The Chanute times. [volume] (Chanute, Kan.) 1897-1913, 1910-10-14
CHAPTER XVII.
The Demiuod.


On the third day she opened her
eyes to the sun with the thought:
Where is he? From the windows of
her room she could see the two pale
points and the narrow way OF water
that led into the western ocean: Had
he sailed out yonder west into the
east, into that oblivion which was
his only safety, for ever out of her
sight? Or was he still at hand, ignor-
ing warning, defying fate?
She drew out the sapphire and held
it in her hand. The cloud Of events
had cast no film over it's luster, but
she looked at it now without pleasure.
For all its beauty it wasn't worth
what they were doing for it. Well,
to-day they were both of them to see
the last of it. To-day she was going
to take it to Mr. Purdie, to deliver 1t
into his hands, to tell him how it had
fallen into hers in the goldsmith's shop
all of the story that was possible for
her to tell.
She had made it out all clear in her
mind that this was the right thing to
do. It hadn't occurred to her she
had made it out only on the hypothe-
sis of Kerr's certainly going. 1t had
not occurred to her that she might
have to make her great moral move
in the dark; or, what was worse, in
the face of his most gallant resistance.
In this discouraging light she saw her
10 nj @ hinO
point, but the great move was just as
good as it had been before-just as sol
id, Just as advisable. Being so very sol
i'd, wouldn't it wait until she had time to
show him that she really meant what
she said, supposing she ever had a
chance to see him again? The pos
sibility that at this moment he might
actually have gone had almost es-
capped her. She recalled it with dis
agreeable shock, but, after all, that
was the best she could hope, never to
see him again! She ought to be CRATE
full to be sure of that, and yet if she
we're, oh, never could she deprive him
of so much beauty and light by her
keeping of the sapphire as he would
then have taken away from her!
She would come down then, indeed,
level with plainest, palest, hardest
things-people and facts. Her ro-
mance-she had seen it; she had had
it in her hands, and it had somehow
eluded her. 1t had vanished, evapo-
rated.
She leaned and looked through the
thin veil of her curtains at the splen-
did day. 1t was one of February's
freaks. It was hot. The white ghost
of noon lay over shore and sea. Be
meath her the city seemed to sleep
gray and glistening. The tops of hills
that rose above the up-creeping
houses were misted green. Across the
bay, along the northern shore, there
was a pale green coast of hills divid-
ing blue and blue. Ships in the bay
hung out white canvas drying, and the
sky showed whittier clouds, slow-mov-
ing, like sails upon a languid sea.
She looked down upon all, as lone
and lonely as a deserted lady in a
tower, lifted above these happy. peace
full things by her strange responsible
ty. Her thoughts could not stay with
them; her eyes travelled seaward. She
parted the curtains and, leaning lit
tie out, looked westward at the white
sea gate.
A whistle, as of some child calling
his mate, came sweetly in the silence.
It was near. and the questing. expeo-
tant note caught her ear. Again 1t
came, sharper, imperative, directly be-
meath her. She looked down: she
was speeches.. There was a sudden
wild current of blood in her veins.
There he stood, the whistler neither
child nor bird. but the man himself
Kerr. looking up at her from the CAV