Newark evening star and Newark advertiser. [volume] (Newark, N.J.) 1909-1916, 1909-12-27

Copyright 1909 by D. Appleton 8 Co.


And alas. she must say mo TO him
she must give him pain; she could no
hope to make him Understandings
could anyone understand 2-and then
perhaps. he would misjudge her, per
haps he would leave her in anger ane
not come back any more. Not com
back any morei The thought cut with
a sharp pang, and In her distress sh'
moved her lips silently in the familiar
prayer printed before her:
80 Marie, souvenez vous du moment
supreme on Jesus votre divin Fills, ex.
pirant sur la croix, nous confia a votre
%maternelle solicitude.'
Her thoughts wandered from the page
and flew back to her lover. Why was
he so impatient? Why was he not will
ing to let their friendship go on as II
had been all these months? Why
must he ask this ineonceivable question
and insist on having an answer? His
wife. Her cheeks famed at the word
and her heart throbbed wildly. His
wife, How wonderful that he should
have chosen her, so poor and obscure,
for such an honor, the highest he could
pay a woman! Whatever happened she
would at least have this beautiful men,
DRY to comfort her loneliness and sor-
row.
A descending step on the tower stairs
broke in Upon her meditations, n she
rose quickly from her knees. The
sacristan had finished his rounds and
was coming to close the outer doors.
1t was time for her to go. And, with
a glance at her hair in a little glass
and a touch to her hat, she went out
into the garden back of Notre Dame,
where she knew her lover would be
waiting. There he was, stroiling along
the graveled walk near the fountain,
switching his cane impatiently. He had
not seen her yet, and she stood still,
looking at him fondly, dreading what
was to come, yet longing to hear the
sound of his voice. How handsome he
was! What a nice gray suit, and-then
Kittredge turned.
"Ah, at last" he exclaimed. spring
ing toward her with a mirthful, boyish
smile. His face was ruddy and clean
shaven, the twinkling eyes and humor-
Gus lines about the mouth suggesting
some joke or drollery always ready OH
his lips. Yet his was a frank, manly
face, easily likable. He was a man of
~, slender of build, but carrying him.
self we'll. ' In dress he had the quiet
good taste that some men are born
with. beside a willingness to take pains
about shirts, boots and cravats-in
short, he looked like a w~ell-groomed
Englishman. Unlike the average Eng
lishman, however, he spoke almost per-
feet French, owing to the fact that his
American father had married into one
of the old Creole families of New Or
leans.
How is your royal American consti-
She smiled, repeating in x
cellent English one of the nonsensical
phrases he was fond of using. She
tried to say it gayly, but he was not
deceived, and answered seriously in
French:
Hold on. There's something wrong.
We've been sad, eh?"
"Why-er@' she began, "I-er-'
Been worrying, l know. Too much
church. Too much of hat old she
dragon. Come over here and tell me
about t. He led her to a bench shad-
ed by a friendly sycamore tree. Now,
then"
She faced him with troubled eyes.
searching vainly for words and finding
nothing. The crisis had come and she
did not know how to meet it. Her red
lips trembled, her eyes grew melting,
and she sat there silent and delicious
in her perplexity. Kittredge. thrilled
under the spell of her beauty; he longed
to take her in his arms and comfort
her.
suppose We go back a little" he
said reassuringly. About six months
ago, I think it was in January, a young
chap in a fur overcoat drifted into this
old stone barn and took a turn around
it. He saw the treasure and the fake
relics and the white marble French
gentleman trying to get out of his cot
FIN. And he didn't care a hang about
any of 'em until he saw you. Then he
began to take. notice. The next day he
came back and you sold him a little
red guide-book that told all about the
twenty-five ehapels and the seven
hundred and ninety-two saints. No,
seven hundred and ninety-three, for
there was one saint with wonderful
eyes and glorious hair and"
"Please don't" she murmured.
why not? You don't know which
saint I was talking about. 1t was My
Lady of the Candles. She had the most
beautiful hands in the world. All
day long she sat at a table making
stitches on cloth of gold. Which was
bad for her eyes, by the way"
"Ah, yesn' sighed Alice.
There are all kinds of miracles in
Notre-Dame," he went on playfully,
"but the greatest miracle is how this
saint with the eyes and the hands and
the hair ever dropped down at that lit
tie table. Nobody could explain it. SO
the young fellow with the fur overcoat
kept coming back and coming back to
see if he could figure it out Only soon
he came without ~overcoat."
In bitter cold weather." she said, re-
proachfully.
He was pretty blue that day. wasn't
he? Dead sore on the game. Money all
blown in, overcoat up the spout, nothing
ahead, and a whole year of-of damned
~foolishness behind. Excuse me, but
that's what it was. Well, he blew ir
that day and-he walked over to where
you were sitting, o darling little
saint"
mo, MOI" murmured Alice, mot 8
saint, only a poo girl, who saw you
were unhappy and-and was sorry
Thar yes met tenderly, and for 6
moment neither spoke. Then Kittredgt
went or ~unsteadily: Anyhow, you
were kind to me, and / opened up 6
little. I told you a few things, and
when I went away I felt more like Z