Of contrast. AS his mood
called. he passed abruptly from ex-
hortation to song, from prayer to full
m1nation, and he embellished his ha-
rangue with anecdotes drawn from his
lifelong campaign against the Arch
Enemy. of Souls OF what he had said
the solitary observer had been quite uu.
repetition of something experienced
him. Suddenly, however, chance
phrase pierced to his understanding.
Another moment and be was leaning
forward, his eyes fixed, his breath
straining at his breast. For each word
of the speaker now was knocking a
sledgehammer blow upon the blank wall
IN his brain. Hallelujah Jones had
launched into the recital of an Incl.
dent which had become the chef 'ouvre
OF his repertory-a story which, though
the stern charge Of bishop had kept
hlm silent as to name and locality,
tual experience, had lost little In the
telling 1t was the tale of an evening
when he had peered through the tilted
window Of chapel, and seen its dis
solute rector gambling on the table of
the Lord.
Back in the shadow the listener,
breathless and staring, saw the scene
unroll like the shifting slide Of q stare,
opticon--the epitaph on his own dead
self. Nerve and muscle and brain
tlahtened as if to withstand shock,
Tor the man who moved through the
picture was himself! He saw the cards
and counters falling on the table, the
entrance OF the two lntruding figures,
heard Hugh s wild laugh as he fed, and
the CRATE of the key in the lock be-
hind him as he stood in his study.
lie heard the rush OF the wind past
the motor-car, the rustic of dry corn in
the hedges and felt the mist beating on
his bare head
Palms of Victory,
Crowns OF Glory
Palms OF Victory
I shall weari
He did not know that it was the
voice of the street preacher which was
singing now. The words shrieked them
selves through his brain. Harry San
derson, not Hugh Stires! Not an out
castl Not criminal, thief and forgerI
The curtain was rent. The dead wall
IN his brain was down, and the real
able flood. Halleluiah Jones had fur
nished the clue to the maze. His story
was the last great wave, which had
crumbled, all at once, the cliff of OBJ
llvlon that the normal process of the
recovered mind had been stealthily un-
dermining. Tho formula, lost 80 long
III the mysterious labyrinth of the
Thousand shreds of recollection that he
had misconstrued had fallen into their
true place in the old pattern Harry
Sanderson at last knew his past and
all of puzzlement and distress that it
had held.
Shaking in every limb and feeling all
along the courthouse wall like drunk
ther deserted street. A passerby would
have shrunk at sight of his face and
his burning eyes.
For these months, he, the Reverend
Henry Sapderson, disgraced, had suf-
fered eclipse, had been sunk out of
sight and touch and hearing Like a
stone in pool. For these months
blance and fortuitous concurrence of
circumstances-he had owned the name
and lgnominy of Hugh Stires. And
Jesslcaf Deceived no less than he, dat
ing her piteous error from that mis-
taken moment when she had torn the
bandage from her eyes on her wedding
day. She had never seen the real Hugh
in Smoky Mountain. She must Learn
the truth. Yet. how to tell ber2 How
could he tell her all?
AT any hour yesterday, hard as the
telling must have been, he could have
told her, Last night the hour passed.
How could he tell her now3 Yet she
was the real Hugh g wife by law and
right; he himself could not marry her.
If God would but turn back the uni
verse and give him yesterday
Why not be Hugh Stiresl Tho wild
idea came TO him to throw away his
own self for ever, never to tell her,
never to return to Aniston, TO live on
here or fly TO some distant place, till
years had made recognition impossible.
He struck his forehead with his closed
hand. He, priest of God. TO sum
mon her TO an Illegal union7 To live
serial story of hypocrisy, with the
guilty shadow of the living Hugh al
ways between them, the sword of Dam
ocles always suspended above their
heads, to clcave TO the heart of his
died. Yet what justice of Heaven was
it that Jessica. whose very soul had
been broken on the wheel, should now,
through no conscious fault. be led By
his hand through @ new Inferno OF
suffering?
His feet dragging as though from
cold he climbed the mountain road. AS
nc Wdlheu ue LOON iIOIU NlS pOChel tue
little gold cross, and his fingers, numb
with misery, tied it to his thong watch
guard 1t had been only a bauble, a
acquired he knew not when
or how: now he knew it for the badge
OF his calling. He remembered now
that, pressed a certain way, 1t would
open, and engraved inside were his
name and the date of his ordination.
He might shut the cabin door, but
he could not forbid the torturer that
came with him across the threshold.
He might throw himself upon his knees
and bury his face in the rough skin
of the couch but he could not shut
put words that blent in golden.lettered
Lie L., icrhl l.