Camas Prairie chronicle. [volume] (Cottonwood, Idaho) 1901-1917, 1910-11-04
CHAPTER xyI.-(Continued.)

PdpCNbs
On the fly leaf of a French Bible, in
woman's hand-an odd hand will
peculiarly forcible strokes-were these
entries:
Married January 10, 1899, Cerisse
Corella Wayne, daughter of Desiree
and John Francis Wayne, and Ham
leye Hackleye, third son Of Sir Walter
and Lady Evelyn Hackleye.
Born, November LIST, 1900, to Ce-
risse Corella Wayne Hackleye and
Hamleye Hackleye, a son, Walter
Hamleye Hackleye.
Born, October Is, 1901, to Cerisse
Corella Wayne Hackleye and Hamleye
Hackleye, a daughter, Paula Cerisse
Hackleye."
Gradually there became fixed more
securely the public idea that Hackleya
had murdered his wife. And the grow
Ing impression was that Hackleye and
Harcourt were one and the same, but
the most inexplicable of all was the
dual resemblance between the two
women, but at that the Man-Aperil-
la puzzled
Mark Flanders, the old attorney from
whom Hackleye had rented the house
at "a Briarsweet place, was so upset
by the sensation in which the staid old
home was figuring that he nearly went
wild. AS 1t was. he cut short his Eu-
ropean trip and came home in jiffy
to see that the beloved old homestead
was not Whitfield to bits by enterpris-
Ing sleuths who were seeking further
for secret passages and subterranean
ways.
Mrs. Desterle died early in the fall
and her heart broken husband took
their accumulated savings and went
home to Paris. Harold Harcourt was
still sitting behind the bars, of the
jail. The British government did not
come and lead him out of captivity.
Harcourt's wife was slowly getting
better in the hospital to which they
had removed her. There had been
shocking days of rawlings so extraordi-
nary that the nurses had stood abash-
ed at the horrors revealed: there had
been times when Mrs. Harcourts
strength outranked that of even the
strongest attendants. and in her yio-
lence she had essayed to kill herself,
but oftenest she was weak as a sick
kitten. and lay inert and helpless on
her narrow bed, moaning as If within
her slender frame fermented the an
guish Of the world. Philip Hartley
came daily to see her. His quiet pres
ence always had calming effect upon
the sick woman. and she seemed TO
recognize him. Philip called first be-
cause the paper sent him, and yet, as
the months drifted by and the Wayne
murder mystery was RELOCATED grad
ually from first to a second, and then
to a fourth and even to a fifth page
place in the paper, he went because
ne wanted to, not confessing to him
self why. He couldn't have told. He
couldn't resist the emotion that drew
him to the sick woman.
The most expert doctors were called
in attendance, Mrs. Harcourt's condi-
ton was most battling. One day there
drifted in an aunt of the inferno. a
gray-haired doctor who had done mis-
sionary work in India for thirty-flve
years. The inferno discussed the case
with his aunt, and took her around to
see the patient. The old doctor-Foth-
ergill was her name-examined the
young woman closely.
Il think, john" she said, after she
had looked at Mrs. Harcourt. accord
ing to the prescribed ritual for medici-
nal inspection. that the poor little
thing has been drugged to death. They
do these things beneath the tropic SIMS
very frequently There are weird drugs
put to queer purposes over there
Where they stop at murder, even by
SLOW poison, death in life is no more
IMAM convenience to them il they so
desire think she's drug-sick, Give
her light food, stimulants, and plenty
of morphine. It's the best reagent I'VE
found for those indiscriminate drnqs
that grow over there. Also a powder
I'll bring you"
The inferno quoted his aunt 70 tha
attending physicians. And because NJ
the fame Of DR.. Fothergill. which had
travelled even across the broad seas
ana the line OF sex. they listened to
what she said. They followed DR.
Fothergilrs advice and slowly but sure.
ly Mrs. Harcourt began to improve
One day she reused from her stunor
sat up and looked at her nurses.
do not remember" she stammer-
ed Il cannot remember. and-Tn
glad, for the hurt has all gone from
here"
AS she spoke she pressed one hama
to her heart. and the other to her head
There Philip Hartley found her u,ho1'
he came an hour later. He had a GLOW
ing bunch of asters for her-lavenders
whites, soft pinks-and ashes of roses
Sweet flowers with their colors
burned away" she murmured as she
reached out for them There was the
same innocent friendliness between
these two pure-souled ones as there
might have been between two sera-
phims.
Your flowers Of the north coun-
tries seem SO pale-and yet SO pure"
The continuew, as she buried her face
within the shaggy petals. But they
AVE no perfumes"
''Ah, yes, they have" denied Hart
ey I'VE have rose gardens here. too,
nd violet beds in springtime. and car
ations In June, when the roses are
wet; and mignonette. and Towering
lmond, syringa, and sweet alyssum-
We have our perfumes. too my lady. |