The Plymouth tribune. (Plymouth, Ind.) 1901-1911, 1908-09-24

we'll again. None of his ilk shall find
you and me together. Two or three times,
back across the forbidden tundras of
years, | have met men who stack up
something as you do in my thoughts to-
night. 1 never hurt any of those fellows
as l have hurt you. I'm toe fond Of you
to hit you any harder. Les talk about
something else"
Constable had received a singular ap-
peal. He knew that il there were any
future for aim, he would think of Breen's
last words coordinate in memory with
the quabing rim of the crater. 1t did not
occur. 10 him to answer at once. They
were passing through Morne Rouge, so
overcrowded now that people were sleep
ing in the streets. On the dark down.
trail again, words did not come to him.
and when the party re-entered the bank
of falling ash and the sulphur stencil, it
was not good to open ones mouth IN
speech.
The guides were paid at the edge OF
the city. Saint Pierre was dark and har-
rowingly still. The hoof-beats of the two
mules which the Americans retained were
mufied in the ash, as if they were pound
ing along the sandy beach. Often the
rousing fetor of death reached the nostrils
of the riders, above the drying, cutting
yapor of the volcano, and their beasts
SHE'D and snorted at the untoward humps
on the highway. 1t was as If war and
pestilence had stalked through Saint
Pierre that day, and a winter storm had
tried to cover the dreadful aftermath. n
door opened at last before them, and
there was a cry from Soronia. Pere
Rabeaut hurried out and led the mules to
shelter.
Constable sank into his old seat at the
round table under the window. He watch
ed Breen and the woman. His friend was
huge and lean in the lamp light; his
white clothing stained from the saddle,
his hair and mustache white from ash, his
black eyes burning in face haggard unto
ghastliness. The woman was in his arms
as they stood together. What they, said,
Constable did not allow his mind to rea-
son with, but the glory of her lovers
presence which shone in the eyes of So
roma called down upon the watcher his
own black vistas of desolatioh She had
TO, al, for an hour, the true and the beau
tiful-the soul anchorage which he was
never to know. He would keep
all craft of the Crusoe stamp from
laundering into her sweet haven-this
much he could do, was his thought. Food
was placed before him, and he ate a lit
tie. for the sake of Breen- His eyes
pained from the lamplight, and he drop
ped his face forward into his arms on the
table. Close to the wood, the vibrations
of the mountain doomed louder in his
ears
But you must not go away again :"
Soronia implored.
"Yes. for an hour-two hours at the
ncst--little fairy" Breen whispered.
They were In the living rooms across
the court, where the bird cages were
TERED and covered with cloths. She chung
to him pitifully.
with you away-oh, my lover, no, no !.
/ cannot live again for hours
and hours"
Hush he Is In great trouble. He
must not awake until after / am gone.
Then he must not know where / have
gone. / am going to the plantation house
on the Morne d'Orange. 1t Is for him.
Two hours at the most, and the last
the last / shall ever leave you, little
fairy"
Breen recrossed the court and entered
the fruit shop on tiptoe. Constable did
not move; his breathing was inaudible
At the street door Soronia joined him like
shadow. He kissed her and put her
arms from him. 1t was eleventh.
by the old French clock.
Soro1ia, alone, stared for an instant
at the figure sprawled across the table
the mar who had caused her lover twice
to be tern from her arms that day. Then
she moved to a chair. in the shadows at
the fa' end of the shop, and sat down
rigidly to wait.