Daily Arizona silver belt., 1910-04-29

1t was gone. She had followed. Far into the forest she had followed. And at length
 They were waiting for her at home She must be very late! For an instant the lightness left her lips and eyes Her father would be angry. and Aunt Marguerite, for it was not in keeping with the honor of Valette that daugh- ter of the house should keep waiting the one to whom she was betrothed
 She would tell them that she had not meant to chase the butterfly; that she had meant to keep in all Its starch ed purity the little white dress that Aunt Marguerite and old Marie had so carefully, so painstakingly, made for her; that she had meant to stroll only little way a-down the path that led to the broad acres that had once been of Valette ere came the clutching fingers of hard faced poverty to wrench them thence. She would tell them these things; she would ex- plain about the butterfly But would these things, that explanation, be suffi- cient? She did not know. Her father was strange man, proud man, a man reserved She loved him much. But sometimes he was strange. She did not understand. She felt far from him, very far And Aunt Marguerite was even the shadow of her brother.
 And so she hurried on.
 In the great room of the house of Valette, room that once had had even the splendor of the old chateau in the Norman hills. but now time worn, sunk into the dullness that marks decay, were they preparing to do their last dead slave the honor of the candles, for old Christian had been obedient, faithful-yes, even to the end of his days. And for this he was to have the honor that comes to the Valettes in their going.
 1t was old Louise who counted the candles now for the last slave. the slave that was dead. Stout, heavy fea- tured, clad in rough gray gown and cap of spotless white, she bent over the leather box that lay upon the old table, taking therefrom the candles and counting them as she did so. And as she counted there came to the kind ly old face look of worriment.
 At length she turned. hearing foot steps. Came through the door the sis ter of NJ. de Valette. Across the som Der room she came, a highbOrn, high bred woman of sixty, a woman of deli cate, pale, gentle face and slender fig ure. Old Louise courtesied.
 You are counting the candles?" ask ed Mile. de Valette. It was a ques- on. My brother tolls the bell for old Christian with his own hands,"
 The old servant shrugged her shoul- ders
 "Who else is there to do it?" she queried,
 Mile. de Valette said, "Le maitre will play the requiem" She was counting the candles. Finishing. she exclaimed: "My good Louise, there are not enough! Old Christian was sixty-three."
 Again Louise shrugged her shoulders.
 Here are thirty-eight," she grum- bled. That should be enough. Old Christian, He was but black slave, after all" She shook her head
 In the year of our Lord 1915, you know, slaves especially dead slaves, v,ora nnt of ,nuoh yoIua Condlar uara
 Mile. de Valette, pity in her gentle heart, would have made reply, but ere opportunity was hers there had en- tered the room Father OMara, priest of the parish-a kindly man Father O'Mara, who lived much in the out of doors, a strong man and rugged and a man of the kind that it were good for God to have in his labor.
 He spoke in full, deep voice that echoed resonantly from the dim raft CTS with barely trace of brogue. The old servant courtesied Mile. de Va lette inclined her head graciously.
 You are welcome, Father O'Mara," she said. "We are preparing the can dies, you see. But there are not enough. Louise"
 The old servant turned.
 Mile. de Valette. with light gesture, indicnted where, upon the walls, tar nished sconces upheld blackened can dies.
 Take thOse," she commanded. "l will look through the house for oth- CTS"
 She bowed to Father O'Mara, who himself bowed. and passed through the door. Old Louise obediently went from scOnce to sconce, gathering the half burned bits of wax and wick that were to be the last earthly tribute to the dead slave. At length she came again to the table, laying the old be- side the new.
 Father O'Mara took pinch of snuff, watching her with shrewd, kindly gray eyes.
 Not enough candles?" he said at length.
 The old servant shook her head.
 "NO, father" she returned, mot un- less you can convince the master that old Christian was much younger than