Wausau pilot. [volume] (Wausau, Wis.) 1896-1940, 1909-09-28

voice that he knew and whose tones
had thrilled him through and through
Rupert! Rupert" 1t had cried in the
| darkness to him. Come back! Come
| backi-
J He knew that voice so well, so well,
and he knew that 1t came from Chats
well; all besides was biackness. But
1t shone like beacon light in the CEN
| ter of the impenetrable gloom that
overwhelmed him, and he strained ev-
cry nerve within him not again to lose
sight of that Pickering gleam If he
lost it, he felt that he would be I'M
donel
When they reached Chatswell sta
ton it was afternoon; he helped his
sister quickly to alight out of the
train, and he looked neither to the
right nor the left as he drew her away
silently along the road to the village
The porter turned back curfously to
stare after him.
It's that there gent as was stop
ping at the George last August" he
said to the station master. What ave
come to i'm. wonder, e never 50
much as gave me nod, and e look
as though e were mortal bad. Never
seed chap so gone to pieces in hall
my born days."
| Carroll seemed to know the road
| perfectly, and yet he did not actually
remember it, he only followed it in
stinctively. The once familiar houses
and trees and hedgerows. and even
the homely faces of the few inhabit-
ants whom he passed, brought back
nothing to him. but by some dumb
sense, he seemed to know his way to
The Cottage.
Once his sister spoke to him, asking
him where he was taking her. Don't
speak to me, don't speak to mel" he
answered with agitation, as he lapsed
into silence.
Then all at once the fog seemed to
lift, as he caught sight of the gables
| of The Cottage. There was the we'll
known gate beneath the archway of
now withered greenery, the porch
where he and she had often fingered,
the dank and faded autumn garden,
strewn with deal leaves, that was
| like, and yet wholly unlike, that gar
den where the roses and carnations
had bloomed, and scattered their Grim
son petals. where the nightingales had
flung their riotous music into the still,
sweet scented night. and where loves
sweet mystery had been wordlessIy
breathed between eyes that had shone
with mutual comprehension, and
hearts that had beat in silent unison
Then like a flash, for few mild
moments light came to him, and he re-
membered! But-what was this? what
nightmare of blacklist horror suddenly
changed and submerged it all? There
was a crowd gathered about the gate
large printed bills were pasted upon
| The Cottage walls. the doors and win
| dows were wide open; some of the
| furniture stood outside on the grass
| plot, and a stream of curious stran-
| gers pressed through upon each 9TH
ers heels into the desecrated home.
Let US co." said Carroll in a hor-
ror- stricken whisper to his amazed
and Disguised sister, this is not the
place at all. 1 don't know this house.
was never here before. 1t has gone
it has Comet" he kept on muttering
despairingly, gone from me, gone.
remember nothing. it is as black as
night. 1 do not know this place, I was
never here before!"
Shocked and distressed beyond
measure by his wild looks and mutter-
| ings, Louise hurried him back 10 the
station; she was as anxious to get him
away as he was to go. By great good
| luck they just caught an up train that
| took them back to town without any
delay. All the way back Rupert sat
| plunged in the profoundest melan-
| choly, he seemed scarcely conscious of
what he was doing. Louise had to
lead him about by the arm as though
| he had been a blind man.
In pouring out the whole story that
night to Agatha's sympathizing ears.
| after Rupert had gone to bed. she
] dwelt at length upon the extraordinary
| hallucination that had caused him to
| insist upon starting, in the middle of
the night as it were. on such a wild
and profitless journey.
Meanwhile upstairs, Rupert Carroll
| lay face downwards upon his bed. The
deep darkness of his mental Oblivion
| lay like thick cloud upon him. For
it was not the forgetfulness of sleep
or of unconsciousness-ver far from
| il. He knew perfectly that there was
something that was of the utmost i'm
| portance that he should remember. and
yet, struggle as he would. he could not
bring it back into his mind. He had
| distinct impression that he was proba-
bly, making shipwreck of his whole
| life because of the blank in his mind
at this precise juncture, and yet he
could do nothing to save himself. The
expedition to Chatswell had brought
no illumination to him. The place. the
house. as he had seen them to-day, did
not recall the faintest shadow of Irene
| TO him-the voice that had called to
him for help, had no personality in it
| only a nameless vibration that had
| thrilled like an electric current through
| his veins. But her face-her image
her identity who had spoken. were en-
veloped in thickest clouds of irnpene-
trable gloom.
Mercifully he did not know There
was no one TO tell him that had he ar
the once familiar cottage gate he
would have met there Irene herself.
| draped in deepest black from head to
foot coming out of the house which 1t
seemed TO her she was leaving for the
last-the very last time.
CHAPTER XII
Agatha Dale was one of those wou-
en- who have the strength to wait, as
we'll as the wisdom to make. discreet
use OF such opportunities as fall in