Ladysmith news-budget. [volume] (Ladysmith, Rusk County, Wis.) 1907-1927, 1909-04-29
CHAPTER xx-(Continued.)

VI oelIlHS luo place, LUCK, SlOCh anu
above everything else was the fact
barrel, of disposing of the great foun-
! dry down in Fells garth and going
away. He could afford to enjoy life
now. The business in Fellsgarth was
| not what it had been in Philip Hume's
fathers time, but it should realize a
comfortable sum- He would be able
to enjoy life. For two years he had
not dared to show himself at race
| meeting; there were so many old rae
ing debts unsettled-debts that would
have to be cleared Off before he could
return to the turf
The spring twilight had long since
closed in, and the lamps were lit.
Bonholt Hume seemed to hate the
darkness in this lonely house; the
lights must be full on and the cur
tains drawn almost before the last
CLEAN of day had gone He was glad
he would not be dining alone tonight,
even though the guest whom he was
expecting, an old racing acquaintance,
would no doubt require a settlement
of certain bygone gambling debts
had indeed limited at it in the letter
in which he had said he was coming
over to see his old friend in his new
state of prosperity.
But for those debts, which he had
conveniently put out of his memory
and forgotten until the letter came,
Bonholt Hume would have been glad
enough to have welcomed Anthony
Strangways, to have had q crack over
| oldS times, to have discussed the
chances of Anthony's mare in the
great race.
He was expecting Strangways mo-
| hear the wheels of the motor car up
the drive, bringing his guest from the
station.
"Strangways mustn't open his
mouth too wide" said Bonholt Hume
to himself suddenly. There was no
geniality in his face now as he sat
alone with his thoughts; the smiling
bonhomie was gone-a network of
mean, calculating lines gave him
quite different look. "or if he does
shall plead the gaming act. He
can't enforce payment
He heard the wheels of the car and
pulled himself out of his thoughts.
assuming a smile before which the
unlovely, calculating lines seemed to
disappear as by magic, leaving
pleasant almost cherubic face. Then
the door opened and a servant APP
peared-a taciturn-looking man, who
had been with him before his success
sion to Philip Hume's estate.
"Mr. Strangways hasn't come by the
train. SIR he announced.
"He hasn't Gomez Bonholt Hume
frowned. Keep the dinner back,
Matthew. There's a train in two
hours time. Send the car to meet
it, said his master, CURLY
The man left the room, and Bon
and the lines of brooding care came
back, as they always seemed to come
back when he was alone in this great
house that had been Philip Hume's.
Outside the lighted room with the
| closely drawn curtains young rising
| moon made the night clear as day;
| the wooded grounds lay mysterious
and beautiful in the flood of silver
| The peaceful beauty of the night
seemed to mock the restless unquiet
| in Stephen Ruthen's heart as he came
| out of the veStry door at the side of
| the church that night, after the even
| ing weekday service; he wondered if
| he would ever know peace again-this
man who felt himself a hypocrite now
| to preach to others, he who was let
| ting a man he knew to be guiltleSs
| suffer to shield the guilty.
The few people who had attended
| the service had gone. On an impulse
| Stephen Ruthen did not take the path
leading to the rectory; he walked,
like a man bowed down with an in
| toerable load, across the churchyard
| towards a grave under the trees,
| where soon a tombstone would be
| erected to the memory of Philip
| Hume.
The burden has become intolerable,
the burden of his secret, the horror
| that he lived with daily. What was
he to do? Even if he were to tell
the truth, would his story be be-
| lieved? Would Olive even herself be-
| lieve it-she from whose mind all
memory of that night in her delirium
| had been so strangely bIotted out?
And how could he bring himself to
tell that truth?
And with that thought in his mind
| the rector suddenly started, as he
came in sight of the grave-a grave
where a woman crouched, in the aban-
| donment of grief and despair.
"Olive!" he cried; and the woman
started at his cry, aware for the first
time of this approach, and turned
white face TO him as she sprang to
| her feet.
The grave lay some distance from
| the high road; but through a gap in
| the hedge some one passing-a we'll
| dressed man of forty, with q, clean
shaven, rather striking face-caught
a glimpse of a scene strange enough
| to make him come to an abrupt halt
with riveted eyes; a woman lying
| almost PROSTATE on new grave, in
an attitude of unutterable anguish.
and then the approach of man, evil
| IDENTIFY from his dress a parson, caus-
ing her to turn with a startled face
| He saw the man touch the womans
shoulder gently, saw the woman
shake off the hand passionately and
point with a strange dramatic gesture
down at the grave at their feet, fling
ing some words at him--words that