El Paso herald. (El Paso, Tex.) 1901-1931, 1911-08-18
V EN- GE A N c E
(By Finlay Knight.)

f" HE time for waiting and planning
was over at last; the journeys
end was reached; the hour for
final action had come, and action meant
vengeance, swift and strong.
Thinking of these things, Stephen
Emory halted in his walk and stood
by the lane side. nerving himself for
what was to come. Dusk had fallen
now and the only sound to break the
stiffness was the receding rumble Of
a farm-cart which had passed him on
the road minute or so previously
Canning and he had been fellow
miners in a forsaken corner of North
America, and though they had never
been close friends. had never spoken
to each other Of those things which
friend do speak of, yet Stephen had
always been led to suppose that the
other had had liking for him.
Always-that is, until the woman
Madge came along to upset things. Now,
why she had ever come to the camp
none knew and few cared: but having
come, she bred enmity between Emory
and Canning-short, certainly, but
sharp. They had fought fiercely con-
corning her. and as a result of that
fight, Stephen had lain for months in
his bed. When he left 1T he discov-
love for Madge was quite gone. Robert
Canning had left the camp weeks
before by stealth; he had taken with
him all Stephens savings! 1t was
when he learned these things that the
madness for vengeance crept into Step
hens blood.
He had not been able to act at once,
but even while forcedly inactive. he
had been laying his plans And at
last the time came when he struck
It lucky" and when he learned
through a roundabout source, after
much laborious hunting that Canning
had gone back to England.
Brooding upon these things. prick
ing his rage to new and keener life,
Stephen drew near to the cottage. He
wondered now, as he had wondered
often of late, whether Canning was
still single or whether he had mar
ried; and then, with short laugh.
put the question away from him. Any
how, he would soon know.
Cautiously he opened the tiny gate.
and stepping on to the grass, reached
the cottage, side in silence. In the
room in which the lamplight .shone,
the blind had not been drawn, and,
stepping on tiptoe, he reached the win
dow and peeped in. The room was
empty save for one person, and that
person, a slimly-formed, fair-haired
girl, who sat in a chair by the table
with her back towards the window.
She held something in her hand and
was looking at 1t steadily-a picture
or a piece of paper, stephen could not
see clearly which.
Drawing in his breath deeply, he stood
straight and moved from the window,
and with slow steps, towards the cot
tage door.
Reaching the door he paused for
a moment or two and then, raising his
hand as Though on a sudden impulse,
raped loudly on the door. The latch
was lifted and CLEAN of light shone
out to dazzle him.
He raised his head and saw the girl
standing before him. with the lamp in
her right hand. And when he did
that; when he saw the exquisite beau
ty Of her face, the gentleness of it's
expression, and the sadness in her won
derful eyes. something seemed to lay
hold upon his heart and crush 1t chill
ingly.
Good evening". he said, his voice not
under control. I'm sorry to come
troubling you so late, but I WANT
want to see
He did not finish the sentence, for
little. quick cry came from the girl
as she studied his face, and the lamp
that she held swayed dangerously.
Hardly knowing what he was doing,
he stepped forward and took it from
her hand, holding 1t steadily above
his own head.
why" he said amazed, what's
wrong? What did you cry out for?
You don't know me. do you? You've
never seen me before?"
A sort of wondering, wistful smile
touched her face momentarily.
NO, she answered, her voice low
and very sweet. 81 have never seen you
before But I think that I've heard