Waterbury evening Democrat., 1908-10-12

She snatched up the paper again. ''Whc has been for some months on prolonged vacation"-the phrase stared sardonically at her That might carry far back-she said 1t under her breath, fearfully-beyond the murder of pr. Moreau. Her face burned. and her breath came sharp and fast. Why when she brought her warning to the cabin had Hugh been 50 anxious to get her away unless to prevent her sight of the man who was thNre, to whom he had taken her horse? Who was there in Smoky Mountain whom he would protect at hazard of his own life?
 Jessica's veins were all afire. A rec tor murderer? A double career? Was 1t beyond possibility? It came to her like an impinging ray of light, the old curious likeness that had sometimes been made jest of at the white house in the aspens. Moreau and Pren- dergast had believed 1t to be Hugh. So had the town, for the body had been found on his ground. But on the night when the real murderer came again to the cabin perhaps 1t was his coming that had brought back the lost memory. Hugh had known the truth. In the light of this supposition, his strained manner then, his present de- termination not to speak, all stood plain.
 What had he meant by debt of his past that he had never paid? He could owe no debt to Harry Sanderson. If he owed any debt 1t was to his dead father. thousand times more than the draft he had repaid. Could he be thinking in his remorse that his father had cast him of. counting himself nothing, remembering only that Harry Sanderson had been David Stires' fa- vorite and St. James, which must be smirched by the odium of its rector, the apple of his eye?
 Jessica had snatched at a straw, be- cause 1t was the only buoyant thing afloat in the dragging tide. Now with blind fatuousness she hugged it tighter to her bosom. One purpose possessed her-to confront Harry San derson. What matter though she missed the remainder of the trial? She could do nothing. Her hands were tied. If the truth lay at Aniston she would find 1t. She thought no farther than this. Once in Harry Sanderson's presence, what she should say or do she scarcely imagined. The horrify- ing question filled her thought to the exclusion of all that must follow it's answer. It was surety and self con viction she craved, only to read in his eyes the truth about the murder of Moreau.
 She suddenly began to tremble. Would the doctors let her see him? What excuse could she give? If he was the man who had been in Hugh's cabin that night he had heard her speak, had known she was there. He must not know beforehand of her con- ing lest he have suspicion of her er- rand. Bishop Ludlow, he could gain her access to him. Injured, dying perhaps, maybe he did not guess that Hugh was in jeopardy for his crime. Guilty and dying, if he knew this, he would surely tell the truth. But if he died before she could reach him? The paper was some dayss old. He might be dead already. She took heart, how ever, from the statement of his i'm proved condition.
 She sprang to her feet and looked at her chatelaine watch. The eastbound express was overdue. There was no time to lose Minutes might count. She examined her purse. She had money enough with her.
 Five minutes later she was at the station, scrubbed note was on its way to Mrs. Halloran. and before swinging red lantern the long incom- ing train was shuddering to stop. ITO Be Continued.