The Spokane press. [volume] (Spokane, Wash.) 1902-1939, 1910-08-05
ALL ABOUT
THE DOINGS
OF YOUR SEX
(Continued.)

"Of course, l meant to tell you
some time, monseigneur," he unused
aloud. But it seemed a bit cow
ardly to budren you with my trou-
bles; you could not help them, and
you have so many Of your own. 1t
was no time to speak of such a
thing during your wedding, and as
the weeks went by it grew harder
and harder to speak of it at all. I
tried not to betray myself, but I am
rather a bad actor. If it were only
|. who suffered. The journey to
Spain, for madame"
He paused. Stanief gazed at him
with an expression as somberly
dangerous as ever one of his dan
gerous house wore.
"The journey to Spain, mon
sieur?' he repeated.
Aroused at last to a strangeness
in his manner, Allard turned to him
in wonder.
During the journey to Spain,
monseigneur, this came for me-" he
replied simply, and drew forth a let
ter which he laid before the other
Stanief picked it up, himself con-
fronted by the unexpected. Allard
resumed his seat and averted his
head as the rustling paper unfolded
1t was sweetly calm letter, q
letter written by one in the evening
of life and itself breathing an even
ing repose and gray twilight hush
| Across the fevered passion of the
man who read, the first words
drifted like the cool, scented air of
the California garden from which
they came. A letter that neither
reproached nor questioned, its mes.
sage was given with all tenderness
of phrase and household name.
Robert had not been well for
long time, Aunt Rose wrote most
delicately. After John had left for
South America so suddenly, his
younger brother had fretted and
chafed against his own quiet life.
Even his engagement to Theodore
had failed to cheer him, or cure his
strange restlessnes and abstraction.
About six months after Johns de-
rarture, he had been found uucon-
scious on the veranda lying among
the crumpled newspapers. An ill
ness followed, and after recovering
from that he never seemed to grow
quite strong. In the third year of
Johns absence, when preparations
were being made for the long de-
layed wedding. he again fell i'll. The
morning they received Johns letter
from the Nadeja. he rallied wonder
fully. Asking to have the letter
himself, he read it again and again,
then sent them all away while he
rested. An hour later they had
found him. resting indeed, his cheek
upon the letter and the old bright,
content on his boyish face. Theo-
dora had borne it very we'll They
were TRANQUILITY calm in their life
together, now, and sent their ear
nest love to John in the distant life
he had chosen.
Stanief laid down the letter very
gently. He never forgot how the
light from this purer and simpler
world fell acros the labyrinth of
dark thoughts at which he scarcely
dared look back.
Nearly two years." Allard said,
his head still turned away. 80 long
since Robert died. | did not write
at once from here; | thought they
knew of me, and | wanted a little
real life to tell. I was sick of pre-
tense. | suppose the women did not
know how to reach me here: BERTHE
would have had no difficulty. But
it was grief past remedying, and
there seemed no use troubling you.
Stanief rose and came around the
writing table to lay both hands on
the others shoulders.
Il beg your pardon. Pohn." he
said earnestly and gravely. Il spoke
to you just. now as | never will
again, come what may. | have my
own griefs. less patiently endured
than yours: and | misunderstood.
81 did not notice" Allard an
swered, with perfect truth. You
are always like no one else, mon
seigneur. | am glad that you know,
very glad. You see. it is not only