The Spokane press. [volume] (Spokane, Wash.) 1902-1939, 1909-06-19

.@'::11jiI|n||D|||llD"
speak for us II our own voices are
not loud enough
She slipped one hand into a
pocket of the coat she was still
wearing and brought out the re-
volver which had served her in
such good stead on the occasion of
her night journey from New York
to Stormport. 1t was an idle ex-
hibition, and yet achieved its OBJ
ject. .Fanchette took heart of grace,
and did not feel herself so utterly
at monsieur's mercy.
"Sit down." the girl said quietly,
and, when Andre knocked, she her.
self threw the door wide, motioned
to monsieur that he might come in.
He did so, deferentially, hat in
hand, speaking no word until his
sharp eyed guide had once more
been shot out. And then,
"Dagmar!" he said imploringly.
She scanned him closely for a
moment, and saw that he had not
changed. Almost twelvemonth
had gone by since that dark night
on which she had fled from him,
leaving behind, in token of her des-
perate resolve, the wedding ring
which he had placed upon her fin
ger an hour before. All! Had she
but known in time, had her eyes
not been so innocently blind to the
brand she could see so plainly now
on his smooth forehead. She had
once thought him handsome-and
believed in him-and trusted him
implicitly. And insight into his
true character had come to her
only too late!
He met her gaze with tragic
humility, such as would at one time
have stood him in good stead with
her, finding her even fairer. still
more to be desired than he had
deemed. She was no longer the
unsophisticated girl whom he, with
his wide knowledge of the world,
had thought he might still bring to
book for her behavior. The lines
of a graver experience showed at
the corners of her perfect lips and
nostrils. She was woman now,
and altogether lovely, this, his as
yet unkissed duchesse.
"Dagmar!" he said, imploringly,
and, although it hurt her to have
him call her by that name, she
could not help herself. While he
confined himself to that, she could
not check him. She did not answer,
but stood there waiting, her head
back, her face expressionless, at
bay.
"Dagmar," he said, II have come
here to plead with you. Will you
not send your maid away, and let
me speak? l beg that you will hear
me, and-think! Am ! not your
husband?"
was what that woman told me
at the church door true?" she
asked, in a tone at which he
WINGED as though 1t had been a
whip lash, ignoring his objection
to her woman's presence.
He bit his lip. counting the
cha Aeees that a lie might pass, but
knew that nothing but the truth
would serve him.
1T was true. to my shame" he
said. But listen, Dagmar. l was
no more than boy then, and--she
entrapped me. That happens to 80
many of us.
mo, do not seek to excuse my
self at her expense. I only pray
you to be lenient with me. 1t was
not altogether my fault, and"
ut was true" she broke In, not
scornfully, but in voice that hurt
him more than would have the
scorn he deserved, "and am glad
that you do not deny 1t, else !
should have to count you coward
as well as But, never mind. l
have no wish to judge you. 1t
| was true--and yet you call your
self my husband"
He would have spoken. but she
held a hand up and so silenced him.
| you were a poor man when !
married you." she went on swiftly.
az did not know that you would one
day be Due des Reeves, and God
help mel believed you loved me.
In that / was content.
"You married me believing me to
be a rich mans heiress, and for the
sake of what you might get with
me-"
He would have cried denial II he
could, but remained speechless,
with bent head.
II could have told you then that
he was dead, and that his millions
would all go elsewhere II l should
marry you, butt believed you
loved me!
II went to you, on impulse and
In haste. There was no time for
explanations. And, on the church
steps found out"