The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1910-12-09

tSdAS tuuI udu COIuc Wlcu Suc Acia that what Cornelia Fullerton had told her was true she now regretted.
 There was nothing to weep over, she argued to herself Her emotions were not of the kind that could find com fort in so usual, 80 childish a way. Had Vavfn seen her then he would have said indeed that she had Napo- leOnic courage, the strong jaw and the clear eye. On this of all nights, when she had been most happy, when the world was opening up to her new realms of content and freedom-on this night she had to learn that the mother whom she had grown to love through the oft decried faults had borne her in disgrace-that she was an outcast without even a name That was sure ly too remarkable a thing to be let down with tears.
 She must first see her father-her fatheri She threw back her head and laughed. Her father! Who was this man who had disgraced her mother She would like to see him.
 But first she must see Professor Full lerton. She must have him tell her if this was true. And then-what then The idea of suicide came to her, and the girl gritted her teeth and dismiss ed it almost as the suggestion arose But HolcOmb- No; she wouldn't mar ry him. He was too fine-too good. It wouldn't make any difference to him that, of course she knew-but it would make a difference to her. It would make difference to her children. if she had children, and there came a little gulp in her throat, and she al- most gave way to tears that might have been better outlet than this fierce cogitation.
 If Fullerton told her it was true she would go away from New York. She would go somewhere out west-join some stock company.
 No; that wouldn't do. It was the theater that had ruined her mother. Oh, the merciless truth of it all! Aunt Cornelia had been right all the time. She would take up some other business and earn her living. She would make money enough to pay back Professor Fullerton for her education. She start. ed planning immediately. What busi uess could she get in? Two or three of her companions at college were writing for magazines and newspa. do anything. She would show them that if her mother had make a mis. take her mothers daughter would yin dicate them both.
 It was dawn before she knew it.
 It was Graham who first remarked that Dora was sleeping unusually late as she had always been punctual al breakfast.
 Miss Fullerton" answered the wait ing maid, "has not been in her room since I got up.'
 "Not in her room," repeated Mrs Winthrop. and she rose hurriedly from the breakfast table and entered Dora's room. The bed was undisturbed and most of her small belongings had evi dently been removed in a travelling case. On the dresser was a note ad dressed to her hostess:
 Dear Mrs. Winthrop-A million thank. for all your kindness. Forgive me. Good by. DORA. "What can it mean" she exclaimed as she laid the note before Cornelia and her son.
 "Just another one of her pranks. was the kindly suggestion of her sup posed relative.
 "It can't be that she has, began young Winthrop. who still loved tn, girl and who would rather hgve facet the prospect of never seeing her agail than to know that she had done any thing to hurt herself or her reputation 'I am going to wire my brother, said Miss Fullerton.
 Before you do that" suggested Graham, his mind working slowly, bu sanely, T think it would be a goot thing to telephone Judge Elliott ant let him go after Vavin and Holcomh es I believe the latter will probably know something"
 Elliott listened to what by this tim' had become a more extended narrative of Dora's disappearance. The nigh