Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1910-09-25

"Of course, Miss he said roughly, "you
don't know what has happened?"
NO. she said, too greatly surprised to
resent his strange manner.
"Well," he growled, somebody's been
nearly killed on your account, that's all! -
Somebody" she repeated, and her lips
went white.
"Yes, you ought to guess well enough who
it is. He and that rotten Frenchman fought
a duel this morning on the sands near Calais,
and Marigny as good as murdered him"
Dale'S heart was sore against her as the
cause of his masters plight; but even in his
own distress he was quick to see the shrink
ing terror in the girls eyes.
Are you speaking of Mr. Fitzroy?" she
demanded. Are you telling the truth?
Oh, for Heavens sake, man, tell me what
you meant!
Il mean what say, Miss, said he more
softly. Il have left him almost at deaths
door in hotel at Calais. That BANKED
can't contain myself when | think of him
ran a sword through him this morning,
and would have killed him outright if he
hadn't been stopped by some other gentle
men. And now there he is, lying in the
hotel, with a doctor and nurse trying to
coax the life back into him, while had to
scurry back here to tell his people!'
SOME women might have shrieked and
tainted; not SO Cynthia. At that instant
there was one thing to be done, and one only.
She saw the open road, and took it without
faltering or thought as to the future.
when is the next train to Calais?" she
asked.
"At nine o'clock tonight, Miss
ooh, Heaveni" she walled under her
| breath.
Dale's voice grew even more sympathetic.
"Was you a thinking of going to him,
Miss?" he asked.
would that l could fly there!" she
moaned.
He scratched the back of his ear; for it
was by such means that Dale sought inspira-
| ton. Dash it all" he cried. Il wish had
seen you half an hour earlier There is
train that leaves Charing Cross at twenty
| minutes past two. 1t goes by way of Folke-
stone and Boulogne, and from Boulogne one
can get easy to Calais. Anyhow, what's the
use of talkin'? 1t is too late!'
Cynthia glanced at her watch. 1t was
just twenty-five minutes to three.
How far is Folkestone?" was the imme-
date demand generated by her practical
American brain.
"Seventy-two miles," said the chauffeur
who knew his roads out of London.
"And what time does the boat leave?"
| A light irradiated his face, and he swore
volubly 1--WE can do it," he shouted. by
the Lord, we can do it! Are you game?"
| Game! The light that leaped to her eyes
was sufficient answer. He tore open the
door of the cab, roaring to the driver:
| Round that corner to the right quick
| then into the news at the back"
Within two minutes the Mercury was at
tracing the attention of the police as it
whirled through the traffic toward West
minister Bridge. Dale's face was set like
block of granite. He had risked good deal
in leaving his master at the point of death at
Calais; he was now risking more, far more,
in rushing back to Calais again without hav-
ing discharged the duty that had dragged
him from that masters bedside. But he
| thought he had secured the best physician
London could bring to the sufferer aid, and
| the belief sustained him in an action that
was almost heroic. He was simple minded
fellow, with marked taste for speed in both
animals and machinery; but he had hit on
one well defined trait in human nature when
he decided that if a man was dying for the
sake of a woman the presence of that woman
might cure where all else will fail.
CHAPTER XVI.