Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1909-01-28

dominant. He had chung loyalty to the
memento, blind in his constant liking,
to the wrong that friend had done him.
She looked at the date. 1t was Nav
%. She s%huddered, for that was the
month and day on which DR.. Moreau
had been killed. The point had been
clearly established today by the prose-
cution. To the original owner of that
cross perhaps the date that had come
into Hugh's life with such a sinister
meaning was a glad anniversary.
Suddenly she caught her hand to her
cheek. A weird idea had rushed
J through her brain. The religious SYM
Dol had stood for Harry Sanderson,
and the chance coincidence Of date
had irresistibly pointed to the murder.
To her excited senses the juxtaposi-
ton held a bizarre, uncanny sugges-
ton. This cross, the very emblem of
vicarious sacrifice! Suppose Harry
Sanderson had never given 1t to Hugh!
Suppose he had lost it on the hillside
himself!
She snatched up the paper again.
"Who has been for some months on a
prolonged v~acation"-the phrase stared
sardonically at her. That might carry
far back-she said it under her breath,
fearfully-beyond the murder Of Dr..
Moreau. Her face burned, and her
breath came sharp and fast. Why
when she brought her warning to the
cabin had Hugh been so anxious to get
her away unless to prevent her sight
of the man who was there, 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 We're all afire. A rec
tor murderer? A double career? Was
it beyond possibility? 1t came to her
like an impinging ray of light, the old
curious likeness that had sometimes
been made a jest of at the white
house in the aspens. Moreau and Prem
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 it was his
coming that had brought back the lost
memory. Hugh had known the truth
In the light of this superstition, his
strained n then, his present de-
termination not to speak, all stood
plain.
What had he meant by a debt of his
past that he had never paid? He could
owe no debt to Harry Sanderson. II
he owed any debt it was to his dead
father. a thousand times more than the
draft he had repaid. Could he be
thinking in his remorse that his father
had cast him off, counting himself
nothing, remembering only that Harry
Sanderson had been David Stires' ia,
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 it was the only buoyant thing
adoat in the dragging tide. Now with
a blind fatuousness she Rugged 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 it. 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 its
answer. 1t 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 com
ing lest he have suspicion of her err
rand. Bishop Ludlow. he could gain
her access to him. Injured, dying
perhaps, maybe he did not guess thai
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 days 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 nc
time to lose. Minutes might count
She examined her purse. She had
money enough with her.
Five minutes later she was at the
station, a scrubbed note was on its
way to Mrs. Halloran, and before &
swinging red lantern the long incom
ing train was shuddering to a stop.
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